Ah, he thinks, feeling a little numb and just a tad bit exasperated because there was only so many times the world can pull the same joke on him, I think⦠I know what this is.
He didn't even have to think twice. It was pretty obvious from the way he was arranged in the tight enclosed space that didn't budge at all even with a slight nudge of his knee. He could barely move and judging from how difficult it was getting to breathe, he didn't have much time before he wouldn't be able to move at all. Whoever made this one was surprisingly persistent on sealing him in shut, apparently.
Attempting to even out his breathing and briefly closing his eyes to gather his composure, he listened, letting his revered intuition surface unhindered in the back of his mind. He mostly didn't rely on this particularly convenient attribute handed down to him by his ancestors but with all things considered, he figured it wouldn't hurt to take precautions. Most especially when he was vulnerable as he currently was.
He inhales sharply and holds his breath.
The first thing he picks up on is the muted silence. The second thing he picks up on is-
A voice? He blinked at the thought before frowning slightly. That was new.
He pressed his palms flat against the surface of whatever he was sealed into, the surface cold against the skin of his hands, and he pushed with his knees because wherever he was didn't give him much room for movement. His eyebrows furrowed when it still didn't budge. He let his hands wander, searching for anything that would get the thing to open but with the small space and the way his breathing was getting positively difficult to maintain at an even pace, he thought that at this point, perhaps the only option was to make an exit for himself. It was a concept that was taught to him in reverse, such that whenever he was in dire need of an entrance, he should simply make one for himself instead of letting the vulnerability get to him in the middle of a dangerous battle.
Gritting his teeth, he released a short burst of Sky Flames and forcibly bit down on the agonized groan that tried to slip past his lips. Channelling flames barehanded was something he was trying to accomplish in order to eradicate one major weakness that Reborn just loved to rub in his face back in the headquarters and back in wherever he- kind of belonged. Wearing the gloves took time and the few seconds it takes to wear it might as well be just enough for someone to pull the trigger. Sure, he made it a habit to wear them whenever he went out but the remedy was merely temporary. He was pretty much open to attacks and assassination the rest of the time he chooses not to wear them, which, against his Guardian's wishes, was pretty much most of the time.
His Guardians, he repeated in his mind, breath catching. Where are they? Are they safe? Are we separated again?
"..it. What the hell was that-?"
Tsuna froze.
Above him, the wall that he was pushing against had exploded outwardly in a shower of soil - so he had been right; he was underneath the ground - and metal scraps which had him realizing that it wasn't a coffin he was in as much as it was a narrow container meant to simply and slowly kill whoever was unfortunate enough to be bound within. Some bits of soil hit his cheek and his hands suffered mild burns from the miniature explosion, and he could breathe a little easier without being confined. He could and he thinks he should but-
He exhales shakily instead as if he's got more air to spare than it seems. "...What-?"
And he flinched, hard and completely unbidden for, when he speaks and hears a voice that wasn't his own.
Oh shit. His eyes widened. This didn't happen last time, either.
"Are you alright?" Someone asked and he quickly threw himself upwards from the sunken hole he was in, desperate to get away, backing a few steps and regarding the two unmistakable children with a horrified stare.
There was no need for him to think twice, just as he had when he awoke in that container. The blue strands of hair obstructing his eyes, the unnaturally pale skin of his - small, like a child's - hands, the incredulous amount of worry the children were exuding from their mere stares.
This can't be happening, he tries to tell himself, only succeeding with just making it sound unquestionably truer than it already is, This can't be happening, this is impossible, this- why am I even- oh my God-
"Mukuro-san?" One of the two hesitantly calls, eyes narrowed in concern, and Tsuna winces like he's just been impaled with a lamppost through his gut.
It was happening, in spite of all the reasons why it couldn't and shouldn't.
It wasn't likely, but it wasn't impossible.
And it was fucking happening.
He was in Rokudo Mukuro's body, with miniature versions of Chikusa Kakimoto and Ken Joshima standing before him, buried underneath the ground in a place that reeked of death just two minutes ago.
