In which Tsuna is poor and living in the dangerous Vongola District of Namimori. His father is a useless drunk, and his mother is a cold-hearted killer. He steals, he cheats, and once he even kills. It's not all that surprising that he's pulled into a sinister plot that may leave him dead. 27All
Warning: foul language and dark themes. Cynical!Tsuna.
If there's one thing Tsuna's learned after over a decade of being dame, it's how to run. It's mere instinct now, the flight replacing fight. And he's fast. He can sprint like a damn bullet, if that's his aim. But it never is. All he ever wants is to get away unscathed. He doesn't want to hurt anyone like they've hurt him (he's sure it would break them far sooner), but he's so fed up.
How many more years can they manipulate the cracks before his walls shatter? He's built them so high, he can hardly see over them.
It's not his fault his kaa-san is so fucked up. It's not his fault that the other half of his DNA is from him.
Maybe, Tsuna thinks, if his otosan wasn't such a useless bastard, he would have some self-control. He really wishes the idiot would just stay gone. But his stupid otosan always comes back. He always came back with those freaks for houseguests, and his Mama has to house a bunch of greedy assholes in their grubby cheap-ass flat. They're never even normal 'friends from work'- they're more fucked up than they've gradually made his kaasan. Some carry grenades, or guns, and then others dynamite. They always stay a day too long, and Mama snaps.
She was friendly, at least, this morning. She told him that, sorry Tsu-chan, Otosan's a bit hungover, you'll have to walk today, and makes him pancakes. He knows it's just compensation, but he's grown to accept the sugar apologies. He loves her, no matter what.
And these assholes are insulting his 'Freaky-ass Okaasan', so Tsuna snaps.
It's not that he's weak. It never was. He's had to handle his drunk otosan more times than he can count, and of course he's had to blackmail quite a few bystanders whenever his kaasan has a 'breakdown', so he's more than strong enough for a few middle-school bullies- it's never that he's not strong enough.
He's more than strong enough, and that's why he goes too far.
His punches are sharp, and his feet are stone as they kick savagely at the surrounding children. Tsuna grabs one idiot's arm and twists it, and the boy releases an anguished scream. He shoves another into the ground, letting the kid's face kiss the rough gravel. His eyes hold a feral gleam, shaded orange like a flame.
The boy who insulted his mother, his beloved kaasan, comes up behind him with a rusty pipe, swinging it down at Tsuna's head. He barely ducks, and knows he'll be black and blue across his back by afternoon. Turning rapidly, he swipes with his tiring hands and grabs the pipe, slamming it into the bully's stomach with force sans mercy.
The boy chokes, eyes widening as shaking hands fly to his wounded chest. His breath quivers and his whole body shakes. The trembling boy falls to his knees, twitching and coughing.
Tsuna realizes his mistake too late, and does what the dame do best.
He runs.
His kaasan is worried when he arrives home so soon. She places her hand to his forehead and hums an anxious lullaby. It would be sweet, Tsuna thinks, if she didn't have blood all over her hands.
As a child Tsuna used to wonder whether his dear kaasan would someday come for him. She seemed unbiased in her murder, killing those who so much as looked at her strangely. He had even been afraid of her once, hiding under his bed because the monsters that had lived there now resided inside his kaasan's head. But her soft voice carried across the hallways along with the smell of gore. "Does Tsu-chan hate his kaasan now?" she had asked, her tone honeyed and saccharine. Her sobs had echoed through the house, "Oh, why does Nana-san always ruin everything! So worthless, so useless, even Nana-san's baby hates her!" Young Tsuna couldn't stay veiled by his bedroom door when she sounded so upset, and had rushed out to hug his mother. Her embrace was warm with blood, and the salty smell of tears and sweat had engulfed him.
But his kaasan was beautiful, even when she was coated in cruor.
He had since understood her murders. She killed anyone, he noticed, except for those who had made home within her house. As long as they had visited at least once, they were welcomed with a smile, rather than a knife in the back. Her reason, she claimed, was family. Her family meant everything to her. She could never kill them.
Otherwise, his otosan would be long dead.
So Tsuna isn't shy as he explains to his okaasan that, yes, he's fine. But he may have accidentally killed somebody.
Of course, his kaasan comforts him. "Everyone makes mistakes, Tsu-chan," she tells him warmly as he rests his head against her shoulder. "You just need to be more careful. Mama always dumps them in the river, baby."
