Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

“...I am dissonance
Waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune.
I'll go anywhere you want,
Anywhere you want,
Anywhere you want me.”

-”Mercury” by Sleeping at Last

“Giorno’s down.”

Fugo can’t see where Mista is, but he knows it’s somewhere to his right and somewhere just a ways behind him. From the frantic tone of his voice, he also knows that whatever has just happened is serious.

Fugo is backtracking, cursing himself. He shouldn’t have been so far out ahead. It was stupid and irresponsible of him and if there are any dire consequences...well, that'll be his fault, won't it?

He's clambering over rubble. These are the remnants of one of Passione's larger safehouses. It had been destroyed sometime in the early hours of the morning by what they had all thought was some vigilante group with a grudge. They’d sent in a team to conduct a basic investigation and look for any clues as to who was responsible for the destruction, but they’d lost contact with that first group almost immediately and the second group that had been sent to retrieve them had also disappeared. It had been at that point that the gravity of the situation really became apparent and it was also at that point that it was unanimously decided that the third recovery team would be comprised solely of Stand users.

Giorno had been the first to step forward and, of course, Fugo had been the first to volunteer to go with him.

“You were supposed to be watching the front! What the hell happened?”

Trish appears in front of him, her voice sharply critical. She has a single hand propped on her hip and she’s waving a gun around with her other hand in an almost casual fashion. Fugo is reminded how much he resents Mista teaching her how to shoot. She’s taken to wearing a thigh holster now too under that ridiculous and impractical skirt she still insists on wearing...at least Fugo thinks it’s ridiculous and impractical. Mista, of course, has always sided with Trish in the matter and argued that it looks good and that Fugo should mind his own business about those kinds of things because even if the latter can’t appreciate having an attractive girl on the team, Mista on the other hand will be the first to hand out a compliment or two...or three...but never four because that’s unlucky so better to make it a nice even five...except five’s an odd number so it’ll have to be six compliments to make it truly even...so six compliments...every day...every hour...without fail.

Fugo has never been able to quite understand what is so appealing about Trish or the vague bitchy attitude she gives off. He can expect and admire her pride and confidence, but she’s always seemed a bit spoiled to Fugo. Giorno has always spoken well of her, though, and he supposes if Giorno thinks she’s alright then maybe he can come around to thinking that way too.

Fugo can see Spice Girl manifesting behind her user and he frowns. Trish is giving her Stand direction and the Stand is nodding and moving off. Even after all this time, he’s still a bit envious of Stand users who can bring there Stands out so freely, who can trust there Stands to act in everyone’s best interest and not wreak indiscriminate havoc. He thinks of the countless hours he’s spent with Purple Haze, trying to get the stupid thing to follow basic commands and how many times he’s put his life and even, on occasion, the lives of others in jeopardy to try and build a relationship with the Stand. He’s had his Stand for a few years, but he really doesn’t feel any more in control of Purple Haze now than he did the first time the horrible thing manifested. Because Purple Haze is too much like him and if he himself is so unpredictable and temperamental, he can’t expect his Stand to be anything but dangerous....but now isn’t the time or place to worry about that because something has happened to Giorno and…

“You said you had the front covered, so how did that asshole get through? He came from the front you know.”

“I-I thought I did have the front covered. Where’s-”

“Guys! This is fucking serious! Get back here pronto!” Mista’s voice is urgent.

Fugo’s rushing past Trish and over to the right. How did someone get through? He was ahead, but he wasn’t that far ahead that he wouldn’t have seen…

Fugo crests a small mountain of rubble and sees Mista kneeling at the base. Giorno is sprawled on the ground, arms and legs bent at wrong angles and a large blossom of bright red blood spreading across his abdomen.

“Oh shit…” Fugo feels like he can’t breathe. He’s sprinting down, losing his footing, and tumbling. It hurts when he hits the ground, but he’s back up faster than he can even process the pain and, in another moment, he’s at Mista’s side.

“Wh-what happened?”

“There was a Stand...I was just over there...” He is pointing off to the left. “...and the fucking thing came flying out of nowhere from somewhere up ahead…” Mista’s accusation is obvious. Fugo should have had his eyes on his team, but he hadn’t and somehow a Stand had gotten through and…

“How bad is it?”

“He passed out pretty quick. I don’t know if it was the shock or if he hit his head going down…”

“He can fix himself, though.”

“Yeah. If he wakes up.”

If...if?!

“We need to get him out of here before anything else happens. Where’s Trish?” Mista is scanning the surroundings for a vivid pink dot hovering above a mass of bare limbs. Either that or the blush-colored humanoid figure that he’s just as fond of.

Fugo’s on his knees at Giorno’s side. The latter is uncomfortably still and his face has already turned ashen. His usual neat hair is a blond mass that’s spilled this way and that and it makes Fugo almost feel a bit queasy to think of how hard he must have been hit to do this much damage this quickly…

His mind is racing. This is his fault...all his fault…

“We’re screwed! We’re being ambushed!” Trish has dropped in from seemingly out of nowhere. “But there’s only the one Stand user as far as I can tell. None of the others seem to be able to see Spice Girl.”

“Shit...how many we looking at?”

“At least six or seven not including our Stand user. And they’re armed.”

“Fuck! I told you all that a team of four was bad luck and now look where we’re at!” He was kicking a broken board along the ground.

“Now’s not the time to throw a tantrum.” Trish catches sight of her Stand wandering several yards away atop a pile of rubble and she suddenly tenses up. The Stand has taken up a defensive stance. “She’s found our man.”

“Take Giorno and get him the hell out of here!” Mista is waving his gun at Fugo in a dismissive gesture. “We’ll cover you as long as we can.”

