I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Nope.
In this world, in any world, really, there is a balance that must be maintained.
It is a delicate balance, the give and take of lives. For, of course, life is the rarest of all.
Death is all too easy, but life...life is hard.
If one looks at the world through the lenses of omniscience, they'll witness hundreds, thousands, millions, billions of lives burning - for life is flame - burning ever so brightly, because their time is short and they know it.
But, look, they are different, each and every one of them. This one is a peaceful Rain, that one is a thunderous Lightning, and there, a drifting Cloud. Ah, and a Sky, a lovely, rare Sky, here, here!
The world, this priceless, fortuitous individual would see, is a gathering of fire and will and dreams. As new candle lights are light, old ones splutter out, some with a last rage of brilliance, others with a steady dimming of acceptance.
"Age brings experience," this being, this powerful entity might explain in a gentle whisper. "Age brings understanding. That is a life lived, filled with sorrow and happiness. Age brings wisdom. Sometimes, it's simply time to let go."
There are bright flames and weak flames, hidden flames and open flames, all kinds, so many kinds. But the world is in balance, yes? Always in balance, the push and pull, the give and take. The candle flames are carefully regulated.
Not by the lives themselves, not by technology or science or math or logic, not by wishes and dreams and hopes and magic, but by something bigger. Something strong. Destiny, a few say. Fate, a few insist. God, a few believe.
No one really knows, but all lives and all deaths are regulated. Controlled. It must be, for the world to stay in balance.
In this world, though, in this world of flames and life and passion, a flame, so soft and so dark, flickers into existence.
If there was this one all-knowing, all-powerful entity, there would be a frown of confusion, a worried brow furrowing. This is not right. This cannot be right. The balance of the world tilts a fraction to the side, dangerous, so dangerous.
This life was never meant to be born.
It is against destiny and fate and divinity, but in the fabric of this world, a stone as black as night explodes with darkness, and this flame, so old and so stable, comes into being.
Kurocho Yume is the child's name.
It has always been her name, with the exception of that one time, that one time in the beginning, but the caretakers do not know that, and the girl does not begrudge them. Life is a strange thing.
One so long as hers is even more so.
She lives again and again, but her name, her appearance stays the same. She supposes it is conductive to her mental health, to her sense of identity, to have such anchors that she may cling to.
Not that she hasn't gone insane before, regardless.
The caretakers pity her.
"Poor girl. Her parents dying in a plane crash two days after her birth..."
"She's never known them at all, has she?"
"And she doesn't even have any friends in the orphanage..."
The caretakers fear her.
"She's so...odd. Gives me the shivers."
"What's wrong with her? Four years old and mute."
"But the doctor says there's nothing wrong with her voice box."
"Yeah. I guess it's just a psychological problem."
"You're saying she's a psychopath or something?"
"No! Although...you know, she doesn't really..."
"Act like a child? Mm-hm. So creepy."
The caretakers disregard her.
"...Toyoda, and Yasuhiro. They're all here. Lunch time!"
"Pst! Senpai, there are supposed to be twenty-eight kids..."
"Hush, Keiko-chan. It doesn't matter. Serve up the plates."
"H-Hai, Senpai."
But then, none of this is "their" fault.
Yume sits quietly in a corner of the orphanage in Osaka she has been stuffed in and stares at the wall, arms wrapped around her bent legs. No one bothers her, not the caretakers, not the orphans, not even the ticking of the clock.
Unseen by the others in the room is the thin film of Mist Flames that envelop her small form.
She cannot utilize the expanse of power stored deep in her soul effectively at this age, not truly, but that is alright. She has time. She has too much time, in fact, hasn't honestly lacked for it for lifetimes, but that is another matter.
Contrary to what the adults think, she can talk. Rather, it is that she does not want to talk with them. The people with whom she wishes to speak are far away, not aware of her existence, and just children themselves.
Yume closes her eyes and dreams of a boy with orange fire in his eyes and spiky brown hair.
...she misses him.
(She misses them all.)
She is a quiet, unobtrusive "child" from the start, apparently mute and plenty capable of taking care of herself, despite no one taking the time to teach her. Add to that the natural tendency of people to avoid what they cannot understand, and Yume is alone more often than not.
That's okay. These people are not the ones with whom she wants to interact. There is no need for her to form any sort of attachment to them, nothing that might bind her to this place. It is not as if she will return here in the future. This is just the beginning.
With that thought in mind, she keeps out of the way and waits semi-patiently for the time to pass.
