Title: All Is Violent, All Is Bright (1/2)
Characters/Pairing: Dino/Hibari
Warning: Language,mature situations, violence, some blood, gore, and nasty description. Also skipping timelines and an ending that probably make readers want to throw things at the author.
Notes: Title is taken from an instrumental piece by God Is An Astronaut, which was also the song I listened in repeat while writing this. As for the timeline, it's three years before TYL arc, as will be made clear in the second paragraph.
–
1.
"You want to see me."
It was not a question. Sawada Tsunayoshi smiled at him, a brittle little thing that covered none of his old unease. At twenty-one, he was now stronger, calmer, but old fear ran deep and Hibari knew he still saw him in his white school shirt with a black jacket draped over his shoulders and a red emblem on his arm.
"I want to ask for your help, Hibari-san," he said, respectful if slightly nervous. The light shone much too brightly overhead, leaving the colour of his hair ablaze like angry sunset. Hibari frowned. He never liked coming to the Vongola Headquarters, and the tone Sawada was using reminded him to a similar situation almost a year ago, opened with a similar line and hint of politeness. When the Vongola Decimo had asked for his permission to use Namimori ground, to dig the earth and turn her soil into their new hideout, he had left bruises on the younger man's body which hadn't healed for months.
He could still feel some on his own, the lingering ache of several broken ribs and more than a few concussions. But the pain had smoothed the path to his consent somewhat, and wrapped in rolls of bandages, Sawada had grinned at him, easily eclipsing Gokudera's mighty scowl.
"About the new recruits," he continued as Hibari maintained his ominous silence, "perhaps, ah, Hibari-san can help to oversee their training. We have more than the usual number this time around and Ryouhei-san cannot handle them all. Just a few, the special and talented ones," he added hurriedly under narrowed eyes. "I know you hate crowds, but if you don't mind to take two or three, please."
"I have no time for this," Hibari said, but his eyes swept across tired features and noted the lack of a guardian who had always stood behind the Vongola's leader, glaring at every hint of insubordination.
"Of course if you're busy, then it can't be helped," Sawada smiled, again that brittle little thing. Hibari knew enough about politics and its ways to feel disgust filling him at the sight. He hated naiveté,but what had slowly sprung in place of Sawada's since he had sat on the throne of Vongola was worse.
His biting retort was hindered by knocking from the door. A man slipped in, his face a shade paler once he noticed who was in the room frowning at the Tenth.
"The Cavallone, Sir, they have arrived," he articulated rapidly, all the while keeping as much distance as possible from the Cloud Guardian. Hibari awarded him a long, disdainful look.
"Ah, yes," Sawada nodded. "Please show them in."
"Is that all?" Hibari asked briskly as the man hastily scrambled out. He had no desire to remain in a room which would crowd itself with a group of herbivores in matter of seconds.
"Yes," Sawada rose from his seat, his smile strained on a tense, weary face. "Thank you for coming, Hibari-san."
He turned around but halted in mid-step. The air seemed to hover around him, a drape of silk in a reverent pause. "I'll talk to Sasagawa this evening," he said, just loud enough for the other to catch.
Sawada was startled into silence – and then perhaps, a few seconds later, he would slip into a grin and a long string of awkward gratitude. Hibari made sure that he was out of earshot when they did manifest.
–
2.
It was exactly ninety-two paces from the meeting hall to his room. It ended in the middle for most, on the forty-third count, in front of a painting of an old harbour in Venice before an impending storm. Built into the wall was a mechanism which enabled him to expose a doorway, after inserting a string of codes and identifying himself via his Dying Will flame. The rest of the forty-nine paces was a labyrinth riddled with death traps for those who managed to force entry without proper verification.
He wasn't surprised, however, to find Cavallone waiting in his room after he had finished with Sasagawa.
"Who let you in?"
"No one." Ever so brash, so confident. Hibari looked away with a snort. There were only two people other than him who knew how to get in and were allowed to do so. Obviously he would have to get the answer from either of them come morning – and make clear of the rules with the guilty party.
"Don't blame him," Dino said, eyes half closed, head resting against the windowsill. The moonlight trapped his blond hair in muted silver, a corner of the colourless painting under the night's brush. Hibari turned on the lamp to ruin the effect, causing the older man to blink.
"Sawada didn't offer you a room?" he asked blandly, pulling his tie loose and letting it fall into a careless sprawl across the desk. Dino followed his hand's movement with a half smile on his lips.