“You can’t possibly hold off that many people, even if they aren’t all Stand users. The odds of success are astronomically low and we really don’t know it’s safe to move him or if…”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea why don’t you just shut the hell up and do what you’re told, alright? You’re no good with your Stand because you’re too fucking scared to use it when it counts and I frankly don’t trust you not to get us all killed with that stupid thing. But you do a pretty good job of running away from fights so why don’t you make yourself useful and do the one damn thing I know you’re good at!”

Fugo says nothing. He can feel anger stirring inside him but he digs his nails into his palm and tells himself to breathe. It’s not worth it and this is just how Mista gets sometimes and really he’s just trying to take command of the situation because no one else has. He just wants to get people out safely and it’s completely fair of him to believe that Purple Haze would be more dangerous than helpful in the fight ahead. Again, Fugo is telling himself to breathe, to not take any of Mista’s shitty comments personally because the last thing he needs to do is get worked up and make another mistake.

He lets his eyes drop to Giorno and imagines the other boys calm, steady voice starting that same speech he’s used on him so many times before. Look at me, Fugo. No, don’t look away. Don’t look at what’s upsetting you. Look at me. Okay? Look me right in the eye and give me your hands. Concentrate on me...on my voice....on the touch of my hands. Whatever’s building up inside you, I want you to let it out little by little with each breath. One breath at a time, I want you to let that anger out. Look me in the eye as you do. That’s it. That’s it! You’re not going to lose control. I can see that you’re not. You’re coming back to me, aren’t you? I didn’t lose you after all, did I? Don’t look away just yet. Give it a few more moments to be safe...to be absolutely sure. You feel okay now? Don’t say anything. Just nod your head and hold my gaze...Giorno’s hands are soft and warm on his cheeks...You’re never really lost, you know, because no matter what, the person I see right now is always in there...he’s leaning into the other boy, pressing his forehead to Giorno’s...I get so scared of myself and of what I think I’ll do...of how I feel like I want to hurt people...you won’t hurt anyone now. I can see that you won’t...but if I do...if one day you’re not around and I do something horrible...I may be a bit disappointed for a short time...that’s only natural...but I will never hate you for making a mistake. Because I know that in your heart of hearts, you want to do what’s good and what’s right. The anger is in your head, not your heart. If you follow what’s in here...Giorno presses a hand to Fugo’s chest...you’ll never go wrong. Buccellati saw what was in here and now I do too. Don’t worry about what other people see or think. As long as you can see yourself, that’s all that matters.

“You’re right.”

“What?!” Mista’s voice is incredulous, untrusting.

“I’ll get Giorno to safety. And you two can cover me, just like you said. I-I trust you.” Even if Mista doesn’t trust him.

Mista says nothing for a moment. He was ready to have to fight Fugo on the issue, but now that the latter’s suddenly given in he’s trying, and failing, to redirect his defensiveness.

“Take care of him, Fugo.” Trish is stepping in where Mista can’t. “He’s counting on you as much as we are. Keep your head about you.”

Fugo nods as he slowly lifts Giorno off the ground. The other boy feels heavy in his grip. He’s pushing down the instinctive panic that’s trying to push its way to the surface.

Concentrate on me...whatever’s building up inside you, I want you to let it out little by little with each breath....

“Be careful. I expect to see you two on the other side of things.” It’s the kind of thing Giorno might say rather than him, but Fugo feels someone ought to say it if Giorno can’t.

Mista gives him a small smile, the tension between them suddenly dissolving. “Same to you.”

Mista flicks his eyes over to Trish. His expression has turned suave. “Let’s say we kick some ass. Just you and me.”

Trish cocks an eyebrow. “I suppose...just don’t miss.”

“When have I ever missed anything in my life?!”

Trish rolls her eyes. “Are you really asking that question right now…it might be better for your sense of pride if I didn’t answer.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!” But Trish is already heading off. “I swear...you better be prepared for the best damn shooting you’ve ever seen if you’re gonna say shit like that…”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Fugo is making his way toward the street with Giorno in his arms. Normally, it wouldn’t seem like very far to go even with the safehouses immense size, but with the extra weight in his arms and the added pressure of an unknown number of unseen enemies...he wants to bring out Purple Haze for the added protection but he knows he wouldn’t be able to focus on controlling him and that even the smallest mental lapse on his end could prove disastrous. For now he’ll just have to settle with keeping his head down and keeping his feet moving.

There’s gunfire behind him. At first it’s so loud and close he thinks it’s coming directly at him, but he realizes, rather, that it’s passing overhead.

“That’s one down.” Trish is shouting.

“Two actually. And I got mine first.” Mista is calling back.

“WANNABEEEE.” Somewhere up ahead, Spice Girl is giving a reproving shriek, but it isn’t clear whether it’s because the Stand is engaged in its own battle or if she’s merely taunting Mista. The loud scoffing sound to Fugo’s right indicates that Mista assumes that the latter is the case.

“Keep it moving, Fugo.” Mista’s racing ahead. Fugo can already feel his muscles straining to keep up his current pace. He’s trying to hold Giorno in a way that won’t aggravate the latter’s injury any more than necessary, but that’s proving more and more difficult by the moment.

The gunfire is back, this time both behind and ahead. It disconcerts him not being able to actually see the enemy, but he’s just going to have to trust that Trish and Mista will be able to…

The ground is suddenly rushing up toward him and his whole ankle is on fire. In a split second reaction, he’s brought out Purple Haze and is giving him a single, clear mental direction. Catch Giorno.

He’s so intent on his command that he makes no reflexive moves to catch himself before he hits the ground face-first. His ankle is agony and he feels a burning sensation spreading across his face now too but he’s trying to wave it off. The only thing he’s aware of is that his arms are empty.