Eventually, and with some help from Mist Flames, the inhabitants of the orphanage forget about the little girl with wide brown eyes and messy brown hair. It is unintentional on their part and intentional on hers. She feels no ill will.
If she was a child, a legitimate one, Yume probably wouldn't mind this place; it's not so bad. There are three meals a day, a small bed to sleep in, other children to play with, kind adults to speak to.
But she isn't, and there are things to do, places to go, flames to protect.
She is eight when the Matron finally looks in the databases, finds a child whom she believes is a mistake created by an incompetent worker, and erases all traces of the girl. The brunette does the rest herself, hacking into the systems when the adults are distracted.
To the rest of the world, Kurocho Yume never even existed. And that is the way she wants it.
Two weeks later, she climbs atop the orphanage's rooftop and gazes thoughtfully into the sunset. For the past few years, the food she eats and the clothes she wears have all been bought by money she has remorselessly stolen from people who certainly deserve it.
It is only in the orphanage that she sleeps and that is a problem easily resolved.
Humming lowly to herself, Yume admires the fierce red fading into bright orange, soft pink, baby blue, and then dark navy. Night will be here soon, her preferred domain. There are stranger things in the Underground than an eight year old with incredible talent.
Unnerving talent.
After all, Lambo and I-Pin were - are - will be - only five years old when they start out.
She misses them, all of them, although they have yet to meet in this time. Or rather, neither of the two children have been born yet.
But...Tsuna. Innocent, compassionate Tsunayoshi. He's with his mother right now, safe and sound, if a bit stifled with his flame sealed away. Takeshi, Kyoya, Ryohei - they are all fine living in Namimori, at least until the ball of doom is kicked mercilessly by Reborn.
Hayato...will be traumatized by Bianchi, but he will be alright as well, if lonely and shunned. Yume would whisk him away, but the Storm's loyalty must be Tsuna's. And perhaps she is terribly jaded, because his childhood does not seem so bad.
And then...there is Mukuro.
(Yume placed a bouquet of indigo flowers on the grave and fell to her knees on the wet earth, taking no notice of the dew soaking into her dress. She traced the name on the stone for the hundredth time and closed her eyes.)
Mukuro's childhood is a mess of horror and terror and fright. There are endless experiments and despicable projects and inhumane operations.
Until he ends it.
She has saved him from it more than once, along with Chikusa and Ken. She can save him from it, if she tries, if she wants to. It is possible. It is conceivable. It is the right thing to do.
But Yume has given up on the claim to being "good" a long time ago. To doing the "right" things. Her priorities are set in place, no matter the consequences. If he hates her...when he hates her...
Tsuna needs his Guardians to survive.
If he suffers...
If he cries...
If he pleads...
Do the ends justify the means?
She doesn't know. She is not God. She is not perfect, she is not pure.
Lifetimes have not brought all of the answers to her.
But Mukuro will survive this torment. He will. Against the enemies that lie in wait in the future, will he survive without this torment?
(She pressed her hand to the clear glass, stared beyond it, heart twisting. There were the white walls and beeping machines and the boy sleeping on the hospital bed, never to awake. Battles between Mists could be brutal. Cruel.
There were so many things worst than death.)
Oh, she is not God, but she ends up playing God more often than not.
This how Kawahira, Checkerface, the Man in the Iron Hat feels, she supposes.
"I guess it's time to pay the Estraneo a visit," Yume murmurs to herself and smiles humorlessly as the darkness crawls over the sky, leaving stars in their wake.
It is not so very hard getting through security and onto a plane despite her physical age and lack of identification. Being an illusionist is rather helpful in times like these, and she has had an abundance of practice.
Sneaking into the base of the Estraneo Famiglia is no less undemanding. She has been in this disgusting place before, many times in fact, and she knows what to do, where to go, which areas to avoid.
No, getting to this point has not been problematic.
It is when Yume first lays eyes on Mukuro in this world that she wavers.
He looks terrible: languishing alone in an empty, dirty cell, greasy blue hair sticking to his face, dark bags underneath his closed eyes, too-big clothes hanging off his lanky form, thin bones visible, dark red blood caking on his hands.
(He was so cold, so still. There was no playful smirk, no taunting words, no mocking laugh. There was only the motionless body on the floor, soaking in its own blood, beautiful mismatched eyes closed, trident in pieces -)
She hates it. She hates them. She hates herself.
Exhaustion and disdain pricks at her cold heart, but her decision is made and set, and she cannot, will not, go back on it. If it makes her a monster...if she is a monster...
Yume thinks that she has been one of those for quite a long time.
A simple thought has her form gliding through the bars that keep the boy trapped in this prison. She kneels on the grimy floor without a care for her white dress and presses a hand to his forehead, frowning slightly.
