Hallelujah
Summary: ''There is blood on Giotto's hands; The type you can't scrub off.
The first had gone down with a thud. The second with a howl. He didn't keep count after the third. Giotto hates himself; The ease with which he ended lives makes him sick to his stomach.
(He had been in a haze while killing, but he's certain: He intended to do it)''
Giotto's life: A tale of loss, love, religion, betrayal and learning to love yourself.
Disclaimer: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
''The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.''
- Proverb
Chapter 1: Sunday Child
Giotto is born with a smile on his face, his wails joyous instead of upset. His aunt laughs and claps in her hands. ''Maria, hear, hear! He's not even Christened yet and already singing hallelujah!''
His mother strokes his nose and sighs happily. ''A blessed Sunday child, don't you think?''
They walk to the church singing, the baby nestled in the crook of Maria's arms.
''Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
And the child born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.''¹
Their small, seaside town is not a kind one. They live on crime-riddled streets and poverty is a disease no-one can cure. Maria manages to feed her son, and while not necessarily becoming a beacon of strength, the boy grows willowy and hardy.
They need the money, so Giotto begins to work the minute he can, just like the other children his age. His hands become rough and his skin darkens in the sun, but his wild hair doesn't lose its shine. Nor do his eyes, and his mouth always has a smile left to give. He's a pretty boy, a dangerous thing to be in the darkest corners of the streets. But sunlight is free and even the sea becomes a black hole at night, only to sparkle when dawn breaks once again. Giotto doesn't mind. Pretty boys learn to punch twice as hard, as far as he is concerned, so it evens out.
Maria watches with uneasy eyes, but he knows what he's doing. ''Don't worry, mama! I only fight in defence! I won't shame the Lord's teachings of love!''
His eyes sing hallelujah.
Maria lets him go with a heavy heart, watching her son run off again. He uses violence as a means, but only when there is no other way. He is kind, generous, not afraid to defend others as readily as he defends himself.
He is good, there is no question about it, but Maria remembers being good doesn't come without a price. She's afraid of the day it will cost his smile.
It arrives when he fifteen.
He's out with that gang of his, a red-head on either side and their comrades in arms behind them. He comes home with blood on his hands and hollow eyes. But still, hoarsely it falls from his lips: ''Hallelujah, mama. Hallelujah.''
It scares her witless and she stares at the scratched kitchen table for a long, long time. The clock ticks on the wall, as a shadow falls upon her heart.
Where has her Sunday child gone?
Giotto is thirteen when he meets Cozart. He likes him. He's steadfast, calm and confident, a mischievous smile in the shadow of his black cap. His hair is fiery red and his passion is just as great.
They team up, together with Giotto's best friend G, to help out the people in their neighbourhood.
They're fourteen when it isn't enough anymore. The crime is not just stolen goods now. The outlaws are hurting people and the police are no help at all. Giotto is afraid that if they don't do something, there will be no one left to save.
Then Franco is beaten up in front of their eyes and Giotto can't take it anymore. ''I refuse to sit around quietly, watching as they take our town!''
It happens in the middle of a bustling street.
Cozart is the one who voices their thoughts. ''We could be vigilantes.''
Giotto clenches his fists and nods. ''If no one else will help us, then we've got to defend the town ourselves. However, governing that kind of group will require great leadership. And rain, nor storm, nor sun will be able to keep us away, once we have that. Just like the sky.''
The group shuffles around, silent, shooting each other unsure looks until Cozart speaks up again. ''Giotto, there's no one but you.''
Giotto swallows. He doesn't condone violence, but there's a fire burning in him, so he straightens his shoulder and meets Cozart's gaze. ''All right,'' he says, ''All right.''
With those words, he creates the Vongola, Cozart the first to trust Giotto with his life. Responsibility has never felt heavier.
They fight the monsters on the streets, darkness cloaking their youthful features. They're only fifteen, but rule a reign of terror. They steal their enemies' supplies, knocking them out before they know what's happening. Their invisibility creates a bloodcurdling reputation.
After their latest raid, they sleep in a warehouse. Giotto wakes up with the smell of smoke invading his nose, Cozart, warm beside him, still asleep. Flames lick at the door opening, the heat unbearable. The air is thin and the world is spinning.
He shakes Cozart and G. ''Wake up!''
''Wazzit- Fire?!''
Giotto's eyes dart around. Where is the exit? No, they'll have to take the window.
The three boys have to crawl, but they get there. Giotto swings his legs over the ledge. The ground is awfully far away. He swallows, eyes darting from the splintered frame beneath his hands to the street stones far below. But G and Cozart already jumped and a broken leg is nothing next to dying. He takes the leap.
They watch the house go up in flames, G holding Giotto up. His ankle is swollen. The bad landing got him good. It hurts, but it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before.
