(no subject)
Title: Habeas Corpus
Fandom: khr
Rating: R
-Characters: tyl!Yamamoto/Gokudera
-Warnings: au, gore, violence, general unpleasantness
Wordcount: 4.2k (4279) Beta - cruzle
Notes: for cruzle. xposted.
✵✵✵
"Look, just re-wire it here and here and you can hack the system easily."
The silver haired kid looked so pissed off. His hair was tied up and the Fingers were planted firmly around his finger nails. Every time he opened a new window Yamamoto got more and more lost. He had come here to meet with this prodigy because apparently the kid was better than anyone else in Japan. Yamamoto wasn't sure why Tsuna had sent him, the least technologically savvy one of the mob and the most traditional, but he planned to do his best.
But by the fifth holographic window Yamamoto already had a headache. He would've opened his mouth to complain but he was cut off. "You replace a wire here, see?" The kid was moving the Fingers around and brushing past the holographic wires before yanking one out of the hologram and into reality and breaking it. The kid snapped on a pre-programmed wire onto the break and shoved it back into the hologram. Instantly, the telltale sounds of a hack erupted around Yamamoto and he pulled his katana out from the sheath, standing on his toes. "Back off, samurai. The hack was me."
Blush flitted out over the bridge of Yamamoto's nose and he clicked the katana back into its sheath, smiling dumbly. "Sorry."
"If you had paid maybe, I don't know, even half a mind you would've seen it coming, dipshit," the teenager ground out, closing out the windows and removing the Fingers from his own finger tips. Yamamoto licked his lips and looked away from the silver haired kid and looked around at the people rushing through programs and windows trying to find the bug in the system. "The hack is biological. It will evolve and take over this whole system by night." It sounded like the kid was bragging. "I made it myself." Yamamoto nodded, not sure if he was appreciative of the achievement or just nodding so they could get the hell out of this place.
He noted how the kid had pulled out his Fingers again and was sliding them back onto his fingers, the index to index and thumb to thumb on both hands, and opened another program window. It seemed like nothing new until a black sludge started to ooze out of the window and into reality. Yamamoto watched as it dripped onto their table and bubbled around before taking the form of a baby bird. "It saw you first, so it made itself into whatever it recognizes you as," the kid explained, closing down the window and touching the black bird with one of his Fingers. "It's poisonous if you touch it without Fingers, fucking samurai." The scold came just in time. Yamamoto's hand was hovering over the ooze before pulling away. "This is the virus."
"It's… cute?" Yamamoto mumbled, wishing for once he owned a pair of Fingers. The bird looked adorable and vulnerable sitting on the table, making small noises as Gokudera poked it.
"Damn straight it's cute," Gokudera grumbled, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and putting the tip of it to the bird, the end automatically lighting. "When it sees programming it isn't so cute though. Programming messes with the programming that made it stop growing." Gokudera explained, pulling back on the cigarette. "So it will grow and grow, and as biotic creatures ourselves, we know it needs sustenance."
Yamamoto was nodding and watching the bird as if it was either a devil or a god. The thing had now found its legs and was bouncing around the table, chirping and shrilling every time Gokudera picked it up and moved it away from Yamamoto. Then the bird sort of collapsed in on itself, and Gokudera opened the same program window that had spawned it and shoved it back into the holographic window. "It didn't get to touch its mother origin so it died," Gokudera said softly, closing the window and once again taking off his fingers. The place was still flashing red and people were now screaming about the incurable hack.
"Mother… origin?" Yamamoto asked, eyebrows crinkling and head cocking. He knew what a mother was and what origin meant but he had never associated them with a virus. He waited for Gokudera to explain, but Gokudera had seemed to close in up into himself. Then the lights stopped flashing and returned to normal and Gokudera sighed.
"They killed my kid again," he grunted, taking down his hair and flicking the elastic away. "You were its mother origin because it took after you." The previous passion that had leaked from the kid’s every word seemed to have dissipated with the passing of the virus.
So Yamamoto did the only thing he knew how to. He reached out, put his hand on the kid’s head much to his surprise, and just smiled. "It will be alright. You still have the… programming, right?" His hand was brushed away and Yamamoto laughed ever so slightly, but even he could tell it was strained.
But it paid off. The kid shrugged and stood, chair scraping against the tiled floor and soles of his shoes padding over to Yamamoto's side of the table. "I'm Gokudera," the silver-haired teen muttered, flicking his cigarette away before putting out his hand for Yamamoto to shake. "And I know why you're here. Armed." And there went the reward. Yamamoto swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and sweat dripped down his temple.
"I'm, uh, I only have those orders for if you don’t… join," he muttered, taking Gokudera's hand and shaking fearfully. "And uh, I'm Yamamoto."
"You're also about 10 years older than me. That's fucking fair, samurai. I'm not even armed. I thought samurai had that weird code of honor bullshit. Bushido or whatever." Gokudera crossed his arms, light denim jacket shifting, and Yamamoto saw the green Fingers peek out from the pocket and drop. Without even thinking, he reached out and snatched it out of the air before it hit the ground. He then offered Gokudera a small smile and put it back in the kid's pocket. "You're obviously not lacking," was Gokudera's reply to the action. "So why not kill me now?"
Yamamoto's hand strayed to the hilt of his katana and flicked just the first inch of the blade out. "You're uh, sure you don't want to join?" Yamamoto asked, then drawing the rest of the blade and standing, towering over Gokudera by at least a foot. It did seem a little unfair. Gokudera wasn't armed and was more than a few years younger than he. He willed his hands to stop shaking and he pulled the blade up to his own eye level when Gokudera nodded. "It's recorded you asked for death, right?"
