Chapter Text
Was it normal for Abbacchio to be up at some ungodly hour doing god knows what?
Yes. Yes, it was. The man could survive on 25 minutes of sleep with enough coffee and virtual numbness in his mind, and he could definitely convince everyone that he had gotten a nice, ripe 7 hours with enough makeup on. At least, that’s what he’d like to think when in reality he’d probably passed out on the car ride home more times than he could count or have Bruno half-drag half-carry him to bed when he’d found himself practically asleep on the couch again.
But being awake was better than passing out drunk. At least, that’s what he told himself, anyway. It's not like he could even do it while the “kids” were around, or whatever the hell Bruno had started calling them. But then again, he didn’t really feel like he wanted to do it anyway. That was probably a good thing, too.
Was it normal for Narancia to be up at some ungodly hour doing god knows what? Although it was weird to actually believe, no. No, it wasn’t.
Surprisingly enough, the kid actually had a decent sleep schedule compared to Giorno, who he would catch tensely sneaking downstairs for a mug of tea or Fugo, who always seemed too on-edge to sleep normal hours most of the time. Even when the teen was awake, which Leone could almost always hear because of how goddamn loud his music was, he usually stayed upstairs.
Which was why it was especially weird for Abbacchio to step out of the downstairs bathroom only to find Narancia rummaging around in the kitchen with the baggiest hoodie known to man practically smothering his lanky figure.
For 2am, he sure was making a hell of a lot of noise, which definitely was Narancia. What wasn’t Narancia, however, was the fact that he was trying and failing to make toast at some ungodly hour.
No, that was more of a Mista thing if anything.
He wanted to ask why he was awake in the first place, but he decided not to patronize him. He was making toast, after all. He was allowed to be hungry and he was definitely allowed to eat something if he wanted it.
He kept repeating that to himself instinctively as soon as Bruno had mentioned to him that he’d noticed that Giorno had never actually eaten anything that wasn’t offered to him first. He didn't love the kid, but—maybe if he kept reminding everyone else of the fact he would catch on, too.
It wasn’t like he was worried or anything, though. He would never worry about Giorno. Jesus, Narancia was the one in front of him, not Giorno. When did this become about Giorno?
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he watched as the boy in front of him shook the toaster in frustration, his expression still hidden as he unknowingly kept his back to the man. That hoodie looked familiar, though he couldn’t entirely recognize it from the dark.
He longed to go back to his wonderfully quiet reading spot and then maybe crawl up to bed (or maybe make coffee as he watched the sunrise seemed more realistic,) but something about Narancia being down here felt...weird.
Why would he really even be down here unless he couldn’t sleep? He thought he saw smoke coming out of the toaster. He narrowed his eyes.
Is he—?
Abbacchio then noticed two crucial things:
That was definitely his sweater that he was wearing and Narancia had a fork in his hand.
He felt time freeze as he lurched into the kitchen before he even realized his feet were moving and yanked the fork out of the teen’s hand just before the goddamn metal, spiky utensil could near the smoking death machine any closer. Narancia whirled around in surprise, swearing under his breath as he tripped over himself and stumbled backward.
His thoughts from earlier? He took them back. Time to patronize.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped quietly, eyeing the upstairs out of the corner of his eye as he hastily unplugged the toaster, which was now definitely smoking something. Whatever it was, it smelled awful.
“Using the fucking toaster, what the hell does it look like?” he replied, crossing his arms around his chest in annoyance. Abbacchio could already feel a growl forming in the back of his throat. Did he seriously have to parent everyone in this household?
God, he wanted nothing more than a drink now.
“Yeah, well maybe don’t take a fork to the toaster unless you want to be fucking electrocuted. Think you can do that without my help?” he spat back, ignoring the lack of reply on the kid’s end. He knew his anger was really only a mask for whatever dread he was feeling inside, but Narancia didn’t need to know that. Despite Narancia being very much safe and the house wasn’t at risk of some electrical fire, that didn’t stop a part of his brain from telling him if he hadn’t been there, something could have happened.
Then again, being there didn’t stop people from dying before.
Shit. Now he really wanted a drink. But right now he had to act like an adult and clean out the stupid fucking toaster that Narancia had practically burnt to a crisp. Bruno was probably going to kill them in the morning.
Peering inside and trying to ignore the cloud of smoke, he quickly identified that the burnt, crispy thing in there was definitely anything but toast. He huffed in annoyance and turned to Narancia.
“What the hell did you put in here?”
The teen paused, as if accepting his fate, before pointing to a box on the kitchen counter. “...Crackers. “
He blinked before deadpanning his response. “Crackers.”
A timid nod. He didn’t know why he felt so exhausted now. It felt like he aged a decade every moment he spent with Narancia. But he had to admit, it was a thousand times better than spending his days alone.
