Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks for being so patient. ❤️ I broke my leg rather gruesomely recently and I just got off the good pain meds, so now I'm back into writing (legibly). 😅

Anyway, welcome to PART 2! If you're new here (hi!), please check out the first story in this series (Revel In Your Time) or else this will be very confusing. If you're not new, you may notice the tags are a bit different from Part 1; since this isn't the initial story anymore, I will keep the tags more relevant to the actual fic. (Hence, no tags for the Shimon family, the Arcobaleno, or even Byakuran!) I only tagged everyone in Part 1 since it was the start of the series.

Prologue

Cognac always reminded him of his late wife. Spicy or sweet, fruity or bitter - she had a refined taste that savored every variation of it and kept their homes well-stocked. Alessandra had been a strong woman, a Beta assassin from a smaller family allied under the Vongola; she’d given him three beautiful sons, and to this day, Timoteo was glad she hadn’t survived long enough to stand by his side and bury them.

This was also a fate Timoteo had hoped to spare his Family members, whenever possible. He had never assumed that just because children were born to his subordinates, they automatically belonged to the Vongola. Most of the time, it didn’t matter, because just like his own children - both nature and nurture combined, driving them from honest lives to the hellish pits where the rest of the Family worked. 

It was one thing to know what this sort of life entailed; it was another to watch it kill your children.

Timoteo had never considered himself very forgiving. Any number of his Guardians would rebuff that - how he’d handled his youngest son, for example, was the very picture of being too forgiving. Timoteo loved his children, even at their worst, but that wasn’t what stayed his hand that night; it was the flash of intuition behind his eyes that made him pause, the sight of his son’s rage-filled eyes an echo from hundreds of years ago.

It was that flash of intuition now that allowed Sawada Iemitsu to keep breathing.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” the CEDEF Head lied, smiling in that dopey way that meant he knew he was on thin ice and thought hammering it to be the best idea. One of the downsides of Iemitsu’s considerable exposure to Arcobaleno like Reborn and Lal Mirch meant that he inevitably found chaos and imminent death an amusing option rather than a threat. “Reborn didn’t say he was quitting the job or anything, right?”

Reborn’s damning letter - somehow more galling than his last phone call, wherein Coyote’s blood pressure saw new heights - was laid out atop Timoteo’s desk. It was as uninformative as all of the previous correspondence, and Timoteo somewhat marveled at the fact that Reborn could play into his expectations perfectly enough to get by without telling him anything important about Tsunayoshi. Naturally, Timoteo hadn’t expected much - and Reborn had taken full advantage of that.

And there had to be something more; Reborn wouldn’t have defected in his loyalties had there not been. 

It seemed extreme to call it defection, given that Reborn was still acting in his role as tutor to the Ninth-endorsed Vongola heir and remained seemingly loyal to the Vongola even as an independent assassin. However, Timoteo wasn’t so foolish as to misunderstand the implications of the letter, even if he did not understand the reasons for the switch.

“Your son is an Omega,” Timoteo stated. It came out calm, almost warm; he was far too experienced to let how rattled he truly was show. 

Iemitsu blinked back at him stupidly. “Yes - you saw that yourself when you visited him all those years ago, didn’t you?”

Iemitsu used to be a cute kid. Rambunctious, especially for such a peaceful place like Namimori; he’d been in and out of trouble up into junior high, a result of an alcoholic father who spent more time beating his wife and kid than working a job. Timoteo hadn’t felt bad about killing the man, but he had felt bad about not checking in on the other family line quick enough; Iemitsu’s mother passed away from one last beating, and some part of Iemitsu had never forgiven them for not getting there fast enough.

From junior high, the Vongola took him in and trained him up; his returns to Japan hadn’t been as sparse as they were now, maintaining a sort of working relationship with Namimori’s Hibari family that required more frequent trips lest Alaude’s descendants grow in their ire. Iemitsu grew into an intimidating, respectable man that married a pretty if ditzy Beta woman, and that core of steel and fury could still be seen despite the mask of joviality he now often wore like armor.

Timoteo, however, had never fallen for it. “He’s also without a Mate, is he not?”

The smile on Iemitsu’s face dimmed; the rage in his eyes glowed. “That’s right,” he answered, because his role as CEDEF Head pre-empted his role as a father. “Tsu-chan is still young and hasn’t Presented yet.”

“Presentation is a matter of time,” Timoteo waved off amiably. “He’s at the right age for it now.”

Omega Presentation ages varied - it could be as young as twelve, as old as seventeen; for their bloodline, it was especially hard to gauge because there had been so few Omegas born to it. They had looked into Iemitsu’s family tree extensively, especially after the death of Matsumo; whatever small off-shoots of Primo’s line there were ultimately reached dead ends, making Iemitsu and Tsunayoshi truly the very last of the bloodline. 

“Ah, I’m not sure his mother would agree,” Iemitsu returned with a considering hum. “Nana’s always been very particular about the topic.”

And there it was– Iemitsu’s favorite tactic when balancing loyalty to the Family with loyalty to his own family. Endless nonsense chatter about his wife had convinced many people that Iemitsu was just a simpering, doting husband. Learning to read between Iemitsu’s lies was a case study in patience. The more effusively he spoke, the less he actually said; he honed his performance of ignorance into an art form.

“My wife wouldn’t like that,” “his mother wouldn’t agree,” -- all these truly meant was that Iemitsu performatively deferred to his wife whenever the situation required it. 

What he really meant was “you can’t do this, he’s a civilian.”

As soon as Tsunayoshi was considered the nominal Vongola Heir, all of his civilian rights were dismissed. However, Sawada Nana still retained her’s; this wouldn’t have been an issue had the boy been an Alpha or Beta, but Omega children lived under the ownership of their parents until they were given to their Mate. Tsunayoshi was in an odd gray area where his father could require him to undergo tutoring via the mafia, but his mother still retained her guardian rights given it was in her household that he resided.

Iemitsu was clever, Timoteo would give him that. It hurt his old heart that it had come down to this, that he’d had to put himself at odds with his own Outside Advisor– Iemitsu had begged him, after all. Pleaded with him, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in years, to reconsider making Tsunayoshi his heir. But the continuation of the family bloodline demanded it, and Timoteo had sacrificed much more than one soft Omega child to ensure Vongola’s survival.

Timoteo would have thought that Primo would be rolling over in his grave at the idea of giving his Omega descendant the mantle of Vongola Decimo, but– He twisted the whole Vongola ring on his finger in consideration. It sparked a bit under his hand, an answer to his doubts that felt more like an admonishment than a reassurance.

“I have a proposition,” Timoteo said, pulling the ring off. 

After another moment of just looking down at it, wherein it lay still and expectant in his upturned palm - waiting for him to make good on the discussion he’d had with ghosts.

“He’s perfect,” he remembered the specter saying, at ease and confident in the way that had made Secondo and all his descendants envious. It was unnerving to see him then, more corporeal than ever before; the ring had never truly belonged to Secondo’s line, not even after the coup, and most heads had been denied the specter’s very voice in retaliation. “He’ll make the Vongola better.”

With a twist of his fingers, the ring came apart into two clean pieces. “One half for Tsunayoshi,” Timoteo said, offering hand held out to his Advisor. It was the opposite of an olive branch; this decision would sooner divide the family than anything else, but it was also necessary - inheritance must be absolute, must be undisputed.

The false cheer had long fallen from Iemitsu’s face. “This is a mistake,” he warned lowly - but he still took the half-ring. 

Sawada Tsunayoshi was an Omega, and despite what some of the closest, most trusted people Timoteo thought - it was Tsunayoshi’s Mate that would decide the Vongola’s future. It was thus Timoteo’s responsibility to ensure that they be given the best chance at success, so that the young Omega’s eccentricities didn’t destroy them from the inside out.

What are you thinking? Timoteo couldn’t help but wonder, rolling the remaining half-ring in his hand. What do you see in him?

Whether the thought was directed at Reborn or Giotto, Timoteo wasn’t sure.

Dying leaves scratched like sandpaper against him, the skin of his hands soft and uncalloused. He seemed unable to get a proper hold of anything, fingernails clawing light grooves into the dirt beneath him. There was a vice-like grip around his midsection, only made more terrifying when what felt like blades ripped down his throat and across his collarbone. He couldn’t properly breathe, not really, choking on short gasps tainted with a scent that sent his heart beating hard and battered in his thin chest.

His heart beat harder and harder then, until it beat too hard and something shattered inside. Heat swelled up into a torrent, too furious and desperate to be controlled, and then it swallowed him up from the ends of his hair to the tips of his fingers and toes. It doesn’t hurt– it can’t hurt, because it is his, because it is him–

The smell of burnt human flesh was obvious.

He laid there in the dirt and the leaves, trying to breathe, trying to focus. There’s something lying just out of reach of his lax fingers, charred and horrifying, and his heart continued its savage thrum in his chest.

He knows what it is, he knows– he knows–

“Tsunayoshi.”

A translucent hand settled gently on his head, sliding carefully to cover his eyes. The figure attached to it is a specter half-formed, but there is something familiar to both the shape and the voice. 

“Don’t dwell here,” the man said, soft and sad.

Tsuna catches a flicker of the hand, donned in a black glove with a large ‘I’ embedded in the metallic molding on the back, but then his vision spun into colors and formless shapes. He doesn’t close his eyes - he can’t, not here where he’s caught between memories and nightmares - but he’s suddenly able to focus when the world stops slipping past his eyes.

He’s in another familiar space, but this one is much more recent: Kokuyou Land’s movie theater, in a state between functional and decayed. Unlike when he was last there, the screen and seating are still present; cushioned red seats were lined up in neat rows, but there were enough in shambles or covered in dusty cobwebs and small pieces of rubble that the room itself was a strange patchwork image of the theater on opening day and far past its closure.

Tsuna didn’t care about that, seated in one of the rows and eyes turned away from what was being played on the screen. His gaze fastened on the person sitting two seats away from him, tall and slender and painful to look at. The colors of the movie played across his pale skin, and after a moment of Tsuna’s eyes burning into the side of his face, he deigned to tilt his mismatched eyes in Tsuna’s direction.

“Mukuro,” Tsuna breathed out.

The corner of Mukuro’s lips quirked up. He wasn’t amused, not really, but Tsuna couldn’t tell what emotion bled into his expression. It was too jagged to be fondness, too kind to be disdain; perhaps not even Mukuro knew what he felt when he saw Tsuna.

“Sawada Tsunayoshi,” Mukuro acknowledged in turn, looking back to the movie screen. “Do you know that you’re dreaming right now?”

Tsuna did not turn his eyes away from the side of Mukuro’s face. “Yes,” he replied.

“The Vindice locked me up somewhere more…secure, than before,” Mukuro continued idly. “I can’t see. I can’t hear. I can’t move– in a traditional sense, in any case. So for now, this is the only place we can meet - in these unpleasant dreams of yours.”

“I’m sorry,” Tsuna apologized on reflex. Then, in vague confusion, “Unpleasant?”

Mukuro’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, unpleasant,” he affirmed. “Why else won’t you look at the screen?”

The colors spilled across the seats, the floor, across Mukuro’s smiling-unsmiling face. The sounds were distorted and echoing, barely discernible as if at the end of a very long tunnel. It was almost painful when he slid his gaze back to the front, every cell in his body screaming at him to stop.

On the screen, his eyes briefly fell on the sight of a familiar pastel blue sweater before his sight was suddenly obscured. Mukuro had seemingly materialized in front of him, towering over where Tsuna sat and hands resting on the top of Tsuna’s chair, on either side of his head. Tsuna could only see small spots of the screen from the gaps between, dead leaves paired with pastel blue paired with swirling orange.

“You shouldn’t look,” Mukuro said, voice cold and even.

Tsuna looked away from the gaps and back into Mukuro’s face. “Why?”

“Because you don’t actually want to yet.”

Mukuro’s hand slid from the top of his seat to cradle the back of Tsuna’s head, and then down to curl his nails into the nape of his neck. He leaned further down, hair tickling the side of Tsuna’s face, his sweet-and-clean lotus scent in his nostrils.

“Wake up, Sawada Tsunayoshi.”

Tsuna opened his eyes to his bedroom ceiling. 

Morning light was filtered through the window, Reborn’s light snoring audible in the air and patently fake because of it. Fuuta lay on the futon beside Tsuna’s bed, curled into a ball under a mix of random sheets of paper scrawled with his rankings and assorted blankets and pillows smelling of Tsuna himself. The house was peaceful at this early hour with everyone still asleep in their beds, safe and secure in the home his mother maintained.

Tsuna dug the back of his hands into his eyes and choked back a sob.

