hearts in chains: ii
“My name is Rokudo Mukuro,” The long-haired, fine-skinned individual said, his hands steepled underneath his chin as he spoke from his perch on the windowsill.
The brunette gave him yet another once over in the slowly brightening room. “Sawada Tsunayoshi. But you already knew that.”
“No, actually,” Mukuro said, looking a bit too much like a pleased kitten that had received a prize. “I only knew that you were the heir to the Vongola lineage. In fact, I expected you not to give your last name. It’s tradition to be known by one name in the Vongola, is it not?”
Tsunayoshi thought about it for a moment, then chuckled quietly and replied, “I suppose not. I’m not sitting on the chair just yet, however. Which is why I suppose you’ve taken me.”
“For your money?” Mukuro threw his head back and laughed loudly, and the smaller youth could only stare, slightly confused, but he did and said nothing. “Never, never! I have more money than I could ever use in a lifetime.”
He stared at him, cautiously posing his question. “Why am I here, then?”
Suddenly, he’d been closer than was comfortably acceptable. Their faces were so close that Mukuro could’ve blinked and his eyelashes could’ve brushed Tsunayoshi’s face. He smiled a remarkably large and dangerous smile, his red eye so close that the young heir could see that there was something written in the middle, in place of a pupil.
“Obviously,” Mukuro said, his voice so dark that it stained the room. “So that I can posses you.”
…
“I can’t fucking believe this!” The light-haired swordsman stomped his foot down, his long hair tussled as he raved, tearing things in the hall as they walked and kicking anyone in his way, except for the solemn brat beside him. “Fucking trash! If he’s going to go and do something stupid like being kidnapped, he ought to just give the position to my son-of-a-bitch boss!”
“Xanxus wouldn’t be very happy to hear you say that, Squalo,” The black-haired youth noted quietly, not in the mood to be his usual jovial self. “Look, can you guys do it or not? Because Reborn says that if we don’t get this taken care of, there could be a war breaking out pretty soon. Things were tense when Tsuna was here. With him gone…”
“I know, I fucking know, alright?!” Squalo bit back, his scowl still firmly in place. “And it’s not a question of can we do it, it’s a question of whether our boss doesn’t kill us while we’re trying to prevent the damn thing!”
“Just…let me know, alright?” And with that, Yamamoto half-heartedly gave a wave and scuttled back to his branch, where all of Tsuna’s close personnel was working quickly to find the heir.
Gokudera hadn’t slept the whole night, or eaten. He was currently surviving off of cigarettes and worry alone, and nothing the other guardians said could appease him.
Lambo had apologized several times for his lack of care when he’d been playing in the garden, and was on the verge of crying, with so much tension in the room and no Tsuna around to levy it.
Yamamoto had none of his usual zeal, but three times his usual killing intent and determination. He’d be damned before he let Tsuna die while he was alive.
Ryohei wasn’t around to brew in the funk of the Vongola household-he was busy contacting Tsuna’s father overseas about the situation, as well as Dino Cavallone, so that in the event that their boss had been taken overseas, they could help with the search.
Reborn brooded, but never sat still long enough to regret. He could only hope that his student could take care of himself under such difficult situations. He’d trained him for anything, everything…and yet now, that it was crunch time, he couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t enough. Tsuna…if you’re dead, I’ll kill you.
For now, he pulled the trigger and shot his target in the skull, promising his swift demise.
…
There was a deafening silence as Tsunayoshi walked behind Mukuro, their footsteps echoing in the long corridor. It grew dimmer and dimmer, further away from society and windows, and the long-haired man had begun to speak. “You know, I was expecting a little more resistance from you. I heard you were trained by the most dangerous hitman in the nation.”
“Yeah, I was,” The brunette chuckled, knowing well that his tutor was now probably pointing the barrel of his gun at someone’s face, barking out orders and taking care of swift kills that were his missions. “But I know that if I were to do something, you might threaten more of my family again,” He said with a serious expression, his doe-brown eyes resolute. “In the event that I feel like you’re going to, I will not hesitate to bring you to your knees.”
Mukuro whistled at his courage, laughing quietly. “I don’t suppose you’ll just sit and take everything, then, so long as your family is safe?”
His brow was furrowed, his eyes were half-lidded, and his voice was set deep. “If that’s what it takes, do your worst.”
He couldn’t help but laugh maniacally. Fun! So much fun! When is the last time I met someone so fun?