"I declined," he replied cheerfully, and then rose to his feet, graceful and dangerous moulded into one. Hibari watched him walk over, watched the smile curve into a smirk, sharper at the edges. He didn't resist when his hands were removed from an unfastened button.
"My flight is tomorrow morning," Dino spoke again, an intimate murmur to his ear. His fingers were deft, climbing down column of buttons and slipping beneath his shirt, following a familiar pattern. Hibari allowed him a moment's victory, and then struck – a hard, sudden shove on the shoulders, a few small sidesteps, and the right positioning of a leg and a knee. Dino ended up lying on the futon, breathless and laughing.
"Oh, Kyouya. Kyouya."
"You're getting old, Cavallone," he mocked, his weight resting heavily on top of the other man's waist. Dino sat up or maybe he was pulled down and their mouths were crushing each other's, tongue and teeth and the faint taste of blood. Hibari found his hands pressing against clothed chest and returned the courtesy by ripping the other man's shirt. It earned him a low purr of amusement, vibrating in his mouth, down his spine.
"And patience is never for the young, hm?"
He silenced it with a deeper kiss. Dino was smiling, laughing again. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it last week, for your birthday," he apologised between kisses, lips caught in the tangle of words. Hibari growled – he couldn't care less about birthdays, his not an exception – and pushed him down flat on the futon. Dino's grin was sharply victorious.
"I have a present, you know."
"Just shut up."
"You don't want to know what it is?"
Dino's grin only faltered when it broke into splinters of gasps, his eyes shut in concentration, pleasure sweeping all over him. Hibari rocked against the hot flesh inside him, his not-quite-smile pensive and vague as he leant down, scraping his teeth against Dino's neck and watching the other man moan beneath him.
–
3.
The thing with weaklings and herbivores, he frowned, was that they flocked together.
His lips thinned at the sight of Cavallone and his men, their steps crudely echoing each other's. The corridor was narrow enough as it was and Hibari was itching to brandish his tonfas, or at least to feel their cold, solid weight in his grip when Dino sniffed trouble and quickly ordered them out of the way before 'dear Kyouya beats them into soggy pulp'.
He was a stark presence in the hall dimmed by closed walls and no window, cropped from a different canvas. Somewhere along the years, he had forgone his old trademark jacket for a long white coat. It lent him an older, more mature appearance, one befitting his age and status better. The truth was Dino only couldn't wear black. One too many funerals, he had murmured, lips brushing the top of Hibari's head, and everything about you is already much too black, Kyouya.
"I'll be going for a while," he announced, bright and cheerful for a morning so early – he could still feel his head throb.
Hibari failed to see what it had to do with him and told Dino so, in a scathing voice. He got a fond laugh and a casual shrug of shoulders in return.
"Who knows, you may miss me." Too simple, it didn't make sense. "I know I will."
When he was pressed to the wall and kissed, he considered the pleasant pressure on his lips and on the back of his neck. It had happened far too many times, which sometimes still felt too few – like some too long, and the rest too short. This one was a mishmash of four. He gritted his teeth when Dino stepped back to a reasonably safe distance, in time to avoid a direct hit from silver steel.
"Come visit me in Italy," he still dared to speak, his hand casually plunged into the coat – most likely, fingering the thick handle of a devoted whip.
Hibari threw him a look that chilled even fire. "It's up to me, Cavallone."
"Of course." The nod of his head, the smile on his face was that of a gentleman, but his voice sank like a knife. "Always has, Kyouya. And always will."
It was the last time he saw Dino.
–
4.
The first time had been on his sixteenth birthday.
Happy birthday, Kyouya.
Get out, before I bite you to death.
I bring you a gift.
Get out.
A chance to spar with me.
His grin was sharp and feral when he pinned his former tutor on the wet earth. Dino made a choking sound, the tonfa forced down against his windpipe, but wit survived and he managed a blasé smile.
"There was a puddle– I slipped."
His voice was strained, gasping. Hibari's grin made a sudden turn into brutal, his grip merciless on the hard metal. "Your balance sucks."
"Yeah, yeah." The whip had fallen with a splash, now ringed in mud. "Move away. I'm dying here..."
