[longfic] KHR - Bloodsport 3/3

[lysapadin]

Title: Bloodsport 3/3
Characters: Gokudera, Yamamoto, Ryouhei, Shamal, Tsuna, Hibari, Lambo, Squalo
Summary: Gokudera knows that this can't possibly end well.
Warnings: AU with vampires; angst, violence, fangsex, death. No pairings but plenty of subtext. 27,707 words.
Notes: Continued from Part Two. See Part One for full notes.

The fic in one post, on Dreamwidth. Part One, Part Two, Part Three on LJ.



It would, Hayato suspected, be entirely too much to hope for that Yamamoto would grant him a few days' reprieve before asking him for more information on Byakuran. He was right: he had barely settled at his desk the next morning when Yamamoto came over to loom at him, silent and waiting.

Hayato looked up at Yamamoto's face, and recalled the things he and Tsuna had talked about, and made a rapid decision. "What the hell is wrong with you? For fuck's sake, when I have news for you, I'll tell you!"

Yamamoto's frown etched itself just a bit deeper. "Still?"

"I told you, it takes time!" Hayato blustered, conscious of the half-truths he was telling. Well, he couldn't turn into a bat, but this worked, too. He hoped. "Go away, Jesus, you're in my light."

Yamamoto stared down at him, silently, for so long that Hayato nearly convinced himself that Yamamoto had guessed the full truth after all. Then Yamamoto sighed. "Tired of waiting."

"Yeah, well, I'm tired of your face," Hayato snapped, relieved. "Go away now. Some of us have work to do."

Yamamoto frowned at him one last time, and then shuffled away. Hayato exhaled.

That was one more day's grace, at least.

The sleepy-eyed male vampire with the appalling fashion sense turned out to be Lambo, and he was, as Hayato discovered, regrettably bad at lurking.

What was worse was that he'd taken to doing it whenever Hayato went out after dark.

"What the hell?" Hayato demanded, when he caught him at it the first time, skulking along through the shadows after Hayato as Hayato walked home from the conbini with a sack of cup ramen. "Are you stalking me?"

Lambo stopped trying to fade into the shadow of an overhanging eave. "Just pretend I'm not here," he said, waving a hand cheerily, like that would work to banish Hayato's irritation.

"Like fuck I will! Go the fuck away!"

"Can't," Lambo said, still perfectly cheery. He smiled, amiably. "Don't worry, most of the time you won't even notice me. I won't always be careless."

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Hayato's vision actually greyed out with his rage. "I-you-I-argh!" he sputtered, plastic bag and cup ramen rattling wildly as he gesticulated, hoping that the thrashing of his arms would convey the depths of his displeasure more clearly.

"Besides," Lambo added, "the boss told me to keep an eye on you."

That stopped Hayato cold. "He... what?"

"Asked me to keep an eye on you." Lambo shrugged, as if this should be self-evident. "He's taken a shine to you, I guess." He peered at Hayato, doubt writ clear on his face, and then shrugged again. "So what can you do?"

"You've got better things to do than babysit a halfblood, surely," Hayato said, because that counteracted his first reaction to that news nicely.

Lambo's sleepy eyes widened at that, briefly. "No," he said. "Not if the boss said so."

And there wasn't anything Hayato could say to that, really, though he tried, mostly out of principle. Lambo refused to be put off, which was deeply annoying. He also either wasn't as good at being inconspicuous as he thought he was, or he liked to irritate Hayato, because he was forever poking his nose into Hayato's affairs, whether Hayato had invited him to or not. He even invited himself indoors when he felt like it, and lurked around as Hayato tried to work on his explosives or his homework.

"Ew," he said, one evening, as Hayato slurped down his ramen and tried to focus on his homework-it was only because he was smart that he was managing to keep his grades afloat at all, and Lambo's persistent interruptions weren't helping with that. "How can you eat that?"

Hayato pointedly dug his chopsticks into the cup and scooped up a chunk of noodles. "Like this." He slurped them up.

Lambo wrinkled his nose. "No, I mean-ew. How can those possibly taste good?"

"Hey, I know it's only cup ramen, but it's not that bad." Hayato looked at the container. "Little salty, maybe, I guess, but it means I don't have to cook." Yamamoto had used to be horrified by that, being the son of a chef and all, but that had fallen away like everything else.

"No, I mean... wouldn't blood taste better?" Lambo wheedled.

"Not really. Cup ramen is better than the frozen stuff."

"Frozen blood? Seriously, ew." A person would have thought that Hayato had said he preferred rat's blood, or something. "That doesn't even count as food. That's just desperate measures."

"Maybe for you," Hayato told him. "Not for me."

"You mean you like it?" Now Lambo both looked, and sounded, horrified.

"No, I mean that it's what I can get," Hayato sighed, with all the patience he could muster, because clearly Lambo had never encountered the real world before. "I'm a dhampir, remember? See these teeth? Means I have to get my blood the hard way." No human was going to volunteer to be savaged, after all. "So I know a guy who knows a guy, and I choke it down whenever I have to, and eat cup ramen the rest of the time."

"Well, that's just stupid," Lambo said.