“And what, praytell, possessed you into thinking that was a good idea?”
He heard Narancia sigh in irritation from behind him.
“I was hungry,” he said simply, though Leone could feel the annoyance leaking from his voice, “So I wanted to put crackers in the toaster. Why the hell are you being so pissy? It's not like I knew they would get stuck in there.”
Abbacchio bit back some sort of remark about having common sense and opted to ignore him as he stared tiredly into the toaster and flipped it up, dumping the burnt remnants into the trash can beside him. It wasn’t until Narancia bumped past him with the box of crackers again and tried to plug in the toaster that he decided to speak up again, wrestling the box out of his hand.
“Are you actually serious right now?” he snarled in disbelief, “There’s still smoke coming out of the damn thing because you tried to shove half a box of crackers into it and now you’re doing it again?”
Narancia snorted. “Quit worrying. If it gets stuck again, I’ll just pull it out.”
Pull it out? With a fork? A knife? Was he looking for a goddamn death wish?
He didn’t know if Narancia was trying to intentionally irritate him or not, but he could feel himself getting angrier by the minute.
“Jesus, well sorry I kept you from sticking a fork in the toaster. It must be so hard for you, having someone make sure you don’t burn the house down,” he growled, only feeling angrier when he seemingly brushed it off, shrugging.
“S’not that big a deal. It's not like I’m dead or anything.”
Oh. Oh, now he was pissed. Of course, he thought everything was such a joke. Leone knew he was probably overreacting, but his mind kept going to the fork in his hand and the toaster and the smell of smoke and the way that time seemed to stop entirely and the gunshot that pierced the air and the body that hit the floor and the—
Being there didn’t stop people from dying before.
Hands found the toaster plug again as he yanked it out in a swift movement, grabbing the box of crackers from the teen’s hand and slamming it loudly against the kitchen counter.
“Are you fucking stupid, or do you just do idiotic shit for no reason?” he seethed, feeling the edges of his gaze start to darken, “Because right now I’m thinking you’re just an idiot, Narancia.”
He knew he probably could have worded that literally any other way, but he couldn’t quell the shakiness that seemed to have taken over his hands or monitor the way his throat had dried up too sparse to speak again. Narancia looked up at him, trying to look angry but undeniably failing as his eyes started to well up with tears.
The familiar, hurt look on his face made him feel all the more guilty.
As the teen quickly fled the room with a quiet, “fuck you,” he didn’t stop him. He knew his heart was beating far too quickly for someone who was just trying to scold someone for doing something stupid, but he couldn’t stop it from happening as he gripped the counter until his knuckles turned white.
All he could think about was that of course he had overreacted again and Narancia was fine but now he was off hiding somewhere because whatever he’d said definitely struck some sort of nerve with him and god, Bruno was going to kill him, wasn’t he?
Bruno would have been pissed at Nara too, he knew that much, but he probably would have been able to bite back any remarks for at least the five minutes they had been talking. And now each time he thought about that fucking toaster all he could think about was—
His hands started to ache from holding onto the counter for so long, but they still shook as he released them so he plunged them into the pockets of his pajama pants. He sighed gruffly through closed teeth.
He needed a drink. He really, really needed a drink.
He undid his hair and let it drape over his shoulders, rummaging through the cupboards shakily until he found what he was looking for. Pulling out a mug with shaky hands, he eyed the wine that Bruno kept stashed away for special occasions but grabbed a tea bag out of one of those stupid sleepy time tea packets and swallowed as he turned on the silent kettle.
He didn’t even register how long he’d been standing there until he was holding a warm mug of something against his lips and suddenly he could breathe again—he could think again—and Jesus had he just fucked up.
He ran a hand through his hair and tried to sigh all the tenseness that seemed to gather in his shoulders. He wasn’t going to freak out. He was going to drink his drink and fucking breathe and not get Bruno and deal with this himself.
As his brain started to register things again, he looked around at the kitchen and tried to think about where the kid could possibly be. He had no idea how much time had passed; Narancia could have easily slipped past him in and back up to his room in this state, but a little part of him thought that maybe the kid was still down here.
When something was really wrong, he always found Narancia around at least one of them no matter what time it was, and unless the teen had maneuvered his way into bed next to Bruno, it looked like he was stuck with Mr. Leone “You’re a fucking idiot” Abbacchio.
Great. He had already failed at making sure the kid wasn’t having some sort of meltdown by full-on insulting him. Maybe he was being st— wasn’t thinking, but he probably shouldn’t have gotten so pissy with him.
The tea felt warm in his chest; he hadn’t even registered what kind he had made, but it tasted like chamomile just from the initial sip. His vision now as clear as it had been earlier tonight, he narrowed his eyes in front of him and noticed that the kettle was still steaming; it couldn’t have been that long, right?
