KHR: And All The World In Flames
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Title: And All The World In Flames
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairings: None
Rating: PG-13 (for thematic reasons and death)
Summary: You have kept him safe, tried to shield him ever since the day you both lost the only family you had left, but now, you cannot escape anymore. Fon is thinking about his grandson's life and the inevitable consequences of being related to an Arcobaleno.
A/N: Chapter 351 + old crack theories = this.
You can smell the smoke long before you're close enough to see anything but the faint glow of flames.
Not for the first time you curse your small stature, your short legs, your slow steps even as you rush over the roofs, focused on your destination. You don't know for sure it's them, you cannot know, yet a part of you knows it with a terrible, utmost certainty. Your instincts are screaming at you, begging you for help, yet you cannot run any faster.
Your family is in danger, and you are away.
For all the images of horror that your mind may have conjured up, the reality is yet worse as you come to a halt before the house. The walls that have sheltered your family for years are now being licked by hungry flames, casting an eerie glow over the tiny yard your daughter-in-law has been tending with care. You call for their names, try to reach your voice over the roar of the fire, yet it seems hopeless.
Your ears catch a sound, the call of your son as you soon realise, his voice faint as well but not weak enough to be swallowed entirely. You rush towards it, heart beating faster than ever before, your fears taunting you with cold claws around your heart.
He looks frightened but alive, reaching out towards you from one of the rooms that have not yet been claimed by fire and smoke, and for a second, you allow yourself to feel relief. There is something in his arms, you realize, something he is reaching out toward you.
"Take him," he pleads, and with just those words you realize just how precious a treasure you have just been handed. "Keep him safe, please."
"You have to get out, too!" you shout at him even as you bounce further from the house, wanting to keep the little bundle in your arms clear from the fire. "Get out now!"
"I have to get Miyoko," he protests, and just with that you know he won't listen to you. He never would listen to you when it comes to those he loves; that's how you know he is your son after all. "She'll be here right away, I just need to help her."
"Hurry!" you cry out, worry filling your mind as he doubles over and coughs. "You can't stay any longer, Miyoko will get out, she's strong enough -" Of course she is strong, every bit as strong and courageous as your son is. He never would have married her otherwise.
"I need to help her," he insists, turning back. "I will be back soon!"
For a moment, you almost believe him, almost believe that he will return, that soon enough you will see them both at the window. A split second later, though, the fire wins over, eating through the supports up above him where he cannot see. You cry his name, one desperate call for your child as the ceiling collapses on him, the room engulfed by fire.
You almost rush in, uncaring about the danger to yourself, but the treasure in your arms moves just then, crying a bit. That halts your steps just enough, enough that you don't rush out into the danger, knowing that for all your pain you have a task much more important at your hands.
There is nothing you can do, anyway, and for all that you go through the events over and over again in the years to come, you never find anything you could have done except watch in horror at the funeral pyre of your son and his wife.
It's the cries of the child that awaken you back into reality, cries of fright instead of sorrow; he is yet too young, too innocent to realize just how much he has lost in a moment. You hold him close, hum a quiet lullaby you doubt he even hears, murmur promises of safety and care and protection into his little ears.
Bit by bit, his cries subside, and in the end you are the only one who is crying, your tears soaking into the blanket the child has been wrapped in.
It's no use to stay, as you well know. This was never your home, never your place, there's nothing keeping you here now that they are gone and the child is too young to remember anyway. You cannot stay, surely, there will be questions and wondering and you have a secret to keep, a secret that is greater than either your life or the child's. At the same time you do not wish to return to your own home, not yet, not with the child.
There are too many who would wish to harm you, hurt you no matter what the means. You cannot risk having them find you with the child. Not now, not ever.
The town you settle into is small but peaceful, not far from his mother's hometown. You buy a house for the two of you, too large for just two people but it comes with a garden and a wall to keep out inquiring eyes. It is a nice place, as you soon notice, a fine place to raise a child. The two of you will be safe here until he is old and strong enough to defend himself.
His father was strong, a mocking little voice says at the back of your mind, his father was strong and look what happened. You push such malicious words aside and renew your vow to keep the child safe.
He grows fast, as you notice, one moment he is just lying on the floor and the next he is crawling all over the place, and when you turn your back for just a moment he's taking his first steps. It all reminds you of his father, of his first steps and first words, and he has his father's hair and face but his eyes are from his mother.
The child is a quick learner, even young as he is, and he picks up new things almost faster than you can think to teach them to him. The very few times he does not learn something fast, though, he takes his frustration out on whatever is nearby, and both you and Richie make sure not to attempt to console him until he is done with his fit.