"I know. I'm sorry, Kaasan."
"It's okay. We all learn from our mistakes, ne?"
Tsuna smiles. "Right. Thank you, Kaasan," he pauses. Biting his lip, he asks, "Is Otosan out?"
"No, baby, he's upstairs sleeping it off." The frown pulling at his lips does not go unnoticed by his okaasan. "Don't worry, Tsu-chan, he'll be out of it for another twelve hours at least."
"Okay, Mama, thanks."
He enters the kitchen, hunger biting at his stomach. His mother has cleaned the murder scene impeccably, and he is comfortable in preparing a meal on the counter. He finds a hidden bottle of booze behind a few half-empty boxes of cereal and curses his otosan.
They have no milk, so Tsuna just shrugs and pours the firewater into his cereal.
"And voila," he says to himself. "Five star meal, from La Vongola Restaurant."
Vongola is just the name given to the bleak districts, thronged with dingy sets of flats like his, now engulfing this half of Namimori. Ever since his father quit his work as a construction worker they could no longer afford the pretty house near the school, or the fancy car or the nice food. His father, when not drunk out of his tiny mind, would drive him in the old truck up to school. Nana continued sending him, in the hopes of him gaining a good enough education to escape the lifestyle they'd been damned with.
She had always overestimated him.
So Tsuna grabs a grubby spoon and scoops up some of the outdated cereal, watered down with old grog. It looks kind of like piss, but he swallows down the fiery spoonful with starving resolve.
He has to make the crappy meal last, and forces himself to choke down every nauseating mouthful slowly.
By 9pm he's dressed in the crème de la crème of his wardrobe. Donning his best black jeans and white button-down shirt, he cleans his muddy school shoes and calms his unruly mane of gravity-defying brown locks. He winces while he pokes in his contacts, as they lay wet in his eyes. He hides the newly orange orbs with some black shades. In the mirror he practices his best shit-eating grin before nodding to himself; he's ready.
He doesn't have a job. He doubts he's smart enough for one, and has too much pride to be try and later be rejected. He's known on the streets as Fire-Eater for all the stupid shit he's done for money. Everyone recognizes him by his orange eyes- the contacts he puts in every night. The cheap black sunglasses he bought while getting his kaasan medicine in the pharmacy really paid off, and now he can approach people without them recognizing him first.
Wandering through the streets alone in the Namimori Vongola District was terrifying for outsiders. Thieves, muggers and rapists lay in every corner. It was a disgusting area, filled with disease, murder, and sin. Everyone hated each other, but loathed one another equally. There was little bias. If you were weak, you were a target, no matter who you were.
Tsuna, however, was long accustomed to the dark roads and narrow alleys. He knows most thieves by name, and has thrown his fair share of rocks at the predators roaming the passageways. He holds confidence in his safety, and has done so for many years. When strangers used to loom over him, offering candy from their vans, they left with black eyes and years off their lives. He had learned how to protect himself because his circumstances called for it.
Adjusting his shades, he set wary foot in the Central Zone. There were grey walls encircling the area with the exception of four small exits meeting each direction. The area was enormous, resembling the innards of a colosseum, and had exhibited just as much violence and blasphemy as the kill zones of the past had. It was a common meeting area, constructed like an amphitheatre as to seat thousands. Sometimes acts took to the ground stage: men in rags playing princes and kings, while malnourished women danced like their curves hadn't long been protruded by sharp bones.
The Central Zone commands reverence with its sad atmosphere and joyous echoes. Tsuna finds it to be the best place to look for work, as it was always full of varying different souls. Once he had scammed 136597.32 yen from some fool demanding revenge. All he'd done was tell the guy that it wasn't worth it, but that it was his choice. He still sold him the knife and the shovel, but the guy had seemed awed with Tsuna's weak attempt to discourage the murder. His family had eaten like kings that night, and it was the first time he had felt content since childhood.
So now, having earned little over 34149.33 yen in a week, he needs to choose well tonight. After all, he very well could be in a cell by the next day. His kaasan is probably starving, and his otosan gets violent when hungry.
His eyes scan through the crowds, scrutinizing every trench-coated soul and regarding all the darkened eyes. No one looks particularly wealthy or desperate, other than the smug teenaged assholes visiting, most likely just to say that they had, from the Gesso district. They don't look all that gutsy to Tsuna, and their snobbish expressions and haughty laughter are enough to bring him shoving through the crowds towards them.
