Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn

October 19th

Swiftly and silently, I stride to the other end of the school. My pace and heart, frantic. While secretly moving around the building, I attempt to examine my cousin's situation. Alana is an experienced assassin so she must have a fair chance of escaping, she killed those other two so easily after all. And there could not have been many people who caught her or she would have sensed them, or at least heard them. So most likely she had one or two opponents, and therefore the situation is probably manageable. Yet if it is a member of the Varia...'The Vongola are numero uno in the underworld and the Varia is their never fail assassin squad.. We don't stand a chance against them if we're caught.'

A wave of anxiety hits me as I sneak around my unlit school. So much can go wrong right now, too much. I swallow my worry with a gulp while focusing on the school's back exit. The only exit I've got.

Coming to the building's back exit, I peek through the door's windows first, finding nothing but deserted school grounds before it, and then gently push open the heavy metal doors. A creak of the hinges cause my breath to hitch, yet the pushing continues until I completely slip out into the open grounds. The night is lit by stars and street lamps. Gathering courage to face fear, I rush boldly through the school grounds, quickly making my way closer to the front gates while sticking close to the school buildings for cover. Get to the train-station, that's the rendezvous point. I've made it past the school buildings and have a full frontal view of those large and unlocked Namimori gate when someone speaks to me.

My body spins around, blood running cold as I take in the teenage boy before me. He is the dirty blonde with a blue flame that fought on the roof tops with the longhair Varia member, Superbi Squalo. Though his figure and height and appearance are normal, the way he is speaking is not. He looks at me with clear blue eyes speaking some sort of strange Japanese.

"What?" I question in English, completely thrown off by his strange tongue.

His young face brightens with a smile, "Thou speaketh English?"

What the fuck? This guy is utterly certifiable, better go along with it. "I do, young sir."

There is a slight suspicion in the line of his expression, yet it's obvious that he has an innocent soul. This dirty blonde boy has no taste for murder and probably would be against hitting a defenseless lady. Staring into his clear blue eyes, it's obvious my chances for surviving this night have significantly increased.

"What is thou doing in such a place?" he asks with genuine concern.

I've just hit the jack pot: running into a nice guy who was able to hold his own against the Varia that wants to help me.

My pretty brown eyes go wide and my lush pink lips extend into a helpless pout. With a bit of hysteria, I explain, "I've become lost on my way. I've wandered this strange town for hours and cannot find the train-station." For effect I make the 'chuga-chuga' engaging motion with my arms. I request in my most feminine voice, "Would thou aid me in this quest?"

The blue eyes sparkle in chivalry, as he agrees to the favor in an Italian accent. Like a white knight, he gallantly escorts me out of Namimori middle school with gentle hand gestures. On our journey, he ask me why I'm in Japan. "My brother and I have come to visit his fiancé parents, they live here." I lie, and then upon further inquiry, I explain (while trying to speak in the same midevil speech) and tell him that our parents are dead and my brother has constantly looked out for me ever since. And he certainly couldn't leave me in Canada alone now could he?

He accepts my story easily and faithfully, he even sympathizes by telling me his parents are also dead. When I ask him about his purpose in Japan, the answerer is vague and not completely untrue. "Thyself is here to aid in family business matters."

"That's so kind of thee!" I exclaim, as if impressed by his willingness to help. It nearly pains me to sound so dainty and cheery. Luckily, we reach the outside of the Train-station right after my compliments is given. The place is a bunch of empty platforms with wooden benches and plastic green garbage cans. It was paved clearly and all the trains were out.

I turn to my guide and smile, "I have not received thou's name yet. My own is ma..rge..." I purposely mumble the last part, trying to restrict his information. He accepts it well, not wanting to make an awkward request for me to speak up.

"Thy name is Basil," He tells me and it is the truth; the name is too suspicious to be false. I smile now assured in how he views me. To him I am a lost foreigner in need to good direction rather than an interloper in need of a bullet to the head.

"Farewell Basil, may thee have good fortune on thou's journey home."