…
When the dark-haired hitman had been lurking the halls, glaring at anyone that dared stare at him sideways, and even seeming to raise his hand to anyone too close, Gokudera could only stare, empathizing with the walking death sentence.
However, when he started glaring at some nobody, even raising his gun with blank eyes, Italian flowing from his mouth easily to threaten the poor man, even the silver-haired youth had to step in. “Mr. Reborn! That’s Antonio-he works for Hibari! Don’t-”
Obviously thrown off by his own lack of reason, he scoffed, kicked the man in the shin, and stormed off, muttering, “I wasn’t going to kill him. It was only a warning.”
Gokudera could only stare, reasonably concerned. Once Reborn lost it, it surely meant that hope was fading.
They simply couldn’t get a lead on Tsuna’s location, even though it had honestly only been a day. It was a long time for Vongola standard. According to Yamamoto, the Varia was taking their sweet time getting ready to go searching, too, particularly because their leader, Xanxus, had a grudge against Tsuna.
Just when the quarter-Japanese had sighed and was about to head back to his computer, pull his glasses on, and read through all the useless files he was bound to find, a cry resounded in the hall, and both he and Reborn rushed to follow it. Upon following the source, they found a young woman who was a servant here pointing toward the room that was typically Tsuna’s, looking horrified.
The two of them were startled, and hurried to whip out their cell phones, walkie-talkies, and pagers, alerting everyone in the building of the situation.
The Vongola Nono had collapsed, a photograph of his heir clasped tightly in his fist.
…
It had all started slowly. So very slowly that Tsunayoshi was having a hard time finding that serene place in his mind, and he was more absorbed with the pain.
Mukuro had chained him to the table with steel and titanium restrains to prevent his potential escape. They weighed heavily on his wrists and ankles, and he had to will himself not to move against them, lest they hurt more.
First was the whip. He’d been beaten first with his clothes on, mostly on his face and chest. Then, slowly, too slowly, Mukuro removed them. His teeth soon painfully joined the leather on his skin. When he’d felt satisfied, apparently just due to the time spent doing it, because Tsunayoshi did his best not to cry out, denying his captor that pleasure, he flipped the table over and unlatched the certain bolts that let his captive’s back hit the frigid air, and he decided to try something different.
“This…might hurt a bit,” He mused, more to himself than the brunette writhing beneath his torture. Tsuna only closed his eyes, willing himself not to think about it.
The more you think about it, the more you’re giving in, He told himself, over and over again, as if the mantra would save him.
And then, he could only scream in agonized horror, tears welling up in his eyes, despite his every attempt to make them stop from falling.
“…Longer than most,” Mukuro seemed to comment to his weapon, a rusted switchblade that looked as if it had seen the blood of many others before Tsunayoshi. “Look at that blood…so pure. As if it was meant to be taken.”
“You’re…sick,” His victim panted out, breathing laboriously in an attempt to make it stop. It dug across his skin once more, dipping dangerous close to his spine. He breathed, his mouth moving, but no sounds coming out. Sweat dripped from his pores-he was using every ounce of his energy trying not to pass out or give in.
He chuckled lowly, his teeth grazing the boy’s skin. “So I’ve been told,” He murmured before sinking his teeth into the boy’s collarbone, licking the blood of the wounds lazily.
…
From within the walls of the infirmary, all was tense and serene all at the same time. None of them could help being unbelievably concerned-the man who was to become the next seat of the throne was missing, and the man who currently held it had just fallen unconscious a couple hours ago. However, that same old man with wrinkles on his hands that spoke of wisdom and battles long lost and won had a smile that could put wars at a standstill, if only for a moment. It was the smile of grace, of genuine care for those he considered dear.
“Good evening, all,” He said to the room, knowing that even those that refused to acknowledge the circumstances, or simply did not wish to be seen, were listening to him, some way or another. “Reborn, Gokudera. It’s been some time since you’ve been to visit me.”
“With all due respect, Nono,” Gokudera said quietly, a cigarette on his lips, regardless of the fact that it was against regulations and protocol, “You have been in Switzerland for the past couple of months.”
The old man chuckled at the truth of the statement. “So I have. How are all of you?”
And then, the chill entered the room. It was the chill of anxiety, where all of them knew that he was only saying this as a matter of tradition. All of them knew that the only reason the boss would come back without any notice was that he had found out about their situation.
Then again, this was probably simply Timoteo’s manner of trying to get all of them to calm down. “We’ve…definitely been better,” Yamamoto chose to answer this time, Gokudera too busy clenching his fists on the legs of his slacks.