A/N: The Ninth just hanging out with his haunted jewelry gets me. 😂

Tsuna: this is great. just you, me, and this emotional wall you built between us

Mukuro, unwilling(?) observer of The Horrors™ in Tsuna's mind: i didn't even build this wall, you did, what the fu--

As always, please drop a comment/kudos. Thanks! 

Chapter Text

A/N : Thanks for the well-wishes! My leg was just being dramatic and wanted to show me my bone 🙄 Like thanks and all, but that needs to stay inside.

Chapter 1

Gokudera had spent his childhood on the streets of Naples. He made his first kill when he was barely eleven years old, a random Beta male in an alleyway who smelled of smoke and booze and easy pickings. Gokudera hardly cared to remember that first murder, so certain he was in the life he’d chosen, but the tally marks of lives he’d taken since had yet to reach past the number of fingers on one hand.

Some of it was due to Dr. Shamal, who purportedly had never taken him under his wing - yet every time Gokudera tried to choose violence, Shamal was there to intervene and spill blood in his place. Some of that was due to his father, who had sent men after him every time Gokudera ran from home; they’d clean up the bodies and destruction left in Gokudera’s wake, then carted him back into that unfeeling home. 

It had been a home, once; they had been a family, once. But then Bianchi’s mother died and his father returned home with a pretty Omega woman on his arm whose heart was made of petty grievances stitched together with ill intentions. She was a weak, cruel thing; she’d never raised a hand to him, but it wasn’t physical pain that hurt him the most. 

Her goal of replacing him in his father’s eyes with her own children was a dream never to reach fruition in the end, though. His sister had earned herself the name Poison Scorpion because of this first crime, committed against the woman who dared to look down on him for his mixed-race face with his mother’s eyes. 

Gokudera had hated his stepmother back then, and looking back on it now - he still did. Her humble origins paired with her desperation made her unnecessarily cruel, and she’d taken that out on the most obvious obstacle to what she perceived to be success: a child. It would be easy; Gokudera was a Beta, after all, and his Alpha father surely wanted an Alpha heir.

Omegas were meant to have children - it was their singular purpose, a God-given biological imperative for which they were made. When Bianchi’s poisons had made their stepmother infertile, she’d been tossed aside as quickly as Gokudera’s ailing mother. There were no more women after her, Bianchi’s reputation enough to scare even the most brazen, but Gokudera still ran away from home and sought something more from the world outside its walls.

That, at least, had paid off significantly.

“Did you know?” Tsuna asked him quietly. 

It sent a shiver down his spine. It was always strange to hear his boss speak that way; soft and demure, like the glowing fire in his eyes was some trick of the light instead of a peek into his soul. Tsuna could strangle him right there and then, and Gokudera would just let himself asphyxiate if that’s what the other male wanted.

“I was never told,” Gokudera answered honestly. He would always be honest with Tsuna. “But I figured some of it out. A bit.”

The last bit of uncertainty was tacked on, because Reborn’s sudden switch was…unexpected. Gokudera respected Reborn, was in awe of the man’s - baby’s? - skills, his notoriety and strength– but he didn’t have faith in him, not like he had in Tsuna. Gokudera had eaten up all the tales of the Vongola Ninth, of legendary figures like Reborn - but he’d only lay down his life for one person, and that was the person sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at him with glowing amber eyes.

“You never told me,” Tsuna continued softly. “Why?”

That was a question with multiple answers. A lesser person would have chosen the one that earned them the least ire, an honorable person the most honest; Gokudera was neither, and simply answered in full since that was Tsuna’s demand.

“At first, I thought it didn’t matter,” Gokudera replied. “You were a civilian - there was no way you’d last in the mafia. I was wrong of course, and then after you beat me, I realized how much you would hate the idea of what the Ninth had planned and what Reborn was trying to do.”

Gokudera wasn’t as perceptive as people like Tsuna, or the Ninth, or Reborn; it was harder for him to discern motivations, to figure out what people were trying to do and the intentions behind their actions. Even so, he would try: he observed where he could, he worked people like Hibari Kyouya, he took steps to address issues and resolve obstacles to what he thought Tsuna wanted, to ensure his trajectory would never be halted.

It wasn’t miscalculation that stopped Gokudera from bringing up the Ninth’s true intentions - it was fear.

Gokudera hadn’t been appreciated a lot in his life. He knew he sought it everywhere, but at every turn, he also rejected it; smaller gangs had tried to get him on their side, once his name spread among Campania’s streets. He knew enough people to get introduced to Dr. Shamal, even though the older male refused to take him on as an apprentice. The Vongola kept enough tags on him to be able to call him over to Japan at Reborn’s request, but Gokudera had known he was nothing more than a simple tool for their ends.

Tsuna wasn’t raised to think of his subordinates as tools, and it had never crossed his mind to treat Gokudera like a weapon to wield. Gokudera was fiercely intelligent, but Tsuna never asked him for intel; Gokudera was a gifted young assassin, but Tsuna never asked him to hurt others; Gokudera had enough connections to start several small illegal businesses, but Tsuna never asked for him to turn a profit.

So Gokudera had to ask himself - what can you do for your boss?

Be loyal, he’d thought, framing several local politicians to get them removed so that their seats in office were taken with people more willing to push liberal policies.

Be stronger, he’d thought, waking up in a Namimori Hospital room after failing to protect Tsuna against Rokudou Mukuro, bleeding through his bandages as he checked himself out.

Be smarter, he’d thought, pretending to not notice the way Hibari Kyouya carefully watched Tsuna the way a predator watches prey.

And now, more than ever– be honest, he thought, head bowed in shame and fear, sinking to his knees on the floor of the Tenth’s bedroom because he was not worthy enough to take the open seat offered to him. 

“I was scared to tell you,” he admitted weakly, pathetically. “I thought… You would think I didn’t trust you, that I thought the same as them. I didn’t want…”

I didn’t want you to abandon me.

The thing with the Tenth was that he could always understand what Gokudera was too weak to admit out loud. “Gokudera,” Tsuna said, his tone a mix of concerned and agonized. 

He slid off the edge of his bed, resting on his knees in front of Gokudera’s bowed form, but the bomber couldn’t even open his mouth to beg for forgiveness before Tsuna’s hand curled into the front of his shirt and yanked him back upright. Viridian met glimmering amber, Tsuna’s brows pulled down into an expression with frightening intensity.

“I would have believed you,” Tsuna said. “I do believe you. We’re friends, Gokudera - and that means I’ll listen to you first.”

The fist clenched tight in the front of his shirt released him after a moment, but Gokudera remained upright on his knees as Tsuna wanted. Tsuna’s scent was strong in the room, strong enough that even Gokudera’s Beta nose could pick it up clearly, a result of the strong flush of emotions flickering over the Omega's features.

Gokudera had never met the Vongola Ninth in person. He’d heard stories of the man, of course; tales about how he could just know a person in a single conversation, how so few people were capable of denying him any of his commands disguised as requests. There wasn’t a single mafioso in Italy who didn’t think of the head of the Vongola family without some shred of fear or awe, and Gokudera had believed those seemingly tall tales with only a small measure of doubt.

Looking at the boy across from him now, Gokudera thought that legend to be an ample stepping stone for what Sawada Tsunayoshi would become.

With orange fire flaring in his eyes, Tsuna spoke softly, “And I’m listening now.”

So Gokudera told him everything.

Everything he’d done since his arrival in Namimori, the odd bargain he struck with the town’s most bloodthirsty overseer, the strings he’d pulled and the people he’d struck down. Gokudera spoke about what he could do, what he would do– should Tsuna ever ask. 

Tsuna’s eyes trailed from Gokudera’s face, down to his bandaged arms and chest; Gokudera knew from that expression that Tsuna would always hesitate to ask. Gokudera was a sharped tool, an explosive weapon– one that Tsuna would always hesitate to wield, because first and foremost to the Vongola Tenth, Gokudera was his friend.

“Okay,” Tsuna said, after Gokudera had finished. “Okay…”

A thoughtful expression cleared away the intensity of emotion from before, Tsuna relaxing back though remaining on his knees on the floor with Gokudera. With tentative movements, he reached for the bomber’s hand, fingers gently wrapping around Gokudera’s calloused skin. 

A sort of tingle ran up Gokudera’s arm. It wasn’t like the feeling of his arm going to sleep, or some weird effect from Bianchi’s poisons or Shamal’s cures; it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, a sort of trailing heat that was simultaneously pleasant and disorienting. 

Tsuna blinked down at their joined hands, lips quirked into a shallow frown. “...it’s not working,” he mused under his breath. “Why?”

“Wh-What’s not working?” Gokudera choked out, heat rising to his cheeks in a vibrant blush. 

Tsuna shook his head, pulling his hand back. “It’s…not really important,” he said dismissively, looking back into Gokudera’s eyes. “I’ll ask Reborn first, then let you know, Gokudera.”

“Yes, Tenth!”

Tsuna sighed. “You can just call me Tsuna, you know?”

“Yes, Tenth!”

The smile that flitted across Tsuna’s mouth was well worth the passive insubordination.

The gentle swaying motion would have lulled Tsuna to sleep in any other circumstance, but instead his eyes were pulled to the sight just past tinted plexiglass. The cityscape stretched out in all directions beneath his gaze, people scurrying about like ants atop the paved pathways threaded between tall trees. The sunlight was warm through the windows, but that heat didn’t seem to go deeper than his skin.

On high alert, Tsuna kept his hand wrapped around the thin wrist under his fingers. “Don’t fidget so much, Fuuta,” he admonished the child quickly.

Fuuta blinked wide brown eyes back at him, not quite concentrated enough to be a mimicry of innocence. He’d originally sat in the seat opposite of Tsuna as the ferris wheel carriage slowly rose into the air, but the higher they got, the more the niggling sense now clamorously active in the back of Tsuna's mind thundered. It got to the point that Tsuna pulled Fuuta over to his side, forcing the child into the seat next to him even though it kept their carriage slightly more sunk in one direction.

Hyper Intuition was turning out to be both a curse and a blessing. On one hand, it kept Tsuna so aware of his surroundings that whenever he left the relative safety of his home, he felt on edge; on the other hand, it meant that he could actually do something before disaster effectively struck. 

Keeping Fuuta from flinging himself out the carriage door and down onto asphalt was one such boon.

Tsuna supposed he should have questioned the child’s strange preoccupation with ferris wheels sooner. Even worse, Reborn seemed amused by the tense hold he had on the Omega boy, seated on the abandoned side of the carriage and watching Tsuna’s taut form with a smirk. It made Tsuna grit his teeth but he kept his silence; there was no point in blaming Reborn for not telling him about Fuuta’s self-harm inclinations, since his tutor would never point out something he thought Tsuna should have figured out by himself. In Reborn’s twisted world view, this was just part of the punishment.

“I could go as high as the birds, Tsuna-nii,” Fuuta said. It could have been considered a complaint had he not sounded so giddy about it, Fuuta’s gaze flitting from the view outside the plexiglass windows and down to the small notebook he’d brought, where he was rapidly jotting down obscure ferris wheel rankings. “This ferris wheel is ranked 22nd out of 146 ferris wheels in Japan…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tsuna sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back against the carriage wall but keeping his hand locked around the thin wrist. Fuuta seemed unbothered by the contact; he hadn’t once tried to break Tsuna’s hold, almost as if they were just holding hands. 

“A good boss should strive to understand their subordinate’s wants and needs,” Reborn chimed in, only a little mockingly.

Tsuna’s eyes snapped open to shoot the suit-clad baby a glare. “Fuuta’s not a subordinate, he’s a kid,” he corrected his tutor waspishly. Reborn’s new thing was constantly bringing up what a “good boss” would do, though half the time Tsuna was sure the tiny hitman was just making things up for his own amusement. At one point, Reborn had piped up that “blowing bubbles” was a skill a good boss should have and Tsuna had nearly thrown the tube of soapy water at him.

“I’m nine,” Fuuta said agreeably, eyes now directed back out the plexiglass. 

Slowly but surely, there was something approaching true cognizance in Fuuta’s gazes lately; whereas before it would be difficult for him to meet their eyes or fully respond to their words, now he was able to follow conversations better with only intermittent interruptions to jot down rankings. It was improvement, though Tsuna hoped this single ferris wheel ride would satisfy that particular obsession; he wasn't sure he could handle this again.

It took an hour-long train ride out of Namimori to get to the nearest ferris wheel, which sat atop the roof of a shopping complex. They had made a day of it given the length of the journey; an arcade occupied the third floor of the mall, snacks were found in the food court that took up the entirety of the fifth floor, and they indulged in some light shopping to get Fuuta some new clothes. 

