This is a short fanfiction I just felt like writing out of the blue. It's a spur of the moment thing so it might not be very well done.
Its main purpose is to display Gokudera's devotion to Tsuna, so there isn't much of a storyline. But I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Tsuna or Gokudera or any of the Reborn characters, though I wish I did.
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"Gokudera-kun…"
All he could see was a dim light emitted from a faraway source, but he knew that voice anywhere. He tried pushing himself up into a sitting position, only to have his hands give up on him, causing his head to meet the ground in the most unpleasantly painful way. Rubbing his head and mentally cursing, the half-conscious teen shifted onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. His head was spinning and his whole body ached.
For all he tried, he simply could not remember how he had ended up in such a position. He could faintly hear his beloved boss calling out his name, but as much as he wanted to, he could not reply to those beckoning calls. His mouth refused to open; his jaw appeared to have been somewhat dislocated.
After what seemed like ages, he finally gathered enough strength to stand, leaning against the wall of the dark alleyway for support. His eyes regained slight focus, and he surveyed the area, attempting to make out the blurs that he saw in place of sharp outlines of objects.
As the blurs started forming coherent patterns, his eyes widened in shock as a mangled body met his gaze. Lying before him was an almost unrecognisable figure of his boss; barely breathing, close to death.
Despite all the pain he was in, Gokudera Hayato rushed to the aid of his boss, wincing with every step he took; partially from the pain of having to move his fractured leg and partially from being unable to take in the scene of his boss' near-lifeless body.
He collapsed at his boss' side, placing a trembling hand on the bloodied shoulder of the only person he ever cared about. Fearing the worst, he reached out to the severely wounded neck and felt for a pulse, sighing out of relief upon detecting it. His boss was still alive… but just barely.
Anxiety was his motivation as he lifted the motionless body off the ground and limped out of the dark alley. He forced his legs to move forward, each step taken with strength drawn from knowing that his boss was depending on him to live.
Finding his way out of the alley was a challenge as his memory refused to guide him. This was the cause of a significant delay, during which the condition of the helpless boy in the storm guardian's arms deteriorated.
Breathing was becoming a difficult task for the battered and exhausted right hand man, who found himself tripping over the weight of his boss' body as well as his own. Not even his devotion to his beloved Tenth could keep his legs steady. It was obvious to him that they were not going to make it out of the alleyway alive.
Hopelessness consumed him as he stared at the dead end he was faced with. How many more dead ends did he have to encounter before he made it out?
He hadn't the faintest idea.
All he knew was that he could not go on.
He laid the Tenth down on the damp ground as gently as he could, considering his knees were breaking under the weight it was subjected to. The self-proclaimed right hand man of the Tenth removed his tattered shirt, which was tainted in the blood he shed in an attempt to protect his boss, no doubt. He then proceeded to clean the seemingly endless number of deep wounds suffered by his young boss, careful to use the small area of cloth which was not contaminated with the blood from his own wounds.
When most of the injuries were attended to, the storm guardian knelt on his broken leg, only supported by severely bruised arms, and began to lick each individual wound that was slowly killing the person he so cared for.
His tongue trailed the long gash along the neck of the unconscious boy, leaving his soft skin only to retrace it once more.
That was when the sudden realisation hit him; he couldn't feel anything.
No pulse. Nothing.
Wincing involuntarily, the desperate teenager called out to the lifeless body lying in front of him, refusing to believe that the body was indeed void of life.
Convincing himself that the boy was merely in deep slumber, he slowly lifted the boy's head and placed it on his lap, tenderly stroking the forehead while smearing the blood that had just formed from the cut located nearby.
Tears threatened to fall from emerald eyes, and as much as he tried to deny his boss' death, subconsciously, he was well aware of the truth.
He had failed to protect the one who accepted him for who he was.
He had let down the only one that made him smile.
He had allowed the very person who cared for him to die.
He didn't deserve to live. Not when the only one who had ever meant anything to him had died because of his inadequacy.
Even while weeping bitterly as he mercilessly reprimanded himself, he knew what he had to do.
I'm sorry… Tenth. Please forgive me. Very soon I will be where you are. And I cannot ask for more.
Hands undid the tie on the younger boy's cold skin and instinctively wrapped it around the neck of the one ridden with guilt and shame.
Death had never been more welcomed.
~End~