Guilty Pleasures
Guilty Pleasures
Chapter 1/??: Yamamoto Takeshi - Place
Disclaimer: As much as I would wish it, KHR does not belong to me. …which is good for the rest of you, because I can't do funny. Well… not the "batshit crack funny" that is KHR.
Warnings: …although I just said that I don't do funny, there are some slight attempts in here. Some mention of blood and goriness (…that's actually a word?), but they're pretty much in-passing, hence the rating "T".
Notes: Will be posted at bottom, because I just want to get into this. You have been warned. (I should mention that I originally wrote this on Notepad and might not have put in all the italics where they're supposed to be. So when you see a word that is written –like this- the dashes on either side indicate emphasis. Thank you.)
-
He remembered, years ago, Tsuna and Reborn arguing. They were always arguing, so it wouldn't have been out of the ordinary--but then Tsuna had mentioned his name, and it all went downhill from there. For his part, Yamamoto had thought that it had just been a way of saying he was really good at the game (he recalls this with some disbelief, how could he have been so blind?).
It's a strange time to remember that, being in the middle of baseball practice and all, but somewhere between the pitch and the steal and the out, Reborn's voice rang in his head: "A natural-born hitman," followed by Tsuna's panicked, "No, he's NOT!" It's enough to crack him up, leaving him doubled over from laughter while his teammates try to figure out if he hasn't finally cracked under all the strain the coach was putting on them.
"It's just another few weeks until the playoffs," Coach reminds them later in the change room, stalking around the centre benches like a lion looking at its prey, "and we need to get SERIOUS! Just not as serious as Yamamoto--I will not accept 'crazy laughter due to stress' as a valid reason to drop the ball!"
This makes him start laughing again, because really, the only thing that baseball has to do with his "crazy laughter" is that it was what brought him to Tsuna and Reborn, what first helped him become part of the Family.
Not that he could explain that to Coach and his teammates--they're all athletes, not Mafioso.
'And neither am I,' he thinks stubbornly, forcefully pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind as he and the rest of the team prepare to head out for a night on the town.
-
He has to sit down on the bench, bite his lip, hold his stomach. He's a little green, as his teammates comment, but that was an amazing homerun, especially with the bases loaded and all that jazz. They're well in the lead now (bottom of the sixth, just over halfway, but they had already been ahead before this inning), so Yamamoto doesn't feel guilty when he asks to leave the dugout for the change room, just until the end of the inning. One of his teammates comes with him--the Catcher, he thinks, though his name escapes him right now--a warm hand rubbing his back and a solid grip on his shoulder.
He flops onto the bench, grateful for the bottle of water that's flung his way from somewhere to his right.
"Hey man, that was awesome! That's the reason why you're in the majors, Yamamoto, so don't feel bad about trouncing these guys! I've never seen a homerun like it... how did it feel?"
He shakes his head--amazing homerun or not, he doesn't want to feel this way, doesn't want to remember what it felt like. He knows what the Catcher wants him to say, though, so he chokes out a garbled, "Felt good," and then his head was back between his knees, fighting to settle his stomach.
The Catcher nods and leaves (sounds like the inning is over and he needs to get back to his position--Yamamoto knows the backup Pitcher is probably already on the mound). He groans, dearly wishes that his stomach would stop tormenting him, knows it won't.
He hates to admit it, but he wasn't lying to the Catcher--it did feel good to hit the ball for all he was worth, hear the crack of it against his bat, watch it fly out, beyond centre field, beyond maybe even the stadium. It should be an amazing feeling to go along with his amazing homerun, but it's not, and his stomach is making sure he knows why.
Tsuna and Reborn's voices start echoing again, and he fights down a chuckle (no laughing, less chance of throwing up, right?). It's another thing that's painful for him to say, to even silently admit to himself, but he's sure that Reborn was right--and now it's his own voice instead of Tsuna's that's arguing, denying, fighting against the calm, calculated evaluation of him. But, just like always, Reborn doesn't stop. He says it again and again, starts to bring up examples, starts making plans.