He is burning up.
Yume is not a Sun, cannot heal others. However, she is a powerful Mist. She is not a scientist looking to perform experiments on Mukuro. A hand in the darkness perhaps, not entirely without ulterior motives, but also genuine.
It will have to be enough.
Sitting down completely, she places his head onto her lap, taking care not to jostle the child too much, and hums when he whimpers, color high on his cheeks. A damp cloth appears in her hand and she places it on his forehead.
Mukuro stirs slightly, moaning softly at the perceived cool contact. Yume closes her eyes and places her palm over his heart, weaving an illusion around them both to prevent detection from any wandering guards.
To warp memories is no task for an amateur, especially one with morals, but she is neither. Albeit, this one time, her motives aren't utterly dastardly, but the point still stands.
It takes little effort for her to slip past his nascent, feverish mental barriers. What appears in her mind's eye is a barren stonescape filled with gashes and tears, a thick fog colored an ominous grey covering everything.
Regardless of how many times she has seen this...no, she will never forgive the Estraneo despite how many times she has already wiped this familgia from the earth.
The first thing she does upon entering his mind is to chase away the fog, bringing the pain of the fever down to a manageable level. The second thing she does is go searching for his memories of the experiments.
She cannot take it all away. She can't. That would leave an obvious hole in his memories that he will undoubtedly pick up on when his abilities and competence as a Mist Flame User grow, creating a path that will lead him right to her.
What Yume can do is blur it a bit, lessen the impact on his psyche. She removes a whisper of the horror, a touch of the fright. The blood is a fraction less red, the eyes a tad less insane, the pain a hint less agonizing.
In essence, she paints a coat of sheer white over the crimson scarlet. Things aren't quite as vivid now, aren't quite as appalling. Instead, she replaces his nightmares with butterflies, black and indigo and silver, pretty and lively.
The third thing she does it to go deep, deep into his mind, to the very center, the very core, and plant a seedling inside, a last-ditch safeguard. It is too small, too hidden for him to be able to detect, but important.
Oh, so very important.
Pulling out of Mukuro's mind carefully, Yume comes back to herself to find he has relaxed visibly, the strain on his young face not as evident, a small smile on his lips, childish and wondering.
She smiles in return and removes the cloth to kiss him tenderly on the forehead. "I'll be back," Yume promises though he cannot hear her and is gone in the next second.
No one sees her. No one hears her.
It is as if she was never there in the first place.
Yume's current limiter is her age. A nine year old's body can only use and deal with so much Mist Flames, after all. Regardless, pretending to be a twenty year old woman with some money left to her by her aunt's will isn't so bad.
The apartment manager definitely falls for it. Well, that or the generous hourglass shape she shamelessly dons, but either way, she finds herself a nice apartment, though she doesn't bother decorating. She will not be staying.
This is not her home.
Two months of fidgeting and worrying later, Yume goes back to see Mukuro.
It is just as easy as it was last time to sneak through the Estraneo's defenses, but she makes an effort to be cautious. Arrogance is a pitfall she has fallen into more than once, a result of endless age, and far too many mistakes were made as a result.
She regrets each and every one because someone always dies.
When she arrives this time, Mukuro is awake and healthy...as much as a boy in his position can be. He is also gazing at the wall, but frowns warily and turns to look at the wall Yume leans on when she arrives. His eyes scan the room, his mind pressing hard against her illusion.
And to think he's only ten, she thinks nostalgically. Mukuro is an incredible protégé in illusions, an expert with Mist Flames at only fifteen. She has had far more experience, but he is able to sense some trace of her presence anyway.
It would be terrifying should she be anyone else.
But it is Yume and it is Mukuro, so she only smiles sadly and leaves silently, drifting off to find Ken and Chikusa. She hopes to be able to help them, too. He stares after her with narrowed eyes and a slight remembrance of butterflies.
Not much. Just a trace.
Years later, he will still associate butterflies with safety and kindness and warmth. But for now, he is confused and suspicious of the presence he can feel but not see.
Not long after that, Lambo is born into the Bovino Famiglia, a squalling, screaming boy with curly black hair and bright green eyes. His mother coos and his father smiles and no one notices the dark shadow in the corner.
It is only after everyone has fallen asleep that Yume steps into the faint moonlight and peers down at the newborn babe. He is peacefully asleep, lips twisted into an adorable pout, and nothing so fierce as the future Lightning Guardian.
