Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, all rights and material belongs to Akira Amano. Any and all material is taken with full acknowledgement from the manga and anime. All the rest is my own work.
Note: Assume they are speaking Italian unless otherwise stated
Chapter 1
From the Fire
The slumbering night, cloaked in a blanket of peace and stillness, was erupted into a hell-storm of gunfire, shrieking alarms and screams of agony.
Guards darted here and there, systematically hunting down the intruders who dared invade their home ground, officers barked out orders to trembling scientists and the air tasted of acrid smoke as a devouring fire tore at the west wing of the compound. Chaos reigned supreme at the sheer destruction wrought in so little time.
Amongst the pandemonium, deep in the halls of the innermost sanction of the sprawling building, a figure danced with death, dodging bullets with a grace almost inhumane in its sensuality. Fierce and bold in their defiance, the shadow struck out – one, two, three – and the guards collapsed, eyes unseeing.
Biting back a sigh – he needed to get out of this madness – Lambo Bovino leapt over the corpses and headed north-east, all stealth abandoned. Swiftly dealing with other guards along his path, Lambo unerringly followed his mental map of his route towards the back entrance to the eastern courtyard, drenched in blood and ruthlessly suppressing his annoyance.
'Whoever tipped the Fleur Famiglia off is a dead person walking,' he inwardly snarled, grunting as he coolly decapitated a random man who had charged him but moments before.
Ignoring the fountain of blood resoaking his clothes, silent footsteps padded through bodies, corpses and broken shrapnel and stone as Lambo continued to seethe. 'It was the sleazy informant who alerted them, there was no one else who could've. The timing—' He snapped a guard's neck '—is too suspicious to be coincidental. Blast it all, Vongola, I told you to keep an eye on him!'
A right turn, duck beneath a sword swing, electrocute the enemy, front-flip, crush a trachea, left turn.
'What happened to your precious 'Intuition'?'
Slide, head-shot, dodge, parry, gut-slash.
Glaring overhead lights flickered as the uproar of screams climbed abruptly in volume. A gasp of air rushed out as the teenager narrowly ducked beneath a flurry of arrows, a prickle of pain emanating from a newly wounded graze on his cheek.
'Fucking archers!'
He peeked out around the corner and was almost impressed to find only one archer, even if his scorn of their chosen weapon twisted his lips into a sneer. '…Idiot. Useless in such a narrow corridor.'
'Right-handed, tired, favours left leg, lowered bow, nine arrows left, light armour begets speed—'
In a flash of black, the teenager vanished in a blur of steel. A moment later, he straightened once more, casually striding past the still twitching form of the now deceased archer.
'…Trash.' He was clearly spending too much time around Xanxus.
Lord only knows what the volatile Sky would say to him once he hears of this situation. Strike that, he knew exactly when he would say.
'"Useless trash! Only an idiot like you would stumble into a pathetic situation like that!"' Lambo sinuously moved out of the trajectory path of the fired bullet, continuing to stride towards the clearly panicking man. '"You're supposed to be better than the fuckers around you! You think we picked you out for your pretty face?!"' He would've shot the guard long ago but he automatically keeps track of his rounds and knew his SIG Sauer M17 handgun had run out three corridors ago. '"Fucking trash, you may not be Varia but you're motherfucking Quality and you better not stain our reputation with your worthless antics!"'
"…Even though no one knows of my association with you freaks?" Lambo sighed out, sliding into the man's guard and nonchalantly slitting his throat. Great, now he was answering imaginary Xanxus' questions out loud.
'Welcome to insanity, Bovino.'
Casting the dead guard no further attention, Lambo sauntered on, his ire having faded with his realisation of his own mental instability. His earlier irritation had been rather uncharacteristic of him in the first place as this isn't the first time he had been swept up in similar situations.
Such emotions in hostile territory is a sign of an amateur or novice assassin.
An electric eye narrowed as the Ka-Bar in his left hand flicked out and was flung gracefully into the right eye of the awaiting enemy as he rounded a corner. Walking past, his hand grasped the handle of the combat knife and slid the weapon out, expression unmoving at the faint popping that sounded in the process.
He was certainly no amateur.
Though he was dealing with all the combatants efficiently, Lambo was well aware his Lightning Flames could easily slaughter his enemies in droves; it was practically crooning for bloodshed underneath his skin. However, due to the fact that the Fleur Famiglia was actually fairly well-connected in terms of alliances, he needed to leave no trace or clue as to who was their executioner this night. Therefore, no Flames. No Gyuudon.
Besides, he needed to work off some energy.
What better way to release some steam than to aid the fortune of the gene pool by the extinction of some unfortunate primates? He was doing the world a favour, really.
Lambo had a feeling Vongola wouldn't appreciate his sentiment.
Sable hair – tied back into a braid – flicked as he tilted his head. To his keen ears, the wailing alarms of the compound was still blaring but the tumult of shouting seemed to have died down some. Either the fire he had ignited in the western part of the compound had finally killed off some of the Famiglia or the fools had actually managed to scrape some sense together and decided to evacuate.
