Fanfic: Dreams with Sharp Teeth
Title: Dreams with Sharp Teeth
Author: saying_sooth
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: 8059
Word Count: 6,900
Summary: Byakuran plays a game with Yamamoto as everything falls apart.
A/N: I wrote this for the Fairytale Anthology, which was released about two weeks ago, everyone should go to khr_projects to download it! Anyways, this fanfic is based on the fairy tale The Little Mermaid - the original version by Hans Christian Andersen, not Disney. Man, I miss posting my fanfic. The problem with doing a lot of community things is that I can't post my fics even when I'm finished with them. I wrote something for Fairytale Anthology, something for hanashiki's anthology (coming out December 24th), and now I'm writing for khrfest and khr_exchange. >__>
-----
Blood stained everything, even flames of tranquility. Yamamoto stared at his sword, which was sheathed with once-blue fire. Now it was an ugly brown, its pulsing turquoise enveloped by a mist of crimson. Tattered husks of his enemies littered the room around him. Yamamoto was the epicenter of a destruction that had left no survivors.
He wanted to puke. With sudden vehemence, he extinguished his katana and his box weapons, watching as Kojirou and Jirou disappeared. Then Yamamoto limped out of the room. Another enemy base annihilated, another mission complete.
----
When he got back to base, Yamamoto showered in the locker rooms open to all Vongola Mafioso. His suit, he stripped off and stuffed into the dirty laundry receptacle. His sword and his weapon boxes, he carried with him into the shower area, setting them on a specially built ledge above the showerhead. There hadn’t come a time yet when he’d needed to go into battle naked, but better to be without clothes than without weapons.
Yamamoto turned on the spray and snuffed out his thoughts in the chore of cleaning up. When he was done with scrubbing himself, he brought out Jirou and Kojirou, soaping up fur and feathers to wash away the dried blood. Yamamoto could only wish that the same practical procedure could purify his blades.
He toweled all three of them dry and scooped up a suit ensemble from the rack before returning to his locker. Jirou and Kojirou followed obediently and watched with vacant eyes as he threw on the suit - they were tired too, as much as he. They might have been manufactured as weapons, but they were still modeled after living animals. The blood sickened them. Yamamoto gave them as much free time as he could out of their boxes while not in battle; still, they weren’t happy anymore.
As he was fixing his tie, Yamamoto abruptly remembered that his first tie of the day, the one he had worn to that bloodbath, was not a standard issue black silk like the one he wore now. Rather, it was black with white speckles - not a huge difference, but it had been Gokudera who’d bought it for him. They’d found it at a boutique in Genoa, on a partly cloudy day when they’d been nineteen and spontaneous. Gokudera had straightened the knot and whispered that Yamamoto was finally looking like a man, and then the Storm Guardian had let himself be fucked in the shower back at the hotel, thighs hooked around Yamamoto’s hips and eyes burning fiery emerald.
Yamamoto felt a dull ache at the loss of the tie. Then he strolled out of the locker room, Kojirou perching on his shoulder and Jirou padding along behind them.
The hallways were only half-lit, a consequence of the late hour. It was a little after midnight, and everybody except for the guards slept to replenish their strength. The time was also the reason the common locker rooms had been empty, why Yamamoto had been able to take his shower in the solace of isolation. He was important enough in the Family that his bedroom at base had a connecting bathroom, but…
He opened the door to his bedroom, and the stench of alcohol hit him straight on. He wrinkled his nose and closed the door quietly. After letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, he saw that Uri was languishing in the corner, unfed and probably drunk as well. At these times, Gokudera didn’t have enough presence of mind to keep his empty bottles out of the kitten’s reach and it only took a few drops to inebriate the poor animal. Jirou and Kojirou hurried over to Uri, nudging the kitten to get him up on his feet. Yamamoto followed, igniting his Rain Ring and squatting to let all three have their share of flame. Uri was swaying a bit, but Yamamoto didn’t see a bottle nearby. Maybe it was more from hunger and fatigue than from alcohol. That was good, at least.
When all three animals had gotten their fill, they curled up in the corner to sleep and Yamamoto turned to survey the lump on the bed. He silently moved closer and checked for a pulse; good, it was there. He could also hear tiny snores, if he bent close and endured the fumes.
After Tsuna’s death, Gokudera had developed a disgusting ability to get shitfaced in the evening and wake up as quick and efficient as ever, no hangover perceivable. So Yamamoto was the only one who knew about his new love for alcohol, his addiction to drowning his sorrows. And tonight, Gokudera had blacked out without even taking off his suit. Yamamoto sighed and got to work.
He stripped off Gokudera’s suit jacket and shirt, maneuvering Gokudera’s limbs with the swiftness of practice. He draped the clothes over a chair and pulled the bedcovers up, tucking in Gokudera like a child. Then he took a moment to cup the Storm Guardian’s face. Gokudera still looked beautiful, even with dark bags under his eyes and a mouth that stank of both cigarettes and scotch.
Yamamoto eventually turned - he needed to do his paperwork.
But as he left the bedside, the lump that was Gokudera moved. A hand pulled on his arm.
“Hmm…babyyy, you’re baack.”
Yamamoto stopped reluctantly, knowing exactly how this situation would degenerate. “Aa. I need to do paperwork, Gokudera.”
The bedsheets rustled, and Gokudera was nuzzling his hand. “I’lltakecare‘fit” was mumbled as Gokudera took two of his fingers into his mouth. Yamamoto flinched at the enthusiasm and tried to deny that it was working.
“Come on, Gokudera.” Yamamoto tugged gently, trying to not get so worked up about the willingness and warmth of that mouth. Gokudera let Yamamoto retract his hand but didn’t let go of his arms.
“Takeshiii, jus’. Fuck. Me.” Yamamoto shook his head - he was tired, and he hated having sex with Gokudera when he was drunk. The Storm Guardian might moan and scream without reservation, but he wasn’t really seeing Yamamoto. “No, really, Gokudera, I’m-”
“Please.” Suddenly, Gokudera didn’t sound drunk, only young and in pain. “Please. I drink so much but I can’t see anything except his coffin-”
Yamamoto cut him off with a harsh kiss, tasting the acrid tang of alcohol and smoke. He couldn’t say no to Gokudera’s pleading eyes, to his inconsolable sorrow.
-----
After they were done, Gokudera slept peacefully, assisted by the opiate of alcohol. Yamamoto stayed up and dreamed of what-if’s - what if Tsuna was still alive? They wouldn’t be broken like this, neither the Family nor this relationship. Yamamoto dreamed of days spent roaming the rolling hills of Italy - Tsuna had sent them on a mission to “build team dynamics,” which was really a ten-day honeymoon for two love-struck 20-somethings.