"What the fuck, did I ask you to tell me what you thought about my life?" Hayato demanded, anger flushing all the way through him at Lambo's stupid vampiric arrogance and at his own sense of shame-it wasn't like he'd asked to be a dhampir, and he was just trying to survive the best he could-

"No, I meant about the blood," Lambo said, oblivious to Hayato's rage, or doing a damn good job of faking it. "If you need blood, we can manage that for you." He eyed Hayato, thoughtful, and then nodded. "A knife would take care of the logistics," he continued. "Something small and sharp, I think. What are you looking at me like that for?"

Hayato realized that he was staring. "What are you going on about?"

"Blood," Lambo said, and it was his turn to be patient. "You're under our protection, and the boss said we should take care of you as one of our own. If you need blood, we'll help you get it." Then he smiled, bright. "I'll come for you tomorrow night, and we'll go hunting together. It'll be fun."

"I would rather hold a dead rat in my teeth," Hayato told him, with every ounce of sincerity he could muster. Lambo only laughed, and clearly didn't believe a word of it.

Problem was, neither did Hayato, really.

Lambo would not be put off, so that was how Hayato found himself downtown again, passing into a different club under the bland aspect of the vampire at the door with no trouble at all. "This is our territory," Lambo told him, as they descended a little flight of stairs, approaching the source of a bass beat that seemed to throb in the very walls and floor, steady as a blood rhythm. "People obey the boss's will, here."

That both was and wasn't an explanation, though Hayato wasn't sure that he wanted to pursue it, or what his place in Tsuna's will happened to be. "Yeah?" he asked, just before they passed through a set of double doors into a room that was dark and low-ceiling, where people-vampire and human-moved against each other on the dance floor, or against each other in the dim alcoves that lined the room.

Lambo's teeth flashed at him, laughing. "Yeah," he said, and dragged Hayato into the mix of bodies.

Hayato wasn't a dancer, and hadn't ever cared to learn or go to the clubs that he'd heard his classmates talk about, but that didn't seem to deter Lambo one bit. He dove into the shifting crowd on the dance floor, and Hayato had to follow after him, bobbing to the insistent beat half-heartedly. He could feel eyes on him, and caught more than one vampire eyeing him. The looks on their faces ranged from naked curiosity to open amusement and outright boredom, but not a one of them looked openly hostile, which was more than Hayato would have expected.

Lambo didn't seem to mind that Hayato wasn't actually dancing. He threw himself into it, hips and body twisting fluidly, unselfconscious in a way that Hayato refused to admit that he was jealous of. He worked his way through the dance floor, brushing up against other vampires and the pretty young humans who danced with them. Hayato watched him circle around the pretty boys who weren't wearing much and the prettier girls who were wearing even less. Sometimes Lambo would fit himself against someone, moving with them for a few minutes, though never longer than the span of a song, before drifting on. Hayato shadowed him, uncertainly, wondering what exactly he was supposed to be doing, until Lambo kept himself twined around a pretty young thing even after the song changed. He leaned close to her ear, lips moving.

Whatever he was saying made her smile, and then nod, and then she turned, heading off the dance floor, Lambo's hand in hers. Lambo looked back at Hayato, gesturing with the toss of a head for Hayato to follow them.

The girl led them to one of the little nooks in the corner of the room, where the shadows were thick over a padded bench. She settled on the bench and drew Lambo down after her, and smiled up at Hayato. Her eyes were lined with kohl, and she patted the seat next to her, invitingly.

"This is Yuuko," Lambo said, as Hayato sat, hesitant. "She is willing to let us share some of her blood." The words had an oddly formal cadence to them, unusual coming from Lambo.

"Mm, yes," the girl said, and smiled at Hayato, slow and expectant.

He glanced at Lambo, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. Lambo's mouth quirked, but he took the lead, leaning over the girl and kissing her. She made a sound, arching into Lambo's body, and slipped an arm around his shoulders. Hayato squirmed, just a bit uncomfortable with watching them, and then realized that Lambo was holding out a hand to him, beckoning him closer.

Hayato edged closer, until he could feel the softness of the girl's body against his side. She slipped an arm around his waist, drawing him to her. This close, he could smell the sweetness of her perfume and the warm skin and sweat beneath it, and hear the soft sigh of her breath as Lambo's mouth moved along her jaw. Hayato swallowed, and bent his head to set his mouth against the bare skin of her shoulder. She hummed something, wordless and pleased.

Her skin tasted of salt and the traces of soap and perfume, and was warm beneath Hayato's lips with the movement of her blood. He shivered as something sliced through him, sharp and hot-the edge of a desire he normally refused to let himself feel.

Lambo reached across the girl's body and pressed something into Hayato's hand. It was slender and cool and heavy in Hayato's fingers. When Hayato looked down to see what it was, it was what he had suspected-a knife, with a short blade that slid out of its sheath easily, and glittered even in the dim light.

The girl moaned, sudden and open. When Hayato looked up, her head was thrown back, and Lambo's mouth was on her throat. He was drinking, eyes half-lidded; he caught Hayato's gaze and gestured to him again, inviting.

The girl's wrist was slender enough that Hayato could wrap his fingers around it with ease. She let him lift it without complaint, but he had to draw a breath to steady himself before he could bring himself to set the edge of the knife against the tender skin of her inner wrist. The cut he made was shallow, but the scent of her blood rose up immediately, rich and nearly overpowering. She wasn't the only one who moaned when Hayato closed his mouth over the small wound.