Fugo pushes himself up. Purple Haze is there, hunched over panting and snarling just as he’d expected him to be. But rather unexpected is the way the Stand is almost cradling Giorno in its arms. He’s grateful, of course...it’s just that he’s never seen his Stand handle anything with much care.

As he looks at the Stand, though, he notices Purple Haze has both feet planted firmly on the ground. The stupid thing hasn’t even realized he’s injured and the thing’s stubbornness is causing him sharp, shooting pains and it’s all he can do to keep from crying out.

There’s a gunshot behind him and a triumphant. “Two!”

Trish slides into view in front of him. “Pay attention, will you! There was a guy right behind you and you didn’t even see-” She suddenly lunges forward, aims upward, and fires. A figure detaches itself from the rubble and falls.

“Three!” She bellows.

“That’s dangerously close to four! I hope you’re planning to take out two in a row!” Mista’s voice is drifting back from someplace just out of sight not too far ahead.

There’s another series of back and forth shots and then... “Ah, two for me!”

Off to the right Spice Girl is repeating her cry. “WANNABEEEEE!”

“Compliment received!” But even as he’s calling out there’s another unseen exchange of shots probably not more than a dozen yards away. Mista’s obviously met his third contender.

Trish is trying to pull Fugo to his feet. “Get up and get going. We don’t have time for--”

Fugo gives a yelp of pain.

“What the hell’s the matter with--oh...oh, shit…” She’s seen his ankle. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize…” She’s helping him back down into a seated position.

“Is it bad?” He already knows the answer to this but he’s not looked at it properly because he figures that as long as he doesn’t see how bad it is he can pretend it’s really not too bad at all. He’s also half hoping Trish will re-assure him, but he can see from the way she’s struggling to recompose her face that she’s getting ready to deliver the unpleasant news as delicately as she can.

“Yeah...yeah, it’s bad. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon. Just sit a moment until we can figure this all out.”

Fugo glances down. The bottom of his right trouser leg is already soaked in blood and his foot is twisting in on itself at an odd angle. The sight makes him shudder, but doesn’t dare reach out and try to straighten his foot.

“Set Giorno down just there. Gently, please.” He points to a flat spot a few yards off. Purple Haze is growling defensively, his arms wrapped securely about Giorno and his gaze drifting every which way, but he doesn’t make any move to follow his user’s order.

Fugo feels his temper rising. He chucks a piece of rubble at the Stand, but Purple Haze acts as if he hasn’t noticed.

“Damnit, just do it! You wonder why I don’t bring your sorry ass out more? Well, if you would fucking listen to me-”

“Stop it!” Trish steps in between Stand and user. “You won’t get anywhere yelling at him like that.”

“Don’t interfere!”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me like that.” Trish is standing over him and she looks so serious that he’s actually taken aback a moment. Once she feels she’s gotten her point across, though, Trish seems to soften and she’s walking on, shifting her gun from one hand to the other almost impatiently.

Everything has suddenly gone quiet. The exchange of shots has ceased and so has any sound of movement. Trish looks tense.

“How many shots did you hear?”

“What?”

“How many shots?”

What kind of a question is that? “I-I don’t know. I wasn’t counting. Was I supposed to be?”

“Mista didn’t he call out ‘three’” Her eyes have grown wide. “He would have called out ‘three’ if he’d hit his third mark! Why didn’t he call out ‘three’?!” Fugo can see the reality of the situation passing over Trish’s face like a horrible, dark cloud. “He didn’t call out ‘three’!!!!” Her voice is straining as it reaches an unnaturally high pitch. “You don’t think he’s--he can’t be--” She’s clearly trying to keep herself relatively calm...and clearly failing to do so. “W-we can still get out of here. I-I have three more shots still and if needed I can reload twice...a-and…” Fugo can see her hands are shaking. “...a-and I can call Spice Girl back so…so…”

Purple Haze has crept up to her and she’s momentarily startled by his presence. The Stand is looking at his user as he lays Giorno down at her feet and steps back. The Stand is favoring his right foot now. He seems to have finally noticed that Fugo’s injured and that he is too.

Fugo’s dragging himself over to Giorno.

“Why’d he do that? Why’d he suddenly put him down like that? I didn’t tell him to-” He’s caught hold of Giorno’s wrist. There's a pulse. Barely.

“I think he wants me to help him...it would make sense if I'm really the only one of us left who can...who can…” And then without warning, Trish is screaming. At first, Fugo thinks they're being attacked or that something has happened to Spice Girl and now her user is taking sympathetic damage...but no...she's screaming just for the emotional release.

“I swear, Mista, if you fucking went and died on me...no, not just you...if any of you fucking die on me today…”

She swings around and fires a single shot. Another enemy drops.

“Four!” She screams and fires again. “Four!” And again. “That’s four!!!” She clicks the empty gun. “You hear that?! That...makes...FOUR!!! I got four!!! Mista, I got four of them!!!” Her legs give out from under her and she’s on the ground, tears rushing down her face. “I got four….”

But everything is dead quiet.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Trish is finally on her feet again. She’s reloading. Her movements are jerky, vehement.

“We’re going.” Her voice is cracking. “I don’t care if that means I have to carry both of you. We’re getting the hell out of here before-” She looks up. “Get down! Fugo, get down!”

Fugo ducks, throwing himself protectively over Giorno. A bullet whistles just over his head.

“F-five. I counted only six or seven and if Mista got two…”

“There’s only the Stand user left…”

“I’m sure he’ll be here any moment. I-I can handle him. Just keep Purple Haze out of it, will you? I’ve-I’ve got this...”

“Do you now? And what do you intend to fight me with? Your Stand? That gun?” It’s a deep, male voice.