Yamamoto fights against it, drinks some water, fights some more. By the bottom of the eight he's feeling better (not much but better), just in time for him to bat again. His teammates cheer him on ("Get another one, Yama!"), but he's wondering if he'll throw up right on home plate, watching the ball soar wherever it happens to. He thinks he might, it might--he signals he's ready, anyways. No reason to disappoint the fans.
The first pitch is a ball, as is the second. He thinks he might be able to get a walk, but the next is a strike, and the another ball, then a strike--2 and 3, either or, and something in him snaps. Not in anger or frustration, but a feeling of determination fills him, and it's just like how he's so determined when he's pitching so that he can't hold back, has to give it his all, has to do everything perfectly, with conserved movement and energy, but get the best results.
The ball, he sees, is going to be just that--a ball. His newfound determination, however, refuses to let it go by, and he swings, and--
He might have been tagged out, but it was still an almost-double, and another runner had gotten home. He's not feeling too good again, and walks back to the dugout slowly, trying not to clutch his stomach in front of everyone.
He wonders if he has some sort of mental problem, because he just can't get the image of his bat hitting Gamma's head, smashing it into little pieces of bone and blood and brain matter, watching it splatter all over the bat, the baseball diamond, him... He knows it's just some sick image his mind has created, but it's still sick, and so is he. It's been years since he saw Gamma (technically, he thinks, he's never seen Gamma), and the man might have nearly trounced him and Gokudera (he refuses to admit a complete defeat), but he's never borne a grudge against him, or wished for his death.
He stumbles slightly, feeling even more green than before. He's almost made it to the dugout, and a noise catches his attention. He looks up just in time to see a baseball, carelessly thrown and hit, aiming right for him. Yamamoto knows that he could dodge it, but his body just doesn't want to react--and then he doesn't have time to worry about his course of action, because everything is black.
-
Coach was furious, he muses, that he let himself get hurt ("A week before playoffs! A WEEK! What were you THINKING?!"), but everyone else is understanding enough. There is no permanent damage, just some bruised bones and muscles and a couple almost-fractures in his arm, but he's still in the hospital for the rest of the week and then some, and Coach decides that he's had enough bed rest--they're practically guaranteed to get into the finals, might as well make sure that he's prepared and ready for the Championship, right?
(Yamamoto later thinks that if this is Coach's "get well" card-present-wishes, they're pretty crappy ones. He much prefers his dad's fresh sushi, but everyone knows that cooking is one of the few things Coach doesn't do, and should never be allowed to do.)
Extra practice, extra practice, extra practice, and Yamamoto starts thinking that perhaps his Coach is more of a sadist than most Mafioso--but he can't think that, because to know how sadistic the mafia can be, you'd have to be part of it, and he's not part of it, has never been part of it, the end.
At the end of it, Coach is only partially appeased. He's healed, yes, but he's nowhere near his previous form. Yamamoto is tempted to suggest that Coach buy a tank and lob some exploding mini-baseballs at him, or shoot at him using sniper rifles, but can't--because that is training for a Vongola Guardian, for a Mafioso, not for a professional baseball player.
His teammates are curious about why Yamamoto isn't at his old standards (and they're in the playoffs, how could he not be up to standard?!), and he has to shrug it off and say that he did some intensive training when he was younger and lie to himself that it was all the hours at the Namimori automated pitching cages (tanks and rifles and Micro Hammers are not used in baseball, after all).
-
It's the night before another playoff game (his first one ever), and for some reason he decides to take a nice, long stroll. That would be fine, if it wasn't 2 o'clock in the morning and if it wasn't pouring.
When he ducks down an alley because he's finally getting tired and wants some more sleep before early morning practice, he's not too surprised to find himself cornered by some thugs. His first thought is that they're just drunkards, and he'll take them down no problem (he doesn't dare dwell on why he's alright with "taking them down" or how he learned to "take them down" in the first place). When they call him, entirely sober, by his name, he thinks that maybe they might have been hired by a fan of their current playoff opponents (or even the opposing team itself).