Unless he wanted to be “talked to” by Bruno tomorrow, he should probably just find the kid and apologize. Or do something, although he highly doubted he wanted to see him, after all.
He quietly grabbed another mug from the cupboard and decided that the last thing he was going to do tonight was flip his shit over something that hadn’t even happened. Dipping the tea bag into the hot water, he wondered if Narancia had actually gone upstairs. It was radio silent down here, which wasn’t exactly normal whenever someone like him was in the room.
He ultimately decided it was too late to pour the tea out and made his trek towards the living room again, in the direction where he thought he heard footsteps flee to just minutes ago. Eyeing the box of crackers still sitting on the counter, he slung it under his arm and turned off the kitchen light.
To his surprise, Narancia was actually still there. He was curled up in the far corner of the couch, baggy sweater that just so happened to be his covering him almost fully. He looked up slowly when Abbacchio realized how long he had been lingering in the hallway.
Narancia didn’t exactly look like he wanted to be talked to in the slightest, but Leone knew deep down the kid must have wanted some kind of attention—otherwise he would have bolted back to his room the instant he had snapped at him earlier. He took the silence as an invitation to sit down on the other end of the couch, placing his tea on a coaster and sliding the other mug over to the other end of the coffee table.
He placed the box of crackers in the middle, as some kind of weird food truce.
He knew Narancia was staring at him through the tangled mess that was his arms wrapped around his knees and head, but he was doing a pretty good job of hiding it. Usually, the kid was all over him or Bruno or Mista whenever he was feeling down. He was surprised that the kid could physically restrain himself for this long.
Oh. Right. He had almost thrown a box of crackers at him and snapped at him for virtually no reason. Maybe that was why.
The silence wasn’t exactly awkward, but he could feel that both of them were getting restless. He finally cleared his throat and grabbed his own mug off the coffee table.
“Made tea if you want it.”
It wasn’t exactly words of wisdom or a heartfelt apology, but it caused the kid to lift his head up slowly and grab the cup, tucking his knees back into his chest and taking a slow sip. His violet eyes still wouldn’t meet the man’s gaze, though. Abbacchio supposed this was a start.
“Look at me for a second,” he finally said, taking a long sip from his tea. Narancia’s eyes slowly drifted upward, finally locking on his. He looked tired. Abbacchio couldn’t think of the last time he’d seen the teen look so droopy. He was starting to wonder if this wasn’t just about what he had said before.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he tried to soften his expression as much as he could, swallowing awkwardly, “You just...scared me, alright? Still not an excuse for me to be an asshole, though.”
Narancia looked a bit surprised at that, but set his mug down and inched a bit closer to him.
“M’sorry for pulling that shit, too. Wasn’t thinking,” he mumbled in reply, letting his head drop down. Abbacchio thought to comment on the fact that he was wearing his giant, oversized sweater but decided to save that for another conversation.
There was another bout of silence before Narancia sighed and grabbed the box of crackers from the table. He didn’t bother opening it up, just stared at the package and lightly tossed it beside him on the couch.
He was quiet. Too quiet for him, at least. Abbacchio had a feeling this wasn’t just about earlier, so he opened his mouth and made his move.
“You gonna tell me why you’re actually down here?”
Narancia’s face immediately morphed into what looked like shame, the usual glow in his eyes dampened by something. He pulled his knees up to his chest again and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. Leone already had an arm extending gruffly before he could even think about it, and before he knew it Narancia had shuffled his way over to him, burying his face into the man’s armpit and trying to slink his arms around his waist.
The man slowly lowered his arm so that it rested gently on the boy’s back, but Narancia’s tension didn’t disperse like it usually would. That can’t be good, he thought to himself. From the way the teen was sniffling, he could already predict the wet spot on his shirt that was soon to come.
“Bad day?” His chest rumbled against the boy’s head. Narancia cautiously lifted his head up from Abbacchio’s strange half-embrace, violet eyes meeting lavender.
“Am I stupid?”
It came out as rushed; almost desperate for an answer and Leone felt something inside of him start to sink. He watched as the kid’s lower lip started to tremble. He had to be careful with what he said, the kid was like a lighter dropped in a puddle of gasoline.
“Of course not.”
It slipped off his tongue effortlessly because he didn’t need time to think about it. He didn’t know if it was the right thing to say, but it seemed like the only thing to say. God, Narancia could do stupid things sometimes but he wasn’t like he was actually—did he seriously think that?
It proved to be no source of comfort as Abbacchio watched the younger one’s eyes start to well up with tears.