The roof collapses and G shakes his head. ''It wasn't an accident,''
Cozart swears.
Giotto clenches his fists. The fire had spread too fast for a building made of stone. They should've known.
The worst thing is that Giovanni can't miss this warehouse. He tries to support the Vongola however he can, but letting them sleep there was risky already. Now all his wares have gone up in flames. It's cruel, but then again, that's the reason the Vongola exists in the first place.
Protecting the town from the outlaws is a- Giotto's eyes widen.
''Giovanni is in danger!'' He wasn't sure if the enemy was aware of their identities. But they knew Giovanni was their supporter if the fire was any indication.
Giotto's gut burns as they run towards Giovanni's house, his ankle throbbing. The shouts are already audible.
There is a body on the pavement. Its stomach is torn open, still bleeding, the face turned away. It's Giovanni. Could he still- the glassy eyes take all hope away. It's a corpse.
G bows over it. ''Looks like it was his liver.''
Giotto closes his eyes. A painful death. Giovanni must have lain there for at least twenty minutes before he succumbed. Stomach wounds are always nasty. The deeper cuts leave the victim unable to walk; The few minutes they have left are spent under their attacker's mercy².
''Any other obvious wounds?''
''Broken fingers. Looks like they kicked him while he was down.''
Giotto wants to scream, the smell of gunpowder in the air. He is furious, has never felt so much resolve to stop this madness before. It burns his veins, travelling towards his hands and head, where it makes its presence known.
Giovanni's wife and daughter are nowhere to be seen, but little Rosina's doll is still lying next to her father. They were taken.
His dying will bursts free.
He bursts through the door, fire blazing. His nerves are tingling, but his ankle doesn't feature. It isn't numb; He just doesn't feel it.
He's completely zoomed in on his goal, hyper-aware.
The air smells like dirt and he is only keeping the cold at bay with the flames burning on his hands and forehead. A little girl is screaming.
He sees Lucia first. She's covering her daughter with her body, snapping at the cutthroats cornering them. Her upper lip lifts into an animalistic snarl, but her limbs are shaking.
Of the two parties, only one has a knife. It's not Lucia.
Giotto moves.
It's impossible to keep his identity secret after rescuing Rosina and Lucia. Lucia doesn't talk, silent as the grave, but Rosina is too small to understand and before the morning sun rises, everyone knows.
He walks the street and they sing Hallelujah. His name is on the lips of everyone in town.
Their eyes follow him. ''Vongola's leader.''
He passes the bakery, but all he can smell is the dock's rotting fish.
There is blood on his hands, the type you can't scrub off.
The first had gone down with a thud. The second with a howl. He didn't keep count after the third. Giotto hates himself; The ease with which he ended lives makes him sick to his stomach. His footsteps echo.
(He had been in a haze while killing, but he's certain: He intended to do it)
They put a mantle on his shoulders, crowning him like a King, just as Cozart did when he laid down his life in Giotto's hands.
He manages to make it home before puking on the dirt floor, orange meeting brown. It's disgusting and the world spins. The flames were orange too.
He grabs his hair and pulls, but the sour taste doesn't go away, and neither does the memory of Lucia's shrill voice after he slit her attackers' throats.
There was fear in her eyes.
Is this what he's become?
G sighs when he discovers Giotto on the floor.
''C'mon,'' He hauls his friend up and drags him to bed.
Giotto nuzzles the pillow. G pulls up the sheets and tucks him in. It's all no-nonsense, routine, but the hand on the brunet's forehead isn't.
"A fever. Figures."
Giotto peers at him from underneath the blanket.
''I wouldn't know what to do without you.''
''Yeah, you would be pretty lost.''
This is who they are, friends looking out for each other.
''We have to talk about the flames.'' It's been four days, and G is done avoiding the subject.
Giotto's mouth is dry. Cozart is silent beside him, melting into the shadows of the rocks along the coast. There's sand in his hair and Giotto's hands twitch. He wants for nothing more than to reach out and brush through Cozart's red strands. The butterflies in his stomach would distract him from the conversation.
He bites his lip; It tastes like salt. He doesn't want to talk about this. Doesn't want to face his screaming nightmares of fearful eyes and flames. Flames everywhere. He snorts. His feelings for Cozart are the least of his problems now.
A seagull cries in the distance.
G clicks his tongue. ''Do you think you could use them again?''
Giotto stiffens. ''You don't mean that.''
''We need that power, Giotto. This is a war we can't win. We're three boys with what? Ten other men backing us? We should be thanking our goddamn lucky stars that Giovanni's the only corpse among us yet!''
Giotto turns to the other redhead. ''Cozart?''
''We're out in the open now, Gio. My aunt's been getting threats and I bet your family received a fair share of their own.''
