[kaoru] Landslide

[cedef_guide]

Title: Landslide
ID: kaoru
Word count: 8,380
Rating/Warnings: R, character deaths
Character(s) or pairing(s): Primo Family, no pairings
Theme challenge: Yes

They came to Japan in the lower decks of a Chinese ship, huddled in the damp corners with a small ration of food to tide them over for the journey. Through the hustle of cargo being moved from boat to harbor, they made their way into the port city just long enough to gather all the necessary supplies to make their trek across the Japanese countryside.

In only a few short days, they stumbled upon a small farming village whose inhabitants gave the trio bemused looks. They had only heard of the foreigners in the cities, but they had never seen men with blonde and red hair before. They also knew of the nobility, but they had never seen one for themselves, at least none who would approach them so casually as though they were equals.

Most remained polite, though none seemed eager to offer them any assistance. The travelers were out of food. They had spent the last of their coin. To make matters worse, they knew they were a three days' journey away from the closest town.

“I told you we should have bought more food.”

“We couldn't carry it all, G.”

“Maybe we should have bought less?”

“No, you idiot, then we'd be even worse off!”

“And we were doing so well rationing it, too...”

Before they could lament their situation further, a young woman approached them cautiously, her head hung low and her eyes on the hem of her brown cotton robes. According to the once-noble musician, she told them quietly that her grandfather was more than happy to offer them lodging in exchange for helping him around the farm. It was time for the harvest of the rice, and because of his bad back he needed assistance. The three happily obliged.

The harvest season passed, but no offer was made to give the men the extra rice or coin to assist them on their journey. Instead, a wedding between the old man's daughter and one of the foreigners, who had since changed his name, was announced, much to the joy of the village.

For these newcomers, it seemed the start of a wonderful new beginning. Years later, Ieyasu Sawada realized that this was actually the beginning of the end.

~
G could not help but to smirk devilishly while Ugetsu helped Giotto into the wedding robes.

“I still can't believe you're taking her name. That damned priest will have a fit as soon as he finds out!”

Giotto rolled his eyes, ignoring the drag of gravity on his outstretched arms. “I'm sure Knuckle will understand, given the circumstances. It wouldn't be the best idea to have her take Vongola, would it?”

“But did you have to change your first name, too?”

“When in the village, do as the villagers do,” Giotto recited in Japanese. He turned to Ugetsu with a grin. “That's how it goes, correct?”

Ugetsu's bright smile seemed to never wane ever since the village children pooled their sweets and toy money together to buy him a bamboo flute. Giotto was certain it was nowhere near the same quality of craftsmanship as the flute he sold for his swords, but Ugetsu mastered it as though it was made for the emperor himself.

“Yes, it is, Giotto,” said Ugetsu with a light laugh. “Do you suppose Knuckle and Lampo and Alaude have received the letters by now?”

G snorted. “We sent them only a month ago. It took us six to get here. Do the math, you flute playing pansy.”

If Giotto had been in a worse mood, he might have sent G a nasty glare and a harsh reminder that Ugetsu handily saved his life time and time again back in Italy, but it was his wedding day, and Ugetsu had pulled just a little too tightly on the obi. Giotto coughed instead. Ugetsu laughed and apologized as he loosened the obi.

G leaned back against the wall of the room they shared together until today, flicking his cigarette out into the garden. There was a small patch of soil that no longer grew anything more than weeds, and Giotto and Ugetsu reinforced the Sawadas' plea that G disposed of his cigarettes there and only there. A nice pile had collected over the months, and Giotto wondered if he should not have sent G to the city to have the letters delivered.

“Did you have to send one to Daemon, too?” asked G, scowling. Giotto noticed Ugetsu shift uncomfortably beside him.

Giotto sighed. “He is still my Guardian. And we will not have this conversation today, or tomorrow.”

“Yes, but--”

“No, G.”

A silence fell over the room. G scoffed and pulled out another cigarette and lit it. Giotto closed his eyes and focused on the smiling face of his bride-to-be. He refused to remember Daemon Spade and what he had done. He refused to picture Ricardo and the surrendered rings. Today was a happy day for a bright future, not a day to dwell on the past.

“Now, now,” said Ugetsu helpfully, a grin plastered on his face as he put the finishing touches on the bow of the obi, “if we don't hurry we're going to be late! You do not want to keep Takako-san waiting!”

A wheeze of a laugh came from the inner door of the home. “Oh, do not worry about that, young man,” said Yoshimune Sawada as he sauntered into the room. “They are still finishing preparations for the ceremony. We have plenty of time.” He carefully eyed Giotto up and down with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Well, well, Asari-kun, you certainly know what you are doing for such an intricate robe! As to be expected of one from noble-birth.”

“Oh, no, you are too kind, Sawada-san,” said Ugetsu politely.

“How is Takako?” asked Giotto. A flutter of butterflies swirled in his stomach at the sight of his future grandfather-in-law; this was really happening!