Too bad for them. Lambo had already rigged all available exits earlier. The only way out for them was the afterlife.
If they decided to attempt to climb the walls, their own security measures would eradicate them.
It was nice when a plan came together like this.
The teenager flung his empty Sauer handgun into the face of an approaching assailant – he already knew that the Famiglia hired sixty-eight guards but this was ridiculous, they were like cockroaches– and used the distraction to deliver a powerful roundhouse kick. Unconscious from the heavy blow, the woman dropped like a broken marionette and was summarily killed by a quick stamp to the throat. Retrieving the gun – it was a nice one – Lambo rounded the corner that would lead to the hallway to his escape.
It was certainly a nice plan but the Lightning Guardian knew better than to be overconfident. Arrogance is neither a virtue nor a liability as long as one has the skills or ability to back up one's taunts. Overconfidence is the downfall of hitmen everywhere and Lord knows the Varia had beaten him up enough times to drive such foolish notions of superiority out of his head.
Xanxus and his Guardians would definitely approve the chaos but would also be equally after his head for getting his presence sold out by a weakling.
Lambo anticipated very painful 'training sessions' in his future.
Tactics, such as pointing out the fact that most of the blame laid at the feet of the young Vongola, would only incite them further.
Because they were insane killers who insisted on Quality, not common sense.
Lambo peeked past the wall, double-checking the hallway despite not hearing any sounds. It was always best to check. Upon seeing only empty space, the teenager stepped around the corner towards the heavy metal doorway at the very end of the stretched space. Upon his approach, his eyes picked out the bolts and keypad that indicated its currently locked state.
'No matter.'
Seeing that there was no other security measure besides the electrical key bolt system, the electric eye hooded as he reached inwardly for his Lightning Flames. Plunging into the controlled waves of brightly burning electricity – Destruction and Fire and Carnage – Lambo teased out a mere tendril of Flame, a speckle of power from the roiling sea of chaos burning within him.
'–Charge the particles, shake the atoms, increase the energy–'
The air suddenly smelled of ozone and smoke as the tiny keypad on the doorway fizzled out, its status light flicking from red to green. He reached out and tugged on the handle, the door easily giving way, stepping through. Quietly closing the door behind him, Lambo emerged into a darkened courtyard, shadowed with the ominous attire of the witching hour. Undaunted by the darkness, Lambo ghosted alongside the vine-choked walls to his left, slipping through the doorways towards the exit he had earlier marked out. The darkness wasn't hindering, the light of the half-moon and the still raging fire to the west gave him enough illumination to navigate by.
Calling upon his innate skills of infiltration and espionage, the small hitman's silhouette was but a mere slip of the night, a silent tearing of reality, unseen by no one.
Which was fine to say, considering there was no one enemy around.
Lambo had calculated that the Famiglia would either deal with the fire, rush to save their precious work in the main building of the compound before they were destroyed or attempt to escape via the southern and western exits. The eastern gateway would be unoccupied.
Sure enough, upon reaching the unmanned security booth guarding the snaking, gravel driveway leading from the Fleur Famiglia territory, Lambo saw that no person was around.
His work was almost done.
He crossed the empty expanse of space, stealth unneeded now that he was at the exit, and twisted past the slightly gaping gates.
He was out. All he needed to do now was hike a few miles to reach the inconspicuous Renault Alpine he had stashed in the forest a few days before his infiltration, drive along the main road – looping around and doubling-back as per standard protocol to throw off possible pursuers – until he reached Cannes and then use his plane ticket at the Cannes-Mandelieu Airport to catch a flight out of France and back to Italy.
But first…
Striding away, back confident and head back, Lambo reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a circuit switch, holding it out in front of him. With a deadly smirk twisting his full lips, the hitman tapped out a gloved finger and flicked the switch.
With a thunderous roar, the main building of the Fleur Famiglia shattered into a white-hot explosion of immense heat and fire, consuming the remnants of what remains of the Famiglia in its greedy, primordial grasp. Its fiery heat, even from this distance, could be felt as a distinct pressure, playing upon the skin of the master who had conjured it in the first place.
Smirk still in place, Lambo Bovino – Lightning Guardian, hitman – walked away, slim form haloed by the light of the destruction behind him.
'Boom.'
It was early afternoon when the black limousine pulled up in front of the vast Italian mansion, gliding to a halt as the driver stopped the car. The middle-aged man, Marco Bocchino, cleared his throat and glanced back through the glass panel behind him.
"We're here, Signore," Marco politely called out. He heard movement as the passenger presumably straightened and unbuckled his seat belt.
"…Ah, so it seems."
"You have a good day, sir."
The door opened.
"Yes, you too, Signor Bocchino. Ciao."
Marco tipped his hat and waited patiently for the door to close before pulling the automobile away.