"Sure is." Gokudera muttered, scratching his stomach. "One last thing, though." The muscles of Yamamoto's body tensed when the kid took a step closer and put his hand on the blade. "I don't want to die yet."
"Then leave." Yamamoto tilted his blade down towards the ground and knocked it against Gokudera's shoe. "We'll be in contact." Then the katana was sheathed and Yamamoto sat back down, waving over the waiter. He didn't fail to notice how Gokudera fumed but left none the less, the bell clicking on his way out. He heard a pulse, chest rattling from the holographic boom, and a struggle. Yamamoto closed his eyes, waving his fingers together and knocking his forehead up against them. A small laugh was issued when he heard his men throw Gokudera's drugged body into the trunk, but the laugh was as humorless as it was a pray for forgiveness.
✵✵✵
Gokudera awoke in someplace he didn't know, cotton against the brunt of his tongue, metal against his wrists, and tape around his ankles. Wordless, agony-filled screaming was echoing around the walls and he could faintly hear the whimper for mercy below him. He saw Yamamoto sitting there, watching a muted holographic biography. All Gokudera could do was thump his head against the headboard to draw the samurai's attention to him. Yamamoto looked over at Gokudera with a grin, despite the screaming and the boiling sense of fear around them. "Gokudera!" Yamamoto beamed, rushing over and untying Gokudera's gag. "You're awake!"
"What the hell is this?" Gokudera panted out, looking around as much as he could, trying to get away from the sounds, "Where the fuck am I?"
Yamamoto's face dropped and he scratched the back of his head, bowing it at the same time. Gokudera noticed the blood stains that rippled over the front of Yamamoto's open blue shirt. "This is one of Reborn's hideouts,” he mumbled, sitting down on the bed and reaching over to unlock the handcuffs around the boy's wrists. The first thing Gokudera did was wring his wrist once before punching Yamamoto as hard as he could.
Blood dribbled down Yamamoto's chin. Gokudera watched. Yamamoto had his head tilted as if to protect himself from another attack, but Gokudera felt a hand curl around his neck and squeeze. Instantly Gokudera reached up to try and pry Yamamoto's much bigger hand off his neck, but the action was in vain when Yamamoto added the other. The thumbs pressed again Gokudera's windpipe and Yamamoto pushed him down against the bed. Gokudera only noticed that something in Yamamoto's eyes had changed. "A… modi-modifier." Gokudera choked out, barely able to force it out. He reached up with one hand and put his palm flat against Yamamoto's forehead, brushing the slight bangs away. "A be-" Gokudera was cut off by the sudden intake of air as Yamamoto's hands left his throat. On the outtake, he breathed as if exorcised, "behavioral modifier."
Then Yamamoto was smiling again and helping Gokudera sit up as he coughed around his bruised windpipe. He felt Yamamoto's chest press up against him and hold him tight as tears streamed down his face. The pain was revolting and the lack of oxygen woozy- Gokudera leaned against Yamamoto, knowing full well that the man's actions had been against his will.
"It was implanted so long ago." Yamamoto mused, stroking Gokudera's hair absentmindedly. "But I've never wanted it removed." It seemed as though he was listening to every scream and screech from the rooms around them, taking them in and making a harmonic sound from the mercy-cries. "Comes in handy every once in a while."
"What's happening here?" Gokudera asked, his voice thin, weak, and frail. "Why are there women screaming?"
Gokudera wasn't sure what to make of Yamamoto's face, how it contorted from loathing to pity in a split second. "People here have wronged Vongola in some way." His voice was shaky. "It's our job, Tsuna and the rest of his guardians, to make those people more cooperative in their own way and own right." Then suddenly Gokudera understood. The man downstairs sobbing for mercy was being tortured, slowly and cruelly, the woman above raped.
"So what are you going to do to me?"
The holographic window that Yamamoto had left shut itself down and blinked out of existence. Gokudera was left bare when Yamamoto stood and sat back down in the chair with a sigh. "Nothing. For now." Gokudera noted how Yamamoto's jaw was locked and how Yamamoto gently moved his way out of the bloodstained shirt, a content breath leaving as he leaned back without the blood bore on his chest. The stains were still etched across Yamamoto's chest and Gokudera could see the pattern.
None of it was Yamamoto's blood. "You will hurt me, though."
"Only if you want," Yamamoto said calmly, putting on Gokudera's Fingers and opening another window to start his biography again. Gokudera probably knew his Fingers better than he knew himself and to see someone else mold the gel against their own flesh infuriated him. Anger boiled within him, but all Gokudera could bring himself to do was rip the tape from around his ankles.
The biography was still on mute and Yamamoto was watching it with vast interest, eyes glued to the holographic window as if it would grant him a gift. Gokudera turned his head, only now noticing the katana sheathed quietly and leaning on the computer desk with Gokudera's Fingers. "Don't touch my Fingers," Gokudera muttered out, rubbing his ankles stiffly, circulation making the heels and pads of his feet sting with pins-and-needles. "Don't touch my programming."
Yamamoto didn't even seem to hear what Gokudera said, and if he did, he made no move to acknowledge it. "You can't open programming in this room," Yamamoto said instead, turning to meet Gokudera's eyes briefly. "There're no cameras, no microphones. I can do whatever I want to you." Gokudera thought he should've been frightened by Yamamoto's words, but he wasn't. The tone they were delivered in was mournful. "What can I do to you?"
