"I will find a place in your heart." 1/?
Title: "I will find a place in your heart."
Series: Katekyo Hitman REBORN!
Pairing: TYL!8059; TYL!Yamamoto x Gokudera
Rating: PG13-R
Date: Written today
Status: multi, on-going
And So... Ten Years Later, only now. Up on the rooftop, Yamamoto made a declaration, and hopefully it still stands today. (Even though it hasn't happened yet.)
Notes: The whole TYL thing... bugs me. There are three things you don't fuck with: Good salsa, a sleeping man, and timelines. But since Akira did it first, I suppose I can too.
Chapter 1: Blown to Smithereens
"Hey, Gokudera?"
"What?"
"I'm going to tell you something, and you have to promise not to get mad, haha."
"No," Gokudera said around his cigarette. It was their last day in high school, their last lunch up on the roof. The young man didn't care if he got caught with contraband--not that he ever did care, though.
"Aww, come on!"
"I said 'no' you idiot."
"Haha!" That laugh was extra lighthearted today, probably because it was just hours until graduation. The fine weather carried the sound an extra distance. "Ah, oh well. Here goes." The other person up on the roof smiled, eyes clear and sincere and staring right into Gokudera's. The stare seemed extra... something today, too. "I love you."
There was silence on the rooftop for a long time, but the smile did not waver in spite of the unreadable stare it was faced with. And then, automatically almost, Gokudera turned away from the young man. "You're an idiot."
"Haha! I guess so."
"Come on, lunch is almost over." Gokudera had put his hand on the door, but stopped. There was a hand on his shoulder, and--he knew he shouldn't, but--he looked back into brown eyes.
"It's okay, you don't have to say anything back yet." Yamamoto dropped his hand away, those eyes of his still as certain as ever. He looked determined, like he was about to hit a home run or slice an enemy to ribbons. "I just wanted you to know."
Gokudera blinked, completely at a loss for anything, much less words.
Yamamoto was still smiling, confident as he ever was: "I will find a place in your heart."
Every week he would bring flowers, though whether the man he brought them to noticed, he couldn't say. Gokudera liked to think that he did somehow. There wasn't a specific type of flower, really, no preference since the boss had never shown one in life. He probably didn't have a preference in death. And so came sunflowers, tulips, irises, even those birds of paradise once. The half-Italian never brought roses though--figured the boss had enough of them anyway. Today for no specific reason--other than that they were pretty--Gokudera had put magnolias on top of the coffin.
He stood in the forest, keeping a respectful distance--he didn't deserve to get much closer--while staring at lacquered cherry wood. The mafioso was thinking of self-destructive things as he usually did. The what ifs and what if nots and why why whys. If anyone had observed Gokudera, well... Firstly they would be full of bullet holes from the security system around the perimeter. Then, they'd perhaps think it a little morbid, Gokudera decided, that a coffin lay unburied in the brush. That had been Gokudera's own doing after much protest and cajoling, just in case smoke ever rose from the coffin. He carried a 'just in case' care package with himself too, wherever he went, its contents as follows: A coded letter, photograph, spare money, and a few other things that may come in handy. That and the unburied coffin were the only signs that Gokudera held on to even a sliver of hope that maybe what had come to pass wouldn't in a way.
He was about to turn from the grave, head back to the base for the first time in months, when the scent of heavy artillery assaulted his nose. Gokudera froze--the coffin was rattling, rustling. Dead flowers were crunching under new weight inside the box. He didn't dare ask himself what the chances were, didn't dare move.
The lid opened slowly, a young brunette peeking out at his new surroundings. Gokudera's breath caught in his throat; it was the Tenth. He looked... he looked young, understandably confused and--"YIII! WHY AM I IN A COFFIN!?"--scared shitless.
Gokudera stepped out of the tree line, half hesitant to have this all be some terrible dream. "It's.. it's you."
Tsuna blinked at the familiar stranger, then realized: "Oh! It's you!"
There was relief etched across the young boy's face that made Gokudera's heart ache. His mouth went dry, hands became numb as he fell to his knees. "Tenth!" The man grabbed Tsuna's shoulders, desperate. "I'm sorry," was the first thing out of his mouth. "I'm sorry!" he said, for all the trespasses this Tsuna didn't even know of.