They were alone for now, but that was only because they had to split up for the ferris wheel; in the carriage just below them was Gokudera, Yamamoto, Lambo, and I-Pin. Tsuna had thought about keeping the three younger kids together, but Fuuta deserved to enjoy the ride he’d so wanted to be on in peace rather than with his rambunctious younger counterparts causing chaos.

Eyeing the violently swinging carriage housing his friends, though, Tsuna wondered if maybe he should have just kept all the kids with him. Then again, Gokudera plus Yamamoto would be enough to get a violent end-result…

“A good boss should be able to take care of the kids under his protection,” Reborn said.

“Will you just stop?!”

Tsuna counted his lucky stars - which did not include the Ranking Plant, Fuuta, no - when the ride finally came to a stop and Fuuta remained blissfully in one (unnerving) piece. Fuuta didn’t seem disheartened that the ride came to a stop, instead slipping his hand into Tsuna’s and chattering inaudibly under his breath. 

Tsuna ignored the way the gazes lingered. To the passing populace of this rooftop ride, Tsuna looked to be an unaccompanied Omega; his scent may denote him as still unPresented, but his age was close enough for it to be an issue. An Omega child and an infant Alpha did little to make up for that vulnerability in their eyes, and Tsuna could smell the interest in the odd Alpha who passed by. Worse still, his intuition clocked when that interest turned to intent - as it did with a trio of Alpha and Beta boys loitering just steps away from the exit line.

Then Gokudera and Yamamoto exited the ride, trailing the (scuffed) Lambo and (unscathed) I-Pin. The children were still squabbling, as were their teenage counterparts, but Gokudera noticed Tsuna first and picked up Lambo by the scruff, darting over to the Omega boy with a beaming smile. Yamamoto and I-Pin followed at a more sedate pace for the girl’s short legs, but it wasn’t until Yamamoto drew close enough that Tsuna felt those intent gazes from before slip away.

Tsuna pulled on a smile, even as he made sure that Gokudera stayed between him and Yamamoto as they began to walk, the three kids jostling in front of them. Usually it would be Tsuna in the center, but some part of Tsuna didn’t want to be perceived as belonging to an Alpha, even if that Alpha was Yamamoto.

Yamamoto didn’t seem to notice anything odd in his behavior, but once again - Tsuna’s hyper intuition piqued, reading between the baseball player’s bright smile and light laughter. Tsuna swallowed the small ball of guilt, lodging it right under his heart where the heat coiled. 

Letting Yamamoto’s laughing quips and Gokudera’s sniping replies wash over him, Tsuna looked down at his hand. The heat inside him uncoiled, winding down to his fingertips, though nothing showed physically. After a moment’s consideration, he directed the fire to his other side where his hand continued to hold Fuuta’s. It reached, in that same searching way that it had for Mukuro and Gokudera, but unlike the complementary force of Mukuro or even the warm whisper of Gokudera, nothing was there to reach back.

There was a harsh slap to the back of his head, and then Reborn’s tiny form settled on his shoulder. “Stop trying to harmonize with everyone,” he said, voice distinctly unimpressed. Tsuna grimaced briefly; he may not know exactly what ‘harmonization’ meant in this context, but trying to experiment with it on Fuuta had been poorly thought-out. “Fuuta isn’t Flame-active - he can’t answer you.”

Tsuna considered that. “Like Dying Will flames? But I could feel Gokudera, kind of…” It wasn’t as obvious as Mukuro, or - in retrospect - the teenage Lambo from that one time, but there was something there trying to meet the fire Tsuna had held out. 

“Of course you tried,” Reborn scoffed imperiously. “Dame-Tsuna is still dame.”

“Reborn, you–”

A tiny foot smacked into his face, Reborn’s small form spinning mid-air to land atop his head. “Don’t talk back to your tutor.”

Rubbing his smarting nose, Tsuna rolled his eyes. Leon’s tongue darted out and got him in the eye in retaliation.

“Anyway, your attempt to harmonize with Gokudera didn’t fail because of something you did - for once,” Reborn continued on. “Gokudera is almost Flame-active, as is Yamamoto. It won’t take much at this point, but you won’t be able to harmonize with them until they are.”

Tsuna’s brows furrowed. “You can’t just shoot them with Dying Will bullets? Or Rebuke bullets?”

“That only worked for you because you’re strange.”

Reborn must have some sort of medical condition that made it impossible for him to go every other sentence without somehow insulting him, Tsuna was sure of it. However, he could tell that Reborn was being honest; both Gokudera and Yamamoto had been shot with Dying Will bullets before - to both their chagrins, once they woke up with Tsuna hovering over their boxer-clad forms - but it didn’t seem to be enough. 

What did it mean to be Flame-active then? Both boys had reacted just as Tsuna had to Dying Will bullets, but did being Flame-active mean more than that? Tsuna wondered if it related to the unnamed heat he felt ever-present in his chest, a force more connected to his intuition than his sensitive nerves or dynamic.

The train ride back was hardly peaceful; perhaps high on either sugar, ferris wheel-induced joy, or Gokudera-administered-pain adrenaline, the kids were more hyper than ever. Fuuta and I-Pin were content to sit on either side of Tsuna, but Lambo’s cackling laughter could be heard up and down the train car as both Gokudera and Yamamoto tried to wrangle him. A few people whispered among themselves at the uncomely display; between the obviously foreign-born Gokudera and Lambo, Yamamoto’s close proximity, and Tsuna’s inaction and complete apathy, Tsuna had earned more than his fair share of dirty looks.

Tsuna stared at his hands and thought of fire.

The walk home was much more pleasant, back on familiar streets with people who had learned the hard way via Hibari’s oppressive regime. The sun was slowly sinking its way across the sky but not near enough for the playgrounds to be empty, so they split ways with Yamamoto first before heading to the park closer to Tsuna’s home for the kids to play a bit longer.

Sitting on a bench beside Reborn and Gokudera - who, in consideration of the playground’s rules, was only bitterly chewing on gum instead of smoking - Tsuna let his eyes wander over the park. The park itself wasn’t anything grand, but the slides and climbing area kept Lambo and I-Pin entertained; Fuuta hadn’t made much headway, loitering between the sandbox and where Tsuna sat, seemingly reluctant to move too far from him.

Tsuna watched him, something unpleasant curling in his chest. “...Fuuta, what’s wrong?” he asked, deciding to ignore the sensation and standing from his seat. “Do you want to play in the sandbox–”

“No!” Fuuta snapped out, loud and frightened. “Don’t come here, Tsuna-nii!”

Some of the children playing nearby and the adults watching them paused, but soon turned away after catching sight of Gokudera’s glowering look. 

Fuuta had fled back to Tsuna’s side, brown eyes wide and distressed scent overpowering. “I don’t want to be here, Tsuna-nii,” the child whispered, face turned into Tsuna’s side as his thin arms wrapped around his midsection. Tsuna rested a hand atop the small boy’s head, carding his fingers through light brown strands in comfort. “We shouldn’t be here.”

Is this because of last time? Tsuna wondered, fingers running down from the crown of Fuuta’s head to the side of his neck. Mukuro had abducted Fuuta from this very park, though Tsuna hadn’t thought the abduction itself was particularly violent, given how Fuuta acted while at Kokuyou Land; it had seemed more like Mukuro promised him a ride on the ferris wheel and Fuuta had obediently followed. That didn't feel quite right, but Tsuna also wasn't thinking about it too deeply.

“Okay, Fuuta, we can go,” Tsuna said softly, pushing out his own scent to cover the child. 

Reborn watched him with critical dark eyes, but Tsuna refused to guess at his tutor’s thoughts and speculations. I-Pin came over obediently enough when Tsuna called, but Gokudera had to physically haul a screaming Lambo off the climbing gym. He dangled the cow-print child over one shoulder as they left, threats and obscenities falling in equal measure from the bomber’s lips - though he quickly switched to Italian at the first horrified gasp from one of the parental onlookers.

Fuuta remained glued to Tsuna’s side the entire walk home, though he had relaxed enough to only cling to one arm instead of his entire torso. The scent of distress underlying his sweet scent faded the further they got from the park, and by the time the house came into view, it was as subdued as it ever got.

Then they caught sight of a familiar figure waiting outside the gate.

“Dino-san?” Tsuna greeted in confusion.

The blonde Alpha jolted as they drew near, spinning around to face them - and then tripping over his own two feet, slamming head-first into the gate with a loud yelp.

“Oh right, he’s an idiot without his men,” Gokudera muttered, very audibly and very pointedly. 

Dino winced as he climbed back on to his feet, cheeks lightly pink. “Tsuna!” he returned, an awkward smile on his lips as he rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. “You’re back! Uh– welcome back!”

“Thanks?” Tsuna said, drawing to a stop in front of the Italian mafioso. 

Lack of physical aptitude aside, Dino was acting more strange than usual; his eyes had darted from Tsuna to Reborn numerous times, and Tsuna couldn’t shake off the feeling of anxiety that Dino was exuding with his every gesture. He wasn’t wringing his hands or doing anything too obvious, but his scent was laced with unease and it set Tsuna on edge.

“Is something wrong, Dino-san?” Tsuna asked, after only momentarily considering just ignoring the whole thing. It’s not like ignoring it ever helped, and besides, Reborn would just punish him for ‘neglecting his duties as a boss’ or something. The only thing worse than Reborn shooting at him, Tsuna had learned, was Reborn lecturing him.

Dino floundered for a minute, paling rapidly as he shook his head, paused, then began to nod instead. “Listen, Tsuna, er– maybe we should go inside first?” he squeaked out, glancing around. “This is really…a conversation we should have in private…”

“Okay…” Tsuna agreed worriedly, leading the way through the gate. 

He glanced around as soon as he pushed through the front door, toeing off his shoes at the entryway even as he tried to clock anything odd. There was no discernible scents in the air, aside from the fragrant smell of his mother's cooking. The doors to both the living room and kitchen were open; he could just barely catch a glimpse of his mother and Bianchi moving about in the kitchen, which just meant he had to keep Gokudera out of there since it looked like the Poison Scorpion had yet to don her customary goggles. There was the sound of the TV from the living room, though it was low enough that it was hard to make out what was on.

“I’m home!” Tsuna called out.

His mother’s “Welcome home!” was cheerful but distracted, and she didn’t emerge from the kitchen. Lambo and I-Pin ran past his knees with reckless abandon, heading straight up the stairs and likely to Tsuna’s room; they seemed to have a preference for ransacking it whenever possible, but Tsuna couldn’t get past the trepidation lodged in his chest to admonish them. Fuuta was quick to follow them after reluctantly releasing Tsuna's arm, though he’d likely just hole up in Tsuna’s bed and reconstruct his nest.

Tsuna turned to the living room, Gokudera (angrily) and Dino (worriedly) on his heels. He stopped dead in the doorway, blinking at the sight that greeted him– namely, the four figures scattered about the room in various states of interest.

The least shocking was the lean Beta youth sitting in a proper seiza, dark blonde hair falling over one of his soft blue eyes. He wore concern the same way Gokudera wore a scowl, and he looked unusually stiff with his hands resting in his lap. He looked up as Tsuna filled the doorway, quick to jump to his feet with a perfect 90-degree bow before resuming his also-perfect seated position.

Tsuna couldn’t linger on him for long, because the two sitting in the corner furthest from the door with their backs leaned against adjacent walls quickly grabbed his attention: Kakimoto Chikusa and Joushima Ken. Both Betas were staring back at him, though the latter turned his attention back to the TV and stuffed what looked to be an entire handful of chips into his mouth. Chikusa’s flat gaze didn’t waver but he also didn’t say anything, yo-yo nowhere in sight.

The most surprising of all, however, was the tall form seated on the opposite end of the coffee table from where Tsuna entered. 

“...Dad?”

Sawada Iemitsu grinned wide and warm, slouched over the coffee table with a sake glass in hand. “Tsu-chan, welcome home!” he boomed, cheeks a light pink but eyes decidedly aware. Some of the alcohol sloshed out of the cup and onto the table, which had the unknown Beta hurriedly scrubbing up the mess with a tissue and refilling the glass. “You’re looking adorable as ever!”

Tsuna hoped he looked as unimpressed as he felt. 

“That’s the Tenth’s father?!” he heard Gokudera’s panicked mumble from behind him.

His dad’s return was a surprise, but to be fair, it usually was; the man seemed allergic to the idea of calling ahead and letting his family know when he’d be back in Japan, so Tsuna had just grown used to him randomly showing up over the years. It was earlier than usual, since his father did try to come during the holidays instead so they could spend more time together, but it wasn’t completely unheard of for him to show up during the school year. At least, it wasn’t odd enough to necessitate Dino’s weird reaction to it.

