Reborn Drabbles (9/1: Trace)
Title: Trace
Series: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Pairing: Gen? Maybe 8059
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for the 31_days challenge (9/1: Trace). Written half-asleep and with a pounding headache, but I was in the mood to write so I wrote. Mmmyeah, so that's why it sucks.
The door to the warehouse opened with a slam. Dust motes crumbled down; rusted steel walls creaked before settling back into position. Gokudera closed the door much more carefully behind him, eyes raking over the empty racks and cheap plastic chairs. Footsteps had disturbed the dust here and there, peppered with the glint of new shells, golden in the sunlight. He shuffled forward, DNA-tracer held like a gun before him. Green and red swelled on the screen; hair has been dropped, skin cells shed.
"Maybe...less than three hours," he murmured, still looking around at the reddish-brown walls and the leaking ceiling. Glass from the broken lamps above crunched under his heels. "Ten o'clock, maybe."
Behind him Hibari snorted. "Doesn't sound like you found anything concrete."
He ignored the other and continued further in. A chair lay on its side, a set of broken handcuffs under it. Gokudera tugged it out with the toe of his shoe and ran the radar over it. "Positive," he hissed, heart jumping immediately to his throat, and glared sharply around at the surroundings. Prints of leather loafers had cleared away what might have clearly told him what had happened; with no other choice he started combing around the shelves that had once held grocery goods, but had long disintegrated into exploded cans or rotted paper cartons. The silence held its breath around him.
He flicked on his flashlight nervously, shining it around the floor. Shelves had fallen in some places, obviously into someone's head by the jumble of clean floor and the blood he found at forehead-height. It wasn't until the fourth row, though, that he found the first body.
Three bullets to the chest. Blood in a pool all around, firmly gluing the victim the floor. What had once been a crisp black suit and tie and a complete pair of shoes, what had once been dark spiky hair and strong, long fingers. What had once been someone's lover, someone's friend, someone's precious person.
He couldn't help it; he breathed a sigh of relief to see it wasn't Yamamoto.
He felt more than heard Hibari moving behind him, making his way through the row to his right with his radar. A fallen shoe and a blasted off ear were next, followed by the body they came from (blonde and quite young, a bullet to the neck and another in the shoulder), and the next (blonde again, blue eyes unseeing, head crushed with something like a pipe). His radar showed a roiling melee of green and red and perfect ocean blue.
"He was here," Gokudera murmured desperately where the trail ended at a set of double car tracks in the parking lot. A body lay to the side of where oil had dripped from the exhaust pipe; turning it over the bomber found it was the Tarano consigliere, face frozen in shock. The bodies he'd found were still malleable and fresh, the blood bright as dirty rubies flecked in the dust. It hadn't been an hour since the other had left this place - the blue showed so sharp and bright on the radar screen, Gokudera felt like crying at the sight of his first clue to the other's whereabouts since three months ago - yet again he was without leads. Yamamoto never saw any reason to let the wicked enemies of the family live, after all.
"He's not here now," Hibari answered behind him. It wasn't meant to be encouraging. "It's been three months already, it's about time we were pulled off the case anyway."
Gokudera spun quickly around, desperately fierce. "He's still doing good for the family! The clue about the Haciano Family, if we hadn't received it -"
"That was two and a half months ago." Hibari's eyes bore into him, neither condemning or applauding him for his dogged loyalty.
Maybe he was a fool. Maybe Yamamoto had found another warm body to fuck and it'd all been a pipedream after all, that one day he'd find someone he could stand and who could stand him, someone that he might actually like enough to settle down with. The swordsman was talented and savvy enough, after all, there were plenty of people in the world who'd love a pet assassin of his caliber -
But he didn't want to believe it. He would do anything to prove it wasn't true.
I don't want to find out I've been duped into feeling a little too deep, again.
"He has his reasons," he spat finally, and thankfully the other left it at that. Turning back to the warehouse he stalked the way back to the car, once again cursing himself for not coming sooner, for the informant to not have contacted him right when it happened. Vaguely he considered the odds of the informant being one of the people on the floor - then discarded it, because Yamamoto always had the sixth sense not to kill the witnesses that mattered. But then again, he also hadn't seen Yamamoto in three months.
At the door, he forced himself to take a deep breath. Maybe Yamamoto had lost more than his heart, maybe he hadn't. Either way, there was no proof. Not yet.
Until then, it was all he could do to believe.