He threw his head back and laughed again. “She cannot stop smiling. You really do make her happier than I have ever seen her, Giotto-kun. Oh, I apologize, it is Ieyasu-kun now, isn't it?”

Giotto grinned. “Giotto is fine, too. I don't mind.”

Yoshimune chuckled again. “Well, I just wanted to see how the groom was doing. Oh, and before I forget, a foreigner on horseback came into the village just now. He asked me to give this to a Signore Vongola? We assumed he meant either you or G-kun.”

He handed Giotto a thin envelope with calligraphy neatly sprawled in the center. Giotto frowned and turned to G, who lifted himself out of the doorway and came to his side. Ugetsu, too, peered over his shoulder.

“Yes, this would be... one of us, thank you very much,” said Giotto.

Yoshimune smiled a toothy grin. “I will see you at the shrine, then, Ieyasu-kun.” And then he left.

The three of them stared at the envelope for a moment before glancing at each other.

“Maybe it's Knuckle or Lampo sending their congratulations,” suggested Ugetsu unconvincingly.

G rolled his eyes. “We just had this conversation, Ugetsu. It can't be that. That's Alaude's handwriting, though, isn't it? What could he possibly want with us, especially now that we left Italy?”

The butterflies that had played in Giotto's stomach had been replaced by a pound of stones. Without a word, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper within. Immediately, the stones turned into boulders as his heart plummeted, and he felt the color rush out of his face as his hands trembled.

True to Alaude's fashion, the letter was short and to the point. No frills and no explanations. Just simply:

Vongola Primo,

The Father is dead.

- Alaude
~
They waited a week after the wedding to erect a small memorial to their fallen friend at the top of the hill behind the Sawada farmhouse. They fashioned a sturdy cross out of bamboo and carved his name into it in both Italian and Japanese, planting it directly under the cherry tree that had just blossomed. Giotto cut his finger in the process, and as he sucked on the small wound, tears spilled as he remembered the calloused hands of his Guardian roughly holding him still while he used his warm Sun flames to heal his wounds.

“Giotto...” both G and Ugetsu murmured.

“I'm fine,” said he, gently shrugging their reassuring hands off his shoulders. “I just... I just can't believe he's gone. I knew we would never see him again but... those letters I sent... I hoped that I could still hear from him, at least.”

Both his friends remained silent for a moment, seeming unsure of what to say. Finally, G scoffed, “You really think his attention span was long enough to write a decent letter to you? And even if he did, it'd be mostly incoherent and filled with Bible verses anyway.”

Ugetsu gently laughed. “Now, I am sure Knuckle would have been able to sit down long enough to write a letter. I am equally sure he would not have turned it into a sermon. He never did outside of Mass, after all.”

“Tch. Not to you, maybe.”

In spite of his mourning, Giotto felt a smile spread on his face. “I think he only preached to you, G. Maybe if you had actually attended church, or had not slept around and gambled so much...”

“I wasn't as bad as he made me out to be!”

“Weren't you?” challenged Giotto with a smirk. G huffed comically but did not sputter out another word in protest while Ugetsu hid a quiet laugh behind his hand.

The mood gradually grew somber as they turned their attention back to the bamboo cross. Ugetsu gently coughed, breaking the silence, but no one dared speak. Giotto remembered everything from the moment they had first met Knuckle in the back alleys of the arena where he competed, rescuing a young girl from some thugs who demanded compensation for a lost bet, to the fatal final blow of the championship match and Knuckle's quick flight from the arena not to be seen again for many months, to the reunion when they found him in a small chapel in the surrounding farmlands bearing the robes of a priest. Giotto recalled the strange aura of peace emanating from his friend that day: he was calmer, to be sure, but filled with guilt and regret that nobody could lift off his shoulders. He also recalled the day that Knuckle stormed through the mansion of a mafia family more powerful than anyone had estimated, his cassock gone and his fists flying to save them all from the whims of the enemy.

More, he remembered Knuckle's good-natured laugh, his passionate sermons, the way he pestered G about attending church, the calm that settled on his face when Ugetsu played the metal flute that all of them (even Alaude) had pooled the money together for to make up for the sold bamboo one, how he always tried to protect Lampo from Daemon's pranks, and how he somehow always managed to drag Alaude to Family functions without the cop arresting him on the spot.

“Arrivederci, Knuckle,” whispered Giotto as a light breeze covered the base of the cross with pink petals. “We will see you again by the Lord's side soon.”

~
Nearly a year passed, and Giotto was gifted with a beautiful baby boy. Yoshimune passed before he could meet his grandson, and so Giotto and Takako named their son after his great-grandfather. Baby Yoshimune brought joy to the entire house, and not even the child-hating G could stay cold and distant from the boy.