The man in black, Cavallone's right-hand man was looking at him, knuckles white on a tense elbow, his cigarette long since crushed under iron heels. Hibari shot him an expressionless look sidelong. His victories might not have been as frequent as he wanted against the young mafia boss, but they were not all that rare either. Another glance, and then he let go – not a moment's lapse, only the indifference of all victors toward pathetic (lying, cheating, manipulative) herbivores – and Cavallone suddenly moved. His vision swam when the back of his head hit the ground, and the older man was smirking down at him.
"Your guard sucks."
Hibari snarled and trashed, his tonfa a blinding flash as thunder crackled above them. Saved once more by years of surviving under gunfire, Dino had narrowly avoided a clean hit to his face and made a small, disapproving noise.
"Now, now, Kyouya, the spar is over."
"The hell it–"
He gasped, his breath stalled somewhere in the length of his throat. The bolt of pleasure shot through him again and his hips bucked in involuntary response, his weapons digging into dirt and mud instead of the opponent's flesh. Cavallone's laugh was an echo of discordant shades in front of his ears.
"Just lie back and let me."
The words would have made him bristle, but his focus splintered. He remembered the raindrops, cold talons on his face, rivulets along the hollow of his neck. He remembered the drumming sound of it, heavy and static, nothing short of overwhelming as the earth shuddered under the onslaught. He remembered abandoning his tonfas, bartering their unwavering loyalty for something much more alien and vague as his fingers grasped and pulled at military-green jacket. Dino was looking at him, still smiling, now with a tinge of hysteria and some morbid fascination in the curve of his lips.
"Shit, Kyouya," he murmured, his voice weaving between the staccato of beating rain, breaking it from within. "You've never done this before."
"Fuck you," he bit out, but the words overlapped each other, slipping into a blunt, unintelligible moan as his body tightened and he came. The world blanked out for a few frozen seconds, and then he felt fingers in his hair and opened his eyes with a snarl.
"Get off."
Dino's eyes gleamed, and then he was kissing him so hard Hibari could feel his lips bruise. He growled, his composure restored, and bit down, tasting the sharp tang of blood in his mouth with some amount of satisfaction.
"That's more like it." Dino was grinning, wiping the red that bloomed on his lips with the back of his hand. The rain washed it away.
The man in black was still looking at them, silent as a shadow.
–
5.
The day had barely yielded to night when Yamamoto came to him with an offer for a spar. Hibari fixed him a look which would have smothered most people, but Yamamoto had always been a man of his own – not unlike him, perhaps, in that respect. His smile didn't falter, but he didn't repeat the invitation only for the sake of painting silence with words.
The dojo still smelled of polished wood and dry, summer breeze. It was rarely used, nowadays. Kendo was an art appreciated by few, understood by even less. When it came down to self-defence, automatic pistols won an overwhelming odd against swords and other more conventional weapons. Even Sawada had succumbed to tradition and took lessons in the shooting range – only for safety measures, he had explained when Hibari hadn't even asked. His grasp on the Italian language was improving, now that he spent seven out of twelve months in a year scuttling across the country. To blend in with his famiglia better, making sure that none felt left out.
Yamamoto retrieved his shinai and folded the cover into a neat heap, putting it out of the way at a corner. Its blade glinted when he blocked an opening attack, the edge of his surprise blunted by a smile. Hibari smiled the half smirk he always wore during a tolerated the Rain Guardian better that he did the rest of Vongola, including the Decimo himself. He didn't butt in, didn't nag, didn't hover. His invitations were open, promising everything and expecting nothing. Most of the times, he was a disappointment. Most of the times, Hibari left him on the floor nursing bruises and cuts, a thin trail of blood on his katana as it morphed back to a bamboo sword.
Most of the times, he didn't care that Yamamoto grinned up at him, weaker but stronger all the same.
"As usual," Yamamoto admitted, with a nonchalant grin which had grown seamless over the years. Perhaps he had perfected it in front of mirrors, scrubbing blood and dirt off his hands in the dingy bathroom of a back-alley hotel at the end of every mission. Hibari gave him a look, a cutting retort at the tip of his tongue when Gokudera walked in.
There was too much noise in his steps, as if his goal was to make his presence known to everyone in the room. Hibari found himself favoured with a curt nod, filtered little to none of its underlying dislike.
"Cavallone didn't show up," Gokudera said to Yamamoto, hands thrust deep into his pockets. His restlessness was now slightly more pronounced.
Yamamoto wiped his hands on his hakama. "It isn't unusual, is it?" he asked, careful not to look at Hibari.
"No." A pause. "Not really."
"Are you worried?"
