A huge series of Squalo drabbles
This is actually me experimenting with an idea I wanted to implement with D18. I was listening to Rufus Wainwright's title CD and I was coming up with all sorts of ideas for that pairing with that CD. So I had an idea of taking each song and writing a corresponding story. But I wanted to try it out before I actually went ahead and took on such a project, so I decided to experiment with another character and another CD before I jumped into that.
So this is a huge series of Squalo drabbles. I really like Squalo; I like reading about him; I like writing about him. This was a lot of fun to do.
The CD is Keane's "Under the Iron Sea"
1. Atlantic
Squalo didn’t expect to reach forty. Hell, he didn’t even expect to reach thirty. Being in the mafia was the same as signing a death warrant for yourself. Being in the Varia was practically a form of suicide. Besides, who wanted to be old anyway? The older he got, the slower he would be, the more dead his senses and reflexes, until he was so much meat waiting to be fed to the next predator. Successors step over the dead bodies of their teachers, their predecessors, and so on and so forth.
Of all the things in this world, Squalo fears old age the most.
Any other enemy he could face, could tear him to pieces with sword and teeth and laugh over his grave (HEEEEEY, punk, see you in HELLl!). But how would he fight this common enemy of life, old age? How do you fight an enemy without substance? How do you fight an enemy you don’t understand?
So he charges forward in every battle, unafraid of the fools in front of him and pretends not to notice the cuts and bruises that form on his body as he hacks his enemy down. And later, when they’ve returned to the mansion to lick their wounds, he is louder than ever, shouting his own praises to no one in particular, getting so drunk that he can’t remember what he says later, challenging Lussuria, crawling to Bel for companionship and hot sweaty nights so he doesn’t have to hear the echoes of his own bones, daring the whole world to come and get him. And he’ll do the same tomorrow, and the day after, every new day from here to eternity-each a new page to be written on in another enemy’s blood.
Because he’s dodged the bullet once more, and old age is that much closer. So he had better live it up while he can, before his body gives out on him.
Before he is condemned to decay on the slow steady march to the grave.
Notes: Eh. It is what it is. For some reason I think that Squalo would fear being old. Because then he wouldn’t be able to kick people’s asses anymore.
2. Is It Any Wonder?
Sometimes Squalo can’t help but wonder what the hell he thinks he’s doing. Xanxus is clearly on the fast track for his own destruction and he doesn’t seem to care if he takes the rest of them down with him. Which may be all well and good to freaks like Lussuria or nutcases like Bel, but Squalo isn’t ready to die for some fool’s dream, only his own. He can’t help wondering, as he cleans the alcohol out of his long silver hair and curses his boss’s name, if there weren’t something else he’d rather be doing right now.
When he was younger, his goal had been to be the next Sword Emperor, to be the best of the best of the best. He can’t help feeling now that maybe he’s lost sight of that, and it makes him feel heavy and tired. But he also won’t give up on his word, not even to an asshole like Xanxus.
He wakes up in the hospital bed with Dino by his side. Dino, not Xanxus; Xanxus who he’d trusted, Xanxus to who he’d voluntarily submitted, while Dino was just a friend from the past, they hadn’t really spoken in years but he’s smiling down now and asking questions, just as a friend might, even though Dino must know that Squalo won’t answer him.
He feels angry, he feels stranded. He feels betrayed. And he’s determined, now, more than ever, to make Xanxus pay for the misery and waste of time he’s been.
Notes: I had trouble thinking of something to say for this song.
3. Nothing In My Way
The frantic phone call from Dino, late at night:
Are you okay what are you doing don’t you know what you’re getting into is this really worth dying over Squalo don’t be an ass you don’t have to do this…
His voice goes on and on.
“HEEEEEEEEY!” yells Squalo into the receiver. “Would you shut the fuck up!”
He can hear the intake of breath on the other line. And then, unexpectedly, Dino begins to laugh.
“You don’t change, do you?”
“Fuck you!” Squalo wants to hang up, but he’s curious despite himself. “What are you calling for, anyway?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?” says Squalo, to be an asshole, because he finds it terribly amusing to needle Cavallone.
“Why are you helping Xanxus?”