Suddenly Shamal made so much more sense.

Hayato wanted to drink slowly, to savor the beat of the pulse under his lips and the texture of the living blood in his mouth, but the sharpness of his appetite wouldn't permit it. He was dimly aware of the girl moaning and moving between them, body writhing against the bench slowly, but only just, and it was much too soon that Lambo's hand pulled him away from her wrist. Hayato heard himself growl in protest at that, but Lambo's grip was firm.

He set his fingers on the girl's wrist, pressing against the wound, and looked at Hayato with dark, serious eyes. "She said some of her blood," he said, quietly. "Only some."

Hayato took a breath, and another, to steady himself. "Right," he said, hoarse, and forced himself to look away from the dark smear under Lambo's fingers.

The girl was sprawled between them, body lax, and her long lashes were fluttering against her cheeks. Lambo smiled down at her, and smoothed the hair back from her damp forehead. She sighed and opened her eyes, and smiled up at them, sleepy and satiated. "Thank you," she said, voice husky.

Lambo smiled again, and kissed her forehead. "Thank you," he murmured.

When she was steady enough for it, they helped her to the room beyond that one, where the club's quietly competent staff took charge of her. They would give her fluids and a safe bed for the night, as Hayato understood it, and an indelible stamp that wouldn't fade before enough time had lapsed for her body to have recovered from the blood loss, and would bar her entrance to the club until that time.

"That was fun," Lambo said, cheerfully, when they had returned to the street.

Hayato just grunted something at him, still a little dizzy with the taste of the blood in his mouth.

Lambo glanced at him, sidelong. "We'll have to do that again, yeah?" he suggested, casually.

Hayato took a breath. "Yeah," he said, after a moment. "Yeah. I'd-yeah."

Lambo just smiled at him, companionable, and said, "We will."

The days passed too quickly by half, at least as far as Hayato was concerned, and Yamamoto's patience frayed more and more visibly as they did. That much was unmistakable; what Hayato couldn't quite figure out was how to speak to Yamamoto about Byakuran in a way that would get Yamamoto to listen.

He was a little afraid of how certain he was that there wasn't anything, actually, that he could say to Yamamoto that would be enough to persuade him that there really wasn't anything to be done. He could imagine Yamamoto being perfectly willing to throw himself at Byakuran's people without any hope of coming out the other side in one piece, altogether too easily.

So he delayed, and worried, and put Yamamoto off as best as he could.

And meanwhile, Lambo continued to coax Hayato to go downtown with him, to the clubs where the humans went seeking thrills and the vampires provided them, all in exchange for blood. Part of Hayato hated himself for how easy it was for Lambo to persuade him into it, and for how he craved the blood and the sense that he was, if not accepted, then tolerated by the real vampires there. It was almost like being one of them, or the closest to it he'd ever come, anyway. Part of him just didn't care, even in the face of the near-certain knowledge that it was all due to Tsuna's influence, and his suspicion that Tsuna and Lambo both knew exactly what they were doing by offering him the blood and the partial acceptance. Lambo never mentioned Tsuna's offer, or pressured him to accept it, but it was there in the knowing slant of his eyes, sometimes, after they'd fed and Hayato was warm and glowing with the satisfaction of it.

The crazy balance of it couldn't possibly last; Hayato knew it and couldn't help wanting it to go on anyway, even when he was driving himself insane trying to maintain the delicate juggling act.

It all came crashing down when they had been hunting together, as Lambo called it, for nearly two weeks, when they emerged from the club into the crisp evening air, replete and content, and almost immediately came upon Yamamoto. He was standing under a streetlamp, haloed by its orange light, and he wasn't smiling, or frowning. He was simply waiting, still and composed, and despite the warm flush having just fed, Hayato went cold when his eyes met Yamamoto's.

Lambo hummed, very softly, only barely audible to Hayato's ears, when Hayato stopped short. "So someone was following us," he murmured, and then raised his voice. "You're a brave one, aren't you?"

Yamamoto ignored him. "So what do you know now?" he asked Hayato, voice pitched low and intent.

Shit. Hayato steadied himself, and said, "That you can't beat him."

Yamamoto's expression didn't even flicker. "Maybe. Maybe not. What have you learned that's new?"

"Not... very much," Hayato hedged. "That even... even other people can't beat him, either. That's all I know about that." All digressions about Arcobaleno notwithstanding, even without having been told, he could tell what wasn't for public consumption. Should he tell Yamamoto about his father, though? No, not in the street, surely. Not when just anyone could hear, and anything could happen.

"That's not very much." Yamamoto's voice was very even. "Especially for how often you come here."

Hayato wanted very much to curse, but bit the words back and swallowed them down. While he struggled with that, Lambo scoffed, "This isn't the kind of place you go for information. You have a lot to learn, little hunter."

"Lambo," Hayato said, but the damage had already been done. Yamamoto's expression shifted, subtly, going colder and stiffer. "Yamamoto-"

"I see how it is, now." Yamamoto was still speaking calmly, words and tone carefully even, but his eyes had started to burn. "You never really intended to help me, did you?"

"That's not true!" Hayato protested. Then his conscience stung him. "Not exactly. I don't intend to help you get yourself killed, that's all, and if you go after Bya-if you try to go after him, you're going to end up dead."