The child has his father's temper, you think as he is in a fit of rage yet again, flinging his building blocks around the room as they will not settle in the form he wishes. At last it has been long enough that you can do so with a mere wistful smile instead of tears.
For all that temper he is not a bad child, though, not by any means. He loves animals, birds especially, and at times you see him lying silent and still in the garden long enough that a bird or two fly over to him, unafraid. There is a hint of smile on his face then, a peculiar little expression that is almost smug despite his young age, his eyes watchful as he follows the little birds about, not once trying to bring them harm. No, you think, he is not a bad child at all.
He never makes much contact with the other children in the neighbourhood, though, preferring the company of the birds, and you never think to encourage him. It's for the better if you stay out of curious eyes, after all, all the easier to keep your secret, all the easier to keep him safe. That's a promise you will not break, your last vow to your own son. This child will be safe, no matter what price you might have to pay for it.
However, this means you are his main form of human interaction, and that can only spell trouble. You aren't good with kids, never the way your wife was with your son, certainly not the way Miyoko would have been with the child if she'd ever been given the chance. You do love him, of course, and give him all the care and attention he wishes, but your idea of a game is teaching him to fight, your goodnight stories bloody tales of adventure and action. He seems to like it, though, another trait from his passed father, and if he begs you to get him a weapon for his fifth birthday as most children would plead for a bike you only think it will make him that much safer.
You never were one for weapons, yourself, but you teach him best as you can, and it seems mere moments later he has taken to them in a natural manner. Your wife would frown if she saw, and so would Miyoko, but both of them are long gone and it's the best you can offer him, and your son would be proud of him either way and you tell him as much after each sparring match. He will continue to grow stronger, you know as much, one day he will surpass you, still, and by every passing day he resembles his father more, resembles you for all but his temper.
Of course, you take care to teach him well. You cannot take away his temper, cannot put down the fire and his thirst for fight and blood, you know as much from all the years you wasted trying to bring some futile control to your son. What you can do, though, is set him limits, teach him when and where and at whom it is appropriate to free his rage. He does not hurt his precious birds, you remind him, and it is right because they are mere small animals, little things who cannot help their weakness. There would be no honour in defeating them, just as there is no honour in fighting a child or a woman who does not seek battle.
You are not sure if he understands, you are never sure of much of anything with him, and while he may nod and tell you he understands at the end of the day you can only hope you have managed to teach him the wisdom to go with his strength.
Years pass by before you even realize, and one day he is a young man and not a child anymore, strong and skilled and big enough to have you sit on his shoulder. He looks so much like his father that it makes your heart ache, so much like you it makes you yearn for release from your curse, yet he is his own person with his own mind and opinions and his strange sense of honour you may or may not have influenced.
You never paused to think when you would have to let him go, never thought you would step away from his side until he was old enough to leave, himself. Word reaches you from your old home, though, an old friend requiring your help, and while it would be easy enough to go away with him now that he is stronger you do not have the heart to do so. He loves the town and he loves his school, loves it perhaps more than you can understand, and he has lost too much in his life for you to rob him of anything more.
What feels like a dilemma is solved easily enough when he finds out what is troubling you. All of a sudden he tells you he is old enough, he may only be fourteen but he is mature beyond his years and you know it, he does not need you watching his every step anymore. While you are hesitant, you know he is telling the truth, and while you may still fear for his safety despite his strength, truth is he will be safer without you by his side.
You leave the day after he turns fifteen, the house and most of your considerable wealth his birthday present, enough to keep him living well for the rest of his life should you never return. Even as you tell him goodbye you're smiling, keeping your tears until he's gone as you know they would only annoy him.
He will be fine, of course. He has his beloved home.
It's years before you see him again, years that you never cared to count, they hold little importance to you when you have nobody by your side on your trek outside time. You're not alone as you return, though, you have a new student to teach, one who is all too happy to take on the techniques he never cared to learn in his preference for wood and steel. He hardly seems to have changed as you find him again, he has not even changed schools however overdue he is to do so, and the first time you talk with him again at his old favourite spot on the roof you can tell no difference with the younger boy you left behind.
There is a glint in his eyes sometimes, though, a new kind of fire that was never there before, and you know before you have any confirmation that he has found the life you were trying to shield him from.
