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to hum through the hours of dying
Title: to hum through the hours of dying
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo
Character(s): Buccellati, Abbacchio, Narancia
Pairing(s): Buccellati/Abbacchio
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 805
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death
Summary: Leone Abbacchio has been disobeying orders. Due to his history, he will not receive second chances. You are to dispose of him.
Notes: Inspired by a Pixiv comic that I can't read but is heartbreaking anyway.
If Passione has an ironclad philosophy, it’s this: if you can’t be trusted to do what you’re ordered to, you’re going to be taken out instead.
The mission in question had been simple extortion. A shop owner falling behind on his protection fees needed a personal visit to remind him. Abbacchio had been selected to do some threatening: of those in Buccellati’s squad, he might not have been the strongest Stand-wise, but he was the most intimidating to ordinary people. Fugo didn’t have the right demeanor for threats, and while Narancia was certainly full of threats, he tended to go overboard. Luca, even more so. Buccellati and Mista were busy.
Abbacchio came back from that mission later than expected. He hung up his coat, and immediately headed for the wine cabinet.
“How did it go?” Buccellati asked.
“...He was someone I knew from before.” Abbacchio didn’t need to specify what that meant. Everything in his life was ‘before’ or ‘after’. “He couldn’t cover his medical expenses on top of our fees, and I- I lent him enough money to make his next month’s payments.”
Buccellati sucked in a breath, breathed out. “Alright.”
“That’s all?” Abbacchio asked, pouring himself a drink.
“You already know how dangerous that is, I don’t have to remind you. Because it’s you, I know you didn’t make that decision lightly. Pour me a glass of that too, won’t you?”
Buccellati never told anyone what Abbacchio had done, not even his subordinates, but apparently word got out to their higher-ups, because a message came back to him.
Leone Abbacchio has been disobeying orders. Due to his history, he will not receive second chances. You are to dispose of him.
Short, to the point, and as painful as a gunshot wound when read.
Buccellati stared at that message for a long time, trying to fool himself into believing he had only misread it. When the letters began to blur together, he shut his computer, and his gaze immediately fell on the bedside cabinet where he kept his gun.
He rarely used a gun. If a sharpshooter was needed, Mista was the better choice in all respects. His Stand was for fights, though, not for executions. It took too long to kill someone by unzipping them, and the death would be agonizing. To kill someone quickly, you needed a shot to the head.
He couldn’t ask anyone else to do this. He could barely imagine how they’d react after it was done. The actual executioner had to be him.
A few hours later, Buccellati gave Fugo, Mista, and Narancia his wallet and told them to go buy tickets to the film Mista’d been talking about before. Narancia picked up on Abbacchio being left behind and teased them both, asking, “What’re you two gonna do alone while we’re gone? It must be something fun~”
Abbacchio glared at him, red rising to his cheeks. “You’re going to be late to the next showing,” Buccellati said, straight-faced.
He took a few minutes after the three of them had left to steel himself. Then he reached over and took Abbacchio’s hand, placing a soft kiss on his palm.
Abbacchio always followed where he led, true now as ever as Buccellati pulled him gently into his bedroom. As Abbacchio leaned down on the bed, Buccellati peppered his face with kisses and murmurs of, “my love, my treasure,” finally catching his lips in a deep kiss.
Abbacchio’s eyes were closed as Buccellati kissed him, cupping his face with one hand and with the other, reaching for the gun in the cabinet next to them. His hands were trembling as he brought the gun to Abbacchio’s head.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Tears began to fall.
Abbacchio opened his eyes. “...So it’s come to this.” He reached up and wiped a tear from Buccellati’s eyes. “I understand. If you’ve been ordered to get rid of me, then carry it out, or they’ll just take out both of us.”
“Leone…” Buccellati’s whole body shook as he cried. “I… I can’t. I can’t!”
“If there’s anything you can’t do,” Abbacchio said, lips turned upwards slightly, “I’ll help you.” He placed a hand over Buccellati’s, steadying the gun pointed at his own head. “I would not have traded the time I spent with you for the world. …Goodbye.”
Any plea of Buccellati’s to stop went unheard. The hand holding his pulled the trigger.
For a long time, Buccellati stayed in that bed, unmoving, holding the body of Leone Abbacchio as it slowly went cold. Distantly he heard the sounds of the others returning. It didn’t occur to him to try and hide the evidence of what had happened.
If they found him here and killed him, he’d be happier than if he had to live with the weight of what he’d done.