Tsuna decided there were more important things to worry about. “Kakimoto and Joushima came with you?” he asked his dad, then without waiting continued, “Where’s Mukuro?”

“Obsessed,” Reborn scoffed quietly into his ear, before jumping from his shoulder to take the seat on Iemitsu’s left and across from the Beta boy.

The question at least got the Kokuyou boys’ full attention, though they didn’t look happy. That caused a sunken feeling in Tsuna’s gut, which further heightened as his father’s dopey expression fell.

“Ah, that one’s a bit more complicated,” the man answered vaguely. It was gratifying that he wasn’t bothering to feign ignorance related to the mafia; Reborn’s lessons had covered exactly how Tsuna was related to the Vongola’s founder, and one of the first questions he’d asked was why his father hadn’t been considered in the running for inheritance.

An Outside Advisor. His father’s vague, constantly-on-the-move occupation had turned out to be organized crime. It would have been laughable, except his father had been the one to recommend Dr. Shamal.

“What’s complicated?” Tsuna asked. Even now, he could feel Mukuro’s fingers against his throat.

“Sawada-dono, if I may,” the Beta boy spoke up in place of his father’s contemplative silence. “Rokudou Mukuro is complicit in several mass murders, so the Vindice are still investigating.”

“They deserved it!” Ken shouted from the corner angrily.

Iemitsu shot him a look, “It’s still murder, boy.”

Tsuna swallowed a retort, forcing himself to move forward so that the others could at least enter the room. Tsuna took the seat opposite of his father, Gokudera falling into a cross-legged position next to him as Dino took the last open cushion beside Reborn.

“Who is this?” Tsuna asked rudely, indicating to the Beta boy with his eyes since it seemed like both his father and Reborn hadn’t cared to remember to do proper introductions. 

“This lowly one is called Basil, Sawada-dono!” the Beta introduced himself politely. “It is a great honor to be in thy presence.”

Did he learn Japanese from stage plays or something? Tsuna thought incredulously. Fortunately, his mother had taught him not to be that rude, so he kept that thought to himself. 

“He’s my cute protégé,” Iemitsu snickered, reaching over to ruffle Basil’s hair. “You two are the same age, so get along~!”

This would be the first time his father brought someone back home with him, as far as Tsuna was aware, but at least it wasn’t a half-sibling for Tsuna to worry about. If his father did ever cheat on his mother, Tsuna would kill him.

With a glance at Dino - who was looking considerably more miserable - Tsuna bit back a frown. “Nice to meet you, Basil-kun,” he said. “I’m Sawada Tsunayoshi. You can call me Tsuna.”

Basil’s expression looked horrified. “This one wouldst never dare be so presumptuous, Sawada-dono!”

Tsuna turned a flat stare onto his father.

“Basil-kun is a good boy,” Iemitsu cooed, ruffling the Beta’s hair again.

Tsuna re-evaluated: okay so yes, his father could be annoying when he wanted, and Basil was weird, and it had been shocking to see Chikusa and Ken lounging in his living room without Mukuro - but none of this explained Dino’s anxious expression. The Cavallone boss hadn’t calmed down at all even after entering the room, instead fidgeting nervously in place and accidentally poking himself twice in the eye.

Before Dino could cause permanent damage to himself, Tsuna steeled his spine. “Is something going on?” he asked, because he didn’t know how to delicately word ‘why the hell are you all here?’ “...Is it related to Mukuro? Or the Vongola?”

Iemitsu’s smile was much more sober - and sharper. “Which do you think?”

The presence of Chikusa and Ken would indicate the former, but… “The Vongola, then?” Tsuna asked, unpleasantness washing over him at the approving look in his father’s eye - only because it was tempered by a quiet sort of disdain. The contempt wasn’t directed at Tsuna, or even really anyone in the room– which was what made it so odd.

“Dino,” Iemitsu said– no, ordered. “Present it.”

Dino looked like he’d rather die.

With shaking fingers, the blonde dug into the folds of his jacket and pulled a small black box. He set it atop the table with trembling hands, eyes looking anywhere but at Tsuna and seemingly nauseous with fraught nerves. 

Reborn kicked the back of the blonde’s head so hard that he hit it against the top of the coffee table with another loud yelp. “Is this how the Cavallone boss should act?” the baby assassin sneered.

“But Reborn–!” Dino was quick to cry out, snapping back up, forehead bright red with an oncoming bruise. “This is–!”

Dino clamped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth and eyes downcast. After a moment, he pushed the black box in Tsuna’s direction by a scant few inches. 

Tsuna decided to spare him any more Reborn-given injuries, reaching over and pulling the box closer to him. He opened it, aware of Gokudera leaning closer to observe from beside his shoulder, but only blinked in confusion at what was inside: a single ring. It was made of dark metallic silver with lighter silver detailing vines wrapped around it, the center stone a jagged blue crystal with ‘Vongola’ written on a banner in the middle, a crown with a clam above it and the bottom trailing into a rough cut. It was a pretty thing, though oddly-shaped for a ring; Tsuna couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite right.

Gokudera’s sharp gasp next to him was doubly foreboding.

“The Cavallone family was called upon, as a long-time ally of the Vongola, to act as the ringbearer,” Iemitsu explained, almost unrecognizable in his eerily even calm. “Both myself and Basil serve as escorts on behalf of CEDEF to ensure he fulfilled his duty as deliverer.”

“Sawada-dono has received the ring,” Basil intoned in that same tone of voice, almost ceremonious if not for the creeping atmosphere it heralded. “We thank thou for your service, Cavallone-dono.”

Tsuna almost didn’t want to touch it.

Dino was on the verge of tears. “Tsuna– Tsuna, I’m sorry–”

“Congratulations, Tsuna,” Reborn interrupted dryly. “You’re engaged.”

A/N: Predictably, all hell broke loose. 

So a BIG CHANGE from the canon, but don't you worry - everyone's favorite shark will show up soon! 😉

But more importantly, so will Chrome. Mists are just dramatic and like to take their time. 

Basil: Mukuro is a mass murderer

Tsuna: god forbid he have hobbies

Please be kind and drop a comment/kudos~!

Chapter Text

A/N: Oh hey this came quick! 😀 

Chapter 2

“Well… That could have been worse.”

Reborn sent an amused look Iemitsu’s way; truly, the Sawada parents were a pair of optimistic thinkers. It would have been an envious characteristic, if they didn’t have to apply it to the mafia and whatever chaos dogged Tsuna’s every step. 

It was clearly a skill Iemitsu had yet to pass on to his protege, though, as Basil looked rather faint, frozen stiff in his formal seating position. “Um, Master… Should someone not follow Sawada-dono…?” he tentatively inquired, blue eyes looking towards the now empty side of the table. 

Brushing off the ashes of the black box Tsuna had instantly incinerated - maybe activating Sky flames without the help of supplements wouldn’t be such a far-off dream after all - Reborn snorted. “My student won’t respond kindly to interference from a virtual stranger, Basil,” the tiny hitman explained, pulling out the Vongola half-ring from the ashes. “Beta or not.”

At least Dino had remained seated and didn’t go chasing after Tsuna. Apparently his role as deliverer of the ring had demoralized him enough to realize the association alone would upset his ‘younger brother’, so the Alpha was just sulking in place with a miserable frown. Chikusa and Ken had left the room soon after it was clear Tsuna had left the house; they’d apparently made their way to the kitchen, if Nana’s audibly pleasant chatter was to be believed.

“But Gokudera-dono followed him?” Basil asked.

‘Followed’ was an understatement; as soon as Tsuna reduced the box to ashes, he’d pivoted and yanked Gokudera up by the wrist and out the door. Tsuna had always been a fast runner, especially after being trained under Reborn’s tender mercies. As neither Reborn nor Iemitsu got up to halt Tsuna’s escape, both teenagers were up and out of the house in under a minute without so much as a ‘goodbye’.

“Gokudera Hayato is his Storm,” Reborn dismissed. 

Iemitsu raised an eyebrow, grin wide. “Oh ho? So they harmonized?”

“Almost. God knows Tsuna’s trying,” Reborn scoffed. “Once Gokudera is actually Flame-active, it’d likely only take a brush of hands.”

It would be interesting to see what Tsuna would do if someone harmonized with Gokudera before Tsuna could– not that Gokudera would ever allow it. The volatile bomber’s personality would likely halt any attempts. It’s why Reborn wasn’t very worried about the rest of the chosen guardians; one of the good things about picking from among Tsuna’s friends and acquaintances was that they had such severe personality defects that only Tsuna would actually want them.

“Aww, Tsu-chan has so many friends now!”

Great, and now Iemitsu was back to that persona. 

“Tsuna’s probably headed to Yamamoto’s place,” Reborn said. It was the second most likely place for Tsuna and his friends to hang out, the first being Tsuna’s home. Even though Tsuna’s behavior around Yamamoto had been a bit off for the latter half of the day, it wasn’t like he didn’t trust his baseball-loving friend. In such an emotionally-volatile state, Tsuna would seek out the safety of trusted companionship: namely, Gokudera and Yamamoto.

“Ah, Tsuyoshi’s boy?” Iemitsu blinked in surprise. 

Given that the man had passed along the Rain Vongola half-ring to the sushi chef to give to his son, Reborn didn’t know who the charade of ignorance was for; everyone in the room had an idea of what these rings meant and for who they were intended. Reborn would pass on the Storm ring to Gokudera as soon as he was sure Tsuna wouldn’t try to destroy it. 

Basil was clearly far more learned in the history of Vongola and the mafia in general than his genteel demeanor indicated. “Is he not the renown swordsman who inherited the Shigure Soen Ryu sword style?” the young CEDEF agent asked. “His son is an Alpha, is he not? Willst Sawada-dono ask him to contest the engagement?”

To contest the engagement directly would mean that Yamamoto would effectively be asking for Tsuna’s hand, should he somehow win. Given the person who currently had the other half of the Vongola Sky Ring, that would be tantamount to Yamamoto committing suicide.

“Tsu-chan’s too shy to ask for something like that,” Iemitsu chortled.

Reborn nodded seriously. “So he’ll just shyly rip apart the other boss candidate instead.”

Iemitsu’s eyes slid back over to him, losing some of the facade in favor of contemplation. The Young Lion was always one of the harder people to read, Reborn could give him that; loyalty to his role as CEDEF Head had ensured the ring was delivered and his child was essentially trapped, but it seemed he appreciated Reborn’s faith that Tsuna wouldn’t stay trapped.

“It’s getting late,” Dino spoke up softly, then immediately winced. “Not that I don’t think Tsuna can’t take care of himself! But, uh… He’ll miss dinner.”

Iemitsu frowned, though his posture was very relaxed. “My sweet Nana did slave over a hot stove for hours to make our welcoming dinner…”

“You may as well enjoy it, since it will be your last home-cooked meal once Maman hears about this,” Reborn said heartlessly.

Iemitsu’s eyes predictably welled up with crocodile tears. He clearly had more belief in Nana’s mercy than Reborn did.

It turned out they didn’t have to head over to Yamamoto’s place - Yamamoto found them before they could even fully leave Tsuna’s neighborhood, the Alpha wide-eyed and panting from having seemingly run the entire way to get there. The reason why was obvious enough: a similar-looking silver ring, threaded through with a simple chain necklace that Yamamoto had looped around his neck for safekeeping.

“My dad gave it to me,” Yamamoto explained, upon noticing the way Tsuna’s eyes had zeroed in on it and his scent flared up in obvious distress. “I don’t– He said Tsuna’s dad gave it to him, and that it belonged to me now? What is it–”

Yamamoto’s words cut off abruptly as Tsuna ripped the necklace off of him, throwing the ring aside angrily. The Alpha went very quiet and still, head bowed slightly from the sudden action and hiding the way blatant fear ripped across his features.

“It’s a different ring, Tenth!” Gokudera was quick to point out. Obedient as always, he didn’t move to pick up the ring from the ground, his hands curled at his sides. “It’s not– It’s not the same as yours–”

“That ring is not mine!” Tsuna snapped.

Gokudera flinched back.

No one spoke, the only sound on the otherwise empty street being Tsuna’s harsh breathing. With great difficulty, he looked away from Gokudera’s hesitant expression and Yamamoto’s downcast form– instead refocusing on the ring. It had bounced off a residence's front gate and landed on the asphalt just a few paces away from Tsuna’s feet. 

Tsuna hated it.