"That's my business, isn't it?" Yamamoto said, while Lambo burst out with, "Wait, you really think you can hunt Byakuran? Are you crazy?"

Yamamoto's attention snapped to Lambo. "What do you know about him?" he demanded, low and urgent.

"God, what don't I know?" Lambo laughed, wry. "Used to be my job to patrol up north of Namimori, keeping an eye on his territory-ow!" He glared at Hayato, who'd just kicked him. Then he blinked. "Was I not supposed to say that?" he asked, for Hayato's ears only.

"No, you weren't," Hayato ground out, and took a step towards Yamamoto, whose eyes had gone even hotter and more avid. Time for desperate measures, then. "Yamamoto, your dad wouldn't want-"

"My father is dead," Yamamoto said, slow and distant. "He doesn't want anything anymore."

Hayato tried again. "But-"

Yamamoto didn't let him. "He was killed by a vampire," he said, softly, and he was looking at Hayato like he was seeing him for the first time. "And I don't have any use now for vampires. Or the people who are friendly to vampires."

"But...!" Hayato protested, taking another step forward. The look on Yamamoto's face as he did brought him up short. He cleared his throat. "I can't-I can't help what I am."

"No," Yamamoto said, slowly, "But you can choose where you stand." His eyes moved away from Hayato-to Lambo, probably, or maybe the club they'd just come from. "Looks like you have."

"Not all vampires are like-him. Them," Hayato said, trying another tack. "I-they're-we're not-it doesn't have to be the way he does it. You should meet Tsuna, you'd see-"

"I know what I see," Yamamoto said, with a slow, awful finality to it.

"Yamamoto, damn it, if you would just listen to me-"

"No," Yamamoto said, and turned away. "I think we've said everything we have to say to each other," he added, and walked away.

Hayato started after him, but Lambo caught his shoulder before he'd gone two steps. "Don't," he said, softly, but he sounded sympathetic, even though his grip was firm on Hayato's shoulder. "You can't be friends with a hunter. It doesn't work. It never does."

"But he-" Hayato protested.

Lambo shook him, gently. "You have to let him go now," he said. "He had it right. You chose where you wanted to stand. So has he."

"This is... this is so stupid," Hayato said, helplessly.

"Yeah, it is, sometimes. I don't make the rules, though." Lambo squeezed his shoulder, once, and then let go. "It's getting late. Weren't you saying something about a test you needed to study for?

Hayato couldn't even begin to care about that, but after a moment, he nodded. "Yeah. Guess I did."

"Thought so. C'mon," Lambo said. "Let's get you home."

Ryouhei was the last person Hayato would have called observant, but even he noticed the way that Yamamoto pointedly took no notice of Hayato the next day. He sidled over to Hayato during lunch and quietly (for Ryouhei) asked, "Did you and Yamamoto fight or something? He's acting extremely pissed."

That wasn't the way Hayato would have put it, but it worked: Yamamoto was still in his seat, but it was the tightly-coiled stillness of someone on the edge of lashing out, not the waiting, patient stillness that Yamamoto had adopted over the past few weeks. And he wasn't speaking to anyone, not even when they stood over his desk and cleared their throats at him.

Hayato was still stinging with the embarrassment of that.

"Yeah," he said, eyes on Yamamoto's shoulders and the back of his head. "We did, sort of. I may have fucked something up."

If Yamamoto heard-and he probably had; it wasn't like the classroom was all that big-he gave no sign of it.

Ryouhei looked over at Yamamoto, and then back at Hayato. "That sucks," he said. "You apologized yet?"

"He's not talking to me," Hayato said, tired.

"Oh." That seemed to be the sum of Ryouhei's advice, because he clapped Hayato on the shoulder. "Well, hang in there. He'll come around."

Yeah, Hayato thought, he wished he could be as sure of that as Ryouhei seemed to be.

Yamamoto maintained his silence for the rest of the day, and packed up his things and left without acknowledging any of the attempts Hayato made to get his attention so that he could try to explain things again.

Not that Hayato knew how to explain anything at all, even to himself, much less Yamamoto, but he was willing to give it a try.

He passed the hours until sunset restlessly, trying to tinker with his proto-flamethrower at first, and then simply picking up bits and pieces of the scattered weapons and tools on his worktable and putting them back down again. He started to reorganize everything, but gave up halfway through, when everything was completely disarranged and the effort of putting it all back seemed like too much, and just sat, toying with a screw driver and trying not to think much at all.

That was how Lambo found him when he let himself in not too long after nightfall, all uninvited and unannounced. "Still moping, I see," he said, hoisting himself up onto the edge of the bench and lounging there.

"I'm not moping," Hayato snapped at him.

"Oh, of course not, my mistake," Lambo said, just gently enough that Hayato couldn't quite be furious that he was being placated. "Come on, then. You won't do yourself any good staying inside and brooding. You need to get out and do something."

In Lambo's vernacular, 'doing something' nearly always translated into 'going to the clubs for blood.' Hayato hesitated. "I don't know..."

Lambo studied him for several seconds. "Gokudera," he said, and his voice was infinitely kind. "You are what you are. There's nothing wrong with that, and nothing wrong with what we do. We aren't what the hunter thinks we are, but you aren't going to be the one who changes his mind. He's the only one who can do that, and you can't punish yourself for what he decides to do."

