KHR Fic: Ordinary World (4/?)
Jun. 23rd, 2009 10:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asaelThough I probably don't need to say this, when I write this fic I'm pretty much discounting the TYL arc completely. Since it's unfinished, I don't want to try to anticipate where Amano is going with it. o.o So yeah, there's my disclaimer. XD
Also, I really cannot write Yamamoto well at all.
Ordinary World (4/?)
Katekyo Hitman Reborn
Mukuro-centric
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
The days passed slowly. Sometimes Mukuro thought the only difference between this and being locked in that dank prison was that here, the fresh air and sunlight were real instead of products of his illusions.
Some days he found himself almost getting used to it - the rhythms of a normal life. Sometimes he went through it in a daze, barely paying attention to the things around him, his mind worlds away. Sometimes he picked fights with Tsunayoshi or his other Guardians out of pure angry boredom and frustration. They were surprisingly forgiving - particularly Ryohei and Yamamoto, though it was possible they just forgot about the things Mukuro said to them when irritated. It just made him feel even more like a charity case.
He'd go completely mad if he had to put up with it all the time. He was tired, and so he slept a lot - in class, on the roof, wherever he thought he wouldn't be disturbed. He was certain that the desperate boredom of this life was exhausting him.
Gokudera had apparently refused to take his turn as Mukuro's lunch guard from now on, so he saw even more of Sasagawa Ryohei, Tsunayoshi, and Yamamoto, who persisted in being friendly, most likely out of guilt over Mukuro's arm. Or maybe he felt bad because Mukuro had no friends (and no interest in making any, as none of the students here could be useful to him).
Either way, Mukuro saw a lot of him. He wasn't sure what to make of the boy. He seemed happy, simple, carefree, and yet Mukuro knew that Reborn considered him a born hitman. Mukuro had only rarely seen him fight, through Chrome's eyes, so he reserved his judgment.
Yamamoto made a pleasant enough lunch companion, though. He had showed up at Mukuro's classroom door again today, with his bento and extra onigiri to share. It was raining that day, which made Mukuro drowsy and more likely to be pleasant himself, so he smiled at Yamamoto and gestured for him to sit.
As usual, he listened to Yamamoto's summary of his latest game against another school. Not particularly in the mood for talking, Mukuro simply ate and said "Hmm," from time to time. Yamamoto never seemed bothered by this, which Mukuro found relaxing.
When they'd finished eating, Yamamoto looked out the window, watching the rain fall hard and steady. "Hey," he said with a smile, "are you doing anything after school?"
Mukuro looked at him for a moment before answering. "My social calendar seems to be rather free right now." Yamamoto was certainly already aware that the only place Mukuro ever went was the hospital, for occasional updates on Chrome's condition.
He laughed. "Great! It looks like we're not going to be able to have practice today. You wanna come with me? I'll treat you to sushi."
It was a surprising offer, if only because it was the first time anyone had made such a gesture since Mukuro had come here. None of Tsuna's other minions seemed interested in extending the hand of friendship - which was all right, since Mukuro really had no interest in those kinds of things.
Still, he smiled at Yamamoto. Given Yamamoto's general nature, Mukuro felt rather certain he'd been invited out of pity rather than friendship. He was not interested in accepting other's pity, but Yamamoto seemed so sincere anyway - and more importantly, Mukuro was sick of spending time cooped up in the Sawada household.
"All right," he said, and Yamamoto's grin got wider.
"Okay, then I'll meet you at the school gates after classes are over." He looked somewhat proud of himself, which Mukuro chose to ignore. It really wasn't that much of an accomplishment to ask him to go somewhere.
He kept smiling, though, and pointed out, "The bell's about to ring."
Yamamoto reflexively looked at the clock, then laughed. "You're right! I better get going before I get marked late again. See you later, Mukuro." He gathered up his lunchbox and left the classroom with one last smile for Mukuro.
Mukuro watched him go. Maybe this would even be fun.
***
As usual, Mukuro paid little attention to his classes. He'd discovered that if he slept through history class, the teacher - old and clearly anticipating retirement - wouldn't care and wouldn't even try to wake him. So by the time he met Yamamoto at the school gates, he had at least a little energy (though he wouldn't have minded a longer nap).
Yamamoto smiled when he saw Mukuro, reaching out to take his bag without asking. Mukuro raised an eyebrow, amused, and Yamamoto shrugged. "Your arm's hurt, it's not like it's easy to carry a bag and an umbrella like that." He slung Mukuro's bookbag over his shoulder with his own baseball bag.
Mukuro decided to allow it, still amused by Yamamoto's chivalry. Truthfully it was a little difficult to carry both bag and umbrella in this heavy rain, so it was some help, and he could move more easily.