As the snow began to melt, Ugetsu caught a fever. After the third day without the fever breaking, Takako begged G to go to town to find a doctor. When he returned, he not only came with a doctor but a thick envelope addressed to Giotto Vongola in hand. Giotto recognized the handwriting right away: Daemon Spade.

Giotto and G left Ugetsu with the doctor while Takako attended to baby Yoshimune. By the cooking pot, they huddled together for warmth. Giotto carefully opened the envelope, many questions zooming through his head and G's angry mutterings regarding the magician helping little. He stopped as soon as the sheets of paper were unfolded, looking over Giotto's shoulder as they both quietly read what the Vongola Mist Guardian had to say to them.

My Dearest Primo,

I do hope this letter finds you well. You are most tricky; no return address for your former Mist Guardian? You gave it to the others. I am wounded.

But Japan, beloved Primo? My, but you must be so worried about Secondo! Your dear cousin wishes no ill will towards you or your Guardians. Many of his still try to emulate them, but they are fast progressing into the Vongola Guardians the mafia society best fear. The untimely deaths of our dearest Alaude and Knuckle have most certainly helped with that.

Oh, but I suppose you have not yet heard. I am sorry to report to you, Giotto darling, that they never received your letters about your marriage to your Oriental farm girl. I must not forget to extend my congratulations before I end this letter. Nonetheless, Alaude and Knuckle passed within a fortnight of each other, and I doubt anybody managed to get a message out to you. I know Lampo certainly did not.

You see, when you, G, and Ugetsu relinquished your rings to Secondo, you either failed to ask the others to do the same or they outright disobeyed you. This should not be surprising with regards to our little skylark, but the young lord and the Father's impertinence was most shocking.

Lampo in particular caught me off guard. I had confronted him for the Vongola Lightning Ring not a year after you left. I hoped that he would acquiesce in response to threats upon his own life.

To my surprise (and I imagine yours as well), he adamantly refused. He was no model of courage as he did so, simpering about the sentimentality of the ring or some other such nonsense. Ah, but noblemen despise when you try to take their toys away from them, no?

Eventually, I knew the only way to obtain the ring was by force. I certainly had no intention of killing the lad, I assure you! I had thought to merely use illusions to frighten him unconscious, but then your former Sun Guardian appeared with his fists bared.

You cannot blame me for what happened next. An opportunity to see the priest fight is so very rare, after all! He is also much too stubborn; I knew he would never give up his ring no matter how politely I asked and no matter how forcefully I demanded. So we fought. The battle, as expected, was short-lived. At least his three minute rule was kept even to the end, though the outcome did not turn out so favorably for him.

I would be lying, oh Primo, if I told you that I did not mean to thrust the spear into him. Know that I did not aim nor pierce his heart, at least, but the damage was done. Not even Alaude interrupting could change the priest's fate.

To this day, I still do not understand why you made a priest your Guardian, even with his skilled fists, but I suppose his softness answers the question for me. I would not be writing to you today had Alaude not been convinced to spare me. I confess that I do not know what Knuckle's pull on our police friend was, though I do have many theories. In any case, Alaude let me go, albeit reluctantly, and so I made my exit without any rings in hand.

I did eventually retrieve the Sun Ring, do not worry. I made my way to the church well before the funeral to take it. I had had no intention of staying for the actual service, but imagine my surprise when I caught Alaude himself heading for the church. Intrigued, I stayed hidden, which was easy enough to do considering the crowd that showed. Rest assured, dear Primo, that while most of the town was there, only Secondo and his Guardians attended to make sure Knuckle was dead. The rest were genuine mourners. He was an extremely beloved man, after all.

But it is to my great fortune that I stayed, for Alaude discovered my presence before the end. He had courtesy enough not to attack me right then and there, but, oh, how I had never seen him with his heart so bare on his sleeve before! If only you could have seen his rage; even you would have been most intimidated. I, on the other hand, knew that Alaude only wanted revenge, and that nothing would stop him from seeking it out. This gave me time to prepare for the inevitable attack.

To his credit, he did not seek me out that night. To my advantage, nor did he confront me the next. To his downfall, he perhaps should have waited past the third day, for he was still much too angry when we faced each other for the final time.

I will spare you the details, Primo dear, for I know you cannot bear to hear it. I also know better than to reveal how I managed to bring about your Cloud Guardian's demise. Do know that he saw through all my plans and all my illusions. Again, I nearly fell to him, and Secondo would have been left without a Mist Guardian.

But this time, I was not spared because of a plea for mercy. Alaude had never been an emotional fighter, after all, and he used to be so very mindful of the openings he left for his enemy! Not that he ever needed to worry about it before, for he outmatched all of them. Still, I saw it in just enough time to turn the tables in my favor. His last moments must have been that of regret over his own carelessness.

With both the Sun and Cloud Rings now in my possession for Secondo's use, I sought out the young Lampo once more. Upon presenting Alaude's ring as proof of his death, Lampo finally surrendered his to me without protest.