Now, they had this cycle of missions and sex - murder by day and self-destruction by night. They attacked each other rather than kissed, and the act was more like rape than anything else, intent on release and pain. Yamamoto stroked Gokudera’s silver hair, trying to blot out the sight of his red, swollen lips. It shouldn’t have been like this.
Yamamoto dreamed of an impossible life, one in which he had met Gokudera but not the Vongola. They would both live in Namimori, in the rooms above Take Sushi or maybe in an apartment of their own. Yamamoto would take up the sushi life and coach a Little League team on the side, and Gokudera would make fireworks, or maybe become a professional pianist. They wouldn’t be rich but they would be comfortable, and it would be enough. It would be paradise compared to this state of desolation, of watching the Vongola crumble around them.
-----
When Yamamoto woke up the next morning, Gokudera had already gotten dressed and left for work. The Rain Guardian was slower to get out of bed; now that the Vongola was under attack, he didn’t have to train rookies in the morning or go to strategy meetings in the afternoon. All he had were black file missions and paperwork. Every week, Kusakabe would supply the location of enemy bases to Gokudera. Gokudera would draw up infiltration and assassination plans, and Yamamoto would carry them out, one each day.
Eventually, Yamamoto dragged himself up. He brushed his teeth, shaved off his stubble and put on a new suit. He left Jirou and Kojirou to nap a little more while he grabbed a cup of coffee and some breakfast. Yamamoto also grabbed a second plate of food while in the kitchen; chances were, Gokudera had skipped his meal.
He knocked on the office door quietly before walking in. Gokudera looked up briefly and went back to what he was reading. “You didn’t do your paperwork for yesterday’s mission.” he said by way of greeting.
Yamamoto gently set down the plate on Gokudera’s desk. “I’m sorry. Should I do it now?”
“No, I finished it this morning.” Gokudera didn’t look up, either at the food or at Yamamoto. Instead, he opened a drawer and drew a familiar black folder. “I have another mission for you. A small base belonging to an inconspicuous family, but they’re the weakest link in the circle of families trafficking Mist Rings to the Millefiore.”
“…Ok.” Yamamoto wanted to grab the pen out of Gokudera’s fingers and make him take a break, but instead he took the folder. “Don’t forget to eat, Gokudera. I’ll be in our room if you need me.”
Gokudera waved his hand in dismissal.
-----
Yamamoto sliced and attacked, throwing one sword like a lance to pin an incoming enemy to the wall while reaching for Jirou and another hilt. Someone earlier had managed to skim his temple with a bullet, and blood was pouring into his eye. His head throbbed, and the enemies kept on coming. There shouldn’t have been so many Mafioso in this base, especially not so many who were strong enough to wield rings and boxes. They’d been expecting him.
Yamamoto had a premonition of his death - a bullet to the brain, then his body decapitated and his head used as a trophy as was done by the samurais of old - and gritted his teeth. He wasn’t dead yet.
When the second-to-last blow came, right before Yamamoto fell unconscious, he felt a pang of regret. Gokudera wouldn’t have anyone to comfort him tonight.
-----
Yamamoto awoke, and he was still alive. He stared up at the cracked ceiling and felt the cold tile underneath his back, wondering why he was alone in the room. Where had all the other Mafioso gone? He turned his head as he saw movement at the edge of his vision - someone with spikes of white hair was sitting next to him, eating marshmallows.
“Hello, Takeshi-kun~”
Yamamoto writhed, reaching for a sword and screaming when excruciating pain shot through his body.
“Takeshi-kun, I wouldn’t move so much if I were you.” Byakuran popped another sweet into his mouth. “My subordinate injected you with a toxin, so please behave~”
“You. Murdered. Tsuna. And. My. Father.” Yamamoto aimed a vicious hatred at the head of the Millefiore family, little spasms of pain still making him jerk involuntarily.
Byakuran waved an admonishing finger. “Now, now, Tsunayoshi’s death was strictly business. As for your father, both you and I know that if you had never joined the Vongola Famiglia, I never would have touched your father. So in fact, Takeshi-kun, you’re also partly to blame.”
Yamamoto whitened and wanted to deny the claim, but the words stuck in his throat. “He was a civilian! You had no right to touch him!”
“Ne, this is a war, Takeshi-kun. You make all these assassinations, day and night. Haven’t you ever broken into a home, killed someone who wasn’t wearing a suit or holding a weapon? If the Vongola does not make a distinction, why should I?” Byakuran put his marshmallow bag to the side, tilting his head to the side with a smile.
Yamamoto went still. He’d completed innumerable kills for the Family, but he’d never questioned the orders. Tsuna would never touch a civilian, would he? Of course not. He couldn’t let Byakuran get to him. And it didn’t matter anyways. “Stop fucking around and kill me already.” He snarled. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” Yamamoto regretted that he wouldn’t be alive to tell Gokudera of Byakuran’s appearance. He was sure that if Gokudera knew, he’d be able to come up with a plan to take out the Millefiore leader.
“But Takeshi-kun, I’m not going to kill you~”
Yamamoto’s face contorted and his leg kicked out reflexively. The pain made him grit his teeth as he got his body under control, but he was determined not to scream again.
“I can see you don’t believe me.” Byakuran leaned close, to stare into Yamamoto’s eyes. “But I know you don’t belong in this world, Takeshi-kun. You’re a civilian yourself, aren’t you? Tired of killing, tired of war…I understand more than you think.” Byakuran rested his chin on a hand, looking fondly at Yamamoto. “I could send you away from this situation, you know. Not just to another part of this world, to another world entirely. You should know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The Phalaenopsis Paradox.”
Yamamoto kept silent. Byakuran’s eyes were violet and almost glittering with malice.
“Well, think about it, Takeshi-kun. Decide quickly. I’m going to break the Vongola Famiglia soon, and it’d be a shame if you were collateral damage. But I’m not going to stall my plans just for you. Good-bye~ The toxin will wear off by itself~”
Then the Millefiore leader disintegrated into disconnected pixels. Yamamoto groaned as he saw a little wisp of smoke - it came from the small hologram projector on the floor next to him. He hadn’t even noticed it until its self-destruction. Now he didn’t even know if Byakuran was really in Japan. The meeting had left nothing except for questions and a gnawing despair.
When he could move without pain, Yamamoto stood up gingerly and hunted around for his weapons. To his surprise, he found all four of his swords and all of his weapon boxes. He started to hobble back to base but stopped, feeling as if he were being watched. If the Millefiore had been able to defeat him so easily, they could’ve also placed a tracker on him to learn the location of the Vongola base. He ducked into a clothing shop, grabbing a sweatshirt and a pair of slacks before making his way to the counter. He paid with cash, adding a substantial tip so the salesperson would forget his blood-spattered appearance. Yamamoto changed in their dressing rooms and put his suit in a plastic bag, planning to dispose of it later.
