Summary: ''There is blood on Giotto's hands; The type you can't scrub off.

The first had gone down with a thud. The second with a howl. He didn't keep count after the third. Giotto hates himself; The ease with which he ended lives makes him sick to his stomach.

(He had been in a haze while killing, but he's certain: He intended to do it)''

Giotto's life: A tale of loss, love, religion, betrayal and learning to love yourself.

Disclaimer: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.


"Easy is the descent into hell, for the door to the underworld lies open both day and night. But to retrace the path; to come out again to the sweet air of heaven – there is the task, there is the burden."

-Virgil, the aenid


Chapter 4: The Tomb


The dining hall is dark when Giotto comes home. Lightning flashes through the sky, rain splashing down against the huge windows. His footsteps are wet, tracking mud from his long ride home onto the spotless floors. Raising the candle holder, he can barely see a foot in front of him, the dancing flame fickle.

It is the second lightning flash that illuminates the room for a single second- just enough to see a stark silhouette at the head of the dinner table on the other side of the room. ''Daemon.''

It is utterly silent as he approaches, only the drip-drip-drip of his clothing and his shallow breathing, footsteps fading away with each careful step forward.

Daemon does not move.

He just sits, there in the light of the candle. Giotto gasps at the sight of him, breath stuttering. Daemon's hair is long, ragged and loose, gone the clean-cut up do it normally is tucked away in. He sits, staring into the flame of the candle. He sits, eyes unseeing, as single dull dinner knife clutched in his fist. An empty plate is in front of him, silverware glinting in the capricious light.

The hall is empty, but for them, but the table is decked for eight- no, nine, Giotto realizes with an ache in his heart. For all the guardians, Ricardo and Elena.

It hurts. His eyes brim with tears and he cannot help but move to embrace his friend, who is stiff as a wooden plank, muscles tense. ''Oh, Daemon.''

Daemon, for a single moment, melts into him, burying his nose in his neck. ''On the right side, it's Lampo, Ricardo next to him, Asari, G. You at the head. On the left, Knuckle, Alaude, Elena and I. That's… That's how it's supposed to be. Where are they, Giotto? They're late for dinner.''

Giotto sobs, closing his eyes, tightening his arms around him. ''Daemon-''

And he must heave through. Must remember that Lampo and Ricardo aren't just fooling around on their horses right now. That Asari is not laughing behind his fan as Knuckle goes for a spar with G. That Alaude is not being forced into relaxing for once because Elena dictated it so. Because Elena isn't coming back.

Not ever.

…But he must ask nonetheless. ''Daemon, why did you do it? Why… Why Cozart?'' Because even now, he cannot ask why Daemon killed Cozart when he did not. That Cozart is still alive must remain a secret for as long as he lives, perhaps even beyond then, but Giotto cannot lie to this wreck of a man, this insane shadow of the great man his friend used to be.

So the question is: Why Cozart? Why this betrayal?

Daemon jolts like a startled mouse. ''Co…zart?'' it comes out dazed, like he's not entirely there. ''Cozart?''

Daemon's muscles tighten, and Giotto braces himself, for he can feel the wave of anger building, but cannot do a thing to stop it.

''He made you weak!'' With one enormous heave, Daemon throws Giotto off him. His body smacks against the wall, head rebounding sharply as if his neck is about to snap.

''He made you weak, and your weakness killed Elena!'' Daemon's eyes are bulging out, his chest heaving, out of breath. He's raving like a madman, frothing at the mouth.

For a second, all Giotto can see is the painting of God throwing Lucifer down.

Then it melts away to his friend, whose eyes have sunken into his face, whose lips have torn from the taut stretch that went beyond their capability during his screams. Whose heart has been broken, his soul a brittle thing in his chest, little more than a glass bauble about to fall off the table.

This is not about Giotto. This is not about what he wants. This is about Daemon, his grief, and the many mistakes Giotto has made through the years.

Befriending Daemon was not one of them. Not listening to him was one, perhaps. But the past is tangled and doesn't matter anyway because Giotto can't change it. For years, he has been trying to rectify mistakes already made, searching for the answer to all of his failures.

In this hour, the answer finally comes to him. A mistake made cannot be unmade. Not a thousand good deeds will make up for a single misstep. The only thing it can do is give you peace of mind, and that, in the end, is all this is about.

He sits up, ribs aching, his head hurting. There is perfect clarity at this moment, and he shall not waste it. He looks up at Daemon, who towers above him, and does the only thing he can. Because love has never made him weak; No, it has given him the strength to do what he must. ''What can I do to make you feel better?''