Now, I meant it when I said that I do not wish the boy's death. He is far too amusing. Secondo found a use for him to help benefit the Vongola. He is now married to the Bovino don's daughter to ensure that the family will never raise arms against us again. As long as the Bovino Family remains our ally, you shall never have to worry about Lampo's safety. At least, from myself and Secondo.

I am afraid this is all the time I have for you, my dearest Primo. Please give G and Ugetsu my best. And once again, congratulations on your marriage! Just be sure to keep any offspring away from Italy and the surrounding countries; Secondo will not take threats to his reign well at all.

With much love,
D. Spade

P.S. Do not expect any correspondence from your former Lightning Guardian. We have forbidden him from contacting you for any reason. It is in his best interest if you do the same.

Giotto's hands began to tremble long before reaching the end of the letter.

“That... that son of a whore!” G screamed, his tattoo camouflaged by the rage on his face. “I knew... I knew that he would not be able to leave them alone! How dare he betray us more?! Was what happened with Cozart not enough? Was giving the Vongola over to Ricardo not enough? No! He had to kill someone who was never a real threat to him-a holy man, for Christ's sake!-and he had to take control over a boy-a boy, Giotto! He is still a boy!-for his own whims! That fucking lunatic!”

“G,” said Giotto quietly.

“And for what? Some rings? Rings whose power you had sealed before we left? What use are they to Ricardo now?!”

“G.”

“And why didn't they just give them up when you asked them to anyway? Are they idiots? They knew they'd be targets if they did! I bet it was the fucking priest's idea. Trying to curb Ricardo and his Guardians' power somehow? What good would that do?”

“G!” Giotto bellowed, and finally the redhead stopped. More quietly, calmly, and hoping that no trace of the Dying Will Flames had erupted, Giotto said, “G. There is nothing that can be done now. Alaude and Knuckle are dead, and Lampo is safe.”

G scowled. “Safe? That’s what you call it?”

“The Bovino Family are good people, and with Lampo in charge now, they would never do anything to jeopardize the alliance with the Vongola.”

“Because they are a weaker family and they know it.”

“And yet they resisted Secondo's power anyway.”

“You would refer to your traitorous cousin like that?”

“That is his title now, is it not?”

G pursed his lips and stood, fists clenched at his sides. “How can you just accept this? Daemon Spade killed two of your Guardians! Two of your friends! I had hoped that Knuckle had died from an illness or an accident... but murdered by someone he-we once considered an ally? And to protect Lampo, who Spade had no business threatening! And all because they did not listen to you when you told them to give their rings to Ricardo!”

“I am sure they had good reason,” said Giotto.

“Which justifies Knuckle dying? Alaude dying? Lampo being imprisoned by Ricardo?”

When Giotto said nothing, G crossed his arms and turned his back to him.

Giotto knew that G was not wrong. They should have given up their rings, if only not to make them targets of the new Vongola; that was precisely why he asked them to. And Daemon Spade murdering both Knuckle and Alaude was completely unforgivable. He worried for Lampo's safety and that of the Bovino Family. If they had rebelled against Ricardo time and time again, only to be subdued by Lampo and his hatred of direct and violent confrontation, surely Ricardo would eventually get it in his head that Lampo wanted revenge and immediately destroy him then and there.

But why did Knuckle and Lampo disobey him? What had they hoped to accomplish? Alaude's defiance, like Daemon Spade said, came as no surprise. Was he the one who put them up to it? That would certainly make sense why Knuckle and Alaude were quick to Lampo's defense. Perhaps it had been a trap. But surely Knuckle would have never agreed to that!

“We should have brought him with us,” said G quietly. “I know we could never persuade Knuckle or Alaude to it, but Lampo... he is too vulnerable by himself, even with their protection. And now they're dead. You should have been more forceful when you asked him to come, Giotto.”

Giotto shook his head. “He is old enough now to make his own decisions. And he is strong enough that we need not worry about him.”

G spun to face him, face torn between horror and desperation. “But-”

“There is no sense arguing about this, G. What is done is done, and we cannot change it.” Giotto reached out a hand and placed it on G's shoulder. He softly said, “I mourn the loss of Alaude, too. And it was not easy hearing about how Knuckle died. But they both died brave deaths, and deaths, I am sure, they have no regrets over, no matter what Daemon might think.

“As for Lampo, I do not believe that Daemon would lie about his safety. There is no reason to. I am sure that he will be fine.”

G stared at him for a long time. The red disappeared from his cheeks, leaving his tattoo prominent against his features once more. His expression melted into despaired acceptance. “I can’t believe Alaude is dead. Do you think it was really revenge Alaude sought from Daemon Spade?”

Giotto softly smiled. “He was not as cold as you might think. He cared for each of us, you know, in his own way. That is why he accepted the gift of the pocket watch, after all. It was the only gift I gave him he actually kept, besides the Vongola Cloud Ring.”

