I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
It's almost Halloween and I'm not sure I'll have a Halloween chapter done in time, but I'll certainly try. Send in your Halloween prompts and I'll pick one for this year.
Warning: this chapter contains mentions of child abuse and post-traumatic effects.
Summary: In the four years Fran spent with his biological mother, he received one scar as a physical reminder of his past. He's covered it up ever since, the sight of in sparking a terrible memory he'd prefer to forget. Despite his efforts, the Varia discover his scar on a hot summer day. They inform Fran that his scar is not a sign of his helplessness, but of what he survived.
Scars of the Past
Without a single cloud to hinder it, the sun shone brightly in the crystal blue sky. Its harsh rays turned the grass brittle and made the cicadas hum loudly, a steady buzzing in the still, humid air. Belphegor stretched out his arms, legs hanging lazily in the cool water of the pool. Water seeped through the mesh material of his pool lounger, guarding most of his body from the summer heat.
The rest of the Varia were stationed in the patio chairs lining the edge of the pool, wide grey umbrellas blocking the sun's rays from stinging their skin. There was one person missing, however, and when it became apparent that he would not be joining them anytime soon, Squalo scowled. He reached for his cell phone, resting in the cup holder of his chair, and dialled.
"…what?"
"What the hell are you doing?" snapped Squalo.
"Sleeping," answered Fran, annoyance lacing his voice. "Or I was until you interrupted me. What do you want?"
"You realize there's no air-conditioning, right?"
"Really? I couldn't tell. I always wake up to see my sheets soaked in sweat."
"Get out here."
"No."
The dial tone echoed in Squalo's ear and he slammed his phone down in irritation. "Effing brat."
"Hey, if he wants to suffocate from the heat in there, let him," said Belphegor, making circles in the water with his fingers. "I get first dibs on his stuff."
"It wouldn't be nice to leave him alone in there," chided Lussuria. "I'll go get him."
He unfurled himself from the lounge chair and started across the concrete slabs that surrounded the pool. He eased the sliding glass door open and headed for Fran's bedroom, moving up the stairs and down the corridor. He knocked once on the door before entering.
The curtains were pulled tight over the window, blocking any light from entering the space. There was a desk fan resting on the nightstand table, the blades whirring at the highest setting. Fran was splayed out over his sheets, head buried into his pillow.
"Come now Fran-chan, it's time to go outside."
"Why?" he asked, voice muffled by the pillow. "It's no cooler outside than it is in here."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Without a breeze there's not much air flow in here and the heat is confined. I'm not even sure how you can tolerate it. It's difficult to breathe."
"Easy. I hate nature. I like the indoors. Not a hard choice."
Within a second Fran was flat on his back on the hardwood floor, Lussuria holding a grip on his right ankle. "I suppose I should have made it clear that it wasn't an option, dear. Either you come with me willingly or I force you outside—through your bedroom window."
Huffing out an annoyed breath, Fran wrenched his ankle free and got his feet. "Fine," he growled in irritation. "When is the damn air-conditioner getting fixed?"
"Tomorrow," replied Lussuria. "So you'll only have to suffer for today."
"Lies. I'm always suffering one way or another. Today just happens to be heat I'm suffering from."
They went back to the pool area and Fran flinched against the sunlight, raising a hand to shield his vision. Belphegor immediately noticed that Fran wasn't wearing his frog hood and opened his mouth to order the kid to go back inside to retrieve it. But he paused when Fran shuffled closer, his teal hair plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat, shoulders slouched in slight misery. Deciding to let it go this time, Belphegor reclined against his lounger.
"What hovel did you find him in?" drawled Levi.
"A much classier one than the one they found you in," returned Fran.
"What the hell have you been doing?" asked Squalo.
"I told you. Sleeping."
"How can you sleep in this heat?" asked Mammon.
"It's not difficult," muttered Fran. His mother couldn't afford to pay most bills so he spent most nights in a sweltering room while she kept the fans all to herself. But he didn't mention that piece of his past, instead saying, "But it would be a lot easier if you didn't sabotage the air-conditioner."
Mammon flicked his wrist, warping a portion of the concrete so that Fran tripped over it on his way to the pool's edge. "For the last time I didn't do anything to the air-conditioner."
"I don't know," said Fran dubiously, easily regaining his footing. "You're always complaining about the bills."
"You think I'd break something just to have to pay for it to get fixed in the name of making you people suffer?"
"…fair point."
Fran settled down on the ledge of the pool, dunking his legs into the clear water. Squalo was in the lounge chair just behind him and the man lowered his black shades slightly. He regarded Fran, whose T-shirt stuck to his back with sweat and his face glistened with moisture. Though his expression was blank he was in clear discomfort from the heat.
"You're gonna have a better time if you take this off kid," Squalo said, reaching out to grab Fran's shirt.
His artificial fingers just barely brushed the fabric when Fran seized his wrist in an iron grip. "Don't."
There was a hint of hysteria in his tone, a glimmer of panic in his eyes. Squalo quickly got over his shock at Fran's abrupt change in behaviour and gave a slow nod, indicating he would comply with Fran's order. Believing him, Fran relinquished his hold and stared at the pool water, a dull flush colouring his cheeks when he realized how strong his reaction had been.