The fury, the insanity twisting Daemon's face melts away, his hands falling down. Blinking down, unsure what to think. For a single moment, he stands straight, before he crumples, falling to his knees. Clutching Giotto's collar, he sobs: ''Give me my wife back, you bastard.''

Pressing Daemon's head against his chest, Giotto holds on for dear life, clenching his eyes shut. He wants to engulf this man with all his being, take the sadness away from him, to let him breathe. But that's impossible. All he can do is take a tiny portion of Daemon's ocean of grief, right here, right now. ''I'm sorry. But I can't.''

The wet patch on his shirt feels cold when Daemon pulls back, revealing his swollen eyes, red face and runny nose. There is a bitter twist around his mouth. ''Where are your miracles now, Giotto?''

With a deep breath, Giotto speaks the truth. To God, to the world, but most importantly, to Daemon. ''I never had any.''

He is no angel, no son of god, no divine blood graces his veins. Giotto is but a mortal man, and he cannot resurrect those who have ascended to heaven.

He is but a mortal man. It is only now that everyone else notices.


In the end, Daemon asks him to go. To leave the Vongola, to leave Italy, but most of all, to leave Daemon on his own. Giotto cannot deny him this. He is war-weary, and his friend's request comes as a relief.

Daemon wants to remain in the Vongola mansion, in the space where Elena and he lived together for so many years, but he does not want to see Giotto's face ever again.

So Giotto gets out of his way, as Asari offers up his ancestral home in Japan. With them goes Knuckle, sad to leave his chapel behind, but ready to see more of the world, and, surprisingly, Alaude. For the first time in his life, Giotto faces separation from G, because G's wife is pregnant, and there is no way he's leaving her. A ship is no place for a baby to be born.

As Autumn arrives and the preparations for their journey come to an end, Giotto crowns Ricardo King among the fallen leaves. His Vongola dies with the season as Ricardo rises in Winter. He is Secondo, the man who will lead the Vongola into not a new season but a new era.

Giotto cannot help but beam in pride at his cousin, at the boy he raised with his own two hands. Not just at the baby he rocked in his arms at night, not just at the child he carried on his shoulders, not just at the teenager he laughed at and taught to dance. He beams in pride at the man Ricardo has become and knows he will be all right.

He will stand tall as a tree, rooted in his beliefs.

It's funny. Shaman Sepira told him of an heir to his will, all the way back when she gave him the ring that now graces his cousin's finger. This heir is not Ricardo. Giotto knows this, for Ricardo is far more ruthless than Giotto has ever been, but with that, fairer too. His way is different, and Giotto can only be glad for it. It is time for Ricardo to reign with his own will.

Someday the heir to Giotto's Dying Will will come, but that day is not today.

Will they manage? Will they make peace without violence, will they follow God's command in the ways no sinner like Giotto can?

Sepira… Sepira was a heathen. But so is Asari, and he shows no less kindness, faith and love for it.

Giotto does not know what waits for him in the land of the rising sun, where no man believes in one god only, but he suspects, deep inside, it will be people. Just people. Because that, at heart, is what we all are.


The harbour is loud, the seagulls crying above their heads, the crowd buzzing all around them. The sailor's song is heard above it all, low voices reaching everywhere. The sun is bright and reflects off the surface of the water, broken by the waves. The huge ships let off steam, large clouds of it drifting up, but never quite blocking the sun, light falling through the blue, blue sky.

Salt is in the air, and Giotto breathes it in. His friends, his family, are all around him. This is a moment of beginnings and endings. A moment of contemplation.

"My greatest mistake was letting the Vongola grow out of bounds," Giotto says, gazing at the seagulls darting around in the docks, "I cannot lead those who I do not know."

Knuckle throws his head back and thumps him on the back. "Ha! Thinking you can take credit for that fuck up all on your own. Life with you just keeps being the ultimate riot, Giotto!"

Asari laughs softly, shutting his fan. "Indeed, I'd say that it is an admirable quality, to be able to lead through caring."

It is silent for a minute. Nothing but the sound of the waves.

"Think Rica will be all right?"

Slinging an arm across Giotto's shoulders, G nods. "Lampo's with him. He'll be fine. Rica's made for bigger things than us."

And thinking of his cousin, Giotto can't help but agree, especially with Lampo remaining behind. His support of his best friend's reign is incredible, and he determined to stand at Ricardo's side come hell or high water. It's hard to believe this is the same spoiled brat the landlord dumped on Giotto years ago.

Giotto's parents are long dead. The only other person he'll miss is someone he's been missing a long time.