"W-what?" Tsuna winced. "Ah, it kinda hurts..." He noticed the apologetic look Gokudera gave him, sheepishly dropping his hands away. The man wanted to shake Tsuna, touch his face to be sure, crush him close and beg for a forgiveness that he didn't deserve. It was so hard not to.
But there were more pressing matters, like telling Tsuna he had to bury Irie Shouichi into the fucking ground.
"Tsuna--listen to me." The boy started; the new Gokudera's voice was so... serious. "You have to eliminate this person, then everything will be okay."
"Eliminate?" Tsuna's face paled. "Wait, you mean kill!? No, n--ah... why am I in a coffin?"
Gokudera froze. Of all the things he'd prepared for--keeping the coffin above ground, G-Script, leaving the box system--this question just hadn't been one of them. Of course it was so obvious that the kid would want to know. Gokudera saw in Tsuna's eyes that he was searching for anything besides the answer he probably knew. The man frowned, face the saddest Tsuna had ever seen on any human being. "That... That's because..."
And all of a sudden, the mafioso was gone.
Then, he was standing in a familiar yard on a familiar street. There was a bazooka laying in the grass. "Fuck," the man seethed. Leave it to his past self to get shot with a fucking bazooka, he thought bitterly. Worthless. Then there was a giggle from the window above.
"Lambo." Gokudera ground out the awful name between his teeth, like nails on concrete. The child was sitting up in the window, snot dripping from his nose. "Nyah, now who's gonna get the last popsicle," the little cow jeered, hopping away inside.
It took substantial effort on Gokudera's part to not throw a fistful of dynamite into the window. But, he realized with no small amount of dread, this was Tsuna's old house. He was in the past. Gokudera glanced at his watch--2:16. Maybe he could catch the past--er, current--Tsuna when he poofed back into existence here. But there was no guarantee where he'd poof back to, he thought sourly. Write a note? No, Gokudera scowled, with his luck the house would catch on fire and burn down with the note. And not the cow.
Gokudera made his way to the front door as casually as possible, slipping inside Tsuna's house. Maman didn't seem to be there, but she'd had the awful habit of leaving doors unlocked. Walking through the familiar foyer made his hairs stand on end--it freaked him the fuck out, to be honest. There was Tsuna's jacket hanging off a peg, one of I-Pin's toys on the floor, Maman's rain boots tucked neatly by the door... And there was Lambo in the kitchen, face a sticky purple mess from the popsicle.
"Wahahahaha!" Purple teeth bared triumphantly. "The great Lambo has once again defeated the stupid, smelly, puny--"
"You shot Tsuna with the bazooka," Gokudera interrupted. God, he'd almost forgotten how... Lambo Lambo was ten years prior.
"I did not!" Lies.
"When he gets back, you have to tell him--"
"What kind of keys don't open doors?"
Gokudera glared daggers, knives, and spears at the child. "Listen, you stupid cow--"
"It is...!" Lambo shook the rest of the purple treat to the floor, examining the nude stick's tiny words closely. "Piano keys! Dahahahaha! Lambo does not get it!"
Gokudera grabbed Lambo by the front of his pajamas and hoisted him up so the little cow could see the full effect of the man's jade glare. "I will punt you," he growled.
There was a second of silence, then: "BbbbbbbaaaaWWWWWWW!" Lambo thrashed around in the man's grip. "Smelly old man is so cruel to Lambo!" In midst of the brat's squirming, Gokudera caught sight of his watch--2:23. A full seven minutes had passed. What the fucking fuck. "Did you break the bazooka," he asked, voice flat as a knife's edge.
"W-what bazooka!"
Gokudera still hadn't forgotten the time he had been reduced--by that infernal contraption--to two feet in height, trapped in a baby's body. He had never trusted that damned bazooka, not for a second. Gokudera snarled. "Stupid cow!"
"Wwwwaaaahhh!" Sniff, sniff. "Lambo will tell Maman on you!"
Fuck, when would she be home? Unceremoniously, Gokudera dropped the child to the floor, grabbing the kitten-decorated calendar from the refrigerator. The days had been marked off faithfully with a red X until he came to September 12th. "Shit." Not only did he not get sent back to his own time after five minutes, he wasn't even exactly ten years in the past. What the fuck was going on? Everyone else was still kids, then, right after the battle for the rings. Gokudera felt a cold grip around his heart, but he tossed it aside along with the calendar. He had to get out of there; no need to drag Maman into this crap.
