Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own Kateikyoushi Hitman Reborn! It belongs to Amano Akira. Only using the characters for my fics.
A/N: My second KHR fic in 2 days~ Don't you feel proud? (not) Idea sorta originated from the recent arc with the Arcobaleno, but specifically the shot of adult Reborn. This wasn't the original storyline, but I might still write that one.
Summary: Reborn wasn't always the greatest hitman in the world. Watch as I capture the pieces of his hidden past. One that should stay hidden.
Warnings: Not formatted like any story I've written before. It will be several snapshots of Reborn's past, so if you don't like that kind of storytelling, you may wanna leave. It may contain horrific scenes, and possibly bad language. No major pairings, Reborn-centric. Dark themes. Some guess-work done. Apologies for mistakes.
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Shattered Glass
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"Has Father left for work again?"
A lady with beautiful golden hair and blue eyes turned her attention away from her writing, and looked at her son.
"Yes dear, he has."
The young boy scrunched his face in puzzlement.
"What does Father do as a job?"
His mother slowly set her pen down, and picked up her son and put him on her lap. She wrapped her arms lovingly around the petite form.
"Your father has a very special kind of job, dear. His job is to remove people from this world."
The child blinked slowly, trying to comprehend this.
"Father… sends people away? To space?"
"No, to Heaven or Hell."
He frowned.
"Grandfather went to Heaven, didn't he?"
"That's right."
"Grandfather is dead."
She nodded against his head. He turned his head to face his mother.
"Father makes people dead?" he asked with wide eyes.
"That's right."
The boy was silent for a long time, before opening his mouth. What he said next would make his mother weep in sadness every night.
"Father has an easy job. People die all the time."
A boy with black hair sat in the corner of the classroom, reading a book. He hardly realised when the school bell rang, signifying the end of class. He did notice when 3 kids from his class walked up to him with a sneer on their face.
"Hey, loner," the leader kid spat out. Even at the tender age of 5, there were good children and bad children.
"We never see your mummy or daddy anywhere. Is that 'cause they dead, and you just a stupid little orphan?" The group burst out laughing at that.
The boy closed his book, and carefully spoke, as if speaking to someone mentally slow.
"Neither my mother nor my father are dead."
The two lackeys glanced around nervously, unsure of how to handle this strange kid who could speak as properly as a grown man. The leader, however, charged on.
"Yeah? Well my daddy's the best! He owns a drugstore, and earns a lot a money!"
The other children cheered in awe, even though they didn't really understand what drugs were. And neither did the leader himself.
The black haired boy calmly rose from his seat, and the group stood firm, preparing for the rebuttal.
"Your father is probably lying to you, and is illegally selling drugs to strangers. He's most likely part of a local gang, maybe even the Mafia, since he hasn't been caught. Or removed from this world. My father's job is to make those types of scum dead."
Everyone stared in horror at the boy. They weren't able to comprehend all of what he said, but words like 'Mafia', and 'dead' were definitely understood. They ran. Away from the freak.
The man handed him a gun. It was heavy, and it already had 6 bullets in the barrel.
"Aim for that target, right in the middle."
The boy frowned.
"Father, Mother didn't want me to shoot a gun."
His father just looked at him with emotionless eyes.
"Where is your mother now?"
"Heaven," the boy replied.
"That's right. Opinions of the dead don't matter. Shoot the target."
The child pursed his lips, before nodding. He raised his arms and pulled the trigger.
The boy carefully walked up the stairs, and unlocked the door. As soon as the door was open, the stench of death and blood filled his nostrils. He gagged, but entered quickly, trying to find the source.
He found it in the living room. The body lay in an awkward position, and it looked like it was reaching for a gun further off before a shot to the head finished him. The boy stood, shaking and taking a few deep, shuddering breaths.
"Father?"
There was no reply.
The boy moved forward, towards the gun lying just out of reach from the older man's hand. He picked it up, weighing it in his hands. He then pulled the trigger. A hidden body to his left fell, a bullet to his head.
Without another word, the boy went upstairs and packed the essential belongings, before bringing the bag downstairs. He then grabbed all the money he could fit into his bag from the hidden stash under the floorboards. He left the house quickly, leaving the body of his father and his killer in the house, to be discovered by a neighbour. By then, he would be long gone.
That day, the 13 year-old boy became an orphan and homeless.
"What do we have here…?" a gruff voice sneered.
The boy looked up at the group of teens around 18, most smoking and clearly showing a few guns sticking out of their jeans. Understandable, as this area had already been given up on by law enforcement.
"What's in that bag of your, eh? Anything valuable?" The leader asked, sticking his hands in his pockets, acting cool.
The small boy took a deep breath to calm himself. He knew how to deal with this.
"No mister, I've only got some spare clothes in here. I'm homeless you see. I don't own anything valuable."
The leader sighed in frustration. "Well that was a waste of my time." He was about to leave when one of his friends pointed to the kid.
"Hey look boss! That kid's got some shiny ring there."
The boy stiffened and tried to hide his hand behind his bag, but it was too late.
"Well well! Looks like you're homeless and a fuckin' liar. Hand over the ring brat. And the bag too, there might be somethin' good in there."
One of the flunkies reached out a hand to grab the bag, but his hand was stopped. By a small hand on his wrist. He looked up, about to order the kid to let go, when the words died in his throat. Black beads just pierced through him.
