The first of a few Febuwhump prompts I'll be posting :) thanks to brknribs on Ao3 for brainstorming and helping me pick some prompts out.

Also I'm going to put a warning for claustrophobia for this one, because even I was getting a little anxious writing this at points.

Just Breathe

A JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Fanfic

(Febuwhump Day 10: Difficulty Breathing) Giorno is trapped during a fight, and with injuries that make it hard to breathe, it's up to Fugo to keep him calm while they wait for help.

It wasn't often that Giorno went up against a Stand that was also able to manipulate matter. Except, unlike Gold Experience, his enemy could only reform items around him, not change them into something completely different.

That didn't make him any less dangerous, which Giorno was soon to find out.

Next time he fought someone with this kind of power, he really needed to be away from an industrial area.

The rebar he'd turned into vines to hold the enemy Stand user did nothing when he could easily cut through anything and put up random scraps as a shield to protect himself from the blowback.

"Think you can hold me, brat?" the man smirked, shaking the vines off and starting toward Giorno. "Looks like my Stand is just more powerful than yours."

Giorno gritted his teeth and barely saw the manipulated crate being flung toward him. He dashed to the side, but it still hit him in the shoulder, throwing him to the ground, his left arm throbbing.

"Gold Ex—" He tried to call for his Stand but a metal grate from the floor in front of him exploded upward and slammed into his chest.

Giorno skidded across the concrete, breath knocked out of him. He rolled over with a groan, wrapping an arm around his side. He could feel that there were several cracked ribs, and on top of that, he thought his collarbone might also be broken.

He could really use an assist right now, but the others were busy with the rest of the mission. It had been his job to distract the guy, after all.

"What's the matter? Is my power too much for you?" the Stand user taunted as he strode forward with his Stand at his shoulder.

Giorno glowered up at the man, pushing himself to his feet, ignoring the pain ripping through him with every minute movement. He didn't get up fast enough though, because the man's Stand surged forward, grabbing him around the throat.

"What a puny little boy playing at being the Boss of Passione," the Stand user smirked.

The Stand squeezed Giorno's throat, cutting off his airway. Giorno partially manifested Gold and tried to pull the other Stand's hands away from his neck. Everything was becoming dark at the edges, and he could hear the pounding in his ears…

"Pathetic."

Giorno crashed to the ground, choking for breath. Now that he could breathe, however, he almost wished he couldn't because of how much it hurt the rest of him. Every gasp sent a knife through his side and shoulder.

He didn't have the chance to fully fill his lungs before he heard the shriek of twisting metal.

The steel scaffolding to one side of them formed into something like a giant maw and lunged toward Giorno.

"Gold Experience!" he croaked, but his Stand didn't have time to do anything before the mass of metal caught Giorno in its clutches.

"Gah!" he cried, trying to struggle against the vice-like grip, but that only caused his opponent to squeeze it tighter.

Giorno wheezed, breath being forced from his lungs. He could feel the metal crushing him slowly, his already damaged ribs flaring in agony as the pain and pressure worsened, blinding him.

His enemy chuckled. "Not so tough now, are you? I'm going to squeeze the life out of you. You're gonna be nothing but a bag of blood and bones when I'm done."

Through his blurred vision, Giorno watched as the man and his Stand raised their hands in tandem and slowly clenched a fist in a crushing gesture. He let out a strangled cry as the pressure only continued…

A gunshot rang out and the man was distracted for a blessed second before something slammed into him. He cried out, and the crushing thankfully stopped as the man spun toward the new threat.

Giorno briefly saw a flash of Mista from behind a crate before another gunshot rang out and the enemy Stand user crashed to the ground in a spray of blood.

"Giorno!"

Mista, with Fugo behind him, ran forward. Giorno wanted to be relieved but he just couldn't breathe…

"Are you all right?" Fugo asked him, taking in the situation with a worried look.