Fugo and Trish turn their heads upward simultaneously. There’s something vaguely human slinking through the debris. It’s blue, but the shade is bright enough that it almost hurts the pair’s eyes. It has what looks like a large mass of silver, curling hair thrown together in a thick, loose braid that falls over it’s left shoulder and down to its abdomen. It’s eyes are small and white and its face is thin. What is perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the thing, though, is the fact that it’s covered in what appears to be handwriting. The more Fugo looks at it the more he starts to realize that the words, whatever they say, all seemed to have been penned by a different hand and that the marks seem to be moving and fading way into the thing’s skin only to be replaced by a fresh set of words in a different script.

Trish is poised to fire. She’s looking for the user.

“Show yourself!”

“Why put myself out there when I don’t have to?” The voice is drifting toward them from a different direction.

Trish whirls around toward the voice. Again, she sees no one. “He’s moving.”

“Am I?” The voice has changed places again. “Why don’t you call your Stand over, Miss Una? Why don’t you just go ahead and try that for me.”

Trish narrows her eyes. “Shit…” She’s muttering. “Spice Girl’s actually pretty far off...he knows...he must be able to see her from wherever he is. M-maybe you need to call your Stand over after all...just in case.”

Fugo nods slowly and mentally reaches out to Purple Haze who is currently crouched several yards away, his back to them.

Come back. Please. I’m sorry I yelled at you before but...I need you now, okay? So just come over here and...

Purple Haze doesn’t make any move to acknowledge his user’s polite beckon.

Fugo frowns. “H-he won’t come.” He reaches out again.

You need to come. Now.

Nothing.

You’re really starting to piss me off. Get the hell over here. It’s serious.

Still nothing.

Fuck! Why are you ignoring me?! How is it even possible that you’re ignoring me?! Listen. Giorno could die...no, if we don’t get out of here, he will die. We’ve wasted too much time already.

Purple Haze has lifted his head, but he isn’t turning around. He’s watching a bird that’s flying over head and settling on a broken beam a few yards away from the Stand. Purple Haze is creeping up behind the bird, almost like a cat getting ready to pounce.

“I don’t think he’s going to listen. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with him today. But as long as Spice Girl’s on her way--” He catches sight of Trish’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“She can’t hear me.”

“What do you mean she can’t hear you?!”

“I’m trying to reach out to her...I could tell you exactly where she is...but she can’t...she’s not answering.”

“Oh, is something wrong?” The man’s voice is alarmingly close. It’s taunting them. “As far as I can tell, there are two of you and you’re both Stand users if I’m not mistaken, and there’s only one of me…so isn’t the battle already decided? Aren’t you just going to summon your Stands and defeat me with one or two hits? I’ll be perfectly honest with you. My Stand’s not particularly strong. And by that I mean physically strong. Actually, it’s rather fragile. I’m sure it’ll be an effortless kill for you...so what makes you hesitate?”

The blue Stand isn’t too far off now.

“Shit! It’s gonna just walk right up to us and…” Trish fires a desperate shot at the figure. The bullet passes straight through it and out the other side.

“You’re something of a novice, aren’t you? Didn’t anyone ever tell you that only Stands can harm other Stands. Unfortunately for you, though, Stands are more than capable of harming human beings. But you know this, I’m sure.”

The blue Stand is right in front of Trish now.

“Not going to attack me? Well, I suppose that I can strike first if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

The Stand is taking a swing at Trish and she’s trying to dodge. Its fist clips the side of her arm and there’s a spray of blood as she goes down.

“Ah, I suppose it was a bit inaccurate of me to say my Stand wasn’t that strong. By the usual standards we use to understand Stands, it’s not...but I suppose human bodies can’t withstand much now, can they?”

Trish is back on her feet. She should be running away. She doesn’t have a chance against another Stand without Spice Girl. But she’s not running.

“You act as if you think you can fight me. You’re a very stupid girl, aren’t you?”

The blue Stand lunges forward and seizes Trish by the throat. She’s thrashing as it lifts her into the air, but to no avail.

“I feel a bit bad that you weren’t properly afraid of me before I killed you. But, oh well. Maybe your teammate will be. You know, this is an excellent moment to tell you a little secret before you die. You pretty much hit the nail on the head when you said your Stand couldn’t hear you. The truth is, your Stand can’t hear anything right now. Neither of your Stands can. You wonder why they haven’t been responding to you? Why it seems like they’re ignoring you? Well, it’s because they’ve become deaf to everything. To your minds, your voices, to the birds in the sky, to the sound of your gunfire. Didn’t you think it was odd that even with all that noise you made shooting up my team, that neither of your Stands saw fit to step in and help you? Wouldn’t you say it’s lucky for me that they didn’t, though? It’s given Sound of Silence the ability to walk right up to you and kill you...one...by...one. And isn’t that just the most awful thing? Wanting to fight and to struggle for your pathetic life but having absolutely no ability to? Well, I’ll be kind and make it a quick death for you at least. Now is there anything you’d like to say before you die, Miss Una? No? That’s just as well. I’ve talked enough for the both of us, haven’t I?”

Fugo’s mind is racing. He can see his Stand right there with its back to the whole scene. If he could only get the damn thing to turn around...if he could piss it off enough to get it to come rushing over….but if it lands a single hit on this Silence Stand then they’re all dead. And if he can’t mentally communicate with Purple Haze and tell him to stop or hold back and he comes rushing in in a blind fury…

Even with its hands on her throat, Trish has raised her gun to the Silence’s head. Fugo can tell that she’s fighting to maintain consciousness, that she’s barely hanging on.

“Are you stupid? You know that won’t do anything.”

