Authors Notes: Well, I hadn't actually decided whether or not I would upload a snippet of my other works, seeing as how I have no concept of these tiny, really insignificant things called. . . chapters -_- . . . However, as I was scrolling through the various incomplete stories, I came across this one and decided to at least upload it and see how it goes from there. Bear in mind that I am a horribly lazy person and usually have to kick myself in order to actually have any kind of motivation to update any stories I write, which means barely any updates at all so please be kind to this humble author and don't ostracise me from FanFiction awesomeness. Thanks for reading, hope you like it! :-j
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. All credit for this story goes to the wonderful deviousness that is my brain. ~w~
A short seventeen year old with gravity defying brown hair sat in the padded white cell of the psychiatric hospital. Though you couldn't tell that the room's original colour was actually white, seeing as how the walls were completely covered by drawings of faces and locations.
He had started drawing them when he was five. He didn't have the skill to detail their entire face back then so he usually only drew the more detailed parts, the parts that would be easily identifiable, such as specific tattoos in specific places, piercings, eyes, facial hair and scars. Once he captured their image, they usually moved on to the next world and left him alone.
Oh. . . Did I forget to mention those faces belong to the dead? And that Sawada Tsunayoshi can see them, which is why he ended up in the psych ward? Well, now you know.
"Who are you drawing now, Tsuna?" Asked Yamamoto Takeshi, one of the nurses at the hospital.
Tsuna didn't reply which was to be expected. He stopped talking a month after coming to the hospital. He continued sketching the woman he saw, using the colouring pencils provided to add even more detail to bring the image alive.
"Hm? Ah, she's very beautiful. Your artistic skills have improved alot over the years, wouldn't you agree?"
The door opened then, letting in a cranky silver haired orderly that glared at the nurse. "Are you still trying to get this useless shit to talk? Tch. You're wasting your time, Yakyuu-Baka."
"Maa maa, Gokudera. Just because he doesn't speak, doesn't mean he can't hear us perfectly fine."
"Tch. Whatever. What's he drawing now?"
"A beautiful woman. She kind of reminds me of you, to be honest."
Glaring at the hunched form of the patient, he stalked forward to pull the sketchbook away from him. When his eyes landed on the image, though, he choked on his saliva and stared disbelievingly at the woman captured on the page. It was his mother, Lavina, once thought to be just his piano teacher. And she looked exactly as he imagined she would, his memory having turned hazy over the years so her face was never as defined as the picture before him. "How. . ." he choked out. "How did you see her. . . ? She died when I was four so. . . How?"
Tsuna seemed to gaze at empty space before his hands lifted and he began playing an invisible piano. Gokudera let out a choked sob because he recognised the keys that were being struck. He didn't need the sound to know what song it was, having memorised it years ago. It was the very first song his mother had taught to him. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his mothers image to his chest as he cried. He felt arms wrap around him and knew it was the Yakyuu-Baka but right now he didn't care. He then felt a small soft hand on his head and looked up to see Tsuna. The caramel eyed teen gazed at him for a moment before his lips lifted in a smile so bright it instantly stopped the flow of his tears and left him in awe of its radiance. Yamamoto was equally stunned by the comforting smile, having never seen that expression on his charges' face in the three years he's worked with him.
A whisper of a touch flitted across Gokudera's forehead and the soft, lilting voice of his mother seemed to whisper, "Be happy. . . Haya-kun," before the calming presence disappeared, taking the weight from his shoulders with it.
His eyes closed, a tear escaping as a peaceful smile spread across his face. I will, mom. . . "Juudaime!" Hayato yelled, tipping forward to lay in a dogeza position. "Thank you for allowing my mother to speak with me, Juudaime!"
Noticing Tsuna's confused expression, Yamamoto asked the question the brunet seemed to be asking. "Why do you call him Juudaime, Gokudera?"
"Because today is the tenth of October, Yakyuu-Baka!"
"You can just call him Tsuna, you know. He prefers to be called Tsuna."
"As if I could ever address Juudaime so casually, Yakyuu-Baka!"
"Maa maa, Gokudera. I'm sure you calling him that is making him uncomfortable."
Gokudera immediately looked at his Juudaime, noticing the sheepish look upon the kids face. "Forgive me, Juudaime!"
He began hitting his face against the floor, constantly begging for forgiveness before a hand slipped between his forehead and the floor to cushion the impact. Soft hands lifted his head and Gokudera was hit with a disarming smile that silently pleaded with him to stop hurting himself.
"See? You're inconveniencing him with your hero worship, Octopus Head. All Tsuna wants is a friend so call him by his name."