It's not until they start demanding that he tell them where "Don Vongola Decimo" is hiding out that he gets any indication that they might not just be normal citizens or baseball fans (for all that there's a couple wearing shirts and hats with his team's insignia on it).
He's tempted to tell them to piss off, that he doesn't know any "Don Vongola Decimo", and it's true-- he knows Sawada Tsunayoshi, not that person by that funny Italian name that sounds more like a title. He stays silent because he knows they're Mafioso, and they won't let him speak until after a round or ten of torture, regardless of if he wants to hand over the information right now.
They move in, and he's fighting the urge to laugh (they look like a pack of rabid dogs), and holds his umbrella out in front of him, like some kind of rapier (now his laughter comes from memories that can't-be-his, because he never fought in something called a Ring Conflict, never met someone called Levi A. Than, never watch him used umbrellas as both swords and lightning rods, and therefore couldn't be unconsciously copying him, could he?).
He plans to take it easy on them, because everyone knows that in a gun versus umbrella fight, the guy with the umbrella always wins. Then the big guy, the biggest guy, the guy-who-was-probably-the-bully-of-bullies-in-school, steps forward and starts taunting him. Yamamoto thinks it's fine, because he knows that these guys don't know anything about him. Mr. Big realizes this, and begins insulting "Don Vongola Decimo", and Yamamoto starts twitching (slightly, only slightly), but then Big starts badmouthing not "Don Vongola Decimo" but "Sawada Tsunayoshi", and that's IT.
He's not sure whether to be surprised or relieved when his umbrella in encased in a familiar (not familiar, can't be familiar, not-his-memories, damnit!) blue Flame. A flick of his wrist and it's suddenly a familiar sword, and he suddenly forgets about turning the blade over, and suddenly the rain itself is wrapping around, answering his call, washing away blood and evidence and bodies and tears.
When it's all over, when his umbrella is just an umbrella and the rain is just rain and he's just a professional baseball player out for an early morning stroll, he stands there. He doesn't cry, because the rain is already doing that--no, he thinks, the rain isn't crying. The rain is the tears of the Sky. He's not crying--Tsuna is.
Kind, caring, warm, loving, big-hearted Tsuna, wherever he is in the world, probably with Gokudera right beside him and Hibari and Mukuro and Chrome and Ken and Chikusa hiding somewhere in the shadows nearby, and maybe Lambo beside Gokudera and maybe even Ryohei is there, too--they're all enjoying themselves, as much as they can, but Tsuna's crying. Crying, he thinks, because of the life he's been forced into. Crying because of the people who were dragged in with him. Crying, because there's no such thing as "innocence" anymore, and for all his denial and rebuttals, Yamamoto has fallen into the very same trap.
And so Yamamoto laughs and laughs, throws his head back and stares at the rainy, cloudy, thunder-lightning, stormy sky, and laughs until he's doubled over again. Tsuna's crying, so he has to be happy. That's the way it works, after all.
"I might not be Mafioso," he laughs into the darkened alley around him, "but I am Tsuna's friend!"
And just like that a weight is lifted off his shoulders. He twirls around once, experimentally, then again, then the other way. He laughs like a crazy person (he thinks he's caught some kind of insanity virus--maybe a side-effect of prolonged exposure to crazy hitmen babies and crazy hitmen in general and crazy bosses and a world where the insane and the impossible are everyday events).
He knows he can't forever deny this, his Flames and even the mafia itself won't let him, but he can acknowledge Tsuna, and what they and everyone else in their equally crazy Family have been through--and for now, that's enough.
Chortling, he strolls down the street, feeling more relaxed than he had since the last time he saw Tsuna and all their friends.
-
The bat is comfortable in his hands, warm and familiar. (He'd prefer a katana, but the object of baseball is to hit the ball, not cut it.) He's a bit worried, but his teammates find a tiny bit of stress normal--they're only now starting to get used to his laid-back and easy-going personality, not the quiet, stressed, slightly moody Yamamoto they had gotten to know.