The shot surprises Fugo almost as much as it does Purple Haze. Trish has struck a bit of wreckage just above the Stand’s head and now he’s letting out a small panicked cry as a shower of dust and debris falls on top of him. Purple Haze is rubbing at his face, his hands, his arms…

What the hell is she doing wasting shots like that?! If she’s trying to get the Stand’s attention, which all in all is a terrible idea, sending him into obsessive compulsive fits is not the way to do it. Because he knows the stupid thing will sit there for hours on end trying to clean himself. Not that he has hours to do so since he’ll only be around as long as Fugo is, which, at the rate things are going, won’t be much longer.

Trish is firing again, the bullet passing harmlessly through the blue Stand’s head, and Purple Haze is nearly beside himself as there’s another cascade of filthy rubble. She’s desperate. She must be desperate. Silence is laughing. He knows what she’s done is useless. Fugo knows what she’s done is useless too and it makes his insides writhe. There’s nothing he can do. They’ve run out of options and worse they’ve run out of luck.

Silence is slamming Trish’s head into the side of a rubble pile once...twice...three times. It lets her fall to the ground and then the thing steps back a moment and assesses its work. Trish doesn’t move.

“TRISH!!!!” Fugo is trying to get to his feet. He’s lost sensation in his right leg by now but as he tries to put weight on it, it’s in agony again. His heart is racing. It’s come down to him but there’s nothing he can do...there’s absolutely nothing he can do…

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Fugo is thinking of something Giorno once told him. It had been the middle of the night and he’d been unable to sleep. It was the sort of thing that happened often enough that he should have been used to it, but it never failed to exasperate him because he knew it’d make him irritable the next day and that that was bad news for anyone who’d have to put up with him…

That night, though, he’d been sitting out on a balcony, his legs dangling over the edge, gazing at the bay from afar. He’d heard the other boy’s soft tread before he’d seen him and for a moment his tired brain had thought it was Buccellati...but, no...it couldn’t be Buccellati.

The next moment, he’d seen Giorno crouching down next to him.

“This is really beautiful.” He had a hand wrapped around the wrought-iron rail.

“I guess…”

“You don’t mind that I’m here, do you?”

“No! No, of course not! Why would I?”

“Sometimes people prefer being alone with their thoughts. Because if there’s someone else around it feels like the other person is intruding. And if that’s the case I’d completely understand…”

“No...you can stay.” But he could see that Giorno was already preparing to go. “I-I want you to stay, actually.”

“Oh?” Giorno paused.

Fugo was reaching up toward the rail and placing his hand over Giorno’s. “Please stay.”

Giorno slid his fingers between Fugo’s. “Well, I suppose I can’t say ‘no’ to that.”

They’d both sat there very quietly for a long while with Fugo’s hand resting lightly over Giorno’s.

And then the latter had done something rather unexpected. He’d brought the other boy’s hands to his lips and placed a delicate kiss on the back of his hand.

“I think you underestimate yourself. I think you doubt how much good you’re capable of.”

“What?” Fugo’s head was still spinning from the unexpected sensation of those soft, warm lips and it had thrown him so much that he thought…

“I think that’s why you ran away. Am I right? You’re always doubting your ability to keep the ones you love safe. But I like to believe that you came back because you woke up one day and started to trust yourself and to trust that what was in your heart would win out over what was in your head. It’s not just your anger that holds you back...it’s the moments where you let your doubt take over. You become exactly what you think you are, Fugo. If you think you’re good, then you’ll be good. But if you start telling yourself that you’re a bad person or that you’re a failure or that you’re afraid...well, I only hope that you’ll let me stay by you even then...but more than that...I just hope you’ll stay.”

They’d said nothing more to each other after that, but the next morning, when Fugo woke up, he found himself with stiff limbs, still sitting on that balcony with his head pressed up against the railing and Giorno next to him with his head on Fugo’s shoulder and his hand still intertwined with the latter’s as if he never wanted to let go.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Fugo is limping forward to face the large, blue Stand. He doesn’t know what he’ll do or how he’ll even begin to fight it, but if he tells himself that he’s lost then it’ll be over for all of them. He sees Giorno still lying on the ground off to one side. He has one arm extended, almost as if he’s reaching out. Fugo absentmindedly follows the line of the other boy’s arm as if it might give him some clue as to what he should be doing. As he lifts his eyes, he sees Purple Haze. The stupid thing is rubbing at his own face as he tries desperately to clean himself. It’s the sort of thing that he would normally yell at the Stand for. But if Purple Haze can’t hear him…

He looks at the Stand a long moment. What options does he really have at this point? Maybe Trish was onto something. Fugo is picking up a small stone. This is stupid. He shouldn’t do this. But he pitches the stone anyway.

The stone doesn’t make contact, but it passes right in front of the Stand and suddenly he’s turning around and looking for the source, for whatever dared hurl something at him. Fugo feels the momentary exhilaration of success. He might actually be able to get his Stand’s attention. But then, in the next instant, he feels his ellation fading into a sort of dread. So what next? What does he do if and when Purple Haze comes hurtling over ready to kill anything and everything in sight? How does he control it if he can’t direct it and if Purple Haze himself can’t be trusted to exercise any self-control?

Purple Haze is tensing up. It’s clear he feels threatened...that he’s ready to starting laying into things. Fugo’s heart drops. This was a mistake.

Fugo’s making a rapid assessment of the distance between the Stand and himself. If the Stand goes off now he's fairly confident he'd be safe. But Giorno...Giorno’s only a few yards ahead and when Fugo looks at the space between Giorno and Purple Haze...he knows with absolute certainty that Giorno’s not far enough away to survive.