It was a surprising speech, all the more so for having come from Lambo, whom Hayato had previously suspected of being as shallow as a puddle. "I... but..." he said, eyeing Lambo, just a bit suspiciously. "You..."

Lambo shrugged, spreading his hands. "You learn a thing or two after your first century," he said. "And I'm telling you, you can't hold yourself accountable for what other people decide to do." He slid off the table. "Now, come on. You'll feel better once you've had someone to eat."

Hayato wasn't entirely convinced, but Lambo continued to chivvy and coax and outright browbeat him till he got Hayato out the door and headed downtown. Only then did he lapse into silence, and leave Hayato to his thoughts.

He was beginning to suspect that he was going to have to seriously revise his opinion about just how smart Lambo really was. He was having to do a lot of that, lately.

They had just crossed the invisible line that demarcated the area that Tsuna claimed as his own when Lambo tensed and stopped, growling. Hayato stopped, too, fingers finding a flash grenade almost automatically as he scanned the area for whatever the threat was that had Lambo on edge.

A figure dropped out of the sky and landed on the pavement before them. Lambo was moving while Hayato was still processing that. He shoved Hayato behind him and lunged for the other vampire in one smooth movement. The other vampire rose to meet him, snarling in the face of Lambo's charge. Then Hayato's brain kicked in, recognizing the lanky frame and aura of perpetual smarm. "Shamal," he said, startled, and then, "Lambo, stop, it's just Shamal!"

Lambo checked himself, and Shamal drew himself up to his full height. "Just Shamal?" he repeated, peeved. "You damn brat, I ought to-" Then he stopped, and Hayato had to fill in some suitably creative threat in for himself, because Shamal was looking back and forth between him and Lambo in clear disbelief. "Damn it, Hayato, I've been trying for years to get you to acknowledge what you are, and the minute I leave you alone, you take up with the Vongola? You ungrateful little snot."

Hayato flushed at that, especially when Lambo chuckled. "Oh, screw you," he said, and glared. "What the hell are you even doing here, anyway?"

Shamal lost all traces of his irritation, and went as serious as Hayato had ever seen him. "I've been looking all over for you," he said. "Your friend, Yamamoto. The hunter. Do you know where he is right now?"

"He's not my-oh, shit," Hayato said, as his brain caught up with his mouth. "Oh, fuck, tell me he's not going after-oh, fuck."

"I figured you didn't," Shamal said, grimly, and held out a hand to him. "If we hurry, we might be able to get to him in time."

Hayato blinked at that, because he would have sworn Shamal hadn't wanted to get involved. Before he could ask about that, Lambo asked, "Are you so sure that he wants to be stopped?" His tone was mild, and curious, and stopped Hayato in mid-step. "It seemed to me that he knew what he wanted," Lambo added, as Hayato looked back at him.

"Maybe," Hayato said, as Lambo's eyebrows drifted up, quizzical. "Maybe he does. But he's my friend. And I'm not going to stand by and let him get himself killed and not try to do anything about it."

He reached out and let Shamal grasp his wrist, and grunted as Shamal dragged him into the air. His shoulder ached as it took his weight.

Just as Hayato was hoping, earnestly, that it wouldn't be a long flight, Lambo caught his other arm and took some of his weight. "Well," he said, with a faint smile, when Hayato gaped at him. "If you're going to be like that about it, I can't really argue, can I?"

"I-but-you said-" Hayato sputtered, off-balance from more than just the town speeding by beneath their feet. And that reminded him. "And you!" he said, to Shamal. "You said you weren't going to get involved!"

"Changed my mind," Shamal said, with a careless shrug that made all three of them lurch in the air. "You kids need all the help you can get."

The really annoying part was how Lambo snorted in agreement. There were, however, more important things to worry about as they flew straight north. "You saw Yamamoto? Where was he?"

Shamal took longer to answer than Hayato liked. "Heading into trouble," he said, finally. "Going straight for Byakuran's territory. Looked ready for a fight."

"Fuck," Hayato said. "Just-fuck."

Neither of them believed in giving false comfort, apparently, because neither of them bothered with empty promises that all would be well. Hayato almost wished they would, even so, as the bright heart of Namimori fell away behind them and they crossed over the expanse of the warehouse district north of town, dark and silent with nightfall. Instead, Lambo asked, "How are we going to find the young hunter?"

"Look for the biggest commotion, obviously," Hayato told him. It was a sad commentary on matters that he wasn't even joking, really.

"Give me some credit," Shamal said, as the wind hitting Hayato's face changed direction, just a bit, as Shamal adjusted their heading. "One of the girls is tracking him."

"So that's true?" Lambo inquired, sounding interested. "You have that much control over animals?"

"Only small ones," Shamal said. Though the words were modest, the tone of them was anything but.

"Fascinating," Lambo murmured.

"It's not, really," Hayato felt obliged to say, because he'd been there to see how much of that 'control' over his rats involved Shamal bribing them with cans of wet cat food and other treats.

"Still-" Lambo began, but didn't get to finish it. Shamal swore and dragged them into a steep dive, one that left Hayato's stomach twisting somewhere in the air behind them, and his heart in his throat.

And then he sensed the third vampire ahead of them, and knew that they weren't going to be in time, no matter how fast Shamal drove them. He could feel the strength of that vampire, even this far away, and it was no youngling to be easily distracted and easily killed. Its strength was old, as sharp as a sword and just as dangerous.