"Nothing," Gokudera breathed, standing up and walking jerkily to the door only to find it led to a washroom with a standing shower. "Where's the door?" He had never been claustrophobic before, but he always had known were the exit was.
Yamamoto was watching with rapt attention, beyond the hologram and at Gokudera. The stare was intense and bit at Gokudera's back. "There isn't one," Yamamoto answered, standing up and walking over to Gokudera. He was grinning again and ran his fingers down Gokudera's back only to have them swatted away quickly. "It's holographic. You need a pair of Fingers to find the doorknob, and only I know where it is."
The world seemed to be crumbling in on itself and Gokudera reeled around and punched Yamamoto again, forgetting the lesson he had previously learned. As soon as the deed was done Gokudera recoiled and nearly fell to his knees. "Yamamoto, I'm sorry,” he jittered out, breaking down when Yamamoto's pin-prick pupils and slivered irises landed on him once again. Gokudera felt Yamamoto's hands clamp onto his waist and pull him closer. Gokudera tried to push Yamamoto away, elbow shoved into Yamamoto's gut and pressing as hard as he could, but Gokudera's efforts were only rewarded with Yamamoto's nails digging into Gokudera's hips.
And then Yamamoto's hands were all over, down his pants and up his shirt and it was angry the way Yamamoto scratched and pulled and Gokudera let him, helplessly leaning against the wall. He never would know where this hideout was, and he would never know who Reborn was. He knew because Yamamoto was going to kill him. Yamamoto's hands had drawn away and now landed against the gentle curve of the joint between Gokudera's neck and shoulders, the pads of Yamamoto's thumbs pressing into the windpipe. The familiar position made Gokudera close his eyes and reside to his fate.
He felt a pressure against his lips, despite how blurry his mind was becoming. The weakness in his arms stopped him from being able to reach up to feel what was touching him. Like before, Yamamoto's hands left Gokudera's neck and supported him as he gagged on his next breath.
The wall was warm against Gokudera's back. Even though Yamamoto's presence was stifling and frightening, he relaxed into Yamamoto's chest, grudgingly gritting his teeth. Yamamoto was staying chaste unlike before - his hands were above Gokudera's waist and not anywhere near his drawn-down pants. Gokudera fought with his breathing for a while, neck protesting at the act of preservation because of the damage. He already knew that by the time Yamamoto let him go, the damage would surface in black, purple, green, and blue bruises along the lines of where Yamamoto's large hands had been.
Gokudera pushed Yamamoto away when his mind wasn't reeling from the lack of air. It didn't stop him from leaning against the wall for a while longer, trying to breathe deep but stopping short of choking once again. They stared at each other for a while before Yamamoto backed up, hands in the air and head bowed. "I'm sorry, Gokudera,” he mumbled out, still trying to keep contact with the smaller boy, but there would be none of that. Gokudera jerked his head to the side, moved from Yamamoto's pin, and slipped into the washroom.
✵✵✵
"What do you want from me, samurai?" The words slipped out more melodramatically than Gokudera would have liked, but he just sighed, leaning against the doorframe and picking his teeth. "Because I'm not going to join your gang of merry thieves and you're not going to kill me." His hair was damp from the shower and he could feel a bead of water roll down his back despite the shirt covering him up.
Yamamoto was lying on the bed, shirtless, flipping through pages of a magazine with Gokudera's Fingers. Sports Illustrated or something Western like that. "Why won't I kill you?" he asked, gazing up from the window and into Gokudera's green eyes. The laughter that Gokudera had seen back in the coffee shop had left. The crinkles around Yamamoto's eyes smoothed. It was probably Gokudera's fault too, and his pride welled.
"The fact that you let me take a shower, you piece of shit." Gokudera flipped his hair back with his hand and walked over to the bed, sitting down. By now the screaming had become white noise to Gokudera's ears. He felt Yamamoto lean over and stroke his hair as if to comfort him, but Gokudera was too exhausted to even try to retaliate. "A woman got raped the room above me." He said it, not because he was trying to force his morals as to how wrong it was, but more for himself. "What did she do? Not pay extortion?" And now he was musing, mumbling off-topic. "What the fuck are you guys going to do to me, who refused to join you?"
He looked back briefly enough to see Yamamoto's lips curve up in a parody of a smile. "What you deserve."
The words frightened him. Gokudera wasn't easily scared, but the brutal honesty and his own lack of knowledge scared Gokudera. What did he deserve? A nice rape or a knife to the first knuckle - maybe a brand across the cheek with some derogatory word. All were options and Gokudera bowed his head, rubbing his temples gingerly. Yamamoto's hand had long fled from Gokudera's hair and its absence felt more like a relief than a disappointment.
Yamamoto was leaning back again, the headboard making a noise of protest as he deposited the force of his shoulders across it. Gokudera watched, half waiting for an answer to the unspoken question of "what do I deserve?" and also because there was nothing else to do. He noted absently how Yamamoto had removed the Fingers and was also staring at Gokudera. The air stayed stale and pungent between them, nether of them daring the break the silence.
"I need you to lie down."
The words sealed Gokudera's fate. He let his shoulders drop and he scooted back, laying down and looking up at Yamamoto, running through his programming in his head. Gokudera closed his eyes and put his arms above his head, scratching the headboard with his fingers -looking his death in the eyes was not Gokudera’s plan on how to go, and neither was dying so young. But he had always known he would die eventually. "It's a good day to die. Right?" he asked, feeling Yamamoto's presence hover over him, then leave. "Everything I've done hasn't been in vain."