He spent the night at a cheap motel, not bothering to clean his wounds and falling into bed almost as soon as the door had closed. He slept the best he’d had in who-knew-how-long, even though the mattress was hard and the sheets were itchy. Yamamoto told himself that he didn’t feel relief at getting out of dealing with Gokudera.
-----
In the morning, Yamamoto took a shower and washed away the dried blood from the night before. He assessed his wounds in the bathroom mirror - lots of bruises and burns, but the only thing requiring attention was his temple, where that bullet had nicked him as it flew past. He got out the small emergency kit he kept in the pocket of his suit jacket (bandaids, alcohol pads, a needle and thread, but that was usually all he needed and it was thin enough to be stored easily) and hissed as he disinfected the wound. Then he stuck a bandaid on, one with Ryohei-sempai’s sun flames coated on the inside. He could feel the skin starting to knit itself together.
Then he cursed. That was stupid - he needed to purge himself with tranquility flames, but the process would also negate the bandaid. He ripped it off, not wanting to waste the healing.
Once he’d taken a few deep breaths, Yamamoto felt the surge of calm wash over him and sooth away his annoyance. Afterwards, he felt a little lightheaded because of the overload of tranquility, but it would destroy any trackers, electronic or flame-based (Giannini had developed these neat little mist-flame bugs which worked as trackers, maybe the Millefiore technicians had too). Yamamoto stuck the bandaid on again before completing a similar procedure with Jirou, Kojirou and his swords, carefully increasing the amount of flame he fed into them until its power extinguished everything that wasn’t also Rain. Last of all, he burned his suit from last night. Only after doing all that did Yamamoto feel safe to go back to base.
He was not received well. Gokudera met him at the entrance, scowling when he saw Yamamoto’s casual clothing. “What’d you do, decide to go out partying after your mission?”
“Ah, no. Um…let’s go back to your office before talking about it?”
“Hmph, fine.” There was a chilly silence between them all through the corridors, and Yamamoto floundered in the hostility. What was he supposed to say or do? He knew he wanted to ask if Gokudera slept alright, if he’d eaten breakfast, but Gokudera probably wouldn’t allow those questions until he’d made his report.
They trooped into Gokudera’s office, and then Gokudera was behind his desk and he was all business. “You didn’t bring your cell phone, you didn’t come back. I sent a couple people over to the enemy base you were at last night, and they found nothing but corpses. You suppressed all traces of your flame until this morning, when Giannini confirmed your flame signature. What happened?”
How much should he reveal? Byakuran had made him an offer, and while he had no intention of accepting it, Gokudera might take it the wrong way. “Byakuran had his subordinates leave a hologram projector inside the base, and he appeared last night after the fight. The hologram projector self-destructed, but I was afraid that the Millefiore had also planted tracking devices, so I avoided the base. I bought new clothes, burned my suit, purged myself and my weapons before coming back.” He paused. “I’m sorry that I didn’t inform you of my plans.”
Gokudera waved away the apology. “Any contact with the base might have uncovered our location. You did the right thing.” A couple years ago, it would’ve taken the threat of torture to wring that out of Gokudera, but Yamamoto didn’t get any joy out of hearing it now. “What did Byakuran say to you? You said it was a hologram-maker, so that means he might not be in Japan, but he’s definitely keep track of what we’re doing.” Gokudera’s mouth twisted in a half-sneer, what he always wore when he plotted against the leader of Millefiore. It was a mix of intelligence and rage, and Yamamoto had never liked it.
“He said that he was going to break the Vongola soon. Since you and the Ninth are the two impromptu leaders, I assume that means…”
“Pompous ass, announcing it ahead of time.” Gokudera shook his head, probably filing away Yamamoto’s information for another time. Green eyes examined the Rain Guardian, taking in the bandaid on the side of his head and other details. “Do you need medical attention? And get yourself into a suit - that sweatshirt is too big.”
“No, I’m fine. Is there anything else you need me for?”
Gokudera hesitated. “Byakuran’s appearance has thrown off all our plans, but if you’re up to it, here are the details.” He drew out another folder and passed it over.
The familiar sight reminded Yamamoto of what Byakuran had accused the Vongola of last night. “Gokudera…can I ask you something?”
Gokudera looked at him evenly. “Go ahead.”
“Have I…have any of my assassinations concerned a civilian?” Yamamoto knew the answer the moment Gokudera stopped meeting his eyes.
“You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”
“But…but why? They don’t have anything to do with the Mafia!” They’re just like my father. “Aren’t there rules about this?”
“There are.” Gokudera admitted. “But Byakuran broke them first, when he invited the Tenth to a negotiation and shot him in cold blood. And then he kept breaking them, with his Vongola Hunt. What was I supposed to do, stand by and watch him slaughter everyone?”
It was logical, and it was true, but Yamamoto had civilian blood on his hands (someone’s mother, father, sister, brother, child) and bile came up his throat. “T-Tsuna wouldn’t have harmed civilians, no matter what Byakuran did.”
Gokudera flinched. It was the worst way Yamamoto could have hurt him. “I know that. You think I don’t know that? But it was necessary.”
“And I carried them out.”
Gokudera’s eyes snapped to Yamamoto’s face, hearing a brittleness in that sentence that scared him. He’d always known this day would come, when Yamamoto would be faced with all the skeletons Gokudera carried on his back. “You did, but you didn’t know what you were doing.”
Yamamoto’s eyes were glazed over. It was absurd that a hitman would be so naïve, Gokudera thought. But he understood. Yamamoto knew that his battles were real, but he still believed this to be game in the sense that there were rules that had to be adhered to. He thought that whoever broke the rules would automatically lose, but that wasn’t true at all. And could Gokudera comfort him, now that Yamamoto had finally stumbled upon this revelation? No. Because there was still the war to be won.
“I still…” There was a vicious clarity overcoming Yamamoto’s mind. This was why his blades were going putrid with blood. He had always suspected, because some of his victims put up too little resistance to be Mafia. Or they were old, too old to be in active service, and there was a rule against attacking retired Mafioso, wasn’t there?
“Snap out of it, Yamamoto.” Gokudera said sharply. “You can’t be weak now. You chose this life, remember? Reborn talked to you when the Ninth was going to retire - he told you that you could go back to sushi and baseball. Squalo would’ve filled in as Rain Guardian, but you said you were going to stick with it, through whatever came our way.”
“I chose this life for Tsuna. For you.” But now Tsuna was dead and their relationship had soured, so he was staying because he had nothing to go back to.
“That was stupid. Should we have told you horror stories of what could happen? I thought you already knew - I told you about my childhood, didn’t I?” Not only about his mother. About running away, about transitioning from the sheltered male heir of a Mafia family to a runaway brat living in the slums. About being chased away by the shopkeepers on good days, thrashed and beaten on the bad ones. He still had the scars.