The deposited figure watched the limousine fade into the distance before beginning to move towards the exit, duffle bag in tow. He climbed up the stone stairway to the front doors. When he reached the large entrance, the figure took no time to admire the intricate carvings etched into the ash wood of the door – he idly predicted it was going to be destroyed in a month anyway – before the door opened in front of him, revealing the cheerful smile of a Vongola maid.
"Hello, Signor Bovino!" she chirped, curtseying as the figure entered. Straightening, she continued to beam as he approached. It was no wonder the young maid was in a good mood, the male walking towards her was certainly an attractive one.
Her eyes trailed over his form. Though still not exceptionally tall due to his young age, nonetheless, Signor Bovino cut a certain, striking image. Messy black curls tumbled down in a roguish style, framing a lovely, angular face.
'Oh, I would love to trail my fingers through those locks…'
His hooded, electric green eye – the other shut closed in an appealingly lazy manner – contrasted nicely with his lightly bronzed skin and high cheekbones and a sharp chin pointed to his full-blooded Italian heritage.
'Italians always look so very attractive…'
Clad in a cow-print shirt, dark jeans and a black jacket, Signor Bovino was quite a handsome teenager and would certainly grow up into a sable-haired beauty.
'Ah, I can't wait!'
Signor Bovino flashed a charming smile, full lips curling upwards. "…Yare yare, Signora Abriana, good afternoon. You look positively radiant today."
A faint blush infused the maid's face. "Oh! Thank you, Signore! How was your trip?"
"It was nice, I suppose. Catching up with a childhood friend is always fun. However, I think I'll retire now. Have a nice day, Signora."
She quickly curtseyed again, brown hair slipping forward to hide her burning face. "Y-yes, good day, Signor Bovino." The maid hurried away, her blush hardly abating in the meanwhile. When the young woman's form vanished from the hallway, Lambo's smile faded. While he certainly did intend to go to his bedroom – sabotage missions wasn't exactly a walk in a park, after all – he needed to report in first to Vongola Decimo.
Which sadly meant no naps.
Biting back a sigh, Lambo slumped off, back slouching and walk almost dragging – a far cry from the almost liquid prowl of his mission gait – as he adopted the persona of the lazy, spoiled teenager the Vongola Famiglia was used to.
'How tiring…'
Lambo passed several hallways, marble staircases and two floors before moving even halfway to the Vongola's office…because they just had to situate his room right near the top of the mansion. Clearly, the first generation of the Vongola Famiglia paid no or little sympathy to the poor successors that followed their reign, who would be forced to traipse at least five floors just to report back from their missions.
Such sadistic ancestors. Lambo approved.
At least the view was grand. The current décor was passed down from Vongola Nono's rule and evidently, he had a rather stylish taste in decoration. Beautiful cream wallpaper with delicate bronze leafing design was the main background, with edgings of earthen tones to create a sense of comfort and minimal tracings of gold to hint at the associated wealth and prosperity of the Vongola. Crystalline chandeliers with soft, amber glows lit the hallways and whenever one can turn, tasteful antique paintings and glassware covered the walls and side tables.
Of course, being a born and bred Mafioso, Lambo also knew that behind the wallpaper was fifteen inch steel walls, the seemingly 'antique' paintings and glassware were actually fakes that was meaningless in value if destroyed and the lovely colour palette was chosen to avoid any leanings towards a particular Flame or Famiglia.
'Mafia. We define complicated.'
It was rather impressive that the mansion's interior has thus far survived relatively intact up to this point. Whilst yes, the first floor was renovated three times, the kitchens six, the training rooms four and Meeting Room 2, 5 and 6 was reconstructed at least nine times, there had been no occasion where the whole mansion needed to be rebuilt.
Though the fact that it is actually a given that each successive Vongola Don would need to rebuild the mansion at least once is a true testament to the sheer bloodthirstiness and skill of the Vongola Famiglia.
Lambo made a note to compliment Vongola Nono though, the next time the elder visits. Perhaps the former Don could pass on a few tips? It would be useful for infiltration roles for an interior designer or architect. In fact, he cou–
"Lambo!"
The teenager stopped and looked around despite already knowing the familiar voice calling him. Lambo waved at the jogging figure.
"Ah, hey, Take-nii…"
Yamamoto Takeshi finally reached the teenager. Tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, the Rain Guardian of the Vongola Famiglia grinned and clapped the younger male on the shoulder.
"Hahaha, hi, little brother! How was the sleepover with I-Pin?" Takeshi laughed, ruffling Lambo's riot of curls into an even messier mass. He yelped and batted the other's hand away, reaching up to fix his hair back into its previously organised state.
"Take-nii, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm too old to have sleepovers and stop messing up my hair!" Lambo whined, quickly stepping back in case of further attacks upon his person. Unaffected by his little brother's complaints, the man simply grinned bigger and folded his arms behind his head. "Lambo, a sleepover is a sleepover and trust me, your hair was messy in the first place so I didn't actually change much!"