Growling at the new nickname, he nonetheless began calling his Juudaime, "Tsuna-sama!" making the other two sweat-drop, but that was as close as they were going to get with him so they let it be.
"If you really want to make it up to him, Gokudera, you could throw him a birthday party on the fourteenth. He'll be turning eighteen then."
Wide brown and green eyes gazed at Yamamoto. The brown because the owner was shocked that someone remembered his birthday and the owner of the green because he couldn't believe some Yakyuu-Baka knew his precious Juudaime's birthday before he did.
"Alright, Tsuna-sama! I'll throw you the best birthday party ever!"
~w~
The next day both Gokudera and Yamamoto visited their new friend with some. . . somewhat good news.
"So, as we were saying, Tsuna. . ."
"If these supernatural professors find you to be sane, you could be freed from this hell-hole, Tsuna-sama!"
Tsuna continued to sketch, only half listening to them as his sole attention was on the image before him, his hands moving almost as if he was hypnotised by the task.
"Is he always like this?" A new voice asked, the deep cadence almost succeeding in bringing the brunette out of his trance. Almost.
Takeshi laughed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Usually, Reboyama-sensei. He's compelled to draw the images of the dead in the hopes that they'd go fssh, poof and be reunited with their loved ones."
"What kind of explanation was that, Yakyuu-Baka!?"
"Ha ha, maa maa, Gokudera. It was a perfectly fine explanation."
Reboyama walked closer to the many images filling the walls, trying to see if he could recognise any of the faces he saw to give the teen some credibility. He was about to deny Smoking Bomb Hayato's request to release the brunette when a soft voice began humming an Italian song that made him freeze on the spot. It was a lullaby. One that he was familiar with because the woman who sang it used to hum it constantly to her unborn baby and then continued to pass the song to her child until the day she died. Turning toward the voice, he realised it came from the brunette as he finished the final details of the portrait. The boy tore the image from his sketchpad and stood, walking toward one of the few free spots on the wall to tape on the newest addition of the deceased, his humming never stopping.
Walking closer, the other three people in the room turned their curious gazes to the portrait, only one of them knowing just how significant this image was. The woman had long dark blue hair, a bulbous white hat, blue eyes and a specific orange flower beneath her eye that Reboyama recognised immediately.
"Luce. . ."
The song finished and Tsuna yawned much like Luce's daughter Aria did after the song had been completed. He sat on the floor, placed his arms in the oversized straightjacket permanently affixed to his torso and curled up on the floor, falling asleep instantly.
"So. . ." Takeshi was the one to break the silence that followed. "Do you believe he isn't crazy now, sensei?"
Reboyama nodded. "This experiment has proven that he can indeed speak to the dead or at least see them, as you have said. Full marks for both of you. I'll notify the other professors of his release but they'll probably want to meet him personally. That's all for today. I'll take my leave."
Yamamoto grinned as the door closed on the professor. "Ha ha, now we can throw Tsuna a party outside of this room!"
"Keep your voice down while Tsuna-sama is sleeping!" Gokudera yelled, not realising he was louder than the Yakyuu-Baka.
"Maa maa, Gokudera. He isn't going to wake up unless one of his ghosts warns him of danger."
"That's no excuse, Yakyuu-Baka!" Gokudera carefully lifted his precious Tsuna-sama and tucked him into bed, watching the peaceful expression on his face as he slept. The boy had been surprisingly light, making him worry about the brunettes' food intake. As soon as they got out, Gokudera was going to make a huge feast for his Tsuna-sama.
End of Chapter Notes: And there you have it. Honestly, I'm not even sure why I decided to write this fic, really. I guess after reading a few Not-So-Crazy Tsuna fics, I got addicted to the idea of Tsuna being able to see and speak to the dead. Then, I added in the whole, "I need to draw their faces so that they can move on in the afterlife," doodad. After that, came his two best friends in the asylum with him, partitioning to set him free. I was thinking of using random people as the nurses and whatnot but it somehow ended with the Arcobaleno assessing his Insane-meter. Θ_Θ
Oh and there's also the fact that I'm slightly obsessed with straightjackets right now. Not in the creepy, Someone-Should-Really-Watch-Out-For-Me-'Cause-I'm-A-Psycho-In-Disguise type. . . thing. . . But in the That-Looks-Weirdly-Comforting-For-A-Fictional-Character-Such-As-Tuna-To-Wear-Especially-Now-That-No-One-Is-Willing-To-Comfort-Him-Because-They-Think-He's-Crazy way. . . Ignore me. I'm going to go sit depressingly in a corner of the room for a while. . .
Who knows? This could work out. Maybe? Possibly? Hopefully?
. . . Thanks for reading, anyway! Love y'all! :-j