Times In-Between
Yamamoto wakes up, and it's all Tsuna can do to keep from crying. He stands at his rain guardian's bedside, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides and says he's sorry, it's all his fault - and Yamamoto laughs as if he isn't lying in a starch-white hospital room, an IV drip feeding into one arm. It's okay, he says in the same cheerful tone as always, and Gokudera calls him an idiot because it's not fucking "okay," you moron but the swordsman's face doesn't change, even as he sheepishly apologizes for making everyone worry.
That night, he dreams of standing on the school roof, one hand clutching the fence as he gauges the distance to the ground below.
Yamamoto wakes up, and Chrome shifts nervously in the chair at his bedside - fingers clutching Mukuro's trident like a lifeline. We're all taking turns, she says quietly, staring down at the white-knuckled hands in her lap.
"Thanks," he replies with a smile, following with his eyes the IV path leading out of his arm. She doesn't ask him if it hurts, just says she can get him a drink or a nurse if he needs either. "Thanks," he says again, and she nods without saying anything more.
He dreams of water that night. Water coursing over him and around him - blinding him and filling his ears with an unearthly roar that shakes the ground, the sky, everything.
Yamamoto wakes up, and he's surprised by the loud whispers coming from the floor. The pair on watch don't immediately notice he's awake, and he finds that watching them is kinda fun. Don't worry, Ryohei says, voice back to its usual volume once waking Yamamoto is no longer an issue, you'll be good as new in no time! But the look in his eyes isn't lost on the bedridden guardian.
"Yeah," Yamamoto replies with a smile, leaning his head back against the hospital bed pillows. "Baseball season's coming up after all, you know? I can't just be lying around for it, hahaha..." The rain guardian closes his eyes to keep Ryohei from noticing just how impossible he knows a full recovery will be.
From just outside the open doorway, Lambo calls impatiently and the sun guardian glances once more at his underclassman before leaving the room to prevent havoc in the form of Bovino-brand grenades.
In his dream, he is trapped inside a living, breathing Rubik's cube. Wherever he moves, things he can't see slam into his side, his back, his face. They pummel him like slabs of meat until all he can feel is a dull, numb throbbing.
Yamamoto wakes up, and Hibari is seated cross-legged in the bedside chair. The bird on his shoulder flutters its wings, chanting Hibari, Hibari and suddenly Yamamoto has the prefect's full attention. Who did this, Hibari demands, his eyes dangerous. The bedridden rain guardian counts ceiling tiles pensively, and Hibari's irritation only increases as he repeats the demand for information.
"You know, it's a little fuzzy right now," Yamamoto says with a sheepish smile, "could you ask again later, Hibari?" The cloud guardian scowls darkly, studying Yamamoto for clues, for hints of lying. I'll come again, he says finally, in a tone that makes it sound more like a threat than a promise.
He sees himself that night: dreams of himself lying on the floor of the baseball team's locker room, drowning in blood which pools over and between the tiles.
Yamamoto wakes up, and he is alone in the starch-white hospital room - night still filtering through the window blinds. He stares at the ceiling, touching a hand to the stitches running along his chest and stomach.
"It's going to be alright," he tells himself, and he resists the lack of any feeling below his waist with every ounce of optimism he has.