Lambo frowned. "Just because your hair is 'amazing' doesn't mean mine is messy."
Sheepishly, his older brother scratched his head. "Haha, it doesn't? I thought it did…"
The teenager fought the urge to twitch. He was better than that.
"Really, though. How did it go?" Takeshi asked curiously, draping an arm around Lambo's shoulders.
'Oh, it went perfectly. You know, exited the country without anyone knowing, started a fire, killed a few dozen people, blew up a few buildings, illegally drove a car for five hours, caught a flight back to Italy and grabbed a cappuccino. The usual.'
"…Fine. I-Pin made me a chocolate cake but it wasn't as good as the Vongola cooks'."
Takeshi nodded seriously. "Nothing's better than their baking."
Lambo tilted his head, peering at his older brother. Behind their lazy glaze, his eyes noted the slouch of his shoulders, the slight bags under narrowed brown eyes, the slightly stiffened right arm and the extra bandage on his right cheek.
"Yare, yare, how was your mission? Naples, right?" Lambo asked, expertly burying his worry behind his usual persona. Takeshi laughed again, drawing Lambo nearer to ruffle his hair – ignoring the other's scowl – with his other hand. "It was great. Pretty easy, barely took a week. Now I have some time off before my next!"
"Oh? Any plans, Take-nii?"
"Haha, yeah. Might practise some baseball!"
Lambo's smile strained.
–Narrowed brown eyes glinted and anxiety flooded his bloodstream at the unnerving sight, metal swung and a flash of white blurred before pain swallowed his vision. Darkness encroached his sight as his mind swam from the unholy hit to the head—
"…That sounds like fun. I hope you enjoy yourself," Lambo managed to grit out, pushing away the horrific memories with the ease of a fully trained assassin experienced in trauma.
Takeshi beamed, practically lighting up the hallway. "Aw, thanks, little brother! Are you free?"
'No.'"…Uh, not really, I kinda need to unpack."
"Oh, when you're done, want to join me in a game later?"
'Fuck no.' "…Sure."
Takeshi laughed, ruffling Lambo's hair for a final time before stepping away. "Awesome! Alright, I'll catch you later. We're going to have so much fun!"
Lambo carefully kept his smile fixed to his face as he waved to his big brother – possessed as he was by the sadistic spirit of baseball – as he walked away. It was only when the other man disappeared did his fake expression drop to reveal his look of dawning horror.
'I regret everything.'
Recovering after he accepted the inevitable painful infirmary visit in the very near future – Yamamoto Takeshi plus baseball equals pain, it's a fact of life – Lambo continued upon his way. Finally, after another few minutes of walking, he reached the ornate doors that signalled the residence of the Don of the Vongola.
Lambo politely knocked.
"Come in," a rich, baritone voice commanded.
After opening the doors and slipping inside, Lambo's slouch disappeared in place for a casual elegance as the Lightning Guardian automatically bowed.
"At ease, Lambo."
He unbent in time to see the beautiful smile of Sawada Tsunayoshi: his Sky and Tenth Generation Mafia Boss of the Vongola Famiglia.
Sawada Tsunayoshi beckoned him further in and Lambo reflexively obeyed, halting to a stop before the huge oaken desk which was quite literally covered in neat piles of paperwork and folders. He absently adjusted his posture to become unbowed and straight, his arms to fold behind his back and his gaze to morph into an apathetic expression, professional and smooth.
Tsunayoshi studied Lambo, hands lacing in front of his face and burning, amber eyes roving around the teenager before him.
"Report," he ordered finally, leaning back in his authentic leather chair.
"Sabotage and elimination mission, as per ordered by you, Vongola Decimo, on the twenty-first of June, was completed yesterday at oh-one-hundred. The Fleur Famiglia compound was destroyed and all information on Project Ariel was similarly erased. There was no complications and only superficial injuries was sustained." The verbal report was delivered in a blank monotone as Lambo proficiently summarised his mission.
Tsunayoshi's face remained unmoved. "Casualties?"
"All were eliminated."
"I see."
A few moments birthed and died as Boss and Guardian examined each other, Tsunayoshi considering and Lambo waiting. Suddenly, a smile broke out on the older male's face, gentle and glowing as he laughed lightly. "Well done, Lambo! You did an excellent job. Do you have your report with you?"
With a slight smirk, Lambo nodded, sliding a hand into the duffle bag beside on the floor and taking out his report. As Tsunayoshi accepted the folder, he saw a summary page neatly taped to the front along with colour coordinated sticky-notes, pointing out the key information and facts in Lambo's flowing writing.
The boss' smile widened and an almost fervent gleam shone in his eyes. "Thank you, Lambo. Truly." Gratitude was almost pouring off the man in waves. Indeed, he seems close to tackling him in a hug.
With another boss, Lambo most likely would've been slightly concerned for his own health but he understood. Compared to the rest of the Vongola – filled to the brim with crazed assassins, Guardians and Mafioso with a penchant for mass destruction and a lack of organisational tendencies – his report was akin to a blessed gift from the gods.