“Oh, so that’s it,” teases Squalo. “It’s because of your precious little brother. Or is he your new boyfriend, Bucking Horse?” Squalo’s grin widens. “Heeey, I bet that’s it! You become a pedophile since we were last together, Dino?”
Dino sighs. “And as usual, you don’t know when to shut up either.”
“Fuck you!” Squalo says, but he no longer means it to be angry. It’s just something to say to Dino, because he’s not sure how to respond to the tired voice that used to belong to his friend. He throws down the receiver, though Dino’s still talking, and stalks away to begin sharpening his sword for the upcoming battle.
Because when he gets his hands on that Vongola brat and his famiglia, he can kill him quickly. And that will be the end.
Notes: I always wish we knew more about Dino and Squalo’s relationship. But I hear the new drama CD is out! YAY BACKSTORY!
4. Leaving So Soon?
“What’s the matter, brat?” Squalo sneered. “Can’t take a little blood?”
Yamamoto is breathing heavily, staring wide-eyed at the corpse lying on the floor before them. He doesn’t know who this man is, he’s Millefiore, but it doesn’t matter. He’s dead, just like that. Blood drains from the sword wound Squalo left in his chest.
“HEEEY, what did you think this was going to be anyway?” Squalo drawls, nudging Yamamoto with his boot. He retreats suddenly and swears as Yamamoto begins to retch, barely managing not to be puked on.
“I’m sorry,” Yamamoto gasps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m not ready for this,”
Squalo bends down and hauls him up by his shirt collar.
“Get a grip on yourself,” he said harshly. “Did you think it was going to be easy? I ought to slap you. BRAT!” He shakes Yamamoto. “Get your act TOGETHER! We’ve got work to do!” He pushes Yamamoto and begins to stalk away, on to the next kill.
“And if you can’t cut it,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’LL LEAVE YOU BEHIND!”
Notes: Originally this was ridiculously YamamotoXSqualo. Like, they were in a hotel room together. But I really hated it, so I rewrote it.
5. A Bad Dream
The days turn into nightmares.
Around them, the family is dying. Life is suddenly dyed red with the blood of friends, allies, enemies. It runs over Squalo’s sword as a river runs to the sea; it drips from his blade like rain or tears. Each day they wait in the shadows for more prey, unable to return home, waiting for the day when they too will become prey. It is, Squalo thinks, somewhat inevitable.
In the few moments of sleep he manages to catch, at one of their hidden bases or out in the field with Bel, he sees again and again the deaths of so many he knew. The boss, Xanxus; his friend, Dino; the other members of the Varia. He sees the funeral of Vongola the Tenth. So many dead, so many dead…in his dreams, too, he sees the deaths yet to come, his and Bel’s.
“Ready to go?”
It’s Bel again, shaking his shoulder to wake him. Bel has grown up into a hardened assassin; he laughs little, and smiles rarely. His hair is longer than it ever has been before, and it sticks out every which way under the dirty silver crown around a face streaked with blood and dirt. But Squalo knows he himself cannot look much better.
“Yeah,” says Squalo. “Yeah, I’m ready. Just give me a moment, will ya?”
They are not dead yet, so they must keep going on. Another day, another mountain of Millefiore corpses, he thinks as he pulls on his torn coat and follows Bel out into the weak sunlight to hunt the streets. They cannot stop the slaughter yet. Not until the Millefiore are all dead.
Or they are.
Notes: I actually don’t know if all the Varia besides Squalo and Bel are dead or not. But they’re the only ones we’ve seen, so lets go with that.
6. Hamburg Song
Once upon a time, Bel was a little boy. A creepy little boy. Squalo wasn’t sure where he came from, but he wished he’d stayed the fuck there. Seriously!
“HEEEEEEEEY!” Squalo shouted in frustration. “What the FUCK do you think you’re DOING, YOU BRAT?!?!?”
Eight-year old Bel looks up from the pile of clothes on the floor. Squalo is swearing like mad, several words that he’s never heard before. Bel would like to ask what they mean; maybe Lussuria will tell him later. Anyway, right now there is an angry teenaged Squalo glaring him down, demanding an explanation.
“The Prince was bored,” he says, grinning up at him cheekily.