He closes his eyes. This can't be what the Lord meant the world to be when He created it. The Lord has plans divine; Giotto doesn't know if he's included in them, but he'll be damned if he doesn't do something about it. He has killed, he doesn't have the privileges of the innocent anymore.
''Giotto, there's no one but you.''
He clenches his fists and squares his shoulders. ''If I try hard enough, I may be able to produce more.''
They call them Sky flames, and rain, nor storm, nor the sun can keep the Vongola away.
Their enemies call them the demons and cross themselves to ban out evil. But the Vongola do not dissolve for they are no devils.
Angels, the people call them, Guardian Angels. Heavenly fire blesses them, flame burning on the forehead and on the hands, occasionally even on the feet. A cross.
''In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.''
It feels wrong when people say so. Giotto knows he is doing the right thing by protecting them, but he is a murderer. He has killed and for all the forgiveness the Lord may be willing to grant, he cannot forgive himself.
Cozart has to go back to his parents every spring but often returns to them in winter³. Years glide by and the Vongola grows. Knuckle, a learned man who was once a priest and Asari, a foreign nobleman looking to acquire a trading route, join the upper ranks. They are even assisted by another group once in a while, led by a tall, blond Frenchman.
They discover there is more than one flame. A range of colours emerge, but Giotto is the only one who bears the Sky flame. They call them after weather phenomena, whatever suits the flame the best. G has a red variant, which disintegrates everything it touches.
''You don't need a flame for that,'' Giotto grins one evening in front of the fireplace. ''Your raised eyebrow alone makes your subordinates wither.''
G snorts and pulls his beer closer, tapping the moisture-mark covered table. ''If only it would pulverize that ego of yours.''
Cozart bites his lip and turns away, but his shoulders are shaking with laughter. His cheeks apple and Giotto is drunk on his wine eyes.
Warmth spreads from his gut and Giotto's face burns, tingly all over. But in the corner of his eye, he sees a mess of dark hair and flinches.
(He remembers them being dragged away; men kissing men⁴. To jail, some said. To be butchered, others whispered. Disgusting, some screamed.
The pavement colouring red.
He'd been small, then, but the half-moon scars of nails digging into his palms remain an everlasting reminder)
Hiding it from Knuckle was no use. Knuckle is a holy man, one who serves God. And Giotto… Giotto loves Cozart, with his wide jaw, red hair, narrow hips and chapped lips. A man. Sometimes he thinks Cozart might love him too, but that can't be.
Especially not when Knuckle meets him in the chapel the next day and says: ''Man shall not lay with man as he does with woman⁵.''
Sunlight streams through the stained-glass windows and colour pools through the room.
It strikes Giotto to the heart. His love for Cozart goes against the word of the Lord and Giotto feels so terribly guilty for betraying Him, even if only in thought. But he never apologizes, because it's love, the most beautiful thing in the world, and he won't deny it.
He understands why, but some part of him still feels betrayed, abandoned and hurt at the thought of his friend forsaking him for something so natural and good as love.
He opens his mouth, ready to defend himself, fists clenched, but Knuckle holds up a hand. ''It means either must be equal. Man cannot be woman, woman cannot be man. Love is what the Lord lives for, his ultimate goal.''
He rests easier that night.
A young noblewoman comes to him, bringing her lover with her. They don't fit in and that is why they suit the Vongola. By now Giotto has figured out nobody fits in with the Vongola because they're too diverse and unique. He likes it that way. Elena and Daemon do too.
Elena is optimistic but sly. Her partner might be a cynic, but he is also cunning and believes in the Vongola with his whole heart, complimenting her as always. Daemon doesn't look at Elena with moon eyes, but only because it's obvious to him that she must've hung it in the sky.
Giotto can't help but smile at them.
''What are they?''
The blue haired woman laughed. ''A present. Or maybe a curse. It will depend on what you will do with it. I can see the future, but the future depends on choices. I trust you to make the right ones, Vongola!''
Giotto swallows, looking down at the ring on his hand. No, he wants to say, I can't carry this, but as always, he hesitates too long. When he lifts his head, she's gone.
She's a strange woman, Shaman Sepira.
They've been training their men for a long time, each of the inner circle having their own division, though everyone ultimately answers to Giotto. They're good men, but the Vongola grows and grows and grows until one day, Giotto looks at his division and thinks: I don't know that face. I don't know her name.
I don't know my men.
…
Are they good men, these strangers?
Dear Cozart,
Are you well?
I have
I am
The other day
I'm not.
He tries to reach out, but the words don't come. A thousand crossed out notes, but all the same heading. And eventually, when the words do flow, he stares at the finished letter.
It contains: I love you, I need you, helpmeIamsoafraid.
He's never told Cozart his awkward manners melt his insides, that his sleeping face ties his tongue and that the way he puts his thumbs in his pockets makes Giotto ache with desire to kiss his broad lips.