They walked together, a few passing students looking at them curiously. Yamamoto didn't seem to notice, but Mukuro smirked back at them. He was used to being the subject of the other students' interest, but that didn't mean it wasn't occasionally annoying.
It wasn't long before they reached the sushi restaurant. Mukuro knew about it, of course, but he'd never been there before - even now he had no desire to socialize with the members of Tsunayoshi's little court. Today there were few customers, though, and certainly no one else their age.
Yamamoto's father greeted his son with a pleased cry of "Welcome home", and few of the other customers did the same - regulars, no doubt. Yamamoto lead Mukuro to sit at the counter, and they waited until his father was free to come and talk to them.
"Dad," Yamamoto said when he finally came over, "this is my friend Mukuro, from school. He's new."
Mukuro wondered how true Yamamoto thought that 'friend' comment was. He smiled carefully at Yamamoto the elder, noticing the hints of suspicion and worry in his eyes. It wasn't unfounded - Mukuro knew that his name and his hair gave off nothing but the impression of a foreign delinquent. But he had a smile that could disarm the strongest of suspicions when he tried, even if it was a lie through and through.
"He's from Italy," Yamamoto said with a grin, and his father brightened.
"Like Gokudera? That's all right, then," he said, as if Gokudera's strangeness served as a benchmark for all other Italians, and since Mukuro wasn't currently yelling at anyone, clearly he was all right. Mukuro wasn't sure how to feel about that. "So, I guess you boys would like some sushi, then."
"Yeah, I told Mukuro I'd treat him, since he just recently got here and all," Yamamoto said.
Yamamoto's father seemed happy enough to make them sushi in between serving his other customers. Mukuro wasn't squeamish about raw fish, and so he enjoyed the meal, indulging Yamamoto in meaningless chatter about school, the weather, and baseball.
The restaurant got busier as dinnertime approached, and Yamamoto's father left them alone most of the time. Mukuro took advantage of their relative solitude to smile at Yamamoto and ask, "Why did you bring me here?"
Yamamoto looked surprised, briefly. "I just wanted to."
Mukuro wondered what the real reason was. Pity? Or was he trying to distract him for some reason, or get information? Mukuro acknowledged the possibility that everything might really be just as it seemed, but he had survived this long by acknowledging that possibility and then looking more deeply. He would not change that now, when he needed more than ever to be on his guard.
But he knew that his life wasn't at stake this time. It was his curiosity alone that had made him ask - mostly. He changed subjects, ignoring Yamamoto's confusion. "Your father is very kind," Mukuro said, sipping his green tea with a smile.
To his credit, Yamamoto shrugged confusion off without batting an eye - maybe he was used to it. He smiled back at Mukuro. "Yeah, he's a real good guy. I think he likes you, too."
"I'll have to thank him for the good food," Mukuro said. He wondered how the Arcobaleno had thought this was a good idea. One of Tsuna's Guardians - who were destined to be blood-soaked, feared by hundreds or thousands of people - was this simple boy. Raised with love, caring only about baseball until he unwittingly entered a world where he didn't belong.
Perhaps, like Reborn said, deep down inside Yamamoto Takeshi there was the soul of a natural hitman. But even if it were true, he would lose everything eventually. He would have this simple life completely torn apart, sooner or later. Mukuro could see the remnants of Yamamoto's innocence when their eyes met, barely holding on as it slowly dissolved.
In a way, Mukuro was pleased that Reborn was not soft like Tsuna, that he was hard enough to see the potential in a young boy and send him down a path that would only end in blood.
Mukuro wondered if Yamamoto had killed a man yet.
Most of the Guardians were more suited for the job. Gokudera, and even Lambo the immature Thunder Guardian, had been born and mostly raised in the mafia. They knew what would be expected of them, the duties they would take on.
Mukuro doubted that Hibari Kyoya would care either way. It amused him, really, and he looked forward to seeing the man Hibari would become.
He knew that he himself was, ironically, a perfect pick. Although Mukuro hated the mafia, for that same reason he knew it in and out. He wouldn't flinch from anything.
But the last two - Rain and Sun, Yamamoto Takeshi and Sasagawa Ryohei - knew nothing. They both had potential, that was obvious, but bringing them into the world of the mafia would be eventually destroying these lives they lived so calmly, with families and friends, schools and sports. They had only seen the barest edges of the world of the mafia, not the darkness Mukuro knew so well.
It was nothing to him, not really. Only more evidence that the mafia corrupted everything it touched - and it touched nearly everything.
He wondered, though, if it would end up breaking them.
"It's starting to get dark," Yamamoto said, interrupting his thoughts. "I'd better walk you back."
"How thoughtful," Mukuro said, smiling, as always. "And will you carry my bag again?"
Yamamoto just laughed and bent over, picking up both of their bags.