“So you TRASH my room? WHAT THE FUUUCK?!” Squalo rages. Because it’s true, Bel has torn apart the room. He’s emptied drawers and dumped the contents out; he’s ripped the sheets of the bed; hell, he’s taken apart the mattress with his knives.
Squalo hauls him out of the mess by his shirt collar.
“The Prince was lonely,” Bel continues, trying to look adorable in the way only little children can. “I want to play with you.”
“WHAT?”
Bel puts his hands over his ears. “You’re too noisy,” He starts to cry; this has always worked with Lussuria, so why not with Squalo.
“Heeey,” says Squalo, softer now. “Don’t cry, brat!”
“Not a brat,” sniffs Bel. “I’m a prince.”
“Okay, okay, you can be a prince.” Squalo tries to soothe him because goddamnit, what is he supposed to do with a crying kid? Especially one with knives. He doesn’t want to get assassinated in his bed by an eight-year-old. “What do you want to do, Prince Bel?”
Bel looks up at him hopefully. “Can we play poker?”
“HELL NO!” Squalo shouted. “I’m not playing poker with a kid!”
Bel pouted, and began to cry again.
“OKAY OKAY, WE’LL DO IT YOUR WAY!” Squalo said, groaning. “Fuck, kid…”
It occurred to Lussuria about three hours later than he hadn’t seen Bel for awhile. Trembling at the thought of what his boss would do if he knew he had let Bel get into trouble, he dashed through the halls of the mansion, screaming the little boy’s name.
“HEEEEEEEY!” Squalo tripped him. “Would you shut the fuck up? He’s in here.”
Lussuria peeked into Squalo’s room. To be honest, it looked to him as though somebody had set off a bomb inside; he cringed at the thought of the housework it would take to fix everything later. But there was Bel, just as Squalo said, curled up asleep on Squalo’s ruined mattress, a hand of cards clenched in his little fist.
“Awww,” Lussuria whispered. “What a little angel!”
“WHAT?” Squalo whispered back loudly. “GET HIM OUT OF HERE!”
“I can’t wake him up!” Lussuria screeched. Squalo backhanded him impatiently-“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
“He’s your problem now,” hissed Lussuria, rubbing the back of his head where Squalo had hit him. “You deal with him!” And he dashed away again before Squalo could make any complaints.
Squalo looked back at the little boy, at the angelic smile on his face and the knife sticking out of his pocket.
“Forget this!” he snarled, grabbing a blanket. “I’m sleeping on the couch!”
Notes: I have no idea why this is so long. And it’s completely not in sync with the song, which is pretty gentle, and made me think of Squalo and Bel when they were younger. But then I remembered that they were probably brats. Anyway, I really like writing about both these characters, especially together. I'd like to write a longer story with this sort of scenario...
7. Put It Behind You
“HEEEEEEEEEEEEY!”
Yamamoto jumps and misses the pitch. Of all the voices he could have expected to hear this morning, this was not one of them.
“Squalo!” He waves cheerfully. “How are you? What are you doing here?”
“Never mind that!” Squalo shouts. “What the HELL do YOU think you’re doing?”
Yamamoto smiles, nonplussed. “I’m training, of course.”
“WRONG!” Squalo advanced on him, grey eyes glinting madly in the light. “You’re wasting your time!”
“Uh…”
Squalo jabbed in him the chest with a sharp finger, a metallic one from his left hand. “Why aren’t you training with a SWORD, dumbass?”
Yamamoto laughs. “Are you being serious?”
“FUCK YEAH!”
“Oh Squalo,” Yamamoto chuckles. “Why would I need to do that?”
But the laughter died in his throat, because Squalo’s face was suddenly hard and serious.
“Listen, brat,” he hissed. “We’ve only got so much time to prepare for the shitstorm headed our way. Or don’t you know that? So all these dreams of baseball and shit, I don’t know what, you’d better give them up, fast. Because when they come for you, your sword is the only thing that’s going to keep them from killing you first. You, or your family.” He grins, sharklike. “Think about it.”
When Yamamoto’s father is killed, two weeks later, right in front of Yamamoto’s eyes, it’s hard for Squalo to resist the impulse to call him and say: “I told you so.”