"No," the boy stated.
While all the other kids were laughing at their friend being ordered by a brat, the flunky pulled weakly at his arm, with only one thought in his mind.
He's not normal.
The young child finally let go, and the released boy shuddered and before anyone could talk, the 17 year-old ran. There was no way he was staying another minute around that… boy.
The gang just stared at the disappearing figure.
"The hell's wrong with him?"
They shrugged, before turning their attention back to the boy they were about to steal from. Except he'd done a runner too while they were distracted.
They never caught up to him.
The boy sat in the dark alleyway, his breaths audible from the run he did.
He sat there the whole night.
"You have the eyes of an assassin."
The young man gently set his cup of espresso down.
"And you have the subtlety of a wild bear," the man replied.
A man with brown, wiry hair chuckled as he took a seat opposite to the man in a suit and a fedora.
"I wouldn't say that. Everyone in the world is just too obvious. Compared to you."
The fedora wearing man just sipped his coffee. The brown haired man's eyes hardened.
"Let's get down to business. I don't know you, and you don't know me. Let's keep it that way."
"On the contrary," he replied, stretching his curly sideburns. "Signor Gerado Pasquale, son of Callisto and Elizabetta Pasquale. Your father runs a small bank, and your mother is a store manager. You, on the other hand," he said, his lips in a smirk, "decided to leave that boring life and joined a little gang, yes?"
Gerado was stiff, but quickly relaxed again.
"As expected of you. You are rather famous in the underworld. I heard you go by the name Remondo."
"Then you heard wrong, Signor Gerado."
Gerado frowned in displeasure.
"Well, whatever your name is, I don't care. I just want to know if you can get the job done."
Rather than reply, the man lifted the cup to his lips again. Then he spoke.
"Tell me who you want removed, and I'll tell you if it can be done."
"Now who has the subtlety of a bear?"
A lady with long blonde hair stepped into the black limousine, carefully checking her red nails and touching up her makeup.
"Eraldo, you can start driving now, I do not want to be late to this party," she said.
The car didn't move, and there was no answer.
"Eraldo?"
Before she could see why he wasn't responding, there was a knock on her window. Not knowing what else to do, she opened the window and looked at the man standing there with a black fedora.
"Ciao Signora. My name is Renato. Do you have an ex-husband called Gerado Pasquale?"
She blinked. "I do…"
"He paid me to kill you."
She sat frozen in shock.
"If you pay me double, I'll kill him for you."
Slowly but surly, a smile started to stretch across her delicate face. Renato smirked at that, knowing he'd won.
That didn't stop him from wanting to grimace in disgust at humanity's sins, including his own.
"How would you like to join the Vongola?"
"No," was his automatic reply.
The other man laughed heartily, despite the cold company.
"Let me finish, Mister Paranoid Hitman."
The hitman glared at him, daring him to utter those words in the same sentence again.
"Do you know why Vongola was made? What Vongola Primo created it for?"
He was silent, suspicious. Then replied, "It was started as a vigilant group to protect the weak."
"That's right. Now look at the Mafia. We have become so corrupt. Completely different to the original purpose of it all. After all, the opinions of the dead don't matter much."
He unnoticeably flinched at the last part.
"I want to try and amend this though. I'm not foolish enough to think that everything will be fixed in my generation. Everyone is too selfish for that. But I feel a change in the wind. I want you to join the Vongola. You could make this possible."
The man just clicked his tongue.
"You have unfeasible goals."
The other just sat back in his chair. "Makes things more interesting, doesn't it?"
The black haired man sighed in resignation, before standing up and kneeling on one knee.
"Very well. I give my services to you. I will make these dreams a reality. Not for you, but for myself only."
"Of course, Mister Paranoid Hitman."
"Watch that tone, Don Vongola Nono."
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End
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A/N: Weeellll, I quite enjoyed that. Don't nitpick too much at the details of specifics. I'm only guessing things. I chose not to include the Arcobaleno as that would include too many characters you are familiar with.
And life goes on, but it seems I gave Reborn a stuffed up childhood eh. Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading that ^^
Reviewers are loved~ Critism is appreciated. Flamers are burned. Jokes, but please dont flame.
Things you may or may not have picked up on-
-'What he said next would make his mother weep in sadness every night.'-
This is to show that his mother realised Reborn did not think like other kids. Throwing around the idea of death so easily and at such a young age.
-"Yeah? Well my daddy's the best! He owns a drugstore, and earns a lot a money!"-
A slight reference to "To Kill a Mockingbird" as fathers were seen as manlier if they owned a drugstore or something.
-'He left the house quickly, leaving the body of his father and his killer in the house, to be discovered by a neighbour.'-
He has no real connection with his father, so isn't entirely bothered by his death.
-"I wouldn't say that. Everyone in the world is just too obvious. Compared to you."-
What he meant was that Reborn didn't let anyone near him, know him or know what he was thinking etc.
-'The car didn't move, and there was no answer.'-
He's dead.
-"Let me finish, Mister Paranoid Hitman."-
I was trying to give the impression that Nono was the first to call Reborn the Paranoid Hitman, so that when he met Luche, and she called him that, He felt more inclined to trust her.
-"Watch that tone, Don Vongola Nono."-
The tone is slight sarcasm, and Nono is implying that Reborn is doing this for others aswell.