"No," Yamamoto agreed. Judging by the sound of his voice, Yamamoto was over by the desk. Probably grabbing his katana so he could cleanly finish the job. "No life will ever end if its only crime was doing nothing."
Gokudera laughed. He didn't mean to, but he did. "Th-that some stupid bushido bullshit?" He continued to laugh even after Yamamoto had returned to the bed, hysterics taking reign. "Where did you even learn how do use a fucking katana? It's so outdated and old!" Gokudera didn't want to stop. It felt good to insult his death and laugh in its face.
Then he felt the same pressure against his lips and he surrendered unconditionally. It was a constant force and it pried his lips apart. Gokudera wasn't sure how to respond - alright, Yamamoto wanted a quick fuck before his slaughter, and who was Gokudera to deny him? It wasn't really in Gokudera's power either; the samurai was considerably larger and stronger than himself. Gokudera knew he didn't stand a chance and didn't plan on proving it.
"You're crying, Gokudera," Yamamoto mumbled against the teens lips. "I'm sorry."
Gokudera opened his eyes and looked at Yamamoto who had now pulled away, covering his mouth in shame. The muscles on Yamamoto's back rippled and tensed and Gokudera watched, blinking slowly, not taking account of the wetness sliding down the side of his face. "I don't want to die," Gokudera breathed out with a hoarse chuckle. He looked up at the roof, seeing the blood that had long since been cleaned off. "Not here and not now. Don't kill me."
He felt Yamamoto's fingers encircle his neck again, felt the thumbs press against the familiar bruises, and Gokudera used his strength to reach up and hook onto Yamamoto's arm, neither pushing nor pulling. "You don't want to kill me, samurai. Not when I'm this defenseless." There was no pressure against his throat and it allowed his words to flow out. "Don't kill me."
Yamamoto's hands stayed wrapped around his neck but Yamamoto dipped down, kissing Gokudera's forehead gently -Gokudera's hand slid down to Yamamoto's, fingers curling around the loose digits. "Join the Vongola, then." Yamamoto pleaded, knocking his forehead against Gokudera's. "Please, just join."
The distraction was a kiss. Gokudera pushed up, making their lips press against each other. Yamamoto's hands didn't stray and neither did Gokudera's. It was unwelcome, all advances were unwelcome, but Gokudera tried to deepen the kiss, tried to make Yamamoto want it more than killing him, but Yamamoto pulled back before Gokudera could and asked again. "Join?"
Gokudera swallowed and closed his eyes, blocking Yamamoto from his vision. "Never." He expected to feel Yamamoto's hands tighten around his neck, pressing against the old wounds harder than before, but Yamamoto didn't. Just the opposite happened. Yamamoto removed his hands and removed himself from the bed, walking over to the chair and slumping down on it. Gokudera watched in mock interest, taking note of just how Yamamoto moved.
"Smoke?" Yamamoto asked, bending down past his katana and picking up the pack he had discarded there. Gokudera shook his head, unsure of how well the smoke would fair when he was already having issues breathing. "I rarely do," Yamamoto informed, tapping one out onto his palm and rolling it between his fingers. "Not many people like the smell anymore." There was a tone of melancholy in his voice as he put the cigarette in his mouth, unlit, and leaned back onto his chair. "You won't be my first."
"You will. You'll be my only." The words formed themselves and it was only after they had been said that Gokudera heard them. Gokudera wasn't even sure what they were speaking about, but the fact was it was probably death.
Yamamoto finally lit up his cigarette and blew the smoke out his nostrils. "We have a batch of corpses we need to get rid of. Midnight is the deadline for any new ones." He looked over at Gokudera and smiled slyly. "We blow up a building and dump the bodies. No one is the wiser." Yamamoto was rambling by now, smoking breezily and speaking on how he had disposed of so many people; how he'd drowned a ship of people, almost all individually as they had a party.
"What do you think my chip does, Gokudera?"
"Your modifier?" The question was out of the blue and so stupidly obvious. "It makes you bat shit." The look in Yamamoto's eyes told Gokudera that he had gotten the question wrong. He watched as Yamamoto picked up the black sheath of the katana and drew the blade, tossing it jauntily over his shoulder. "Right?"
Silence. It was silent for once and Gokudera could hear his heartbeat race, swore he could hear Yamamoto's. He watched as Yamamoto opened his mouth to speak and it came out gleeful. "Stupid prodigy. Why do you think I changed when you hit me? The modifier makes me happy." Then Gokudera couldn't hear his heartbeat, didn't dare to try to even breathe. Gokudera's hands curled around the sheets of the bed and he looked up at Yamamoto, who stood closer to the edge of the bed than before.
"Happy?" Gokudera asked, confusion washing over him before it hit him. "Your modifier was the Yamamoto in the coffee shop, the one here! It was you who tried to kill me!"
Yamamoto smiled and it was heartbreaking, a mix of the modifier chip and the real Yamamoto. “I'm sorry Gokudera. Don't cry."
"Fuck you," Gokudera cursed, taking the sword blade in his hand and squeezing. "Fuck you, samurai." The blade was lined up right with Gokudera's bruised throat and Yamamoto reached out, stroking Gokudera's cheekbone before shoving the blade deep into his neck.
✵✵✵
"This behavioral modifier chip will allow Yamamoto to function again."
Tsuna looked out at his friend sitting in the padded cell and speaking to himself, mumbling on and on about how much pressure it took to break someone's neck.
"It's not your fault, Tsuna. It will be if you don't help him."
The young Vongola looked over at Reborn, holding the chip between his two Fingers then back at Yamamoto before nodding. "Put it in. I want my old Yamamoto back."