G rolled his eyes. “Didn't he steal that back from you?”

“... okay, so he did. But he did not take the others back,” said Giotto, recalling with a smile how they snatched the Vongola rings from under the noses of the police force Alaude headed. That was the second time they met him; the first was when they crossed paths while in the middle of destroying a warehouse that contained foreign weeds the mafia used to exploit the downtrodden. Alaude, of course, had only been interested in confiscating the goods and had cared little about the well-being of the people. There had been a small skirmish, and the weeds had wound up being destroyed anyway.

After a few more encounters after the theft of the rings, it had only been at Knuckle's behest and stature as a priest that Alaude not take Giotto and G to prison. He had only made off with the purple jeweled ring. A few months later, the elite organization he had formed became allies with the budding Vongola Family, and the truce had never been less than uneasy since.

“When Ugetsu feels better, we will do for Alaude what we did for Knuckle,” said Giotto as he folded the letter and tucked it into his robes. “Let's go check to see how he's doing.”

Before they could leave the room, the door slid open and the doctor walked in with Takako holding Yoshimune behind him. Like he did when he received Alaude's letter many months ago, Giotto felt boulders in his stomach at the doctor's grim expression.

“How is he, doctor?” asked Giotto quietly. “He will get better soon?”

The doctor shook his head. “I am afraid not, Sawada-san. I believe he has consumption.”

~
G reacted poorly to the news. He immediately tossed the doctor out and told him to take his flawed medical diagnoses elsewhere. It was not consumption. It could not be consumption.

Ugetsu, of course, had taken the doctor's words to heart and was disinclined to have anyone see him. “You might catch it, too,” he insisted, “and I could never forgive myself.”

G scoffed and told him that he would not be rid of them that easily; Giotto said that they would not leave his side until he was better. However, something told Giotto that while it was unlikely that Ugetsu had consumption, there was still some truth to what the doctor had to say. To be on the safe side, he made sure that his son never came into Ugetsu's room; it was pointless, G said, because Giotto spent most of his waking hours with Ugetsu anyway.

They waited a couple of days after the doctor left to tell Ugetsu about Daemon Spade's letter. They left out many details, only telling him the bare basics: that Alaude was dead, and that Lampo was now married to the Bovino don's daughter. They both agreed beforehand that telling Ugetsu that Spade was the one responsible for all of this would certainly do more harm to Ugetsu's condition than good, and that they would tell him the truth as soon as he was not sick anymore.

With one brief day of apparent recovery, Ugetsu insisted that they have a memorial for Alaude. They placed another simple bamboo cross next to Knuckle's. Not many words were said, as though they paid an homage to Alaude's nature. Then Ugetsu revealed that in his loose robes he kept his flute, and he played a dirge that Giotto and G recognized. That was all that needed to be said, and to keep Ugetsu from falling ill once more, they quickly retreated back to the house.

The effort had been futile, for the next morning the fever returned and Ugetsu's incessant coughing now drew blood. Once more, they called for the doctor, and once more, the doctor told them what they did not want to hear. Once more, G threw him out. But over the next few days, it became clearer that perhaps the doctor had been right all along.

Ugetsu's skin faded, and his cheeks sunk. He rarely touched the food they brought him. Most of his days were spent in a labored sleep; fatigue forbade him from tossing and turning but the sweat drenched sheets and robes made it evident that Ugetsu was not truly resting.

Giotto did not heed Ugetsu’s request not to visit him. To everyone’s surprise, G did.

More surprising was Ugetsu’s clear disappointment.

“G did not come with you today?” was the first thing he said when Giotto came in with soup and tea Takako prepared for him. If Giotto did not know any better, Ugetsu could have fooled him into thinking that this was to be expected, and that he truly thought it was for the better.

Giotto shook his head and set the tray down beside Ugetsu. He did not sit up to take the food; Giotto suspected he did not have the strength to. “No. I couldn’t find him. Has he not come to see you when I’m not here?”

“I am sure he is probably busy,” said Ugetsu with a strained grin. When he noticed the frown on Giotto’s face, he weakly laughed. “Don’t worry, Giotto, I would not want him to get sick! I do not want to seem ungrateful for your visits, but I wish you saw me less. What if you caught what I have? You still have to take care of Takako-san and Yoshimune-kun.”

“It’s not consumption,” said Giotto unconvincingly. “I’m sure it’s not contagious.”

“But it is still deadly, whatever it is that I have. And I do not want to risk you…”

“You’re going to be fine.”

“No, I am not.” Then Ugetsu smiled as brightly as he ever did before he fell ill, and he almost looked… alive. “Don’t be so sad! The afterlife will not be lonely. I have Knuckle and Alaude waiting for me, after all. And I have lived a good life.”

Giotto cringed. “Don’t talk like that. Even if… even if you were going to die, Knuckle and even Alaude… they would not want you to join them so soon.”

