Chapter Five - And The Walls Come Crumbling Down

Yamamoto Takeshi couldn't remember the last time he was angry as he was with his fist holding the collar of Gokudera's shirt, of the imprint of Tsuna's struggling form burned into his retinas as the teenager struggled to breathe.

But anger would get him nowhere. And as Tsuna's breathing gurgled into quietness Yamamoto loosened his fingers from Gokudera's shirt, let him go and expected to watch him turn and walk away like nothing had happened.

Two heartbeats later and Gokudera was still as present, and still as horrified, mouth opening and closing fruitlessly, his skin pale and blotchy

The anger eased into something different that Yamamoto couldn't name.

But then Gokudera saw something past Yamamoto's shoulder and he was stuttering, "R-Reborn! Reborn, where are you going?!"

Yamamoto turned to see as well, as the tiny figure by Tsuna's side creaked almost robotically to his feet and took an abrupt about turn to stride away, face eerily lax and peaceful for what he had just witnessed.

"He can't see," Yamamoto found himself saying, the words weird and foreign in his mouth. "But I think you can, Gokudera-san."

"S-See? Of course I can see, it's kind of hard to miss!" Gokudera exploded, gesturing wildly back to where Tsuna's body was and, when he gazed upon the blood again, what colour his cheeks had gained from his outburst was easily lost again.

"It'll make sense soon," Yamamoto offered, sounding a little bit more cryptic than he wanted to and he moved to shuck off his jacket, inwardly mourning at the loss of another piece of clothing as he flapped it out and then spread it on the floor.

He didn't really want Tsuna waking up on the ground after all.

"What are you doing?" Gokudera asked, voice pitched high as he scrambled in his pockets. "We need to call the police, or the ambulance, or – or – " he was cut off as the phone he had dug out was smacked from his hand with a glint of metal, the plastic hitting the wall with a crunch.

Yamamoto fell still in his actions, eyeing Hibari warily even as he stopped smoothing the jacket out.

Hibari surveyed his surroundings with an almost coy tilt to his head, mouth pressed into a tight, grim line as he focused on Tsuna, hand gripping his tonfa with a white knuckled grip. His judgemental gaze snapped to Yamamoto, who realised what was wanted of him before the prefect even had to speak.

Rushing over and suppressing his gag reflex at the lingering smell of blood and gore, Yamamoto took a grip of Tsuna's shoulders, cold and thin under his hands, whereas Hibari secured a grip underneath the body's waist – and how awful it was, to call him a body, when he was Tsuna, quiet, but outspoken amongst friends, and always so bright but now so still.

Together, they pulled him free with a wet shlick sort of noise, and Yamamoto heard Gokudera be sick in the background as the two dark haired teens hobbled over, precious cargo between them, in order to set Tsuna down on the jacket.

It took several long moments for Yamamoto to pull his attention away from the blood on his hands and he truly had to wonder how he had been so blind for so long.

Six times, two years. He'd been friends with Tsuna for a little over fourteen months.

How much had he missed before, how many times had Tsuna gone above and beyond, only to suffer by himself, alone and frightened, in pain?

Hibari had pulled out a small flipbook from somewhere, scribbling into it and seemingly blind to the red staining his fingers, to the blood on his palms, Tsuna's blood, Tsuna's and that was enough for Yamamoto as he turned away and emptied his stomach, the muscles in his abdomen uselessly spasming.

The hole in Tsuna looked big enough for Yamamoto to fit his fist in, torn and ragged and far too bright with blood, though he refrained from following such a morbid thought, fingers curling uselessly.

His previously pristine white shirt was speckled in blood.

Gokudera was staring from where he was hunkered down, protective arm curled over his stomach. No doubt he thought them insane for standing so calm and still when someone had just died in front of them.

Yamamoto was abruptly reminded that Gokudera could see, could remember.

At least, that made it easier to explain.

They just had to wait for Tsuna to wake up.

The hole was still bleeding, and Yamamoto wished he still had something in his stomach to throw up to rid himself of the nausea.

Tsuna felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Thanks to bullies and Reborn, he knew fully well what it was like to get socked straight under the ribs, breath leaving lungs and muscles recoiling.

This was like that but worse, higher up in his side.

He whimpered pathetically as an attempt to move caused an ache in his side and, abruptly, there were hands in his hair, soft words shushing him.

Then there was a louder voice than that belonged to the person trying to ease him back into sleep, and this new person loudly whispered, "What the hell."