Fandom: khr
Rating: R
-Characters: tyl!Yamamoto/Gokudera
-Warnings: au, gore, violence, general unpleasantness
Wordcount: 4.2k (4279) Beta - cruzle
Notes: for cruzle. xposted.
✵✵✵
"Look, just re-wire it here and here and you can hack the system easily."
The silver haired kid looked so pissed off. His hair was tied up and the Fingers were planted firmly around his finger nails. Every time he opened a new window Yamamoto got more and more lost. He had come here to meet with this prodigy because apparently the kid was better than anyone else in Japan. Yamamoto wasn't sure why Tsuna had sent him, the least technologically savvy one of the mob and the most traditional, but he planned to do his best.
But by the fifth holographic window Yamamoto already had a headache. He would've opened his mouth to complain but he was cut off. "You replace a wire here, see?" The kid was moving the Fingers around and brushing past the holographic wires before yanking one out of the hologram and into reality and breaking it. The kid snapped on a pre-programmed wire onto the break and shoved it back into the hologram. Instantly, the telltale sounds of a hack erupted around Yamamoto and he pulled his katana out from the sheath, standing on his toes. "Back off, samurai. The hack was me."
Blush flitted out over the bridge of Yamamoto's nose and he clicked the katana back into its sheath, smiling dumbly. "Sorry."
"If you had paid maybe, I don't know, even half a mind you would've seen it coming, dipshit," the teenager ground out, closing out the windows and removing the Fingers from his own finger tips. Yamamoto licked his lips and looked away from the silver haired kid and looked around at the people rushing through programs and windows trying to find the bug in the system. "The hack is biological. It will evolve and take over this whole system by night." It sounded like the kid was bragging. "I made it myself." Yamamoto nodded, not sure if he was appreciative of the achievement or just nodding so they could get the hell out of this place.
He noted how the kid had pulled out his Fingers again and was sliding them back onto his fingers, the index to index and thumb to thumb on both hands, and opened another program window. It seemed like nothing new until a black sludge started to ooze out of the window and into reality. Yamamoto watched as it dripped onto their table and bubbled around before taking the form of a baby bird. "It saw you first, so it made itself into whatever it recognizes you as," the kid explained, closing down the window and touching the black bird with one of his Fingers. "It's poisonous if you touch it without Fingers, fucking samurai." The scold came just in time. Yamamoto's hand was hovering over the ooze before pulling away. "This is the virus."
"It's… cute?" Yamamoto mumbled, wishing for once he owned a pair of Fingers. The bird looked adorable and vulnerable sitting on the table, making small noises as Gokudera poked it.
"Damn straight it's cute," Gokudera grumbled, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and putting the tip of it to the bird, the end automatically lighting. "When it sees programming it isn't so cute though. Programming messes with the programming that made it stop growing." Gokudera explained, pulling back on the cigarette. "So it will grow and grow, and as biotic creatures ourselves, we know it needs sustenance."
Yamamoto was nodding and watching the bird as if it was either a devil or a god. The thing had now found its legs and was bouncing around the table, chirping and shrilling every time Gokudera picked it up and moved it away from Yamamoto. Then the bird sort of collapsed in on itself, and Gokudera opened the same program window that had spawned it and shoved it back into the holographic window. "It didn't get to touch its mother origin so it died," Gokudera said softly, closing the window and once again taking off his fingers. The place was still flashing red and people were now screaming about the incurable hack.
"Mother… origin?" Yamamoto asked, eyebrows crinkling and head cocking. He knew what a mother was and what origin meant but he had never associated them with a virus. He waited for Gokudera to explain, but Gokudera had seemed to close in up into himself. Then the lights stopped flashing and returned to normal and Gokudera sighed.
"They killed my kid again," he grunted, taking down his hair and flicking the elastic away. "You were its mother origin because it took after you." The previous passion that had leaked from the kid’s every word seemed to have dissipated with the passing of the virus.
So Yamamoto did the only thing he knew how to. He reached out, put his hand on the kid’s head much to his surprise, and just smiled. "It will be alright. You still have the… programming, right?" His hand was brushed away and Yamamoto laughed ever so slightly, but even he could tell it was strained.
But it paid off. The kid shrugged and stood, chair scraping against the tiled floor and soles of his shoes padding over to Yamamoto's side of the table. "I'm Gokudera," the silver-haired teen muttered, flicking his cigarette away before putting out his hand for Yamamoto to shake. "And I know why you're here. Armed." And there went the reward. Yamamoto swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and sweat dripped down his temple.
"I'm, uh, I only have those orders for if you don’t… join," he muttered, taking Gokudera's hand and shaking fearfully. "And uh, I'm Yamamoto."
"You're also about 10 years older than me. That's fucking fair, samurai. I'm not even armed. I thought samurai had that weird code of honor bullshit. Bushido or whatever." Gokudera crossed his arms, light denim jacket shifting, and Yamamoto saw the green Fingers peek out from the pocket and drop. Without even thinking, he reached out and snatched it out of the air before it hit the ground. He then offered Gokudera a small smile and put it back in the kid's pocket. "You're obviously not lacking," was Gokudera's reply to the action. "So why not kill me now?"
Yamamoto's hand strayed to the hilt of his katana and flicked just the first inch of the blade out. "You're uh, sure you don't want to join?" Yamamoto asked, then drawing the rest of the blade and standing, towering over Gokudera by at least a foot. It did seem a little unfair. Gokudera wasn't armed and was more than a few years younger than he. He willed his hands to stop shaking and he pulled the blade up to his own eye level when Gokudera nodded. "It's recorded you asked for death, right?"
