He loved.
He hoped.
And all it brought was crushing regret.
They escaped.
They failed
And all it did was bring capitulation and resentful bitterness.
Each escape brought capture with it.
Each capture brought hateful resentment.
And all it brought, this endless game of cat and mouse, were fractures in their bounds too deep to heal.
Ever again.
The Storm and Rain did months of willing undercover reconnaissance in France.
The Cloud stayed in Japan minding his own foundation just as he liked it.
The Sun volunteered to support the Varia on a long-term-mission in Australia.
The Lightning, still so young, accompanied a friend as her protector to China.
The Mists flittered around in America, avoiding Italy and gathering information.
Gone. Gone from home, so far away. Gone, gone, gone.
And the Sky?
The forlorn sky stayed home, always dutifully waiting despite knowing how useless it was. The all-accepting sky would not call his wayward guardians back. He refused to clip their beautiful wings even more than they already had been cut, refusing to mutilate those that had already been broken beyond repair.
It was only natural that the sky knew why its weathers had chosen their missions, why they had chosen this route to be at least somewhat free of a world they hated with a burning passion. Why they had chosen to be send so far away …
The truth hurt, but it nevertheless stayed the truth.
They couldn't stand the sight of him. Of the dreaded reason their dreams were nowadays naught but laughed-off illusions of a long-passed childhood.
And the sky understood.
He understood only too well.
And if he could, he would cry, he would sob and scream and shriek about the unfairness of it all …
… but the truth was that he had cried all his bitter tears all those years ago.
All that remained at the end of the day …
… was crippling emptiness.
He had tried it. He had.
With vigour.
He had denied his blood. Had disowned his ancestor.
He had attempted to fool those merciless Mafiosi.
He had appealed to whatever brittle compassion they had.
He had used brute force and violence, shown his desperation in single-minded bloodthirstiness.
He had devised a fool-proved escape plan for those dear to his heart to at least save them from this hell.
And each and every time …
… he failed.
Dame-Tsuna, indeed.
Pathetic.
In the end, when all was said and done, Sawada Tsunayoshi at the age of twenty-one reluctantly inherited the dreaded mantle of Vongola Decimo and began heading his damned Ancestors Famiglia. Against his pleas, demands and every foolish attempt to prevent it, to make the underworld reconsider they had sunk their teeth's and fangs into his virgin flesh; he was trapped. As were his guardians.
Only once, he nearly succeeded.
Once, he nearly won his guardians freedom.
And that once derailed any future try.
Never again. It nearly cost his guardians, his friends, their futures and lives. The reaction to exposing Vongola as a crime syndicate to the juridical system had been horrendous; instead of being freed, corruption within the police corps had reared its ugly head and every tip off he had given was lost. Instead of being the needed getaway he had hoped for, those acts reported to the Vongola by the spies inside the police nearly resulted in prison or execution for his loved ones, something he could only avoid by begging on his knees for forgiveness before the still oh so benevolently smiling Ninth. He would never forget the palpable relief on their faces and the loss of the last traces of innocence his guardians bore as he managed to get them released. In the world of sin and perdition, the cruel reality of life-long suffering or death were the only alternatives to a life as slaves to those thrice-damned criminals' whims … there was no hope.
Better the devil you know you can sooth than the devil that devours you whole.
Nothing went to plan. Nothing worked itself out. Their hopes and dreams were barely if even that realised, happiness and loyalty, friendship and light-hearted memories helplessly smothered by resentment to the one unwittingly keeping them caught in this dangerous life they couldn't outrun.
Their little family was broken. Beyond repair. Beyond redemption.
And Tsuna drowned in guilt.
They didn't need to openly blame him.
He already and strongly did so himself.
For everything.
If he wasn't their sky …
... they would be free.
If only he wasn't their sky.
He had thought of another way.
A way to break them free.
He tried.
It almost worked.
Vongola just had to interrupt.
After that fateful day on which he well-nigh succeeded in killing himself, Vongola finally opened their eyes and made their despairing heir a consequence-loaded deal.
He would give them everything they asked from him, no matter how much it went against his civilian sensibilities, and he would stay willingly as Decimo until he himself had a blood heir to take up the mantle of Undicesimo. Most importantly, as a grave and ashamed Ninth informed him early on during his recovery, he was to abstain from attempting or even ever again seriously contemplating suicide and had to seek professional help; it seemed that the dire and undisputable fact that their beloved Decimo had grown to be so desperate that he was willing to die just to escape the Mafia had left his Famiglia reeling and not just a few of those who knew him a bit better had become completely frantic and distraught at that.
In exchange for his compliance, his guardians would be free to choose their own destinations in life within certain boundaries, allowed to pursue their dreams and wishes as long as they acted as his guardians when it was necessary.
Not free of the Mafia, not free to live as they liked – In the end, it was naught but a loosening of the leash that so resembled a noose.
It was all he could get for them.
He agreed.
Fixed smiles.
Dead eyes.
Ghostly-pale skin.
Brittle bones.
Death beckoned so enticingly, but he resisted.
Oh, at this point he truly desired its embrace, but his failures bound him to this world.
Duty, guilt.
A miserable chance of repenting.
A never voiced hope of redemption.
Sleep.
Barely eat.
Paperwork.
Dizziness. Water.
Paperwork.
Don't eat.
Paperwork.
Dry tears.
Regrets.
Guilt.
Sleep.
Sawada Tsunayoshi endured the hell he was forced to call life with his head held down and burdened with the broken dreams of his guardians.
He endured a life he hated with a burning passion to repent for the sin of crushing his friends' wishes and desires by having been born and having accepted them as guardians. If he could, he would turn back the hands of time and stop himself from condemning those he had come to love as family; he would have righted the wrong of being a burden to those dear to him. If only he could …
But not even the Ten-Years-Bazooka could manage that. … he had tried it. It didn't change anything.
So all he could do was repent. A way to redeem himself and make it up to his guardians.
Happiness? Satisfaction? Peace?
Forbidden.
Loneliness. Sickness. Anguish.
Required.
If his death couldn't free them ...
… then his suffering in life would give them gratification.
It was not only the least he could do.
It was actually all he could do.
And still, it would never be enough.
It could never be okay.
But despite the pain he had to endure, redemption was the one thing Tsuna would never ask for.
It was a deep-seated wish, a sinful desire. But the idea to ask for a chance to redeem himself …?
How could he dare it?
He knew that he didn't deserve it.
~ The End. Companion to 'Damnation'. ~