Let Those Flames Burn Us Down
Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Summary: The story of Timoteo's three-and-one sons: Enrico, Massimo, Federico and Xanxus. Of blood ties and brotherhood and what it means to be Vongola, while learning to be a family.
(Or: the one in which Timoteo attempts to be kind but ends up being cruel anyway, Xanxus doesn't know how to express his emotions in a healthy –or sane- way, and the other three sons of Vongola Nono watch the storm brewing on the horizon, without being able to do a damn thing to stop it)
WARNING: Some language, this is Xanxus we are talking about, though is mild. Minor alcoholism? I'm not certain what Italy's laws regarding underage drinking are like, but since this is the mafia, I'm going to disregard said laws. Also, this is unedited. Beware grammar mistakes.
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Timoteo inherits his mother, Daniela's, Will. He is kind, compassionate, just and honorable, a fierce, wise, family-oriented man who is grudgingly respected by his enemies, admired by his allies, and adored by his Famiglia and guardians, especially loved by his wife and sons. A love he returns a thousand times over.
But Timoteo is also Vongola Nono, and that means that there are times in which he must be cruel too. Sometimes he is cruel by necessity or because he is left with no choices and must choose the best bad option in a sea of worse ones.
Sometimes though, sometimes he is cruel without meaning to be. Maybe because he has spent too much time as a mafia man, and cruelty, thoughtless though it might be, has become a second nature to his mostly gentle personality already.
("The Mafia will destroy you from the inside out before spitting you out," Vongola Ottava tells her teenage son. "If your Will is weak, you will lose yourself. Don't be weak, Teo. Never be weak.")
He is being cruel now, cruel and selfish, though he doesn't see it yet. He won't see it for many more years to come and by the time he does, it will already be too late.
The woman stands before him, looking frail and run haggard, her clothes torn and dirty, skin feverish and eyes too wide to look sane. Even then, she still manages to look lovely, though much of that beauty has vanished from her face by now; stolen away by a sickness that attacks the mind and leaves the body to wither away slowly.
He pities her, this woman with her deluded eyes blind to anything but her own fantasies. But more than that, Timoteo pities the boy next to her. His son, if the woman is to be believed.
She is not. Timoteo has never laid eyes on her before this day, and even if he had, he wouldn't have done more than admire her looks from afar. He was already married man by the time her boy was born and he has never once been unfaithful to his wife.
His precious wife, who died years ago, taking their last child with her.
She had been a Rain, his Sonja. With eyes of blue skies and hair made of spun gold, she had held his heart in her hands and given him three wonderful children in return. Would have given him a fourth one, but it wasn't to be. They had been so excited too, searching for names that would fit the new addition to their family. Timoteo had suggested Giulio, but Sonja wanted to name him Ricardo, after the Secondo. When he had asked why she would want to name their son after one of the most brutal bosses of the Vongola, she had looked him in the eye, blue eyes shining with her Dying Will.
"I want him to be strong," she had told him, hugging her pregnant belly. "Strong like Secondo was. I want him to survive."
But Giulio, or Ricardo, they never did reach a compromise, didn't survive. And Timoteo lost both his wife and his son.
Now, a woman stands before him, offering him another chance at being a father again. Timoteo is greedy and selfish enough to accept it.
"There's no doubt about it," he says, kneeling on the dirty ground and wounding his scarf on the boy's neck, watching the bright, fierce fire dancing around his small hand. "You have the Flames of Vongola. You're my son."
He is being kind, isn't he? The boy needs food and a proper roof over his head, a family that will be able to care and provide for his needs, teach him how to control his Wrath Flames. Timoteo can offer all of that, happily, gladly even. He has always wanted to redeem himself for allowing Sonja and their baby's deaths, and Xanxus needs his help like a tree needs water and sun to grow and reach for the sky.
And if all he has to do is to say a little white lie, what's the worst that could happen?
Timoteo is a kind man. Unfortunately, he is also a cruel one. And the worst part of all is that he doesn't even see it.
