Six years earlier…
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" Lambo's clutching at his right eye, blood seeping from between his fingers.
His attacker finds this highly amusing. "Hah hah ah ah hah!" He tips off his cigar, smiling like the jolly old man he looks. "What a sceamer! Makes me wonder what else you're loud at." There are guffaws from all around as the man's group registers the perverted joke.
They're a circle around the fallen thunder guardian, every one of them holding a variation of a Bernardelli handgun except for the boss who holds steaks knifes.
One of them is covered in blood. Lambo's blood.
He sobs as he forces himself back to his feet; his body is shaking all over from shock. One of the men to the side rushes forward; grabs a clump of his hair and twists his head sharply while shoving his knee into his gut.
Lambo falls back onto his hands and knees with a choked off yell. He coughs violently.
The big man with the steak knives chuckles and waddles forward (he's round like a pregnant woman). He pets Lambo's hair like a proud father. "Now, how about we have a chat about your lover, my dear?"
Lambo whimpers; lover? Who is this man talking about? Lambo has no lover – he's not old enough to have a lover. Gokudera said that he'd blow him up if he had s-e-x before he was sixteen and Yamamoto (for a very rare occasion) had agreed (but in a less violent manner) with him. Even Tsuna didn't want him having s-e-x so young.
The man grabs his hair, pets it back for an affectionate moment, and then pulls hard, jerking Lambo's face up to look into his. "I'm sorry, did you say something, my dear?"
Lambo shakes his head, blood and tears streaking his face. He can't see out of his right eye, his right eye is throbbing, is he going to lose his eye?
"I think you did say something, my dear; I think you said you would love to have a conversation about your lover!" Lambo had said no such thing! Who was he even talking about! "You want to help me catch him? Why, yes, my dear, that would be wonderful of you!" Where was this man getting this from? "All you have to do is tell me all about him; go on, talk to us about your magnificent lover."
He has nothing to say – he still has no clue who he's talking about.
The man sighs, almost looks sad. "Listen, my dear, I want to help you out here, but you have to help me in turn." His small, swollen eyes are cruelly intent. "What do you know about the hitman, Reborn?"
Lambo's eye widens, his hands trembling somewhat – what does Reborn have to do with a supposed lover of his? Besides that, no! He wasn't going to sell out his archrival to these stingy people! If he did, they could use what they would learn to kill him and then he wouldn't be able to kill Reborn himself!
He clenches his teeth shut and glares at the man through one eye.
The man sighs sadly once more and turns his back on Lambo. "My sons… he's not going to talk! We're going to have to persuade him." He gestures for his man towards Lambo as he walks out of the circle to rest against a large cushiony chair.
The guardian watches with one wide eye as they come closer; most of them even put their guns back into their holsters, twisted grins on their faces. They begin grabbing themselves and a few of them get as far as freeing their manhoods.
Lambo feels cold everywhere as a horrible feeling envelopes him completely. What ever they plan to do, it's not laundry.
He shuts his eyes tightly and releases a war cry, charging wildly forward with his horns thrust forward; the first time he tried this, he had been effortlessly thrown to the ground. Now, the man he charges at smirks and puts his hands akimbo, expecting nothing more than a poke and then he'll have first dips.
He screams as he's electrocuted, spasms racking his body as he falls to the ground. Guns are drawn instantly and pointed threateningly at Lambo.
"Throw the horns towards us." One says in a deep, grave tone. He cocks his gun; four others follow his example.
Lambo looks from one to the other; what's he supposed to do? What would his archrival do? His archrival would have a gun, and he has to admit that that looks a lot more convenient than his close range horns.
He sucks in a deep breath; he doesn't reach for his horns.
"Are you deaf? Throw us the horns!" A hand falls on Lambo's shoulders; he spins around and shoves a horn into the man's chest – it's not long enough to kill him, but the shock is enough to send him to the ground.
"Don't touch me!" He growls at them, desperate tears falling from his eyes. They edge in – they know he can't take them all down; he can't even kill them.
He can't back up because they're at his back and he can't run forward before they're their too. He can't go to either side because he's blocked in. He's completely cut off.
He steals a deep breath; he's going to have to be daring. He's shaking like a leaf in the wind by the time they're close enough to make a grab for him.
Relying on all those times he played with I-Pin, he grabs one arm, uses it to hoists himself up, and then leaps over their backs, shoving them to the ground as he went. One grabs his ankle, but he manages to kick him in the face with the other foot.
Ribs creaking, eye bleeding, mind and body screaming, he runs as if hell would catch him if he wasn't fast enough – which isn't too far from the truth.
He can hear them behind him and it makes it harder to breathe. He kicks up his legs, speeds himself, and can't breathe through burning lungs. He sees the fence that separates him from freedom and – sobbing – realizes he won't have enough time to jump it before they catch up to him.
Regardless, he still tries; they have his ankles and shove him back onto the ground before he could make a successful escape.
One grabs him by his neck and shoves him against the wire fence, the man's face twisted into an ugly scowl. His hand is slowly but surely squeezing the life out of Lambo's body and no amount of scratching at his arm can stop him. His vision blurs… he's falling… it's so dark where he is, but he can hear them laughing and jeering.
He can't help but think that… yare, yare, it's really peaceful wherever this place he's at is…
And then gun shots echo through the air – suddenly, he can breathe. He can feel the dirt beneath his scratched up palms. He sucks in one breath after another, coughing between each steal of fresh air.
There had been 15 men, but now there's only one left, and he looks terrified for his life. He stumbles over his own feet as he backs away and then screams as if the monster in the closet had revealed himself.
It's as Lambo tries to lift himself to see who this monster might be that he realizes that his shirt is ripped open and that his pants are around his knees. Funny… he doesn't remembering that happen.
Behind him, on the other side of the fence, Reborn stands coolly, a smoking gun in one hand and the other tucked into his pocket.
Lambo jacks up his pants, scurries up the fence, and lands in front of Reborn, not even stopping his own body from wrapping himself around the hitman. He sobs into his torso, his body shaking; his vision is still swimming.
The man on the other side turns around and begins running, tripping over his own feet. A small hole blooms in the back of his head, followed by the echo of a gunshot.
Reborn neither returns the embrace or pushes him away.
Like an idiot, the fat man comes running. His face pales as he looks at all his dead 'sons'. He howls at the sky. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE! My boys! My beautiful boys! None of them deserved to die!" He drops to his knees by his many boys and grabs the nearest one, holding him as if a hug will bring him back.
Lambo can't bring himself to care one way or the other – he's terrified and in pain. He feels cold and violated, though he's pretty sure none of them got as far as stripping him.
The gun in Reborn's hand clicks, Lambo sees him take aim, and then BANG! The old man joins his sons in death.
Reborn snaps his phone out, calls in the cleanup crew, and then lifts the nearly unconscious Lambo into his arms; the guardian can't feel the pain anymore for a strange lethargy stealing over his body and Reborn is swimming in and out of focus.
When he wakes up two days later, Reborn is sleeping with his eyes open in the chair by his side; looking exactly as if he's awake except his head's bobbing with every breath he takes. Lambo reaches out to tug at him, to say that he wants water, but Reborn's hand snaps out and grabs his wrist in a bruising grip.
Lambo yelps and Reborn wakes up; the hitman looks from the wrist he's holding to Lambo's face and doesn't say a word. He walks out of the room and, a few minutes later, everyone in the Vongola family walks into it… minus Reborn.
The three weeks he doesn't see the hitman, Lambo falls into another depression; after all, why can't he follow his archrival?