Had Enough, a katekyo hitman reborn! fanfic

Had Enough

[The brat bested me in the Ring Conflict and went on to become the Decimo. Now the little twerp expects us to be best friends? Greedy little bastard. X27 ]

Hey, guys! Long time no see! My recent obsession has been Reborn, so in an attempt to stave off my writer's block, I'm going to do a one-shot song-fic based on it. :D

This fic will be focused around X27, or Xanxus/Tsuna interactions. This one will be from Xanxus's POV, mostly set TYL. (With the major exception of the first section of dialogue, which is set just before and during the ring conflict.) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own REBORN, nor do I own Had Enough by Breaking Benjamin. They are both amazing, however, and you should check them out. *wink*

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Milk it for all it's worth.
Make sure you get there first.
The apple of your eye.
The rotten core inside.
We are all prisoners.
Things couldn't get much worse.
I've had it up to here, you know your end is near.

I am the strongest—I am the one who will be the Tenth! I am Xanxus, the two X's in my name show everyone that they're dealing with Vongola's Decimo! Regardless of blood ties, regardless of that old man's lies, I will show them all! I will fight the old man and prove to him how strong I am! If I beat him, there's no way they can deny me!

Humiliating defeat. Locked in ice, my hatred grew exponentially as I bided my time and waited for the day that I would yet again be free.

Finally! I'm out—I can go take out my rage on that little parasite who thinks he's going to be Vongola the 10th! I meet him for the first time. He's tiny, weak, trembling with fear. His big, watery doe eyes stare at me and I get the same horrible feeling from this puny little boy that I get from the old man himself. He squeaks in terror and all of his worthless friends immediately move a step closer to protect him. I feel my rage growing at this open and subconscious display of caring, and raise my fist, flames of rage glowing, pulsing, ready to fire.

"Die." I tell him, paying no attention to my subordinates' irritating squawking. A well thrown pick ax from that Outside Advisor deflects my blow, though, and when I look back on it, I can no longer tell whether that was a blessing or a curse.

Then the fights begin, and my sense of anticipation grows. I am surprised at the strength of his subordinates, especially when one of them defeats that damned Shark. I pay them little heed, though, for I am confident that I can take them down easily. Besides, the ones he surrounds himself with aren't my concern—he is. Finally, our battle is upon us. I can practically taste his determination now. I don't know what that Arcobaleno did to him, but it's obvious that he's decided something. It probably had something to do with protecting those lame-ass friends of his—it always did with him. That's one of the things about him that pissed me off so damn much, he could never just fight his own fights and leave others to theirs—no—he had to go sticking his neck out for every goddamn person he saw. So much like that old man. That old man that I absolutely hated. Oh yes, I think to myself, this will be fun.

Damn it. Goddamn it. How the hell did this scrawny, weak, little kid beat me? Sure, my subordinates keep telling me that it was really me that won, that he just got lucky by mimicking the old man's technique. No, they're wrong. He won. He beat me. Even if he had just copied the old man's move, not just anyone can do that either. But he didn't. He overpowered me with his willpower—his will to save all of his weakling subordinates' lives—and simply froze me instead of killing me like he could've, no, should've. That kindness, that weakness is now mine to exploit. Wash your neck and wait, Sawada Tsunayoshi.

You had to have it all,
Well have you had enough?
You greedy little bastard,
You will get what you deserve.
When all is said and done,
I will be the one to leave you in the misery and hate what you've become.

Years pass. My strength continues to grow. I've heard little of Vongola's heir, but the little I've heard has all been glowing praise. He and his posse have never once strayed out of that tiny little town they started out in. They've holed themselves up in there like rabbits awaiting winter's first icy touches. I wonder if they're planning something. I ask the Arcobaleno on one of his rare trips to see the Ninth. Damn, I think, that brat's even made the hard-ass baby into his little lapdog. As soon as the question leaves my lips, though, the damn eternal-one-year-old just tilts his head so that his eyes are shadowed and smirks that infuriating little smirk. No, he tells me, Tsuna is just living out the remainder of his high school days in relative normalcy. Of course, he adds, Tsuna is still going through the baby's strict training regimen, but other than that, he is bound and determined to live an ordinary life until after high school. Well now, wasn't that the irony of the century. The boy that fought against me for control of one of the underworld's most powerful families wants to live a normal life. Screw that. The second the little pansy comes over to our world—the world he risked his life for—I will destroy him.