“Like—I know I’m always doing stupid shit and never thinking and stuff but—am I actually stupid?” his voice cracked by the end of it and Leone realized as everything seemed to come together in front of him. How uncharacteristically quiet he was after dinner. Why he had shut right up after Abbacchio had made that comment. Why he was down here so late in the first place.
Narancia sniffled again and Abbacchio watched as the teen pulled his hood further over his head in a futile attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t affected by his words.
“Look, kid. Whatever I said earlier wasn’t-”
“-That’s not what I mean,” he muttered bitterly, his knees catching most of his voice so that Leone had to strain his ears to even hear it.
“Bucciarati doesn’t trust me with anything during missions, no one ever asks me to do shit—it just feels like I can’t do anything right. God, Fugo called me a fucking idiot earlier today, too,” his quiet words got louder and louder with each word, “I can’t even do fucking math properly, what the hell is wrong with me?”
Abbacchio watched as the kid swiped angrily at his eyes, wetness no doubt staining the oversized sleeves draping over his wrists.
“Narancia-”
“-I’ve always fucking been like this, haven’t I? An idiot,” he spat, his voice wavering but never breaking, “Stupid enough to drop out of school. Stupid enough to join the mafia. Stupid enough to think that eye infection would kill me. Stupid enough to think my momma would-”
Narancia’s breath hitched at that and he stopped there. Abbacchio watched in stunned silence as he ripped himself out of the older man’s arms, physically growing smaller by the second as he pulled his shoulders together and tried his best to sink further into the couch.
God, he was never good with crying kids. Even if they were his own. Abbacchio ignored the fact that he had just subconsciously referred to Narancia as ‘his kid’ and sighed quietly, pulling his arms back to his lap.
“Narancia.”
The teen’s shoulders trembled, but he didn’t answer. Leone inched closer and put a hand carefully on his back, which proved to be the right thing to do as Narancia seemed to melt right into it.
“Come here.”
He found his arms opening back up automatically as Narancia flung himself around and dove into his embrace fully this time, his hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt jerkily. He could already feel the wet spot forming on his chest.
“You’re not fucking stupid, alright?” he found himself slowly pulling Narancia’s hood down and letting his newly manicured fingers slip into the kid’s messy hair as he let out a particularly forceful sob into his chest.
Narancia replied with a wet-sounding “Mmm” which could only be deciphered as a disagreement. Leone’s free arm found itself slinking around the kid’s back, pulling him closer into his chest. He was so goddamn light for his age, he’d noticed.
“Don’t make me fucking say it again,” he grumbled, “No one actually thinks you’re stupid. You’re pretty damn smart, especially during missions. If Bruno said anything to you, we can talk to him about it, okay?”
Narancia sniffled and shook his head. “But Fugo said-”
“-Fugo doesn’t mean half the shit he says when he's pissed,” he murmured, letting Narancia’s trembling hands finally undo their grip on his shirt and shakily wrap around him instead, “If what he says really makes you feel like shit, talk to him about it. He’ll probably feel bad about it and stop.”
Fugo always felt bad about things when he calmed down. One time he went absolutely ballistic on Giorno and the kid totally freaked out and didn’t come downstairs for the rest of the day. Bruno was absolutely furious, but it was nothing compared to how guilt-ridden Fugo looked afterward.
Narancia lifted his head up slightly and tried to argue. “Before I met Bucciarati-”
“-Bullshit. You weren’t stupid, you were a goddamn kid.” You still are a kid. “Don’t give me that shit. You’re too young to give me that shit.”
“...fine.”
Narancia didn’t say anything after that, just let Abbacchio resume running his soft fingers through his hair and felt his stream of tears start to falter a bit. After awhile, his breath still shaky, he groaned and let himself grow limp under Abbacchio’s ever-watchful embrace.
“Sorry for being like the worst person ever tonight,” he mumbled into his shirt, fiddling with the lavender pouch the man kept around his neck. It smelled nice.
“Yeah, as if I’m gonna berate you for being sad,” he chuckled, “Jesus, leave the self-deprecating language to me, alright? I didn’t spend a fortune on water-proof mascara for nothing.”
Narancia gave him a watery laugh. “You’re not even wearing makeup right now, Abba.”
He decided to let the stupid nickname slide. Just for tonight.
“Yeah, and you stole my sweater,” he watched as the kid looked up at him in surprise, “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
His face reddened. “It was just sitting in the dryer! It looked comfortable!”
“Keep it. You got snot all over it anyway.”
Narancia was about to argue before Abbacchio reached forward and wrapped him up in another hug, this one tighter than the last. The older man leaned forward and whispered gently in his ear.
“If I ever see you put crackers in the toaster again, I’ll make it my personal mission to kill you.”
Narancia was too tired to make another joke or snarky reply, so instead, he closed his eyes and sighed contentedly into his shoulder.
“Thank you.”