"I'm not." Gokudera sounded aghast, insulted almost. A few seconds ticked by and his expression slowly folded into a frown. "But I can tell Jyuudaime is bothered by the news. I mean, it isn't unusual to cancel an appointment, but Cavallone always sends a message if he does that."
"Maybe he's detained."
"By what?"
The silence was a foreboding one. Hibari was already halfway toward the door when Yamamoto's voice reached him. "Do you know anything, Hibari?"
He shrugged and said, with the kind of indifference that crippled worse than disdain, that it was none of his business. Gokudera scowled, the Storm ring gleaming dangerously from his left middle finger, and Yamamoto laughed his mild, noncommittal laugh.
Nothing had changed.
–
6.
The stone staircase leading to the lowest level of the Dormiglione hideout echoed his firm, quiet footfalls off mossy walls. The corridor was dark, its only salvation the pale speckles of ray slipping in through cracks on the wall. The air was damp and cold, rank with the smell of dry blood and mould that seemed ages old.
Hibari wrinkled his nose, dodging a barrage of arrows, a trap his presence had triggered, and parrying the second volley with his tonfas. The arrows clattered to the floor, harmless now as his eyes swept over rows of heavily barred cells. There was no one in this floor, no half-mad scientist who could be coerced to share his erudite secrets of boxes and rings. The entire hideout was empty. Sawada had given him a wrong lead. Again.
"Kyou-san," Kusakabe's voice came from the staircase, "we found a prisoner upstairs. He's still alive."
There was a tentative pause, dragging the comma at the end of the sentence. Hibari waited, eyebrows arched slightly. The uncomfortable look was somewhat disturbing to see on a face as firmly set as Kusakabe's.
"He's... ah, I think you better see for yourself."
He followed his second-in-command to the upper level. The 'prisoner' was a man of about thirty of age with dirty blond hair cropped short military-style. He was laughing, shaking on the floor, his lipless mouth hideously curved upward under a pair of punctured eyes. His chest heaved with each cough-like sputter, and what was visible of his skin was a parade of rotting wounds that testified to long, heavy tortures.
"Who is he?" Hibari asked, distaste in his mouth.
"There's a tattoo on the back of his left shoulder." Kusakabe's voice was oddly incisive. "Covered by lesions, but it's the Cavallone."
The man was still laughing, the sound growing shrill, hacked into sharp beats that reminded him of a man inches away from a strangulated death. Hibari contemplated killing him, and would have done so if not for Kusakabe who said quickly, "I'll take him to the hospital, Kyou-san. If he recovers, we probably can learn what happened here."
He didn't nod, but when he left, the half-dead laughter was deafening his ears.
It was the fifth month.
–
7.
Cavallone was a liar.
Hibari had been introduced to this fact one summer afternoon. High school, not unlike junior high, had been a whirl of teachers and students stuttering and scurrying out of his way as he pinned the red badge to the left arm of his jacket. Dino had seen all these and mentioned at one occasion, exasperated but amused, that believe it or not education had its merits.
On that particular afternoon, however, he was dutifully silent when he imposed himself on the Chief of Disciplinary Committee's office for the fourth time or so that week. Sawada had been his permanent excuse for the entire string of visits – business, Vongola and Cavallone, two young bosses of the mafia and the current sad state of the world. Hibari only smirked every time Dino leant in and kissed him on the mouth.
"Excuses." And then, of course, he bit him.
The next day would be the annual summer festival in Namimori. He was drifting off to sleep, appreciating the silence which very seldom accompanied the older man's presence, when the picture of quaint perfection was ruptured by a light humming tune. Steel-grey eyes cracked open, glowering at the occupant of the other couch who was absentmindedly flipping a coin with one hand, lips pursed slightly.
Flipping a coin.
His fingers touched the twin weapons hidden up his sleeves, but his eyes were focused on the glint of silver, following narrow curves and vertical parabolas which defined its flight. It was rising, falling for one, two seconds, and then landed on the back of one thumb. A casual flick flipped it to the side of another finger, longer, steadier, and a second flick sent it airborne once more. Dino's face was a mask of faraway contemplation as the ritual met ends and beginnings again and again.
Five minutes, perhaps more, had tiptoed passed before he noticed his former student looking at him. It only took him one look to understand the look in his grey eyes.
"Yes, Kyouya?" His voice was brimming with innocence and his smile, for once, was unlike anything Hibari had ever seen before.