(A boy, he was only a boy, how could they do this to a boy!? So small and innocent and vulnerable, with a liking for grapes and candy, a crybaby and a child, just a child, such a small child who wouldn't ever laugh again - )
For a single moment of time, she wishes he can stay this way forever, safe and warm and happy, with a loving family and a bright future. But then she reminds herself that he will have this in five years as well.
He will be (mostly) safe and (hopefully) warm and (obliviously) happy, with a (eccentric) family and a (mafia) bright future.
Yume's heart twists briefly in her chest, but then a ray of moonlight passes and she disappears with it.
In Hong Kong, a young couple celebrates the birth of their baby girl with cake and laughter, not knowing they will be dead in less than three years.
But they are involved with the Chinese Triads, so perhaps they have some inkling. It is their luck that they are good friends with Fon, for otherwise, that child would have drowned without ever seeing daylight.
Yume takes in the strung banner, the streams of ribbon that decorate the house, and closes her eyes against the guilt. She saved I-Pin's parents once or twice, too.
That...ended with I-Pin dead by a hidden bomb. That irony is a cruel, cruel one.
I'm so very selfish, she thinks with a bitter smile.
Upon returning to Italy, she sends a lovely bouquet of flowers, entirely untraceable, to that household's front door and waits.
She always waits.
A girl strolls casually down the paved street in the dead midst of winter, dressed only in a thin white fur coat and black pants, a black caterpillar perched on her shoulder and a black circlet on her forehead.
Despite the oddness of a little girl all by herself, parents nowhere in sight, with a caterpillar - in winter! - of all things, not one person spares more than a fleeting look at her, and some not even that, rushing past her with rigid focus.
But then, that isn't exactly their own doing.
It is always age ten, Yume muses to herself, stroking the caterpillar, Estrella, with a finger lightly. That is when the circlet appears, along with the baby caterpillar. It's not so surprising. Originally, everything started when she was ten.
For Tsuna, it started when he was thirteen with Reborn's arrival, but Yume had a bit of a head-start on him in that aspect. The Mafia Game, as Takeshi would say, had accepted her when she was ten.
It makes sense that the symbols of her status will appear when she turns ten. The manner in which they turn up differs, but this time, she simply woke up to find herself wearing the circlet and the caterpillar in her hands.
And it is also around now that Mukuro will break free of his prison.
Yume blows out a long breath that becomes a white cloud in front of her, not really paying attention to where she is going. She has visited the Mist a few more times - invisibly, though he always knows - but there is nothing much she can do, bar destroying the entire famiglia.
And that is his vengeance to take, not hers. Some things just must be done with your own two hands before peace can be found. Knowing Mukuro, not even this will satisfy him, but Tsuna will set him straight.
He always does.
Whether Mukuro will despise her for the rest of his life...now that is something else.
One more visit, she thinks wistfully, because, the lack of talking or interaction or not, she has enjoyed these secret visits with the child, this child who does not yet know to hate her. Only one more.
Yume is just a little lonely. But that isn't anything that can be helped, so she ignores it.
She sneaks into the base in the dead of night, finds her way to Mukuro's cell with ease. As always, her illusions are too strong yet for him to destroy, though he tries each and every time, but that power will come to him eventually.
A year, maybe two. His power regarding illusions has always been stronger than hers, although as her body matures, so her own power will increase. But Mist is not her primary element, while he will be the Mist Guardian of War.
He isn't asleep tonight, eyes of blue and red finding her position easily despite the new moon's lack of moonlight. Actually, excluding that first time, when he had a fever, he is always awake when she comes to visit.
She cannot help but herself a little bit concerned over his sleeping schedule. It isn't healthy to miss so much sleep. Being malnourished here is the least of his problems, as she well knows from bitter experience, but...
A soft voice inside her head that sounds terribly like Tsuna points out that she gets less than three hours of sleep a night and only eats so her flames will grow stronger. She helpfully shoves it back into the depths of her subconscious.
It is not as if Yume's life is of much importance in the bigger picture.
"Kufufufu, I know you're there," Mukuro states, the corner of his mouth lifting in a twisted half-smirk. He is in a sitting position, leaning heavily on the wall. "Why don't you stop hiding?"
Yume keeps silent and notes that his clothes are in better shape, his hair no longer greasy.
The Estraneo have been taking better care of him, it seems. Likely due to his escalation in power, his position as a useful weapon. They have no idea what they are messing with, but so long as they believe they are in control...
"I'm afraid that I just don't understand you," he continues on conversationally, sticking to a habit he took up after the third visit: talking to her though she won't answer. "If you like to come and watch the animal in the cage, why hide?"