Notes: The song starts off pretty upbeat and then hits this surreal, almost melancholy instrumental break of about three minutes. So it ended up being…surreal and mournful.
8. Crystal Ball
The years have worn Squalo down. He can no longer recognize the young boy he once was in himself, the idealistic teenager, the impetuous youth of twenty-something. Dino found their old high school yearbook recently, and brought it over for him to look at.
That can’t be me, Squalo thought, looking at himself of eighteen years ago. I didn’t used to be that brat.
It’s eerie, to see evidence of a past self, like catching sight of ghosts in the mirror. And also, evidence-pieces of life disappeared forever from your soul, until you can no longer recognize them and they no longer belong to you. A product of old age, this disappearing act and loss of youthful hopes and dreams. As if the world weren’t already trying to pull its own sort of disappearing act, as if the Millefiore weren’t cutting their world down piece by piece, bit by bit, until there’s hardly any ground left to stand on. Squalo wants to scream in frustration sometimes, wants to tear something to pieces or cut it to bits (Bel says he does, when he sleeps. That’s why Bel won’t share a room with him anymore); he channels his fury onto his enemies and becomes more vicious and blood-loving than ever.
Sometimes he still catches sight of himself in the mirror. Taller, older, hair beginning to be streaked with lines of grey rather than his usual glossy silver, stormy eyes looking more tragically dead with every day.
He smashes every mirror he finds. He doesn’t like to be reminded of his slow disappearing act into oblivion.
Notes: Squalo gets more and more angsty the more I write him. But I really think Squalo would hate being reminded that he’s getting older. And that his life didn't go the way he wanted it to.
9. Try Again
Parry, thrust, block. A fountain of blood bursts from the open wound. The air tears at Squalo’s lungs; he is tired, so tired, but he has to keep going. Stab, and another wound, the old man is going down at last.
The arena is filled with the silence of the tomb. Tyr, the Sword Emperor, has fallen to a half-grown boy of barely fourteen. The old man is gasping, bleeding at Squalo’s feet-he has punctured his lung. Despite himself, Squalo is filled with a mixture of pity and disgust. This death will not be easy, Tyr will suffer for a long time and Squalo does not want to watch. But his pride will not let him leave.
“I’ll give you mercy, old man,” he whispers. “Just ask.”
Tyr looks up at him with eyes already clouded over.
“No true swordsman would shame his honor by begging for mercy from his foe,” he rasps, coughing up blood. “You have won, boy. I accept the death you have given me.”
It takes fifteen minutes for the old man to drown in his own blood, and Squalo stands there long after everyone else has left. Because something in him has changed for worse; his hands will never be clean now. And because fourteen-year-old boys are not stones, he cannot help feeling deeply upset by what he has done.
That’s why he cuts off his own left hand, later that night.
Notes: I’ve noticed that when everybody writes fanfiction about Squalo we don’t really broach the topic of Squalo’s self-mutilation. I’d really like to expand this idea into a longer story.
10. Broken Toy
There is a heavy sort of awkwardness in the air between Xanxus and Squalo when they return to Italy. Unresolved sexual tension, Lussuria might have joked once. But that’s not what it is, really. It’s that Xanxus threw him away, and Squalo didn’t have the decency to stay in the garbage where he belonged.
When they come back, Squalo is twice as determined to prove his worth. He takes on every mission, no matter the risk. He hacks through anyway in Xanxus’s way without comment or complaint.
So that there is never reason again for Xanxus to say that he is broken. So Squalo never ends up like so much trash again.
Notes: This is the longest song on the CD and I had nothing to say about it. I don’t like Xanxus much, can you tell?
11. The Frog Prince
So in the end, what did he gain? Not the respect of his superior, who is in disgrace. A new, gentler star is coming to power; there is something to be said for kindness after all. Squalo has to wonder how long it will last, this new time of peace, before the new king’s crown cracks and his regime comes crashing down. Like it or not, he’ll have to defend this newcomer against all threat.
But Squalo-loud and brash and utterly bloodthirsty-is guaranteed his place. No one can say he’s worthless now. He’s prepared for any threat to his power. Sword in hand, he faces the future and laughs in defiance.