“I’m sure you’re all very worried,” The man said quietly, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes on his face. “It’s not very often that you don’t have Tsunayoshi with you.”
They all tensed up again, unsure of what else to say. The truth of the matter made the room uncomfortably silent, and the pressure was made no better by the entrance of a family nurse, who looked terribly downtrodden, and delivered no easy news.
“Nono, sir,” She started, looking as if she were about to burst into tears. “I’m sorry to say this, but…you have terminal cancer.”
Just when they thought things couldn’t take a more impossible turn, things had to go and become like this. It was terrifying, the idea of the revolution that would occur in the event that both the Vongola’s Nono and Decimo were out for the count.
Reborn stood up, kicked the nearest stool, regardless of its occupant (luckily, a grunt who knew better than to stand in his way), and stormed off, his eyebrows pulled into a tight glare.
…
It was almost six when he’d stopped, if only because Tsuna had passed out. That hadn’t lasted long-it was as if the youth had been trained to resist such a method of unconsciousness, and he woke promptly ten minutes later, a bit dazed. His stomach growling pulled him back to full consciousness, as he was acutely aware he hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours.
But…he couldn’t move if he wanted to. Mukuro had made sure of that, between his knife, teeth, and whip. He’d even burned his fingertips with a lighter, making it so that he couldn’t properly use his of touch.
His oppressor undid his restraints, leaving him lifeless on the floor for a few moments, ignoring the fact that he was naked, trembling, and defenseless. Mukuro returned with a robe that made the other youth look as if he were being swallowed alive by the fabric. He lifted him without care, taking his scratched and bruised arm-he’d stepped on it for a time, but not the way that would’ve broken it-and lifting him onto his shoulder by it. They walked down the corridor until the dawn hit the both of them, Tsuna more shocked by it than his captor.
Then, suddenly, he was dropped roughly onto a chair, and his face hit the sleek wood of the table.
“Wait here,” Mukuro said, a sly smile on his face. “I’m returning to my chambers. In an hour or so, I’ll send one of my servants to prepare you breakfast.”
He could do or say nothing, only sit and wait.
The young man couldn’t even sigh. Mukuro had left him gagged, and his limbs refused to obey his brain’s commands.
A/N: Thanks again to everyone who’s keeping up with this story in one way or another! :3
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The brunette gave him yet another once over in the slowly brightening room. “Sawada Tsunayoshi. But you already knew that.”
“No, actually,” Mukuro said, looking a bit too much like a pleased kitten that had received a prize. “I only knew that you were the heir to the Vongola lineage. In fact, I expected you not to give your last name. It’s tradition to be known by one name in the Vongola, is it not?”
Tsunayoshi thought about it for a moment, then chuckled quietly and replied, “I suppose not. I’m not sitting on the chair just yet, however. Which is why I suppose you’ve taken me.”
“For your money?” Mukuro threw his head back and laughed loudly, and the smaller youth could only stare, slightly confused, but he did and said nothing. “Never, never! I have more money than I could ever use in a lifetime.”
He stared at him, cautiously posing his question. “Why am I here, then?”
Suddenly, he’d been closer than was comfortably acceptable. Their faces were so close that Mukuro could’ve blinked and his eyelashes could’ve brushed Tsunayoshi’s face. He smiled a remarkably large and dangerous smile, his red eye so close that the young heir could see that there was something written in the middle, in place of a pupil.
“Obviously,” Mukuro said, his voice so dark that it stained the room. “So that I can posses you.”
…
“I can’t fucking believe this!” The light-haired swordsman stomped his foot down, his long hair tussled as he raved, tearing things in the hall as they walked and kicking anyone in his way, except for the solemn brat beside him. “Fucking trash! If he’s going to go and do something stupid like being kidnapped, he ought to just give the position to my son-of-a-bitch boss!”
“Xanxus wouldn’t be very happy to hear you say that, Squalo,” The black-haired youth noted quietly, not in the mood to be his usual jovial self. “Look, can you guys do it or not? Because Reborn says that if we don’t get this taken care of, there could be a war breaking out pretty soon. Things were tense when Tsuna was here. With him gone…”
“I know, I fucking know, alright?!” Squalo bit back, his scowl still firmly in place. “And it’s not a question of can we do it, it’s a question of whether our boss doesn’t kill us while we’re trying to prevent the damn thing!”