The three of them fell out of the sky like an arrow, driving into the space between two warehouses, into an alley cluttered with stacks of crates, lit by the dim glow of a security light and filled with the smell of blood. Hayato knew the smell of that blood, had spent night after night with it hanging in the air while he'd hung onto his self-control with both hands.

The vampire turned as they landed. He was tall and rail-thin, with a long pale fall of hair down his back. He was holding Yamamoto up with one fist. Yamamoto lolled in his grip, horribly limp, and what was left of his clothes was dark with his blood.

It was funny, Hayato thought, in the distant part of his mind. He'd thought he'd been prepared for the inevitability of this moment, but the reality of it was still worse than he'd told himself to expect.

Someone was growling, but it wasn't until Lambo's arm caught him, wrapping around his chest and holding him back, that Hayato realized it was him. He strained against Lambo's arm anyway, hands fumbling for his holdout grenade.

The other vampire smiled, the contemptuous gleam of it splitting across his face. "And so the cavalry arrives, too late." He tossed Yamamoto aside, as carelessly as someone discarding a bit of trash. "Will you be a better fight? This one wasn't even a quarter of the hunter his father was."

"Don't be an idiot," Lambo muttered in Hayato's ear, as he tried to lung at the other vampire. "That's Squalo, you can't beat him, you little idiot."

"We're not here to fight," Shamal said, over the sound of Lambo's mutter. "We're here to take the boy, or what's left of him, home."

Squalo cocked his head, still smiling. "Are you, now?" He glanced at Lambo. "And yet, there's a Vongola here, where he doesn't belong."

"And there weren't any of you where you didn't belong the night that boy's father died?" Lambo retorted, voice perfectly steady. "Tit for tat, Squalo."

"But the difference is, we knew better than to let ourselves be seen by any of you," Squalo returned, and lunged, fangs bared.

Shamal intercepted him; they crashed together, both of them growling. Lambo pushed Hayato down and out of the way. "Stay out of this," he hissed, eyes gleaming, and Hayato rocked back a little at the unveiling of Lambo's full strength, more than he'd even begun to suspect the vampire possessed. Then Lambo threw himself at Squalo as well.

Hayato had seen vampires fight each other before, or had thought he had. Now, watching the three of them, he realized that the fights he had seen before were nothing more than skirmishes, the bite and snap of fangs purely for show. This was something entirely different-inhuman speed and strength matched against each other, nothing held back. The three of them twisted through the air, using the walls that rose up around them to launch themselves at each other. They ripped chunks out of each other with fangs and nails-turned-claws, growling and hissing at each other as the thick smell of vampiric blood rose to mask some of the scent of Yamamoto's blood.

Hayato hesitated, watching them, but Lambo had been right after all-he couldn't fight Squalo. He was next to useless: too weak and too slow for an opponent who was an adult vampire, and he was armed with weapons that would hurt his allies as much as they would Squalo. He turned away, and went to where Yamamoto lay in a crumpled pile, amid a tumble of empty crates, to crouch over the ruin of him.

For once, the smell of Yamamoto's blood didn't do a damn thing to him.

Up close it was clearer just how badly Squalo had beaten him, and that he'd taken his time doing it, playing with Yamamoto like a cat might play with a mouse. Yamamoto's shirt and jeans were in shreds, soaked through with blood. When Hayato reached down to straighten the awful twist of Yamamoto's limbs, he saw the jagged ends of bone.

And Yamamoto groaned, a low animal sound that made Hayato freeze, hands hovering over Yamamoto's body. "Yamamoto," he said, and bent over him.

Yamamoto's eyes flickered open, but they didn't quite focus on Hayato's face, and he groaned again.

"Yamamoto, can you hear me?" Hayato asked, bending closer. "It's me, it's Gokudera. You're... you're-" The lie stuck in his throat; Yamamoto was manifestly not all right.

Yamamoto's lips moved. Even as close as he was, Hayato could barely hear the bubbling whisper. "Too... strong..."

"I told you they were!" Hayato said, even though there was no satisfaction in it. "You idiot, I told you that it was going to get you killed!"

"Should have waited," Yamamoto agreed, every word a struggle. "Should have gotten stronger."

"Yes, you should have," someone else said, each syllable clipped and impatient. Hayato looked up and stared as Hibari dropped down from the shadows, and crouched on the other side of Yamamoto. "It was stupid of you not to wait."

That was too much, even if it was true, but Hibari only showed his teeth when Hayato growled at him, and then ignored him. He looked down at Yamamoto, curious. "What will you do now, hunter's cub?"

The sound Yamamoto made was horrible and wet; Hayato shuddered when he realized that it was Yamamoto's attempt at laughter. "Die," he rasped.

"All without having accomplished anything," Hibari said, still with that inhumanly detached curiosity. "How wasteful."

"If it's a waste, then do something about it!" Hayato said, with the half-formed notion that Shamal had been a doctor, once, a long time ago, but was too busy fighting with Squalo to be of any use.

Hibari glanced at him, briefly. "Impatient," he said, and the bastard sounded amused. He looked back down at Yamamoto. "Do you want me to do something, hunter's cub?"