He leaves in a friend manner, and I wait until he is completely out of sight to stop smiling. With a sigh, I ponder on the innocent teenage mafioso. None of them seem suited for the mafia life. They're too young and kind and naïve. Would any of my classmates or Basil be alright with breaking a man knees or killing out of greed?

Gokudera-san would, I think a little dreamily. A small smirk graces my lips and a sigh escapes me.

"Ya done planning your dream date with Basil-tan?" Asks Alana from my left side. I look at her, taking the fact that is standing right next to me. My pause lasts two heartbeats.

I flinch back sharply, "Whatthehell!" I slur, surprised.

She laughs at my idiocy with that melodic voice and mocking tone. Her clothing is perfectly intact, there are no blood or cuts, so I assume everything went well and she killed whoever caught her. She flashes me an orbit-white smile and shoots out a cheeky remark per normal behavior. With a grin at my lips, our flow is back to normal immediately, unwavering despite our recent exposing.

"Thou is cruel," I say with every intention of mocking. "Thou is cruel."

October 20th

While in Namimori middle school's library, gathering a book for the upcoming Japanese test, I am approached by Hana Kurokawa. As in the mature and distant popular girl that is constantly with Kyoko-san. Her eyes glimmer with intelligence, but her expression maintains an apathetic view. This girl is not to be easily trifled with.

"Can I help you?" I coolly ask with an arched brow. It's best to keep composure with her.

The rain beats against the windows, providing music to our scene. She studies me with a calculating air and deep gray eyes before saying what is on her mind. "You're worrying Kyoko with you're behavior. She thinks you are mad at her."

While my anger goes beyond mad, I calmly lie to Kurokawa-san. "I'm not mad at her at all."

"Then why did you avoid her all during breaks?"

I stare at the pretty young woman before me, wondering if being that pretty makes you any less of a bitch. In retaliation I return her scrutinizing look, and reply, "She seemed very preoccupied today and I just didn't want her to have to bother with me. That's all."

Her thin shoulders relax slightly, accepting me and my excuses. Her wavy dark hair reminds me of Alana's, its shade mixing between dark brown and black.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you could explain that to her. She already has to deal with suspicious monkey boys, having an unrequited friendship is the last the thing she needs."

My opinion of Kurokawa-san improves as I see her loyalty and concern for her friend. It also improves since she may be able to tell me more about the 'suspicious monkey boys'. Then again, her blunt and strong nature is something I'd prefer in a friend over Kyoko-san's sweet ignorance any day of the week. Strength and cunning are way cool.

"You'll have to be more specific," I say with the same arrogant tone as she. "All middle school boys are monkeys."

Her eyes flash with approval over my statement, which is good since I said it just for her. Kurokawa-san chuckles at me, raising her pale and delicate hand to politely cover the witty and harsh mouth of her's. I only smirk in response. How feminine.

"No good Sawada and his two friends, Gokudera and Yamamoto, they're acting strange again and causing Kyoko to worry."

They must know each other if she doesn't use honorifics with their last name. "What could they be doing that's worth worrying about?"

She shrugs and sighs, ready to complain to me. "They're all idiots doing idiot things with no maturity at all. That's worth worrying about all on its own."

"More so than other boys?"

She nods. How intriguing.

"I was unaware they had a reputation." I admit.

She must have wanted to rant about them for a while, because she immediately starts listing off all their dumb activates. From a prank suicide jump by Yamamoto and Sawada, to them having this mysterious and good looking friend, to Sawada always running around in his boxers, to them going to Kokuyo land and coming back with scratches and bruises. Apparently they all act outrageous to situations and are constantly getting themselves into trouble. There are even rumors going around that 'Sawada is Gokudera's and Yamamoto's bitch'.

For a second my mouth hangs open and a current of shock passes through me. However, with a quick recovery I process everything she just said and come up with one conclusion: "They really are idiots among idiots."

Hana nods her pretty head, signing dramatically. At that moment, I feel her pain keenly.

