I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

So if you ever wonder why there's not a whole lot of swearing, especially in these Varia chapters, it's pretty much because I don't swear myself. That's why most of the hard-core swears are written in Italian, because it makes it easier for me. Am I making sense? No? That's okay. I hardly ever do anyway, ha ha.

Warning: this chapter contains abandonment of a child and post-traumatic effects.

Summary: Fran's childhood in France was a dismal one, and he refuses to speak about it-especially about his biological mother. But when his anxiety reaches a new high during a dream-induced sleepwalk in the middle of a thunderstorm, Xanxus has had enough and he wants answers. He will not let his kid bear such emotional turmoil alone.

After the Storm Comes the Sun

Thick gray clouds covered the night sky, obscuring the silver glow of the stars and moon. Every so often, there would be an explosion of thunder before the darkness was illuminated by the white-hot lightning. Seated in the back of the gold vehicle, Fran played with his seatbelt, listening to the rain pound against the roof and windows.

The silence in the car was almost suffocating, and he felt prickles of fear in his stomach. Something was about to happen, he sensed it, and he wasn't sure what it would be. They had been driving for a while and were now in the countryside, the rolling green fields hidden amongst the mist and heavy rainfall. Fran dare not ask where they were going—he did not want to incur his mother's wrath.

He could not see her eyes, so he wasn't able to tell what she was thinking or feeling. He couldn't really explain how he was able to do this, but whenever he used this trick it made his mother very angry. He really didn't want any more bruises to be added to his collection.

He could see her knuckles were white, hands clenched tightly against the steering wheel. A mane of teal hair cascaded down her back, so similar to his own. Somehow, he couldn't picture her face, no matter how hard he tried.

Without warning, she slammed on the brakes. Fran felt his heart jolt as they swerved wildly across the slick tarmac. There were thankfully no oncoming cars and they rolled to a safe stop on the other side of the road.

"Get out."

Head snapping up, Fran felt his throat constrict. "What?" he managed to get out.

"I said get out," she hissed, her voice cold and callous. "You can walk the rest of the way. You know where your grandmother's house is. You've been there before."

There was an automatic click as the locks undid themselves. Fran sat frozen for a moment, terror welling within him. He wanted to plead, to beg, to argue, but he knew that it would do no good. This was it, this was what he had been dreading ever since he stepped foot in the car.

Mechanically he pushed open the door. The rain assaulted him immediately, soaking him through in seconds. The thunder roared and Fran flinched, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. Once the door slammed shut the vehicle tore away, spraying him with mud. The lighting flashed, blinding him for a moment, and he cried out her name in fear.

But she swung the car in a U-turn and sped off the opposite direction. She left the four-year-old standing in the middle of nowhere in the fierce thunderstorm, with nothing but the clothes on his back. Fran watched the taillights fade in the distance, tears beginning to mix with the rainwater on his cheeks.

He was alone. He was all alone—

…

BOOM!

Fran's entire body jolted as he let out a loud gasp. Disoriented and his heart pounding in his chest, he looked around wildly. He could feel his hair sticking to his scalp, his cotton pajamas plastered to his skin. The cold rainwater pelted him, but it was not as harsh as it had been in his dream.

Breathing heavily, Fran rubbed at his chest, taking a moment to regain his bearings. He was in the expansive backyard of Varia Mansion, the trees of the surrounding forest ominous against the stormy backdrop. Rain fell in gentle sheets, a mist coating the landscape.

"Damn it," whispered Fran, scrubbing his hands down his face. He had thought such dreams had ended, he thought he was over what had happened to him so long ago.

"What the eff are you doing?"

Startled, for he was so caught up in his thoughts he had not sensed the additional presence, Fran turned around. Xanxus stood framed in the sliding glass door of the mansion's back entrance. His arms were crossed over his silk ebony robe, crimson eyes seeming to glow in the shadows.

"Nothing," answered Fran, tiredly running his fingers through his soaked hair. "Just taking a walk."

Xanxus stared at the eleven-year-old for a moment, his expression indicating that he did not believe Fran's excuse for an instant. "Get inside, you little idiot."

Fran obeyed, bare feet crossing the wet lawn. He grunted slightly when he received a strike across the back of his head as he passed Xanxus. Water dripped from his body and splattered across the kitchen tiles.

"Go change," the man ordered. "Come back down when you finish." Fran's nose wrinkled, indicating he was about to protest but Xanxus cut him off sharply. "Don't argue, you little merda. If I have to come up there and drag you down…"

The threat remained unfinished but Fran had a pretty good idea of what would fill the blanks. Giving curt nod of acknowledgement, he started to shuffle towards the stairs. Xanxus turned and went for the refrigerator, where he found a bottle of white wine. He popped off the cap and took a long swig. Without moving his head he asked curtly, "What do you want?"

Shifting into sight, Mammon replied, "Suppose the same as you—a few answers."