It's not quite his turn up to bat, but it's soon enough, and he just wants, he -needs- to get out there, needs to see the baseball-turned-head hurtling at him so he can smash it to smithereens. Last night... well, it hadn't been a complete disaster, but the weather, usually so wonderfully helpful, had decided to leave him high and dry-literally.
He knows there's no evidence tying him to the scene of the crime (there's no evidence of any crime, period--one of the good things about Rain Flames, he guessed), but there's evidence of water, with no hoses or buckets or hydrants anywhere nearby. He knows that people will just write it off as a freak act of nature, because people are really, really good at lying to themselves when they don't want to see the truth.
Still, for those who know, it's as good as a neon light a thousand feet tall saying, "Target HERE!"
He's not a target (not really, he thinks), because he's not Mafioso--he's just a concerned friend, who happens to be really, really good at making sure his other friends don't get hurt (almost as good as people are at lying to themselves--almost).
It's been almost a year since his first playoff game (in fact, they're back in the playoffs again, and once again they're on the verge of claiming victory), but he still hasn't contacted Tsuna, and Tsuna hasn't contacted him. He knows why, of course--his parting message of not wanting to be part of a group of "baby-killers" was pretty clear, Vongola Rain Ring lobbed at Tsuna's face and all--but he still can't help but want to hear Tsuna's voice.
It's pretty scary, but he feels at his calmest, most balanced, when he's (fairly ruthlessly) protecting Tsuna and his friends, whether that means warnings or outright executions (usually the latter). So he wants some feedback--has he been a help? Are they alright? Could he maybe... rejoin them?
(Yes, he's technically a traitor, but he knows now it was all a misunderstanding--the kids had been killed before Vongola moved in, not when Vongola moved in, and if they had been faster they might have been able to save some of them, but--well, that's all in the past, and he knows that Tsuna has never held it against him, nor have any of the others. Ryohei had left with him, but what the boxer was doing, Yamamoto had no clue, and--wait, isn't he in the middle of a baseball game?) (1)
Yes, he is, and he snaps back into reality just in time to see that it's his turn at bat. He can't wait to swing (there was another Mr. Big in the group last night, and he was particularly nasty to finish off), and almost prances over to the plate.
Before he can step on it, he stops. There's a pressure on the back of his head--not someone glaring at or cursing him, but a warm, familiar gaze. It's joined by a few others, some slightly hostile, others excited, some expectant, a select few very hostile, and he can put a name and a face to every single gaze.
He's not aiming to smash Mr. Big's face in this time he decides (or, not entirely). Instead, he's going to put all his past and present and future into that ball, and send it to the moon--because he doesn't need any of that. He doesn't need baseball or his teammates, or even his schooling or popularity. He just needs what gets him through a day, a night, and everything in between.
He just needs those people who are now drilling glares into the back of his head because he's pausing and holding up the game, and he's pretty sure that most of them can't sit through one inning of baseball, let alone a whole game without jumping up and wandering around.
He does just what he'd said he'd do, sends the baseball as far as possible (forget the moon, that thing has a one-way ticket to Pluto), and, just like he decided that the baseball wasn't going to be Mr. Big's ugly head this time, he decides that this would be a perfect way to end a career.
-
The after-party is in full force ("We won again! We won again! Two years in a row, beat THAT!"), and the entire bar is filled with baseball players and their families and friends and well-wishers and too many people to count--and lots and lots of off-key singing.
Yamamoto's already declared that he didn't care what kind of fines he'd get stuck with for breaking his contract, and that he'd be retiring after this game--maybe. Of course, his contract is up, anyways, but Coach looks furious that he might not be coming back, and that's okay. He'd be furious too if one of his players suddenly decided to ditch (he has no illusions that he's a "valuable member of the team"--they're all called that, but he knows that there's other players who just haven't had their time to shine yet and are probably much better than he).
There's a couple teammates who are sad and apparently in mourning (the Catcher, still without a name to his face, even though its plastered on his back, happens to be one of the loudest), and are drinking both to victory and to drown their sorrows. They're doing a pretty good job of drowning themselves, period, and Yamamoto has to fight the urge to not-completely-jokingly offer them the chance to simply drown.