“But I thought…” He’d thought that Tsuna would make something good and honorable out of the Family, no matter what Mafia traditions were.
“Honor is not important right now.” Gokudera told him, as inscrutable as a statue of Buddha. “Victory is. Byakuran will take over the world, not just Italy and Japan, if he is allowed to. So we will stop him.”
It was as simple as that. Yamamoto bowed, retreated from the room to go study his black folder in solitude.
After he was gone, Gokudera put his face in his hands and exhaled slowly. He hoped he’d done the right thing. Yamamoto couldn’t be driven like this. He didn’t want to drive Yamamoto like this. But it was only for a few more days. Then everything would come to a head, and nothing would matter anymore.
-----
That night’s warehouse was empty of both inhabitants and the crates of AK-47s Yamamoto had been expecting. Instead, there was another hologram projector.
“Hi Takeshi-kun~”
Yamamoto stood stiffly before it, sword drawn and itching to be used. “Hello. You seem to know where I’ll be sent before I do.”
“Exactly! You’ll never complete a mission successfully again.” Yamamoto wanted to decapitate the bastard. “But have you thought about my offer?”
“Yes. I refuse.”
“Really? You haven’t even heard my terms yet.”
“Then let me hear them, so I can refuse again.” If he could engulf the hologram maker in tranquility flames, maybe he could stop its self-destruction.
“There are lots of worlds out there, you know. I’ve traveled to a lot of them, and I’ve collected information on many more.” Byakuran ate a marshmallow slowly, his eyes glinting with amusement at Yamamoto’s impatience. “In one world that I visited…I landed in Namimori, and you were the owner of a sushi shop. I asked for salmon, and you told me about your husband, who seemed to be that Storm Guardian of yours. It was very touching, you know. You were very happy.”
Yamamoto reeled. It was so much like his fantasy that Byakuran must’ve read his thoughts somehow, peered into his mind.
“I can transfer you into that world, Takeshi-kun. Or rather, Shou-chan can! It does sound tempting, doesn’t it?”
Yamamoto shook his head. “No. It isn’t possible.” Couldn’t be possible.
“Oh, but doesn’t the infamous Bovino bazooka do the same thing? It just drags you back after 5 minutes. Shou-chan has just made it so you won’t come back~ So if you believe in that bazooka, this should be possible too! Of course, you’ll have to do something for me in return for this transfer.”
“…And what would that be?”
Byakuran smiled. “You’ll have to kill the Gokudera-kun of this world.”
“No. Never. Never.”
Yamamoto grabbed at the hologram projector, but his flame seemed to trigger its disintegration. He was left with a pile of dust in his hands, Byakuran’s laugh echoing in his ears.
-----
Gokudera was drunk again. Even though Yamamoto came back early that night, Gokudera smelled of smoke and gin. Yamamoto engulfed him in a hug, not caring that Gokudera couldn’t see him, wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. “I love you, Hayato. We’re going to make it out of this together, ok? Believe in me.”
He released the Storm Guardian to find him out cold and drooling on his shirt.
-----
Yamamoto crushed the hologram projector himself the next night, when he burst into a fully-lit mansion and found nothing except furniture. He didn’t want to talk to Byakuran.
-----
One day more, and the hologram was already running when Yamamoto broke into the enemy base. He didn’t see Byakuran - instead, there was a pixelated Gokudera, imbibing shots of whiskey in their bed.
“Takeshi-kun~ I’m sad that you ignored me last night~”
Yamamoto’s knuckles turned white around the hilt of his katana. “What is that.”
“That is a camera one of my subordinates has smuggled into your base.” The hologram briefly showed Byakuran’s face before swinging back to Gokudera. “I wanted to show you what I can do, Takeshi-kun. Watch closely.”
Their bedroom door swung open and someone came in, clothed in standard Mafia gear. Yamamoto couldn’t see the person’s face because the camera wasn’t at a good angle, but his stomach turned in fear. Gokudera couldn’t defend himself, not like this.
The stranger came to Gokudera’s bedside, and Gokudera looked up in surprise for a split second before he was being strangled. In front of Yamamoto’s eyes, hands were going around Gokudera’s throat and the whisky bottle shattered on the floor. Gokudera’s struggling was useless - he was way too drunk for this, and Yamamoto was a half hour away. His heart thumped when Uri jumped on the attacker’s back (maybe it would work? Uri was fierce) but the little cat was shaken off easily, and Gokudera barely got a breath in before his windpipe was forcibly closed again.
“Stop this.” Yamamoto’s voice came out as a desperate croak. “Stop it!” He reached out for Gokudera but his hand passed through the hologram easily.
Maybe it was his begging and maybe it was Byakuran’s whim, but the Mafioso stopped abruptly. Instead, he took out a syringe and injected Gokudera as the Storm Guardian shook with coughs, and in a moment Gokudera fell back on the bed.
Yamamoto couldn’t bear to ask if he was dead. Byakuran would tell him soon enough, whatever the case.
“He’s only unconscious. I wanted to give you another chance to escape this world, Takeshi-kun~”
“…And if I won’t kill him, you will?”
The hologram came back to Byakuran. “I will.” he agreed affably. “Tomorrow, at noon, Gokudera Hayato will be shot in his office, killed despite all his protection. Even if you find the subordinate who strangled him tonight, I have plenty more who can do the job. Even if you try to protect him yourself, you will only be killed. And that would be a shame, because you’re such a nice guy, Takeshi-kun. Not a natural born assassin at all.”
Yamamoto felt like his blood had frozen in his veins. Byakuran had penetrated their defenses so completely - how had this happened? Byakuran could really crush them as easily as he claimed. Unless… “This is an illusion.”
Byakuran shrugged. “Believe what you like, you will see the truth when you go back. And maybe then you’ll rethink your refusal. It does you no good to keep Gokudera-kun alive, you realize. This way, he will die in his sleep, in much less pain and suffering than he will go through tomorrow. And you can kill him any way you’d like - my subordinate injected him with a sleeping tonic so he won’t wake up. Afterwards, go out into the street and release your flame. Shou-chan will find you~ Goodbye, Takeshi-kun~”
The hologram flickered and faded, and then all Yamamoto could see were blank white walls. He inhaled metal-tinted smoke from the now-useless projector, and he came back to his senses.
He flew rather than ran, propelling himself with flamed swords until he came to the entrance to the base.
He saw no one as he raced through the hallways, and his heart stopped when he saw that their bedroom door was open. Inside was just what he’d seen on Byakuran’s camera screen - Gokudera sprawled obscenely on the bed, bruise marks on his pale neck. Uri was still stunned and mewling with pain, and Yamamoto wanted to tend to him but couldn’t move away from Gokudera. He crawled into bed in a daze, placing Gokudera’s head on his lap and stroking the silver hair softly. What should he do? What could he do?