Tsuna recognised it blearily as Gokudera and felt hands on his shoulders, his head eased gently onto something softer. His eyelids were heavy and he still felt incredibly tired and cold.

That was about when it hit that it was Gokudera who had spoken and he quickly remembered what had happened, pushing himself above and beyond as he sat up in one fluid movement that both caused him to cry out and for tears to gather in his eyes.

There was almost a pop sort of noise that accompanied the pain in his front and Yamamoto – whose lap his head had been resting on – immediately grabbed his shoulders as he swayed back again.

"Whoa, Tsuna," Yamamoto said, voice warm and caring as he eased Tsuna into a seated position, his arm a steel band around Tsuna's shoulders to keep him upright.

Tsuna ducked his head to stare at himself, fingers fumbling at shirt buttons to pull the fabric aside, fingers dancing across pink skin, darker than his natural skin tone. He had woken up before fully healing but, even as he watched, the scar tissue faded until there was nothing left.

The aching pain that hadn't left suggested he still had something internal to sort out but, even as he tried to gather his bearings, that pain eased away as well.

After a muttered thanks to Yamamoto, his head still feeling muddled, his skin tacky with blood, Tsuna turned to face Gokudera, who was staring at him, wide eyed and as pale as a sheet of paper.

A weird sense of wonderment coupled with self-loathing washed over him, crashing through his body uninvited as he said, lips numb, "Y-You can see me."

"You were dead." Gokudera's voice was void of anything really.

To his own horror, Tsuna had started crying. In response, Gokudera's expression crumpled and the silver haired teen fell to his knees, sobbing into his own hands.

From somewhere nearby, there was a 'tch' of someone voicing their disgust.

Even Hibari had deigned to stay.

Tsuna just cried harder and let Gokudera shuffle close enough to take a tiny pale hand in his own, still so cold, and press it to his forehead. And then Gokudera bowed himself over Tsuna's hand like the world was going to end and he was begging forgiveness before it happened.

Hibari, ever so graciously, allowed Tsuna use of the showers normally reserved for gym classes.

And, stood under the steady spray of water, uselessly shivering despite the heat steaming around him, Tsuna watched as the evidence of his latest foray into death washed down the drain in puddles of red and then pink and then finally clear.

He tried not to think about what was on the other side of the door, of Yamamoto explaining to Gokudera in stilted words and useless gestures about how Tsuna couldn't – wouldn't, shouldn't, he didn't know – die.

A shaking hand lifted to rest against his ribcage, fingertips pressing into soft flesh where before there had been a gaping hole and now was not even as much as a fleck of blood.

Pressing his back to the soap slick wall, Tsuna slid down until he was sat under the spray of almost scalding water, the cold etched in as deep as his bones and unshakeable. Tilting his head back and letting the water hit his face, Tsuna tried to pretend he had his life together.

It wasn't going very well.

At least there was no one to see the tears this time, the water sluicing his wretched sobs down the drain as easily as it had taken the blood from his skin.

Gokudera was itching for a cigarette, eyes flickering back and forth between the door, the window, the other door that Tsuna was hidden behind, and back to Yamamoto.

The other teen seemed far too calm, but Gokudera could see the tiny signs, the tremble that shook fingers, the wariness and pain hidden deep behind dark eyes, the hitching of breath between sentences.

Gokudera let the words roll around in his head, trying to make sense of the impossible, even though he had seen it clearly for himself, had watched as Tsuna had come back to life from the dead.

How the hole in his abdomen had shrunk smaller and smaller in increments, faster and faster, until fifteen minutes later the only sign anything had happened was the blood on the floor, on Tsuna, on everything.

His conscience was as stained with guilt as Yamamoto's shirt was with blood.

I want you to test the new Decimo candidate, Reborn had said, eyes dark and black and mischievous. Put him in danger, let him dance on his toes, let him show his worth.

Tsuna had done all of that and above. And, due to Gokudera's eagerness to please, to finally find something worth doing with his life, he'd killed the boy as soon as the respect had settled in.

And then he'd come back to life.

He was really itching for a cigarette, fingers twitching relentlessly until he shoved his hands into his pockets, rolling a piece of dynamite between his fingers.

The door creaked open and Tsuna shuffled out, morose in a way Gokudera couldn't explain. The brunet was swaddled up in clothes not his own, shirt sleeves hanging over his hands and buttons buttoned haphazardly.

While his cheeks were flushed with the heat of the room he had come out of he was still shivering, and somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, Gokudera registered the symptoms of shock and of blood loss.

Blood loss that should have killed a person.