He bared his fangs, a threat, a sneer, and a challenge at once. "You're a lying son of a bitch, Cavallone."
"Wrong, both," Dino said, his voice pleasant, almost sweet, in contrast of the fumbling fool who had tripped on his way in half an hour ago. "My mother was the most beautiful woman in Italy, so beautiful in fact, that her hand in marriage was sought after by foreign royalties and nobles. And I'm not lying." He paused, allowing Hibari to notice the piece of rounded metal slipping between his long fingers. "It's a habit."
"To lie."
"Not lie, I already told you." Dino sighed, but it suddenly sounded false – and maybe it was, all things considered. His face, eyes were caught in the glaze of sunlight, as if braving accusations. "But when you've tripped so many times, your body starts getting used to it."
Hibari's hands itched on the handles of his tonfa. He didn't care about honesty, but then Dino added, "And it's a good cover."
He remained unimpressed and Cavallone laughed, pretending that the sound could melt pretences and smooth all lies. He didn't even blink when a black marker hit him square between the eyes – although Hibari wished he had thrown a stapler instead.
"Like I said, a good cover." Dino gave him a crooked smile, rubbing the abused spot.
–
8.
His present this year was a wristwatch of some obscure, foreign design, possibly worth a house or two if he knew Cavallone at all. The only reason why it wasn't gathering dust like many other useless trinkets his person had been forcefully inconvenienced with was a mechanism built into the watch and its matching pair, a much smaller, less elaborate one which had taken permanent residence around Hibird's left foot.
You're always with him, Dino had reasoned that night, feigning an envious sigh. In return, Hibari had given him a look of utter displeasure which prompted the mafia boss to sing praises over his present, despite the late hour.
A built-in map and radar, he had explained proudly, not to mention a camera. Hibird might look suspiciously unnatural up close, the kind of species that automatically made one think of a group of four-eyed scientists with maniacal laughs and an experiment gone horribly wrong, but he could still be useful for other purposes, like spying and reconnoitring. And the watch would also allow Hibird to know where he was, despite whatever distance, lands or seas which might separate them, deserts or mountains, rivers or glaciers. Hibird's mighty wings would bring them together again.
By then, Hibari had left him for the more alluring call of sleep.
He couldn't stand the memory.
The watch had its uses, he had condescended to admit after the first two weeks. What he didn't appreciate was the other effect, how it dredged up things months, years old, buried and so completely dead they shouldn't see the light of day anymore. He didn't waste time trying to figure it out, but hours and perhaps days would pass and an unguarded moment would slink in, and he would be thinking of a lipless mouth and punctured eyes on a face he would try not to recognise, and a parched, rasping voice trying to call him Kyouya.
The thoughtactuallymade him feel slightly sick. Hibird chattered, the tune slightly off-key, and Hibari smothered an urge to flatten the forest landscape around him into a barren wasteland.
"Kyou-san," Kusakabe was speaking from somewhere behind him, using a tone which became more and more familiar as the long months dragged on. "It's Sawada Tsunayoshi."
He turned around after an inert pause, and took the cell phone offered to him. "Hibari-san," a calm, strangely low-pitched voice said, and for a moment he didn't recognise it, despite all familiarities. He placed Vongola Tenth first, and then Sawada Tsunayoshi. "I know you are busy and this is much too sudden, but we need your help."
Hibari frowned, breathed in. "Speak."
"It's the damned coat," he could hear Gokudera in the background, snappy and loud, rising above Sasagawa Ryouhei's equally boisterous voice. "All his men wore black. Why couldn't he just blend in?"
–
9.
"So there was this woman."
Hibari resisted an impulse to throw the phone outside his window and watch it drown in the fountain at the back of the hotel. "Get to the point," he said, voice threateningly low.
"I was getting to it." Yamamoto's voice was patient, its laid-back nuance preserved with single-minded tenacity which he alone knew how to generate. Sawada had sent him to North Italy to pursue rumours about the Cavallone Family which had arisen from the region, as well as deal with a neutral business associate while Hibari roamed Eastern Europe.
"So there was this woman," he began again, "who claimed that she used to date one of the Bucking Horse's men. She said there was an incident six months ago, and the town took quite a beating from the quarrel between two mafia gangs, as quoted."
"Did she say who?"
"One of them was the Cavallone." Yamamoto paused. "That she knew for sure. The other, however... well, she guessed it was the Dormiglione Family."