***
It was still raining as they walked to Tsuna's house. Yamamoto walked next to Mukuro, carrying both of their schoolbags. He glanced over at the other boy from time to time, but mostly they walked in semi-comfortable silence.
Mukuro had smiled and talked to him and gave every appearance of truly having a good time. But still, Yamamoto wondered. Mukuro always seemed disconnected, like he wasn't really part of the things that went on around him, or maybe just like he didn't want to be. As if he knew he wouldn't be here long, so why bother getting attached?
It bothered Yamamoto a little. Despite all the things he'd heard - sometimes loudly and at length, from Gokudera - he liked Mukuro. Sure, he was a little strange, and sometimes he said things that made Yamamoto uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to be that bad of a person. He was funny, and smart, and nice to look at.
He just didn't want to be one of them. And sometimes, he looked at Yamamoto strangely - a mixture of pity and anticipation, he thought, but why?
Yamamoto wasn't a deep thinker. He didn't worry over things like Tsuna, or attempt to pick a problem apart like Gokudera might. It wasn't really that he was stupid, just that he didn't see much use for that stuff. Things usually worked themselves out in the end, so why stress about it?
He wasn't sure that Mukuro would work himself out in the end, though. Yamamoto knew that there were things going on that he didn't really understand - it was hard to see things from Mukuro's perspective, because he didn't know what Mukuro's perspective was. All he really knew was that he liked Mukuro, liked spending time with him, but that despite everything Mukuro wasn't exactly a friend.
They walked down back streets toward Tsuna's home, rain coming down around them as the sky steadily darkened. They were passing a small neighborhood bakery, closed and dark, when Yamamoto realized they were being followed.
It wasn't because of any sight or sound, but rather the innate sense of danger created and honed by being Tsuna's Guardian, being put in situations like this again and again. He looked at Mukuro and found Mukuro looking at him. The other boy smiled. "Don't let me down, Takeshi."
And then the enemies were on them. In a second, Yamamoto had retrieved his sword from the sports bag he carried, letting bags and umbrella drop and blocking the first strike. They didn't have guns, which was a blessing, but swords, knives, and fists could do enough damage.
There were five of them. It was hard to see, the street lit by one dim streetlight a couple buildings down, but Yamamoto knew the area well enough that it was more of an advantage than anything.
As always, he fought instinctively, slipping through the forms his father had taught him without a thought, blocking and striking, but careful - always careful to disable, not kill, if he could.
He was good, but there were five of them against him, after all. He tried to guard Mukuro as best he could, but the odds were against him. Yamamoto knocked one man off his feet and another slipped past while he was kicking the downed man's knife away. He immediately had to block a third man, and then he heard the sound of shattering glass behind him. He cursed and spun around, slashing a fourth man across the back of the legs - blade turned to break bone, not cut - but there was no need.
Mukuro had blocked the man's attack with his closed umbrella, now bent and broken on the ground, and had somehow managed to send him into the window of the darkened bakery. The man knelt on the sidewalk, surrounded by shards of glass, and struggled to stand - stunned from the impact, hands bloody from catching himself on broken glass.
Yamamoto had turned just in time to see Mukuro - powerless, defenseless Mukuro - pick up the man's fallen switchblade, step behind him, and (quickly, calmly, businesslike) cut his throat.
Mukuro let the man fall, holding the blade he took, watching the remaining men. It wasn't difficult to see that things weren't going so well for them. Two injured, one dead. They saw it too, and retreated, one limping and one carried by a colleague, leaving the body behind.
Yamamoto let them go. He was watching Mukuro.
"Why did you do that?" Yamamoto asked.
Mukuro looked back at him, barely seeming to notice him there. "Do what?" He waited, but got no response, and eventually took out his cell phone. "The Vongola family should take care of this mess." He called someone - Reborn, it sounded like - and casually explained that they'd been attacked. It didn't take long, and when he finished he turned back to Yamamoto. "He said we should wait here. He'll come."
Yamamoto nodded slightly, but he was looking at the dead man's blood, thick and dark and sticky among the glittering glass shards. "You shouldn't have done that, Mukuro," he said quietly.
"Why not?" Mukuro said.
"Because you didn't have to," Yamamoto said, looking at Mukuro again, seeing that look in his eyes - calculation, pity, interest. And something else, something else he couldn't place that made it feel like Mukuro hardly saw him at all. "We would have managed."
"Have you killed anyone yet, Yamamoto Takeshi?" Mukuro asked, a faint note of dismissal in his voice, as if he didn't want to be having this conversation. "If you always fight with the intent to injure only, you'll never reach your full potential. You're good right now. You could be great."
Yamamoto didn't say anything for a moment. He had killed, and more than once. To protect Tsuna, or Gokudera, or someone else. But it hadn't been like Mukuro made it sound - like on death on the edge of his blade would wash his conscience away, make it easy to kill again.