“I know,” said Ugetsu as he closed his eyes. “But I do. I miss them, Giotto.”

It was in that moment that Giotto realized that his denial was never for Ugetsu’s sake. It had always been for his own. To lose another close friend so soon…

“Ugetsu,” he choked out. He didn’t know what to say.

“Thank you, Giotto,” said Ugetsu, still with his radiant smile but somehow seeming weaker than he ever looked. “I just want you to know that I regret nothing. Going to Italy was the best decision I ever made, and I would never change it. My life would have been empty without you and the others.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Giotto pleaded again, his voice smaller.

“I do not care if this disease is something I received while in Italy. It does not matter. And if I did, then it is a welcome price to pay for your friendship and the memories we have shared.”

“But-”

“I only wish I could see everyone one more time. I will see Knuckle and Alaude soon enough, but Lampo, G, and even Daemon… well, I suppose I will see them, too, even if they will not be able to see me.”

“G? G!” Giotto gasped. “He will come see you!”

Ugetsu laughed again. “No, he won’t. He’s scared, isn’t he? It must be hard on him, and on you, to have lost three of us so quickly after we all separated. We are not much of anything apart, are we?”

“You are not lost yet, Ugetsu,” said Giotto, rising to his feet. “G will see you. I promise.”

~
Giotto found G sitting on the frost-covered ground at the side of a creek with a lit cigarette and his back to him.

“G, we need to talk.”

The redhead took another drag and sighed. “Shouldn’t you be with Ugetsu right now?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Giotto challenged. When G did not answer, still refusing to face him, Giotto crossed his arms and glared. “He wants to see you. He misses you. You can’t wait for him to get better.”

“I’m not waiting for that.”

“Then what are you waiting for? For him to die?” G visibly cringed. “You shouldn’t wait for that, either.”

G leaned forward and hung his head between his knees. “I won’t even see him then.”

Giotto clenched the sleeves of his robes into his fists. “So, that’s it? You’re just never going to see him again? Ugetsu said that you were scared. I just never thought that you were a coward.”

That did it. G tossed his cigarette to the side and glared dangerously at Giotto. “You’re lucky you’re you. I wouldn’t tolerate that from anyone else.”

“So why do you refuse to never see him again? The only explanation I can come up with is that you just don’t want to watch him wither away. I know it’s not easy, but visiting him is not about you. It’s about him. So, not only are you a coward, but you are being selfish.”

“That’s it? That’s the only explanation?” G laughed bitterly and climbed to his feet. “I’ve seen men, women, and children die before. I watched my own father be consumed by the disease the doctor thinks Ugetsu has. You’re not wrong. But it is not the only reason.”

“You’re afraid of getting sick, then?”

“No. But if the disease is contagious I still question your judgment of seeing Ugetsu just as often as you see your son.”

Giotto remembered Ugetsu’s reasoning, and despite his anger at G, he wondered if perhaps he was right. “Is it because we already lost Knuckle and Alaude?”

G snorted. “Now you give me the benefit of the doubt?” He drew his coat tighter around his body; despite their long duration in Japan, he still preferred his Italian clothes. Then, quieter, “This isn’t how it was supposed to end.”

“What?”

“Call me crazy, but I always thought that when we die, we wouldn’t do it quietly in our beds. I always thought we’d die… risking our lives for each other, dying for our cause, and that we’d do it… as a family, you know? Knuckle and Alaude got that, even if it was because of that son of a bitch. And I figured that out here, in Japan? Maybe Ugetsu and I would have died to protect you and your family. We’re Guardians. That’s what we do. Or… we’d die old, old men under the care of our grandchildren, or great-grandchildren.

“But even Knuckle and Alaude… they deserved better deaths. Knuckle should have been the one, out of all of us, who should have died an old man, and the last one of us to do so. Yes, even after Lampo. Not the first. The first! Alaude was always destined for a violent death but… against Daemon Spade? And now Ugetsu is succumbing to a disease! If anything, he should be dying a swordsman’s death!”

Giotto narrowed his eyes. “So… you refuse to see him because you wish he would die a more romantic death?”

G threw his hands up. “No! That’s not what I’m saying! You know that’s not what I’m saying. I get it, you’re upset with me. But don’t try to turn me into a villain, either.” He sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am selfish, and a coward. You’re not wrong when you accused me of being afraid, of being unable to watch him wither away, of not being able to stand the idea of losing so many of us Guardians so quickly. But… Ugetsu deserves better than this.”

Giotto said nothing for a while, the anger somehow dissipating. He silently moved closer to G and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Ugetsu deserves you. He doesn’t have much time before… and he wants to see everyone he’s ever loved. He can’t see Lampo or Daemon but he can still see you. Besides, you will regret it forever if you do not. If you don’t do it for him, then do it for yourself.”

G stared. Giotto offered him one last smile before walking off. “Please, think about it.”