The heat in his chest was practically an inferno at this point, but one without direction; instead it lodged at the bottom of his throat, making air hard to take in. His heart was beating rapidly, painfully; the familiar thrump-thrump-thrump practically shaking his ribcage. Tsuna wanted to tear it out– that would do it, right? You can’t marry someone who ripped out their own guts–

“Tenth…” Gokudera spoke up, moving a step closer but not reaching out, conscious of the possibility that Tsuna would refuse any touch. 

Yamamoto seemed similarly concerned, though he remained rooted in place. “Tsuna, your breathing… You need to slow it down…” 

Tsuna stared at his friend’s hand from where it trembled at the baseball player’s side. Yamamoto had wide hands, calloused from sports. He trailed his eyes up, past the Alpha’s lean wrist and to the bruises still healing from his fight back in Kokuyou Land - from when Yamamoto had followed Tsuna blindly into danger, all because Tsuna had needed help.

Tsuna’s face crumpled. “I– Sorry, Yamamoto, sorry–”

“Tsuna, no– why are you apologizing?” Yamamoto was quick to reassure.

He closed the small gap of distance between them. He didn’t move fast despite his obvious worry, hesitating with slow movements but eventually clasping one hand on Tsuna’s shoulder in support. Tsuna wrapped a hand around his wrist, pushed the heat in him out and to where their skin connected: just like before with Gokudera, something answered back, however softly.

Now that Tsuna felt it, though, there was a noticeable difference between what Gokudera’s– flame? - felt like and Yamamoto’s own. Gokudera’s had been just a whisper, but there had been swirling maelstrom behind it; if anything, it had reminded Tsuna of Gokudera’s palpable emotions, the sharp tang of his fanatic joy or the explosive rage of his temper.

Yamamoto’s, in that case, felt like the opposite: it was the taste of the air before a rainstorm, a thread of soothing calm that smoothed down the edges of sharp rocks. It curled at the tips of Tsuna’s fingers, and it felt like the overwhelming fury of before was slowly settling into something more manageable.

Reborn had called it harmonization. If this wasn’t it in full, then Tsuna wondered it felt like when he fully harmonized with his friends. Would Gokudera’s tempest scatter all his doubts away? Would Yamamoto’s pacification finally settle his painfully frayed nerves?

Tsuna wanted it. 

What did it take to make them Flame-active? Why weren’t they already? Both boys were already so much stronger than him; unlike Tsuna, they didn’t need to use dying will flames to put up a decent fight. They both had dying wills besides, able to pull upon those flames when shot just like Tsuna.

“A-Ah, Tsuna,” Yamamoto choked out, close to a whimper. “Um… It’s starting to feel kind of funny…”

Tsuna pulled his hand away, head jerking up in surprise. What was I–?!

Yamamoto just smiled back at him, warm as always– but his hand shook when he dropped it from Tsuna’s shoulder. “Haha, sorry, don’t know what that was about,” he laughed off lightly with a shrug. “Oh, don’t worry - nothing hurts or anything! Just felt…kind of like when I hold a baseball?”

Considering Yamamoto turned into a downright maniac when he held a baseball, that wasn’t exactly comforting.

“God, just shut up, baseball-idiot,” Gokudera sneered out, pushing Yamamoto back a step so that he could crowd closer to Tsuna. “You’re too fucking close to the Tenth!”

They probably would have descended into a (one-sided) squabble at that point, but they kept quiet as Tsuna moved to pick up the ring fallen onto the ground. Now that Tsuna looked closer at it, it was just as Gokudera said– it was a completely different ring. Similar to the one that had been forced onto him, it was made of dark, metallic silver with lighter silver detailing, but lacked the more intricate details of the ring Tsuna had been presented with, though it had that same jagged edge.

Why was his father passing out engagement rings?

“Gokudera, do you know…what all this is?”

Gokudera straightened immediately. “I don’t know the specifics,” he admitted haltingly. “But…based on the previous conversation, I think the Ninth has started to push.”

Tsuna scowled, curling the ring up into his fist. “What does that mean?”

“As Reborn-san said, the ring you received was a sort of engagement ring–” Yamamoto startled. “--but the ring this baseball-idiot received isn’t that. I heard that the Vongola Heads have a core group of subordinates that are meant to be their protectors, and also serve as the foundation of the Family’s leadership for that generation.”

Yamamoto’s voice was subdued, “...this mafia game has marriages?”

“Engagement,” Gokudera stressed furiously. “Tenth’s not marrying anyone he doesn’t want to!”

If what Gokudera was saying was correct, then that meant Yamamoto had not been chosen as his fiancé– but rather, as some sort of bodyguard. That was relieving, in a sense, but it didn’t answer the question Tsuna had dared not ask after the first ring had been thrust at him.

“If my ring’s the engagement ring,” Tsuna began, forcing the words out with heat on every syllable. “Then who have I been engaged to?”

“A dangerous man named Xanxus.”

Tsuna was startled, even if he did half-expect the answer to emerge in that voice. He turned to the tall fence that Reborn’s small form was perched on, the diminutive hitman strolling along the top before jumping down to land on Tsuna’s head.

“If you’re going to run off so dramatically, at least get farther out of the neighborhood,” Reborn said, voice dripping with condescension. 

Tsuna would have swiped him off his head, if he didn’t know Reborn would break his arm for it.

“Who the hell is Xanxus?” Gokudera asked, tone a weird mix of respectful and infuriated.

“The leader of the Varia, the Vongola’s personal independent assassination team,” Reborn explained, jumping down to the ground. “They’re loyal to the Vongola family and are highly-skilled, but after Xanxus took over the reigns, they truly became the most ruthless of killers.”

Reborn made sure Tsuna was looking him in the eyes as he continued. “Xanxus is the youngest and only surviving son of the Vongola Ninth,” he said. “An Alpha.”

The fire crept into Tsuna’s throat. “Why–” he choked off. Why was I engaged to him?

“Many within the family doubt Xanxus’s ability to lead,” Reborn stated. “He never manifested the Vongola hyper intuition, not even to the small degree his older brothers had. His mother is unknown, but it’s thought that her blood diluted the Vongola’s to such a degree that it affected his abilities as well.”

Tsuna stared at Reborn, eyes accusatory. “You said the Ninth boss wouldn’t try to marry me off to his son.”

“I said he made no mention of marrying you off to his bastard,” Reborn corrected boredly. “Clearly we need to review political turns of phrase.”

Tsuna was going to throttle someone, and the list was becoming distressingly long. Worse, though, was the implications all of this entailed– especially where his father was concerned. “So Dad just– just sold me off?” Tsuna demanded, voice cracking on the latter half. 

It wasn’t as if Tsuna had never thought about it. His parents had never mentioned anything about Tsuna even having a crush, let alone the possibility of him being Mated off; they weren’t obvious about it, but just like Tsuna, it seemed to be a topic left off-limits in the Sawada household. 

The idea of Alpha surrogates had been ignored (Nana) and outright rejected (Iemitsu) over the years. Parent-teacher meetings held throughout Tsuna’s time in elementary school only ever lightly touched on the interest others held for him, and the conversation quickly changed gears after Nana – cheerfully, with a smile on her face and anger in her eyes – changed topics back to Tsuna’s grades or extracurriculars.

The idea of being mated off had occurred to Tsuna, he’d just never seen evidence that his parents would ever agree to it so easily. But it happened, of course it happened– just like the redheaded Omega who had escorted Lambo home, Omega were mated off young and didn’t seem to have any say in the matter.

“Don’t sell your father so short.” 

Reborn’s voice broke through Tsuna’s tumultuous thoughts. 

“If he had agreed so readily, you wouldn’t have half a ring at all and neither would your friends,” Reborn continued on. “When the head of the family and the Outside Advisor disagree on who should inherit the title, Vongola tradition dictates that the opposing candidates can fight against each other to decide who will be the future boss.”

Reborn smacked Tsuna’s hand, prompting him to let go with a yelp of pain, and Yamamoto’s ring fell into Reborn’s waiting hand. “Each boss candidate is allowed to have six ‘Guardians’ that serve as protectors of their boss.”

From his pocket, Reborn produced the ring Tsuna had tried to burn. “The rings were created by the founding members of the Vongola family, and their unique characteristics were carved into these rings,” he said. “Primo was considered to be like the sky - someone who colors and engulfs everything.”

Reborn held up Yamamoto’s ring in turn. “The Guardians characterized the kinds of weather that color that sky: for example, Yamamoto is the Rain Guardian, the one who washes away everything,” he said, dropping the ring and chain back into Yamamoto’s hands.

Next, another ring from Reborn’s pocket - similar to Yamamoto’s, but where his held what looked to be a split water drop, the other had cleaved a swirling maelstrom in two. This one he placed it into Gokudera’s hand. “Gokudera would be the Storm Guardian, the one that fiercely whirls about,” he continued. “There’s also Sun, Cloud, Lightning, and Mist.”

The last word clicked something into place in Tsuna’s mind. “You told the Vindice that Mukuro was my Mist,” he realized slowly. “Mukuro is considered a Guardian?”

“You hardly left much choice in the matter,” Reborn returned dryly. “As a boss candidate, you are considered the Sky– and you used your will to harmonize with him. That’s practically a claim in the eyes of the mafia that Mukuro is one of yours.”

Gokudera and Yamamoto, who had only gotten the confused, rehashed version of events from Tsuna about his fight with Mukuro, were left looking stumped. “That guy– he’s a Guardian?!” Gokudera screeched. “I know Tenth wanted him out of prison–”

“He’s in prison?” Yamamoto blinked.

“--but he’s too unstable to be a Guardian!”

“Oh, because all of you are the very picture of stability,” Reborn muttered. 

The baby hitman refocused his attention on Gokudera, derision practically leaking from his words. “Mukuro may be insane,” Tsuna wondered if he should be speaking up in Mukuro’s defense but decided against it; there was no ignoring the whole megalomania aspect of the guy. “But he’s also the only one to properly connect with your boss. Him and the idiot Bovino.”

That got Tsuna’s attention. “Wha– Are you talking about Lambo? I never harmonized with Lambo!”

Reborn gave him a cutting look. “You did with his teenage self, though he initiated it - and you, like an idiot, accepted it. So you actually have two proper Guardians - one is in prison and the other is 5-years-old.” He gave a dismissive wave to both Gokudera and Yamamoto, which resulted in frowns of discontent turning their lips. “The rest of them are just technical Guardians. They’re still too weak to actually help you.”

Alarm swept across both boys' faces, but Tsuna didn't notice. “Help me how?!”

“With the Ring Battles,” Reborn repeated. “The Guardians fight against their counterparts in a series of battles to decide the overall winner. In a traditional match, if you had been an Alpha,” Tsuna ground his teeth together. “It would be a battle to the death, and the winner inherits the Vongola.”

“So how did it become an engagement?” Tsuna forced out. 

“You’re an Omega and Xanxus is an Alpha.”

Tsuna was going to explode.

Reborn cared little for his disastrous emotional state. “Both boss candidates have had their legitimacy called into question. Xanxus for his lacking bloodline abilities, you for your everything.” Tsuna was going to explode, and he was going to take Reborn with him. “The middle ground would be for you two to mate in the hopes that child you would produce would inherit your stronger bloodline ability and Xanxus’s dynamic.”

“Wait– so does Xanxus even want to be,” Tsuna choked on the word ‘mated’, instead managing out, “--engaged to me?”

Reborn was quiet for a moment. “...Hard to say,” he replied. Something about the answer was incomplete, tugging at Tsuna’s intuition. “Regardless, there are only two ways to resolve the situation: either you submit to Xanxus, wherein you become the Vongola Tenth and reproduce an heir - or you commence with the Ring Battles.”

“What if I refuse to do either?” Tsuna asked.

Reborn placed the ring in Tsuna’s unwilling hand. 

“Then Xanxus will dominate you, Tsuna, and mate you by force.”

Tsuna was quiet when he returned home.

Both Gokudera and Yamamoto had split off, Guardian rings in hand, swearing they would get stronger– that they would never let Xanxus and his ilk do anything to Tsuna. Tsuna had not been able to respond, grip tight around his own ring that weighed cold and heavy in his hand; it felt less like a piece of jewelry and more like the weight of the world.

He considered going straight up the stairs and to his room, but thought better of it - instead opening the door to the living room. He didn’t know what he expected, but he was nevertheless surprised to see the coffee table and cushions pushed to the side, three futons laid out across the floor in their place. The occupants of said futons all looked up as the door opened, staring at Tsuna in silence.

Tsuna stared back, taking in odd mix of pajamas from both his and his father’s clothes that all three wore. “...You’re staying here?” he asked them, voice hollow.