He's near the back of the bar, by the private rooms, and almost everyone from where he is to the front doors have had at least a little more than their share. He doesn't see the point in getting plastered, and instead joins the barkeep in laughing at some of the stranger antics the patrons are engaged in. Conversation is easy to strike up, and it's distracting enough that Yamamoto doesn't notice the silence that passes through the room like a wave.
In fact, he doesn't even notice the people sitting down next to him until the barkeep looks up and grins, nodding to the person to Yamamoto's immediate right.
"What can I get you?"
"I don't suppose you have any Rain Guardians on hand, do you?"
The barkeep looks properly mystified, but Yamamoto's already started choking on his juice (apple, not alcohol) and turned wide eyes to the 21 year old brown-haired, black-cloaked (with gold!tassels) Don who was offering him a sheepish grin. Over his shoulder, a familiar silver haired right-hand-man scowls at the partying around them, and beyond him is a bored-looking black haired green-eyed young man, looking thoroughly put out at being in such a place and tugging a cow-print dress shirt into place.
"Your victory was EXTREMELY cool!"
He chokes again--this time, not on surprise, but because an arm is wrapped around his neck and he's having a bit of trouble breathing (not that asphyxiation is anything to worry about).
Tsuna's eyes widen and he reaches over Yamamoto's shoulder, this time to somehow make his hands a crowbar and free the estranged Guardian from Ryohei's vice-like grip. "Nii-san, we're here to congratulate him, not strangle him!"
Yamamoto turns to his left to see Ryohei looking sheepish--for all of two seconds. Then he's right into it. "Oi! Let's all have a round to celebrate this EXTREME VICTORY!"
The rest of the bar cheers and Ryohei accordingly slaps enough money onto the counter to pay for six rounds, and then some. The barkeep looks shocked, then rather excited, and begins dolling out the beer and whisky and vodka like it's water to people with severe dehydration.
"Oi, lawn-head! If you keep doing that then we'll have to be responsible to get everyone home, smart ass!"
Ryohei leans forward and accordingly yells back, "Well, octopus-head, that's your problem, since I'll be EXTREMELY drunk by the time we head home! Bottoms up!"
Gokudera Is Not Happy. "Why you...!"
Tsuna sighs as the two have a shouting match over and around them, Ryohei getting progressively louder and Gokudera progressively more violent. "At least they're not at fisticuffs yet," the Jyuudaime offers with a small pained smile, clearly recalling previous incidents.
Yamamoto doesn't know if he should get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness or act like he doesn't want anything to do with Tsuna still. He decides that it really doesn't matter, because if Ryohei's spending that much money on drinks and Gokudera is already arranging for safe rides home ("Only to protect Jyuudaime from drunk drivers!"), then why shouldn't he indulge in a little shot and just let go?
Within minutes the five of them are laughing and chatting like they've never been separated, and Yamamoto, only pleasantly warmed and not anywhere near inebriated, already knows that he's going to be walking out of here with Tsuna and Gokudera and Ryohei and Lambo, and that tomorrow he's going to have to hire a moving van and get ready to sell his condo. No point staying in a city where there's nothing for you.
The party winds down just past 1 am, and the barkeep himself is looking dead on his feet. The five of them get ready to go, Yamamoto's old teammates asking them to stay longer, can't they party more, will they see Yamamoto tomorrow at the final "practice" of the season?
He shakes his head and laughs, knowing that he'd probably never see them again, but that's okay--they're his teammates, but Tsuna and Vongola is his Family.
Somewhere in his mind he knows that the Guardians and Tsuna and probably the entire underworld is still paranoid about the Millefiore and Tsuna's mortality, even as powerful as he is, even though Irie Shouichi and Byakuran have been successfully converted to their side and even though he's pretty sure by now that Vongola has gotten a hold of the Mare-Millefiore Rings. So it's no surprise when Tsuna leads him into one of the back private rooms, Gokudera following and Ryohei and Lambo standing guard at the door.