At his feet, Lambo was still sniffling and muttering about stupid old men with stupid white hair. Gokudera was about to leave, but then sighed, pausing in the doorway. "Dumb cow..." The man glanced around to make absolutely sure no one would see what he was about to do. Reaching into the freezer, he pushed around the ice trays and bags of peas, pulling out an orange popsicle. As far as he was concerned, his past self didn't deserve the carefully hidden treat after getting shot and putting him into this mess. Gokudera poked Lambo with the popsicle. "I'm going. Don't tell anyone I was here, or I'll turn you into hamburger."
Cautiously, the little boy eyed the popsicle before snatching it, throwing the plastic cover to the floor. "Lambo will tell who Lambo wants," he said sulkily.
"I'll fry you into beef patties if you do," Gokudera muttered. He knew full well, though, that the brat had the attention span of a wet grape and would forget as soon as he found someone else to torment.
Gokudera fell back onto the grass with a sigh, thoroughly irritated and exhausted. He'd spent the last few hours wandering around the town and--despite its pleasant atmosphere--felt extremely eerie for all of his troubles. Should he tell the pet store owner that the building would burn down in three years? How about the arcade manager that he'd die in a car crash in seven years? It was too weird, so Gokudera had wandered away and found himself in the field where he had watched fireworks with his friends all those years ago.
It was beginning to dawn on the man that he may never make it back to his own time. Depressing thoughts were Gokudera's forte, after all. He sighed again, glaring at the clouds. What should he do? Probably warn the others that the bazooka was broken. "Che," he snorted. "Ryohei wouldn't have a clue, Hibari wouldn't care, and I'd never find Chrome. Shit, how did we even survive to reach twenty-four and twenty-five?" Thinking about it made his brain hurt.
Young Yamamoto's exclusion from his list had not escaped Gokudera. That was something he'd rather avoid by any means possible. Not like this Yamamoto was the older Yamamoto, but still. They were technically the same person, right? Gokudera scratched his head. "This is some deep shit," he muttered.
"Gokudera?"
Oh. Great.
He turned his head away from the clouds; there was a kid walking up the hill with an athletic bag slung over his shoulder. Young Yamamoto grinned, confusion quickly erased from his face. "Oh it is you! Haha, what's with the suit?"
Gokudera sighed. This was just not his day.
Series: Katekyo Hitman REBORN!
Pairing: TYL!8059; TYL!Yamamoto x Gokudera
Rating: PG13-R
Date: Written today
Status: multi, on-going
And So... Ten Years Later, only now. Up on the rooftop, Yamamoto made a declaration, and hopefully it still stands today. (Even though it hasn't happened yet.)
Notes: The whole TYL thing... bugs me. There are three things you don't fuck with: Good salsa, a sleeping man, and timelines. But since Akira did it first, I suppose I can too.
Chapter 1: Blown to Smithereens
"Hey, Gokudera?"
"What?"
"I'm going to tell you something, and you have to promise not to get mad, haha."
"No," Gokudera said around his cigarette. It was their last day in high school, their last lunch up on the roof. The young man didn't care if he got caught with contraband--not that he ever did care, though.
"Aww, come on!"
"I said 'no' you idiot."
"Haha!" That laugh was extra lighthearted today, probably because it was just hours until graduation. The fine weather carried the sound an extra distance. "Ah, oh well. Here goes." The other person up on the roof smiled, eyes clear and sincere and staring right into Gokudera's. The stare seemed extra... something today, too. "I love you."
There was silence on the rooftop for a long time, but the smile did not waver in spite of the unreadable stare it was faced with. And then, automatically almost, Gokudera turned away from the young man. "You're an idiot."
"Haha! I guess so."
"Come on, lunch is almost over." Gokudera had put his hand on the door, but stopped. There was a hand on his shoulder, and--he knew he shouldn't, but--he looked back into brown eyes.
"It's okay, you don't have to say anything back yet." Yamamoto dropped his hand away, those eyes of his still as certain as ever. He looked determined, like he was about to hit a home run or slice an enemy to ribbons. "I just wanted you to know."
Gokudera blinked, completely at a loss for anything, much less words.
Yamamoto was still smiling, confident as he ever was: "I will find a place in your heart."
Every week he would bring flowers, though whether the man he brought them to noticed, he couldn't say. Gokudera liked to think that he did somehow. There wasn't a specific type of flower, really, no preference since the boss had never shown one in life. He probably didn't have a preference in death. And so came sunflowers, tulips, irises, even those birds of paradise once. The half-Italian never brought roses though--figured the boss had enough of them anyway. Today for no specific reason--other than that they were pretty--Gokudera had put magnolias on top of the coffin.