His heart aches, when he sees red hair.

But Rica will be all right; That will have to be enough.

G laughs and embraces him, clapping him on the back. ''Write, you fool, or I swear I'll come after you.''

Tightening his hold around G, Giotto laughs. ''A promise before the seagulls? A sign of change, if our previous encounters with this are to be believed.''

G shakes his head, eyes shining. ''Nah, Gio. We change. The seagulls… They remain the same, forever.''

A burden Giotto did not even know he was carrying falls from his shoulders, a worry laid to rest. ''See you where the seagulls are when all of this is over.''

''See you on the other side.''

And whether they are talking of the other side of the ocean, or perhaps in heaven or hell, it does not matter.

G and Giotto will meet again, no matter what it takes.

This is their promise, and it will never be broken.

Giotto boards the steamship.

Like paper boat into a lake, the ship slides into the great ocean, leaving its motherland behind.


They follow Asari to Japan. This is what Asari has always been: a guiding star, Polaris, the one who leads those who need it the most.

His kindness might not be endless, for Giotto has seen him tear men apart, but is deep. It expands with everything he does. Steel wrapped in silk- that is what Asari personifies. Going home only makes this more obvious.

Japan is a very different place than Italy, and for the very first time, Giotto truly understands what a sacrifice Asari must've made by journeying across the ocean.

Japan is not friendly to foreigners, and Giotto feels it deep into his bones as they arrive. They're immensely lucky Asari is who he is, really. As a nobleman, Asari has much leeway others would certainly not have had.

He presumes the reason Asari left Japan and stayed in Italy so many years helped. The town his family resides over, Namimori, flourished from the trade Asari set up, and then defended by joining the Vongola. Loaning them his sword is seen as an honourable thing- even if the people he lent it to are seen as lesser in many ways. The town's people are grateful for the wealth Asari brought them and grudgingly extend a fraction of that sentiment to Giotto, Knuckle and Alaude as well.

To fit in, to make the differences less obvious, they go by different names. At least, Giotto and Knuckle become Sawada Ieyasu and Sasagawa Ryunosuke respectively. Alaude, of course, does no such thing as ''changing'' for this foreign country Instead, he bulldozes his way through town. The local hime-sama takes a liking to him, and before they know, he is somehow married to her.

Personally, Giotto suspects that Alaude threatened Hibari-hime's father into compliance because there is no way he earned the title of warlord out of nowhere. Especially as marriage to a foreigner was technically not something the law abided. (2

A social rule that weighs much heavier upon them, however, is the fact that not entering into a marriage in Namimori seems to be the greatest crime a man can commit. So while Alaude is happily drinking tea in his castle, Giotto and Knuckle are in a bit of a pickle.

The bamboo ristles, the sakura trees flower, and spring is upon them before they know it. Giotto sees Knuckle off in a Shinto Temple, the man clad in a black yukata as he beams at his wife, cherry blossoms blowing by.

There are many misunderstandings between them- marriage is not what it meant back home here. It is akin to family, purely done for procreation. This might seem cold, but Knuckle and his wife eventually compromise until both are happy enough. This very view on marriage, in truth, is the very thing that saves Giotto himself.

Giotto is solely attracted to men, and has long since pandered away his heart to Cozart. Endlessly long letters to him prove this love is still alive, if his constantly ink-stained fingers did not already. They write more letters to each other than they can answer, some get lost in the mail, some in the wind, some in the sea, but never to their hearts.

But then again. Giotto might have come to terms with his homosexuality, but that seems to be of no consequence here in Japan- as long as he marries a woman.

The very thought of it makes his skin crawl. He might not have pledged himself to Cozart before the eyes of God, but he takes his vows very seriously. He simply does not want anybody else. But as even Asari is married off, hostile eyes increase. The locals are already graciously forgiving the fact that he is not Japanese. Not being married to the booth is a crime greater than Giotto even can imagine.

Ayane is a blessing. She wishes for naught but a child, one child only. That's it. She does not even require Giotto to be a father beyond siring the child, but by the Lord, how can he not? They wed in autumn, the leaves just as brittle as their knowledge of each other.

Little may they know of each other, but the marriage? It works.

Giotto writes Cozart, keeps writing him. Unlike him, Cozart is free of society's expectations, only the Simon with him on the island. The Simon, who breathe love with every breath they take. He understands, though, why Giotto had to marry, in the end. Neither of them pretends it doesn't hurt nonetheless.

The letters are tear-stained, but their pain brings them closer together.

