Title: Hey, Pop
Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! is Amano Akira's
Credit: Thank you imadra_blue who has kindly informed me the name of Yamamoto's dad
Warning: This fic was written in memory of Yamamoto's dad, but we all know that he died in the canon series, no?
Terminology:
Noren = Rectangular fabric divider with one or more vertical slits, frequently hung on the shop, restaurant and bathhouse entrances
The rain showed no sign of ceasing. Underneath the dark sky, a man was standing on the soggy sepulchral ground. He brought neither flowers nor a bucket of water to wash his father's grave marker. No, he did not plan for a hakamairi or grave visit. He never did.
A couple of hours before, he had received a phone call from the undertaker: his father's grave had been desecrated. The undertaker, who heard the gunshots, immediately came out from his house. Nevertheless, all his efforts to rush availed him nothing. By the time he arrived on the scene, nobody was within sight. 'Probably just some drunkard, Yamamoto-san; you know youngsters these days…' he attempted to ease his client's mind.
Yamamoto Takeshi, however, knew better that this was likely to be how one of his father's enemies expressed his or her resentment. When Yamamoto Tsuyoshi had still been in his prime, the sound of his name alone had sufficed to draw attention from the busiest godfathers — such a fearsome swordsman in the Costa Nostra world he had been back then.
Takeshi knelt to trace his fingers along the headstone. The bullets had ravaged the stone surface so severely that his father's given name became no longer legible because of all the cracks and holes. The next minute, he rose to his feet again. Just standing there, lost in thoughts.
Hey, pop. It's been … how many years since I last saw your face? Twenty- five? Twenty-six? I tried so hard to tell myself that you were gone. I'd known about your death even before it occurred, but each time I went through the noren of Takezushi and slid the door of our restaurant, I couldn't help feeling your presence there. Perhaps that's why I kept telling myself not to visit your grave before today.
Hey, pop. What I've always wanted to tell you is that I'm happy to be born as your son. Remember when I was three? I climbed the tree in our backyard and couldn't get down; you had to rescue me, carrying me on your shoulders. Your back felt warm and you hands seemed so big back then. When I was a teenager, I thought I could grow bigger than you, but now that you're gone, I know I'll never be even close to your greatness.
Hey, pop. Remember when I was five? I sulked because you wouldn't buy me more than one toffee apple at the summer festival and got separated from you. You tore through the crowd and found my crying in the dark. We each earned ma's pinch on the ear after that.
Hey, pop. When I was ten and came home with cuts and bruises from fighting other boys, you pretended to believe my lie about falling from the bike. But from the next day on, you packed me a bentou every morning. Until now, I never know how you knew that those kids made fun of me because I had no ma to make me the bentou.
Hey, pop. At fifteen, I got to know Tsuna and when I had to compete with the Varia in the Vongola Battle, you taught me Shigure Souen. At that time, you awed me with your adeptness despite your age and the long time absence from practice. But I couldn't help feeling pity too, you know, how such talent lay waste over the years. Only much later, after I understand the true 'weight' of Shigure Kintoki, I realized how much it must have meant to you to protect the ones you loved.
Hey, pop. In the end, I didn't become a professional baseball player, but I'm sure you know that I don't regret this. Tsuna and the other guardians are important for me and worth a lifetime of devotion. You gave up the path of sword to build a secure life for ma and I; what I have chosen is simply your exact opposite. But just as you practiced kendo sometimes, I swung my bat too.
Hey, pop. About the restaurant … I'm sorry; its third generation's owner won't have Yamamoto blood. I've been in love with a man. You know Gokudera Hayato, right? The loud-mouthed brat who always carries lots of explosives around … though he's no longer a brat now, of course. Ahahaha…
Takeshi ran his fingers through his hair, sleek with the pouring rain.
I love him. I really do. I failed to protect you, but I will protect him with my life.
Swerving, the middle-aged man stepped away from the rows of tombstones on the drenched cemetery ground.