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At seventeen, Enrico is the eldest of his brothers, the firstborn son and heir of Timoteo di Vongola, Ninth Boss of the strongest Mafia Famiglia in the world, and thus his future is set on stone from the moment of his birth, practically raised from the cradle to one day succeed his father and be known as Vongola Decimo.
At seventeen, Enrico is everything a teenager boy should be: wild, unrestrained and always looking for a new way to have fun. He is widely known as the life of the party, men and women of all ages flocking to him like sheep because of his money, impeccable pedigree, good humor and gratuitous flirting. Instead of studying with his private tutors or learning how to run a mafia empire from his old man, Enrico is more likely to be found among women and booze, trying to enjoy what is supposed to be the best years of his life before it's consumed whole by words like duty and responsibility.
(He and his father have fights about this. Big fights.
"When will you stop acting like a child and start taking this seriously? It's the future of our family Enrico!"
"Don't talk to me about being a child. I've never had the chance to be one! You've never allowed me to!"
"Why can't you be reasonable?"
"Why can't you let me choose?"
"Why don't you listen to me?!"
Many, many angry fights that end up with both parties hurt but too proud to say I'm sorry.
"I wish you would stop taking pleasure in disappointing me so much."
"I wish mother was alive instead of you."
… Forgive me
… I didn't mean it.)
But despite all of that, he has been groomed to be a Boss from the moment he could walk, and his Vongola Intuition is a sharply-honed weapon that whispers to him about dangers and lies, tells him who among his so-called 'friends' are actually assassins sent to kill him, people only interested in his money or his looks, and others that only want, like him, to have a good time.
It tells him that the spiky black-haired boy, that little ball of suspicion and compressed anger standing in front of him wearing dirty, tattered clothes and scuffed shoes too big for him is not his father's bastard son, no matter what the old man would want them to believe.
But that doesn't mean he can't be Enrico's little brother. He has always wanted more siblings anyway.
So, smiling widely like he is known to do, he reaches down to mess the kid's buzz-cut hair, only to stop when Xanxus's fiery red eyes glare him down.
"Don't," he says, each word sounding like a whip and ow, the kid can glare. "Touch the hair." A pause, before he blinks and finishes with "Trash."
His father blanches, before starting to berate the kid about his language inside the house, which earns him only a disinterested look from Xanxus and a barely suppressed yawn. Massimo is frowning at the boy, his own Intuition, though the weakest among them all, probably whispering to him the same things Enrico's did. Federico, the former youngster between the Vongola brothers, was trying and failing to muffle his snickers at the shocked and appalled look on Papa's face.
And Enrico?
He laughs, loud and hard, the sound rumbling deep from his chest and shaking his big frame. It is a young, happy and wild mirth, just like everything that makes up Enrico di Vongola.
"Welcome to the family, little brother. You will fit right in."
And he ignores that little nagging coming from his Intuition that whispers to him urgently about danger and this is going to end in blood and tears.
Because Enrico is seventeen, and like any other teenager his age he just wants to live in the present, where he has a new little brother that glares at him for messing with his hair.
Really, is it so wrong to want to be young?
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Since they were children, Massimo was unlike his brothers in temper, personality and looks. Out of all three sons Sonja Vongola birthed, only he inherited their mother's Scandinavia looks, while the rest of his family was all dark-haired and dark-eyed. He always stuck out like a sore thumb in family photos.
The differences didn't end there. While Enrico was the heir to their father's Mafia Empire, the reckless, wild one, Massimo was content in being known as the spare, Timoteo's quiet and timid boy who's always hidden under his big brother's shadow. While Federico, the youngest of the three, was open and trusting, wearing his heart in his sleeve and loved for it, Massimo was the suspicious one, with walls as high as the mountain of Everest around his heart. He was always on the lookout for lies and betrayals, eternally waiting for the other shoe to drop.
No good deed ever goes unpunished.
This guarded attitude made it difficult for Massimo to associate with other children, much less find friends. True friends, unlike the fakes who hung on Enrico's every word one second and tried to assassinate him the next, or Federico's passing acquaintances and playmates who were gone as soon as they appeared. His mother used to say while she was alive that he only needed to wait for the right people to come, the ones who would understand his own special brand of wit and humor, and more, love him for it. Sonja had been one of those people that could understand; his own father and blood brothers couldn't.