“This one does not mean to intrude, Sawada-dono, but Master insisted!” Basil answered fretfully.

“We’re under house arrest,” Chikusa answered, on behalf of himself and Ken. “Except we don’t have a house, so this was the closest thing.”

“We’re a package deal with Mukuro-sama, byon!”

Tsuna’s brows furrowed. “...Wasn’t there also that MM girl?”

“She’s not included in the package.” Are you guys a combo meal or something?!

Deciding to save himself from any more exasperating conversation, Tsuna just nodded and turned back into the hall. He could hear the kids’ rambunctious laughter from upstairs, which spared him from that particular headache - he still couldn’t believe Lambo was now considered a Guardian - and headed in the direction of the kitchen.

For better or for worse, the only people in the kitchen were his parents. They were cozied up from where Nana was standing by the sink doing dishes, though they separated once Tsuna entered the room. 

“Oh, let me heat up your dinner!” Nana said, pulling off her dish gloves and opening the refrigerator. “I saved you some ahead of time - your Papa always has such a big appetite!”

Iemitsu chortled obnoxiously. “I can’t help it, my dear Nana-chan’s cooking is just so good!”

They traded a few more lovesick comments that Tsuna fully ignored. He took a seat at the table, soon joined by his father and another bottle of sake. The man’s cheeks were once more rosy with intoxication, but Tsuna could see the clearness in his eyes.

Tsuna didn’t really consider his father a drunkard. The man definitely enjoyed more than his fair share of alcohol when home, but his behavior never deviated into a true drunken stupor. Sometimes Tsuna could tell he would play it up– tipsy at most, breath smelling of alcohol but absolutely clear-headed.

“Reborn explained everything,” Tsuna said. If the words came out a bit short, Tsuna didn’t care. 

Iemitsu hummed in acknowledgement. “Did you want to talk to Papa about it?”

Would you answer honestly if I did? Tsuna wondered, vicious and hurting. 

Reborn had said that his father hadn’t sold him off, that these Ring Battles were only an option because his dad had refused to give away his son’s hand in marriage so easily. It was because of the conflict between his dad as the head of CEDEF and the Vongola Ninth that the rings had even been split and Tsuna was afforded a choice - even though the choice itself was insulting.

But Sawada Iemitsu, Reborn had affirmed, was Outside Advisor before he was a father.

If he wins, Tsuna thought. Would you give me to him without complaint?

Tsuna didn’t ask; he didn’t want to know the answer.

“There’s a lot of people in the house now,” Tsuna said instead, staring at his father’s knuckles. They were far more calloused than Gokudera’s, and unlike what he may have thought before, it wasn’t from construction work. “Even after you leave, we still have too many people. Can’t you do something about it?”

Can’t you do something for me? Tsuna didn’t say.

Iemitsu was looking back at him, expression sober but warm. “Don’t worry, Papa already thought of that,” he replied cheerfully. “We have enough room to expand the house~! The construction is starting tomorrow.”

Tsuna blinked. He’d thought his father would rent a nearby apartment or something for the others; expanding their house felt like a more permanent solution. On one hand, it would give the children a better sense of stability, especially if they were able to get their own room separate from Bianchi and Tsuna; on the other, the extra room would entail several different mafiosi settling into his home.

Tsuna thought of Fuuta, and Chikusa and Ken, and Mukuro - and decided it was for the best.

There was a loud THUMP! from upstairs, followed by twin calls of “MAMA!” in Lambo’s and I-Pin’s piping voices. 

“Goodness, hopefully they didn’t fall and break another window,” Nana tutted good-naturedly, enamored smile on her face despite the words. She set Tsuna’s food down in front of him before quickly departing the kitchen to check on them. 

A heavy quiet fell on the two remaining, though only Tsuna felt like he was registering the weight of it. He had yet to pick up his chopsticks and dig into the meal his mother had so thoughtfully made, eyes previously locked on the half-empty sake bottle atop the table. 

Tsuna breathed in once, twice; he felt his heart in his throat.

“Dad,” he said. “If he tries… I’m going to kill him.”

His father didn’t respond. Instead, he polished off the last sip of sake in his glass, setting the now empty bottle aside to lean forward in his seat. Resting one elbow on the table and leaning his cheek against his fist, Iemitsu stared into his son’s eyes.

Very few people had ever told Tsuna that he looked like his father. People had whispered about it before, his father’s infrequent visits and long absences a ripe recipe for the gossip mill. They eventually found other things to mutter and shake their heads about, unrelated to Tsuna’s lack of visible similarity to his father. Tsuna would still think about it from time to time, trying to figure out how the combination of his parents resulted in someone like him.

Tsuna had his mother’s fair features, her wide eyes and brown hair and slender frame; a copy of his mother down to the ditzy nature and guileless smile. He didn’t smile as often anymore, didn’t forget things all the time - but just the same, he didn’t have rough callouses on his hands, or broad shoulders, or even a shred of that wide grin. 

Tsuna could see now– what he inherited from his father.

Iemitsu smiled, “Knock him dead then, Tsuna.”

It was his rage.

A/N: Honestly the biggest change to canon is the Iemitsu-Tsuna relationship... Nana doesn't get to be the only parent carrying trauma from the attack.

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

🕯️🕯️🕯️prayer circle for Xanxus🕯️🕯️🕯️

🕯️🕯️🕯️rip the angriest bastard🕯️🕯️🕯️

🕯️🕯️🕯️nice while it lasted i guess🕯️🕯️

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

Also, I absolutely hate Basil's speech patterns, which sucks because I actually like Basil. 

Please be kind and drop a comment~!

Chapter Text

A/N: Been awhile but I’m back!

Chapter 3

Reborn had a lot of hobbies, especially nowadays in his cursed infant-body. He enjoyed making coffee, taking part in a variety of athletic activities, and getting involved in local cultural customs such as festivals. Teaching as an occupation had only opened more doors in terms of ways to amuse himself, and he found a new favorite almost immediately now that his interests aligned with his goals.

Namely - throwing Tsuna at unsuspecting people and watching the fireworks.

Sometimes Tsuna was level-headed, like when he was trying to de-escalate Gokudera and Sasagawa Ryouhei from imminent acts of violence; sometimes he was pathetic and screechy, like when Reborn pushed him through exercises meant to develop his physical and mental faculties (read: threaten to riddle him with bullets for every incorrect answer on a mock-test); sometimes he was violent and feral, usually after an Alpha did or said something stupid.

Sometimes Tsuna was teetering between all three, like right now as he stared a fidgeting Basil down.

The Omega boy definitely looked worse for wear; after two days under Reborn’s undivided attention and being subjected to Dying Will mode continuously so that he could climb up cliffsides without missing a beat, Tsuna looked like he’d been physically dragged through the underbrush by a rabid animal. He was covered in scrapes, bruises, and dirt, leaves and twigs stuck out from his hair, and his clothes were ripped in somewhat immodest ways.

The latter fact was having the most entertaining effect on poor Basil, who was too polite to gawk at a disheveled Omega but too obedient to leave and spare Tsuna some dignity. Reborn estimated it shouldn’t be too long before Iemitsu’s disciple finally spoke up and said something about Tsuna’s current state, and though the intention would be noble, Reborn doubted Tsuna would take it nicely.

And, well, Reborn wanted Tsuna to train with Basil - and he wasn’t too picky about how the spar got started. Tsuna trying to strangle Basil for daring to lecture him about Omega manners would be a hilarious start.

It also helped, in a way, that Tsuna didn’t like Basil that much. Not because of anything Basil said or did to Tsuna directly, of course– the Beta boy was too polite for anything like that. No, it was just clear that Basil wasn’t too keen on Mukuro, which made him instantly unlikeable to both of the remaining Kokuyou boys and Tsuna. At least Tsuna seemed aware that most normal people probably wouldn’t want to be involved with a homicidal maniac, even if he didn’t understand fully why that would be an instant red flag for everyone else. That said a lot more about Tsuna than everyone else, but it’s not like Reborn or anyone in his same line of work could claim the moral high ground on this.

Tsuna’s Guardians were chosen with their homicidal impulses in mind, after all. Each of them were even assigned a specific tutor meant to develop their abilities to kill, and Basil was standing in this open clearing in a remote part of Namimori’s surrounding woods with the express purpose of ensuring Tsuna would be able to carry through on his promise to end the Ring Battles in his favor - preferably, with Xanxus dead at his feet.

“Basil’s here to assist with the next part of your training,” Reborn said. Basil seemed to take this as some sort of cue, pulling out a pill bottle and doling out a single pill into his open palm. He popped it into his mouth, swallowing it dry - the next moment, a blue flame erupted on his forehead and he fell into a fighting stance.

Perhaps because his personality was already so calm and even-tempered, there seemed to be little difference between Basil in his Dying Will mode and without it. His focus was sharper and his shoulders more set, but it lacked the same piercing intensity Reborn had seen in Tsuna when the Omega had been fighting Mukuro. Still, this would be Tsuna’s first time fighting someone actually Flame-active aside from the maniacal illusionist, which would be an invaluable experience.

Even if Tsuna was being whiny about it. “There are pills?” the Omega boy demanded, turning a furious look on Reborn. “You mean I could have been swallowing pills instead of getting shot by you every hour?!”

“Leon personally made those bullets for you. Be more grateful.”

Tsuna was an ungrateful brat. “He should have been making pills instead!”

Before Reborn really committed to the idea of teaching Tsuna how to respect his pet’s hard work more directly, Basil piped up. “Sawada-dono, these Dying Will pills are a new invention and are still in their trial phase,” he explained, flame burning as hotly as the blush on his face. Reborn realized why quickly: a bit more of Tsuna’s shirt slipped off his shoulder during his previous complaining, exposing more of his chest area. “I’m positive you’ll be given access to them once they’re approved for Omega use.”

Some of Tsuna’s indignation faded, replaced by concern. “Oh, so they’re not sure it’s safe yet? Will you be okay, Basil-kun?”

“I’ll be fine, Sawada-dono,” Basil shook his head with a small smile. “The doctors are still evaluating the pill’s effects on Omega fertility, and since you’ll have to give birth someday–”

And there went Tsuna’s knee driving straight into Basil’s face. 

To his credit, Basil was able to fall backward and mitigate most of the damage. He caught the next strike, his reflexes spurred on quicker by his dying will, grabbing Tsuna by one ankle and flinging him bodily into the cliffside. Any further concern about the state of Tsuna’s clothes was forgotten now, especially as Tsuna emerged from the debris with his amber eyes bright.

“Looks like you have lots to learn, Tsuna,” Reborn said, aiming his gun Tsuna’s way. He pulled the trigger and the bullet shot through the center of Tsuna’s forehead, the small hole quickly burning away into nothing as an orange flame erupted on his head. The remaining tatters of Tsuna’s shirt were blown clear of his body. 

Basil’s pole-axed look was stifled under his dying will - and then wiped clean off by Tsuna’s next flying punch.

Kids were hilarious.

When Kyoko had first heard that her older brother was going to undergo training with a renowned fighter loosely related to Tsuna, she’d anticipated a lot of things– namely: destruction of property, vicious bruises, maybe some light maiming. 

She valued Tsuna a lot as a friend and classmate, even if he did act a little distantly with her, but she was never under the impression that he enjoyed a peaceful, relaxing lifestyle. She still wasn’t quite sure why some of their classmates thought he was the one ingratiating himself to Gokudera and Yamamoto, considering how quickly the two agreed to Tsuna’s every whim. Not that Kyoko didn’t understand, mind you; if Tsuna looked at her with those big, pretty eyes and asked for something, she’d be hard-pressed to say no too.

Still, no one could argue that Tsuna didn’t invite a certain element of chaos to life. It was funny, in retrospect, that the Omega boy had been able to escape Ryouhei’s increasingly bizarre invites to the Boxing Club on a technicality - Omegas can’t join certain sports clubs, a rule that was slowly but surely going to disappear by the end of the school year if Gokudera’s crazed eyes at anyone daring to deny Tsuna anything were any indication - but Ryouhei wouldn’t be able to escape being dragged by Tsuna into something more off-putting than a one-man boxing club.

‘Dragged’ probably wasn’t the best word to describe it either. Ryouhei had agreed ecstatically, after all, and practically bowled over anyone on the street in his eagerness to join in.

Regardless, there was now a thin chain laced through an ornate silver ring decorating her brother’s neck, not unlike a collar for a barely domesticated beast. 

Their parents had made no mention of the new piece of jewelry, unable or unwilling to parse through Ryouhei’s simple-minded and addled recollection of how he’d received it and what it meant. Kyoko had nodded along with a smile to her brother’s rambling account of a new trainer and how “this time, Sawada will definitely join the Boxing Club!” 