He stood in the forest, keeping a respectful distance--he didn't deserve to get much closer--while staring at lacquered cherry wood. The mafioso was thinking of self-destructive things as he usually did. The what ifs and what if nots and why why whys. If anyone had observed Gokudera, well... Firstly they would be full of bullet holes from the security system around the perimeter. Then, they'd perhaps think it a little morbid, Gokudera decided, that a coffin lay unburied in the brush. That had been Gokudera's own doing after much protest and cajoling, just in case smoke ever rose from the coffin. He carried a 'just in case' care package with himself too, wherever he went, its contents as follows: A coded letter, photograph, spare money, and a few other things that may come in handy. That and the unburied coffin were the only signs that Gokudera held on to even a sliver of hope that maybe what had come to pass wouldn't in a way.
He was about to turn from the grave, head back to the base for the first time in months, when the scent of heavy artillery assaulted his nose. Gokudera froze--the coffin was rattling, rustling. Dead flowers were crunching under new weight inside the box. He didn't dare ask himself what the chances were, didn't dare move.
The lid opened slowly, a young brunette peeking out at his new surroundings. Gokudera's breath caught in his throat; it was the Tenth. He looked... he looked young, understandably confused and--"YIII! WHY AM I IN A COFFIN!?"--scared shitless.
Gokudera stepped out of the tree line, half hesitant to have this all be some terrible dream. "It's.. it's you."
Tsuna blinked at the familiar stranger, then realized: "Oh! It's you!"
There was relief etched across the young boy's face that made Gokudera's heart ache. His mouth went dry, hands became numb as he fell to his knees. "Tenth!" The man grabbed Tsuna's shoulders, desperate. "I'm sorry," was the first thing out of his mouth. "I'm sorry!" he said, for all the trespasses this Tsuna didn't even know of.
"W-what?" Tsuna winced. "Ah, it kinda hurts..." He noticed the apologetic look Gokudera gave him, sheepishly dropping his hands away. The man wanted to shake Tsuna, touch his face to be sure, crush him close and beg for a forgiveness that he didn't deserve. It was so hard not to.
But there were more pressing matters, like telling Tsuna he had to bury Irie Shouichi into the fucking ground.
"Tsuna--listen to me." The boy started; the new Gokudera's voice was so... serious. "You have to eliminate this person, then everything will be okay."
"Eliminate?" Tsuna's face paled. "Wait, you mean kill!? No, n--ah... why am I in a coffin?"
Gokudera froze. Of all the things he'd prepared for--keeping the coffin above ground, G-Script, leaving the box system--this question just hadn't been one of them. Of course it was so obvious that the kid would want to know. Gokudera saw in Tsuna's eyes that he was searching for anything besides the answer he probably knew. The man frowned, face the saddest Tsuna had ever seen on any human being. "That... That's because..."
And all of a sudden, the mafioso was gone.
Then, he was standing in a familiar yard on a familiar street. There was a bazooka laying in the grass. "Fuck," the man seethed. Leave it to his past self to get shot with a fucking bazooka, he thought bitterly. Worthless. Then there was a giggle from the window above.
"Lambo." Gokudera ground out the awful name between his teeth, like nails on concrete. The child was sitting up in the window, snot dripping from his nose. "Nyah, now who's gonna get the last popsicle," the little cow jeered, hopping away inside.
It took substantial effort on Gokudera's part to not throw a fistful of dynamite into the window. But, he realized with no small amount of dread, this was Tsuna's old house. He was in the past. Gokudera glanced at his watch--2:16. Maybe he could catch the past--er, current--Tsuna when he poofed back into existence here. But there was no guarantee where he'd poof back to, he thought sourly. Write a note? No, Gokudera scowled, with his luck the house would catch on fire and burn down with the note. And not the cow.
Gokudera made his way to the front door as casually as possible, slipping inside Tsuna's house. Maman didn't seem to be there, but she'd had the awful habit of leaving doors unlocked. Walking through the familiar foyer made his hairs stand on end--it freaked him the fuck out, to be honest. There was Tsuna's jacket hanging off a peg, one of I-Pin's toys on the floor, Maman's rain boots tucked neatly by the door... And there was Lambo in the kitchen, face a sticky purple mess from the popsicle.