Intoxicated eyes, no longer live that life.
You should have learned by now, I'll burn this whole world down.
I need some peace of mind, no fear of what's behind.
You think you've won this fight; you've only lost your mind.

The boy—though you could hardly call him that anymore with the way he'd grown—had graduated from high school as the valedictorian. Directly after that, the old man shipped him and his troupe off to the Vongola's main mansion in Italy. The brat was under constant supervision and protection—not even the Arcobaleno got to see him more than occasionally. The major exceptions to this solitary confinement were, of course, his own guardians. He spent the entire four years that he would've been going to college in that state of ceaseless training. When he emerged, however, the changes were positively breathtaking. Gone was the mousy little coward that had somehow defeated me years ago. God, how long ago was it now? Eight years? Ten? Anyway—that boy was long gone. In his place stood a man whose power and intelligence was truly fitting of the Vongola Decimo. Since I'd last seen him, the boy had hit his growth spurt—he was now as tall as, if not a bit taller than me. He had gained enough muscle mass to be able to box with his Sun Guardian effortlessly. Any baby fat that may have been present on his thin frame had also long since been stripped away. His eyes—those innocent, doe brown eyes—had also become harder, cooler. He could now call upon his flame effortlessly, at a moment's notice. His flame—oh god, his flame—had gotten so beautiful. I don't know what the old man did to help him harness it, but it was like looking into…god, I can't even describe it. It was like looking at the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, but more. As I look down at my own vibrantly, angrily, sporadically pulsing flame, I begin to see why his boy was chosen.

During the formal ceremony in which the old man officially retired and named the boy as the Tenth, there was a cape that the old man was wearing. I think that it was the First's trademark cape or something, anyway—after the old man put the cape on the boy's shoulders, you could just feel the power leaking out of the new Tenth. A shiver went down my spine at the sheer amount of power that the boy—the Tenth, now—was exhibiting. Then he looked up and he looked right at me. It was as if he was channeling that goddamn beautiful flame through his eyes, and oh god, it was a sight to behold. Then he smiled at me, and I thought, Maybe he wasn't trash after all.

I should have seen it coming. It was so like him. I'm pretty sure he had joked about it happening once or twice. Nobody thought that it would ever actually happen, though. He was so strong, so invincible. Well, almost invincible.

So as the Tenth grew in power and influence, the number of people who were envious of him grew as well. As with every figure of power, especially in the underworld, there were many assassination attempts on him. None of them were even the slightest bit successful, and he—as he has always done—gained many of his former enemies as subordinates before anyone even knew of the attempts.

One day, he was going to a meeting with some other Bosses—he really didn't have to make an appearance, they were all weaker families, but he was forever saying that every family was entitled to a meeting with him, not just the large ones—when his limo was ambushed. A decoy posed as a man asking for directions, shooting the limo driver right between the eyes as soon as he rolled the window down. The Decimo noticed the loss instantly—despite the silencer the man had used—and quickly alerted his guardians. Then the seven of them leapt from the vehicle mere moments before it burst into flames. His subordinates immediately assumed their defensive battle positions, and his trademark flame sprouted from his forehead in preparation for combat. They were surrounded. They were outnumbered. They had been caught unprepared. But they were all determined to protect their Sky. Even the willful Cloud and the tricky Mist poured all of their skills into the battle, but for every man they incapacitated, another five would rise to take his place. They were getting gunned down, plain and simple.

And then it happened. His goddamn Vongola intuition notified him of what was going to happen before anyone else was aware of it. He knew it was coming, and he knew there was only one way to stop it. Then he made his mind up—he made his goddamn choice.