It was true, he was no genius. He never would be, and he was happy that way, but even so... even so, he remembered the face of everyone he killed. He would never forget, he was sure of that, even if killing did become easy for him.
"That man might have had a family. Children," Yamamoto said. He wondered if Mukuro remembered the faces of the ones he'd killed. He knew that was impossible, knew by the way Mukuro's own face hadn't changed even for a moment when he killed that man. Mukuro had so many bodies in his past that he'd ceased to count, ceased to care.
"He made his choice. When he joined the mafia he made his choice, and when he attacked us he made it again." Mukuro's voice was cool, and Yamamoto felt a tightening in his chest - Mukuro was barely older than him, but it was so easy for him to say those things.
"He would have killed us," Mukuro said. "So why should I hesitate to do the same to him?"
Was this what would happen to him someday? Would killing become a natural action, would it no longer be a last resort? Despite his certainty that he wouldn't change - would he just stop caring, like Mukuro?
Maybe, Yamamoto thought, but... "That doesn't make it right," he finished softly, looking at Mukuro with sadness. It seemed to take an effort, but Mukuro was focusing on Yamamoto now. But even with his sharp eyes, he looked vulnerable - more vulnerable than he really was. His thin frame and pale face, his wet hair and clothes made him look young, almost innocent.
Yamamoto came to his senses, realized the rain was still falling in torrents. Mukuro's umbrella was destroyed, and he really was almost frighteningly pale. He laughed, somewhat weakly, and picked up his own umbrella. "Hey, no need to stand out in the rain. Come here."
Mukuro said nothing, but smiled slightly - far away again - and came to stand under the umbrella with Yamamoto as they waited.
They didn't speak anymore, but Yamamoto could hear Mukuro's soft breaths, feel him nearby.
Mukuro shivered ever so slightly, and despite what he'd just seen, it made Yamamoto want to put an arm around him, hold him a little closer, tell him it didn't have to be like this. He could change if he wanted to.
But Yamamoto did nothing.
He knew Mukuro didn't want to.
***
Mukuro was still wet, but warmer now that he'd had a chance to bathe. Reborn had been certain that the Vongola family would take care of the mess that had been made, get what information they could from the corpse. Mukuro got to sit here, safe and sound in Tsunayoshi's house, and wait to see if they would deign to share any of that information with him.
He was tired, like he had been since he was taken out of prison, that unrelenting exhaustion that made him want to sleep forever. But once again, he couldn't sleep.
His head hurt. It was no simple headache. That he could deal with easily. This was a sharp throbbing pain that intensified whenever he moved his head. Or opened his eyes. Or thought anything beyond a dull wish for the pain to be gone.
Mukuro knew the moment that it had started. It had been that one instant when he'd seen that man running toward him, knife in his hand, and he'd instinctively reached for his power, his illusions, to protect himself. Instead, crippling pain had bloomed in his eye and temple.
It had been luck that kept him alive. He'd stumbled back, raising a hand to his head. Mukuro, who had killed so many and lived through so much, was saved only because he'd happened to raise the hand holding his umbrella. The man's knife caught on it, avoided Mukuro.
It had only been luck.
After that first blinding flash of agony, the pain had ebbed enough so he could think a little, so he could push the off-balance man into a window. He'd finished off the threat, called the Vongolas as he was supposed to, talked to Yamamoto - all of it now a pain-filled blur, though at the time he'd been alert enough. The only things that stood out were Yamamoto's eyes full of sorrow and disapproval. He'd tried to act as normal as possible, hide his weakness.
He thought he'd managed to. Yamamoto hadn't reacted, at least. Pain didn't bother Mukuro as badly as it did some illusionists, thanks to a childhood of painful experiments. And it had gotten less intense - bit by bit.
But it had made Mukuro realize one thing.
He was not getting better.
He had been exhausted since he came to Sawada Tsunayoshi's house. He'd assumed that it was from his confinement, that his physical strength would return even if his powers didn't. But he'd been there for three weeks now, sleeping in nearly every free moment he had (for what else was there to do?), and he was still as exhausted as he had been when he arrived.
More, now. The pain in his head was sapping his strength, leaving him weaker than before, unable to concentrate or even rest.
Something else was going on, and he was certain it was because of this supposed seal on his eye. But Ken and Chikusa hadn't yet contacted him, so he had no information at all. He couldn't even begin to do anything.
And for now, he couldn't even think. All he could do was lay on a borrowed futon, stare at the darkness behind his eyelids, and wait for the pain to go away.
He would make someone pay for this eventually. He promised himself that.
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Also, I really cannot write Yamamoto well at all.
Ordinary World (4/?)