Naturally, when the time came for her brother to leave for training - Kyoko followed. They’d run all the way past familiar Namimori streets and out into the wooded mountain area near the east side of the town, as remote a place as you could get to escape the prying, curious eyes of passers-by. Kyoko had thought it was an apt place for her brother to train; he could practice shattering boulders or something, since the last time he’d slammed a fist into the concrete wall of the clubroom (a makeshift empty classroom), the wall crumbled into a gaping hole and Hibari had swooped down to rain a savage beating on her (absolutely thrilled) brother.

The blonde baby in camo was a surprising addition, but introducing himself as Reborn-chan’s friend cleared that up quickly. The actual surprise was what Master Colonnello was making her brother do.

Essentially– nothing.

“When will the training start?” Ryouhei asked, still respectful even while obviously confused. Laid across the ground like a dying starfish, the older boy’s face was staring up at the cloudless sky with pinched features. “It’s been half a day already…”

“This is training,” Colonnello explained with aggressive enthusiasm, cleaning a gun three times as large as his diminutive self. He’d spent some of the time laid out next to Ryouhei, but after Kyoko set out a little picnic blanket for her to sit on and wait as well, he was quick to join her. “You have enough power - so what you need is something a little different, kora. Go back to sleep.”

Ryouhei agreed, however unsurely, giving Kyoko a brief pout before dutifully closing his eyes for a nap. Her brother was too good-natured to disrespect his teacher and clamor for more, and he trusted the guidance of Master Colonnello - so if he said that going to sleep was training, then Ryouhei would do it.

When the boxer’s snores finally started filling the air, Kyoko felt Colonnello’s eyes turn to her. She hadn’t packed much - just a few bento boxes and bottles of water, fitted into a well-worn travel bag that included a larger than usual first aid kit. That, too, was battered with frequent use, but she kept it well-supplied. 

“You’re pretty weak yourself, kora,” Colonnello observed; the words were callous but the intent was kind. It was no wonder he was connected with Tsuna. “I can train you too, if you want. It’d look very different from what your brother would be doing though.”

It’d probably look more like what Ryouhei and herself had imagined his training would look like, which would be situationally amusing at least - but nevertheless, a wasted effort. “No thank you, but I appreciate the offer. I’m not suited for fighting,” Kyoko replied, gentle smile firmly in place. “I just like to help my brother.”

It was a lesson she’d learned the hard way. Her brother had tried to train her, having just learned about the sport of boxing and eager to share with his favorite person in the world, but her strengths and her inclinations did not lie in the realm of such a physically demanding occupation. Ryouhei excelled in everything physical, but his grades and his social acumen would never see that same peak.

They had been very little when Kyoko realized just what sort of life was waiting for her brother. Ryouhei talked with his fists and made friends in between punches and bloody teeth, too wild for the masses but too righteous for the wicked. Ryouhei was simultaneously too eager to help and too simple to know how without using his fists; it limited the ways in which he engaged with the world, even if he never would have understood that. Bullies could not escape from him unscathed, but Ryouhei never clocked on that sometimes just continuously beating them up may breed resentment rather than correct behavior.

But Kyoko loved her brother as much as her brother loved her, and so she kept her first aid kit fully stocked. No one ever checked what she kept, ever bothered to question the weight of it in her bag; no one blinked an eye when she pulled out bandages, or suture kits, or pain relief medicine, or unlabelled bottles full of pills that quickly dissolved into clear, tasteless water. 

With a pretty enough face, with a gentle enough demeanor, with an airy enough smile - people were willing to accept anything from her hands. It didn’t seem to matter that they’d been badmouthing her friends, or that they’d been plotting against her brother; if she offered it, they took it.

“And the sedatives?” Colonnello asked her, inscrutable.

“Like I said,” Kyoko answered with that same guileless smile. “I like to help my brother.”

Kyoko wasn’t a fighter like her brother; she had to get a bit more creative.

When Takeshi was learning baseball, it was a slow, scaffolded approach: get used to carrying the weight of the ball, then get used to catching it, then throwing it, get used to the weight of the bat, then get used to swinging it, then do it again but this time with direction. He loved baseball since he was a toddler, when he played catch with himself in the small yard of his home as his mother was murdered.

Learning the sword was not like learning baseball.

“Up, Takeshi,” his father said tersely. 

He was holding a wooden kendo sword, the edges dulled for the medium of teaching; the blade edge would have been stained with Takeshi’s blood, had it been sharp. Instead, Takeshi just had a smattering of dark bruises across his body from where his father had struck him at every vulnerable point.

Takeshi wasn’t holding a wooden sword. His father had given him a sword, handle made from bamboo and about as heavy as a baseball bat; the blade was gleaming metal, sharp as a sushi knife - and useless against his father’s movements and attacks. 

“Left flank open.” Smack! Takeshi went back down on one knee, clutching his side. For his effort, his father smacked him on his right thigh, then ribcage, then shoulder. The blows were hard, but not hard enough to cause any lasting damage; for that at least, Takeshi was grateful.

There was no point to this if he was put out of commission.

“You’re thinking about something else now?” Another blow, this time to his left leg. “You can’t afford to be distracted, Takeshi– you can’t protect your Omega that way.”

Takeshi was on his feet before his father had even finished speaking. The pain was negligible, but worse than that, the easy way he moved to dodge his father’s next strike was as natural as striking a baseball out into home field. It was getting easier now, despite not being able to land an attack successfully; a small part of Takeshi wondered at the fact that the sword came just as naturally to him as his favorite sport did.

“He’s not my Omega,” he ground out, the usual smile found nowhere on his lips. His father’s words set Takeshi’s heart to thundering. It was so easy to picture Tsuna’s reaction to those words: the horror, the disgust, the fury. 

His father’s next strike didn’t land, but then the man hooked a foot around his ankle and pulled his feet out from under him. Takeshi landed roughly, then took a hit to the gut that knocked the air right out of him.

“Oh? And here I thought you were going to use this to impress your crush,” his father taunted, a strange mix of genuinely teasing and deliberately mocking. “Sawada-kun isn’t impressed by your baseball skills, so you thought you’d try your hand at kendo?”

“It’s not like that,” Takeshi gritted out. He didn’t want to tell his father to shut up, that would be completely disrespectful and he respected his father a lot– but at the same time, if the man didn’t stop, Takeshi’s heart was going to give out under the sheer amount of trepidation the words dredged up.

What if that is what Tsuna thought: that Takeshi was doing all of this, was getting stronger, just so he could try his hand at dominating Tsuna? Ignoring the fact that Tsuna would probably rip his spine out through his mouth if Takeshi even tried to lay a Claiming bite on him, wouldn’t the Omega boy be completely disgusted by the idea that Takeshi was interested in him in such a way? Tsuna was a very dear friend, and it was that clear boundary of friendship that allowed Takeshi to be included in Tsuna’s circle; anything more than that, and surely Tsuna would discard him with every other Alpha that had let their baser instincts rule first when interacting with the boy.

Tsuna would never be Takeshi’s, but that was okay - because Takeshi could be Tsuna’s.

Takeshi would be as strong as Tsuna needed him to be. Tsuna didn’t want to marry some foreigner from Italy, arranged by family or not, and if that meant brawling in the streets of Namimori because of a mafia roleplay that felt very, very real– then Takeshi would trade in his baseball bat for a sword and learn to use it. 

“You must be desperate.”

Iemitsu didn’t acknowledge that statement with a reply, instead tossing the bright purple weapon onto the bed and taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. Tsuna’s room was messy as usual; his son was hardly the most organized, and with the kids always running amok in it and Fuuta’s constant nest-building, there wasn’t a lot of room in the space. He already planned to renovate it, switching out the hardwood floor for tatami so that they could change out the bedframe for futon, since Fuuta seemed reluctant to stay either in his own room or share with the younger kids.

“The Ring Battles will start soon,” Iemitsu said, sober and cold with it. “What happened in your timeline?”

Lambo Bovino, 15-years-old and self-made Lightning Guardian, cocked his head with a lackadaisical expression. He wasn’t the Guardian Iemitsu would have chosen for his son - there was the Alpha girl from a different school, Miura Haru, who seemed like a dormant Lightning flame user - but that was likely why the Bovino teen had acted as he had. He’d taken the choice out of their hands - and Tsuna’s - by harmonizing with the boy the very first time he’d shown up.

“Oh~h, the Varia are coming?” An emotion passed over the teen’s face, a flicker too fast to catch before it was replaced by what seemed to be his default lazy expression. “What’s the point in asking me that? You’re smart enough to know that my timeline may not be the same as yours.”

It was true, because by the very nature of time travel - it was hard to tell if this Lambo came from a future that was a closed loop or if it would vary completely. Events could go just as they had in this Lambo’s time and in the future, he would be called back by Iemitsu for this conversation - or it could derail completely, this Lambo experiencing his own events and this timeline their own.

The Ten-Year-Bazooka was an odd invention. The Bovino famiglia had made their name in experimentation and invention, though unlike the Estraneo, they focused more on gadgets than on people. This likely stemmed from the strange organizational structure of the family: they treated their children almost as ambassadors– or better yet, as seeds, planting them in other families to increase their own prestige and network. 

They were clever enough to send a child instead of someone older to Vongola’s heir, perhaps thinking an Omega’s parental nature would ensure that he would be accepted. Iemitsu couldn’t even fault them for it, since it seemed to have worked, though Tsuna treated Lambo more like an irritating younger brother than as his own kid.

“You made sure you were the Lightning Guardian, so you must have some idea of how this could end,” Iemitsu rebuffed.

Lambo shrugged, careless. “Tsuna-nii needed a Lightning Guardian. Besides, you would have made an awful choice - I mean, Haru-nee? Really?”

Iemitsu wondered how Lambo could know that; it wasn’t as if hyper-intuition was contagious. “What’s wrong with Miura Haru?”

“She doesn’t like fighting. Tsuna-nii won’t ever make her fight,” Lambo replied. “Oh, but she’s reaaaaally good at math. She yells at Octopus-head and Lawn-head a lot about bills.”

Did Tsuna make her an accountant? Or did Xanxus?

“You’re worried, huh?” Lambo observed, in that same droll tone. 

Reborn had said the teen had acted childishly for most of the time he’d seen him, and there were definitely flashes of that typical teenage apathy in Lambo’s behavior now - but there was something else. Iemitsu didn’t see that in the younger Lambo, so maybe this was the result of being raised in Tsuna’s house.

“...I don’t remember much about the Ring Battles,” Lambo admitted, turning his lazing green eyes elsewhere. “Who wins or loses… All that is just old history to me. No one ever talks about it.”

Lambo had confirmed - however obliquely - that some of Tsuna’s chosen Guardians were alive. Surely they wouldn’t have survived, had they lost the Ring Battles; the Varia were not known for mercy. They might grow to be useful, but their defiance and - for some - their staunch loyalty to Tsuna would have earned them a death sentence, had Tsuna failed. 

Lambo was off-putting, Iemitsu would give him that. Nono had preferred only Betas for his Guardians; they were staunchly loyal and highly skilled, but they would never dare shake the boat in fear of trespassing on the Ninth’s nexus of control. They followed orders well and commanded respect from most of the grunts in the family, even if they lacked the same sort of presence as their Sky.

Tsuna’s, on the other hand, were a bunch of little monsters.

Apparently Lambo had dredged up some sort of spine in the interim ten years. “Your five minutes are almost up,” he drolled. 

“Is there nothing you can tell me?”

Lambo’s eyes glowed faintly green in the shadows of Tsuna’s room. Iemitsu recalled that this was where he’d dragged in one of Rokudou’s allies, a murderous twin that had threatened the home while Tsuna and the others went to Kokuyou Land. Shamal had been responsible for getting rid of the bodies, but he had only killed one of them - the other had been electrocuted, skin smoldering from the force of the charge and staining the floorboards with soot that had to be replaced.

Unlike the small child constantly demanding candy, this boy was a practiced killer.

“Honestly,” Lambo sighed, eyes hooded with patronizing disappointment. “How long do you plan to ignore what Maman keeps under her floorboards?”

He burst into pink smoke a breath later.

Dino’s Cloud Guardian was an older Alpha male, more like an older cousin than an uncle; he was one of two Alphas Dino had claimed as his Guardians, though he led the Cavallone famiglia’s assault teams since his preference laid with violence moreso than the economic side of things that their family had their sticky fingers in. His Cloud never tried to wrestle for control over the family over Dino, but even then, there was still friction at times for no other reason than innate nature. 

That was the nature of having an Alpha as a Guardian.