-----
Second part
Author: saying_sooth
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: 8059
Word Count: 6,900
Summary: Byakuran plays a game with Yamamoto as everything falls apart.
A/N: I wrote this for the Fairytale Anthology, which was released about two weeks ago, everyone should go to khr_projects to download it! Anyways, this fanfic is based on the fairy tale The Little Mermaid - the original version by Hans Christian Andersen, not Disney. Man, I miss posting my fanfic. The problem with doing a lot of community things is that I can't post my fics even when I'm finished with them. I wrote something for Fairytale Anthology, something for hanashiki's anthology (coming out December 24th), and now I'm writing for khrfest and khr_exchange. >__>
-----
Blood stained everything, even flames of tranquility. Yamamoto stared at his sword, which was sheathed with once-blue fire. Now it was an ugly brown, its pulsing turquoise enveloped by a mist of crimson. Tattered husks of his enemies littered the room around him. Yamamoto was the epicenter of a destruction that had left no survivors.
He wanted to puke. With sudden vehemence, he extinguished his katana and his box weapons, watching as Kojirou and Jirou disappeared. Then Yamamoto limped out of the room. Another enemy base annihilated, another mission complete.
----
When he got back to base, Yamamoto showered in the locker rooms open to all Vongola Mafioso. His suit, he stripped off and stuffed into the dirty laundry receptacle. His sword and his weapon boxes, he carried with him into the shower area, setting them on a specially built ledge above the showerhead. There hadn’t come a time yet when he’d needed to go into battle naked, but better to be without clothes than without weapons.
Yamamoto turned on the spray and snuffed out his thoughts in the chore of cleaning up. When he was done with scrubbing himself, he brought out Jirou and Kojirou, soaping up fur and feathers to wash away the dried blood. Yamamoto could only wish that the same practical procedure could purify his blades.
He toweled all three of them dry and scooped up a suit ensemble from the rack before returning to his locker. Jirou and Kojirou followed obediently and watched with vacant eyes as he threw on the suit - they were tired too, as much as he. They might have been manufactured as weapons, but they were still modeled after living animals. The blood sickened them. Yamamoto gave them as much free time as he could out of their boxes while not in battle; still, they weren’t happy anymore.
As he was fixing his tie, Yamamoto abruptly remembered that his first tie of the day, the one he had worn to that bloodbath, was not a standard issue black silk like the one he wore now. Rather, it was black with white speckles - not a huge difference, but it had been Gokudera who’d bought it for him. They’d found it at a boutique in Genoa, on a partly cloudy day when they’d been nineteen and spontaneous. Gokudera had straightened the knot and whispered that Yamamoto was finally looking like a man, and then the Storm Guardian had let himself be fucked in the shower back at the hotel, thighs hooked around Yamamoto’s hips and eyes burning fiery emerald.
Yamamoto felt a dull ache at the loss of the tie. Then he strolled out of the locker room, Kojirou perching on his shoulder and Jirou padding along behind them.
The hallways were only half-lit, a consequence of the late hour. It was a little after midnight, and everybody except for the guards slept to replenish their strength. The time was also the reason the common locker rooms had been empty, why Yamamoto had been able to take his shower in the solace of isolation. He was important enough in the Family that his bedroom at base had a connecting bathroom, but…
He opened the door to his bedroom, and the stench of alcohol hit him straight on. He wrinkled his nose and closed the door quietly. After letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, he saw that Uri was languishing in the corner, unfed and probably drunk as well. At these times, Gokudera didn’t have enough presence of mind to keep his empty bottles out of the kitten’s reach and it only took a few drops to inebriate the poor animal. Jirou and Kojirou hurried over to Uri, nudging the kitten to get him up on his feet. Yamamoto followed, igniting his Rain Ring and squatting to let all three have their share of flame. Uri was swaying a bit, but Yamamoto didn’t see a bottle nearby. Maybe it was more from hunger and fatigue than from alcohol. That was good, at least.
When all three animals had gotten their fill, they curled up in the corner to sleep and Yamamoto turned to survey the lump on the bed. He silently moved closer and checked for a pulse; good, it was there. He could also hear tiny snores, if he bent close and endured the fumes.
After Tsuna’s death, Gokudera had developed a disgusting ability to get shitfaced in the evening and wake up as quick and efficient as ever, no hangover perceivable. So Yamamoto was the only one who knew about his new love for alcohol, his addiction to drowning his sorrows. And tonight, Gokudera had blacked out without even taking off his suit. Yamamoto sighed and got to work.
He stripped off Gokudera’s suit jacket and shirt, maneuvering Gokudera’s limbs with the swiftness of practice. He draped the clothes over a chair and pulled the bedcovers up, tucking in Gokudera like a child. Then he took a moment to cup the Storm Guardian’s face. Gokudera still looked beautiful, even with dark bags under his eyes and a mouth that stank of both cigarettes and scotch.
Yamamoto eventually turned - he needed to do his paperwork.
But as he left the bedside, the lump that was Gokudera moved. A hand pulled on his arm.
“Hmm…babyyy, you’re baack.”
Yamamoto stopped reluctantly, knowing exactly how this situation would degenerate. “Aa. I need to do paperwork, Gokudera.”
The bedsheets rustled, and Gokudera was nuzzling his hand. “I’lltakecare‘fit” was mumbled as Gokudera took two of his fingers into his mouth. Yamamoto flinched at the enthusiasm and tried to deny that it was working.
“Come on, Gokudera.” Yamamoto tugged gently, trying to not get so worked up about the willingness and warmth of that mouth. Gokudera let Yamamoto retract his hand but didn’t let go of his arms.
“Takeshiii, jus’. Fuck. Me.” Yamamoto shook his head - he was tired, and he hated having sex with Gokudera when he was drunk. The Storm Guardian might moan and scream without reservation, but he wasn’t really seeing Yamamoto. “No, really, Gokudera, I’m-”
“Please.” Suddenly, Gokudera didn’t sound drunk, only young and in pain. “Please. I drink so much but I can’t see anything except his coffin-”
Yamamoto cut him off with a harsh kiss, tasting the acrid tang of alcohol and smoke. He couldn’t say no to Gokudera’s pleading eyes, to his inconsolable sorrow.
-----
After they were done, Gokudera slept peacefully, assisted by the opiate of alcohol. Yamamoto stayed up and dreamed of what-if’s - what if Tsuna was still alive? They wouldn’t be broken like this, neither the Family nor this relationship. Yamamoto dreamed of days spent roaming the rolling hills of Italy - Tsuna had sent them on a mission to “build team dynamics,” which was really a ten-day honeymoon for two love-struck 20-somethings.