Squalo is the Sword Emperor. Not prince, not king. Emperor.
And everyone else can just get the hell out of his way.
Notes: It’s a triumphant song. I thought it should end on a happy note. Though the happiness is questionable at best.
So this is a huge series of Squalo drabbles. I really like Squalo; I like reading about him; I like writing about him. This was a lot of fun to do.
The CD is Keane's "Under the Iron Sea"
1. Atlantic
Squalo didn’t expect to reach forty. Hell, he didn’t even expect to reach thirty. Being in the mafia was the same as signing a death warrant for yourself. Being in the Varia was practically a form of suicide. Besides, who wanted to be old anyway? The older he got, the slower he would be, the more dead his senses and reflexes, until he was so much meat waiting to be fed to the next predator. Successors step over the dead bodies of their teachers, their predecessors, and so on and so forth.
Of all the things in this world, Squalo fears old age the most.
Any other enemy he could face, could tear him to pieces with sword and teeth and laugh over his grave (HEEEEEY, punk, see you in HELLl!). But how would he fight this common enemy of life, old age? How do you fight an enemy without substance? How do you fight an enemy you don’t understand?
So he charges forward in every battle, unafraid of the fools in front of him and pretends not to notice the cuts and bruises that form on his body as he hacks his enemy down. And later, when they’ve returned to the mansion to lick their wounds, he is louder than ever, shouting his own praises to no one in particular, getting so drunk that he can’t remember what he says later, challenging Lussuria, crawling to Bel for companionship and hot sweaty nights so he doesn’t have to hear the echoes of his own bones, daring the whole world to come and get him. And he’ll do the same tomorrow, and the day after, every new day from here to eternity-each a new page to be written on in another enemy’s blood.
Because he’s dodged the bullet once more, and old age is that much closer. So he had better live it up while he can, before his body gives out on him.
Before he is condemned to decay on the slow steady march to the grave.
Notes: Eh. It is what it is. For some reason I think that Squalo would fear being old. Because then he wouldn’t be able to kick people’s asses anymore.
2. Is It Any Wonder?
Sometimes Squalo can’t help but wonder what the hell he thinks he’s doing. Xanxus is clearly on the fast track for his own destruction and he doesn’t seem to care if he takes the rest of them down with him. Which may be all well and good to freaks like Lussuria or nutcases like Bel, but Squalo isn’t ready to die for some fool’s dream, only his own. He can’t help wondering, as he cleans the alcohol out of his long silver hair and curses his boss’s name, if there weren’t something else he’d rather be doing right now.
When he was younger, his goal had been to be the next Sword Emperor, to be the best of the best of the best. He can’t help feeling now that maybe he’s lost sight of that, and it makes him feel heavy and tired. But he also won’t give up on his word, not even to an asshole like Xanxus.
He wakes up in the hospital bed with Dino by his side. Dino, not Xanxus; Xanxus who he’d trusted, Xanxus to who he’d voluntarily submitted, while Dino was just a friend from the past, they hadn’t really spoken in years but he’s smiling down now and asking questions, just as a friend might, even though Dino must know that Squalo won’t answer him.
He feels angry, he feels stranded. He feels betrayed. And he’s determined, now, more than ever, to make Xanxus pay for the misery and waste of time he’s been.
Notes: I had trouble thinking of something to say for this song.
3. Nothing In My Way
The frantic phone call from Dino, late at night:
Are you okay what are you doing don’t you know what you’re getting into is this really worth dying over Squalo don’t be an ass you don’t have to do this…
His voice goes on and on.
“HEEEEEEEEY!” yells Squalo into the receiver. “Would you shut the fuck up!”
He can hear the intake of breath on the other line. And then, unexpectedly, Dino begins to laugh.
“You don’t change, do you?”
“Fuck you!” Squalo wants to hang up, but he’s curious despite himself. “What are you calling for, anyway?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?” says Squalo, to be an asshole, because he finds it terribly amusing to needle Cavallone.
“Why are you helping Xanxus?”
“Oh, so that’s it,” teases Squalo. “It’s because of your precious little brother. Or is he your new boyfriend, Bucking Horse?” Squalo’s grin widens. “Heeey, I bet that’s it! You become a pedophile since we were last together, Dino?”
