A/N: I'm sorry for all the fighting scenes in this T.T I'll be getting to some really good smexeh parts later ~ I promise *well, I mean heart jerking parts, kay? Bear with me…please :) the boring parts must come before it gets any better. I'm sure most of you were very much bored by the last chapter D: (please don't tell me that though, I like to pretend you don't get bored :D) I'm very, very sorry for this, but the only way for it to progress as I want it to is to follow the plot. T.T
And if you want to sort of feel the mood in this particular chapter, try and listen to 'New Medicines' by Dead Poetic or 'Mindfreak' by Criss Angel. You don't have to, but it might help you bear with my awful writing skills :D But at least this chapter has angst in it! *well, its personal angst, but whatever* Nah, I'm kidding. The songs just sort of help add to the mood ;P
Chapter Three – Bed of Thorns
"These powers bleed your tears
the darkness calls your name
I'm staring down your fears
There's pleasure in this pain
Don't think you are alone
'Cause soon I think you'll find
I am the voice you hear
Screaming inside your mind"
-Mindfreak by Criss Angel
Yamamoto walked to the school gates, an uncharacteristic frown drawing his neat eyebrows together. His eyes stared off into the distance, glazed over as he mulled things over in his head. He'd been annoyed to have gotten caught up with school duties and had even lost his maths book. With everyone gone though, and Gokudera nowhere to be seen, he couldn't help but feel that there was somehow something very wrong. He just couldn't put his finger on it.
He was so engrossed in his own mental babblings he practically jumped thirty feet in the air when Hibari tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
The prefect drew back his finger as if the notion had dirtied him in some way.
"Oh, Hibari," Yamamoto threw on his customary grin, feigning ignorance. He hoped sincerely that the prefect wouldn't see through his clumsily disguised façade.
Sadly, it seemed as though the Disciplinary Committee leader was in no mood for acting oblivious, "I've heard that there's been a commotion just a few streets away."
Yamamoto couldn't help but frown. Why on earth was Hibari telling him this? In fact, why was Hibari even talking to him? Wasn't there meant to be some mutual truce between the two of them? Like, a truce of silence?
Hibari lifted one eyebrow, looking squarely at the swordsman, "There was blast damage. As far as I'm concerned, there is only one student at this school that possesses dynamite."
Yamamoto started, "Don't tell me Gokudera got into another fight. Damnit, those local gangs just don't know when to give up…"
Hibari swiftly thwacked him with one of his tonfa's, "Don't be ridiculous you moronic excuse for an herbivore. Even I doubt Gokudera Hayato would go to such extents just to fight off a gang of delinquents."
Come to think of it, Hibari did have a point. Yamamoto was just so accustomed to Gokudera using dynamite in every fight that to think of him not using it seemed absurd.
"Hope everything's alright…No doubt he just lost his temper."
Hibari nodded curtly, but there was a way his eyes narrowed and how they took on that calculating predatory look that made Yamamoto's stomach quiver irritably with irrational fear.
He mentally shook himself, stop worrying unnecessarily.
He pushed himself up off the wall to the school and began to walk back in the direction of Sawada's house, "Well, I'll see you at school tomorrow then Hibari."
The prefect didn't even acknowledge Yamamoto's farewell. He just stood there, rooted to the spot, arms crossed, tonfa hidden away.
As Yamamoto walked back, he felt his easy walk escalate into a jog, then into a full out run. He'd had to stay later to do the after school clean up. It was supposed to be him and Gokudera but he hadn't thought it was peculiar that his lover didn't turn up. He was accustomed to the Storm Guardian bunking and or just ditching any school duties he was given. It was just what made Gokudera who he was.
So Hibari's somehow worried - or what passed for worried in Hibari's case – irked Yamamoto. What had become so serious that Gokudera had needed to use his dynamite?
He rounded the corner and charged straight into Tsuna's house, not bothering to knock.
There was light murmuring coming from the living room and Yamamoto's heart leapt at the thought that Gokudera would be there, boasting about his fight earlier that day, making sure to not leave out one single detail. He begged for that to be the case, then this awful sinking feeling in his gut would subside.
He rounded the corner, eyes searching for that silver hair and should have already known. There wasn't any dominating scent of smoke in the room.