The fact that it was actually whole and not ripped to shreds, stained, dirty, cut up, smeared with food or covered with blood was a true gift, let alone summarised, annotated and sticky-noted.
Sawada Tsunayoshi hated paperwork. Fact of life.
Tossing the report onto the desk, Tsunayoshi opened his arms and laughingly asked, "Well? Isn't my little otōuto going to give me a hug?"
Rolling his eyes, Lambo caved in and rounded the desk, sinking into the warm and comforting embrace of his older brother. The two brothers gasped and smiled as the bond between Sky and Lightning Guardian flared to life and settled with the established contact between the two. Warmth flooded their systems as quick sensations and sparks of emotions was exchanged as their Flames curled within one another, heat flooding the room.
Guardian and Sky was reunited once more.
The bond between Boss and Guardian was a sacred thing, cherished between the Sky and their set of Guardians. To be part of a Family, to be connected with each other, Flames knitting and intertwining into a network as thick and unbreakable as the very earth, knowing and feeling like you're part of something bigger and greater than yourself…it was an incredible thing.
To not be part of a Family is truly terrible.
Lambo perched upon the armrest of Tsuna's chair, cuddled into the side of his older brother with his arm wrapped around him. He tolerated the fingers running through his hair, if only because he knew Tsuna also understood the pain of having messy hair.
Not that it was actually that relevant nowadays. Sawada Tsunayoshi had grown up to be, as others would put it, 'one hunk of a fine man.' Whilst being rather…vertically challenged, his previously thin form of his teenage years had thickened into a slender and toned stature that belied incredible speed and strength. Once wide and naïve brown eyes had narrowed into a pair of intense amber that eerily resembled a certain blonde-haired ancestor. Baby fat had burned away from years of fighting to reveal a beautiful face that challenged any claims to masculinity. Truly, the heart-shaped structure, tilted eyes and pouty lips has forever barred Tsuna from the realm of his comrades' good looks, leaving him alone and desolate in the more feminine areas of beauty.
A fact that Tsuna had bemoaned many times to Lambo.
In the teenager's and many others' opinions, however, Tsuna has developed an unearthly aura of calm serenity and resolve that bolstered and terrified the hearts of many a Mafioso. His reign as the Decimo Vongola Boss has brought many changes, the like of which the Mafia world had never seen before and was suitably beaten into being forced to accept said changes by a terrifyingly sweet smile and burning orange eyes.
Sawada Tsunayoshi had grown to be an amazing Boss.
Vongola Primo had been proud.
In Lambo's opinion, seeing said frightening boss currently nuzzling Lambo's hair, unheeding of the various creases being formed in his Stefano Ricchi tailored suit, probably would shatter their image of the Vongola Boss, however.
Pulling back with a smile and reaching out with a hand for Lambo's report, keeping the other wrapped around his adorable little brother, he once again sighed with admiration at the sight of the clean and whole and annotated report. Fearing that Tsuna would actually weep at his feet or something along those lines, Lambo kept himself firmly anchored to his Sky's side.
"Really, why can't the others be like you?" Tsuna asked with exasperation, beginning to read through the summary – truly, Lambo thought he saw tears – of the report. The teenager tossed his head. When the older man peeked up, he was met with the terrifying sight of a blank-faced Lambo Bovino casually cleaning a Beretta M9A1 handgun with a cloth and lounging predatorily like a large cat on his armrest.
"Because those fools are a hundred years too late to reach my level of professionalism and general superiority," Lambo drawled, dismantling his gun in a blur of speed.
Tsuna gulped. His adorable, scary assassin brother was starting to sound an awful lot like another scary assassin he knew.
He quickly shook off his temporary paralysis. "It shouldn't be so difficult, though! Just last week, Kyoya-kun handed me his report. Two weeks late. Consisting of two sentences. 'The mission is complete. I bit the enemy herbivores to death.'"
Lambo raised an eyebrow. "How…succinct."
Tsuna cast a baleful eye to his little brother. "It's not funny," he groaned. "How am I supposed to deduce the details of the mission from eleven words? I'm not a mind-reader!"
"It's not that hard. Just follow the trail of destruction."
He sighed. "The point of reports is for them to tell me what happened, not for me having to find out what happened myself. It's been at least six years, shouldn't they know what to do by now?"
Lambo eyed the muzzle of his gun. Was that a dent he saw? "Well, since this is actually the two hundred and fifty-seventh time you've asked me that exact question, I'll give you the exact same answer I have given you the last two hundred and fifty-six times: Take it up with them, you're the Sky."
Tsuna slumped. 'Damn my brother's terrific memory.' Pushing past the very unhelpful reply, he continued to peruse Lambo's report. He paused at a particular note.
He looked up at the indifferent boy next to him. "Dato sold you out?"