It's also no surprise when Tsuna, looking weary and sad and tired but still somehow youthful and energetic and excited and generally happy, sits down in a comfortable-looking seat that Gokudera's pulled out for him, and pulls out a familiar black lacquered, gold-embossed box and places it on the nearby table. The Tenth Don tries to look at him steadily, but there's too many emotions crossing his eyes and his face.
"Yamamoto Takeshi... you know who we are and what we do. Do you... do you still accept it? Will you continue to stand by us, even if we must do things we'd rather not?"
He knows that Tsuna is talking about what he dubbed the 'baby-killing incident', and blushes while he nods. "Of course... er, I do?"
Gokudera scowls while Tsuna laughs, placing one hand on the teak box with the Vongola Coat of Arms. The humour dies quickly, and Tsuna, trying to look serious and grave and not-quite pulling it off because of the alcohol and the location and even the situation, looks more awkward in his power than anything else.
A surge of devotion wells up in him, and he can suddenly understand why Gokudera always fawned over Tsuna when they were younger--still fawns over him, one of the Storm Guardian's hand subtly resting on the back of Tsuna's chair, looking ready to envelop the smaller male in a cocoon of a hug at any given moment. He knows what's coming next, and kneels before Tsuna, one knee down like he's proposing, and smiles up at them, nodding his head. Tsuna has to take a deep breath before he can continue.
"Then who do you pledge allegiance to?"
"To the Don Vongola Decimo, to the Vongola Familiar, and to my own Family." And, though he doesn't say it, he continues the words in his mind, imprints them on his heart: To Tsuna and Gokudera and Ryohei and Lambo, to Hibari and even Mukuro and Chrome and Ken and Chikusa, to everyone who will ever be part of our Family.
Tsuna lifts his free hand off the arm rest and Yamamoto takes it willingly, holding it gingerly, leaning forward to gently kiss the blue-stoned ring on the middle finger. It's tradition, it's a pledge, it's a symbol of loyalty... and it's quite obviously driving Tsuna mad with all the propriety.
Tsuna opens the teak box and takes not one, but two rings from within it. He takes Yamamoto's hand and slides the shield-styled Vongola Rain Ring onto his own middle finger. It flashes blue, the gentle color of his Flame. Then the other Ring is presented, and Yamamoto finds himself looking at a perfectly ordinary solid silver band.
"The Mare-Millefiore Rings were destroyed by accident," Tsuna explains quietly, watching Yamamoto twist the nondescript Ring around, "so to preserve Tres-ni-sette, these had to be created."
"As the Rain Guardian, you can shape it into whatever style you want with your Flame," Gokudera drawls, looking pleased that he has a one-up on Yamamoto, taking great pride in showing off his Ring: a clear gemstone, possibly ruby, with a skull inside the stone. Two small, silver wings spread to either side of the gem.
Yamamoto looks down at the Ring, thoughtful. "I... I'll have to think about what to do with this."
Tsuna nods, closing the lacquer box and standing with a grin. "Don't think about it now."
"No?" Yamamoto asks, stands from his kneeling position and falls in easily to Tsuna's left while Gokudera walks to the Tenth's right. It feels like he's been there for all his life.
"No," Tsuna replies, watches as Yamamoto opens the door to the room and they exit. Ryohei and Lambo fall in left and right, and those left in the bar at this time (still nearly half the baseball team, and then some) grin at them and wave, clearly too drunk to remember that Yamamoto's more-or-less retired. They wave back good-naturedly, and hurry outside and around the corner, where a limo with the Coat of Arms is sitting in an alley.
They pile in, and are home in Namimori before the sunrises. Yamamoto belatedly realizes that he's left almost everything back in his condo, but Reborn, who appears out of nowhere, looking older than Yamamoto remembers him but not as old as he should be, says that they'll just hire some people to pack everything up for him and send it back to Namimori.
Yamamoto's stunned at the offer, but he's learned that with Vongola, you just have to let things go. "Normal" doesn't apply, not even the "normal" that other Mafia Families adhere to.
The Sawada household looks the same as ever, but the people standing out front to greet them have changed. Nana, Iemitsu, I-pin, Fuuta, Chrome, Ken, Chikusa, and even Haru, Kyoko and Hana are relaxing in the front yard, apparently moon-bathing or pretending to have a bonfire since it's still only 4 in the morning.