How ironic it is then, to find a kindred soul with the one brother he doesn't share blood with.
But of course, Xanxus doesn't know that. To him, they are brothers who share the same father and it's only natural to get along with family. All the while, Massimo cusses Timoteo out inside his mind, and only there, because he is not like Federico, who would go up to the old man and insult him to his face. No, Massimo is and forever will be his mother's son, he has more tact than that.
Besides, it would change nothing. Their Papa always goes conveniently deaf and blind to the things he doesn't want to deal with. It's sad, when Massimo stops to think about it. He is only fifteen, and already he knows how this will end.
Because he knows his father, and he has gotten to know Xanxus, he realizes that the boy will not forget this lie, this betrayal of trust. And he will certainly not forgive.
One day, Xanxus will discover the truth. It's practically inevitable, the boy is too curious for his own good; he will dig deeper and deeper until he scraps rock-bottom, and when he does... Massimo can only pray that when his adopted little brother does find out, the world will be strong enough to withstand his wrath, because Vongola (their father) won't.
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Federico has always been the youngster among his brothers, six years between him and Massimo, eight with Enrico. Because of that it's hard to connect with his older siblings. Oh, they love him, Federico has no doubts about that; but it doesn't change the fact that they don't have time for him. Massimo, who prefers his silence and ages-old books to the loud company of a little boy and Enrico who is always partying the night away and telling him to go to bed because he is too young to participate in the big kids' fun.
Federico is tired of being too young.
It comes as a blessing then, when their Papa comes home one day, a scowling black haired boy trailing after him. He can't be much younger than Federico, one year top, and the young Vongola can already imagine all the things the two of them will do together.
"What's your name?" Federico asks, grinning at the kid who's apparently his half-brother, according to Papa.
(Wrong, something inside him whispers. He's not blood. He's not Vongola. Not kin.
Federico cheerfully ignores the voice.)
"Who are you, trash?" is the only answer he receives, and Federico can hear Papa's whimper at the language.
"I'm Federico!" he says happily, not at all bothered by the insult. He might be too young to go to Enrico's parties, but he has heard how he and his guardians talk to each other when they are drunk out of their minds and Papa is on the other side of the world in Family business. Compared to that, Xanxus's rudeness is nothing. "But you can call me fratello."
Predictably, Xanxus's answer to that was a curt and very resounding "No."
Federico grins. He can already tell that this will be so much fun.
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Enrico is fond of guns. He is good with them. He thrives with them, in all honesty. He is the best marksman in all of Vongola, second only to Timoteo's old friend, the World's Greatest Hitman, Reborn himself. And he technically doesn't count, seeing as he is not really part of the Family.
Regardless, what is important is that Enrico is great with guns. He likes them, understands them, and finds them pretty damn useful, to the point of always carrying around one of his babies, no matter the time, no matter the place. It's a remarkable show of foresight, especially when there's an assassin in his kitchen trying to slit his throat.
It all ends rather quickly with a muffled bang. The gun he uses has a silencer added to it. No point of waking up the entire household just because one measly hitman managed to bypass the security.
Normally, that would be it. He would put away his guns, take out his cell phone, and call Coyote of another one of his father's guardians to dispose of the body. Hell, he could call Claudia, his pretty Sun Guardian and Right Hand to, pardon the pun, give him a hand in taking care of the trash. He doesn't do any of those things because one, Claudia would probably finish the job the assassin was unable to complete and murder him for daring to call her on the fuck o'clock of the night, and two, Coyote and Viscontti would probably help her. Between the three of them, no one would ever find his body.
And then there is number three.
Xanxus is standing right there, a comforter wrapped around his shoulders and a glass of water in his hand. He's standing right there, staring at the dead body and the blood painting the kitchen's perfectly white tiles with a gleam of fascination in his red eyes.
Careful, his Intuition whispers. Careful.
"Are you okay, Xanxus?"
That snaps the boy out of his staring, only for him to ignore Enrico's question and instead focus on the gun in his hand.