Katekyo Hitman Reborn
Mukuro-centric
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
The days passed slowly. Sometimes Mukuro thought the only difference between this and being locked in that dank prison was that here, the fresh air and sunlight were real instead of products of his illusions.
Some days he found himself almost getting used to it - the rhythms of a normal life. Sometimes he went through it in a daze, barely paying attention to the things around him, his mind worlds away. Sometimes he picked fights with Tsunayoshi or his other Guardians out of pure angry boredom and frustration. They were surprisingly forgiving - particularly Ryohei and Yamamoto, though it was possible they just forgot about the things Mukuro said to them when irritated. It just made him feel even more like a charity case.
He'd go completely mad if he had to put up with it all the time. He was tired, and so he slept a lot - in class, on the roof, wherever he thought he wouldn't be disturbed. He was certain that the desperate boredom of this life was exhausting him.
Gokudera had apparently refused to take his turn as Mukuro's lunch guard from now on, so he saw even more of Sasagawa Ryohei, Tsunayoshi, and Yamamoto, who persisted in being friendly, most likely out of guilt over Mukuro's arm. Or maybe he felt bad because Mukuro had no friends (and no interest in making any, as none of the students here could be useful to him).
Either way, Mukuro saw a lot of him. He wasn't sure what to make of the boy. He seemed happy, simple, carefree, and yet Mukuro knew that Reborn considered him a born hitman. Mukuro had only rarely seen him fight, through Chrome's eyes, so he reserved his judgment.
Yamamoto made a pleasant enough lunch companion, though. He had showed up at Mukuro's classroom door again today, with his bento and extra onigiri to share. It was raining that day, which made Mukuro drowsy and more likely to be pleasant himself, so he smiled at Yamamoto and gestured for him to sit.
As usual, he listened to Yamamoto's summary of his latest game against another school. Not particularly in the mood for talking, Mukuro simply ate and said "Hmm," from time to time. Yamamoto never seemed bothered by this, which Mukuro found relaxing.
When they'd finished eating, Yamamoto looked out the window, watching the rain fall hard and steady. "Hey," he said with a smile, "are you doing anything after school?"
Mukuro looked at him for a moment before answering. "My social calendar seems to be rather free right now." Yamamoto was certainly already aware that the only place Mukuro ever went was the hospital, for occasional updates on Chrome's condition.
He laughed. "Great! It looks like we're not going to be able to have practice today. You wanna come with me? I'll treat you to sushi."
It was a surprising offer, if only because it was the first time anyone had made such a gesture since Mukuro had come here. None of Tsuna's other minions seemed interested in extending the hand of friendship - which was all right, since Mukuro really had no interest in those kinds of things.
Still, he smiled at Yamamoto. Given Yamamoto's general nature, Mukuro felt rather certain he'd been invited out of pity rather than friendship. He was not interested in accepting other's pity, but Yamamoto seemed so sincere anyway - and more importantly, Mukuro was sick of spending time cooped up in the Sawada household.
"All right," he said, and Yamamoto's grin got wider.
"Okay, then I'll meet you at the school gates after classes are over." He looked somewhat proud of himself, which Mukuro chose to ignore. It really wasn't that much of an accomplishment to ask him to go somewhere.
He kept smiling, though, and pointed out, "The bell's about to ring."
Yamamoto reflexively looked at the clock, then laughed. "You're right! I better get going before I get marked late again. See you later, Mukuro." He gathered up his lunchbox and left the classroom with one last smile for Mukuro.
Mukuro watched him go. Maybe this would even be fun.
***
As usual, Mukuro paid little attention to his classes. He'd discovered that if he slept through history class, the teacher - old and clearly anticipating retirement - wouldn't care and wouldn't even try to wake him. So by the time he met Yamamoto at the school gates, he had at least a little energy (though he wouldn't have minded a longer nap).
Yamamoto smiled when he saw Mukuro, reaching out to take his bag without asking. Mukuro raised an eyebrow, amused, and Yamamoto shrugged. "Your arm's hurt, it's not like it's easy to carry a bag and an umbrella like that." He slung Mukuro's bookbag over his shoulder with his own baseball bag.
Mukuro decided to allow it, still amused by Yamamoto's chivalry. Truthfully it was a little difficult to carry both bag and umbrella in this heavy rain, so it was some help, and he could move more easily.
They walked together, a few passing students looking at them curiously. Yamamoto didn't seem to notice, but Mukuro smirked back at them. He was used to being the subject of the other students' interest, but that didn't mean it wasn't occasionally annoying.
It wasn't long before they reached the sushi restaurant. Mukuro knew about it, of course, but he'd never been there before - even now he had no desire to socialize with the members of Tsunayoshi's little court. Today there were few customers, though, and certainly no one else their age.