It's not too bad, though, not enough to raise your concerns. He is stronger, still, stronger and more skilled and far more stubborn, and while this little game of Reborn's is far from safe you know it's not bad enough to truly hurt him. He never makes an effort to get deeper into it, his interest only going as far as defeating any opponent who breaches his territory, and surely, surely he would never dive any deeper into it.
Then he is chosen for the ring, much to your shock, and when he accepts it after some persuasion you aren't sure if you should be more concerned for the danger of the ring or the one who made him accept it.
There is nothing you can teach him anymore, though, nothing to do except watch from the sidelines as he fights and learns and grows even more, and everything you swore to shield him from comes crashing down on him and he sweeps it all away like so many annoying insects. He gets hurt, of course, but he's been hurt before and grown all the stronger for it, and really even if you tried to keep him safe he would only brush you aside.
To anyone else's eyes he may seem stuck in place, fighting against all change as he does, but you know better than that, see deeper than that. He is changing, little by little but he is, and eventually, he will become something more than any of you could even imagine.
He has the potential to do something great, you know as much. You've seen him do it, once, in another time and another place, and you know he can do it all over again.
It's almost a relief, seeing him seek the dangers again, knowing that any threat he brings upon himself is his own choice and not something your presence forced on him. For all your vows, you cannot shield him from himself, cannot stop him from following through his own actions, and every time he breaks through the other side of chaos, victorious, you breathe a little bit easier.
He has his father's smirk, his father's smirk and his mother's flame and both their strength combined, and you can only wish you will never be the one to bring him down.
Your existence is cursed, though, your whole life and any it touches, and really you should be happy you've managed to keep him safe so long. The time for that has come to an end, though, and even as you try to tell yourself you do not know whom to approach your mind and heart are both well aware it's time.
You have to ask him to fight for you.
He is asleep, of course, or at least he appears to be so, lying down with his precious pets in his favourite spot, appearing dead to the world. Though you try not to pry you see the new scratches of a whip along the roof tiles, the tiny bit of fur his bird has stolen from a collar, and you might feel better for knowing he is already involved except it's still you who has to deliver the final blow.
"Kyouya," you say, and though he never moves you know you have his attention. He always pays attention, even when it may seem otherwise. "Kyouya, I need to ask a favour."
He is silent, offering you no answer, still, but you know he is listening.
You pray for his parents to forgive you as you start to speak.
The flames are not lit yet, but you can almost smell the smoke.
Title: And All The World In Flames
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairings: None
Rating: PG-13 (for thematic reasons and death)
Summary: You have kept him safe, tried to shield him ever since the day you both lost the only family you had left, but now, you cannot escape anymore. Fon is thinking about his grandson's life and the inevitable consequences of being related to an Arcobaleno.
A/N: Chapter 351 + old crack theories = this.
You can smell the smoke long before you're close enough to see anything but the faint glow of flames.
Not for the first time you curse your small stature, your short legs, your slow steps even as you rush over the roofs, focused on your destination. You don't know for sure it's them, you cannot know, yet a part of you knows it with a terrible, utmost certainty. Your instincts are screaming at you, begging you for help, yet you cannot run any faster.
Your family is in danger, and you are away.
For all the images of horror that your mind may have conjured up, the reality is yet worse as you come to a halt before the house. The walls that have sheltered your family for years are now being licked by hungry flames, casting an eerie glow over the tiny yard your daughter-in-law has been tending with care. You call for their names, try to reach your voice over the roar of the fire, yet it seems hopeless.
Your ears catch a sound, the call of your son as you soon realise, his voice faint as well but not weak enough to be swallowed entirely. You rush towards it, heart beating faster than ever before, your fears taunting you with cold claws around your heart.
He looks frightened but alive, reaching out towards you from one of the rooms that have not yet been claimed by fire and smoke, and for a second, you allow yourself to feel relief. There is something in his arms, you realize, something he is reaching out toward you.
"Take him," he pleads, and with just those words you realize just how precious a treasure you have just been handed. "Keep him safe, please."
"You have to get out, too!" you shout at him even as you bounce further from the house, wanting to keep the little bundle in your arms clear from the fire. "Get out now!"
"I have to get Miyoko," he protests, and just with that you know he won't listen to you. He never would listen to you when it comes to those he loves; that's how you know he is your son after all. "She'll be here right away, I just need to help her."
"Hurry!" you cry out, worry filling your mind as he doubles over and coughs. "You can't stay any longer, Miyoko will get out, she's strong enough -" Of course she is strong, every bit as strong and courageous as your son is. He never would have married her otherwise.
"I need to help her," he insists, turning back. "I will be back soon!"