It's...pitiful how Mukuro thinks of himself, this ideology that the Estraneo have forced upon him, but she isn't here to talk. It is best if he does not think to rely on her, to trust her, to depend on her erratic visits.
That way lies madness, incorrigible and rotten.
"Well?" A flash of rage flares in his eyes, his lips pulling back in a snarl, a defiant insanity. "You show up and you hide like a rat and then you leave, all without saying a word. Who are you and what do you want from me!?"
His words echo off the wall, but she has already encased this area in an illusion. No one can see or hear, will come searching for the disruption, the attempt at privacy a pathetic one, but the best she can do in this circumstance.
He hasn't tempered it, Yume notes. That anger, that hatred is what will drive him to destroy the world and dance in its ashes, but when Tsuna meets him, Mukuro will have learned how to channel those dark emotions into his plans.
Now, it is raw, untamed, wild.
If he does not learn how to control it, he will go mad. Either that or it will turn against him, distracting and infuriating him. That genius mind must learn cool calculation, effortless manipulation if he is to survive in this cruel world.
Not to say he isn't already on his way. "What, scared?" he taunts coldly, wrath falling away as abruptly as it appeared, though it simmers beneath his skin. "Still not going to say anything? Are you that much of a coward?"
Yes, he's learning. So fast, so hard. It's necessary, but it's distressing to see a child like this. But it is her fault, she reminds herself, she could have done something but she hadn't. She chose to be a bystander.
The blame for this is, if not completely, is on her. And she knows it.
When still no answer is forthcoming, Mukuro scowls and sags against the cold stone wall, the facade of spite and bravado falling to reveal a boy who is hated, a boy who is alone. "What do you want from me?" he asks bitterly.
There is no way she can answer that, so Yume closes her eyes and sighs silently, slipping down slowly from the wall to sit down on the floor. She wraps her arms around her bent legs and says nothing, shoulders falling.
The silence stretches out like a taut wire, but neither of them say a word, both mentally exhausted, both technically children, both not at all child-like. It is ironic in a strange way. Of everyone in this world...
It is Mukuro, Kawahira, and Byakuran who have the ability to relate to Yume the most. And even then...
At last, the moon is nearly out of sight and the sun has returned the sky to a cerulean blue, rosy clouds on the horizon. The world begins to wake up, and it is time for her to leave, once and for all.
That stone in her chest is cold, a burning in her eyes. Her fingers shake subtly before she wraps her arms around herself, struggling to take in a deep, calming breath.
This is never easy.
Hopefully, it will never be easy.
The day it become easy...
She stands up in a fluid movement despite aching muscles and cumbersome eyelids, and his head snaps up, something almost frantic flying through his eyes. "What? Leaving already, little stalker?"
Yume smiles cheerlessly and takes a step forward. Another. Mukuro frowns in alarm, stiffening. Before this, she has always kept a distance between them. Today, the rules are changing. "What are you doing? Don't come any closer!"
She doesn't listen and reaches a hand through the bars. He shrinks away, pressing as close as possible to the walls, but it is a small cell, nowhere to go, nowhere to run. His eyes are that of a cornered creature's, fearful and furious.
Yume ruffles his hair once, gentle and affectionate, and is gone before Mukuro can process the act.
Goodbye is what she means, is what he will realize, but unspoken, unacknowledged is another dooming truth.
When you see this me again, you will hate her.
Two days later, rumors on the wind find their way to Yume. The Estraneo Famiglia has fallen, they whisper. They were conducting forbidden experiments, reprehensible things. One such experiment, Rokudo Mukuro, killed them all.
She smiles and lifts a cup of tea in salute. "Live free, Mukuro," Yume whispers and knocks back the teacup.
In what seems like an instant of time, a mere blink - in what seems like an eternity of time, a thousand years, but a thousand years is nothing, is it? - Yume is thirteen years old, a teenager with the mind of a near-immortal.
Italy is a beautiful place, familiar and vibrant, though shimmering with violent undertones for those who know how to look. She leaves for Namimori without a look back, all too happy to leave for the Sky.
It takes both too long and too short for the story to start.
Too short, she thinks when she first catches sight of the future Vongola Decimo's wide, innocent, honey-colored eyes.
Too long, she thinks when she first catches sight of Tsunayoshi Sawada getting humiliated in front of the entire class.
As usual, Yume sighs and waits.
Sometimes, in the past, she'd wonder when she'll stop waiting and start living. Then, one day, it occurs to her that such a time will be only when the horrors of the Mafia halt, when the Vongola leaves its heir alone.
But, of course, that is never.
So she continues to wait