Lambo barely looked up. "Whilst there are several explanations as how the Fleur Famiglia knew of a possible intruder, he is the most plausible reason as to why."
The mafia Boss hummed gently as he thought this over. "I had sensed that he was rather unreliable but the fact that he went straight to the Fleur Don is slightly troubling. You had accounted for this beforehand?"
A slight nod. "Yes, their pre-knowledge had been assimilated into my planning prior to the infiltration. It had made no difference."
Tsuna's low laughter drew his attention towards the man. He held up a picture. "Yes, I can see that. Should I be impressed or worried by your…explosive abilities?" It was a camera picture of the very large plume of heat and light that had been the result of Lambo's explosion as he exited the area.
It was quite immense. And fiery.
Tsuna paused. "You…don't need to look so proud."
When Lambo merely turned his gaze back to the gun he was cleaning, Tsuna allowed himself to slump even lower in his seat. He dragged his hand slowly down his face as his breath escaped in a long exhale that spoke of deep exhaustion. His necked lolled as he faced the ceiling. "Why? Why are my Guardians so destructive?"
Amber eyes caught the movement of a lazy shrug from his little brother beside him. "Blame Reborn. He was the one who picked your Guardians."
Tsuna nodded. That makes sense. He generally blamed Reborn for a lot of things. Not out loud, though.
He turned back to Lambo. "Still, was it really necessary to blow up the buildings? If I wanted mass destruction and carnage, I would've sent Kyoya-kun."
Lambo stared at his Sky.
Tsuna faltered slightly and he thought over his statement. "Ah, okay, perhaps not Kyoya-kun…maybe Mukuro-kun?"
Lambo continued to stare.
"…Maybe not him either."
The teenager sniffed and continued cleaning his handgun, black metal gleaming threateningly under the ceiling light. "Trust me, Vongola, you should be glad you sent me. I doubt the countryside would've been left intact if you sent either of those two overpowered idiots."
The mafia Boss glanced from the teenager to his right – who was handling a military handgun as casually as anything – to the picture still in his hand, the coloured image really bringing out the sheer intensity of the explosion Lambo has purposefully triggered.
'Honestly, is there really a difference between them…?'
Moving past such thoughts, Tsuna picked up where he left off in the report, only to be interrupted a minute later.
"Vongola? Did Take-nii's mission go well?" Lambo asked, moving onto the barrel of the weapon he was cleaning.
"Hmm? Oh, don't worry, it went fine. Only a few bruises and a sprained wrist. I'll prod him into visiting Ryohei-kun later. Takeshi-kun was surprisingly eager about something when he came in, almost sprung out of my office when he finished his report."
Lambo stopped, his expression taking a distinctively pale tint. "A-ah? I believe I know what he's so happy about."
"Oh?"
"He's…planning to practise baseball."
Tsuna froze.
–he couldn't move from his prone position, his head hurts so much…a shadow shaded his face and he looked up into a pair of devil's eyes. "Hey, sorry about that, Tsuna! Want to go again?" A tanned hand reached out and deposited the cause of his raging pain beside him: a white ball—
"…I see."
"…He invited me to play with him later…"
"Did…you accept?"
The expression of Lambo's face said it all. Tsuna considered a dozen different responses to the current situation that he could take and finally decided upon a course of action.
He reached out and patted Lambo's head, face solemn as he intoned, "It was wonderful knowing you, otōuto. I'll make sure your funeral wreaths are calla lilies."
There was only one response to that. Lambo punched him.
A few minutes later, Lambo was once again precariously balanced upon the chair's armrest, continuing to wipe down his gun and paying no mind to his Sky beside him who was nursing a bruise on his cheek.
"You didn't have to hit me," Tsuna said pitifully. He took the opportunity to quickly sign his signature on Lambo's report and plopped it in the out-box tray on his desk. "You're only reinforcing my belief that my Guardians are violent and dangerous people who shouldn't allowed in polite society."
Lambo yawned. "If you must, blame Reborn again. He was the one who picked your Guardians, as I said."
If it wasn't for the fear of the continuance of the Tutoring-From-Hell, the poor mafia Boss probably would've whimpered and face-planted onto the desk in front of him. That and also the fear that he would mess the stacks of paperwork up and would've have to spend yet even more hours fixing everything.
…Why was he a mafia boss again? Oh, right.
Reborn.
Damn him.
Muffled by the hands on his face, Tsuna mumbled, "It all goes back to him. Reborn. God, even when he's doing a mission in China, it's like he never even left. Reborn. Reborn, Reborn, Reborn. He's a demon. It's like a demon calling. Say his bloody name too many times and he'll appear. Probably in the bathroom mirror at night when your guard is down and you look up and see his reflection and scream and then he shoots you and drags you down into the depths of Hell where he came from…"
Lambo eyed his babbling Sky warily. 'Did he finally crack from all the stress of paperwork? He didn't last very long…barely six years. Poor Tsuna…'
"Has Mukuro been roping you into watching horror movies with him again?" the teenager asked, watching as Tsuna peeked at him over his hands still covering his face.