Yamamoto took so long to respond that Hayato thought it was too late. Then his answer came sighing out of him on a bubbling breath. "...yes..."

Hayato was perfectly positioned to see the slow curve of Hibari's smile, anticipatory and pleased. "So be it," he said, and brought his own wrist to his mouth, biting down on it and slicing the pale skin of it open. He lowered it to Yamamoto's lips. "Drink," he said, as the sharp smell of his blood rose up and mingled with the smell of Yamamoto's blood.

"That's not what I meant!" Hayato protested, aghast. Yamamoto's lips parted to swallow the first mouthful, and it was too late to protest.

Hibari ignored him anyway, all his attention focused on Yamamoto. The smile never left his mouth; it ticked a bit wider when Yamamoto's body arched between them and he made a sound, low and pained.

That would be the first sign of the change, Hayato knew, though he'd never witnessed a turning before. He still knew how it worked when vampires turned humans, though, and it probably worked the same for watchers. Yamamoto made another sound, body shuddering-dying, poisoned by the blood that would transform it. He lifted a clumsy, flailing hand, and Hibari growled, low and approving, as he closed blood-slicked fingers on Hibari's wrist, dragging it down to his mouth and sucking.

Hayato looked away.

Shamal and Lambo and Squalo were still fighting. All three were bleeding, though Squalo less so-it just about figured that Lambo and Shamal fighting together weren't quite his match, Hayato thought. Even so, they were holding their own, for the time being. As he watched, trying not to hear the sounds Yamamoto made as he began to thrash, dying, turning, Lambo grappled with Squalo, and Shamal used that opportunity to rake his claws down Squalo's back. Squalo growled and threw Lambo off him, and rounded on Shamal, driving straight for his throat.

Yamamoto groaned, low and raw, and Hibari spoke to him. "Enough," he said, tones low and satisfied, and then he added, "Soon."

Hayato looked, unable to stop himself. Yamamoto was arched taut, gripping Hibari's wrist, face twisted in pain. Shamal had said that it was bad when someone was turned in extremis, and had looked grim before changing the subject, but Hayato hadn't realized that it was this bad. Yamamoto's body struggled against itself, healing and dying and changing, conflicting impetuses at war with each other. Hibari's eyes gleamed, avid, as he watched, and then he purred, so softly that Hayato barely heard it, as Yamamoto groaned again, shuddering, and went limp, subsiding against the ground, not even breathing.

The sound Hibari made then was satisfied. "You will want to leave," he said, perfectly calm, as Hayato stared at the deathly stillness of Yamamoto's body. "Even you will look appetizing, in his first hunger."

Hayato couldn't find it in himself to care about the insult. "He's going to wake up?" he asked, watching Yamamoto anxiously.

Hibari snorted. "Don't be such a naïve idiot," he said. "He's only going to be dead briefly."

Dead was still dead, and Hayato was fully prepared to argue the point, even with a watcher. Then Yamamoto stirred.

"Run, little dhampir," Hibari said, very softly, eyes fixed on Yamamoto. "If you love your own blood, now is the time for you to run."

There was no doubt that it was good advice. There was no chance that Hayato was going to take it. He stayed where he was, as Yamamoto stirred again, sluggish, as the change began to come over him, gathering speed, until Yamamoto's body arched with it. His lips peeled back from his teeth, a rictus parody of a smile, and as Hayato watched, his incisors lengthened, turning sharp.

And Hibari was purring again, which was possibly the most disturbing part of all.

Yamamoto's eyes snapped open. They burned, wild and hungry. Hayato couldn't see any sense in them, or any trace of Yamamoto himself.

"I did tell you," Hibari said, tone deceptively mild, as Yamamoto sat up, nostrils flaring, testing the air, and his gaze settled on Hayato.

Hayato swallowed. Yeah, and he hadn't listened. "Yamamoto," he said, very softly.

Yamamoto growled. The sound sent a frisson of cold fear down Hayato's spine; he thought that perhaps he should have listened to Hibari after all.

Something crashed behind him; the sound made Yamamoto's attention snap away from Hayato. The timbre of his growl changed registers, became lower and rougher. "Squalo," he said, slowly, like he was tasting the name. Then he was moving, springing past Hayato and launching himself at Squalo bodily.

Hibari made a sound as Hayato turned to stare at the way Yamamoto tackled Squalo, fangs and claws out. "Interesting," he said, as the two of them went flying. "He should have ripped your throat out. Remarkable self-control for a fledgling. Or perhaps he has better taste than I expected."

"Don't sound so sorry about it!" Hayato snapped, as Yamamoto and Squalo wrestled with each other, a furious mass of growling and slashing claws.

Hibari didn't say anything to that, while Shamal and Lambo picked themselves up, both of them looking startled. Shamal was the one who made the connection first, looking from the blurred motion of Yamamoto and Squalo to Hibari, and back again. "Is that...?"

Lambo looked up. The motion of his throat as he swallowed was visible. "The boss isn't going to like this," he said.

Both he and Shamal were edging backwards, away from where Squalo and Yamamoto circled each other. Squalo, Hayato couldn't help noticing, seemed to be considerably more on the defensive than he had been when Shamal and Lambo were his opponents.

"If Sawada doesn't like it, he can take it up with me," Hibari said, as Yamamoto lunged for Squalo, faster than Hayato's eye could follow. Squalo dodged, but suffered for it when Yamamoto's claws laid his arm open. "You should leave now," he added, and took to the air, launching himself into the mêlée.