"Sure is." Gokudera muttered, scratching his stomach. "One last thing, though." The muscles of Yamamoto's body tensed when the kid took a step closer and put his hand on the blade. "I don't want to die yet."
"Then leave." Yamamoto tilted his blade down towards the ground and knocked it against Gokudera's shoe. "We'll be in contact." Then the katana was sheathed and Yamamoto sat back down, waving over the waiter. He didn't fail to notice how Gokudera fumed but left none the less, the bell clicking on his way out. He heard a pulse, chest rattling from the holographic boom, and a struggle. Yamamoto closed his eyes, waving his fingers together and knocking his forehead up against them. A small laugh was issued when he heard his men throw Gokudera's drugged body into the trunk, but the laugh was as humorless as it was a pray for forgiveness.
✵✵✵
Gokudera awoke in someplace he didn't know, cotton against the brunt of his tongue, metal against his wrists, and tape around his ankles. Wordless, agony-filled screaming was echoing around the walls and he could faintly hear the whimper for mercy below him. He saw Yamamoto sitting there, watching a muted holographic biography. All Gokudera could do was thump his head against the headboard to draw the samurai's attention to him. Yamamoto looked over at Gokudera with a grin, despite the screaming and the boiling sense of fear around them. "Gokudera!" Yamamoto beamed, rushing over and untying Gokudera's gag. "You're awake!"
"What the hell is this?" Gokudera panted out, looking around as much as he could, trying to get away from the sounds, "Where the fuck am I?"
Yamamoto's face dropped and he scratched the back of his head, bowing it at the same time. Gokudera noticed the blood stains that rippled over the front of Yamamoto's open blue shirt. "This is one of Reborn's hideouts,” he mumbled, sitting down on the bed and reaching over to unlock the handcuffs around the boy's wrists. The first thing Gokudera did was wring his wrist once before punching Yamamoto as hard as he could.
Blood dribbled down Yamamoto's chin. Gokudera watched. Yamamoto had his head tilted as if to protect himself from another attack, but Gokudera felt a hand curl around his neck and squeeze. Instantly Gokudera reached up to try and pry Yamamoto's much bigger hand off his neck, but the action was in vain when Yamamoto added the other. The thumbs pressed again Gokudera's windpipe and Yamamoto pushed him down against the bed. Gokudera only noticed that something in Yamamoto's eyes had changed. "A… modi-modifier." Gokudera choked out, barely able to force it out. He reached up with one hand and put his palm flat against Yamamoto's forehead, brushing the slight bangs away. "A be-" Gokudera was cut off by the sudden intake of air as Yamamoto's hands left his throat. On the outtake, he breathed as if exorcised, "behavioral modifier."
Then Yamamoto was smiling again and helping Gokudera sit up as he coughed around his bruised windpipe. He felt Yamamoto's chest press up against him and hold him tight as tears streamed down his face. The pain was revolting and the lack of oxygen woozy- Gokudera leaned against Yamamoto, knowing full well that the man's actions had been against his will.
"It was implanted so long ago." Yamamoto mused, stroking Gokudera's hair absentmindedly. "But I've never wanted it removed." It seemed as though he was listening to every scream and screech from the rooms around them, taking them in and making a harmonic sound from the mercy-cries. "Comes in handy every once in a while."
"What's happening here?" Gokudera asked, his voice thin, weak, and frail. "Why are there women screaming?"
Gokudera wasn't sure what to make of Yamamoto's face, how it contorted from loathing to pity in a split second. "People here have wronged Vongola in some way." His voice was shaky. "It's our job, Tsuna and the rest of his guardians, to make those people more cooperative in their own way and own right." Then suddenly Gokudera understood. The man downstairs sobbing for mercy was being tortured, slowly and cruelly, the woman above raped.
"So what are you going to do to me?"
The holographic window that Yamamoto had left shut itself down and blinked out of existence. Gokudera was left bare when Yamamoto stood and sat back down in the chair with a sigh. "Nothing. For now." Gokudera noted how Yamamoto's jaw was locked and how Yamamoto gently moved his way out of the bloodstained shirt, a content breath leaving as he leaned back without the blood bore on his chest. The stains were still etched across Yamamoto's chest and Gokudera could see the pattern.
None of it was Yamamoto's blood. "You will hurt me, though."
"Only if you want," Yamamoto said calmly, putting on Gokudera's Fingers and opening another window to start his biography again. Gokudera probably knew his Fingers better than he knew himself and to see someone else mold the gel against their own flesh infuriated him. Anger boiled within him, but all Gokudera could bring himself to do was rip the tape from around his ankles.
The biography was still on mute and Yamamoto was watching it with vast interest, eyes glued to the holographic window as if it would grant him a gift. Gokudera turned his head, only now noticing the katana sheathed quietly and leaning on the computer desk with Gokudera's Fingers. "Don't touch my Fingers," Gokudera muttered out, rubbing his ankles stiffly, circulation making the heels and pads of his feet sting with pins-and-needles. "Don't touch my programming."
Yamamoto didn't even seem to hear what Gokudera said, and if he did, he made no move to acknowledge it. "You can't open programming in this room," Yamamoto said instead, turning to meet Gokudera's eyes briefly. "There're no cameras, no microphones. I can do whatever I want to you." Gokudera thought he should've been frightened by Yamamoto's words, but he wasn't. The tone they were delivered in was mournful. "What can I do to you?"
