Fanfic: Make A Warrior Cry (Dino/Hibari)
Title: Make A Warrior Cry
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Violence
Prompt: I-42 Dino/Hibari - future; "it burns to ash, and the ash grows cold" (from khrfest)
Word Count: 547
-
The woman smiled, her hand linked to a little boy with dark brown hair and even darker eyes. Dino, who had just stepped out of his car, returned the smile courteously with his six-year-old daughter in his arm.
It only took Hibari three strides to come between them.
“Get inside the school.”
In the duration of three seconds wasted for Dino’s eyes to widen, surprise replaced first by six years of longing, and finally comprehension, Romario had taken it upon himself to quickly steer his boss toward the school entrance. Hibari whirled around to glare at the woman as much as avoid looking at a former lover, hands coiled tight into fists at each side. Recognition was as stark as fear in her eyes, and she was clutching the little boy’s hand to her chest, as if the presence of a child could ever make a difference to Hibari Kyouya.
Three steps away-he listened, his body a shield, his presence a sword-two, one. Both father and daughter were now inside, protected by walls of bricks and flesh-and-bones alike. With security surrounding the school building close to impregnable, they were as safe as they could be anywhere else. It was now a matter of time.
Amidst the steady flow of arrivals, parents holding hands with their dressed-up children, Hibari did not move until his cell phone rang.
.
“We caught three shooters in total, Kyou-san,” Tetsu’s voice replied to his wordless question. “Two in the opposite building and one more on the roof of a bookstore around the corner.”
A heartbeat passed; then he answered, “I’ll handle them.”
He left the woman there, rooted to the spot, staring at his retreating back until her legs gave way and the stone pavement grazed her knees, the child’s hand still upon her chest. She was a diversion, a bait to create the timeframe required for the execution. She was of no importance.
It was completely by chance that Tetsu had stumbled upon the bold plot against Don Cavallone, scheduled on the same day when he would attend his daughter’s school play. Once he had decided what to do with the information, the rest was a clear-cut work of stealth and speed. Two days had not nearly been enough to arrange a trap, but once set up, no prey would escape his cage.
Back at his hideout, Hibari did not begin with questions, but fists.
The foremost fact about hitmen: they knew nothing. They were paid, and what connection existing between them and their employer would be covered and purged at the earliest sign of their failure, the middle man hunted down and murdered. Armed with such confidence, these men laughed at him after the first few blows, then resorted to cursing as his fists persisted, and finally gave into screams once every pretence of strength had been peeled off of their battered bodies. Hibari remained deaf to the pleas and half-formed insults, his strikes fast, erratic, not at all methodical as was his custom.
He stopped only after a few-hundred blows; enough to pretend that the perspiration on his brow, the tremor in his hands were caused by something other than a meeting and a whisper of his name.
“Get rid of them.”
Tetsu bowed his head in silence.
End
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Violence
Prompt: I-42 Dino/Hibari - future; "it burns to ash, and the ash grows cold" (from khrfest)
Word Count: 547
-
The woman smiled, her hand linked to a little boy with dark brown hair and even darker eyes. Dino, who had just stepped out of his car, returned the smile courteously with his six-year-old daughter in his arm.
It only took Hibari three strides to come between them.
“Get inside the school.”
In the duration of three seconds wasted for Dino’s eyes to widen, surprise replaced first by six years of longing, and finally comprehension, Romario had taken it upon himself to quickly steer his boss toward the school entrance. Hibari whirled around to glare at the woman as much as avoid looking at a former lover, hands coiled tight into fists at each side. Recognition was as stark as fear in her eyes, and she was clutching the little boy’s hand to her chest, as if the presence of a child could ever make a difference to Hibari Kyouya.
Three steps away-he listened, his body a shield, his presence a sword-two, one. Both father and daughter were now inside, protected by walls of bricks and flesh-and-bones alike. With security surrounding the school building close to impregnable, they were as safe as they could be anywhere else. It was now a matter of time.
Amidst the steady flow of arrivals, parents holding hands with their dressed-up children, Hibari did not move until his cell phone rang.
.
“We caught three shooters in total, Kyou-san,” Tetsu’s voice replied to his wordless question. “Two in the opposite building and one more on the roof of a bookstore around the corner.”
A heartbeat passed; then he answered, “I’ll handle them.”
He left the woman there, rooted to the spot, staring at his retreating back until her legs gave way and the stone pavement grazed her knees, the child’s hand still upon her chest. She was a diversion, a bait to create the timeframe required for the execution. She was of no importance.
It was completely by chance that Tetsu had stumbled upon the bold plot against Don Cavallone, scheduled on the same day when he would attend his daughter’s school play. Once he had decided what to do with the information, the rest was a clear-cut work of stealth and speed. Two days had not nearly been enough to arrange a trap, but once set up, no prey would escape his cage.
Back at his hideout, Hibari did not begin with questions, but fists.
The foremost fact about hitmen: they knew nothing. They were paid, and what connection existing between them and their employer would be covered and purged at the earliest sign of their failure, the middle man hunted down and murdered. Armed with such confidence, these men laughed at him after the first few blows, then resorted to cursing as his fists persisted, and finally gave into screams once every pretence of strength had been peeled off of their battered bodies. Hibari remained deaf to the pleas and half-formed insults, his strikes fast, erratic, not at all methodical as was his custom.
He stopped only after a few-hundred blows; enough to pretend that the perspiration on his brow, the tremor in his hands were caused by something other than a meeting and a whisper of his name.
“Get rid of them.”
Tetsu bowed his head in silence.
End