Now, they had this cycle of missions and sex - murder by day and self-destruction by night. They attacked each other rather than kissed, and the act was more like rape than anything else, intent on release and pain. Yamamoto stroked Gokudera’s silver hair, trying to blot out the sight of his red, swollen lips. It shouldn’t have been like this.
Yamamoto dreamed of an impossible life, one in which he had met Gokudera but not the Vongola. They would both live in Namimori, in the rooms above Take Sushi or maybe in an apartment of their own. Yamamoto would take up the sushi life and coach a Little League team on the side, and Gokudera would make fireworks, or maybe become a professional pianist. They wouldn’t be rich but they would be comfortable, and it would be enough. It would be paradise compared to this state of desolation, of watching the Vongola crumble around them.
-----
When Yamamoto woke up the next morning, Gokudera had already gotten dressed and left for work. The Rain Guardian was slower to get out of bed; now that the Vongola was under attack, he didn’t have to train rookies in the morning or go to strategy meetings in the afternoon. All he had were black file missions and paperwork. Every week, Kusakabe would supply the location of enemy bases to Gokudera. Gokudera would draw up infiltration and assassination plans, and Yamamoto would carry them out, one each day.
Eventually, Yamamoto dragged himself up. He brushed his teeth, shaved off his stubble and put on a new suit. He left Jirou and Kojirou to nap a little more while he grabbed a cup of coffee and some breakfast. Yamamoto also grabbed a second plate of food while in the kitchen; chances were, Gokudera had skipped his meal.
He knocked on the office door quietly before walking in. Gokudera looked up briefly and went back to what he was reading. “You didn’t do your paperwork for yesterday’s mission.” he said by way of greeting.
Yamamoto gently set down the plate on Gokudera’s desk. “I’m sorry. Should I do it now?”
“No, I finished it this morning.” Gokudera didn’t look up, either at the food or at Yamamoto. Instead, he opened a drawer and drew a familiar black folder. “I have another mission for you. A small base belonging to an inconspicuous family, but they’re the weakest link in the circle of families trafficking Mist Rings to the Millefiore.”
“…Ok.” Yamamoto wanted to grab the pen out of Gokudera’s fingers and make him take a break, but instead he took the folder. “Don’t forget to eat, Gokudera. I’ll be in our room if you need me.”
Gokudera waved his hand in dismissal.
-----
Yamamoto sliced and attacked, throwing one sword like a lance to pin an incoming enemy to the wall while reaching for Jirou and another hilt. Someone earlier had managed to skim his temple with a bullet, and blood was pouring into his eye. His head throbbed, and the enemies kept on coming. There shouldn’t have been so many Mafioso in this base, especially not so many who were strong enough to wield rings and boxes. They’d been expecting him.
Yamamoto had a premonition of his death - a bullet to the brain, then his body decapitated and his head used as a trophy as was done by the samurais of old - and gritted his teeth. He wasn’t dead yet.
When the second-to-last blow came, right before Yamamoto fell unconscious, he felt a pang of regret. Gokudera wouldn’t have anyone to comfort him tonight.
-----
Yamamoto awoke, and he was still alive. He stared up at the cracked ceiling and felt the cold tile underneath his back, wondering why he was alone in the room. Where had all the other Mafioso gone? He turned his head as he saw movement at the edge of his vision - someone with spikes of white hair was sitting next to him, eating marshmallows.
“Hello, Takeshi-kun~”
Yamamoto writhed, reaching for a sword and screaming when excruciating pain shot through his body.
“Takeshi-kun, I wouldn’t move so much if I were you.” Byakuran popped another sweet into his mouth. “My subordinate injected you with a toxin, so please behave~”
“You. Murdered. Tsuna. And. My. Father.” Yamamoto aimed a vicious hatred at the head of the Millefiore family, little spasms of pain still making him jerk involuntarily.
Byakuran waved an admonishing finger. “Now, now, Tsunayoshi’s death was strictly business. As for your father, both you and I know that if you had never joined the Vongola Famiglia, I never would have touched your father. So in fact, Takeshi-kun, you’re also partly to blame.”
Yamamoto whitened and wanted to deny the claim, but the words stuck in his throat. “He was a civilian! You had no right to touch him!”
“Ne, this is a war, Takeshi-kun. You make all these assassinations, day and night. Haven’t you ever broken into a home, killed someone who wasn’t wearing a suit or holding a weapon? If the Vongola does not make a distinction, why should I?” Byakuran put his marshmallow bag to the side, tilting his head to the side with a smile.
Yamamoto went still. He’d completed innumerable kills for the Family, but he’d never questioned the orders. Tsuna would never touch a civilian, would he? Of course not. He couldn’t let Byakuran get to him. And it didn’t matter anyways. “Stop fucking around and kill me already.” He snarled. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” Yamamoto regretted that he wouldn’t be alive to tell Gokudera of Byakuran’s appearance. He was sure that if Gokudera knew, he’d be able to come up with a plan to take out the Millefiore leader.
“But Takeshi-kun, I’m not going to kill you~”
Yamamoto’s face contorted and his leg kicked out reflexively. The pain made him grit his teeth as he got his body under control, but he was determined not to scream again.
“I can see you don’t believe me.” Byakuran leaned close, to stare into Yamamoto’s eyes. “But I know you don’t belong in this world, Takeshi-kun. You’re a civilian yourself, aren’t you? Tired of killing, tired of war…I understand more than you think.” Byakuran rested his chin on a hand, looking fondly at Yamamoto. “I could send you away from this situation, you know. Not just to another part of this world, to another world entirely. You should know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The Phalaenopsis Paradox.”
Yamamoto kept silent. Byakuran’s eyes were violet and almost glittering with malice.
“Well, think about it, Takeshi-kun. Decide quickly. I’m going to break the Vongola Famiglia soon, and it’d be a shame if you were collateral damage. But I’m not going to stall my plans just for you. Good-bye~ The toxin will wear off by itself~”
Then the Millefiore leader disintegrated into disconnected pixels. Yamamoto groaned as he saw a little wisp of smoke - it came from the small hologram projector on the floor next to him. He hadn’t even noticed it until its self-destruction. Now he didn’t even know if Byakuran was really in Japan. The meeting had left nothing except for questions and a gnawing despair.
When he could move without pain, Yamamoto stood up gingerly and hunted around for his weapons. To his surprise, he found all four of his swords and all of his weapon boxes. He started to hobble back to base but stopped, feeling as if he were being watched. If the Millefiore had been able to defeat him so easily, they could’ve also placed a tracker on him to learn the location of the Vongola base. He ducked into a clothing shop, grabbing a sweatshirt and a pair of slacks before making his way to the counter. He paid with cash, adding a substantial tip so the salesperson would forget his blood-spattered appearance. Yamamoto changed in their dressing rooms and put his suit in a plastic bag, planning to dispose of it later.