Then the plan was put into action. As the forces surrounding the seven men shifted into a semi-circle, one of the gunmen yanked the pin out of a grenade and threw it towards the back of the group where the guardians were all huddled around the Tenth. At the same time, the gunmen opened fire. As soon as he heard the grenade being released, the Decimo put his own plan into action. He gave rise to a wall of flame that blocked the shrapnel from the grenade's explosion—so that it wouldn't hit his guardians—then he flew around to the other side of his friends just before the shooting started. He stood tall as the bullets pierced him repeatedly; smiling sadly at the horrified faces his friends made when they realized what was happening. He raised one fist—lit with his beautiful flame—and then proceeded to punch the closest man to him right across the face. Spreading from the area that the Decimo had punched him, flames raced across the man's body until he was completely engulfed. In his panic and flailing, he had also caught several people around him on fire, and in that manner, the entire mob was soon just a pile of ash. Mission accomplished—threat to his friends eliminated—and energy spent, the Decimo then fell to his knees. His guardians then rushed to him—calling for help and trying to administer first aid—from where they had been huddled behind him so as not to be incinerated themselves. They laid him out on the ground—the bloodstained, ash covered ground—and tried to stop his bleeding. Hazy brown eyes looked up at the tear-filled ones surrounding him.

Buonanotte, i miei amici. Goodnight, my friends.

And then his eyes closed.

Hold me down (I will live again)
Hold me down (I will break it in)
Hold me down (better in the end)
Hold me down.

I've always been the type of dumb bastard that never realizes how much he loves something until it's gone.

Within minutes, the fallen Decimo was undergoing surgery at the nearest hospital. Six agonized and extremely irritable men paced outside the operation room of the hospital—all of the nurses' attempts to ether move or placate them having long since failed—venting their anguish in different ways. All of them suffered in an excruciating silence until the 'operating' light above the double doors they were all staring at clicked off. Then all of them hopped to their feet and attempted to barge right through the door almost simultaneously. The surgeon came through the doors at that very moment, though, and was immediately subjected to all manner of pleas, threats, and questions about the fallen Sky. The operation was a success, the man said—as all of the people gathered in front of him breathed a collective sigh of relief. We managed to save his life—although how that was possible with twenty-six bullets lodged in his body, I'm still not sure—but he is by no means whole or recovered. The air around the man grew menacing. What did he mean, the Tenth wasn't whole? W-well, the man began, stuttering as he realized his precarious situation, he is alive and in one piece, but his brain had already started shutting down by the time we got him onto the operating table. We managed to start him up again, but he is currently in a coma. How long will he stay like that?—six voices demanded. I…the doctor started, I don't know.

Now here we are—six months later—and still no word of when he might wake up. His guardians still visit him at least once a week, and the Cavallone brat visits quite often, along with that damn Longchamp. If he can still understand what's going on around him—even in that goddamn coma of his—then he never gets a minute of rest. I—being the boss of the Varia—still keep a silent vigil over him most of the day and night to thwart any possible assassination attempts while he's unable to defend himself. His condition is, of course, a highly guarded secret among the Vongola, the only exceptions are the close personal acquaintances the Decimo had made with other bosses. And even then, the bosses themselves are the only ones that know of his current indisposition. This constant watching over him, though, has given me a lot of time to think—truthfully, a lot more time than I ever wanted to devote to thinking. Thinking has never been my strong suit—I'm a rush-in-with-guns-firing sort of guy—the Tenth was always scolding me for not assessing the situation before blowing stuff up. The Decimo—Tsuna, he always said, call me Tsuna!—was always trying to spare as many lives as possible in any given circumstance and my 'shoot-first-ask-questions-later' attitude was forever causing him headaches.

He would—will, the bastard is nothing if not persistent—however, be proud at how well Stormy is running Vongola in his absence. He's doing everything just like Tsuna did so that if—when—his boss returns, everything will be just as he left it. Stormy and Rainy are working together to make Vongola run smoothly and consistently. The other guardians are out taking care of business as usual, they just do it with less vigor when it's not their Sky asking them to do it. The Cow is his usual whiney self and Sunny is going about the same as he always does—extremely—but the Decimo's two problem children, Cloudy and Misty, have gotten willful in his absence. Out of some twisted sense of respect—or devotion; seeing as just about everyone in Vongola has already professed their undying devotion to him—they obey his commands, but no one else's, apparently. The only reason they haven't flown the coop already is because he might—will—be back.