For a moment, you almost believe him, almost believe that he will return, that soon enough you will see them both at the window. A split second later, though, the fire wins over, eating through the supports up above him where he cannot see. You cry his name, one desperate call for your child as the ceiling collapses on him, the room engulfed by fire.
You almost rush in, uncaring about the danger to yourself, but the treasure in your arms moves just then, crying a bit. That halts your steps just enough, enough that you don't rush out into the danger, knowing that for all your pain you have a task much more important at your hands.
There is nothing you can do, anyway, and for all that you go through the events over and over again in the years to come, you never find anything you could have done except watch in horror at the funeral pyre of your son and his wife.
It's the cries of the child that awaken you back into reality, cries of fright instead of sorrow; he is yet too young, too innocent to realize just how much he has lost in a moment. You hold him close, hum a quiet lullaby you doubt he even hears, murmur promises of safety and care and protection into his little ears.
Bit by bit, his cries subside, and in the end you are the only one who is crying, your tears soaking into the blanket the child has been wrapped in.
It's no use to stay, as you well know. This was never your home, never your place, there's nothing keeping you here now that they are gone and the child is too young to remember anyway. You cannot stay, surely, there will be questions and wondering and you have a secret to keep, a secret that is greater than either your life or the child's. At the same time you do not wish to return to your own home, not yet, not with the child.
There are too many who would wish to harm you, hurt you no matter what the means. You cannot risk having them find you with the child. Not now, not ever.
The town you settle into is small but peaceful, not far from his mother's hometown. You buy a house for the two of you, too large for just two people but it comes with a garden and a wall to keep out inquiring eyes. It is a nice place, as you soon notice, a fine place to raise a child. The two of you will be safe here until he is old and strong enough to defend himself.
His father was strong, a mocking little voice says at the back of your mind, his father was strong and look what happened. You push such malicious words aside and renew your vow to keep the child safe.
He grows fast, as you notice, one moment he is just lying on the floor and the next he is crawling all over the place, and when you turn your back for just a moment he's taking his first steps. It all reminds you of his father, of his first steps and first words, and he has his father's hair and face but his eyes are from his mother.
The child is a quick learner, even young as he is, and he picks up new things almost faster than you can think to teach them to him. The very few times he does not learn something fast, though, he takes his frustration out on whatever is nearby, and both you and Richie make sure not to attempt to console him until he is done with his fit.
The child has his father's temper, you think as he is in a fit of rage yet again, flinging his building blocks around the room as they will not settle in the form he wishes. At last it has been long enough that you can do so with a mere wistful smile instead of tears.
For all that temper he is not a bad child, though, not by any means. He loves animals, birds especially, and at times you see him lying silent and still in the garden long enough that a bird or two fly over to him, unafraid. There is a hint of smile on his face then, a peculiar little expression that is almost smug despite his young age, his eyes watchful as he follows the little birds about, not once trying to bring them harm. No, you think, he is not a bad child at all.
He never makes much contact with the other children in the neighbourhood, though, preferring the company of the birds, and you never think to encourage him. It's for the better if you stay out of curious eyes, after all, all the easier to keep your secret, all the easier to keep him safe. That's a promise you will not break, your last vow to your own son. This child will be safe, no matter what price you might have to pay for it.
However, this means you are his main form of human interaction, and that can only spell trouble. You aren't good with kids, never the way your wife was with your son, certainly not the way Miyoko would have been with the child if she'd ever been given the chance. You do love him, of course, and give him all the care and attention he wishes, but your idea of a game is teaching him to fight, your goodnight stories bloody tales of adventure and action. He seems to like it, though, another trait from his passed father, and if he begs you to get him a weapon for his fifth birthday as most children would plead for a bike you only think it will make him that much safer.
You never were one for weapons, yourself, but you teach him best as you can, and it seems mere moments later he has taken to them in a natural manner. Your wife would frown if she saw, and so would Miyoko, but both of them are long gone and it's the best you can offer him, and your son would be proud of him either way and you tell him as much after each sparring match. He will continue to grow stronger, you know as much, one day he will surpass you, still, and by every passing day he resembles his father more, resembles you for all but his temper.
Of course, you take care to teach him well. You cannot take away his temper, cannot put down the fire and his thirst for fight and blood, you know as much from all the years you wasted trying to bring some futile control to your son. What you can do, though, is set him limits, teach him when and where and at whom it is appropriate to free his rage. He does not hurt his precious birds, you remind him, and it is right because they are mere small animals, little things who cannot help their weakness. There would be no honour in defeating them, just as there is no honour in fighting a child or a woman who does not seek battle.