Desperation is clawing at his brain. He needs to stay calm, but he’s starting to panic. He can see the blue Stand making its way toward him at a pace he supposes is meant to be both leisurely and menacing. But he can’t focus on the the other Stand anymore because all at once Silence has ceased to be the most pressing threat to his and his teammates’ lives...well, teammate’s life...if he can just figure out a way to redirect Purple Haze’s inevitable outburst...

An idea strikes him and Fugo takes a few steps forward, bends down, and scoops up another stone. He chucks it as hard as he can. It’s falling a few yards to Purple Haze's left, right within the Stand’s line of vision. The Stand lunges to intercept the object, his fist connecting with the stone in midair. There’s a rush of violet clouds as one of Purple Haze’s capsules bursts. Fugo is watching the edge of the toxic haze as it pours across the ground and through the rubble. He sees a couple of unfortunate birds fall from the sky and crash in a formless heap. The cloud stops short only two or three feet from Giorno’s extended arm and Fugo breathes an inaudible sigh of relief.

He’s trying to strategize now. Purple Haze is reacting to movement...more specifically to sudden movements...so perhaps if he’s somehow able to lure Silence closer to his Stand and if his opponent is to move too quickly...or he himself moves too quickly...he’s slowly starting to make his way toward his Stand, making sure to skirt the toxic cloud hanging in the air.

As he goes, though, Fugo’s suddenly aware that Silence has come up right behind him. As he turns his head, though, he sees the other Stand pause. It’s looking at the swirling vapors. It isn’t close enough to get a good view of the birds so maybe there’s a chance the Stand and its user don’t know about Purple Haze’s ability...that they might underestimate how dangerous he is...that they might have an unfortunate accident and walk right into the deadly haze.

But the Stand looks wary...so perhaps if he were to walk in himself and then turn back around and throw himself on Silence…even a Stand couldn’t protect itself from that kind of an attack and at this point it’s the only idea he has. And if it means Giorno has a chance...

Fugo’s dragging himself toward the edge of the cloud. He can still see the virus swirling in the air. True, it’s slowly dissipating in the sunlight, but he still has more than enough time to put his plan into effect. He needs to just not think about it...to just do it...and to not be afraid of it...no, he’s not afraid...if this is how it has to be…

“I should thank you for revealing your Stand’s range to me.” The voice sounds like it’s in his ear, but he knows that’s impossible. “I wonder, though, if you can show me how long that virus of yours survives in the open air.”

Fugo freezes in his tracks. He knows...he knows!

There’s an astonishingly powerful hand gripping the back of his coat and lifting him off the ground and the next thing Fugo knows, he’s been flung through the air toward that horrible, diminishing purple cloud. He hits the top of a small pile of rubble so hard it knocks the wind out of him. Everything is sliding in and out of focus. He’s dead. He knows he’s dead. It’s thrown him right into the haze. There’s no way in hell enough time passed for the last little bit of virus to burn off. Luck isn’t on his side...luck’s never been on his side.

Fugo lets out a small groan. He can’t move and the only thing he’s aware of is that his whole body is in pain.

He can hear Silence approaching.

“Did that not kill you? Well, I suppose that virus of yours isn’t terribly useful if it can’t last more than a handful of seconds.”

The other Stand is looming over him. He should be dead...but he isn’t. How is he not dead?!

“Oh, but it seems your Stand took some damage from that too. But not enough to incapacitate it, I see…it seems I’ve just angered it. I wasn’t aware that your Stand was so resilient. I’ve been told it’s not too intelligent, though. So it shouldn’t be too hard to finish you off before it figures out what’s going on.”

Silence is crouching over Fugo now. It’s so close he can read some of the words sprawled across it’s skin.

‘Come back. Please. I’m sorry I yelled at you before but...I need you now, okay? So just come over here and…’

He recognizes his own words. The writing all over this Stand...these are things users tried to say to their Stands. These are things their Stands never heard.

“You know it’s watching us...your Stand is. And it’s just going to sit by and do nothing while I kill you because you can’t call it over to help you. Isn’t that just a shame?”

No...Purple Haze can’t hear him…and for a moment he feels sorry for his Stand. He’s in pain too and he doesn’t understand why. He’s taking damage and he doesn’t know what’s inflicting it...

Wait...Purple Haze is still taking sympathetic damage...and if Fugo is in range...and if Silence is also in range, having made the mistake of approaching him….

Fugo raises an arm and slams his knuckles against the remnants of a metal beam. It hurts, but he knows that the strike was far too weak to do what he’s intending. He raises his arm again and strikes. His knuckles are bleeding. He’s rolling himself over onto his stomach and now he’s pummeling that beam over and over again. He has no idea if this will work and he knows that if he succeeds it’ll mean his life too. But as long as Giorno is out of range...as long as Giorno survives…his fist has turned into a bloody, aching pulp.

It’s not over. He can still win. If he can just damage his Stand enough for one of the capsules to burst...

As he brings his arm up again, though, Silence seizes it, the user’s voice hissing in his ear. There’s a hint of anxiety in the voice now. The user understands what he’s trying to do. “Just what the hell do you think you’re-”

There’s a gunshot. Trish. Fugo’s heart leaps. She’s alive. She’s woken up!

Silence’s grip has suddenly slackened. It’s putting a hand to its shoulder and Fugo can see a small, round tear that’s formed in its skin. Not only is Trish okay, but she’s found the user...and she’s landed a hit.

Fugo silently thanks Mista for teaching Trish how to shoot and tells himself that, if he makes it out of this, he’ll make a point of being more respectful to her in the future.

Even as he thinks this, though, he sees a dark mass pass overhead, ripping the blue Stand off of him. He’s trying to push himself up to see who or what has swooped in to try and save him and he realizes that it’s Purple Haze. He has the other Stand pinned and is bringing up his fist to deal the finishing blow.