"Where did you get one of those?"
The next morning, Enrico takes his little brother to the training ground and teaches him all there is to know about fighting, and especially with guns. How to properly care for them, how to conceal them, how to tell them apart and know which one is best suited for which job. It is a surprisingly good bonding exercise with Xanxus, who takes to it like a duck to water. Before the year is over, the boy can name every weapon inside the castle and mantle and dismantle most types of fire arms with a speed that would make even the Rain Arcobaleno Colonello green with envy.
It is when Enrico finally gives in and allows Xanxus to actually fire a gun that they find out just how truly spectacular his little brother could one day become.
The Vongola heir whistled. "Bullseye, huh? Not bad, fratellino. Not bad at all."
The smirk Xanxus sends him is way too smug, but Enrico finds it too adorable to really care. So instead of scolding him, the older brother only lets out a laugh, his hand coming down to mess with the boy's hair.
"Hey! Cut it out! Stop it, you idiota!"
Enrico, like always, only laughs.
Later, he will sneak Xanxus away from the mansion and from their father's heavy gaze, show him how to mingle among the common masses and have fun. He will take the boy fishing to teach him about the merits of patience, try to sooth a little that forever burning wildfire inside his brother before he ends up losing control one day and hurting not only others around him, but himself as well.
They spend hours in the shooting practicing room, testing new guns as well as their aim, and even more time sitting in boats, trying to fish their dinner and then comparing their catches to see which one is bigger.
Enrico is there to congratulate the boy in winning his first serious battle and to tenderly treat his bruises because even at the age of twelve Xanxus is a proud kid and refuses to go to the infirmary. Enrico is there when Xanxus builds and proudly presents the first prototypes of what would one day become his X-Guns.
Enrico is there to drag him back home after he drank himself in a stupor at fifteen in the anniversary of his mother's death.
"She was a shitty mother, a… a junkie and a w-whore, but she was –hic-, s-she was my, my ma, ya know? She really l-looved me…" his voice was slurred and sometimes he tripped over the words, but was still coherent enough to be understood.
Enrico's arms around his brother tighten, but he managed to keep his voice light, not letting an ounce of the pity he was feeling bleed through his words.
"I would have liked to meet her."
Xanxus laughs, or maybe snorts, it's hard to tell. "No, you wouldn't. She would t-try to fuck you and you would be all ak-aw-awka-awar, damnit, am I drunk?"
He sounds so bewildered that Enrico can't help but chuckle.
"What are you laughing at, scum?" it seems that Xanxus can sound sober when angry, even when drunk out of his mind. Interesting.
"I'm just thinking… that I'm very glad I have you as my little brother."
By then they are already in Xanxus' room, and as the silence stretches, Enrico looks down to see that Xanxus has already fallen asleep. He chuckles again, laying the teenager on his bed and messing with his hair once before leaving.
The next morning Xanxus experiments his first ever hang-over, and decides that if he has to suffer so, then he will drag the rest of the family down with him.
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Massimo is the first one to notice it, maybe because it hit so close to home.
Xanxus is nearly illiterate.
Oh, he knew some words, the most common ones, even knew how to write them down for practice if he managed to find a mostly clean piece of paper and a working pen in the slums. But it was not nearly enough. For Massimo, who held books and its words sacred with a nearly religious fervor, not knowing how to read was the worst sort of purgatory that was.
So he sends the tutors his father hired packing, the blind imbeciles who couldn't teach even if their lives depended on it, and marches Xanxus to his own room, where they spend two hours every day learning the alphabet, properly this time. Sometimes Enrico would stop by to drag their little brother away, with the promise of returning him after they practiced their shots together, or then Federico would join in the lessons as a show of support or to motivate Xanxus with the idea of a rival. Massimo had to admit, the mere thought of this being a contest of some sort helped wonders to motivate their red-eyed brother.
It doesn't take long, not at all, before Xanxus is devouring book after book of Massimo's private collection with a look of relish that few people had ever seen on the boy's face, much less be able to appreciate it fully.