Ricardo dies at twenty-eight. Giotto receives the missive, a grief-filled letter from Lampo, and mourns his cousin, the bright-eyed child that died long ago. This hurt too, he carries with him forever. The pain of losing a child is not a little thing.

But still, he cries Hallelujah for having known him, sending a prayer up to the heavens every single night. For Ricardo; For his boy. In a country where so very few believe in his God, Giotto continues to cross himself.

It brings back thoughts of shaman Sepira's predictions. Of the heir to his Dying Will, that, fortunately, Ricardo never was. So when his wife tells him she's with child, he fears.

Sepira told him of an heir. But the child is born, and he loves Yoshimune with all his heart. One look at him tells Giotto that this is not the heir of his will. He's glad. This child is his wife's, truly and wholly.

His son, Yoshimune, grows up knowing his father as a warm, sweet man, who never quite fits in. Whose yukata is always a few centimetres off centre, who's obi is always tied just touch incorrect, who's geta are often left behind as he walks on bare feet. His father is an eccentric- too occupied with his writings, both to his penpals in Italy, and the history writings Hibari-hime hires him to do. Brush stuck behind his ear, ink spilled everywhere, blonde hair wild. That is the man Yoshimune knows as Ieyasu. Outo-san.

Giotto delights in his son and doesn't rewrite his letters anymore. There is not a single thing to be hidden. The people who receive these letters know his soul; Perhaps, in a way, better than Giotto himself.

He writes letters full of Yoshimune, of his deeds, of his actions, to Cozart, G and Lampo. Even Ricardo still gets letters, though Giotto tucks those away into a drawer only he has the key to. He writes to Ricardo of the boy he could've called little brother. Of the child that is Giotto's, the child Giotto will never regret. Just like he could never regret Ricardo, even if his heart still hurts at the thought of him being gone.

To have loved and lost, is better than to never have loved at all.

Giotto carries the holes in his heart, shaped like those departed, with pride. They hurt. They'll never stop hurting. The edges of the raw pain might be dulled by time, but they'll never go away. Giotto doesn't want them to go away. He wants to walk around with a hole in his heart, and cry beneath the cherry blossoms, because he loves and he cannot stop. Does not want to stop, not even now Ricardo, now Elena, is not in their midst anymore.

He sends a prayer up to heaven, up to the Lord, every night.

He dreams of waking up with Cozart in his arms. Dreams of seeing Elena smile once more. Dreams of Ricardo, no older than eighteen years old, crying into his shoulder. Dreams of life. Dreams of death.

But wakes, for he must meet the dawn again, and see what the new day brings. Mostly, he gets out of bed in the morning because Yoshimune is waiting for him at breakfast and because the futon is not exactly an easy place to write a letter in.

Days, weeks, months, years, decades glide by, but the ink stains on Giotto's hands do not fade away. By this points, the brush has become an extension of him. As such, it is no more than logical that the morning he discovers his wife is dead, he does so only after the midday meal, when is beginning to wonder just why she never got up that morning.

It was extremely uncharacteristic of her, and he really should've checked on her earlier, but usually the morning is their separate domain. She goes her way, he goes his.

When he finds her cold on the futon, he knows she is gone. With a sad smile, he tucks her white hair behind her ears, and calls his son to him.

When his son finally looks up from his mother's corpse, tear-tracks still clearly visible, kneeling next to the bed, Giotto hesitates for a single moment. But Yoshimune is a grown man, has his own wife and children by this point, and Giotto knows he will be all right.

He is not sure if he could have abandoned him otherwise. Not when he remembers his mama calling him a good Catholic boy, even now he is an old man. But that is exactly what he is, and thus he says what he must.

''Add my name to your kaa-san's grave. Tell them I'm dead. Tell them I followed after your mother out of a broken heart.''

There is no hesitation. The town's people will believe it. Giotto is well known for his brittle heart and health.

Yoshimune stares at him, before shaking his head. ''Outo-san… You loved her, but not like that.''

And Giotto… For the first time in years, he smiles. Unburdened, it looks, and Yoshimune's eyes widen, and his hand rises to cover his heart, as if to protect it from the brightness with which it shines. It's like looking into the sun, but Yoshimune cannot look away even now it blinds him, for his father has never had this vitality, this sheer happiness, and it takes his breath away.

''I never loved her the way I should have, but love her I did, and I know she would not have wanted me to remain here. That's why I need to be dead to the world right now. Because I'm going to the person who kept the heart your mother never had, and in a way, never desired.'' His gaze softens, pressing his son against him. ''You were her treasure, Yoshimune. The one she loved the most.''

Giotto kisses Yoshimune's forehead, picks up the pack by the beside, and walks away.