Giorno shook his head briefly, feeling like he was going blue in the lips. "G-get me out," he somehow managed to croak.

Fugo and Mista instantly went to work, trying to pry the metal around Giorno open enough for him to slip out.

But it was solid and it didn't seem to matter that the Stand user was dead, it was apparently going to stay that way.

"We're not going to be able to get him out of this," Fugo said grimly.

That was when Giorno started to panic. It seemed cruel that rescue had come, only for it not to be a rescue at all.

He wriggled as much as he could, trying to get a breath; if he could only get a breath!

"Giorno, hang on," Mista told him.

But Giorno wasn't listening. He needed to breathe. He took several frantic gasping breaths, but his chest couldn't expand far enough to satisfy him and that only made him panic further.

Red hot agony burst in his side and he was suddenly choking, something burning the back of his throat. He coughed weakly, the taste of copper painting the inside of his mouth.

"Giorno, stop!" Fugo snapped. "Mista, there's no way we're going to get him out of here by ourselves. You have to go get Bucciarati. I'll stay with him."

"Are you sure?" the gunman asked, looking around frantically. "Maybe there's—"

"Just go, Mista—hurry!"

Mista bit his lip but nodded. "Hey, hang in there, buddy," he told Giorno before he sprinted off.

Giorno choked on more blood, which caused his chest to contract again, forcing another wave of panic crashing over him. It only increased as he continued to try pulling oxygen in and was constantly thwarted.

"Giorno, I need you to listen to me."

Giorno tried, feeling light-headed and desperate for breath. He tried to wriggle even an arm free but those too were tightly trapped. He let out a desperate whimper.

"Please…" he croaked.

"Hey."

Fugo's hands were suddenly on his face, forcing Giorno to look straight ahead at the other blond. There was some fear in Fugo's eyes too, but also a determined set to his jaw. "Giorno, listen to me. I know it will be hard, but you need to calm down, so I can help you breathe, okay?"

Giorno tried, but he was already so far gone that he honestly would have rather passed out at this point and gotten it over with.

"Giorno!" Fugo snapped, and Giorno blinked. "Listen to me! You've already got some kind of internal injury—probably a punctured lung. You need to stop struggling before you make it worse."

A desperate sob escaped Giorno's throat, stars dancing in front of his eyes as he tried his best to fight off another wave of panic.

"I know it's hard, and I know it feels like you can't breathe, but you can; you just have to calm down and take shallow breaths. You're gonna follow me, okay? But I need you to calm down first."

The problem was Giorno usually calmed down by taking deep breaths, but at the very least he tried to quell the panic. Tried to think about the situation logically. Fugo was here. Mista was going for help. He just had to get through the next few minutes…

"That's better," Fugo coaxed. "Relax your body, it will give you more room to breathe. Are you ready? Don't try to talk, just nod."

Giorno nodded, head still trapped between Fugo's hands. It didn't seem like he would be letting go anytime soon. Giorno found himself focusing on the warmth and pressure of Fugo's palms, the tears drying on his cheeks that he hadn't realized he'd shed, the taste of copper still on his tongue, sticky in the corner of his mouth.

More self-aware now and not just in panic mode, Giorno was able to relax his body and felt a very small allowance between him and the metal cage.

"Good, you're doing good," Fugo coaxed. "Now, we're going to breathe, but do not take a deep breath, just shallow, in and out, wait to seconds, and then in and out again. Can you do that?"

Giorno nodded.

Fugo pressed his lips into a determined line. "Okay, let's do it together. In—one two—Out—one two."

Giorno matched Fugo's breathing several times and for the first time in what seemed an eternity, it actually felt like he was getting oxygen into his body again. He felt less light headed and was starting to think rationally again. He actually might be able to make it until rescue came.

That was until his chest hitched and his broken ribs stabbed new agony through him.

The panic came back and Giorno took too deep of a breath, causing his rib to drive deeper into his lung. He tensed which only made it worse, then choked on the fresh blood that coated the inside of his mouth.