With all this extra thinking-time on my hands, as I sit there and watch him sleep, I find myself most often thinking about him. Although, seeing as he's about ten feet away from me, that isn't all that surprising.

My thoughts first go back to what happened just after he became the Decimo; the first time he called me to his office to assign me a mission.

I entered the opulently decorated office scowling. The massive wooden desk that the new Tenth was seated behind only emphasized his shrimpy-ness. I fought the urge to laugh. Looking up from the endless stacks of papers on said massive desk, the boy smiled that goddamn innocent, I-love-everyone-and-everyone-loves-me smile (which really should be illegal, I mean, after becoming a mafia boss, how the hell can he still smile like that?) and began to speak to me.

"Xanxus! I'm glad you came! How are you?" I assured him that I was doing just peachy—in the most polite manner I was capable of at the time—and then proceeded to ask him what the hell the mission was. Sighing, the man got down to business, informing me that the mission was, essentially, having me take down a guy with a big bazooka while another team of trash went in and rescued some hostages. Big deal, this mission would be a piece of cake. Go in, blow some shit up, get out. I turned to leave the Decimo's office when I was stopped by a soft voice.

"Xanxus, would you mind staying and talking to me for a little while? If you have nothing else to do, that is." I turned around and stared at him like he's just lost his mind. Which he must have if he was asking me to sit and chat with him. A scathing retort was on the tip of my tongue. An excuse to go do something, a prior engagement, anything! But for some stupid reason, I couldn't make myself say it. Startled at my own mouth's betrayal, I managed a noncommittal grunt and stomped my way over to the posh sitting area that was situated over in one corner of his office. Throwing myself down in one of the chairs, I glanced in his direction. Taking that as his cue, he quickly extricated himself from the mountains of papers surrounding him and made his way over to the sofa next to me. Closing his eyes, he composed his thoughts for a moment.

"The last time we met," He began, "it wasn't on the best of terms." Gee, ya think so, boy genius? "But now that we'll be working together, I'd like to get to know you a little better."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Does this little psycho think I'm just going to chat with him about my past and that we're going to become bestest friends? Because there's no way in hell that's ever going to happen. Just ask Sharky—he's been with me for years, and I still don't call him a friend. Oblivious to the signals my brain was sending to it, though, my mouth betrayed me again.

"You know my past—my mom dumped me with the old man, I tried to kill him, I got frozen." When I first start speaking, he looks so goddamn happy. Like I've just told him that we've achieved peace on earth, or something. But then, as he hears what I'm saying, his expression slides into—oh, god, how can he still do that at this age?—a pout. He fucking pouts!

"No," He said, "not that part! I know about that. I want to know about your mother, and how you met Squalo and the others. I want to know things about you, not things that happened to you." Well, fuck. I don't even know how to respond to this. Finally giving up, I just let my mouth run as it pleased.

"My mother and I lived in the slums until I was about 6. I was a just brat and didn't know how to control my flame, so whenever I got angry, it would just come busting out. One time I saw this other street girl that I sort of hung around with getting beaten on by a couple of older men in suits. I got angry—I got beyond angry—so I went over and took care of them. My mother got worried that I had run off somewhere and came looking for me, finding me just as I finished trashing the last man. She saw the flame pulsing from my fist and at that moment, I stopped being "her son", and became "the Ninth's son". She saw—through me—an opportunity to escape from the slums, and she took it. From there, she left me with the old man, and I've never heard from her again." Shit, did I really just say all that? I glanced at his face. He was beaming at me. Beaming. Like fucking floodlights. I blinked a few times, trying to clear the red spots from my vision.

"And then?" He prompted, "And then what did you do, after your mother left you with the Ninth?"

I chuckled. "I forgot about her. I was so busy enjoying all the perks of being the son of someone important—and being an all around jackass—I didn't even think of her once."

"I don't think that's true." He said, like he knows me, or something!