It is simultaneously the very first and the very last time Yoshimune ever saw his father as he truly was, but it is seared into his mind nonetheless. That smile, that happiness, is the image that remains in the end.

The blazing sun, is what Yoshimune tells his children. The blazing sun, that was your grandfather.

He speaks of ink-stained fingers, of wistful gazes, but always, that one vibrant alive thing remains at the end. There is no other way he can remember his father anymore. Not with that glimpse into his true nature in the end.

He calls it by the single name he can think of: Hallelujah.


Giotto fakes his own death, kisses each of his friends still in town, crows into the air, and steals away like a thief in the night, leaving Namimori and all it stands for behind. He rushes out to sea.

It has been four decades since he last saw it, four decades since he last saw his love, but the sea calls like no other, like the island upon it, like the red-headed people that must have long-gone grey. His muscles tremble as he rows himself onto the ocean, rows all the way to the island, but this… He needs no dying will for this, even as old man.

He needs no dying will, because Giotto is finally living.

There is salt on his lips, an ache in his legs, as he sloshes through the shallow water, sand beneath his feet, pants wet as can be. The water is blue, the beach is white, and Cozart is beautiful when Giotto spots him between the palm trees.

His face is wizened, creasing like thick, old parchment tends to do. There are crow's feet around his eyes, he limps as he walks and he's worn in all the ways one can be. Giotto has never loved him more.

He cries, howls, laughs, as they run towards each other, both their gaits hobbling, feeling as if the wind's been knocked out of them. Still, this is their reunion, and Lord, do they love each other. They meet in the middle, embracing, patting all over each other to make certain this is real.

And it is. It is as real as the day they fused two family rings together, knowing it was the only kind of marriage they would get. They're sixty-five and sixty-four now, incredibly old by the standards of their youth, but it matters not.

All that matters is this, the sun shining, and warm arms around each other, lips meeting after a separation that lasted decades.

They live and they breathe and they dance, shuffling along the island until they can't anymore, too exhausted to go on. Two crotchety old men, except Cozart is like sunshine combined with wine, and Giotto was simply not made for being grumpy.

It is paradise, Simon island. They live their lives out there, ridiculously in love, finally together.

They are buried in the same tomb, and nobody stands up from the dead. It's not needed, really.

His heart sings Hallelujah.


Giotto lives and as any with a dying will, regrets an awful lot. But he loves his son and his wife, and for a short time, could love Cozart like a true lover too. He has lived a blessed life.

This does not mean he rests when he dies, does not mean he ascends to heaven or hell. No, when he goes, just month after Cozart, they go hand in hand, watching over their families. In the end, he even gets to see the heir Sepira spoke of.

It is a boy, fighting with his brows furrowed and fists swung in the semblance of a prayer, who rains kisses on a red-headed boy in full view of everyone and fills his heart with friends and enemies alike, walking beside them every step of the way.

It does not matter which God he follows because the path of family is divine, a love so deep blood, circumstances, nor religion matters.

Where will he go? Heaven, hell? …It does not matter. Cozart's hand is in his and their family is in good hands.

Giotto smiles, bows his head and sleeps.


Hallelujah

Praise the Lord


Author's note

This chapter is called ''The Tomb'', a reference to the tomb of Jesus Christ and the fact that Giotto is very much a mortal man because he cannot resurrect Elena.

Marriage between a Japanese and non-Japanese person was not officially permitted until 14 March 1873, a date now commemorated as White Day. Marriage with a foreigner required the Japanese national to surrender his or her social standing.

Also, many of the cultural things described in this chapter (such as how marriage was viewed) is the result of research on the time period, not necessarily something still believed in Japan today.

Thank you for reading this story- writing it was a great journey for me! I also want to thank my mother, who is the reason this exists in the first place, though indirectly it might be. Though I grew up with Catholic parents, she always gave me the choice whether I wanted to follow the religion or not, and to this day, I believe in multiple religions as result. She always told me a good Christian is one who believes in love, who strives to do the best for everyone and who try to be kind no matter what.

It's a very big topic, and it affects our societies from an extremely deep level. So even if I don't know the exact time period Giotto lived in, I could use the general idea of religion in the past. That's the point of Hallelujah, really. Of believing, even when everything goes wrong. Of having faith, though in which religion matters not, because Giotto's story preaches of love, the one emotion I believe is at the heart of everything.

I hope I managed to carry that message to you, through this story, that is so very close to my heart.

I would also like to thank i-w-p-chan , operaeagleicelynlacelett and ladyhallen for their endless support and enthusiasm! Love you, girls!