"Wahahahaha!" Purple teeth bared triumphantly. "The great Lambo has once again defeated the stupid, smelly, puny--"
"You shot Tsuna with the bazooka," Gokudera interrupted. God, he'd almost forgotten how... Lambo Lambo was ten years prior.
"I did not!" Lies.
"When he gets back, you have to tell him--"
"What kind of keys don't open doors?"
Gokudera glared daggers, knives, and spears at the child. "Listen, you stupid cow--"
"It is...!" Lambo shook the rest of the purple treat to the floor, examining the nude stick's tiny words closely. "Piano keys! Dahahahaha! Lambo does not get it!"
Gokudera grabbed Lambo by the front of his pajamas and hoisted him up so the little cow could see the full effect of the man's jade glare. "I will punt you," he growled.
There was a second of silence, then: "BbbbbbbaaaaWWWWWWW!" Lambo thrashed around in the man's grip. "Smelly old man is so cruel to Lambo!" In midst of the brat's squirming, Gokudera caught sight of his watch--2:23. A full seven minutes had passed. What the fucking fuck. "Did you break the bazooka," he asked, voice flat as a knife's edge.
"W-what bazooka!"
Gokudera still hadn't forgotten the time he had been reduced--by that infernal contraption--to two feet in height, trapped in a baby's body. He had never trusted that damned bazooka, not for a second. Gokudera snarled. "Stupid cow!"
"Wwwwaaaahhh!" Sniff, sniff. "Lambo will tell Maman on you!"
Fuck, when would she be home? Unceremoniously, Gokudera dropped the child to the floor, grabbing the kitten-decorated calendar from the refrigerator. The days had been marked off faithfully with a red X until he came to September 12th. "Shit." Not only did he not get sent back to his own time after five minutes, he wasn't even exactly ten years in the past. What the fuck was going on? Everyone else was still kids, then, right after the battle for the rings. Gokudera felt a cold grip around his heart, but he tossed it aside along with the calendar. He had to get out of there; no need to drag Maman into this crap.
At his feet, Lambo was still sniffling and muttering about stupid old men with stupid white hair. Gokudera was about to leave, but then sighed, pausing in the doorway. "Dumb cow..." The man glanced around to make absolutely sure no one would see what he was about to do. Reaching into the freezer, he pushed around the ice trays and bags of peas, pulling out an orange popsicle. As far as he was concerned, his past self didn't deserve the carefully hidden treat after getting shot and putting him into this mess. Gokudera poked Lambo with the popsicle. "I'm going. Don't tell anyone I was here, or I'll turn you into hamburger."
Cautiously, the little boy eyed the popsicle before snatching it, throwing the plastic cover to the floor. "Lambo will tell who Lambo wants," he said sulkily.
"I'll fry you into beef patties if you do," Gokudera muttered. He knew full well, though, that the brat had the attention span of a wet grape and would forget as soon as he found someone else to torment.
Gokudera fell back onto the grass with a sigh, thoroughly irritated and exhausted. He'd spent the last few hours wandering around the town and--despite its pleasant atmosphere--felt extremely eerie for all of his troubles. Should he tell the pet store owner that the building would burn down in three years? How about the arcade manager that he'd die in a car crash in seven years? It was too weird, so Gokudera had wandered away and found himself in the field where he had watched fireworks with his friends all those years ago.
It was beginning to dawn on the man that he may never make it back to his own time. Depressing thoughts were Gokudera's forte, after all. He sighed again, glaring at the clouds. What should he do? Probably warn the others that the bazooka was broken. "Che," he snorted. "Ryohei wouldn't have a clue, Hibari wouldn't care, and I'd never find Chrome. Shit, how did we even survive to reach twenty-four and twenty-five?" Thinking about it made his brain hurt.
Young Yamamoto's exclusion from his list had not escaped Gokudera. That was something he'd rather avoid by any means possible. Not like this Yamamoto was the older Yamamoto, but still. They were technically the same person, right? Gokudera scratched his head. "This is some deep shit," he muttered.
"Gokudera?"
Oh. Great.
He turned his head away from the clouds; there was a kid walking up the hill with an athletic bag slung over his shoulder. Young Yamamoto grinned, confusion quickly erased from his face. "Oh it is you! Haha, what's with the suit?"
Gokudera sighed. This was just not his day.