October 20th

Alana and I arrive to the Lighting Battle ten minuets before eleven. My cousin is soaked to the bone, the wetness of ragging rain shows by how her jeans and blue track jacket are drenched. It all clings to her short form, and though she wears a white tank-top underneath, there is no doubt in my mind she is as cold as I am. Her straight back and confident demeanor may not betray her wet and cold state, but with that tied up black hair sticking to her neck and that freezing wind slapping her face, it's impossible not to be cold. The pouring droplets slip down my figure too and even with two long shirts and a hoodie, the temperature attacks my body.

A warm breath escapes me, and I drop my self into the criss cross sitting position (so its is harder to see me from to school buildings away). My view of the arena is perfect by sitting on the top of the gym, the seven large and spiky poles which connect thick black wires are in direct view. Though Alana is able to see much better since she brought along handy dandy binoculars, apparently she can even able to watch the participants expressions. The Lighting Battle arena is a flat web of wires with oddly shaped lances at each vertex, there are seven strangely modeled lighting conducts (for what else could they be?). It is an enormous arena, several times bigger that boxing cage from last night, an it covers most of the school buildings. Namimori middle isn't a castle, but the school isn't exactly small either.

A Varia man stands near the arena, large and clad in black leather with eight thin metal batons (maybe?) secured to his back. He arrived before us and has stood in the downpour of rain and lighting motionlessly since then. He refuses to twitch despite the booming rolls of thunder. Dee, with an amused smirk, explains his name is Leviathan and he is known as an extremely zealous member of the Varia. Like most Varia members, his technique is unknown since no one has ever lived to tell about it.

The Cervello, masked pink haired model like girls who are the judges of the Vongola ring battles, are already there as well. They are probably the ones that set up the arena.

Whipping water away from my eyes, I watch as the roof's door swings open and four teenage boys come out, plus a trench coat wearing infant and cow clad child. Just after them the Varia drops in to the battle sight. They don't use stairs or anything, oh no, they just appear on other end of the building with only a falling afterimage to infer that the members didn't just teleport to the stadium. The rain drowns out the Vongola's voices, and the only thing we can hear is the, "Lambo Fight! OOOHHH!" from the young middle school Vongola as they form an embarrassing and zealous team circle. Hana is so right, they are a bunch of immature idiots.

"What's with the baby and kid?" I question to Alana, who is watching the mighty mafioso males across from us through spy binoculars.

"You mean the trench coat baby and Lambo?" She inquires.

With a glance up to her (because my sitting position), and a nod, I confirm that it is the baby in a trench coat and fedora as well as Lambo who is sporting his usual cow costume which I am referring to. They must be incredibly 'different' to be going against the most elite assassin group in the world. Alana says she doesn't know anything about them, which sounds like bullshit considering her mafia connections. She continues to press the slim black binoculars to her face.

I question her again and she give me another vague an uninformative answer. My inquiry is shot down twice more by her until finally I call it quits. "Fuck it."

She laughs with her deep and smooth voice, and continues watching the mafioso. Leviathan, lighting guardian candidate of the Varia, steps onto the wired field along with the careless cow child. Skipping happily, Lambo jumps onto the field undauntedly. He is so little, so young and immature, my breath hitches when I see him stand across the large Varia man, just a small bug in comparison. But he must be strong to take on the Varia. No one would send out a defenseless kid to be slaughtered, not if they aimed for winning the fight at least. Little Lambo will be alright.

"Aw, man. This is not what I was hoping for." Alana says regrettably. I stay silent and pray she is wrong. Alana doesn't stay silent though. "Do you want to leave? I kinda have no interest in seeing kids get killed."

Lambo loved running around at the mall, he was constantly laughing and getting trouble like a little shit. He cried when he fell down the stares and was so careless that he got lost.

"Are you sure he can't win? I mean, why else would he be there? Why not forfeit if he couldn't win?"

My cousin's next words, I don't see a five year old having the umph to kill somebody, nearly make my heart stop. The dismal rain seems to pour harder and lighting strikes the poles, electrocuting Lambo. He is a blinding flash, screaming, and then he is gone. Face down on the stadium. Silent, still, stagnant. Dead?