But then after my brief irritation, I thought for a minute. Did I really forget her? I could barely remember anything about that time—no, I had made myself forget. I hadn't wanted to think about how my mother had abandoned me and how I felt out of place and unwanted in this lonely castle, no matter how hard the old man tried to make me feel welcome. Shit. I knew I had forgotten all of this crap for a reason! Now I'm getting all goddamn mushy. Ugh. This stupid brat is like poison to my mind. I then turned to said brat and mumbled some excuses about going and stopping the rest of the Varia trash from killing each other in my absence. He just smiled that goddamn all-knowing smile—that he must have picked up from that damned Arcobaleno, I mean, the similarities are too great for it to be a coincidence—and allowed me to go unchallenged. He bade me farewell with an order to have a nice day, and I was out the door before the "day" finished crossing his lips.

Grinning, I remembered the unsettled feeling that being subjected to the Decimo alone always left me with. That was the feeling of emotions other than rage—emotions I had never felt prior to that, emotions that I never particularly cared to feel—as I later found out. This little routine would continue for a long time yet—I would go to his office to give a report, or find out about a new mission, and I would wind up sitting there and chatting for another couple of hours before I got fed up and left. He gradually heard stories about how I first met all of the members of the Varia, what my childhood was like, how I got so strong, and pretty much everything else. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have told him shit, but my mouth seems to have this ongoing disorder in which it just spews out information about my life at the least provocation from him. Eventually, over the course of a year or two, I stopped calling him "brat". Then it took me another year to call him "Boss". Now I regret that I never called him "Tsuna".

It happened one day, suddenly and—just like everything else he's ever done—completely without warning.

I was just sitting there, listening to the constant beep…beep…of his heart monitor—the constant noise of which signaled that he was still alive; the noise that comforted me more than I would ever reveal to anyone—when, all of the sudden, it started beeping like crazy. I jumped up from my seat, alarmed, and nearly jumped out of my skin when a whole gaggle of nurses burst through the door. They were squawking and screeching at each other so quickly I could barely make out any of it.

"Heart…cardiac arrest…seizure…might die…hurry…"

I swear my own heart almost stopped. They wheeled in extra monitors and got him hooked up to all of them in the blink of an eye. Then, the doctor strode in, all business. He started speaking about a mile a minute to the nurses and when I finally got my own heart functioning again—hello, we're in a room full of trained medics, and none of them noticed that I just had a heart attack? Some professionals they are—I stumbled over to him. Without consent from my brain, my tongue started stuttering out some stupid sounding demands to be told just what the hell was going on. Looking down over his glasses at me like I'm some small child, the doctor spoke in clipped tones.

"Your…friend…" he started, hesitating over what to call the man I watched over all hours of the day and night, "Just had a heart attack. We do not know the cause yet, but as soon as these machines get going, we should have some answers for you."

Fucking twit. Duh, I can see that he just had a heart attack. I'm not blind. What I want to know is what these dumbasses are going to do about it! He didn't give me a chance to say that to him, however, because he walked over to one of the machines and began fiddling with it before I could even open my mouth. Slightly mollified at the sight of him doing something even vaguely productive, I shot one last glare at his back before walking out of the room to take care of business.

Jogging down the sterile white hallways that line the hospital, I search for the nearest available area with cell phone reception. After a few moments of searching, I gave up and exited the building, dialing that damned baby's number the second I stepped out of the double doors. He answered on the second ring.

"Xanxus." The brat must have looked at his caller ID, "What's wrong?"

Of course, he already knows it's something to do with the man having seizures several floors above me, so I make it short and sweet: The Decimo's having heart attacks. The doctors are trying to fix him…yes, that's all I know for now.

He then hangs up with a promise to alert the others—namely the Guardians—and tells me this: Have faith in Tsuna, Xanxus. He hasn't let us down yet.

No, not yet he hasn't. I hope he doesn't prove the Arcobaleno wrong for perhaps the first—and last—time.

After returning to the whitewashed room that housed the Volgola's Sky, I could tell immediately that something was different. Worried, I strode over to that damned doctor and demanded to know what the hell happened.