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo
Character(s): Buccellati, Abbacchio, Narancia
Pairing(s): Buccellati/Abbacchio
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 805
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death
Summary: Leone Abbacchio has been disobeying orders. Due to his history, he will not receive second chances. You are to dispose of him.
Notes: Inspired by a Pixiv comic that I can't read but is heartbreaking anyway.
If Passione has an ironclad philosophy, it’s this: if you can’t be trusted to do what you’re ordered to, you’re going to be taken out instead.
The mission in question had been simple extortion. A shop owner falling behind on his protection fees needed a personal visit to remind him. Abbacchio had been selected to do some threatening: of those in Buccellati’s squad, he might not have been the strongest Stand-wise, but he was the most intimidating to ordinary people. Fugo didn’t have the right demeanor for threats, and while Narancia was certainly full of threats, he tended to go overboard. Luca, even more so. Buccellati and Mista were busy.
Abbacchio came back from that mission later than expected. He hung up his coat, and immediately headed for the wine cabinet.
“How did it go?” Buccellati asked.
“...He was someone I knew from before.” Abbacchio didn’t need to specify what that meant. Everything in his life was ‘before’ or ‘after’. “He couldn’t cover his medical expenses on top of our fees, and I- I lent him enough money to make his next month’s payments.”
Buccellati sucked in a breath, breathed out. “Alright.”
“That’s all?” Abbacchio asked, pouring himself a drink.
“You already know how dangerous that is, I don’t have to remind you. Because it’s you, I know you didn’t make that decision lightly. Pour me a glass of that too, won’t you?”
Buccellati never told anyone what Abbacchio had done, not even his subordinates, but apparently word got out to their higher-ups, because a message came back to him.
Leone Abbacchio has been disobeying orders. Due to his history, he will not receive second chances. You are to dispose of him.
Short, to the point, and as painful as a gunshot wound when read.
Buccellati stared at that message for a long time, trying to fool himself into believing he had only misread it. When the letters began to blur together, he shut his computer, and his gaze immediately fell on the bedside cabinet where he kept his gun.
He rarely used a gun. If a sharpshooter was needed, Mista was the better choice in all respects. His Stand was for fights, though, not for executions. It took too long to kill someone by unzipping them, and the death would be agonizing. To kill someone quickly, you needed a shot to the head.
He couldn’t ask anyone else to do this. He could barely imagine how they’d react after it was done. The actual executioner had to be him.
A few hours later, Buccellati gave Fugo, Mista, and Narancia his wallet and told them to go buy tickets to the film Mista’d been talking about before. Narancia picked up on Abbacchio being left behind and teased them both, asking, “What’re you two gonna do alone while we’re gone? It must be something fun~”
Abbacchio glared at him, red rising to his cheeks. “You’re going to be late to the next showing,” Buccellati said, straight-faced.
He took a few minutes after the three of them had left to steel himself. Then he reached over and took Abbacchio’s hand, placing a soft kiss on his palm.
Abbacchio always followed where he led, true now as ever as Buccellati pulled him gently into his bedroom. As Abbacchio leaned down on the bed, Buccellati peppered his face with kisses and murmurs of, “my love, my treasure,” finally catching his lips in a deep kiss.
Abbacchio’s eyes were closed as Buccellati kissed him, cupping his face with one hand and with the other, reaching for the gun in the cabinet next to them. His hands were trembling as he brought the gun to Abbacchio’s head.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Tears began to fall.
Abbacchio opened his eyes. “...So it’s come to this.” He reached up and wiped a tear from Buccellati’s eyes. “I understand. If you’ve been ordered to get rid of me, then carry it out, or they’ll just take out both of us.”
“Leone…” Buccellati’s whole body shook as he cried. “I… I can’t. I can’t!”
“If there’s anything you can’t do,” Abbacchio said, lips turned upwards slightly, “I’ll help you.” He placed a hand over Buccellati’s, steadying the gun pointed at his own head. “I would not have traded the time I spent with you for the world. …Goodbye.”
Any plea of Buccellati’s to stop went unheard. The hand holding his pulled the trigger.
For a long time, Buccellati stayed in that bed, unmoving, holding the body of Leone Abbacchio as it slowly went cold. Distantly he heard the sounds of the others returning. It didn’t occur to him to try and hide the evidence of what had happened.
If they found him here and killed him, he’d be happier than if he had to live with the weight of what he’d done.