"Shouldn't you stay? So you can report this to your boss?" My words are random to me, Lambo is lying on the ground motionless.

There is pause is her speech, but the pause is filled with hitting rain and dreadful waiting.

"I guess you make a point."

Lambo begins to move, to twitch and sit up. Then he cries. He cries with gusto and energy, and a liveliness that only a healthy five year old could have. "He's alright!" I whisper merrily, a smile wrapping itself around my lips. My heart soars filled with hope and relief.

Dee cracks a joke, amused and impressed. I offer a laugh, happy and humored. The moment ends when Leviathan does a kick, punch combo on the defenseless afro haired child. His small body flails around helplessly at the beating, and those gurgled cries break my heart. I may be too far away to see the blood and bruising, but the way his body flies across the field like a soccer ball is enough to fully understand how feeble Lambo is.

Yet he is sent to fight an impossible battle. By his own family.

"The ...Vongola..." I say slowly, with bitter acrimony. My words choke with hate,"are rotten..and repugnant. And they all deserve to burn for it."

Stricken with abhorrence, my eyes close and my lungs inhale. Even though I tightly grip my hands on the metal safety fence in front of me, my arms shake with fury.

"Is there anything we ca.." My words drift away as I watch Lambo. With runny eyes, the child pulls from his bushy black hair a bazooka. A big shiny purple bazooka, bigger than himself, pointed at himself. Then he shoots himself with it. A purple smoke permeates through the air, curling around the prepubescent lighting candidate, hiding Lambo for a short while. But as the smoke dissipates, it is a ten year older Lambo that appears.

Wait, but Lambo can't be fifteen years old. He's five..? Yet, that shiny black hair, cow print attire, that atmosphere of casualness and arrogance. That is Lambo, that is the child that shrieked while playing in the mall and demanded I buy him candy and treats.

"Am I crazy, or is that..." the bizarre situation refuses to be said aloud.

Blinking thrice, I watch Alana remove the binoculars from her oval face. Her pretty tan skin flushes despite the cold wetness and her dark eyes widen in wonder.

"I am geeking out." She points at the bazooka then she exclaims with such excitement and joy that it elicits a rather awkward smile out of me. So then this(what ever this is) is a good thing? "That is the ten year bazooka. That thing is legendary. You were a genius in suggesting that we stay."

The answer seems obvious yet so does the need to ask. "Does it make the..." I pause in search of the appropriate word. "victim...ten years older?"

After a chuckle, Dee confirms my suspicious about the strange weapon. She also tells me the word victim is inappropriate for the context since no one is getting hurt. I disagree with, but she continues her argument. I explain that 'user' is inappropriate as well because pulling the trigger and getting hit by the shell is not the same thing. The discussion enters an impasse when neither of us concedes vocabulary defeat.

Our attention is stolen from us when lighting hits the field once more, but this time its being absorbed by the lanky and tall ten-year-older Lambo. I smile, now that he is a teenager it really isn't that big a deal if he dies. He rushes at Leviathan but is knocked away then shocked by aggressive jolts of lighting, courtesy of lighting directing umbrellas that Leviathan has made able to levitate. I grimace when teenage Lambo is pierced by one of the Varia man's rods, its looks painful as it goes all the way through his shoulder. His cries can be heard from our position, but neither of us offer any sympathy. It's a fight to death, and we have been expecting to see teenagers get fucked up by professionals.

Then ten-year-older Lambo shoots himself with the bazooka.

"Twenty-year-older Lambo..?" I question, intrigued.

"Wo-ho. Someone's getting older." Alana comments mockingly. "Way to bitch out."

I'm snorting with laughter when this incredibly hot and manly twenty five year old appears from the purple smoke. His presence is heavy to the point I shiver, even from another building away.

"Woah. That guy makes your blood rise." My cousin comments, sounding impressed.