"Yes," Shamal said, "we will."

"But-" Hayato protested, as he and Lambo seized his arms.

"No," Lambo said, voice taut; the whites of his eyes showing. He and Shamal sprang into the air. "I am not staying anywhere near a fledgling watcher."

"Damn straight," Shamal agreed, and the last view Hayato had of Yamamoto was of Hibari holding Squalo with a single desultory hand as Yamamoto lunged for Squalo's throat, fangs bared.

Epilogue

The autumn after Yamamoto's disappearance, the principal forbade the baiting of vampires.

He might as well have saved his breath. The sight of Yamamoto's empty desk did more to deter his classmates from going out at night than any official edict could. People whispered about it, for a while, until the empty desk became a part of the new normal. And then, late in September, a new family moved into the area. They had a daughter who was just the right age, and she took the empty desk on her first day of school. With that, it stopped being Yamamoto's desk at all.

Well, to everyone else, anyway. Hayato never looked at the back of Nishiura's head, with its beribboned ponytail, without experiencing a sense of disorientation.

There wasn't much to be done about it, though. Yamamoto was gone, and the only news of him came when Shamal stopped by to say that another of Byakuran's people had turned up missing, or in pieces. It was turning into a bad season to be allied with Byakuran, by the sounds of it.

It was Shamal, too, who gave Hayato the final push into making a decision. "You know," he said, one evening, as Hayato tinkered with his flamethrower and Shamal sipped blood from a tumbler. "You probably don't need the Vongola's protection any more. Byakuran's got enough on his mind to keep him from thinking about you, these days."

Hayato looked at the firing mechanism, thinking about it. "No," he said, "I don't, I guess."

Shamal knew him well enough not to say anything just yet. After a moment, Hayato picked up the screwdriver, and began taking the mechanism apart, laying out the tiny pieces of it in neat rows. "Think I'm gonna stick with them, though."

"Messy thing, getting involved in a clan alliance," Shamal told him. "Can't pick up and go, if you are."

"Yeah," Hayato said, "I know. But I think I want to stay here for a while."

Shamal was good enough to have the decency not to tell him that watchers and vampires didn't make good friends, for which Hayato was grateful. And the next time Lambo came to him to invite him downtown, Hayato looked at him, steadily, and said, "Tell Tsuna I say yes."

"All right," Lambo said, grinning and clapping him on the shoulder, "I'll be glad to."

The amazing thing, Hayato thought, as they fell into step together, was that Lambo genuinely seemed to mean it, too.

"Ready?" Lambo asked him, when the warmth of the room had driven away the chill of the flight and Hayato's stomach had finally settled.

Hayato didn't quite think Lambo was inquiring about his physical comfort, though, not when Lambo was looking him over, scrutinizing him, so he thought about it carefully before answering.

He still came to the same answer.

It was time.

"Yeah," he said, "I'm ready."

Lambo smiled at that, faint and respectful, just a glint of fang to underscore the sentiment. "Come this way," he said. He led Hayato from the little antechamber where he'd spoken to Tsuna and Reborn the last time he'd visited Tsuna's stronghold. They moved through dimly-lit halls, till Lambo brought them to another room and ushered Hayato in before stepping back.

Tsuna was waiting for them, standing before a fireplace, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the small fire burning in the grate. He turned as Lambo slipped out, shutting the door softly behind him, and smiled at Hayato, warm and welcoming.

This was it, then. Hayato drew a breath, and came away from the door to stand before Tsuna, steps steady. If he had to keep his eyes fixed on Tsuna's chest and not the gentleness of Tsuna's gaze, that was no one's business but his own. When he was a hand's breadth from Tsuna, Hayato knelt and lifted his chin.

For the relatively minuscule amount of time he'd considered ever doing such a thing at all, he'd thought it would freak him out. All right, fine, he'd figured it would terrify him. He knew good and well where this gesture had come from, back in the mists of vampiric history, and even now it wasn't always a gesture. But he wasn't scared. As Tsuna's hands settled on his shoulders and Tsuna bent over his bared throat, he wasn't afraid at all. Not even when Tsuna's lips touched his skin, gently, formally, over the artery.

The only thing he could feel was that this was right. With both insanely mixed and divided parts of him, he knew this was right. As a vampire he submitted to Tsuna's will, and as a human...

If Tsuna ever wished to take that from him, he knew he'd give it.

At length, Tsuna drew away. "There," he said, very softly, still bending over Hayato and smiling at him, though now there was an element to it that was different. "Welcome, my own."

Hayato could only stand to look at the possessive, exultant curve of Tsuna's mouth for a few moments before his eyes dropped. "Boss," he said, softly.

Tsuna's hands tightened on his shoulders at that. "Yes," he murmured, and drew Hayato to his feet. "Mine, now." He released Hayato, and gestured. "Come. Let me introduce you to the rest of your clan."

His clan. His clan. "Yeah," Hayato said, seeking refuge in gruffness, "yeah, that sounds pretty good."

Tsuna merely smiled at him, and did.

- end -

Comments, as always, are deeply appreciated!

If you would like to know what happens after, branchandroot has written a set of linked ficlets, "Happily Ever After" that explores what happens next.