"It was…it was the strangest thing…" The doctor began, clearly still stupefied himself, "The patient, Sawada, he was having seizures and attacks and nothing we were doing was helping in the least. We were just about ready to give up when, all of the sudden, it just stopped. He returned to normal instantly. His heart is behaving perfectly normally now—in fact, looking at his health, it's nearly impossible to tell that he was going through what seemed to be massive heart failure a few moments ago. It's almost as if he consciously ordered his body to restart—jump start, if you will—for some reason…"

That goddamn Arcobaleno was right again. Leave it to the Decimo to pull a stupid stunt like giving himself a heart attack. So what now?

"I…I have no idea." That dumbass doctor was looking at me like I was a nutcase again. "His condition has returned to exactly the same state as it was in before the attacks."

The same state—my ass it is! The Tenth has something planned—I just know it! Turning my head towards the stomping herd of feet I hear approaching this room, I figure out what the Decimo's waiting for. I take several steps to the side of the doorway—I definitely do not want to get run over by the men that will be stampeding through that door in a matter of moments.

"How is the 10th?" Is the first worried cry to reach my ears after the hospital door was unceremoniously shoved open in order to admit the six Guardians into the room.

"Is Tsuna okay?" "How's his heart?" "Has he stopped being extreme yet?" One by one all of their voiced chime in.

He's okay now, I tell them. His seizures stopped a few minutes ago. According to doc over there—I pointed to the man with my thumb—he's returned to the same state he was in before.

Sighs of both relief and disappointment fill the room as a toddler performs acrobatic feats and somehow manages to land on my shoulder.

"He's got something planned, doesn't he, Xanxus?" I can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

I nod and—at the Guardian's shocked exclamations—proceed to explain why I think this to be so. After I'm done explaining, the six look like they understand, but—like me—don't know how to rectify the situation. This is where the Arcobaleno proves his worth, yet again.

"Go to him, you idiots. Did Tsuna ever keep you at a distance like this? Did he ever want you to treat him like he was made of glass? Go over there and tell him to come home already!"

Understanding settled deep in my gut. The Decimo just always wanted to be around us, as friends, as family. He never wanted to be put on a pedestal; he wanted his family with him.

We surrounded him then, not quite sure what to say. The dynamite-user spoke first: "Jyuudaime…"

It was just a soft whisper, barely audible, but it allowed the rest of them to speak as well. Despite the topics broached, however, none made the prone man stir. That is, until, in the midst of an entirely different conversation involving birds and boxing, the swordsman said: "Tsuna."

A very slight—though very obvious to those of us staring at him, searching for any reaction at all—twitch of his left eyelid told us he'd hit the mark. It was so obvious, it made such perfect sense. If there was one thing the Decimo was forever telling his family to do, it was to call him Tsuna. Now that the trigger had been found, all that was left to do was pull it.

"Tsuna!" The swordsman said again, this time with much more excitement.

"Tsuna!" The cow cried out, wanting to see his eyes open again.

"Tsuna." The illusionist murmured, wanting his boss back as well.

"TSUNA!" The boxer yelled, hoping that vigor would cause his Little Bro to awaken quicker.

"Tsuna." The skylark whispered, with an accompanying tweet from his small, yellow bird.

"Tsuna…" The blushing dynamite-user stuttered for the first time.

"Tsuna!" The baby said, wanting his cheerful student up and about again.

"Tsuna." I said, wanting to see that smile again.

And—finally—he opened his eyes, smiling.

Buongiorno, i miei amici. Good morning, my friends.

Heaven help you.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There we go! I hope you liked it! I really enjoyed writing from Xanxus's point of view; he's so surly and brusque, and yet I'd like to imagine that he has a soft heart buried deep inside.

Maybe I'm just being overly optimistic…Oh well, whatever. XD

I don't know if this will inspire me to write other things again or not, but slowly but surely, my writer's block is ebbing.

Once again—check out Katekyo Hitman Reborn! It's amazing. The first few manga are rather slow, but then it really picks up speed and gets amazing.

Thanks, and don't forget to review!