From here I can only spot an impressive body, shaggy hair, and light jacket that looks as is it had been ripped to pieces and then sown together. His face is too far to see clearly. Everyone on the building next to us seems to stop for a conversation, maybe an explanation, but it doesn't reach us. But what does reach us is the blinding shine of Leviathan's electric attack. Hiding away my eyes, I feel a wave of energy brush past me. Once the shine dims I look up to see an unaffected Lambo that has completely discharged the attack into the ground. Every window shatters, and my body flinches to sound of glass breaking and smashing together. A violent shiver passes over me, but this time I recognize it as danger.

"He's dangerous..." I whisper to myself. That man over there is overwhelmingly dangerous. "Wow.."

The dangerous man catches one of Leviathan's piercing rods and then throws it aside. Even as he absorbs numerous volts of lighting and tuns it into a current that sprouts from his head, the muscular, mature, man acts with ease. It is no surprise when he corners Levithan, a fearsome core member of the Varia, as simply as one might corner a butterfly.

However, it is a surprise when twenty-year-old Lambo poofs,with purple smoke, back into a five year old, electrified, Lambo.

"WHATTHEFUCK!" Alana bellows in English, with shallow rage.

"What happened?!" I cry as a burnt five-year-old Lambo falls unconscious on the field. The rain bats at him, hitting mercilessly and continuously.

That cow has been barbequed.

"Someone's glass of luck has just ran dry."

"But why did he turn back to a little kid?" I ask.

"Because it is the ten-year bazooka, it has a time limit."

"He's gonna die," I squeak, clutching my chest in horror. That poor child!

My cold-hearted cousin puts her hand on my shoulder, and I know there is a joke ready to fall off her lips. "You met him once, right? Did ya like him?"

"I guess. Yeah."

"Then he was a great little kid."

The joking consoling has a horrified, and humorous, effect. I clamp my hand to my gaping mouth, horrified by the fact that Lambo is going to die and that we both find it funny: I only find it funny because Alana made a joke about it.

As Leviathan raises his foot, my smile still twitches, and even as he lowers and stomps and stomps and stomps, it never fully fades. 'Then he was a great little kid'. Damnit Alana, why did you have to make this funny. Lambo goes flying with one of Leviathan's kicks, and seeing a splatter of blood wipes the grin off my face. That boy, the one who said I could be his friend for the price of two grape candies, is lying on the cold ground, defenseless, alone, and doomed die. There is no mother or father protecting him, nor any of his supposed 'family'.

We need to stop this.

"We need to stop this." I say. Too late.

Leviathan, lifts his hulking arms and gather electricity to his raised umbrella. Lambo is a weak and wounded lamb, about to be sacrifice to appease the blood lust of the Vongola. Alana's answer supports this ungodly ritual: "No."

My breath halts to the sight of orange, so fast for a second I consider it is my imagination, zooming around the arena. Any after image is lost in the shadowy and rain filled night. I watch the lances tumble over one by one. Before the first even touched the ground, the last lance beings to fall. All the rods fall, protecting Lambo from a deathly blow, and Sawada-san stands to face everyone. There are small flames on Sawada-san, a glimmer at such a distance, yet undeniably a orange flame. The rain refuses to extinguish the glorious flames in his hands despite the curling and hissing smoke arising from them. So small yet so strong.

Even without words his intentions are clear: He will protect this kid with his last dying breath.

All the mafioso turn to him in a sort of wonder. Even I'm filled with a bit of wander, that such strange powers exist and can be used so efficiently. The small spots of orange tantalize my vision, and flicker gently like a candle's ember. Without words or an explanation, I know the flames are not fire. They are too divine to be fire even if they are flames.

"Mia."

Dee's urgent whisper catches my attention only for a second, for my focus is stolen away by a crash in the lighting field. Sawada-san has been pushed to the ground, and a fierce Italian man stands before all on top of a school building. The rain nor lighting cannot muffle 'Xanxus!', and it rings throughout the night, a foreboding warning of God's wrath.