Dino sighs. “And as usual, you don’t know when to shut up either.”
“Fuck you!” Squalo says, but he no longer means it to be angry. It’s just something to say to Dino, because he’s not sure how to respond to the tired voice that used to belong to his friend. He throws down the receiver, though Dino’s still talking, and stalks away to begin sharpening his sword for the upcoming battle.
Because when he gets his hands on that Vongola brat and his famiglia, he can kill him quickly. And that will be the end.
Notes: I always wish we knew more about Dino and Squalo’s relationship. But I hear the new drama CD is out! YAY BACKSTORY!
4. Leaving So Soon?
“What’s the matter, brat?” Squalo sneered. “Can’t take a little blood?”
Yamamoto is breathing heavily, staring wide-eyed at the corpse lying on the floor before them. He doesn’t know who this man is, he’s Millefiore, but it doesn’t matter. He’s dead, just like that. Blood drains from the sword wound Squalo left in his chest.
“HEEEY, what did you think this was going to be anyway?” Squalo drawls, nudging Yamamoto with his boot. He retreats suddenly and swears as Yamamoto begins to retch, barely managing not to be puked on.
“I’m sorry,” Yamamoto gasps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m not ready for this,”
Squalo bends down and hauls him up by his shirt collar.
“Get a grip on yourself,” he said harshly. “Did you think it was going to be easy? I ought to slap you. BRAT!” He shakes Yamamoto. “Get your act TOGETHER! We’ve got work to do!” He pushes Yamamoto and begins to stalk away, on to the next kill.
“And if you can’t cut it,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’LL LEAVE YOU BEHIND!”
Notes: Originally this was ridiculously YamamotoXSqualo. Like, they were in a hotel room together. But I really hated it, so I rewrote it.
5. A Bad Dream
The days turn into nightmares.
Around them, the family is dying. Life is suddenly dyed red with the blood of friends, allies, enemies. It runs over Squalo’s sword as a river runs to the sea; it drips from his blade like rain or tears. Each day they wait in the shadows for more prey, unable to return home, waiting for the day when they too will become prey. It is, Squalo thinks, somewhat inevitable.
In the few moments of sleep he manages to catch, at one of their hidden bases or out in the field with Bel, he sees again and again the deaths of so many he knew. The boss, Xanxus; his friend, Dino; the other members of the Varia. He sees the funeral of Vongola the Tenth. So many dead, so many dead…in his dreams, too, he sees the deaths yet to come, his and Bel’s.
“Ready to go?”
It’s Bel again, shaking his shoulder to wake him. Bel has grown up into a hardened assassin; he laughs little, and smiles rarely. His hair is longer than it ever has been before, and it sticks out every which way under the dirty silver crown around a face streaked with blood and dirt. But Squalo knows he himself cannot look much better.
“Yeah,” says Squalo. “Yeah, I’m ready. Just give me a moment, will ya?”
They are not dead yet, so they must keep going on. Another day, another mountain of Millefiore corpses, he thinks as he pulls on his torn coat and follows Bel out into the weak sunlight to hunt the streets. They cannot stop the slaughter yet. Not until the Millefiore are all dead.
Or they are.
Notes: I actually don’t know if all the Varia besides Squalo and Bel are dead or not. But they’re the only ones we’ve seen, so lets go with that.
6. Hamburg Song
Once upon a time, Bel was a little boy. A creepy little boy. Squalo wasn’t sure where he came from, but he wished he’d stayed the fuck there. Seriously!
“HEEEEEEEEY!” Squalo shouted in frustration. “What the FUCK do you think you’re DOING, YOU BRAT?!?!?”
Eight-year old Bel looks up from the pile of clothes on the floor. Squalo is swearing like mad, several words that he’s never heard before. Bel would like to ask what they mean; maybe Lussuria will tell him later. Anyway, right now there is an angry teenaged Squalo glaring him down, demanding an explanation.
“The Prince was bored,” he says, grinning up at him cheekily.
“So you TRASH my room? WHAT THE FUUUCK?!” Squalo rages. Because it’s true, Bel has torn apart the room. He’s emptied drawers and dumped the contents out; he’s ripped the sheets of the bed; hell, he’s taken apart the mattress with his knives.