~
When Giotto returned to Ugetsu's room, his friend was fast asleep. The soup and tea, to no surprise, was untouched. He touched Ugetsu's forehead and found it burning hot. That, with the labored breaths Ugetsu drew, brought Giotto some ease. He gently kissed the top of Ugetsu's head and left the soup and tea behind in futile hopes that when Ugetsu woke, he would be hungry enough for them.

After a quiet and tense dinner with his wife, Giotto returned to hear a muffled laugh and annoyed murmurings through the rice paper door. Giotto grinned and breathed a sigh of relief. Without opening the door, for he did not need to see what he already knew was transpiring on the other side, he retreated to take Yoshimune off of Takako's hands for the night.

That night, he dreamed of a time before Daemon Spade turned his aggression onto Cozart. It was a time after Ugetsu sold his most precious possession and came to Italy, and after they found Knuckle in a village church and persuaded him to return to the city. Alaude had become more than comfortable working with the Vongola in spite of his nonchalance, and Lampo had not yet been forced to take up arms for the family. Giotto had just bought the golden pocket watches as gifts to his Guardians-no, friends, and they had all celebrated with wine and laughter. Even G had little reason to yell that night.

Giotto awoke with a smile on his face and eyes brimmed with tears. As he lied there, wiping his face, the warm feeling in his heart melted and the awful, familiar feeling in his gut returned.

“Ugetsu,” he murmured and swiftly made his way to the room.

The morning sun had not yet risen above the horizon, so the only light that illuminated the room was a flickering candle nearly melted to the brass holder on the tatami. It was all Giotto needed to see that Ugetsu had passed with a soft smile on his pale face, and despite the disease that had consumed him, he looked as peaceful in death as he did in life. G knelt by his side, his head downcast with wet streaks down his face and his hands clenched and trembling onto his pants.

Giotto knew, then, what heartbreak felt like. He went to G's side and tightly embraced him. Together, they sobbed until dawn broke.

~
As the seasons passed, they heard no more word from Italy. Every summer during Obon, G took the opportunity to angrily rant about Daemon Spade and Lampo's welfare, more out of worry that they knew nothing, but Giotto knew that if no letters had come, then both of them were perfectly fine.

Four boats floated down the river those many summers. As Yoshimune grew older, Takako told him many stories of his great-grandfather, his namesake, as they prepared some of his favorite dishes for the festival. Giotto and G took him to the memorials under the tree and told him all of their fondest memories of each man they remembered. “They were not family by blood,” Giotto explained, “but they were more important to me than anything.”

“Do you think they come to visit us?” Yoshimune asked once.

Giotto smiled. “I don't believe they have ever truly left us.”

It was more than just Obon that Giotto and G visited the bamboo crosses. Every birthday and every anniversary they made the trip together, always beginning the trip in silent reverie and slowly reminiscing with laughter on Giotto's part and eye-rolling on G's part. They rarely recalled the same stories twice, for they had shared many fond memories with the Vongola, and they never excluded Lampo or Daemon Spade from their recollections.

“Remember when Lampo drank too much wine at the Christmas party...”

“I still remember the prank Daemon pulled on all of us at Easter. I had never seen Knuckle so angry...”

“And I thought we would have to buy Ugetsu another flute, but at that point, I was ready to steal one, just to get back at Alaude...”

Separately, however, they visited the memorials weekly. Before Giotto sat down for breakfast Sunday mornings, he visited the memorials and talked to each of them with an update on how Yoshimune was growing and how G fared. He talked about how he was slowly getting a hand on farming and how Takako remained just as beautiful as the first day he met her. He talked about how he wished Knuckle and Alaude could have met her and telling Ugetsu all about how she has taken to the koto to provide music to a house that had grown void of sound since he left. With a goodbye and a promise to visit again soon, he continued his life.

That same afternoon, he often caught G standing before the graves. Giotto never approached, deciding that it was best to let G have his own moments with them. Sometimes, though, G's voice would catch on the wind, and Giotto laughed when he realized that G was trying to carry on an argument with them as though they were standing there before him.

For many years, this continued until Yoshimune's voice changed, then G suddenly collapsed and could not be revived again.

~
It took many, many months before Giotto stopped hearing G's voice.

“Are you still moping around about me? We all knew this day would come eventually, and better me first than you.”

No, G, Giotto insisted silently as he sat before the grave. This was too soon.

“Tch, go spend some time with your son. He's growing up fast, and you're going to miss it.”

He needs his uncle.

“He needs his father, now more than ever. Remember when we were his age?”

Before Giotto knew it, Yoshimune was engaged to a beautiful merchant girl from the city. Giotto stared at his son, wondering where the young teenager had gone. Who was this young man with his silk dark hair and olive skin and bright eyes wide and round? That was the day Giotto stopped visiting G's grave, making it a point to know everything there was to know about Yoshimune's bride-to-be and of Yoshimune himself.