This would have been a major cause for concern in other families, especially ones as large and well-known as the Vongola. The Ninth’s were all Betas for that very reason, and very few of his Alpha predecessors veered from that tradition. Funnily enough, only the First Generation, Vongola Primo, had claimed a mix of Alpha and Beta Guardians during his time, despite being an Alpha himself.

Tsuna was a little too much like his ancestor in this regard, even when not of the same dynamic. 

Tsuna had three Alphas as supposed Guardians: the Rain, Yamamoto Takeshi; the Mist, Rokudou Mukuro; and the Cloud, Hibari Kyouya. Dino would be more concerned about the idea of any of these Alphas trying to lay dominance over Tsuna, had he been ignorant of their circumstances and personalities. However…

Yamamoto looked at Tsuna like he hung the stars and moon, and also had tried to cleave a yakuza guy in two with a baseball bat for getting too handsy with the Omega boy. 

Mukuro was an Alpha, but only sometimes (?), though Reborn had also said he sometimes wasn’t (?), and that it didn’t matter as long as you didn’t bring him up in front of Tsuna because Tsuna was weird about Mukuro. 

Hibari was a whole other type of beast.

“Kyouya, at least let me explain the Cloud ring…” Dino couldn’t help but whine. He felt this was a justified reaction; he’d taken a tonfa to the face for just introducing himself earlier, and even after following the younger Alpha to the school rooftop, he’d been forced to dodge numerous strikes before he could even mention Guardian types.

“I’ll listen to you when you’re dead,” Hibari bit out coldly.

Dino’s Japanese was flawless, so that statement had to be deliberately messed up. For a moment, he couldn’t believe this bloodthirsty kid was chosen to be his little brother’s Guardian - but then he remembered that Tsuna had thrown a chair at him when they’d first met, so maybe this was actually a match made in Heaven.

A tonfa smacked against the side of his head with a resounding crack.

Hell. It was a match made in Hell, which described Dino’s current situation perfectly.

Gokudera was sure he’d never felt so frustrated before.

When he was first learning to wield dynamite, it had been an arduous process; he was good at making them, good at calculating the exact angle to throw them at and the exact strength to use - but the more adept he became, the quicker it became apparent he was plateauing. Few mafioso claimed to use bombs as their main method of attack, and Gokudera had always wanted to stand out in a way, but there was a reason others preferred weapons of a more accessible or subtle nature. 

Gokudera had gotten good, even though it hadn’t been easy. But now, he had to be better than good, had to be more skilled not just because he was one of the few who used dynamite so regularly - but because he was the best at it. This was the only way to ensure his success in the Ring Battles, the only way to make absolutely certain that his boss could do what he wanted freely without worrying about the chains of expectations based on his dynamic.

If only Shamal would actually fucking teach me, Gokudera thought with bitter resentment.

The doctor had refused, over and over again, to become his tutor– no matter how much Gokudera promised to listen to him, promised to be better in every way and become someone strong enough that Shamal would be proud to call his student. Even worse than the rejection, though, was the fact that the doctor still followed him around - and when Gokudera blew himself up in another attempt to emulate the paper airplane trick the doctor had performed years ago, he’d wake to find himself back in bed and carefully bandaged up.

Gokudera wouldn’t have to injure himself over and over if Shamal would just agree to teach him, but the doctor refused to listen to reason. This was the fourth time now that Gokudera found himself staring up at his bedroom ceiling, salved bandages over his assortment of cuts and burns as his mind burned with a mix of humiliation and desperation. 

Just like Father, Gokudera couldn’t help but think. Let Hayato rage and burn himself out, and when he was done, drag him back home and pretend he wasn’t a fucking disappointment–

There were two perfunctory knocks, a pause, and then his door was pushed open. The smell of some kind of omelet filled the room, the source of it laid atop a tray carried in by thin arms. “I made lunch,” Irie said, voice wavering in his ever-present anxiety and eyes skittering around the room. “Shamal-sensei said you should eat before trying to blow yourself up again.”

“Tell him to go fuck himself,” Gokudera snipped. 

Irie wouldn’t, too cowardly to insert himself in the spats between them. He set the tray down on Gokudera’s desk, but surprisingly, he didn’t immediately flee the room; instead, he loitered by the desk, body turned to face the area between where Gokudera was laid out on the bed and the door. His eyes never rose to meet Gokudera’s, but they were at least focused on something other than the floor for once.

“You’re training…right? That’s what Shamal-sensei implied…” Irie bit at his lower lip, one hand ghosting over his stomach. The redheaded Omega was annoyingly delicate, suffering from bouts of stomach cramps and gastrointestinal issues at the slightest brush with stress– and Gokudera and Shamal were hardly the most stress-free people to be sharing a home with. “But is training supposed to leave you like this…?”

“What do you know? Mind your own fucking business,” Gokudera snapped back irritably. 

Irie made a jerking step towards the door, but didn’t move again; the inner turmoil was clear on his face. Gokudera didn’t know what was pushing the boy to be this nosy, as they were hardly close despite their living situation. The most they talked was when Gokudera caught sight of some of Irie’s inventions, since they were objectively brilliant and there were so few people that could match Gokudera’s technical genius. 

They never talked about what landed them in Shamal’s home. Irie didn’t ask about Gokudera’s obvious mafia connections, and likewise, Gokudera didn’t ask about the murder Hibari covered up for Irie.

“Shamal-sensei says if you keep going like this, soon you’ll hurt yourself so badly that not even he could patch you up,” Irie continued quietly. 

Gokudera snorted. “What, you don’t want a second room? If I had to share a wall with that sleaze’s bedroom, I’d want to put more space between us.”

Surprisingly, Shamal never brought any of his late-night trysts home. That was likely for the best, since Irie responded as well to unknown guests as Hibari did to crowding. Instead, the doctor just occasionally spent the night out and came home late the next morning, copiously scrubbed down and free of any discernible scents. 

Strange that this underhanded jab at the doctor is what steeled Irie’s spine, the Omega turning fully to face the other boy. Gokudera wondered if this was what Irie’s face looked like the night he put a gun to his mate’s head and pulled the trigger: eyes wide but expression chillingly flat. His scent was stronger now in the room, and while normally that would get Gokudera hollering, he wisely kept silent as he waited.

“You hurt yourself and Shamal-sensei heals you back up, then you go out and hurt yourself again,” Irie observed, tone clinical yet somehow still accusatory. “How are you still not getting it yet, Gokudera-kun?”

Gokudera’s lips pulled back, more a grimace than anything else. That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Shamal had refused him again and again with some paltry excuse of Gokudera not getting “it”, though the man had never explained what “it” is and just why it was so important. Gokudera’s pride could only handle so much rejection before he stopped asking, though the question haunted the back of his mind with every flick of dynamite that exploded in his face.

“You want to get stronger for Sawada-kun, right?” Irie demanded. “You want to protect your boss, but how can you protect him if you can’t even protect yourself?” 

Gokudera jumped to his feet, closing the distance between them with three angry stomps. “Shut the fuck up, what do you know about protecting someone?!” he snarled. “You couldn’t even protect yourself until you had a gun and the fucker was asleep!”

Maybe at a different time, the reminder of what he had done would have cowed Irie, would have forced him back out the door and into hiding in his room. Irie wasn’t brash, didn’t stand up to others’ aggression with clear eyes and a straight posture; he averted his gaze and slumped his shoulders, stressed and sick with it. 

Perhaps it was their constant close proximity that made this time different. They’d shared a home for months now, and though Irie preferred to stay out of the way, he was never really absent. Perhaps it was getting the support he’d always craved when he built something miraculous from scrap parts, the appreciation for his ingenuity sincere. Perhaps it was a result of getting blood on his hands, of watching the bullet sink into the pillow below his dead mate’s head and feeling relief for the first time in ages. 

Regardless, Irie met Gokudera’s eyes for the first time and the bomber saw something in there more alike to himself than the soft-hearted civilians in the streets.

“You die and that’s it, Gokudera– that’s the worst thing that can happen to you,” Irie whispered, so angry that his voice came out clipped and cold. “But for people like me, like Sawada, there are worse things than death that can happen to us.”

Something cold settled into Gokudera’s frame. Worse than the words Irie spoke was the expression in his eyes, because Gokudera had seen that look before– on Tsuna’s face, the moment he’d learned he was engaged to an Alpha and what was expected of such a union. There was a fear there so deeply seeded that Gokudera had never seen before in his boss’s eyes, and though objectively Gokudera could understand the sentiment, it was also true that he would never fully understand the sheer visceral reality of it.

Gokudera wasn’t ignorant of the implications in Irie’s words. He’d heard the way his father’s men talked about his Omega stepmother, especially in the days after her infertility was confirmed and she was being kicked out of the home. ‘You could do what you want without any worries,’ was the snickering sentiment often traded between them, as if the woman was a toy now meant for public use. Gokudera had only ever been terrified of her for the short time she made his life a living hell, unable to understand how quickly people could turn on another if it satisfied some baser instinct.

Bianchi had put an end to the crude remarks with a plate of poison cooking the moment she’d overheard them. Gokudera never knew what happened to his stepmother after she’d left the mansion, whether or not the men made good on their words or if the fantasies alone were enough before Bianchi put them out of commission. 

Gokudera hadn’t thought much of the chatter beyond how disgusting it was. It never dredged up the same fury that he felt at his father’s lack of care, but the idea of others thinking of Tsuna the same– of saying those same things about his boss– it became more than just words traded between idiots.

“You can’t protect him like this,” Irie continued softly. “What use are you to Sawada-kun dead?”

Irie pushed away from him, tearing his blank gaze off Gokudera and heading out the door. He didn’t bother shutting it behind him either, freezing briefly as he met Shamal’s quiet, considering gaze before skirting out of the way and back into his room down the hall. 

Gokudera didn’t say anything, even as Shamal broached his doorway and leaned against the frame. After a moment, the doctor pulled out a cig to light, taking in Gokudera’s taut form with a sweeping look over the room. The smell of his cigarette helped to smother the lingering scent of Irie, but the mix of it was almost nauseating to Gokudera’s already-fraught state.

“What I didn’t get… It was that I didn’t value my own life.”

With a sigh, Shamal stepped into the room. “Of course you’d only understand when someone couches it in relation to Tsunayoshi,” he muttered, dropping a hand onto Gokudera’s bowed head. It spoke to his current mental state that the silver-haired Beta didn’t immediately smack it away. “Hayato, in a lot of ways, you’re still just a child.”

Gokudera grit his teeth but didn’t reply.

“I’ll teach you,” Shamal promised. There was a buzzing in Gokudera’s ear, one that he wasn’t entirely sure was just his thoughts screeching to a halt. “So long as you don’t forget that the next time you act recklessly, I’ll take the life you don’t treasure.”

Promises and threats– it fit Gokudera perfectly.

Heat radiated off the dark asphalt of the road, rough against the skin that shredded against it. Despite the number of people frozen in horror along the sidewalk, the air was disturbingly void of sound aside from a steady th-thump! th-thump! th-thump! that echoed against the eardrums. The world was almost monochrome, a filter of black-and-white that had no effect against the violent red smeared across the pavement. There’s a small kitten of dark fur and heterochromatic eyes mewling loudly against the pavement, its desiccated form a direct contradiction to the strength of its yowling. It shouldn’t be able to make a sound that loud with its lungs halfway ripped out of its body.

Tsuna turned his eyes away from the screen. The lights of the movie played against the side of his face, but he couldn’t stand to watch any longer. 

“It is rather grisly,” Mukuro agreed, never looking away from the scene. “But it’s not real, Sawada Tsunayoshi - that isn’t how it played out.”

Tsuna would have to take his word for it, because unlike before, this wasn’t his. A memory, or a dream, or a nightmare– whatever it was, this kitten and its ill-begotten fate didn’t stem from him. It didn’t belong to Mukuro, either, despite the way the older male’s eyes lit up in possession as the scene replayed itself across the screen.

“There, there,” Mukuro cooed, insincere in his sympathy. “It’s already over.”

The words weren’t meant to comfort Tsuna - they were not really meant to comfort at all, not even the slight figure seated on Mukuro’s other side in the theater seats. The small form unfurled from the tight ball it had been tucked in, pale skin made all the sicker contrasted against the white sundress and under the movie’s flickering illumination. It was hard to make out the face past Mukuro’s shoulder, Tsuna only catching a fleeting glimpse of one burning red eye.

Tsuna looked away. 

Car tires screeched against the road on the screen, but it didn’t drown out the sound of the vehicle slamming into something much bigger and heavier than a kitten.

A/N: Reborn is the only one having any fun right now lmao

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