“Just…let me know, alright?” And with that, Yamamoto half-heartedly gave a wave and scuttled back to his branch, where all of Tsuna’s close personnel was working quickly to find the heir.
Gokudera hadn’t slept the whole night, or eaten. He was currently surviving off of cigarettes and worry alone, and nothing the other guardians said could appease him.
Lambo had apologized several times for his lack of care when he’d been playing in the garden, and was on the verge of crying, with so much tension in the room and no Tsuna around to levy it.
Yamamoto had none of his usual zeal, but three times his usual killing intent and determination. He’d be damned before he let Tsuna die while he was alive.
Ryohei wasn’t around to brew in the funk of the Vongola household-he was busy contacting Tsuna’s father overseas about the situation, as well as Dino Cavallone, so that in the event that their boss had been taken overseas, they could help with the search.
Reborn brooded, but never sat still long enough to regret. He could only hope that his student could take care of himself under such difficult situations. He’d trained him for anything, everything…and yet now, that it was crunch time, he couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t enough. Tsuna…if you’re dead, I’ll kill you.
For now, he pulled the trigger and shot his target in the skull, promising his swift demise.
…
There was a deafening silence as Tsunayoshi walked behind Mukuro, their footsteps echoing in the long corridor. It grew dimmer and dimmer, further away from society and windows, and the long-haired man had begun to speak. “You know, I was expecting a little more resistance from you. I heard you were trained by the most dangerous hitman in the nation.”
“Yeah, I was,” The brunette chuckled, knowing well that his tutor was now probably pointing the barrel of his gun at someone’s face, barking out orders and taking care of swift kills that were his missions. “But I know that if I were to do something, you might threaten more of my family again,” He said with a serious expression, his doe-brown eyes resolute. “In the event that I feel like you’re going to, I will not hesitate to bring you to your knees.”
Mukuro whistled at his courage, laughing quietly. “I don’t suppose you’ll just sit and take everything, then, so long as your family is safe?”
His brow was furrowed, his eyes were half-lidded, and his voice was set deep. “If that’s what it takes, do your worst.”
He couldn’t help but laugh maniacally. Fun! So much fun! When is the last time I met someone so fun?
…
When the dark-haired hitman had been lurking the halls, glaring at anyone that dared stare at him sideways, and even seeming to raise his hand to anyone too close, Gokudera could only stare, empathizing with the walking death sentence.
However, when he started glaring at some nobody, even raising his gun with blank eyes, Italian flowing from his mouth easily to threaten the poor man, even the silver-haired youth had to step in. “Mr. Reborn! That’s Antonio-he works for Hibari! Don’t-”
Obviously thrown off by his own lack of reason, he scoffed, kicked the man in the shin, and stormed off, muttering, “I wasn’t going to kill him. It was only a warning.”
Gokudera could only stare, reasonably concerned. Once Reborn lost it, it surely meant that hope was fading.
They simply couldn’t get a lead on Tsuna’s location, even though it had honestly only been a day. It was a long time for Vongola standard. According to Yamamoto, the Varia was taking their sweet time getting ready to go searching, too, particularly because their leader, Xanxus, had a grudge against Tsuna.
Just when the quarter-Japanese had sighed and was about to head back to his computer, pull his glasses on, and read through all the useless files he was bound to find, a cry resounded in the hall, and both he and Reborn rushed to follow it. Upon following the source, they found a young woman who was a servant here pointing toward the room that was typically Tsuna’s, looking horrified.
The two of them were startled, and hurried to whip out their cell phones, walkie-talkies, and pagers, alerting everyone in the building of the situation.
The Vongola Nono had collapsed, a photograph of his heir clasped tightly in his fist.
…
It had all started slowly. So very slowly that Tsunayoshi was having a hard time finding that serene place in his mind, and he was more absorbed with the pain.
Mukuro had chained him to the table with steel and titanium restrains to prevent his potential escape. They weighed heavily on his wrists and ankles, and he had to will himself not to move against them, lest they hurt more.
First was the whip. He’d been beaten first with his clothes on, mostly on his face and chest. Then, slowly, too slowly, Mukuro removed them. His teeth soon painfully joined the leather on his skin. When he’d felt satisfied, apparently just due to the time spent doing it, because Tsunayoshi did his best not to cry out, denying his captor that pleasure, he flipped the table over and unlatched the certain bolts that let his captive’s back hit the frigid air, and he decided to try something different.
“This…might hurt a bit,” He mused, more to himself than the brunette writhing beneath his torture. Tsuna only closed his eyes, willing himself not to think about it.