Cursing himself for not being able to play it cool, he muttered, "Sorry. I don't like being shirtless."
"Bull." Xanxus lifted his tinted sunglasses up to rest on top of his head and stared at Fran, who steadily avoided looking him in the eye. "Get over here."
Aware there was no way out of this confrontation, Fran slowly got to his feet. He shuffled across the concrete slabs and paused just next to Xanxus' chair. His anxiety pulsed through his bond and the rare intensity of Fran's emotions caused Xanxus to regard him with narrowed eyes, the corner of lip quirking downwards in subtle worry. He grabbed the hem of Fran's T-shirt and hefted it over the eleven-year-old's head, who did not fight him.
It was difficult to miss the scar that wound its way around the right side of Fran's stomach. It was a long thin line, the scar tissue pale. Xanxus clenched his jaw, knowing that this was not the faded result of an injury inflicted by him or any of his men. Any serious wounds were taken care of by Lussuria to prevent, among other things, scarring. This was old, marking Fran's flesh for much longer than they had the kid.
"Was it her?" asked Squalo in a tight voice.
"Yeah," said Fran shortly. He tried reaching for his shirt but Xanxus tossed it dismissively aside. Scowling, he snapped, "It doesn't matter."
"You're acting like a spaz over something that doesn't matter," said Levi. "It does explain why you were always so anal about no one using the bathroom while you were in the shower."
"How long have you covered that up?" asked Mammon with a frown.
"Forever, okay? Now just eff off and leave me alone!"
Xanxus took the back of Fran's neck in a solid grip. "What did we say about the Cagna?"
Taking a sharp breath, Fran then responded, "She gave me my anxiety and letting it take over means she still has a hold, which you won't let happen."
His muscles relaxed slightly upon repeating what Xanxus had told him when the man heard the story of how he was abandoned. He hated how he still had anxiety, still let the experiences of his childhood affect him even though he was now far better off with people who would not treat him with loathing and resentment. It was still something he needed to deal with and the Varia were willing to help him work through it. They couldn't help him if he internalized his negative emotions and didn't share the worst incidents of his childhood.
"She was angry," he said at last. "I don't remember what about. Just that it had something to do with me. She would throw things at me as punishment, sometimes. She couldn't stand to touch me so it was the only way of inflicting serious harm. I was two, I guess, and pretty good at ducking and dodging even then. But one time I was slow and a broken wine glass sliced me. I was terrified. It felt like the blood wouldn't stop. She just kept screaming so I ran. Hid in my closet. I passed out eventually, I think. But the cut wasn't really that deep and to her displeasure I lived through it. I despise looking at it. It reminds me of her. Of how useless I was to defend myself. Of how she always got the best of me."
There was an unfocused glaze to his green eyes, his mind locked in a past that he yearned to forget. The pressure applied to his neck caused him to return to the present, and when Xanxus was certain he had Fran's attention his fingers slid into the boy's teal hair.
"Kids are useless. No two-year-old knows how to effing defend themselves against cagnas. You were a fledging illusionist with no idea how to hone your skills or how to properly use them. You think she got the best of you? When all she effing did was try to strike you down and you kept getting back up?"
"You're definitely out of your mind," said Mammon, "when you're a core member of the strongest Mafia family in the world, a core member of the world's strongest independent assassination squad, a gifted illusionist and you still think that that waste of a human being got the best of you."
"You think she'd stand a chance against you if she met you now?" asked Levi with a raised brow.
"Hell no," answered Fran instantly.
"Then don't be effing stupid," scoffed Squalo.
"Scars are reminders of what you survived."
Fran glanced over at Xanxus, at the scars that marred his face, a permanent mark from the end result of the Cradle Affair. Xanxus had not let his experience with the failed coup hinder him—he only emerged from the ash of the aftermath stronger than before. He more than anyone else had a reason to feel ashamed of his scars but he wasn't.
For most of his life Fran had viewed his scar as something to hide, evidence of his tragic childhood and the humiliation and pain she had put him through. Being a toddler at the time never mattered to him, the fact that there was really nothing he could do for himself. But now Xanxus had made him realize what he had survived despite being helpless. And not only did he survive, he found happiness, despite every effort she had taken to make him as miserable as she had been.
His mother's treatment of him hadn't been his fault. His inability to help himself hadn't been his fault either. He had come through, stronger than before, and it was thanks to his family.
"Yeah," he agreed. "Thanks."
Xanxus regarded him for a moment before lowering his sunglasses back into place. He then reared his foot back and slammed it into Fran's stomach, sending the boy stumbling backwards and tripping into the pool.
Fran kicked his way to the surface, the chlorine in the water stinging his eyes. "Eff you too."
He tried to scowl but there was no heat behind it and the effect was further ruined when his lips twisted into a smile. The prickly sensation of anxiety was gone and a calm contentment flowed through Fran's bonds.
He had overcome one scar of his past, though there were still quite a few mental ones he had yet to confront. But when he did, he would face them as he did his physical scar and the Varia will be there to help him through it.
Because he was theirs and no one, especially not the Cagna, would burden him with the idea that he was unwanted.