The illusionist had felt the exact same stabs of terror emitting from Fran as Xanxus had. He was sure the others had felt them too, for whatever Fran had been dreaming about, it was enough to frighten the normally unshakeable child. The only reason they were still in their beds was because they knew Xanxus had been disturbed enough to investigate.

"You want to deal with this crap, then?"

"Hell no," answered Mammon, though he knew it was a rhetorical question. Xanxus would not go back to bed knowing Fran was in such emotional turmoil. "You're the boss. You can chase away his nightmares."

"Get the eff out of here, useless trash."

Smirking slightly, Mammon obeyed, knowing he would discover the cause of Fran's fear in the morning, when the others would most certainly bombard Xanxus with questions.

When the child returned to the kitchen dressed in a new set of pajamas, it was to see his caretaker seated at the marble island. From what he could tell, the bottle of wine was already half empty. "You're going to develop a kidney disease."

Unamused, Xanxus gave a jerk of his head, indicating for the boy to sit. Fran walked over and climbed onto a cushioned stool, idly tucking some loose strands of wet hair behind his ear. Resting his cheek against his knuckles, Xanxus surveyed him. "Unless you want this bottle smashed over your head, I strongly advise you tell me what in God's name you were doing outside at four in the morning."

Familiar stirrings of anxiety starting to clutch at his chest, Fran stared at the speckled design on the countertop. "I choose taking a bottle over the head."

Thunder roared overhead, causing him to habitually flinch. Xanxus did not need to focus too much on their bond to feel his illusionist's panic—it was rolling off of him in waves, though his facial features indicated little of the turmoil he was experiencing.

"Don't tell me you're scared of effing thunderstorms."

Indigence sparked in Fran's green eyes at this presumption. "I'm not scared of thunderstorms." At the probing gaze Xanxus trained on him, the eleven-year-old let out a sigh, a mix of annoyance and exasperation. "It goes a little deeper than that, all right? I don't want to talk about it."

"Don't care. I am not going to be woken up during every thunderstorm because of you."

"It's not every thunderstorm," snapped Fran.

Xanxus raised an eyebrow. "Boy, at the slightest clap of thunder or flash of lightning, your heart goes into overdrive. So what the hell is your problem? I don't have all night."

"Probably don't have enough alcohol either," he muttered under his breath.

Despite his guardian's indifferent remark, Fran could feel his steely determination. He wasn't going anywhere until he had answers, and the subtle, underlying concern caused warmth to well within his chest, dispelling the lingering cold.

"Look, the sleepwalking is new. It's never happened before. I guess the dream was pretty vivid this time." Fran folded his arms against the counter and rested his chin. "My biological mother—she abandoned me on the side of the road when I was three. Maybe four. Sometimes I remember that night."

"During a storm."

"Yeah."

"Does Rokudo know about this?"

"Well, I never told him. I think he read my mind, because I was never left alone during a storm, in any case."

Everything clicked into place then, and Xanxus understood. He now knew why Fran was oddly skittish whenever there was a thunderstorm. He now knew why the boy would shut himself in his room when thunder boomed, why he was severely reluctant to get into a car when there was a downpour. The way he would go suddenly quiet once threatened of being kicked out of a moving vehicle. He had been abandoned once, and lived with the fear of being abandoned again.

The rush of rage emitting from Xanxus startled Fran for a moment. The man's fingers were clenched around the wine bottle, so tight the glass was beginning to crack. With his free hand, he reached out and gripped Fran's chin, forcibly raising it so they were eye-to-eye.

"We," snarled Xanxus, "are going to get a few things clear. First, from now on, your biological mother will be known as The Cagna."

"Sounds good to me," said Fran in bemusement.

"Second, if I, or any of the others for that matter, ever see you shrink away at the sound of thunder, you're going to get such a smack you'll have a migraine for weeks. The Cagna gave you this anxiety, and if you don't overcome it, it means she still has a hold on you. Hell will freeze over before I let that happen. You hear me?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I hear you."

"You're a pain in my ass, and you're too effing sensitive sometimes. Whenever you piss me off you can bet I'm going to beat you within an inch of your life. But you're not going anywhere. If I ever kick you out of the car during a thunderstorm, I expect you to walk home. You're a little merda, and you're mine." The raven-haired man slightly increased the pressure in his grip. "Is this getting through your thick trash skull?"

"I got it, I got it!"

And Xanxus believed him, for he felt the anxiety ease from the boy's muscles, replaced with warm affection. "Tch." Releasing his ward, Xanxus leaned back. "Now get lost. You wasted enough of my time."

"Like you weren't going to sleep in anyway," retorted Fran. He rose to his knees and lightly bumped his forehead against Xanxus'. "Try not to drown yourself in alcohol."

The eleven-year-old nimbly avoided the punch aimed at him and hopped off the stool. He rushed off with a cackle. Xanxus watched him depart, finishing off the wine. He knew Fran would not be able to overcome the trauma inflicted upon him by his biological mother so easily. But he would, and they would all make sure of it. Fran would never again know the pain of abandonment.

And if Xanxus happened to ever meet The Cagna (and how he hoped he would), he had a bullet with her name on it.