"Giorno? Giorno!" Fugo cried, a brief moment of panic flashing over his face as well. He wiped some blood from Giorno's lip with his sleeve, and dug his fingernails into the back of Giorno's scalp. "Keep breathing like I told you, that's the only way you can even it out. In—one two—out—one two. Remember? With me. In—one two—out—one two…"

It wasn't as smooth this time, but Giorno did it, he tried. He fought to keep his focus on Fugo, but it was getting harder and harder until he felt like he was just going to pass out anyway…

That was when the sound of footsteps were heard running toward them.

"Giorno!"

Giorno wanted to sob in relief as Fugo stepped to one side and let Bucciarati through. It was only the work of a second for Sticky Fingers to carve through the metal holding Giorno and he was finally free.

Bucciarati and Fugo caught him, and lowered him gently to the ground.

Pain flared through Giorno's body as he gulped in huge mouthfuls of air.

That was a mistake, his lungs contracted, knives piercing him as he was forced to choke up more blood, wheezing, clutching at his chest as he still fought for breath.

"Easy, try to even your breathing," Bucciarati coaxed, placing a hand flat on Giorno's chest.

"What do we do?" Fugo asked.

"I—I c'n fix—it," Giorno managed to get out, clawing purposefully at Bucciarati's hand. "Y'need to open…chest…"

Bucciarati looked at him with shock for a moment before he called out Sticky Fingers again. "Alright, if you're sure. Is Gold Experience ready?"

Giorno called out his Stand with the last of his energy and as Gold hovered over them, he gave Bucciarati a nod and the older man set his jaw and used Sticky Fingers to open Giorno's chest.

"Oh god," Mista murmured as he and Fugo stood off to one side, both of them pale, yet seeming to be unable to look away.

"Can I help?" Bucciarati asked, still propping Giorno against his knees.

Giorno shook his head, trying not to choke, handing his Stand a button with shaky hands. Gold took it and starting repairing the damage to Giorno's lung.

He cringed, groaned in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. But once the initial agony wore off, Giorno found that he could breathe a little easier. Finally. It still hurt like hell, but he wasn't choking up blood anymore.

Bucciarati swiftly zipped the opening in Giorno's chest back up and pulled him into more of a sitting position. Giorno shut his eyes wearily, leaning back against the older man's chest.

"Easy, get your breath back."

Giorno did, concentrating on breathing for what felt like an eternity, until it seemed to have evened out. His side and shoulder still hurt, but as long as he could breathe he would be fine.

"Ready to move?" Bucciarati asked.

Giorno cracked his eyes opened and nodded tiredly.

Bucciarati simply lifted him up to carry back to the car. "Let's go, we're done here anyway."

Giorno felt slightly embarrassed about being carried to the car, but he couldn't really protest much at this point. He was honestly embarrassed about everything that had happened that day. The fact he couldn't win the fight himself, that he had nearly killed himself by panicking. If it hadn't been for Fugo, Giorno wasn't sure he would have made it until the others had found him.

That said, the other teen got into the backseat of the car next to him as Bucciarati got Giorno settled as comfortably as possible before he got behind the wheel.

"How do you feel?" Fugo asked Giorno, a worried expression still on his face.

Giorno gave a soft groan. "Awful, but I can breathe." He opened his eyes and looked over at Fugo. "Thank you, by the way. You really helped me back there. How did you know what to do?"

Fugo flushed slightly, glancing up to the front seat. "Well, it was just what Bucciarati taught me. I used to have panic attacks a lot. Even though I wasn't physically being crushed, it felt like it sometimes. Breathing exercises help a lot for those kinds of things."

Giorno nodded. "Well, thank you," he repeated. "Seriously."

"Anytime," Fugo promised.

Giorno allowed his eyes to slide shut again, looking forward to getting back to his own bed so he could lie flat.

He was continuously grateful to have companions he knew he could rely on.