Both Haru and Kyoko greet Tsuna with warm hugs, and Yamamoto is surprised to see that both girls are wearing rings (Tsuna, meanwhile, seems to be content with only the Vongola Sky Ring--any other Rings, Mare or married, are probably on the chain that's not-quite hidden around his neck). This is compounded by the presence of several other, not-but-sort-of-familiar Rings that Haru is wearing, and he can tell that she's not quite the same girl that he remembers.
I-pin and Hana seem to be in a deep discussion about the qualities of older men (something Yamamoto never thought he'd live to see), while Nana, Iemitsu, Ken and Chikusa are just the same (Nana as sweet, Iemitsu as loud, Ken and Chikusa as unpleasant). Chrome is standing with Tsuna, Kyoko and Haru, and presses an impossibly quick, almost invisible peck to Tsuna's cheek in greeting.
Gokudera stays faithfully at Tsuna's side, carefully keeping his head turned away from the side of the house, meaning that Bianchi is probably behind there for whatever reason. Shamal is passed out on the porch (there's a sake bottle between he and Iemitsu--it doesn't take much to figure out who won that drinking contest). Dino and Romario and Irie appear from within the house, calling out greetings. Ryohei and Lambo merge into the congregation easily enough, the boxer dragging Yamamoto with him to show him off to Colonello and Lal Mirch, who have appeared with Bianchi and seem to be plotting something. A quick glance up reveals that Hibari is lounging on the Sawada house roof, loyal Kasukabe perched beside him much like Hibird on Hibari's shoulder.
"YAMAMOTO!"
He's not sure who yelled that, but he finds himself glomped and tackled by too many people to count (he's pretty sure that the girls, including Bianchi, are in the dog pile somewhere). The only people who don't end up laughing is Shamal, because he's passed out, and Hibari, because he doesn't laugh.
He smiles, coughs, and reaches out to start tickling the closest person to him, ordering that everyone should get off him or else the Rain God will come to wash away their souls. They all know he's joking but play along and get off, most of them taking off in fear of angering the "Rain God".
He casts a smile over to Tsuna, who offers a brilliant grin in return.
For just one second, he wonders what would happen if he hadn't hit that ball (which was probably beyond Pluto by now, and heading for a whole different galaxy). Then he decides that it doesn't matter: as dysfunctional as it is, this is his Family, and that's all there is to it--baby-killing incidents included.
-
Notes
(1) This is a completely random scenario that I've been a tad too lazy to write up. If you want some references, go read "Flames and Family II: Road of Ruin" and go over the New York and Namimori Gola Mosca incidents. Combine the two. Voila. (If you're still confuzzled, the basic summary of this incident (different from RoR) is that a whole bunch of people, but mainly kids, were being used in Gola Mosca experiments. Vongola goes in to shut them down, but they're too late to save the test subjects. Yamamoto and later on, Ryohei, hear about it, but not the whole story, and it sounds like it was the Vongola forces who axed the kids, not their kidnappers. Yamamoto doesn't want to be part of something like that and tells it to Tsuna's face. Tsuna keeps his departure a secret from the rest of Vongola so that he's not branded a traitor. Yamamoto goes on to go into major league baseball. Ryohei, meanwhile, gets to Madison Square Gardens, but grows bored with the "predictability" of normal life and wants to be part of Vongola again. Tsuna, of course, is more than happy to welcome him back.)
...shoot me? I liked how it was going, and then just went... "plop" somewhere during the bar scene. Erk... shakefish
Had this idea for a while (really did come out right… sort of). Reborn keeps telling Tsuna how Yamamoto is a natural-born hitman… and Tsuna's reactions are always so entertaining, but it was that idea that Yamamoto is like the ideal hitman that spawned this. I'm… actually not really sure how to explain this (it, oddly enough, was developed during a three-hour solitaire session of mine that I used to avoid studying, haha).Wow… that's not new. (Yay sarcasm.)