Yamamoto's father greeted his son with a pleased cry of "Welcome home", and few of the other customers did the same - regulars, no doubt. Yamamoto lead Mukuro to sit at the counter, and they waited until his father was free to come and talk to them.
"Dad," Yamamoto said when he finally came over, "this is my friend Mukuro, from school. He's new."
Mukuro wondered how true Yamamoto thought that 'friend' comment was. He smiled carefully at Yamamoto the elder, noticing the hints of suspicion and worry in his eyes. It wasn't unfounded - Mukuro knew that his name and his hair gave off nothing but the impression of a foreign delinquent. But he had a smile that could disarm the strongest of suspicions when he tried, even if it was a lie through and through.
"He's from Italy," Yamamoto said with a grin, and his father brightened.
"Like Gokudera? That's all right, then," he said, as if Gokudera's strangeness served as a benchmark for all other Italians, and since Mukuro wasn't currently yelling at anyone, clearly he was all right. Mukuro wasn't sure how to feel about that. "So, I guess you boys would like some sushi, then."
"Yeah, I told Mukuro I'd treat him, since he just recently got here and all," Yamamoto said.
Yamamoto's father seemed happy enough to make them sushi in between serving his other customers. Mukuro wasn't squeamish about raw fish, and so he enjoyed the meal, indulging Yamamoto in meaningless chatter about school, the weather, and baseball.
The restaurant got busier as dinnertime approached, and Yamamoto's father left them alone most of the time. Mukuro took advantage of their relative solitude to smile at Yamamoto and ask, "Why did you bring me here?"
Yamamoto looked surprised, briefly. "I just wanted to."
Mukuro wondered what the real reason was. Pity? Or was he trying to distract him for some reason, or get information? Mukuro acknowledged the possibility that everything might really be just as it seemed, but he had survived this long by acknowledging that possibility and then looking more deeply. He would not change that now, when he needed more than ever to be on his guard.
But he knew that his life wasn't at stake this time. It was his curiosity alone that had made him ask - mostly. He changed subjects, ignoring Yamamoto's confusion. "Your father is very kind," Mukuro said, sipping his green tea with a smile.
To his credit, Yamamoto shrugged confusion off without batting an eye - maybe he was used to it. He smiled back at Mukuro. "Yeah, he's a real good guy. I think he likes you, too."
"I'll have to thank him for the good food," Mukuro said. He wondered how the Arcobaleno had thought this was a good idea. One of Tsuna's Guardians - who were destined to be blood-soaked, feared by hundreds or thousands of people - was this simple boy. Raised with love, caring only about baseball until he unwittingly entered a world where he didn't belong.
Perhaps, like Reborn said, deep down inside Yamamoto Takeshi there was the soul of a natural hitman. But even if it were true, he would lose everything eventually. He would have this simple life completely torn apart, sooner or later. Mukuro could see the remnants of Yamamoto's innocence when their eyes met, barely holding on as it slowly dissolved.
In a way, Mukuro was pleased that Reborn was not soft like Tsuna, that he was hard enough to see the potential in a young boy and send him down a path that would only end in blood.
Mukuro wondered if Yamamoto had killed a man yet.
Most of the Guardians were more suited for the job. Gokudera, and even Lambo the immature Thunder Guardian, had been born and mostly raised in the mafia. They knew what would be expected of them, the duties they would take on.
Mukuro doubted that Hibari Kyoya would care either way. It amused him, really, and he looked forward to seeing the man Hibari would become.
He knew that he himself was, ironically, a perfect pick. Although Mukuro hated the mafia, for that same reason he knew it in and out. He wouldn't flinch from anything.
But the last two - Rain and Sun, Yamamoto Takeshi and Sasagawa Ryohei - knew nothing. They both had potential, that was obvious, but bringing them into the world of the mafia would be eventually destroying these lives they lived so calmly, with families and friends, schools and sports. They had only seen the barest edges of the world of the mafia, not the darkness Mukuro knew so well.
It was nothing to him, not really. Only more evidence that the mafia corrupted everything it touched - and it touched nearly everything.
He wondered, though, if it would end up breaking them.
"It's starting to get dark," Yamamoto said, interrupting his thoughts. "I'd better walk you back."
"How thoughtful," Mukuro said, smiling, as always. "And will you carry my bag again?"
Yamamoto just laughed and bent over, picking up both of their bags.
***
It was still raining as they walked to Tsuna's house. Yamamoto walked next to Mukuro, carrying both of their schoolbags. He glanced over at the other boy from time to time, but mostly they walked in semi-comfortable silence.
Mukuro had smiled and talked to him and gave every appearance of truly having a good time. But still, Yamamoto wondered. Mukuro always seemed disconnected, like he wasn't really part of the things that went on around him, or maybe just like he didn't want to be. As if he knew he wouldn't be here long, so why bother getting attached?