He spent the night at a cheap motel, not bothering to clean his wounds and falling into bed almost as soon as the door had closed. He slept the best he’d had in who-knew-how-long, even though the mattress was hard and the sheets were itchy. Yamamoto told himself that he didn’t feel relief at getting out of dealing with Gokudera.
-----
In the morning, Yamamoto took a shower and washed away the dried blood from the night before. He assessed his wounds in the bathroom mirror - lots of bruises and burns, but the only thing requiring attention was his temple, where that bullet had nicked him as it flew past. He got out the small emergency kit he kept in the pocket of his suit jacket (bandaids, alcohol pads, a needle and thread, but that was usually all he needed and it was thin enough to be stored easily) and hissed as he disinfected the wound. Then he stuck a bandaid on, one with Ryohei-sempai’s sun flames coated on the inside. He could feel the skin starting to knit itself together.
Then he cursed. That was stupid - he needed to purge himself with tranquility flames, but the process would also negate the bandaid. He ripped it off, not wanting to waste the healing.
Once he’d taken a few deep breaths, Yamamoto felt the surge of calm wash over him and sooth away his annoyance. Afterwards, he felt a little lightheaded because of the overload of tranquility, but it would destroy any trackers, electronic or flame-based (Giannini had developed these neat little mist-flame bugs which worked as trackers, maybe the Millefiore technicians had too). Yamamoto stuck the bandaid on again before completing a similar procedure with Jirou, Kojirou and his swords, carefully increasing the amount of flame he fed into them until its power extinguished everything that wasn’t also Rain. Last of all, he burned his suit from last night. Only after doing all that did Yamamoto feel safe to go back to base.
He was not received well. Gokudera met him at the entrance, scowling when he saw Yamamoto’s casual clothing. “What’d you do, decide to go out partying after your mission?”
“Ah, no. Um…let’s go back to your office before talking about it?”
“Hmph, fine.” There was a chilly silence between them all through the corridors, and Yamamoto floundered in the hostility. What was he supposed to say or do? He knew he wanted to ask if Gokudera slept alright, if he’d eaten breakfast, but Gokudera probably wouldn’t allow those questions until he’d made his report.
They trooped into Gokudera’s office, and then Gokudera was behind his desk and he was all business. “You didn’t bring your cell phone, you didn’t come back. I sent a couple people over to the enemy base you were at last night, and they found nothing but corpses. You suppressed all traces of your flame until this morning, when Giannini confirmed your flame signature. What happened?”
How much should he reveal? Byakuran had made him an offer, and while he had no intention of accepting it, Gokudera might take it the wrong way. “Byakuran had his subordinates leave a hologram projector inside the base, and he appeared last night after the fight. The hologram projector self-destructed, but I was afraid that the Millefiore had also planted tracking devices, so I avoided the base. I bought new clothes, burned my suit, purged myself and my weapons before coming back.” He paused. “I’m sorry that I didn’t inform you of my plans.”
Gokudera waved away the apology. “Any contact with the base might have uncovered our location. You did the right thing.” A couple years ago, it would’ve taken the threat of torture to wring that out of Gokudera, but Yamamoto didn’t get any joy out of hearing it now. “What did Byakuran say to you? You said it was a hologram-maker, so that means he might not be in Japan, but he’s definitely keep track of what we’re doing.” Gokudera’s mouth twisted in a half-sneer, what he always wore when he plotted against the leader of Millefiore. It was a mix of intelligence and rage, and Yamamoto had never liked it.
“He said that he was going to break the Vongola soon. Since you and the Ninth are the two impromptu leaders, I assume that means…”
“Pompous ass, announcing it ahead of time.” Gokudera shook his head, probably filing away Yamamoto’s information for another time. Green eyes examined the Rain Guardian, taking in the bandaid on the side of his head and other details. “Do you need medical attention? And get yourself into a suit - that sweatshirt is too big.”
“No, I’m fine. Is there anything else you need me for?”
Gokudera hesitated. “Byakuran’s appearance has thrown off all our plans, but if you’re up to it, here are the details.” He drew out another folder and passed it over.
The familiar sight reminded Yamamoto of what Byakuran had accused the Vongola of last night. “Gokudera…can I ask you something?”
Gokudera looked at him evenly. “Go ahead.”
“Have I…have any of my assassinations concerned a civilian?” Yamamoto knew the answer the moment Gokudera stopped meeting his eyes.
“You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”
“But…but why? They don’t have anything to do with the Mafia!” They’re just like my father. “Aren’t there rules about this?”
“There are.” Gokudera admitted. “But Byakuran broke them first, when he invited the Tenth to a negotiation and shot him in cold blood. And then he kept breaking them, with his Vongola Hunt. What was I supposed to do, stand by and watch him slaughter everyone?”
It was logical, and it was true, but Yamamoto had civilian blood on his hands (someone’s mother, father, sister, brother, child) and bile came up his throat. “T-Tsuna wouldn’t have harmed civilians, no matter what Byakuran did.”
Gokudera flinched. It was the worst way Yamamoto could have hurt him. “I know that. You think I don’t know that? But it was necessary.”
“And I carried them out.”
Gokudera’s eyes snapped to Yamamoto’s face, hearing a brittleness in that sentence that scared him. He’d always known this day would come, when Yamamoto would be faced with all the skeletons Gokudera carried on his back. “You did, but you didn’t know what you were doing.”
Yamamoto’s eyes were glazed over. It was absurd that a hitman would be so naïve, Gokudera thought. But he understood. Yamamoto knew that his battles were real, but he still believed this to be game in the sense that there were rules that had to be adhered to. He thought that whoever broke the rules would automatically lose, but that wasn’t true at all. And could Gokudera comfort him, now that Yamamoto had finally stumbled upon this revelation? No. Because there was still the war to be won.
“I still…” There was a vicious clarity overcoming Yamamoto’s mind. This was why his blades were going putrid with blood. He had always suspected, because some of his victims put up too little resistance to be Mafia. Or they were old, too old to be in active service, and there was a rule against attacking retired Mafioso, wasn’t there?
“Snap out of it, Yamamoto.” Gokudera said sharply. “You can’t be weak now. You chose this life, remember? Reborn talked to you when the Ninth was going to retire - he told you that you could go back to sushi and baseball. Squalo would’ve filled in as Rain Guardian, but you said you were going to stick with it, through whatever came our way.”
“I chose this life for Tsuna. For you.” But now Tsuna was dead and their relationship had soured, so he was staying because he had nothing to go back to.
“That was stupid. Should we have told you horror stories of what could happen? I thought you already knew - I told you about my childhood, didn’t I?” Not only about his mother. About running away, about transitioning from the sheltered male heir of a Mafia family to a runaway brat living in the slums. About being chased away by the shopkeepers on good days, thrashed and beaten on the bad ones. He still had the scars.