"She guessed," Hibari repeated flatly.
"That's the best I can get so far," Yamato replied, imperturbable. "The townspeople seem reluctant to talk about it, but I'll ask around again and see if there's any more reliable source who's willing to talk."
Hibari didn't respond. It was sort of ridiculous, as far as coincidences went, that the same family he had been chasing across the continent in order to shed some light on the mystery of boxes and rings was the same one who had tampered with the Cavallone. Sawada was anxious. We are allies after all, he had said, perhaps tried to reason with him, and for once Hibari had not made any scathing comment about allies and the flocking tendencies of herbivores.
"You're after Dormiglione, aren't you?" Yamamoto asked, curiosity painting a different, tentative colour to his voice. "For your investigation."
"One of many."
"Then this may help. I found out – quite by accident, actually – where their third hideout is." Another pause. "Do you want to do it or leave it to me?"
Hibari didn't waste a moment's breath before answering, "I'll handle it."
"Thought so." The laughter was clear in Yamamoto's voice.
–
10.
The third hideout provided more challenge compared to the first two, but not by a wide margin. It was a mansion, tucked in the shadowy mountainside of Balkan and doing one hell of a job to remain unnoticed for an edifice so pretentious. He swept through the first floor with relative ease, and then the second. One managed to pique his interest, almost, but not for long – he was down in matter of minutes, along with his cowering subordinates.
Rains of gunfire greeted him when he reached the uppermost level. Hibari waited until the commotion died down, considering between a barrier and a direct shot. He went with the first choice the moment it ceased, slipping into the sort of grace his younger self had completely overlooked in favour of lightning-flash speed and raw strength. Bullets strayed indiscriminately toward all directions, rendered useless once they were repelled by his Dying Flame barrier. He made his way through the throng calmly, systematically, toward the door at the end of the corridor.
A mafia don should be able to defend himself, or at least hire a guardian who can do the job for him. This did not appear to be the case with the head of the Dormiglione Family. Hibari was almost disappointed when he cornered the man, fit out in a white suit which did nothing to conceal his unsightly, swollen belly. An emblem of the famiglia, carved out of black stone, was exhibited above his throne-like seat. He glanced at this testament of vanity, and then fixed his gaze at the man under his mercy.
To his credit, the mafia boss managed to look less terrified that he actually was. The wan smile he put on display would have been convincing, if not for the white that coloured his knuckles on bronzed skin.
"Hibari Kyouya," he spoke in a rough, cutting voice, seemingly unaware of the reaction his stilted pronunciation had stirred in the Cloud Guardian, and then segued to polished Italian, "I assume you have come for information?"
Hibari had learned only enough to understand bits of it, more used to let his tonfa speak their universal language. "Cavallone," he deadpanned, "and the boxes."
There was a moment of stupefied inaction from the man. And then, as if he had suddenly received a surge of courage, he managed to assemble a triumphant sneer. "You are too late, I'm afraid," he said, sickeningly polite in his victory. "And Bucking Horse too."
"Then you don't have any reason to live," Hibari said, viciously detached as he delivered the final blow. His tonfa collided with the smug face in a crude symphony of skull breaking and flesh crumbling, broken by a strangled, agonized moan.
And then, silence. He stood in front of the makeshift throne with the dead man still seated on it, breathing with the beat of silence as the scent of blood swirled around him. A hard kick sent the chair tumbling across carpeted floor, spilling its content with a heavy thud. The black emblem stared down coldly at him, and the sharp pain in his chest was like needles, ruthless, unforgiving, and so utterly unfamiliar that he did not rebel against it.
And Bucking Horse too.
He snarled, watching his tonfa burn a blazing trail in the stone emblem. And Bucking Horse too.
"Fuck you," he hissed. "Fuck you, Cavallone."
–
11.
"Kyou-san."
He had moved to strike before Kusakabe's voice registered, but the source of disturbance was standing a few paces away from the sofa, out of his immediate attack range. Hibari's first thought when consciousness slowly gripped his mind was not of the immediate situation, but a jaded reflection of when 'Hibari' had become 'Kyou-san' and Tetsu a shadow that trailed his every step, first in a school uniform and now in stiff, expensive suits and silk black ties that discoloured traces of blood. His vision cleared up after a few rapid blinks and for the first time he noticed the smell of coffee.