You are not sure if he understands, you are never sure of much of anything with him, and while he may nod and tell you he understands at the end of the day you can only hope you have managed to teach him the wisdom to go with his strength.
Years pass by before you even realize, and one day he is a young man and not a child anymore, strong and skilled and big enough to have you sit on his shoulder. He looks so much like his father that it makes your heart ache, so much like you it makes you yearn for release from your curse, yet he is his own person with his own mind and opinions and his strange sense of honour you may or may not have influenced.
You never paused to think when you would have to let him go, never thought you would step away from his side until he was old enough to leave, himself. Word reaches you from your old home, though, an old friend requiring your help, and while it would be easy enough to go away with him now that he is stronger you do not have the heart to do so. He loves the town and he loves his school, loves it perhaps more than you can understand, and he has lost too much in his life for you to rob him of anything more.
What feels like a dilemma is solved easily enough when he finds out what is troubling you. All of a sudden he tells you he is old enough, he may only be fourteen but he is mature beyond his years and you know it, he does not need you watching his every step anymore. While you are hesitant, you know he is telling the truth, and while you may still fear for his safety despite his strength, truth is he will be safer without you by his side.
You leave the day after he turns fifteen, the house and most of your considerable wealth his birthday present, enough to keep him living well for the rest of his life should you never return. Even as you tell him goodbye you're smiling, keeping your tears until he's gone as you know they would only annoy him.
He will be fine, of course. He has his beloved home.
It's years before you see him again, years that you never cared to count, they hold little importance to you when you have nobody by your side on your trek outside time. You're not alone as you return, though, you have a new student to teach, one who is all too happy to take on the techniques he never cared to learn in his preference for wood and steel. He hardly seems to have changed as you find him again, he has not even changed schools however overdue he is to do so, and the first time you talk with him again at his old favourite spot on the roof you can tell no difference with the younger boy you left behind.
There is a glint in his eyes sometimes, though, a new kind of fire that was never there before, and you know before you have any confirmation that he has found the life you were trying to shield him from.
It's not too bad, though, not enough to raise your concerns. He is stronger, still, stronger and more skilled and far more stubborn, and while this little game of Reborn's is far from safe you know it's not bad enough to truly hurt him. He never makes an effort to get deeper into it, his interest only going as far as defeating any opponent who breaches his territory, and surely, surely he would never dive any deeper into it.
Then he is chosen for the ring, much to your shock, and when he accepts it after some persuasion you aren't sure if you should be more concerned for the danger of the ring or the one who made him accept it.
There is nothing you can teach him anymore, though, nothing to do except watch from the sidelines as he fights and learns and grows even more, and everything you swore to shield him from comes crashing down on him and he sweeps it all away like so many annoying insects. He gets hurt, of course, but he's been hurt before and grown all the stronger for it, and really even if you tried to keep him safe he would only brush you aside.
To anyone else's eyes he may seem stuck in place, fighting against all change as he does, but you know better than that, see deeper than that. He is changing, little by little but he is, and eventually, he will become something more than any of you could even imagine.
He has the potential to do something great, you know as much. You've seen him do it, once, in another time and another place, and you know he can do it all over again.
It's almost a relief, seeing him seek the dangers again, knowing that any threat he brings upon himself is his own choice and not something your presence forced on him. For all your vows, you cannot shield him from himself, cannot stop him from following through his own actions, and every time he breaks through the other side of chaos, victorious, you breathe a little bit easier.
He has his father's smirk, his father's smirk and his mother's flame and both their strength combined, and you can only wish you will never be the one to bring him down.
Your existence is cursed, though, your whole life and any it touches, and really you should be happy you've managed to keep him safe so long. The time for that has come to an end, though, and even as you try to tell yourself you do not know whom to approach your mind and heart are both well aware it's time.
You have to ask him to fight for you.
He is asleep, of course, or at least he appears to be so, lying down with his precious pets in his favourite spot, appearing dead to the world. Though you try not to pry you see the new scratches of a whip along the roof tiles, the tiny bit of fur his bird has stolen from a collar, and you might feel better for knowing he is already involved except it's still you who has to deliver the final blow.
"Kyouya," you say, and though he never moves you know you have his attention. He always pays attention, even when it may seem otherwise. "Kyouya, I need to ask a favour."
He is silent, offering you no answer, still, but you know he is listening.
You pray for his parents to forgive you as you start to speak.
The flames are not lit yet, but you can almost smell the smoke.