The man nodded in exhaustion. "Yes…he made me watch The Shining. Six times. In one night…It was horrible." Tsuna shuddered in remembrance, thinking back to that night, haunted by memories of merciless homochromatic eyes and low cackling as he hunched down in a mound of pillows, eyes fixed on the—
He shuddered again.
Lambo, now knowing that his Sky didn't crack from all the paperwork, was unaffected by the half-mad gleam in the other's eyes. "…And?"
Amber eyes flew wide and Tsuna rounded on him. "Six times! In one night! He kept laughing, even during the sixth time! Doesn't it get even slightly boring for him?"
'Uh-oh. He's starting to look like he did during the Fork Incident. Better head this off…'
"Rokudo Mukuro, as you know, is one of your half Mist Guardians," Lambo began, slowly beginning to put back together his gun. "He has spent much of his life violating and pervading the natural laws of the universe. Namely in the act of murdering those who have wronged him. Distrustful of others, Rokudo Mukuro is an unofficial sociopath, displaying occasional psychopathic tendencies. Reborn, knowing of his nature, has advised against Harmonising with such a violent character. Being who you are, you naturally disagreed with him, forming a bond with a man who had little or no bonds prior to his incarceration in Vendicare Prison. Because of this, he is deeply protective over his bond with you, seeing you as 'family.'
This means that he naturally wishes to spend time with you, strengthening his relationship with you by doing activities he believes you would enjoy. Such as watching horror movies. The amount of violence exhibited by the antagonist in The Shining provides a strong empathy between him and Mukuro, leaving him interested in the movie, no matter the number of times he watches it.
However, yes, there is a point where the repetitions begins to become tedious. Which is where you come in. Due to your sensitive nature and Dame tendencies, your cowardice and fear of the film begins to entertain Mukuro more than the actual film itself. Ergo, likely by the third rerun, he was laughing more at you than the movie," Lambo coolly analysed, barely batting an eye as he casually broke down Mukuro's character and insulted his Sky more than once.
"If you wish for him to stop forcing you in uncomfortable situations such as that, there is only one course of action," the teenager smirked. In a blink of an eye, Lambo aimed his reassembled Beretta at Tsuna's forehead, green eye cold and unforgiving as he continued to smirk. "It's to man up, Dame-Tsuna. A Mafia Boss is a bastion of protection and comfort for his Family. A Mafia Boss leads his subordinates with confidence and calm, he does not scream girlishly at horror movies."
Wide amber eyes trailed from the hitman's frozen green eye to the unwavering gun pointing straight at his face. His throat swallowed as a trickle of sweat fell from his brow.
Time ticked by as Lambo continued to aim.
"…You're becoming too much like Reborn," Tsuna finally said, breaking the thick silence.
That did the trick. Lambo scoffed and turned away. "Please, Vongola. No need to insult me so."
Tsuna sweat-dropped again when he caught a mutter of '…arrogant, self-centred imbecile who thinks he's God's Gift to women…' from the teenager beside him. Reflexively, Tsuna glanced around, checking for a towering hitman with a dark smirk and an enormous green mallet, who would smite the person who dare insult him.
There was nothing. Because Reborn was in China.
Maybe Tsuna should take a break. All this stress isn't good for his heart.
With a silent moan, Tsuna sunk into his chair. "…Why are you my Lightning Guardian?"
"Because Reborn picked me," was the prompt reply.
Of course.
"Vongola, don't make me shoot you. Do your paperwork."
Knowing that his little brother really would shoot him, Tsuna bolted up and reached for the nearest stack of paperwork, soon losing himself in the world of finances, words and barely legible handwriting as he attempted to decipher scrawling comparable to the Rosetta Stone.
Lambo, seeing that his Sky was now lost in his normal haze of paperwork and was likely not going to resurface for several hours, hopped off the chair and picked up his duffle bag, walking out of the room. Tsuna may hate paperwork but Lambo always knew how to get him back on track.
If only Tsuna didn't compare him to the blasted hitman as he did so.
Damn, he really hated Reborn.
Lambo melted into his bed, freshly showered and redressed in clean clothes. While he had changed out of his blood-soaked suit straight after his mission, it always took a while for him to scrub the sensation of blood off his skin.
–red, red, red everywhere. It painted the walls and drowned the floor. It'll stain his shoes, he just knew it. Another guard sprinted around the corner and it took barely a moment for him to cut her down. Blank eyes stared up at him as she collapsed at this feet. He stepped over her, uncaring.
It was all part of the mission. He walked on, footsteps staining redredredREDRED–
Lambo bit his lip as he stared up at his ceiling. Perks of being an assassin.
One gets used to the colour of crimson.
Sighing, he rolled over onto his stomach as he reached for the phone on the side table next to his bed. His room was typical of the mess one would expect from a male adolescent, all strewn clothes and thrown books, but underneath the mess was organised chaos. Beneath the clothes was his weapons – knives, guns, wires, along those lines – and the books was often research on electromagnetism, engineering, electricity, mechanics or computer programming.