He learned that Yoshimune was a well-rounded warrior, as useless as it was in Japan's changing society. He knew hand-to-hand combat and swordsmanship. His skill with a bow and arrow were unmatched, and he kept a gun at his side at all times, though he swore that he never once fired it.

“It was Uncle G's,” he said. “He taught me how to use it, but I know I could never bring myself to. It's just a way to remember him, I guess.”

And he told Giotto all about how G had kept careful watch over how his other uncles fought and made sure to teach Yoshimune after he was bullied by the bigger children.

“I never told you or Mother because I didn't want you to worry, but Uncle G figured it out. And he told me that it is a Guardian's responsibility to see to not only his boss's safety but that of his family, whatever that means,” said Yoshimune with a sheepish smile. “He said that every time I picked up a sword, it was the rain that protected me. When the sun shone is the best time to use my fists. If I run away, it's because I listened to the lightning. I don't know. He was always saying weird things like that when I was a child, but I liked it. It was somehow... comforting.”

Giotto gently smiled. “And what did he say of the clouds and the mist?”

“He didn't really say anything? He always grumbled something about clouds when he taught me how to get out of handcuffs, and that the mist is a tricky mistress, but those I really didn't understand. Do you?”

Giotto nodded with a hearty laugh. “I will tell you someday.”

But then Yoshimune married and nine months later they bore a son, Yoshinobu, and Giotto never did tell him about the Vongola Family, the rings, and the true nature of what he and G and the other Guardians did. Instead, he threw himself into his family, being the best grandfather his grandson (and later, granddaughter) deserved and being the best husband to Takako he could be. He only visited the memorials and the graves at New Year's and Obon and rarely did he do so alone. Yoshinobu, like Yoshimune used to, often toddled after him.

One day, as the leaves changed color, Giotto realized that his hair had gone gray. As he watched Yoshinobu ride his horse into the village, he supposed he should have been less surprised. His grandson was turning into a man, now.

After a few warm words of greeting, Yoshinobu handed Giotto an envelope and said that it had come a couple of days before, but because they were busy with travelers for the upcoming festival he only just now was able to come out to give it to him. Giotto saw that the writing was in a language he could never forget, and he had Yoshinobu keep Takako company.

Giotto did not recognize the handwriting, nor did he recognize the style of writing. It did not have Daemon Spade's flair or Lampo's haste, and the language was much too formal to be anyone he had ever known. Still, within the flowery, polite words from whom he eventually discovered was the new Bovino don, Giotto learned not of what was happening with the Vongola or Ricardo or anything about the mafia, except for that Lampo had passed silently in his sleep a few months ago.

He refolded the letter and sighed. “It's only you and me, now, Daemon,” he murmured. “Thank you for staying true to your word.”

~
When Daemon Spade first came to Japan, he arrived not as himself. He had heard rumors that the alleged descendants of Vongola Primo were considering reuniting with the rest of the Family, and he wanted to be sure of their identities himself.

He disguised himself as a lost traveler, but he knew exactly where he was. This was the address that Giotto had given the other three when he bid them to stay in touch. It was on the outskirts of Namimori and the house looked like it ought to be condemned. How could anyone stand to live here, Daemon wondered as he knocked on the door, weaving an illusion to make the outside look and sound stormy. The family quickly bid him inside and let him stay the night.

The father was nothing that Daemon Spade was impressed about and only considered the stories his great-grandfather told him about mafia and the Vongola to be fantastical stories of an old man to make stories of the antics of his friends (whose “graves,” Daemon later learned, were in their backyard). He passed them on to his son, Iemitsu, who as a young teenager was the one who had made the connections with Timoteo to discover the truth of the stories. As Daemon talked with Iemitsu, he learned how Iemitsu knew them to be more than just fairy tales and Iemitsu's intentions of joining up with the Vongola, “If they even still exist,” he amended.

After the family had gone to bed, Daemon made his way to the backyard. The “graves” (perhaps they were for Giotto, G, and Ugetsu, but certainly not for the other three) were conspicuous against the moonlight. Five crosses stood underneath a full and blooming tree, each of them carved with names Daemon had not read for many years. After all, the names of the first generation were not firsthand knowledge. Only the truly privileged in the family ever learned them. But the emotions that raged within him were the same as when he stood above the graves of Knuckle, Alaude, and Lampo in Italy, and he still could not decipher for himself what exactly it meant.

But it was Giotto's cross that Daemon found himself staring at the longest. There was nothing sentimental about it, he told himself. It was the inscription under his name, the same inscription that was written in the golden pocket watch Daemon still carried with him.

Giuro eterna amicizia.
We will wait for the Mist.
Daemon clenched and unclenched his fists before turning on his heel and storming off, leaving his hosts behind and somehow having a sinking feeling that this was not the last he would hear from the Sawada family.