The alphabet lessons soon turn into talks about grammar rules and literature, and then heated debates over different authors as each tries to convince the other which one of their favorites are the best. Shakespeare and Orwell for Massimo and Nabokov and Faulkner for Xanxus (along with a side dish of Machiavelli, as a nod for The Prince) are the most usually discussed. The two of them would spends hours into the night trading ideas and quotes, until Xanxus fell asleep and Enrico had to be called to carry him back to his room since Massimo couldn't lift the growing boy alone.
And though he is ashamed to admit, Xanxus probably learned drinking from him.
There is nothing that the only blond of the Vongola brothers likes more than to hide himself away in a dark corner of the library or inside his own room when night falls, a heavy tome written in old Italian open in his lap and the fireplace roaring to life to ward off the winter's chill. To make the evening even more perfect, a glass of Chianti, or maybe Amarone after enjoying a good meat dish.
In a moment of drunkenness, or inattention, or maybe simple foolishness (to this day Massimo couldn't pick one), he offered Xanxus a sip. Just to try it. Before he knew it, his glass was empty, and his little brother was glaring at him, very obviously demanding more.
Among the buzz and dizziness of the drink, the older boy distinctively remembers thinking I've created a monster.
And then he shrugs, because really, it wasn't like Xanxus becoming an alcoholic was the worst thing in the world.
The years pass, and with them their bond grows. Their relationship is made up of quiet words and loud gestures, because Massimo is silent by nature and nurture and Xanxus always was and always will be more a man of action than of words. They show they care when a sharp word falls from Massimo's mouth when he hears others whispering about his brother's less than prestigious roots, and when mafia dons' sons show up on his door the next morning, black and blue and apologetic, after uttering a comment about how weak Vongola Nono's second son and spare is while Xanxus is in hearing range.
Their relationship is long nights in Massimo's room during their youth, whispering to each other even when there was no real need, because then they could pretend that those late night meetings were secrets kept only between the two of them, making such moments more precious than gold. It is the rarer, cooler evenings spent in Xanxus' room, the younger boy –older now- sprawled on his couch like a king upon his throne, sipping whiskey or vodka or whatever else has caught his interest that night, while Massimo lies down on some pillows scattered all around the floor for the exact purpose of him being able to crash wherever he wanted, a book in his hand and sweet wine in the other, enjoying the heat emanating from the fireplace.
"You look like a child, sitting there in front of the fire," Xanxus says, smirking at him from around the rim of his crystal glass. "You comfy there, trash?" behind the condescending tone, there is the childish teasing concern his little brother never did grow out of.
"I'm sitting on the floor like a dog. I'm plenty comfy." He teases right back, face mostly blank save from the slight quirk to his lips, showcasing his mirth to anyone who was observant enough to pick up on it.
Xanxus was observant enough.
He scoffs. "Oh well. Then you can stay there," he waves a hand, dismissing the subject as unimportant.
"Thank you for your generosity, fratellino. You have no idea how grateful I am," Massimo replies with enough sarcasm to burn a tongue.
"You better trash," his little brother shoots back, once more concerning himself with his chosen beverage of the night.
And Massimo leans back on his many fluffy pillows and cushions, internally despairing of little brothers and their rudeness until Xanxus finally succumbs to sleep late into the night. Once that happens, Massimo gently closes his book, placing it on the bedside table, knowing the teenager would want to read it later.
He brushes a kiss on his forehead, wishing him good dreams.
(It's the only thing he can offer after so many lies)
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Meeting Xanxus was very probably the best point in Federico's life. Not just because he got another brother (and younger than him too!), but because of all that Xanxus represented; no more loneliness.
Before Xanxus showed up, Federico was shuffled around between nannies and tutors, and always left by himself sooner or later. His father and brothers were too busy, his mother was dead, the staff was all too aware of the mile-wide distance between their social stations, and the few children that managed to pass through the security's screening were always more interested in knowing Vongola Nono's third son than the happy-go-lucky boy, Federico.
And then Xanxus showed up, half-hiding behind Papa's leg and wearing second-hand clothes and a fierce scowl in his face.