Fugo’s close enough that he can see a new set of words appearing on Silence’s skin in large, oversized letters. He recognizes his own handwriting.

‘Please stop...please...I don’t want to die…”

But there’s nothing he can do. Purple Haze’s only instinct is to kill. Well, maybe the world will be a better and safer place without him….

And then, under Purple Haze’s arm, Fugo sees him. Mista, his gun raised and pointing directly at Fugo and mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry’ as he pulls the trigger.

Fugo doesn’t even feel the bullet, but he knows Mista has hit his mark because Purple Haze is dissolving. But the Stand’s fist is still coming down and then so is Fugo and he wants to watch, to see if Mista’s shot has come quick enough to stop his Stand but he’s sunk back into the darkness and lost his ability to wonder.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

When Fugo opens his eyes, the first thing he’s aware of is that he’s lying down, but that he’s no longer outdoors. There’s a window across from him and late afternoon sunlight pouring in. He gives the room a cursory glance. Nothing looks familiar and that unsettles him for a brief moment, but he suddenly feels much too tired to dwell on that fact. His whole body is stiff as if he’s been still a very long while, but the bed he’s in is so soft that he’s tempted to just let himself drift back off into oblivion.

Fugo’s let himself close his eyes again and he can feel something like sleep coming to him...but suddenly there’s a series of sounds and images flashing through his mind. Giorno lying on the ground with his limbs splayed out at wrong angles and Mista crouching over him, his face painted in concern. Trish screaming the word ‘four’ as she tries to keep it together. Trish being lifted into the air by her throat and her inert form falling from the hands of a large, blue Stand. Purple Haze with a single arm poised and ready to strike the other Stand. But then his mind is wandering back to that first image, to…

“Giorno…” His voice sounds small and pathetic.

“Yes?”

Fugo starts and turns his head. Right there next to the bed, seated in a small cushioned chair…

“Giorno!” Fugo’s trying to sit up, but Giorno’s rising and placing a gentle hand on his chest.

“I’m here. It’s alright.” But Fugo’s halfway out of the bed and it’s all Giorno can do to keep him from getting up.

“You were...I mean, I was trying to...back at the safehouse...or what was left of it...you...you…you...you...” He’s trying to get the words out but his mind is stalling like an overworked engine and he’s instantly agitated.

“Yes...I had a bit of a close call...but so did everyone else at one point or another.”

“I thought...I really thought you were going to die…and I was trying so hard to...to...wait...wait, hold on...the others...Trish and Mista...are they…” He suddenly can’t remember what happened to them. In his head, he hears Trish screaming and sees her body hit the ground and now he feels like he’s panicking and his chest is tight and he’s short of breath...and he could only watch...he was completely powerless and he could only watch...

“They’re both fine.” Giorno’s laid a comforting hand over his. “Now you’re getting upset and that’s not good for you after all you’ve been through so I really think you should just-”

“Are they...are they really okay?! Because I saw Trish-...I saw her-…” Another image flashes through his mind. Mista’s apologetic face behind his revolver and then the crack of his gun and Purple Haze’s fist falling… “I-I saw Mista too...right before my Stand...my Stand…”

“Mista’s fine. I promise.”

Fugo’s hearing what Giorno is saying, but he’s gotten himself too worked up to process what’s being said. It’s the same feeling he has when he’s flying into a rage, that same dreaded loss of control.

“Everyone’s alright.”

“And...and you?!” Fugo’s crying out, nearly in hysterics now, and he’s latched onto Giorno’s arm. “You-you sure you’re okay?!”

“Yes.” Giorno’s trying to meet Fugo’s eye but the latter is refusing to look at him. Fugo’s chest is heaving and Giorno can see that his limbs are shaking.

“Fugo…” The other boy suddenly has a vice-like grip on Giorno’s arm and there are actually tears in his eyes. Giorno’s arm is starting to hurt, but he says nothing about this. He can see that Fugo is fighting to regain control of himself, but that, at the moment, he’s losing the battle.

“I-I don’t know why I’m going off like this...I’m...I’m sorry, Giorno...I don’t know what’s wrong with me...I just...I just get this way and I can’t...I can’t stop…”

Giorno lifts his free arm and takes Fugo’s face in his hand. He’s stroking the other boy’s cheek with his thumb.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Fugo.”

“I can’t...I can’t stop...I can’t calm down….Giorno!” It’s a plea for help. He’s leaning into Giorno’s touch, his eyes shut tight as if he’s in pain. Giorno can feel Fugo shaking under his hand, his breath coming in violent gasps.

“Come here.” Giorno pulls him in close and is holding him. “Now, grab onto me. There you go. I got you. That’s it. Now, I want you to breathe with me. Nothing more than that. Just breathe with me. You can feel me breathing in and out, can’t you? I need you to match that for me. That’s it. Very good. That’s it.” Giorno is a running a hand up and down Fugo’s back. “You’re alright. I’ve got you, okay? Everything’s going to be alright.”

He can feel Fugo’s breathing slowing bit by bit and evening out. But even when the fit is over, he holds onto the other boy. He wants to tell him that it’s been three days since the altercation at the safehouse…that only a short while after Mista and Trish had gotten them all to safety, he’d woken up and the first person he’d inquired about was Fugo...that after he’d patched himself up with Gold Experience, he’d gone directly to the other boy to tend to him too, but that Fugo hadn’t woken up, not that afternoon nor later that evening and that, by the next day, they’d had five different doctors in (since Mista insisted that only calling in four was unlucky) and they’d all confirmed that his wounds were all healed and there was absolutely no reason he shouldn’t have recovered consciousness…but still he hadn’t woken up.