It bothered Yamamoto a little. Despite all the things he'd heard - sometimes loudly and at length, from Gokudera - he liked Mukuro. Sure, he was a little strange, and sometimes he said things that made Yamamoto uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to be that bad of a person. He was funny, and smart, and nice to look at.
He just didn't want to be one of them. And sometimes, he looked at Yamamoto strangely - a mixture of pity and anticipation, he thought, but why?
Yamamoto wasn't a deep thinker. He didn't worry over things like Tsuna, or attempt to pick a problem apart like Gokudera might. It wasn't really that he was stupid, just that he didn't see much use for that stuff. Things usually worked themselves out in the end, so why stress about it?
He wasn't sure that Mukuro would work himself out in the end, though. Yamamoto knew that there were things going on that he didn't really understand - it was hard to see things from Mukuro's perspective, because he didn't know what Mukuro's perspective was. All he really knew was that he liked Mukuro, liked spending time with him, but that despite everything Mukuro wasn't exactly a friend.
They walked down back streets toward Tsuna's home, rain coming down around them as the sky steadily darkened. They were passing a small neighborhood bakery, closed and dark, when Yamamoto realized they were being followed.
It wasn't because of any sight or sound, but rather the innate sense of danger created and honed by being Tsuna's Guardian, being put in situations like this again and again. He looked at Mukuro and found Mukuro looking at him. The other boy smiled. "Don't let me down, Takeshi."
And then the enemies were on them. In a second, Yamamoto had retrieved his sword from the sports bag he carried, letting bags and umbrella drop and blocking the first strike. They didn't have guns, which was a blessing, but swords, knives, and fists could do enough damage.
There were five of them. It was hard to see, the street lit by one dim streetlight a couple buildings down, but Yamamoto knew the area well enough that it was more of an advantage than anything.
As always, he fought instinctively, slipping through the forms his father had taught him without a thought, blocking and striking, but careful - always careful to disable, not kill, if he could.
He was good, but there were five of them against him, after all. He tried to guard Mukuro as best he could, but the odds were against him. Yamamoto knocked one man off his feet and another slipped past while he was kicking the downed man's knife away. He immediately had to block a third man, and then he heard the sound of shattering glass behind him. He cursed and spun around, slashing a fourth man across the back of the legs - blade turned to break bone, not cut - but there was no need.
Mukuro had blocked the man's attack with his closed umbrella, now bent and broken on the ground, and had somehow managed to send him into the window of the darkened bakery. The man knelt on the sidewalk, surrounded by shards of glass, and struggled to stand - stunned from the impact, hands bloody from catching himself on broken glass.
Yamamoto had turned just in time to see Mukuro - powerless, defenseless Mukuro - pick up the man's fallen switchblade, step behind him, and (quickly, calmly, businesslike) cut his throat.
Mukuro let the man fall, holding the blade he took, watching the remaining men. It wasn't difficult to see that things weren't going so well for them. Two injured, one dead. They saw it too, and retreated, one limping and one carried by a colleague, leaving the body behind.
Yamamoto let them go. He was watching Mukuro.
"Why did you do that?" Yamamoto asked.
Mukuro looked back at him, barely seeming to notice him there. "Do what?" He waited, but got no response, and eventually took out his cell phone. "The Vongola family should take care of this mess." He called someone - Reborn, it sounded like - and casually explained that they'd been attacked. It didn't take long, and when he finished he turned back to Yamamoto. "He said we should wait here. He'll come."
Yamamoto nodded slightly, but he was looking at the dead man's blood, thick and dark and sticky among the glittering glass shards. "You shouldn't have done that, Mukuro," he said quietly.
"Why not?" Mukuro said.
"Because you didn't have to," Yamamoto said, looking at Mukuro again, seeing that look in his eyes - calculation, pity, interest. And something else, something else he couldn't place that made it feel like Mukuro hardly saw him at all. "We would have managed."
"Have you killed anyone yet, Yamamoto Takeshi?" Mukuro asked, a faint note of dismissal in his voice, as if he didn't want to be having this conversation. "If you always fight with the intent to injure only, you'll never reach your full potential. You're good right now. You could be great."
Yamamoto didn't say anything for a moment. He had killed, and more than once. To protect Tsuna, or Gokudera, or someone else. But it hadn't been like Mukuro made it sound - like on death on the edge of his blade would wash his conscience away, make it easy to kill again.
It was true, he was no genius. He never would be, and he was happy that way, but even so... even so, he remembered the face of everyone he killed. He would never forget, he was sure of that, even if killing did become easy for him.