UHHHHH DEAD.
Series: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Pairing: Gen? Maybe 8059
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for the 31_days challenge (9/1: Trace). Written half-asleep and with a pounding headache, but I was in the mood to write so I wrote. Mmmyeah, so that's why it sucks.
The door to the warehouse opened with a slam. Dust motes crumbled down; rusted steel walls creaked before settling back into position. Gokudera closed the door much more carefully behind him, eyes raking over the empty racks and cheap plastic chairs. Footsteps had disturbed the dust here and there, peppered with the glint of new shells, golden in the sunlight. He shuffled forward, DNA-tracer held like a gun before him. Green and red swelled on the screen; hair has been dropped, skin cells shed.
"Maybe...less than three hours," he murmured, still looking around at the reddish-brown walls and the leaking ceiling. Glass from the broken lamps above crunched under his heels. "Ten o'clock, maybe."
Behind him Hibari snorted. "Doesn't sound like you found anything concrete."
He ignored the other and continued further in. A chair lay on its side, a set of broken handcuffs under it. Gokudera tugged it out with the toe of his shoe and ran the radar over it. "Positive," he hissed, heart jumping immediately to his throat, and glared sharply around at the surroundings. Prints of leather loafers had cleared away what might have clearly told him what had happened; with no other choice he started combing around the shelves that had once held grocery goods, but had long disintegrated into exploded cans or rotted paper cartons. The silence held its breath around him.
He flicked on his flashlight nervously, shining it around the floor. Shelves had fallen in some places, obviously into someone's head by the jumble of clean floor and the blood he found at forehead-height. It wasn't until the fourth row, though, that he found the first body.
Three bullets to the chest. Blood in a pool all around, firmly gluing the victim the floor. What had once been a crisp black suit and tie and a complete pair of shoes, what had once been dark spiky hair and strong, long fingers. What had once been someone's lover, someone's friend, someone's precious person.
He couldn't help it; he breathed a sigh of relief to see it wasn't Yamamoto.
He felt more than heard Hibari moving behind him, making his way through the row to his right with his radar. A fallen shoe and a blasted off ear were next, followed by the body they came from (blonde and quite young, a bullet to the neck and another in the shoulder), and the next (blonde again, blue eyes unseeing, head crushed with something like a pipe). His radar showed a roiling melee of green and red and perfect ocean blue.
"He was here," Gokudera murmured desperately where the trail ended at a set of double car tracks in the parking lot. A body lay to the side of where oil had dripped from the exhaust pipe; turning it over the bomber found it was the Tarano consigliere, face frozen in shock. The bodies he'd found were still malleable and fresh, the blood bright as dirty rubies flecked in the dust. It hadn't been an hour since the other had left this place - the blue showed so sharp and bright on the radar screen, Gokudera felt like crying at the sight of his first clue to the other's whereabouts since three months ago - yet again he was without leads. Yamamoto never saw any reason to let the wicked enemies of the family live, after all.
"He's not here now," Hibari answered behind him. It wasn't meant to be encouraging. "It's been three months already, it's about time we were pulled off the case anyway."
Gokudera spun quickly around, desperately fierce. "He's still doing good for the family! The clue about the Haciano Family, if we hadn't received it -"
"That was two and a half months ago." Hibari's eyes bore into him, neither condemning or applauding him for his dogged loyalty.
Maybe he was a fool. Maybe Yamamoto had found another warm body to fuck and it'd all been a pipedream after all, that one day he'd find someone he could stand and who could stand him, someone that he might actually like enough to settle down with. The swordsman was talented and savvy enough, after all, there were plenty of people in the world who'd love a pet assassin of his caliber -
But he didn't want to believe it. He would do anything to prove it wasn't true.
I don't want to find out I've been duped into feeling a little too deep, again.
"He has his reasons," he spat finally, and thankfully the other left it at that. Turning back to the warehouse he stalked the way back to the car, once again cursing himself for not coming sooner, for the informant to not have contacted him right when it happened. Vaguely he considered the odds of the informant being one of the people on the floor - then discarded it, because Yamamoto always had the sixth sense not to kill the witnesses that mattered. But then again, he also hadn't seen Yamamoto in three months.
At the door, he forced himself to take a deep breath. Maybe Yamamoto had lost more than his heart, maybe he hadn't. Either way, there was no proof. Not yet.
Until then, it was all he could do to believe.
UHHHHH DEAD.