A.N.: Woo, I'm back to writing! Camp was awesome, but I was so tired after the day was done that I fell asleep every night before I could dump out the fanfic ideas my brain was spouting onto paper. Now that I've recovered a little, I was finally able to put those ideas into words! Instead of like my past three KHR! fics, this baby is in Yamamoto's point of view. It's not exactly TYL!, but they are a little older. And this is going to be an 8059 fic, for those who were waiting for another one. No genderswap this time!
Summary: When you're being hunted down by a small, seemingly insignificant Italian Mafia famiglia, you can have all the time in the world to confess your feelings to your dying friend and comrade - if you don't get killed first.
I'm not an idiot, despite what my grades say. Yeah, sure, I don't try hard in school, but that doesn't make me an idiot. I know more than I let on, I'm smarter than people think I am. Just because I'm some jock doesn't mean I don't have brains. I have them, and I know how to use them. I have to, in fact, if I want to stay alive. My name is Takeshi Yamamoto. At age seventeen, I'm a rising baseball star that may never have that future, because right now I'm being hunted down by the Italian Mafia, and I may not survive.
I'll start off by saying that it's not my fault that a bunch of Italians are pissed off at me. They just figured out who I work for, and they really don't like him. And so, because they have no idea where he is, they decided to take their anger out on me to try and draw him out. That's the only bad thing about being good friends with your boss. Your enemies figure out if they can't reach your boss directly, they go for you, because they think you'll make easy bait.
It took a couple of years, but I finally worked out that this Mafia business wasn't a game – that is was real, and people could and would die to protect what they valued. I've accepted my role as the Rain Guardian of the Tenth Generation Vongola Famiglia, and I'm prepared for any trouble that comes my way. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. I train daily with my katana, a gift from my father, and help my friend and fellow Guardian Hayato Gokudera keep an eye on our boss at all times. Gokudera goes a little over the top sometimes with security measures, but part of that is because of his extreme devotion to our boss.
Back to the present – I'm currently trapped in Italy and being hunted down by some small Mafia famiglia that doesn't like the Vongola. Then again, a lot of Mafia famiglias don't like us, but they do have some respect for us, and tend to leave us alone. I have no idea where the other Guardians are at the moment – I'm completely alone. Three of us – myself, Gokudera, and Chrome – had come to Italy to settle some business with the Bovino – one of our friendly allies – when we were attacked by this famiglia, and we were separated. I've heard explosions every few minutes, so I know Gokudera is still alive, but it clearly sounds like he needs some backup.
On my first trip to Italy, I was surprised at how easy it is to disappear into a crowd, no matter how conspicuous you might be. Now, I know to use that to my advantage as I casually stroll along a canal, heading towards the plumes of smoke. I like Gokudera's fighting style – it's unique, and effective. The only downside is that it's not subtle at all. However, the explosions are highly effective here in Italy, causing the right amount of chaos I need to get close to the action. Then again, the explosions would be highly effective in causing that kind of scenario anywhere…
I already have my katana out by the time I run around the corner and into the cloud of smoke. I breathe in the thick air and smile – this smells familiar, dangerous, and comforting all at the same time. It only takes seconds before I'm engaged with one of the baddies and fighting for my life once again.
In baseball games, I always felt alive when I was up to bat. In fights like these, it was the same way, only a more intense feeling that lasted longer, and really woke me up. I don't know what it was, but I liked the thrill of risking my life to protect my friends, my boss, and the values of my famiglia. It just felt so right.
Of course, this perfect world of nothing but adrenaline rush is shattered when I hear Gokudera yell in pain, and turn to see him fall, his dark red shirt even darker than I thought possible. I can't explain the feeling that comes over me. It starts as complete numbness, before expanding and changing into white-hot rage. All I fully remember is letting out an animal scream of fury and standing over his fallen form, protecting him. He may act like he hates me, but to me, he's a friend, and someone I care about. I can't just let him die.
When the baddies are all hurt or running for their lives, it's then I sheath my katana and kneel down next to Gokudera. His breathing his ragged and heavy, his eyelids are fluttering. I slap his cheek, gently. "Stay awake, Hayato," I say to him as I slide my arms under his thin form and gently lift him into my arms. "Tsuna needs you," I say softly. I know mentioning our boss will keep him fighting for his life – he would do anything for Tsuna. The other Guardians think it's just an unhealthy obsession and devotion of subordinate and master, but I see something more. Gokudera has fallen hopelessly for Tsuna, even though he knows deep down that their relationship will be nothing more than a friendship between a boss and his loyal right-hand.
I disappear into the smoke just as it starts to dissipate, and quietly enter one of our safe houses – an abandoned house right alongside the canal. I gently set Gokudera on the lone bed and unbutton his shirt. He's barely awake, and his pale skin is even paler. He's lost a lot more blood than I thought.
I quickly cross the small room to the cabinet on the far wall across from the bed and pull out the medical supplies our allies had stashed there for us. I find everything I could possibly need – gauze, Band-Aids, medical tape, needle and thread, rubbing alcohol, and even painkillers. I grab everything and head back over to the bed and press a gauze pad lightly but firmly to the wide, gaping gash in Gokudera's left side. I watch his face, my brow furrowed in worry and concentration. This is the worst wound any of us have gotten on the job – I'm not trained to deal with something this severe. All I can do is hope that my limited training is enough to save my friend's life.