"That man might have had a family. Children," Yamamoto said. He wondered if Mukuro remembered the faces of the ones he'd killed. He knew that was impossible, knew by the way Mukuro's own face hadn't changed even for a moment when he killed that man. Mukuro had so many bodies in his past that he'd ceased to count, ceased to care.
"He made his choice. When he joined the mafia he made his choice, and when he attacked us he made it again." Mukuro's voice was cool, and Yamamoto felt a tightening in his chest - Mukuro was barely older than him, but it was so easy for him to say those things.
"He would have killed us," Mukuro said. "So why should I hesitate to do the same to him?"
Was this what would happen to him someday? Would killing become a natural action, would it no longer be a last resort? Despite his certainty that he wouldn't change - would he just stop caring, like Mukuro?
Maybe, Yamamoto thought, but... "That doesn't make it right," he finished softly, looking at Mukuro with sadness. It seemed to take an effort, but Mukuro was focusing on Yamamoto now. But even with his sharp eyes, he looked vulnerable - more vulnerable than he really was. His thin frame and pale face, his wet hair and clothes made him look young, almost innocent.
Yamamoto came to his senses, realized the rain was still falling in torrents. Mukuro's umbrella was destroyed, and he really was almost frighteningly pale. He laughed, somewhat weakly, and picked up his own umbrella. "Hey, no need to stand out in the rain. Come here."
Mukuro said nothing, but smiled slightly - far away again - and came to stand under the umbrella with Yamamoto as they waited.
They didn't speak anymore, but Yamamoto could hear Mukuro's soft breaths, feel him nearby.
Mukuro shivered ever so slightly, and despite what he'd just seen, it made Yamamoto want to put an arm around him, hold him a little closer, tell him it didn't have to be like this. He could change if he wanted to.
But Yamamoto did nothing.
He knew Mukuro didn't want to.
***
Mukuro was still wet, but warmer now that he'd had a chance to bathe. Reborn had been certain that the Vongola family would take care of the mess that had been made, get what information they could from the corpse. Mukuro got to sit here, safe and sound in Tsunayoshi's house, and wait to see if they would deign to share any of that information with him.
He was tired, like he had been since he was taken out of prison, that unrelenting exhaustion that made him want to sleep forever. But once again, he couldn't sleep.
His head hurt. It was no simple headache. That he could deal with easily. This was a sharp throbbing pain that intensified whenever he moved his head. Or opened his eyes. Or thought anything beyond a dull wish for the pain to be gone.
Mukuro knew the moment that it had started. It had been that one instant when he'd seen that man running toward him, knife in his hand, and he'd instinctively reached for his power, his illusions, to protect himself. Instead, crippling pain had bloomed in his eye and temple.
It had been luck that kept him alive. He'd stumbled back, raising a hand to his head. Mukuro, who had killed so many and lived through so much, was saved only because he'd happened to raise the hand holding his umbrella. The man's knife caught on it, avoided Mukuro.
It had only been luck.
After that first blinding flash of agony, the pain had ebbed enough so he could think a little, so he could push the off-balance man into a window. He'd finished off the threat, called the Vongolas as he was supposed to, talked to Yamamoto - all of it now a pain-filled blur, though at the time he'd been alert enough. The only things that stood out were Yamamoto's eyes full of sorrow and disapproval. He'd tried to act as normal as possible, hide his weakness.
He thought he'd managed to. Yamamoto hadn't reacted, at least. Pain didn't bother Mukuro as badly as it did some illusionists, thanks to a childhood of painful experiments. And it had gotten less intense - bit by bit.
But it had made Mukuro realize one thing.
He was not getting better.
He had been exhausted since he came to Sawada Tsunayoshi's house. He'd assumed that it was from his confinement, that his physical strength would return even if his powers didn't. But he'd been there for three weeks now, sleeping in nearly every free moment he had (for what else was there to do?), and he was still as exhausted as he had been when he arrived.
More, now. The pain in his head was sapping his strength, leaving him weaker than before, unable to concentrate or even rest.
Something else was going on, and he was certain it was because of this supposed seal on his eye. But Ken and Chikusa hadn't yet contacted him, so he had no information at all. He couldn't even begin to do anything.
And for now, he couldn't even think. All he could do was lay on a borrowed futon, stare at the darkness behind his eyelids, and wait for the pain to go away.
He would make someone pay for this eventually. He promised himself that.
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Date: 2009-06-24 01:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-25 11:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-24 07:16 am (UTC)mini little thing -- way up there first sentence small typo, ok!
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Date: 2009-06-25 11:03 am (UTC)grrr! i fixed it ;_; *dies*
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Date: 2009-06-24 10:29 am (UTC)Too little of Hibari though. xDD Don't mind this, I'm obviously whinning xDDAnticipating the new chapter! ^^v
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Date: 2009-06-25 11:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 09:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-28 12:08 pm (UTC)