"Nothing," Gokudera breathed, standing up and walking jerkily to the door only to find it led to a washroom with a standing shower. "Where's the door?" He had never been claustrophobic before, but he always had known were the exit was.
Yamamoto was watching with rapt attention, beyond the hologram and at Gokudera. The stare was intense and bit at Gokudera's back. "There isn't one," Yamamoto answered, standing up and walking over to Gokudera. He was grinning again and ran his fingers down Gokudera's back only to have them swatted away quickly. "It's holographic. You need a pair of Fingers to find the doorknob, and only I know where it is."
The world seemed to be crumbling in on itself and Gokudera reeled around and punched Yamamoto again, forgetting the lesson he had previously learned. As soon as the deed was done Gokudera recoiled and nearly fell to his knees. "Yamamoto, I'm sorry,” he jittered out, breaking down when Yamamoto's pin-prick pupils and slivered irises landed on him once again. Gokudera felt Yamamoto's hands clamp onto his waist and pull him closer. Gokudera tried to push Yamamoto away, elbow shoved into Yamamoto's gut and pressing as hard as he could, but Gokudera's efforts were only rewarded with Yamamoto's nails digging into Gokudera's hips.
And then Yamamoto's hands were all over, down his pants and up his shirt and it was angry the way Yamamoto scratched and pulled and Gokudera let him, helplessly leaning against the wall. He never would know where this hideout was, and he would never know who Reborn was. He knew because Yamamoto was going to kill him. Yamamoto's hands had drawn away and now landed against the gentle curve of the joint between Gokudera's neck and shoulders, the pads of Yamamoto's thumbs pressing into the windpipe. The familiar position made Gokudera close his eyes and reside to his fate.
He felt a pressure against his lips, despite how blurry his mind was becoming. The weakness in his arms stopped him from being able to reach up to feel what was touching him. Like before, Yamamoto's hands left Gokudera's neck and supported him as he gagged on his next breath.
The wall was warm against Gokudera's back. Even though Yamamoto's presence was stifling and frightening, he relaxed into Yamamoto's chest, grudgingly gritting his teeth. Yamamoto was staying chaste unlike before - his hands were above Gokudera's waist and not anywhere near his drawn-down pants. Gokudera fought with his breathing for a while, neck protesting at the act of preservation because of the damage. He already knew that by the time Yamamoto let him go, the damage would surface in black, purple, green, and blue bruises along the lines of where Yamamoto's large hands had been.
Gokudera pushed Yamamoto away when his mind wasn't reeling from the lack of air. It didn't stop him from leaning against the wall for a while longer, trying to breathe deep but stopping short of choking once again. They stared at each other for a while before Yamamoto backed up, hands in the air and head bowed. "I'm sorry, Gokudera,” he mumbled out, still trying to keep contact with the smaller boy, but there would be none of that. Gokudera jerked his head to the side, moved from Yamamoto's pin, and slipped into the washroom.
✵✵✵
"What do you want from me, samurai?" The words slipped out more melodramatically than Gokudera would have liked, but he just sighed, leaning against the doorframe and picking his teeth. "Because I'm not going to join your gang of merry thieves and you're not going to kill me." His hair was damp from the shower and he could feel a bead of water roll down his back despite the shirt covering him up.
Yamamoto was lying on the bed, shirtless, flipping through pages of a magazine with Gokudera's Fingers. Sports Illustrated or something Western like that. "Why won't I kill you?" he asked, gazing up from the window and into Gokudera's green eyes. The laughter that Gokudera had seen back in the coffee shop had left. The crinkles around Yamamoto's eyes smoothed. It was probably Gokudera's fault too, and his pride welled.
"The fact that you let me take a shower, you piece of shit." Gokudera flipped his hair back with his hand and walked over to the bed, sitting down. By now the screaming had become white noise to Gokudera's ears. He felt Yamamoto lean over and stroke his hair as if to comfort him, but Gokudera was too exhausted to even try to retaliate. "A woman got raped the room above me." He said it, not because he was trying to force his morals as to how wrong it was, but more for himself. "What did she do? Not pay extortion?" And now he was musing, mumbling off-topic. "What the fuck are you guys going to do to me, who refused to join you?"
He looked back briefly enough to see Yamamoto's lips curve up in a parody of a smile. "What you deserve."
The words frightened him. Gokudera wasn't easily scared, but the brutal honesty and his own lack of knowledge scared Gokudera. What did he deserve? A nice rape or a knife to the first knuckle - maybe a brand across the cheek with some derogatory word. All were options and Gokudera bowed his head, rubbing his temples gingerly. Yamamoto's hand had long fled from Gokudera's hair and its absence felt more like a relief than a disappointment.
Yamamoto was leaning back again, the headboard making a noise of protest as he deposited the force of his shoulders across it. Gokudera watched, half waiting for an answer to the unspoken question of "what do I deserve?" and also because there was nothing else to do. He noted absently how Yamamoto had removed the Fingers and was also staring at Gokudera. The air stayed stale and pungent between them, nether of them daring the break the silence.
"I need you to lie down."
The words sealed Gokudera's fate. He let his shoulders drop and he scooted back, laying down and looking up at Yamamoto, running through his programming in his head. Gokudera closed his eyes and put his arms above his head, scratching the headboard with his fingers -looking his death in the eyes was not Gokudera’s plan on how to go, and neither was dying so young. But he had always known he would die eventually. "It's a good day to die. Right?" he asked, feeling Yamamoto's presence hover over him, then leave. "Everything I've done hasn't been in vain."