Kusakabe did not make an observation over how he had let another person approach him in a state as vulnerable as sleep. "There is a message from Sawada Tsunayoshi," he said instead and set the steaming mug down on the table. Hibari glanced at his watch – almost eight, he had been asleep for more than three hours.
"They had lost contact with Yamamoto four days ago," Kusakabe continued after he had dutifully picked up the mug. "Coincidentally, Miss Chrome was in Rome this week, so Sawada asked her to look into it, find out what's wrong. Looks like a deal gone sour."
"The Redentore."
Kusakabe nodded. "The Redentore Family. Gokudera said that it was nothing Yamamoto couldn't handle, but Sawada was worried."
"Of course," Hibari murmured, his tone depreciating if there was any. When he looked up, his face wore a shadow of a smile, the same one he had used in interrogation rooms under lamps too bright and agonized screams. "She wasn't there coincidentally."
There was a long pause before the other man answered, reluctantly, "Maybe not."
Hibari didn't reply. One of Cavallone's bases was in Rome – it was easy to guess what Sawada was thinking. He looked down at thick, dark liquid swirling in his mug, suddenly more tired than he had been before sleep had slinked up and caught him off guard. He was tired of hunting boxes and seeking explanations. He was tired of the foundation, the transactions, even the thrill of crossing into battle zones and peril's treacherous arms. He was tired of glancing at every glint of gold which skirted his line of vision, tired of hearing the whisper of his name, Kyouya, Kyouya, Kyouya, so tenderly like it had never passed his lips before.
"He mentioned something else," Kusakabe spoke again, his voice firm and even, the dull, invariable warmth of a rock laid too long under the sun, "about the Dormiglione Family."
Hibari looked at him. The smirk that suddenly curved his lips was nothing short of real, brutal, intense. "Dormiglione is no more."
"No more," the other man did not argue, but his eyes remained heavy on him. "Sawada said something interesting though. Dormiglione was a small famiglia with little power, but apparently it was affiliated with the yakuza family, Kanbayashi."
"Really," he hummed, his interest not piqued. Kanbayashi was no small fry, but not the biggest shark in the sea either. Hibari couldn't imagine why Kusakabe thought he would be interested.
Except, of course, the boxes.
"There are other leads," Kusakabe said, so very carefully that it sounded almost ridiculous, "but perhaps we should pursue this and return to Japan for a while."
"It can wait," Hibari said dismissively, if a little too quickly. "For now, we'll focus on Europe. How far along is the Germany base?"
Once again, Kusakabe did not raise any argument. "About three months. The weather makes it difficult to maintain cover, and with Urabe injured, we lack one able Mist illusionist. The shift has to be rearranged."
"Just proceed as quickly as possible," he muttered, fending off any incoming of a headache. "I'll check the progress on the location next week. Now where's that transfer fund document?"
"Ah." There was a strained pause. Hesitation crept in and Hibari raised his eyes, impatient. "Kyou-san, if you don't mind, let me handle the transfer this once. It isn't a difficult transaction and there are other things that require your attention more."
Eyes narrowed, he took a moment to analyse the request. The only explanation he could come up with was that for some reason, Kusakabe wanted to play mother-hen. Hibari discovered that he couldn't care less and settled with a terse 'fine'.
The relief on the other man's face almost smoothed all strains and hard angles built into callous skin. "Then I'll bring the Bulgaria location scout report," Kusakabe nodded and excused himself. As he opened the door to leave, Hibird fluttered in.
Hibari allowed him to perch on the back of two fingers, feeling the light, sinking pressure of each step. From Hibird's left foot, the silver band gleamed at him.
–
12.
Winter departed noiselessly, leaving the faint smell of snow lingering in the air. Spring was supposed to bring life, caress the green earth to thrive, but when he returned to Namimori, sakura was in full bloom and he only felt faintly irritated.
Sasagawa Ryouhei, still trying to rope him in to help with the new recruits, was a constant nuisance. One of these young and talented souls, he announced loudly, perhaps in some preposterous, misguided hope of stirring his interest, picked tonfa as his weapon of choice and wouldn't it only be fair that he received instructions from the master?
Hibari ignored him. He never mentioned that he had met the young man in question once, just the day before. He never mentioned either that the 'young and talented soul' was an herbivore that scurried away at the sight of him, or that two of the remaining nineteen lagging behind him had a whip attached to their belt.
He never mentioned many things.