“But I thought…” He’d thought that Tsuna would make something good and honorable out of the Family, no matter what Mafia traditions were.
“Honor is not important right now.” Gokudera told him, as inscrutable as a statue of Buddha. “Victory is. Byakuran will take over the world, not just Italy and Japan, if he is allowed to. So we will stop him.”
It was as simple as that. Yamamoto bowed, retreated from the room to go study his black folder in solitude.
After he was gone, Gokudera put his face in his hands and exhaled slowly. He hoped he’d done the right thing. Yamamoto couldn’t be driven like this. He didn’t want to drive Yamamoto like this. But it was only for a few more days. Then everything would come to a head, and nothing would matter anymore.
-----
That night’s warehouse was empty of both inhabitants and the crates of AK-47s Yamamoto had been expecting. Instead, there was another hologram projector.
“Hi Takeshi-kun~”
Yamamoto stood stiffly before it, sword drawn and itching to be used. “Hello. You seem to know where I’ll be sent before I do.”
“Exactly! You’ll never complete a mission successfully again.” Yamamoto wanted to decapitate the bastard. “But have you thought about my offer?”
“Yes. I refuse.”
“Really? You haven’t even heard my terms yet.”
“Then let me hear them, so I can refuse again.” If he could engulf the hologram maker in tranquility flames, maybe he could stop its self-destruction.
“There are lots of worlds out there, you know. I’ve traveled to a lot of them, and I’ve collected information on many more.” Byakuran ate a marshmallow slowly, his eyes glinting with amusement at Yamamoto’s impatience. “In one world that I visited…I landed in Namimori, and you were the owner of a sushi shop. I asked for salmon, and you told me about your husband, who seemed to be that Storm Guardian of yours. It was very touching, you know. You were very happy.”
Yamamoto reeled. It was so much like his fantasy that Byakuran must’ve read his thoughts somehow, peered into his mind.
“I can transfer you into that world, Takeshi-kun. Or rather, Shou-chan can! It does sound tempting, doesn’t it?”
Yamamoto shook his head. “No. It isn’t possible.” Couldn’t be possible.
“Oh, but doesn’t the infamous Bovino bazooka do the same thing? It just drags you back after 5 minutes. Shou-chan has just made it so you won’t come back~ So if you believe in that bazooka, this should be possible too! Of course, you’ll have to do something for me in return for this transfer.”
“…And what would that be?”
Byakuran smiled. “You’ll have to kill the Gokudera-kun of this world.”
“No. Never. Never.”
Yamamoto grabbed at the hologram projector, but his flame seemed to trigger its disintegration. He was left with a pile of dust in his hands, Byakuran’s laugh echoing in his ears.
-----
Gokudera was drunk again. Even though Yamamoto came back early that night, Gokudera smelled of smoke and gin. Yamamoto engulfed him in a hug, not caring that Gokudera couldn’t see him, wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. “I love you, Hayato. We’re going to make it out of this together, ok? Believe in me.”
He released the Storm Guardian to find him out cold and drooling on his shirt.
-----
Yamamoto crushed the hologram projector himself the next night, when he burst into a fully-lit mansion and found nothing except furniture. He didn’t want to talk to Byakuran.
-----
One day more, and the hologram was already running when Yamamoto broke into the enemy base. He didn’t see Byakuran - instead, there was a pixelated Gokudera, imbibing shots of whiskey in their bed.
“Takeshi-kun~ I’m sad that you ignored me last night~”
Yamamoto’s knuckles turned white around the hilt of his katana. “What is that.”
“That is a camera one of my subordinates has smuggled into your base.” The hologram briefly showed Byakuran’s face before swinging back to Gokudera. “I wanted to show you what I can do, Takeshi-kun. Watch closely.”
Their bedroom door swung open and someone came in, clothed in standard Mafia gear. Yamamoto couldn’t see the person’s face because the camera wasn’t at a good angle, but his stomach turned in fear. Gokudera couldn’t defend himself, not like this.
The stranger came to Gokudera’s bedside, and Gokudera looked up in surprise for a split second before he was being strangled. In front of Yamamoto’s eyes, hands were going around Gokudera’s throat and the whisky bottle shattered on the floor. Gokudera’s struggling was useless - he was way too drunk for this, and Yamamoto was a half hour away. His heart thumped when Uri jumped on the attacker’s back (maybe it would work? Uri was fierce) but the little cat was shaken off easily, and Gokudera barely got a breath in before his windpipe was forcibly closed again.
“Stop this.” Yamamoto’s voice came out as a desperate croak. “Stop it!” He reached out for Gokudera but his hand passed through the hologram easily.
Maybe it was his begging and maybe it was Byakuran’s whim, but the Mafioso stopped abruptly. Instead, he took out a syringe and injected Gokudera as the Storm Guardian shook with coughs, and in a moment Gokudera fell back on the bed.
Yamamoto couldn’t bear to ask if he was dead. Byakuran would tell him soon enough, whatever the case.
“He’s only unconscious. I wanted to give you another chance to escape this world, Takeshi-kun~”
“…And if I won’t kill him, you will?”
The hologram came back to Byakuran. “I will.” he agreed affably. “Tomorrow, at noon, Gokudera Hayato will be shot in his office, killed despite all his protection. Even if you find the subordinate who strangled him tonight, I have plenty more who can do the job. Even if you try to protect him yourself, you will only be killed. And that would be a shame, because you’re such a nice guy, Takeshi-kun. Not a natural born assassin at all.”
Yamamoto felt like his blood had frozen in his veins. Byakuran had penetrated their defenses so completely - how had this happened? Byakuran could really crush them as easily as he claimed. Unless… “This is an illusion.”
Byakuran shrugged. “Believe what you like, you will see the truth when you go back. And maybe then you’ll rethink your refusal. It does you no good to keep Gokudera-kun alive, you realize. This way, he will die in his sleep, in much less pain and suffering than he will go through tomorrow. And you can kill him any way you’d like - my subordinate injected him with a sleeping tonic so he won’t wake up. Afterwards, go out into the street and release your flame. Shou-chan will find you~ Goodbye, Takeshi-kun~”
The hologram flickered and faded, and then all Yamamoto could see were blank white walls. He inhaled metal-tinted smoke from the now-useless projector, and he came back to his senses.
He flew rather than ran, propelling himself with flamed swords until he came to the entrance to the base.
He saw no one as he raced through the hallways, and his heart stopped when he saw that their bedroom door was open. Inside was just what he’d seen on Byakuran’s camera screen - Gokudera sprawled obscenely on the bed, bruise marks on his pale neck. Uri was still stunned and mewling with pain, and Yamamoto wanted to tend to him but couldn’t move away from Gokudera. He crawled into bed in a daze, placing Gokudera’s head on his lap and stroking the silver hair softly. What should he do? What could he do?
-----
Second part