Giorno wanted to tell him too that he hadn’t left his side during the first 24 hours despite everyone around him insisting that it was pointless and that he should rest and that it didn’t matter who sat with Fugo while he slept because Fugo would never know and furthermore would never appreciate such silly, useless gestures...that when one day dragged into two, he’d felt a cold dread seizing him and he had actually started holding the other boy's hand and talking to him in the hopes it’d wake him up...and that when two days dragged into three he’d silently wept after the sixth doctor told him that if Fugo hadn’t woken up by that point, there was a good chance he never would and that maybe that incapacitating shot Mista had fired to save them all from Purple Haze had been a bit recklessly placed and that maybe there was some damage even Gold Experience couldn’t mend.

He wanted to tell him how Mista had reacted when the doctor had suggested that it had been his fault, that he was responsible for Fugo’s serious condition...how Mista had hit the unfortunate physician across the face and cussed him out for even daring to say such a terrible thing, and in the supposedly culpable party’s presence no less...and then how Trish had found him later, crouched in the corner of his room with his knees drawn up to his chest and his face hidden so no one would see him cry.

But Giorno tells Fugo none of this. He simply holds him and feels the rhythm of his breathing as it falls in with his own.

---

A dozen or so minutes pass. Fugo is very still now. Giorno leans back to look the other boy in the eye. His hands are resting in the small of Fugo’s back.

Fugo’s expression is distant, vague. True, he looks much calmer, but it’s not a peaceful calm. There’s a sense of thinly veiled turmoil behind his eyes. Giorno knows, though, that this look, this feeling is always there and that this constant, internal agitation is what Fugo is always trying to run from and what he never seems to be able to escape. This is why he pushes everyone away...why he pushes Giorno away. Giorno realizes all at once that Fugo’s mental unrest isn’t what bothers him...no, it’s never bothered him. What bothers Giorno most...no, what he fears most, he realizes, is what Fugo might do because of it. He fears how far Fugo might go to get away and that that place will be somewhere Giorno can’t go. He knows that if Fugo ever wants to disappear, he can...and he will. It might not be something so permanent or drastic as death...but he worries that if things continue as they are, that’ll it’ll be just like it was before at San Giorgio Maggiore...except if Fugo runs again, he won’t come back.

Giorno braces himself. There’s something he needs to say, but he knows he needs to choose his words carefully.

“Fugo...I feel like...like every time I turn around I almost lose you…as if you’re always about to walk out of my life...”

The depth of emotion in Giorno’s words and in his expression surprises Fugo. His heart starts to beat just a little faster. No one’s ever really cared about keeping him in their life and he’s always assumed that if he were to ever suddenly vanish or if he were to even die, no one would miss him. Well...perhaps Buccellati would have mourned him and remembered him...but his relationship with Buccellati wasn’t anything like what is between him and Giorno. Of course, he hasn’t ever really been able to define what exactly is between him and Giorno because it’s the sort of connection that one feels but doesn’t talk about...the sort of connection that can’t be reduced to words because it’s something that defies explanation or reason or logic and simply is.

Giorno is leaning back in, and he’s pressing his forehead to Fugo’s. His eyes are shut and he has a single hand on the side of the other boy’s face.

“I don’t want to lose you, Fugo.” His other hand has found Fugo’s.

It’s certainly not the first time one of them has reached out and taken the other’s hand, but this time it feels all different. The way Giorno’s pressing his hand...it’s like he’s asking him something...something important. And then he realizes that it’s the same thing Giorno’s been asking him for a very long time. He’s asking him to stay...he’s asking him to please hold on and to not let go.

Fugo matches Giorno’s grip.

“You won’t lose me, Giorno.”

“Is...is that a promise?”

Fugo feels his heart sink a bit. Tomorrow is never a guarantee with the kind of work they do and he knows as well as Giorno how useless sentimental words can be and how little they can end up meaning in a world where so few are safe and where no one really has control, least of all him.

“Giorno...I can’t say that to you and be sure it’ll be true, despite how much I want it to be. So no...it’s not a promise...but this is.”

He brings his lips to Giorno’s and places a small, delicate kiss on them. This...this is his promise.

Fugo pulls himself back a moment to take in the other boy’s reaction. Giorno’s eyes are glowing, burning, and Giorno has a hand on the back of Fugo’s neck now and he’s drawing Fugo back in for a second tremulous touch of lips...and then a third, this one fuller and longer...and then a fourth...and then a fifth...and then…

---

When Mista enters Fugo’s room to inform Giorno that the identity of Sound of Silence’s user has been discovered...and that it has been confirmed that he is indeed Luigi Ciabatta...and that he is considered a very dangerous man and has a long history with Passione...and that, unfortunately, Ciabatta has also been seen leaving the city but that his final destination is unknown at this point...the first thing Mista sees is that there is not one but two figures standing at the window looking out at the evening sky. The first is Giorno, and next to him...Fugo. Mista is about to call out to the latter, to make some teasing remark, but he pauses and really looks at the pair. Giorno’s arm is around Fugo’s waist and, as Mista watches, Giorno moves to rest his head on Fugo’s shoulder as he murmurs something to the other boy. In that moment, Mista decides he’ll come back, maybe in a half hour or so. Maybe in the meanwhile, he’ll go find Trish. Maybe he’ll point out to her what a lovely sunset there is outside. She’d be impressed if she thought he noticed something like that on his own...right?

As Mista makes his silent departure from the room, unnoticed by the pair at the window, Fugo is suddenly aware of the fact that, for the first time in a long while, his mind has gone quiet and, as he reaches up to place an arm around Giorno’s shoulder, everything really does seem alright after all.