The more you think about it, the more you’re giving in, He told himself, over and over again, as if the mantra would save him.
And then, he could only scream in agonized horror, tears welling up in his eyes, despite his every attempt to make them stop from falling.
“…Longer than most,” Mukuro seemed to comment to his weapon, a rusted switchblade that looked as if it had seen the blood of many others before Tsunayoshi. “Look at that blood…so pure. As if it was meant to be taken.”
“You’re…sick,” His victim panted out, breathing laboriously in an attempt to make it stop. It dug across his skin once more, dipping dangerous close to his spine. He breathed, his mouth moving, but no sounds coming out. Sweat dripped from his pores-he was using every ounce of his energy trying not to pass out or give in.
He chuckled lowly, his teeth grazing the boy’s skin. “So I’ve been told,” He murmured before sinking his teeth into the boy’s collarbone, licking the blood of the wounds lazily.
…
From within the walls of the infirmary, all was tense and serene all at the same time. None of them could help being unbelievably concerned-the man who was to become the next seat of the throne was missing, and the man who currently held it had just fallen unconscious a couple hours ago. However, that same old man with wrinkles on his hands that spoke of wisdom and battles long lost and won had a smile that could put wars at a standstill, if only for a moment. It was the smile of grace, of genuine care for those he considered dear.
“Good evening, all,” He said to the room, knowing that even those that refused to acknowledge the circumstances, or simply did not wish to be seen, were listening to him, some way or another. “Reborn, Gokudera. It’s been some time since you’ve been to visit me.”
“With all due respect, Nono,” Gokudera said quietly, a cigarette on his lips, regardless of the fact that it was against regulations and protocol, “You have been in Switzerland for the past couple of months.”
The old man chuckled at the truth of the statement. “So I have. How are all of you?”
And then, the chill entered the room. It was the chill of anxiety, where all of them knew that he was only saying this as a matter of tradition. All of them knew that the only reason the boss would come back without any notice was that he had found out about their situation.
Then again, this was probably simply Timoteo’s manner of trying to get all of them to calm down. “We’ve…definitely been better,” Yamamoto chose to answer this time, Gokudera too busy clenching his fists on the legs of his slacks.
“I’m sure you’re all very worried,” The man said quietly, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes on his face. “It’s not very often that you don’t have Tsunayoshi with you.”
They all tensed up again, unsure of what else to say. The truth of the matter made the room uncomfortably silent, and the pressure was made no better by the entrance of a family nurse, who looked terribly downtrodden, and delivered no easy news.
“Nono, sir,” She started, looking as if she were about to burst into tears. “I’m sorry to say this, but…you have terminal cancer.”
Just when they thought things couldn’t take a more impossible turn, things had to go and become like this. It was terrifying, the idea of the revolution that would occur in the event that both the Vongola’s Nono and Decimo were out for the count.
Reborn stood up, kicked the nearest stool, regardless of its occupant (luckily, a grunt who knew better than to stand in his way), and stormed off, his eyebrows pulled into a tight glare.
…
It was almost six when he’d stopped, if only because Tsuna had passed out. That hadn’t lasted long-it was as if the youth had been trained to resist such a method of unconsciousness, and he woke promptly ten minutes later, a bit dazed. His stomach growling pulled him back to full consciousness, as he was acutely aware he hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours.
But…he couldn’t move if he wanted to. Mukuro had made sure of that, between his knife, teeth, and whip. He’d even burned his fingertips with a lighter, making it so that he couldn’t properly use his of touch.
His oppressor undid his restraints, leaving him lifeless on the floor for a few moments, ignoring the fact that he was naked, trembling, and defenseless. Mukuro returned with a robe that made the other youth look as if he were being swallowed alive by the fabric. He lifted him without care, taking his scratched and bruised arm-he’d stepped on it for a time, but not the way that would’ve broken it-and lifting him onto his shoulder by it. They walked down the corridor until the dawn hit the both of them, Tsuna more shocked by it than his captor.
Then, suddenly, he was dropped roughly onto a chair, and his face hit the sleek wood of the table.
“Wait here,” Mukuro said, a sly smile on his face. “I’m returning to my chambers. In an hour or so, I’ll send one of my servants to prepare you breakfast.”
He could do or say nothing, only sit and wait.
The young man couldn’t even sigh. Mukuro had left him gagged, and his limbs refused to obey his brain’s commands.
A/N: Thanks again to everyone who’s keeping up with this story in one way or another! :3
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