He sits down and rests his forehead on the table, arms next to it, dread heavy in his stomach. God, he is a coward.
He never sends the letter.
Giotto walks in on the incident in the middle of the street in broad daylight. They're holding a little boy up in the air, laughing, taunting him. ''Ready to give us your money, kid? Wouldn't want anything to happen to your little brother, would you?''
The older boy, held back by two thugs, struggles, elbowing backwards. He hits the shoulder joint. The captor on the right recoils and the boy jerks arm free, punching the man still holding on to him. The left captor doesn't let go, but his face contorts in anger. ''You'll regret that, pal.''
It happens in a flash.
The thug has flames on his hands, dying will flames, but he loses control and the red, red, red Storm flames eat the boy like acid.
Giotto burns, is there before he knows it, and throws the man off the teen. The boy's face has melted, his arms and ribs eaten away. The smell of burning flesh is spreading, but so are the storm flames and it might be too late for the older brother, but the younger is still alive. Giotto snatches the crying boy up, but the flames are everywhere and he has nowhere to go and- The ring unlocks and Giotto finds the power to stop it all.
Afterwards, when the danger is gone, Giotto stares down at his hands again, bile rising up in his throat.
The rings are weapons.
He doesn't have time to dwell on it. The boy is still there, his bottom lip trembling and his wide, brown eyes brimming with tears and something Giotto recognizes, but can't name. He needs comfort. Someone to still his shaking limbs.
''The bad men are gone now.'' Giotto reaches out, but a woman in the crowd snatches the boy away, protectively hiding him behind her.
Her eyes narrow, ''No they aren't. You are still here, Lucifer.''
The crowd gasps and cross themselves, but no one protests.
Giotto frowns, eyes darting around. What- oh. The dying will flames. The knowledge had leaked to some criminal families and Giotto had assumed… But no.
The men he'd just defeated? Those were from his own godforsaken division and he hadn't even noticed until she spat it in his face.
In a daze, Giotto turns around and walks home, hand touching his throat, eyes unseeing. His bedroom door falls closed with a thud. His hand slides down to his chest, and his fingers splay over his breastbone.
Lucifer was an angel before he fell, but he became the devil nonetheless.
His nails dig into his skin.
He remembers now. The boy's eyes reflected Lucia's, as they were all those years ago. had become someone to be feared.
Giotto's mind and heart tear.
(Nobody hears his screams that night because Giotto has lost the ability to release those long ago. He is utterly silent as he falls apart. It's terrifying, in the way of a soundless newborn. And isn't it? The Vongola ended an innocent life. How can he live with himself?
He cries himself to sleep)
''The future depends on choices. I trust you to make the right ones, Vongola!''
When he wakes, he knows.
''I'm disbanding our military forces.''
He seals the rings.
Footnotes
1. Monday's Child is a popular nursery rhyme, I did not write it myself.
2. On the liver: this is factually correct, as far as I could find.
3. ''Cozart has to go back to his parents every spring but often returns to them in winter.'' In chapter 308 of the manga, we see a flashback in which Giotto and Cozart meet for the first time. Cozart mentions that he is in Giotto's town because he is visiting his grandfather. I took this to mean that he had family there, which he usually visited for a few months, before going back home to his parents.
4. ''He remembers them being dragged away; men kissing men. To jail, some said. To be butchered, others whispered. Disgusting, some screamed.''
From what I could find, Italy in the 1800's had a relatively friendly attitude towards homosexuality, but for the sake of the story, and the fact that I wanted Giotto to confront the fact that his society does not accept his sexuality (as many queer people face today), I chose to dismiss this.
5. On the ''Man shall not lay with man as he lays with woman'' conversation between Knuckle and Giotto: this is a sentence in the Bible, which has MUCH discussion about it on its actual meaning and the exact translation. What Knuckle says about it is not entirely correct (or, at least, a really REALLY shortened version of one of the explanations).
To see more perspectives, you can simply search for the sentence on google.
Author's Note
For anyone wondering when this story is set: I put Giotto's lifetime somewhere around 1800. Most of my research for this fic was specifically set to this era. It is, however, hard to find information sometimes, never mind double checking them, so please keep in mind that not everything will be factually correct. Most of the biggest artistic licenses I knowingly took I will address in my author's notes.
I'm planning on weekly updates for this story. There are four chapters in total!
I want to thank i-w-p-chan for being here with me from the beginning, operaeagleicelynlacelett for reading and commenting on my work, as well ladyhallen , for reading and commenting, as well helping me with the quotes for each chapter! Next to that, I want to thank the Meet Me in the Pit Crew as a whole for their endless support and love!
Also, operaeagleicelynlacelett wrote a poem based on this story (but with a different ending) and it is INCREDIBLE. Please go read it! You can find it here! It's called ''you were a heavenbound angel, wings, halo, and all''!