The moment their eyes met, Federico knew. He had just found his first true friend.
Oh, the beginning of their epic friendship wasn't smooth sailing at all. His new brother was one prickly kid, calling him trash this and trash that, glaring at him every time he opened his mouth and punching Federico when he got too close or just 'because I felt like it'.
But eventually, with stubbornness and the determination that would one day be essential to call upon his Dying Will Flames, he managed to bypass Xanxus' defenses.
And then they became Xanxus and Federico, the two youngest sons of Timoteo di Vongola, rarely ever seen apart.
They are boys of eight and nine years old respectively, running down the corridors of the castle in Milan, causing an impossible amount of ruckus and startling butlers and assigned bodyguards alike, because Papa said it was forbidden and as far as they are concerned, that's an invitation to try. They steal sweets and freshly baked bread under the amused eyes of the cooks in the kitchen just for the thrill of getting caught and chased around the mansion by the big and scary chef. They wrestle with the kennel dogs because both like the blue-eyed stray cat missing a tail that sometimes wander inside the property looking for food. Said cat was promptly dubbed Cielo, and likes to show it's gratitude for the protection and scraps of food offered by the boys by leaving dead rats on the door, much to the horror of the maids. There was even one epic occasion where Cielo the Cat presented Xanxus with what the boys where pretty sure was the tail of a raccoon that Xanxus had managed to kill after seeing the animal fighting with Cielo in the forest near the gardens.
They are Xanxus and Federico, two sides of the same coin, and they are brothers and rivals and best friends, all in one.
They shove at each other because they can't bear to move while the other stays static, because this is a competition and a race and if you stop you lose and neither one can have that. What is the point of getting better if there's no one to stand by your side or against you in equal footing, to give you that push you need to become even stronger?
It would be no fun, and they are young boys always on the lookout for new adventures.
They tussle on the gardens, getting grass and mud on their pristine new clothes, and both could care less. Federico tackles Xanxus on top of a rose bush and the red-eyed boy comes out growling and spitting flowers. Xanxus retaliates and pushes Federico on a pond, who, while flaying comically around, manages to almost swallow a tadpole.
Soon both boys are on the water, trying to drown the other, and while others would look at that and shake their head, wondering why they seem to hate each other so much, they would be wrong. Because while Federico might push Xanxus into greenery, he always makes sure to see if there are any thorns that could hurt his little brother more than he could take. And while Xanxus will be the first one to shove Federico off a bridge, it is with the sure knowledge that the boy will be more than able to swim to safety, since Xanxus was the one who taught him how to do so in the first place.
They are like lion cubs running through the wide Savannah, roaring to the sky and testing their short claws and baby fangs on each other with wild abandon, because they know they can go out with someone that will also not hold back. It's training as much as it's for fun, and maybe the first reason they like each other so much is because there is no need to put on airs between them. No need for masks and omissions, half-truths and false, sugary-sweet smiles that are put on for visiting bosses and their heirs.
With them, it's only the two boys Xanxus-and-Federico, Federico-and-Xanxus, always together because where one goes the other follows, because the thought of being apart causes an ache deep in their hearts. Their inner flames mingle together sometimes and the grow-ups whisper about Harmonization and Skies, and look at them like they are oddities one rarely has the chance to see. The only thing they know is that they are children and want to do what all children do.
(Even lion cubs who try to constantly kill each other still know they are kin. All that matters is family, and they would kill -die- for the other.
… "You're my little brother.")
They think that the adults have it all wrong, when they say that one day they really will hurt themselves. They are brothers, what is the worst that could happen? A concussion? A broken arm or leg, maybe? It will heal, as everything does eventually, and they will grow stronger and wiser from the experience. The Grow-ups are stupid, they think, as they sneak outside just as dawn is breaking over the horizon and laugh together under the shade of an apple tree, while Federico climbs up Xanxus' back and perches on his shoulders to reach for one of the branches.
There is a bird's nest there, and they want to see if there are any eggs.
"Well?" Xanxus grunts with the effort of holding Federico up. "See anything?"