"No," Yamamoto agreed. Judging by the sound of his voice, Yamamoto was over by the desk. Probably grabbing his katana so he could cleanly finish the job. "No life will ever end if its only crime was doing nothing."
Gokudera laughed. He didn't mean to, but he did. "Th-that some stupid bushido bullshit?" He continued to laugh even after Yamamoto had returned to the bed, hysterics taking reign. "Where did you even learn how do use a fucking katana? It's so outdated and old!" Gokudera didn't want to stop. It felt good to insult his death and laugh in its face.
Then he felt the same pressure against his lips and he surrendered unconditionally. It was a constant force and it pried his lips apart. Gokudera wasn't sure how to respond - alright, Yamamoto wanted a quick fuck before his slaughter, and who was Gokudera to deny him? It wasn't really in Gokudera's power either; the samurai was considerably larger and stronger than himself. Gokudera knew he didn't stand a chance and didn't plan on proving it.
"You're crying, Gokudera," Yamamoto mumbled against the teens lips. "I'm sorry."
Gokudera opened his eyes and looked at Yamamoto who had now pulled away, covering his mouth in shame. The muscles on Yamamoto's back rippled and tensed and Gokudera watched, blinking slowly, not taking account of the wetness sliding down the side of his face. "I don't want to die," Gokudera breathed out with a hoarse chuckle. He looked up at the roof, seeing the blood that had long since been cleaned off. "Not here and not now. Don't kill me."
He felt Yamamoto's fingers encircle his neck again, felt the thumbs press against the familiar bruises, and Gokudera used his strength to reach up and hook onto Yamamoto's arm, neither pushing nor pulling. "You don't want to kill me, samurai. Not when I'm this defenseless." There was no pressure against his throat and it allowed his words to flow out. "Don't kill me."
Yamamoto's hands stayed wrapped around his neck but Yamamoto dipped down, kissing Gokudera's forehead gently -Gokudera's hand slid down to Yamamoto's, fingers curling around the loose digits. "Join the Vongola, then." Yamamoto pleaded, knocking his forehead against Gokudera's. "Please, just join."
The distraction was a kiss. Gokudera pushed up, making their lips press against each other. Yamamoto's hands didn't stray and neither did Gokudera's. It was unwelcome, all advances were unwelcome, but Gokudera tried to deepen the kiss, tried to make Yamamoto want it more than killing him, but Yamamoto pulled back before Gokudera could and asked again. "Join?"
Gokudera swallowed and closed his eyes, blocking Yamamoto from his vision. "Never." He expected to feel Yamamoto's hands tighten around his neck, pressing against the old wounds harder than before, but Yamamoto didn't. Just the opposite happened. Yamamoto removed his hands and removed himself from the bed, walking over to the chair and slumping down on it. Gokudera watched in mock interest, taking note of just how Yamamoto moved.
"Smoke?" Yamamoto asked, bending down past his katana and picking up the pack he had discarded there. Gokudera shook his head, unsure of how well the smoke would fair when he was already having issues breathing. "I rarely do," Yamamoto informed, tapping one out onto his palm and rolling it between his fingers. "Not many people like the smell anymore." There was a tone of melancholy in his voice as he put the cigarette in his mouth, unlit, and leaned back onto his chair. "You won't be my first."
"You will. You'll be my only." The words formed themselves and it was only after they had been said that Gokudera heard them. Gokudera wasn't even sure what they were speaking about, but the fact was it was probably death.
Yamamoto finally lit up his cigarette and blew the smoke out his nostrils. "We have a batch of corpses we need to get rid of. Midnight is the deadline for any new ones." He looked over at Gokudera and smiled slyly. "We blow up a building and dump the bodies. No one is the wiser." Yamamoto was rambling by now, smoking breezily and speaking on how he had disposed of so many people; how he'd drowned a ship of people, almost all individually as they had a party.
"What do you think my chip does, Gokudera?"
"Your modifier?" The question was out of the blue and so stupidly obvious. "It makes you bat shit." The look in Yamamoto's eyes told Gokudera that he had gotten the question wrong. He watched as Yamamoto picked up the black sheath of the katana and drew the blade, tossing it jauntily over his shoulder. "Right?"
Silence. It was silent for once and Gokudera could hear his heartbeat race, swore he could hear Yamamoto's. He watched as Yamamoto opened his mouth to speak and it came out gleeful. "Stupid prodigy. Why do you think I changed when you hit me? The modifier makes me happy." Then Gokudera couldn't hear his heartbeat, didn't dare to try to even breathe. Gokudera's hands curled around the sheets of the bed and he looked up at Yamamoto, who stood closer to the edge of the bed than before.
"Happy?" Gokudera asked, confusion washing over him before it hit him. "Your modifier was the Yamamoto in the coffee shop, the one here! It was you who tried to kill me!"
Yamamoto smiled and it was heartbreaking, a mix of the modifier chip and the real Yamamoto. “I'm sorry Gokudera. Don't cry."
"Fuck you," Gokudera cursed, taking the sword blade in his hand and squeezing. "Fuck you, samurai." The blade was lined up right with Gokudera's bruised throat and Yamamoto reached out, stroking Gokudera's cheekbone before shoving the blade deep into his neck.
✵✵✵
"This behavioral modifier chip will allow Yamamoto to function again."
Tsuna looked out at his friend sitting in the padded cell and speaking to himself, mumbling on and on about how much pressure it took to break someone's neck.
"It's not your fault, Tsuna. It will be if you don't help him."
The young Vongola looked over at Reborn, holding the chip between his two Fingers then back at Yamamoto before nodding. "Put it in. I want my old Yamamoto back."