The violent shivers return to me, but instead saying danger my body screams 'RUN!'. Alana grips my wrist, but whatever she says to me is lost in the pouring of rain and terror. It doesn't matter anyways, because I'm already running into the building behind her. I'm running away from the thunder and the downpour which submit to a man named Xanxus. A man who reeks of death and wrath and the urge to kill. I hear my heart beating and my feet running, yet the only sound that matters is 'Xanxus'. Xanxus and Demise, they sound the same.

October 20th

Drinks have been poured, for Alana alcohol, for me milk. Both of our cups are rather large. We are sitting on the round, black leather bar stools, the ones that are good for spinning. Knocking back my cold drink, a refreshing feeling comes over me with each deep gulp. I sigh merrily and place back my half empty jumbo cup. Stress relief is definitely needed after such a harsh night. Seeing a five-year-old get beat up, time travel, and people control lighting ties knots up my back. And having death incarnate blaze onto the field didn't help the stress. And the best cure to stress knots is a cold glass of milk.

Alana's wet jacket lies in the middle of the entry way, dripping into a small puddle. My cousins thick dark hair is pulled up into a lazy bun, and the figure of her sports bra is clear through her soaked white tank top. The florescent lights are harsh against the sun kissed skin and trails of rain continues to roll off her form.

"That was one of the scariest nights of my life," I declare, still seeing scornful scowls and looming danger. I've freed myself of every drenched clothing, minus one damp blue sweatshirt that sticks to my skin. Chill run through my body.

"I wouldn't deny it, especially with Xanxus entering the arena oh so suddenly. " She takes a drink. "That guy, I didn't even feel him coming. He just appeared like magic. Like a goddam wizard or something." Alana took another drink. "Damn that ten-year bazook was so cool, I'm so gonna steal that thing from him."

A clear liquid coats Alana's pink lips but is lapped up by her tongue. Without looking, the back of my wrist wipes white milk from my upper lip. Stealing from the mafia, especially the Vongola, sounds very dangerous. I tell my older cousin this thought and her pretty face shifts into a reassuring grin. "Uhuh, he maybe part of the Vongola, but he is of Bovino. Only the Bovino family has the ten year bazooka. I don't care, I'm still gonna steal it."

So many families and specialties, how is it possible to get them all straight? There needs to be a course for this kinda of thing, a mafia 101. Sounds brilliant, I'll introduce it to the class tomorrow.

"Well, just don't get killed."

"Pssh me? Never. They couldn't kill me if the tried. I'm like a fucking cockroach." She grins heartily. Her cheeks had begun to glow red with the warmth of liquor.

That man Xanxus could crush her in an instant, with such an overpowering strength. It reeked off him like superfluous used cologne, choking the air with intensity. "Being around him was just insanity. I don't think I've ever felt like that before. Or twenty five year old Lambo. He chilled my blood too."

"That's power." She says with mean smile on her pink lips. She takes another drink. "Exciting isn't it?"

It is.

A thought occurs to me, teases at my logic and reasoning. This mafia display has been a collision of danger and impossibilities. Flames of power, bodies of demigods, and weapons of time-travel. Impossibilities that are so accepted in this mafia world which seem to me a mad dream. None of this experience has been like the Godfather trilogy or the film Goodfellas. "Has the mafia always been like this? Unreal?"

Alana doesn't understand my question.

"Have these impossibilities always been possible within the mafia?"

Dee fully smiles and looks down on me with those indecipherable dark eyes. "Of course. It's usually the most curious who are the most evil. And birds of a feather flock together."

I ask because it is the natural thing do. "Then what does that make us?"

"Curious."

At this moment, I accept the mafia. I accept the madness, the strength, the bizarreness and my own curiosity.

Assholes & Idiots » reviews

"Have these impossibilities always been possible within the mafia?" "Of course. It's usually the most curious who are the most evil. And birds of a feather flock together." "Then what does that make us?" "Curious." OC story.

Katekyo Hitman Reborn! - Rated: T - English - Humor/Friendship - Chapters: 6 - Words: 32,464 - Yamamoto & Tsuyoshi Y./Yamamoto's Father