The other boy narrows his eyes, hand reaching for the nest and feeling only the remnants of egg shells, as well as some feathers. His shoulders drops in disappointment.
"Too late. They already hatched."
There is a frustrated groan from Xanxus, before Federico has to cling to the branch for dear life when his asshole of a little brother leaves him hanging.
"Hey!" Federico squeaks, legs futilely trying to find support. "A little help?! Xanxus!"
The little shit sits with his back to the tree trunk with his arms crossed, yawning and lazily glaring up at him. "You promised me omelets for breakfast. With bacon. Said that you would do it yourself, even. And now we have neither the bacon nor the eggs. You suck, Federico."
There is a short silence where Federico identifies the feeling inside him as disbelief, before he is yelling again, face red not so much from true anger but from mild annoyance and for trying to hold back the laughter.
"I said I didn't find the eggs! There's still something here."
Narrow red eyes peer up at him suspiciously. "What, trash?"
"Come here and I will show you."
The suspicion grows but so does the curiosity, just as Federico knew it would (he knows his brother like the back of his hand, knows the same can be said for Xanxus) and soon the older boy's feet are planted on firm land and he flies at the younger boy in the blink of an eye.
"Now you will learn not to mess with your elders!"
"Fuck! Cut it out, you idiot, you're only a few months older than me! Let go trash!"
Federico does stop, in the end, after trapping the struggling boy in a head lock and leaving a little gift entangled in his hair, which was not easy considering how short said hair was and Xanxus didn't help much, trying to move away all the while.
"There, there. Now you are as handsome as your big brother! All the girls will throw themselves at you."
Xanxus scoffed. "As if I would need your help to get a girl. What the fuck did you do with my hair anyway, trash?"
Very nearly giggling with anticipation, Federico took out a cracked hand mirror, recently filched from the kitchen's garbage can.
No money could compare to the face Xanxus made at seeing all the myriad of feathers hanging by the sides of his head, giving him an even more feral look than he already had.
They are rolling on the ground again, fighting like they are the wild children from old stories instead of two young scions of the most powerful Mafia Famiglia in Italy.
It ends with both of them panting on the grass, dirty and scuffed and knowing they will get a earful later for sneaking out before breakfast without even warning anyone, but for now there is only the gentle breeze ruffling their hairs like a mother's fingers and the wide blue sky stretching forevermore above the them.
"Hey Xanxus, when we are adults… will you guard my back?"
Will you stay by my side?
"… What kind of stupid question is that, trash? Someone needs to keep you in check. You would be totally helpless without me."
Of course. Stupid brother.
"Helpless, huh? Guess you're right. Then, I will always have your back too."
We're in this together. Always.
"Che, as if I would ever need help from a weakling like you."
Thank you.
Too bad that every child still needs to grow up one day.
(But the cubs grow and become lions, with sharp claws and even shaper fangs, and suddenly they realize that their pride is not big enough to the two of them. There can be only one Vongola Boss after all.)
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Years later, Xanxus stares at the words in his (not-)father's old diary and feels something inside him break.
And then he lets his wrath consume him.
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AN: Recently, my life has been consumed by KHR and One Piece. Please, send help. I can't seem to find time to write Dark Waters, as I should be doing right now instead of writing this… thing… I don't even know anymore. I was just re-watching the Varia arc when suddenly I was hit with so many Xanxus feels I didn't know what to do with. Which is ironic, since before I didn't really like Xanxus all that much, apart from thinking he was a very hot guy for someone who spent eight years stuck in ice. Then again, I guess this is more Vongola brothers feels than exclusively Xanxus feels… meh, as I said, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. SEND HELP.
There might be a next chapter, detailing the brothers' deaths, Xanxus being defrosted and dealing with their deaths in a purely Xanxus way, a bit of the Ring Conflicts and beyond, though I'm not sure yet. For now I will mark this as incomplete. Review if you liked and want more.
P.S: I also posted a new Naruto fic (Yes, I know. I'm out of control. Someone stop me). It's called Between Dreams and Nightmares, and you could consider it a type of prequel to Dark Waters. It features Hidan, if any of you readers are fans of him.