He whips off his glasses, smirking. Concentrating on his aura, he brings himself to look superior; threatening. It's a simple trick- the smartass conviction in his eyes and the cocksure undertones surrounding him gave him height he doesn't have, and an invisible power that shined in his knowing smile.
"Sumimasen," he says politely, his eyes narrowing as he comes to stand before the gang. "But the hell are you doing here?"
"Oh!" One of the clique members laughed, his lilac eyes growing wide in light surprise. His stance was that of a leader, as his gang shadowed him from behind. The boy flashed a grin at him, and Tsuna felt a bitter lour creep onto his face in response. "You must be Fire-Eater, ne? You're all the gossip around these parts- is it true you'll perform anything for money?"
He forces the sneer from his face. "Yes, that's what they call me. I'm assuming you're from the Gesso District?"
"Concerned about the money?" Tsuna scowls. "Yes, we're what you'd call 'rich'. My name is Byakuran, Fire-Eater-san."
"What do you want?"
"Who says we want anything?"
Tsuna stares at the white-haired boy. His lackeys have all come to stand behind him, their eyes gleaming with promises of a beating if he dares defy this 'Byakuran' brat. "Why would you be here if you didn't?"
"Oh, so you're one of the bold ones? Yes, you're right, Fire-Eater-san. May I have your name? Fire-Eater-san has too many hyphens for my taste."
"Some people call me Decimo."
"And why's that?"
"They say I've done ten unforgivable things."
"Haha!" Byakuran snickers. "I bet you've done far more than that, Decimo…"
"Are you asking me to do another?"
"Perhaps," the Gesso boy hummed. "There are some things I need… important things. And don't think you can just pawn them- they're not worth shit to anyone but me. I don't care how long it takes: I just need them. They'll be hard to obtain, but I have faith in your… so-called abilities."
"How much?"
"Are they worth?" Byakuran questions, his eyes sharpening and his mouth twisting into a sneer.
"No." The Gesso's glare drops, replaced with a subtle widening of his eyes. "I don't care about that. I just want to know if you'll pay me."
The boy's smile is sickeningly sweet. "I like you, Decimo. If you can steal what I want you to, I'll pay you – Oh, what's 5000 euro in yen again? - 682986.60 yen."
Tsuna honestly doesn't mean to, but he let his countenance fall to shock. He nearly reeled back in awed revelation, and blinked as though to try and understand the words.
"That," he swallows. "That's a lot of money. What are you, a fucking god?"
Byakuran laughs heartily, his purple eyes glistening in pride. "Oh, I like that. Thank you, Decimo, and yes. It is a lot of money."
Tsuna shakes his head to calm his rapid thoughts. Paranoia bites at him like the fanged cold, and he cautiously asks, "And if I can't steal these things?"
"Well, Decimo, "Can't" and "Don't" are two very different things. If you "can't", we'll simply say you owe me… if you "don't", however, that makes things personal, you see. In that case, I might be a little worried for your dear okaasan… they say the streets here are more dangerous than those anywhere else in Japan…"
Tsuna felt a sour taste enter his mouth, and he stared at the smirking Gesso teen. "You… you're threatening my kaasan…"
"Am I?" The boy smiles wickedly. "That's up to you to decide, Decimo."
Tsuna remains still, his limbs unwilling to move. It can't be… they couldn't…
He can't imagine a world without his kaasan. She is the sun of the dim Vongola district, and she gives him a reason to smile every day. She is able to make him laugh, and her embrace is his only warmth in their frosty little flat. She's the only one left who loves him, and he loves her in return. He can't bear to lose her. She is his friend; she is his beloved kaasan.
Byakuran strolls casually towards him, his hands hidden in the dark pockets of his expensive jeans. He leans down, and lightly kisses Tsuna's cheek. The boy does not move back, and Tsuna feels him force his hand open. Some cold coins are thrust into his palm, and he hears the white-haired boy whisper a lukewarm "survive a little longer, Tsu-chan" into his ear.
He stands, frozen, as the jostling gang disappear into the Vongola crowds as though they were never there. He is too numb to even fathom how the Gesso boy knows his name.
Tsuna runs home that night. His kaasan is fine, albeit shivering as she lays sprawled across the sofa under some bloodied apron. He tears it from her grasp, stuffing into the wash basket and grabbing her a clean blanket. He drapes it over her, and she stills with a soft sigh.