The same person shivering pathetically in front of him.

Offering his jacket was the least of what he could do, apologies falling from his lips faster than he could think of them, the article of clothing held ahead of him like a peace offering, not nearly enough to atone for his sins.

Tsuna gave him a breathy thanks, a heartfelt smile, and Gokudera was almost sick again at seeing no blame in tired brown eyes as trembling hands reached forward and the tiny, fragile body was wrapped up in a jacket several sizes too big.

To Tsuna, he wasn't at fault. He wasn't sure if he was deserving of the forgiveness he was given so easily, so freely.

"So, you have your first family member," Reborn said coolly as Tsuna traipsed into the house, Gokudera almost fused to his back with how close the other teen was following him.

Tsuna gave him such an exhausted look, looking ragged in a way no fourteen year old should be, that it stopped Reborn's next comment on his tongue, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he tried to see what he had missed.

Perhaps Tsuna felt betrayal at Reborn orchestrating this fight without his knowledge?

But no, Gokudera was pale beyond what he should have been, eyes shaded and posture distraught and Yamamoto, stumbling in after Gokudera and reverently closing the door was a shade darker than his usual cheeriness.

Something had happened that he had missed.

Reborn didn't like being in the dark but somehow, somewhere, he'd been left behind. No matter how hard he tried to figure it out, he couldn't quite remember where, when, how something had gone wrong.

"Yes," Tsuna finally replied, broken in a way that bewildered Reborn because what had happened. "Yes, I suppose I have. Gokudera-kun, Yamamoto, would you like to stay for dinner?"

"I always enjoy your mom's cooking," Yamamoto declared happily despite the downward twist of his mouth, settling his bag in the hallway.

Gokudera hesitated for a very long moment, fingers curled around the strap of his bag, and Tsuna turned to face him without even being prompted – Reborn was surprised his Hyper Intuition was already so adept – face and voice softening in an unexplainable way as he murmured, "You're welcome to stay, Gokudera-kun. Always."

"Tenth," Gokudera breathed, entire body relaxing as if his life had hinged on whatever Tsuna might have said to him, arms twitching by his sides as if he wanted to draw Tsuna into a hug.

Reborn had never felt so lost.

He hated it.

Tsuna was a little surprised when, after his friends had left – and Gokudera had looked like he'd been promised the world at being called a friend – Reborn decided to corner him in his bedroom as Tsuna was in the middle of pulling out his notes from the classes he had actually managed to attend.

"Something happened," Reborn said, sounding aloof as if he hadn't just trapped Tsuna between the wall and his very small, very intimidating, self.

Tsuna chewed his tongue as he debated the merits of lying, versus truth, when either A. Reborn wouldn't believe him or, B. Reborn would immediately forget and this conversation would wash away like any other.

"You've become serious, too," Reborn added, and this time he sounded accusatory.

Latching onto the conversation changer as if he were a thirsty man before an oasis, Tsuna quickly blurted, "I didn't actually believe you about the m-mafia stuff but meeting Gokudera…"

"Hah? You didn't believe me?" Reborn asked, voice dangerously low because no, he didn't believe what Tsuna was saying, perhaps his belief had stemmed from the incident, but that wasn't what had changed him.

But Reborn also knew desperation when he heard it, and whatever was affecting Tsuna wasn't something that could be readily said out loud. He had the feeling that if he pushed, Tsuna would just retreat further and further and then he'd never get an answer.

Reborn was patient, however. He knew when to sit down and wait, when to watch his next target and leap at the moment of weakness.

He was almost disgusted that he was thinking of Tsuna as a victim and not a student.

It didn't change the fact that what information he'd gotten about the Sawada son in the first place seemed dreadfully wrong, and that there was something lurking beneath the surface he wasn't privy to.

And that, somehow, it was linked in with Yamamoto Takeshi, Hibari Kyouya, and now Gokudera Hayato.

I have had some crazy inspiration for this story lately. I have no idea why.

I was wondering if this needed to be tagged under 'Hurt/Comfort' or 'Angst'? Or both, and get rid of 'Friendship'? I don't even know.

More seriousness in this chapter. Gokudera's thoughts, Yamamoto's thoughts, Reborn's thoughts.

Regardless, I'll stop babbling. Sorry again for any mistakes, and I hope you enjoyed it!

(For those wondering about Hibari's flipbook, he's super meticulous and writes down every time Tsuna gets into an accident, fatal or otherwise. Yamamoto hasn't told Tsuna, but he has a calendar in his bedroom where he does the same.)