Squalo hauls him out of the mess by his shirt collar.
“The Prince was lonely,” Bel continues, trying to look adorable in the way only little children can. “I want to play with you.”
“WHAT?”
Bel puts his hands over his ears. “You’re too noisy,” He starts to cry; this has always worked with Lussuria, so why not with Squalo.
“Heeey,” says Squalo, softer now. “Don’t cry, brat!”
“Not a brat,” sniffs Bel. “I’m a prince.”
“Okay, okay, you can be a prince.” Squalo tries to soothe him because goddamnit, what is he supposed to do with a crying kid? Especially one with knives. He doesn’t want to get assassinated in his bed by an eight-year-old. “What do you want to do, Prince Bel?”
Bel looks up at him hopefully. “Can we play poker?”
“HELL NO!” Squalo shouted. “I’m not playing poker with a kid!”
Bel pouted, and began to cry again.
“OKAY OKAY, WE’LL DO IT YOUR WAY!” Squalo said, groaning. “Fuck, kid…”
It occurred to Lussuria about three hours later than he hadn’t seen Bel for awhile. Trembling at the thought of what his boss would do if he knew he had let Bel get into trouble, he dashed through the halls of the mansion, screaming the little boy’s name.
“HEEEEEEEY!” Squalo tripped him. “Would you shut the fuck up? He’s in here.”
Lussuria peeked into Squalo’s room. To be honest, it looked to him as though somebody had set off a bomb inside; he cringed at the thought of the housework it would take to fix everything later. But there was Bel, just as Squalo said, curled up asleep on Squalo’s ruined mattress, a hand of cards clenched in his little fist.
“Awww,” Lussuria whispered. “What a little angel!”
“WHAT?” Squalo whispered back loudly. “GET HIM OUT OF HERE!”
“I can’t wake him up!” Lussuria screeched. Squalo backhanded him impatiently-“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
“He’s your problem now,” hissed Lussuria, rubbing the back of his head where Squalo had hit him. “You deal with him!” And he dashed away again before Squalo could make any complaints.
Squalo looked back at the little boy, at the angelic smile on his face and the knife sticking out of his pocket.
“Forget this!” he snarled, grabbing a blanket. “I’m sleeping on the couch!”
Notes: I have no idea why this is so long. And it’s completely not in sync with the song, which is pretty gentle, and made me think of Squalo and Bel when they were younger. But then I remembered that they were probably brats. Anyway, I really like writing about both these characters, especially together. I'd like to write a longer story with this sort of scenario...
7. Put It Behind You
“HEEEEEEEEEEEEY!”
Yamamoto jumps and misses the pitch. Of all the voices he could have expected to hear this morning, this was not one of them.
“Squalo!” He waves cheerfully. “How are you? What are you doing here?”
“Never mind that!” Squalo shouts. “What the HELL do YOU think you’re doing?”
Yamamoto smiles, nonplussed. “I’m training, of course.”
“WRONG!” Squalo advanced on him, grey eyes glinting madly in the light. “You’re wasting your time!”
“Uh…”
Squalo jabbed in him the chest with a sharp finger, a metallic one from his left hand. “Why aren’t you training with a SWORD, dumbass?”
Yamamoto laughs. “Are you being serious?”
“FUCK YEAH!”
“Oh Squalo,” Yamamoto chuckles. “Why would I need to do that?”
But the laughter died in his throat, because Squalo’s face was suddenly hard and serious.
“Listen, brat,” he hissed. “We’ve only got so much time to prepare for the shitstorm headed our way. Or don’t you know that? So all these dreams of baseball and shit, I don’t know what, you’d better give them up, fast. Because when they come for you, your sword is the only thing that’s going to keep them from killing you first. You, or your family.” He grins, sharklike. “Think about it.”
When Yamamoto’s father is killed, two weeks later, right in front of Yamamoto’s eyes, it’s hard for Squalo to resist the impulse to call him and say: “I told you so.”
Notes: The song starts off pretty upbeat and then hits this surreal, almost melancholy instrumental break of about three minutes. So it ended up being…surreal and mournful.