He takes a seat in the ragged armchair opposite her, unable to sleep soundly. He won't let anyone hurt his kaasan, he promises, ignoring the grunts from upstairs as his father suffers from yet another nightmare.
Tsuna plucks out his contacts carefully before doing what he can of his homework, and is only finishing his English essay when his battered phone beeps.
It's nearing midnight, and a foreboding stillness consumes the air as he reaches for the grey mobile. The dull white screen lights up the pitch-black room, and Tsuna blinks, adjusting to the dim.
Hello, Tsu-chan! It's me!
Tsuna drops the phone. It clatters against the floor, cracking the long scarred glass. Slowly, he picks it up once more.
Oh, Tsuna, don't drop out on me just yet…
He swallows, brown eyes going big. It's Byakuran, and he can see Tsuna. He shuts his eyes tight, praying to whatever kami-sama was out there for this to all be just another dream.
Oh, Tsu-chan, this isn't a dream. This is real. Don't worry, it's only a nightmare if you want it to be.
Tsuna feels his breath catch in his throat as he stares down at the black font on the shattered white screen.
"This can't be happening," he mutters, opening the new message box.
how did you get this number? He types in quickly, waiting for the sure reply.
Money is power these days, Tsu-chan. They say the rich can't enter heaven- that's because they're going to hell :D. Tsuna bites his lip in frustration, tapping in another query.
then how do you know my name?
That took a little more effort, Fire-Eater, but nobody is born from air.
Short and to the point, Tsuna decides to simply send the question burning in his throat. Why me? I'm cheap, but you're obviously rich so that doesn't matter.
There's a moment's rest in their conversation, before the screen once again glows in response. Haha! Tsu-chan's cheap, is he?
Just answer the question.
Rude Tsu-chan. Maybe I just think trained assassins are too flashy these days.
Still, why me then? I'm not the best at my game, or the smartest.
True, but nobody would notice if Tsu-chan were to die but me.
Tsuna flings the phone away from him, covering his ears and desperately trying to ignore its constant vibrating as the room is consumed by darkness.
He doesn't scream when he wakes up to the sound of screaming. Rather, Tsuna shakes his head and sighs in dismal remorse. He should've known his kaasan would wake early today. She always did on a Saturday, ironically, because it was much simpler to pluck a stranger from the streets while any bystanders were still asleep.
He never disturbs her when she's killing. The spark in her wild eyes is often too much for her son to watch, but usually she tries to be more subtle in her murder. It wasn't like she stabbed the people right in front of him, and oftentimes she attempts to be as inconspicuous as a sanguinary okaasan could.
She must be in a bad mood today, he realizes, and inhales sharply.
His steps are slow and silent as he pads down the hallway. The sobbing of her victim echoes throughout the flat, and he knows she's being careless. Soundless, he glances through a rotting hole in the wall.
His mama is poised above a howling teen, ruthlessly wrenching her crimson knife out of his torn chest. The sight is cold and familiar, but that's not why Tsuna feels himself choke.
It's as though he's being strangled by an invisible force, as he and the Gesso lackey lock eyes. He had been wearing a dark red mask the night prior, Tsuna remembers, but the scarlet running down his face bests the visor now lying beside him.
One of Byakuran's comrades is being slashed open right in front of him.
It's a sign, Tsuna understands. He grips the wall as he staggers back down the hallway, feeling his head spin. He doesn't know how to interpret the crazed teen, and falls to his knees in search of his phone.
He finds it, more than worse for wear, thrown against the wall. He presses the power button and waits in tense anticipation as the screen lights.
01:07 Oh, Tsu-chan, don't end our conversation there…
01:09 Tsu-chan, pick up the phone.
01:13 Tsu-chan, I'm not finished yet.
01:18 Tsunayoshi, answer the damn phone.
01:19 Baka, do you know what I can do?
01:36 … I'm sorry, Tsu-chan, did I upset you? I'll let you go for now, but next time there will be consequences.
01:40 Oops, forgot to mention, I've left a little 'present' for your okaasan. Hope she enjoys :).
01:41 Night, Tsu-chan.
Tsuna regains his composure in shaky breaths. He carefully pockets his phone, ignoring how heavy it feels against his chest.
Who knows what the bastard will do if he doesn't reply next time.
He waits another two hours before entering the kitchen. The floor is so clean he could kiss it, and all traces of the carnage have been washed away. He does, however, smell something gruesome from the closet. He feels, as he often does, that he is walking in a graveyard.