'Hitman. That's me. Even if no one knows.'
Lambo opened up his phone. Whilst he told the others his mission required radio-silence, he did not doubt the idiots contacted him anyways.
Because why would they listen to him?
Sure enough, he had nine missed calls and four new text messages.
[From Bubbly Pervert:
Good afternoon, darling! It's sooo boring over here without you! Please come over as soon as you're home xD
The rest of the family is being so very un-cute, I need my adorable little cutie-pie with me~
Your awesome nee-chan \(^o^)/ ]
"There is something very wrong with him. Maybe it's all the hair dye…"
[From Useless Prince:
Ushishishsi, how dare you ignore the Prince, cow peasant? You better come attend to your Prince or I'll test all my knives on your unworthy flesh next training session...
Ushishi, you will obey me.]
"…insane. They're all insane."
[From Creepy Illusionist:
You owe me money from our last deal. Come here and pay me.]
"Didn't I pay you already…?"
[From Drunken Psychopath:
Fucking trash, get over here. The trash around me is getting antsy and it's your fucking fault. Go entertain them, pretty boy, and I won't kill you.
You better not have screwed up your mission.]
"…great. He's going to kill me."
With a heavy exhale, Lambo closed down his phone and tossed it uncaringly on the bed beside him.
He needed a nap.
–He could still smell the suffocating scent of smoke as the lashing fire tore at the sky. As he crushed and sliced and shot his way past the teeming mass, the odour of burning flesh accompanied his killing frenzy, engraving its rotting fragrance in his mind. Everywhere he could see, it burnt red–
He only wondered how long it would take until his nightmares woke him up again.
The next day, Lambo wounded back up in front of Vongola's desk, staring calmly into the slightly sheepish expression of his Sky.
"I know you only just got back. Are you sure you want to head back out again so soon?" Tsuna questioned, concern showing through his tone.
Lambo only nodded. "It's fine, Vongola. I was the one who brought it up to you in the first place. It won't take long, Russo is rather weak in temperament. He'll give me the information soon enough."
"Alright, come back soon."
"By your command, Vongola Decimo."
Russo didn't want to call him here.
Of all the fucking people, he was the goddamn last person he wanted to see right now. The man twitched again as he continued to pace around the empty room.
He sniffed as he eyed the disgusting walls around him. Musty and flaking, the dirty wallpaper – covered in years' worth of grime and dust, one can't even make out the actual colour – peeled away in inelegant strips, revealing the stained, brick walls behind the covering. As he paced, his boots stamped upon half-rotten wooden floors, covered in damp moss, dirty puddles of water and God knows what else. The air stank of something dead and the one half-working, exposed light bulb barely lit up the room enough to see by.
Not that Russo wanted to see the room in even greater detail. He'd probably throw up.
He was sweating, his cheap suit sticking to his skin like limpets on a sea shore. His heart was racing and his breathing was so loud, he was damn surprised the fucking birds outside couldn't hear him.
When was he coming? Then again, did he really want him to come so soon?
Russo twitched again. Perhaps it was better to get it over and done with.
He paused. Then again…
A chuckle – low and sweet – interrupted his reverie and his heart stopped in terror.
It was him.
The informant barely had the time to process this chilling realisation before the world around him upturned upon himself and he felt his body go flying, crashing into a wall with a meaty thud. Dizzy and weak, he desperately scrabbled backwards into the wall, fruitlessly trying to escape.
A heavy weight halted his attempt as a foot, encased in a leather boot – 'Testoni,' he observed distantly, 'Expensive.' – crushed his chest. The air inside his lungs rushed out with the immense weight and his eyes teared up as his torso heaved, struggling to breathe. Watery blue eyes made its way up from the leather boot pinning him to the floor, to the tight, dark trousers encasing long, lean legs, to the flowing, black trench coat covering the monster all way up to his throat and to the poisonous green and red eyes studying Russo curiously, as if he was but a bug beneath those expensive leather shoes.
All the while, the scent of dying lilies filled his nose.
Russo wet himself.
A haunting melody filled the room as he started humming, leaning further towards Russo over the leg he was using to hold the whimpering man down. The monster had his hood up, shadowing his face in utter darkness, leaving only those cruel, glowing electric green and burning crimson to laugh at him with.
One of his leather-clad hands reached forward, pinching Russo's chin and lifting his face up, closer to that monster's eyes, the eerie song growing louder.
It stopped.
The silence that drowned the room was even more dangerous than the song that preceded it, Russo shaking in the monster's grasp. A beautiful laugh rang out as the dark figure tilted his head. "Signor Russo," the monster hummed, strange eyes smouldering with a lethal fire. 'You are nothing…' Russo trembled as he gasped for air, cold in that grasp with an iron grip crushing his chin.
"I believe you have something I need."