8. Crystal Ball
The years have worn Squalo down. He can no longer recognize the young boy he once was in himself, the idealistic teenager, the impetuous youth of twenty-something. Dino found their old high school yearbook recently, and brought it over for him to look at.
That can’t be me, Squalo thought, looking at himself of eighteen years ago. I didn’t used to be that brat.
It’s eerie, to see evidence of a past self, like catching sight of ghosts in the mirror. And also, evidence-pieces of life disappeared forever from your soul, until you can no longer recognize them and they no longer belong to you. A product of old age, this disappearing act and loss of youthful hopes and dreams. As if the world weren’t already trying to pull its own sort of disappearing act, as if the Millefiore weren’t cutting their world down piece by piece, bit by bit, until there’s hardly any ground left to stand on. Squalo wants to scream in frustration sometimes, wants to tear something to pieces or cut it to bits (Bel says he does, when he sleeps. That’s why Bel won’t share a room with him anymore); he channels his fury onto his enemies and becomes more vicious and blood-loving than ever.
Sometimes he still catches sight of himself in the mirror. Taller, older, hair beginning to be streaked with lines of grey rather than his usual glossy silver, stormy eyes looking more tragically dead with every day.
He smashes every mirror he finds. He doesn’t like to be reminded of his slow disappearing act into oblivion.
Notes: Squalo gets more and more angsty the more I write him. But I really think Squalo would hate being reminded that he’s getting older. And that his life didn't go the way he wanted it to.
9. Try Again
Parry, thrust, block. A fountain of blood bursts from the open wound. The air tears at Squalo’s lungs; he is tired, so tired, but he has to keep going. Stab, and another wound, the old man is going down at last.
The arena is filled with the silence of the tomb. Tyr, the Sword Emperor, has fallen to a half-grown boy of barely fourteen. The old man is gasping, bleeding at Squalo’s feet-he has punctured his lung. Despite himself, Squalo is filled with a mixture of pity and disgust. This death will not be easy, Tyr will suffer for a long time and Squalo does not want to watch. But his pride will not let him leave.
“I’ll give you mercy, old man,” he whispers. “Just ask.”
Tyr looks up at him with eyes already clouded over.
“No true swordsman would shame his honor by begging for mercy from his foe,” he rasps, coughing up blood. “You have won, boy. I accept the death you have given me.”
It takes fifteen minutes for the old man to drown in his own blood, and Squalo stands there long after everyone else has left. Because something in him has changed for worse; his hands will never be clean now. And because fourteen-year-old boys are not stones, he cannot help feeling deeply upset by what he has done.
That’s why he cuts off his own left hand, later that night.
Notes: I’ve noticed that when everybody writes fanfiction about Squalo we don’t really broach the topic of Squalo’s self-mutilation. I’d really like to expand this idea into a longer story.
10. Broken Toy
There is a heavy sort of awkwardness in the air between Xanxus and Squalo when they return to Italy. Unresolved sexual tension, Lussuria might have joked once. But that’s not what it is, really. It’s that Xanxus threw him away, and Squalo didn’t have the decency to stay in the garbage where he belonged.
When they come back, Squalo is twice as determined to prove his worth. He takes on every mission, no matter the risk. He hacks through anyway in Xanxus’s way without comment or complaint.
So that there is never reason again for Xanxus to say that he is broken. So Squalo never ends up like so much trash again.
Notes: This is the longest song on the CD and I had nothing to say about it. I don’t like Xanxus much, can you tell?
11. The Frog Prince
So in the end, what did he gain? Not the respect of his superior, who is in disgrace. A new, gentler star is coming to power; there is something to be said for kindness after all. Squalo has to wonder how long it will last, this new time of peace, before the new king’s crown cracks and his regime comes crashing down. Like it or not, he’ll have to defend this newcomer against all threat.
But Squalo-loud and brash and utterly bloodthirsty-is guaranteed his place. No one can say he’s worthless now. He’s prepared for any threat to his power. Sword in hand, he faces the future and laughs in defiance.
Squalo is the Sword Emperor. Not prince, not king. Emperor.
And everyone else can just get the hell out of his way.
Notes: It’s a triumphant song. I thought it should end on a happy note. Though the happiness is questionable at best.