His otosan is seated at the table, blank eyes gazing absently at the crumpled newspaper in his grimy hands. The two sombre orbs flicker up to meet him before closing in tired distaste. "… Tsu-kun."
"Otosan," Tsuna answers, equally reproachful. Neither hold the other's gaze, and both turn away as though they were just figments of each other's imagination.
"Do you have money? I'm out of hooch," the older man says warily, eyes focusing solely on the dark pictures labelled 'murder' and 'crime'.
Tsuna tosses some coins at his otosan's feet, and the man makes no move to pick them up.
"Thank you."
"Don't say that."
His otosan blinks wearily at him. "The fuck not? Thank you. You and your mama keep the nightmares away …"
Tsuna snatches himself a greying apple and leaves the room.
He's intercepted seven steps out his door. A boy, perhaps a year older than him and decades taller, grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him into the shadows.
"The hell are you?" Tsuna spits, attempting to land a solid kick at the stranger's knee. His leg is deflected by a sharp metal tonfa, and he flinches back.
"… Hibari Kyoya, herbivore."
"Then why the fuck are you here?" He manages, ducking yet another tonfa sailing toward him. He can't seem to distract the blood-thirsty boy as he narrowly escapes the wrath of a stone fist.
If he's correct, than Hibari Kyoya is the devil of the school. Tsuna wouldn't know. It's not the like the so-called prefect ever saved him.
"You killed Fukui Toshi."
So the bully died. The younger Tsuna would have been disgusted in his lack of regard for what was simple murder, but he didn't care. "I did," he agrees quietly. Should he care? Perhaps there is no guilt like a lack of such.
"Homicide is against the rules of Namimori High," Hibari says, slicing into Tsuna's arm. "I would know."
"We're not school right now," he realizes. The skylark's lips quirk into a small smirk. "Are you going to kill me?"
"Fight me, herbivore," the young monster demands.
Tsuna looks around, near frantic, before morphing into Decimo. He concentrates on his cunning grin and vigorous air, leaving poor malnourished street-rat Tsuna behind him. He won't leave his kaasan alone with his fuck-up otosan. He'll be brave for her. He'll do anything to keep her safe.
"Hai," he concedes, meeting the prefect's greys with his flame-ringed irises. He falls into a roughhouse stance, his lips forming a stern line.
"Wao," Hibari hums, before grinning with equal vigour. "I'm going to bite you to death."
Tsuna doesn't have time to think as the skylark strikes with brutal strength. His movements are swift and lethal, and his tonfas are made to massacre. He shifts with boundless stamina, his zeal for victory sharpening his silver arms.
But as fast as Hibari is, Tsuna is faster. He ducks with taunting fervour, avoiding the blades with careful evasion. As the prefect's attacks harshen, he is forced to attempt offense. He lands an ugly punch against the boy's chest, but the skylark barely acknowledges the hit. Tsuna sidesteps another brutal blitz, sending a bony elbow to pierce the other's throat. Hibari inhales, a crack forming in his blank visage. His brows narrow, and he retreats momentarily as he coughs violently. His eyes never leave Tsuna.
"You're not an herbivore," the prefect murmurs, observing Tsuna's shaking fists and fiery eyes. "But you're not a killer."
"No."
"What are you then?"
"I'm Tsuna," he explains, and smiles at the confused carnivore. "Please don't lock me away, I have my kaasan to look after and my otosan's unemployed- they can't live without me, and-"
"I won't lock you up," Hibari interrupts, gazing at the babbling small figure. "That would break you. You're not that strong."
"Thank you," Tsuna says earnestly, as the prefect withdraws. He straightens, blinking at the other's unwavering stare. Tsuna wondered if he saw through the façade, but doubted it. Tsuna himself hardly recognized the lies from the truth anymore. "Hey, Hibari-"
Before he can finish, his pocket shudders, and he pulls out his phone.
Tell him, and I'll introduce my friends to your kaasan.
I wasn't going to. Fuck off.
He glances back up to greet Hibari's frown with a hopeful smile. "Anno... any chance you could help me hide a body?"
The older boy says nothing, and simply follows him into the pungent flat.
And, as they walk into the kitchen, his kaasan turns to smile at them from the sink. She greets them kindly, washing the blood from under her nails before politely offering a handshake. Hibari doesn't question it, and introduces himself blankly.
Tsuna's kaasan won't kill him today.