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Purple Haze, wailing, stood in a grotesque pile of viscera that had, mere minutes before, been their enemies. All of the capsules had been spent; to call the situation a “bloodbath” would have been one hell of an understatement.
The sunlight trickling through the windows illuminated the room and made the virus evaporate quickly. Fugo, practically hyperventilating, was in the midst of a panic attack. Not that Leone could blame him.
“Fugo, you can put Purple Haze away. The enemy is…” A pile of goo at our feet. “...Neutralized.”
While Fugo continued to cower, Purple Haze, now rid of his inherent danger, looked like a scared child, absolutely horrified by the scene it had created in trying to protect its user from someone who’d triggered his panic response—though, the bastard had had it coming, trying to grab Fugo from behind and restrain him. With a gurgle, the beast stepped past the blond, whimpering.
It was then that Abbacchio realized that the Stand was heading toward him. He scuttled backward, his back making contact with the wall. On instinct, he braced himself for Haze’s wrath.
Fugo may not have been able to control his Stand, but it occurred to Leone at that moment that the nuclear capabilities of the specter had been neutered. All that was left, once the anger and the danger had been stripped away from Purple Haze, was a scared, anxious, and lonely kid . Just like his user.
With this realization, his fear evaporated. As the beast lumbered forward, Leone finally got a good look at his friend’s Stand for the first time. He couldn’t talk; not with the threads holding his mouth together. Once he had made it next to Leone, Purple Haze grabbed onto the man’s wrist. But, the being did not have to speak for Leone to recognize the plea in the Stand’s eyes.
Bucciarati had once said that Stands were the reflections of one’s fighting spirit; of one’s soul. Leone had never seen Moody Blues do something like this, but seeing the monster begging for his help, he remembered the second part of what his superior had said: They express that which we can never fully say .
Biting back bile that had risen unbidden from his throat, the man in black, with a nod, allowed Haze to lead him forward. As soon as they had gotten within a few feet of the panicking Pannacotta, Haze melted back into his user, leaving the two soldati alone.
“Fugo?” At hearing his name, the blond’s breath seemed to slow. Leone took that as permission to continue: “Hey. Breathe with me, okay? You’re having a panic attack.”
Words flew from him in a breathless flurry, but compared to the Stand attack, the light had returned to his violet eyes. A snarl: “Do you think I don’t know that?!” There was a bite in his tone, but it was clear that the anger was more frustration at himself than at his partner.
“You’re pissy. That’s a good sign.”
“ Fuck you.” The teen huddled into himself, clutching his arms. Regardless, as soon as the elder of the two began to model slower breaths, he did the same.
Leone moved closer. “Good job, kid.”
“Don’t p-patronize me.” Fugo glared, eyes growing damp. “I fucked up.”
“No, you didn’t. ” Another step forward. “You completely eviscerated a whole crew .”
He sniffled. “I could’ve killed you. I… I’m a walking bomb.”
“Your Stand is. You, on the other hand, are just a kid.” Abbacchio finally stopped in front of the boy, kneeling down. Fugo didn’t flinch, however. That was good. “A kid who went through some shit before joining this team. Shit no one should ever have to go through. I’m not gonna pry, but… ”
“...Is it really that obvious?” Embarrassment colored the boy’s words.
Leone sat cross-legged, replying with a shrug. “Only if you know the signs. Most people wouldn’t. When you’re on the Force, you learn them.” Talking was helping, so that was what Leone continued to do, confessing something that embarrassed him: “...I get panic attacks too, you know. They’re a bitch.”
“Y-you don’t say.” While his voice was shaky, it had a bit more of the customary color to it. Then, softly: “...I haven’t had one like this in a while. I was doing so well, too…” Shame saturated his voice. He began to spiral into a self-loathing tirade, cursing himself.
“—Pannacotta.”
At Abbacchio’s firm tone, Fugo stopped, looking at his friend. His amethyst eyes were wide with surprise.
“Haze was the one who dragged me here to talk to you. He’s kinda cute, when he isn’t packing enough virus capsules to be a walking human rights violation.” That joke made Fugo laugh. Good. “Still… Haze, reaching out to me? A month ago, even, that would’ve been unheard of.”
“Weren’t you scared?”
“Scared shitless.”
Fugo’s next words were slow, tinged with confusion. “...So why did you let him drag you over here?”
Leone rolled his eyes. “You’re the boy genius. You tell me.” He waited for a response, but the boy had gone quiet. While it was rare for the kid to be at a loss for words, it was even rarer for Leone to hear what he heard next from the kid: weeping.
Fugo crumpled in on himself, his tears falling onto his pant legs as he hugged his knees toward his stomach, tucking his chin into his chest.
“...Hey, Pannacotta.”
The boy raised his head, a sob sending tremors through his frame. Still, he matched Leone’s sunset gaze as the young man asked, “Is it okay if I touch you?”
Before he could elaborate further, or even offer his hand, Fugo practically tackled him, clinging to him with all the strength he could muster.
Leone hugged him back. As Fugo thanked him between sobs, gasping for breath, it hit him: This was what he’d been searching for on the Force. The ability to help others heal, and, in doing so, begin to heal himself.