Every year, Sawada approached him with a request to join a gathering, a hanami with the entire family, thinking that it was his duty to keep everyone together. Hibari declined and Sawada retreated without much fuss, his taut smile a ghost of its former glory. There was still no news from Yamamoto, and now that Chrome appeared to be missing as well, the atmosphere in the Headquarters was solemn at best.
Later, when night fell like a curtain on wet, slipping earth, raindrops battered pink petals off swaying branches and the Tenth Vongola made a visit to his quarters. Kusakabe let him in and left a cup of tea at his side, brewed into green perfection.
"Hibari-san," he began, seating himself into an awkward seiza, "I need your help."
Hibari did not acknowledge the request, or the unspoken 'again' at the end of the sentence. Undaunted, Sawada tried again, "There is no one else I can ask. Only you."
The appeal didn't invite pity and Hibari had none to give. When the younger man spoke, he spoke plainly, no lavishing or squandering of facts, just honesty – perhaps because he was desperate enough.
"Yamamoto," he continued, almost begged, "and Chrome."
"You haven't told me what they were doing," Hibari interrupted. The display of weakness sickened him, and Sawada's white suit reminded him of things, some long-buried trivialities he couldn't quite place. They probably were not important.
"We had no dealing with Redentore," the admission came more smoothly than he had expected. Sawada looked at him, his gaze straight, honest, but it made him narrow his eyes, wondering if he wasn't looking at a mask instead, a facade pieced by Vongola's name and one too many burden. "But there were rumours," the Decimo was still speaking, his tone unchanging, "that they killed Dino-san. I didn't believe it, there were too many rumours back then, but I asked Yamamoto to look into it."
They let the silence fester for a while, listening as it bowed down to the meandrous aria of the wind. The sound seemed to carry them elsewhere, away from this room with its flickering lamp and orderly tatami. Sawada's gaze remained fixed on him, once again flooded with plea.
"I would have gone myself," he murmured, scarcely above the rain, "but I cannot send Ryouhei-san."
Hibari wanted to sneer, tell him that his herbivorous tendencies were going to kill him one day. The world was pressing down on him, being the Tenth Vongola, the construction of the new underground stronghold, the blood that spilled and soaked the earth, all done in his name, and he carried it with an attachment to a girl and a so-called bond with many weak underlings that burdened his every step along the way.
But he was the sky and the sky did not exist without its complements, guardians, only a blank expanse of colourless nothing. The sky, when it came to it, was the weakest of all, the most dependent. Without the rest, without his allies, Sawada was nothing. Vongola was nothing.
Hibari kept his silence, not out of sympathy. He never mentioned either, the weeks he had gone missing, the short note he had left to Kusakabe, and the occasional phone calls from many countries, filled with static hum and the sound of his breathing, and the other man's welcoming silence. He never mentioned the bases and hideouts, either empty or ruined or filled with the stench of blood and corpses rotting away, littered across the continent from east to west. He never mentioned that he had looked at each and every one of them and never found a man with golden hair and a smile that never failed to irritate him.
Too many things he never mentioned.
"I will find him," he said, declared. "He's dead and I will find him dead and I will bring you the proof that he's dead." He looked at the Decimo, a thin challenge, offer, take it or leave it. "That should be enough."
Sawada stared at him, large eyes – he always had a pair of too large, too stupid eyes – appraising him, a flicker of too many emotions behind their shutters. His expression was that of a man accepting his death penalty when he bowed slightly, both palms flat on the tatami floor.
"Thank you."
The wind rattled the windows as they sat in silence, the deal sealed. The storm raged on and Hibari thought about Cavallone's death and the relief it would bring. Small or immense did not matter. No more waiting, no more hesitating in the dark and wondering if they had done everything they could. Loss was painless, compared to the slow grief of lingering in a limbo, haunted by thousands possibilities and knowing that they would always exist until one took pity on them and revealed itself as the truth.
The watch peeked from under his sleeve, a glint of silver and gold that tarnished the black of his kimono.
He had never wanted to see someone dead so much.
–
"Maybe next year, I can move up a few inches," Dino said, tracing his ring finger gently, mere tantalising touches. Already halfway to sleep, Hibari pulled his hand away and glared at the other man.
"Shut up before I throw you out," he hissed.
Dino smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "Always so demanding," he murmured, teasing, but conceded to the silence. A heartbeat, two, and Hibari closed his eyes again, tolerating the fingers that curled around his wrist. A hush fell over them.
The night bled away.
End Part 1
–
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