Only Tsuna sat on the dining room table, his chest and stomach being bandaged by a flustered Kyoko. His face was bruised and puffy, eyes defeated and dull.
Oh no…
Tsuna looked up from where he sat and Yamamoto had to grip the corner of the table to stop himself from collapsing.
"Tsuna…" He began, forcing himself to speak as his stomach plummeted into his feet, heart lurching up into his throat, "Where's Hayato?"
Tsuna's eyes began to swim with unshed tears as he stuttered the words.
"H-He was kidnapped…Oh God Yamamoto…I'm…I'm sorry…"
Gokudera groaned his way to consciousness, his face scratching against a rough, dusty floor. His shoulder was numb, side mangled and bloodied, no doubt that it was his blood that was permeating the air around him.
It took perhaps a good couple of minutes to shift himself up into a seated position. He could feel a slight breeze and looked in search of it. Instead all he found was a grate lodged into a wall, a door opposite it, with a presence that told him it wouldn't budge no matter how much dynamite he had.
As if he even had any dynamite. No doubt that yo-yo dude took it all…if they didn't then they were less gifted in the brains department than he thought.
He was surprised that his hands weren't shackled and yet, he doubted he needed to be. His body ached so much he could hardly bear it. His head must have gained at least three kilos, just through bruising, and he didn't even want to think about how much his wounded side hurt. It resembled having hot wires inserted under his skin; along with a dull electric current jolting his aching muscles every so often dare he breathe.
The pain was bearable though. It was far easier to cope with than what he had previously experienced.
There was the scraping sound of a lock being turned that threw Gokudera into a panicked frenzy. His side exploded in pain as he scampered as far away from the door as possible. Tough guy or no, whoever was on the other side of that door was no friend of his and whoever it was coming in to see him definitely wasn't going to be giving him some coffee with biscuits.
He cringed away from the pulsing light that framed the silhouette that stood on the other side of the door. The cell was small; barely two metres across every which way, so there wasn't much her could do to get away.
What struck him first were the eyes. One was a beautiful ocean blue, the other dark ruby red, but the iris seemed wrong. It was distorted and deformed yet mesmerising in the same way.
"You must be the famed Storm Guardian of Vongola Decimo," The man purred, his voice was intoxicating. Gokudera felt drawn to the man with his voice and its calm, wise edge. It held an edge to it that promised many things – it married up with his eyes perfectly – those eyes that had seen ice ages and the worst of intentions. This was somebody who might have some idea of the trauma he had experienced and a solution to it.
With a swift kick to his common sense, Gokudera centred himself. What the fuck was he doing? This was most definitely the guy that was behind this whole operation and what was he doing? Practically falling over himself to get to him. Jeez, they must have drugged him up or something.
Or it could have been those eyes.
The man walked in with a presence that spoke more than words could describe. It dominated the air around him, and Gokudera was fairly certain this man could bend anyone's will, even his.
I'd like to see you try asshole, He thought stubbornly. Score for the Italian with his unshakable loyalty. They would have to beat him senseless and then to death before he would tell them anything.
Of course, he had felt torture before. This man would not know that. As he glared up at the god-like figure with his almighty holier-than-thou aura, Gokudera couldn't help but feel smug. This man may think he would buckle under the strain of torture. If he was grateful in any way towards his past, it was its ability to strengthen his resolve and raise his tolerance towards pain to an almost unrealistic level. He was certain he would see this man sweat before he spoke a single word.
"You seem rather confident for a prisoner," He noticed, arms folded, leaning against the rocky wall.
Gokudera said nothing, only continued to glare.
"You'll wish you hadn't woken up after I've finished with you," He smiled and struck Gokudera across the face.
He was knocked to the side, crashing into the wall. His back groaned in unison to the rest of his aches as he fell forwards, hunching over himself.
He grinned through the pain, his split lip straining. So the torture begins.
Bring it bitch.
Tsuna struggled to get to his feet to console a very much panicking Yamamoto. Instead, with Reborn's booted foot added yet another bruise to the battered boys face, all he could do was look at him with pleading eyes.
"How long ago?" He asked, ready to chase any trail they may have had. His eyes were sharp, clear in their intensity. His simmering rage was so fierce even Ryohei who had just stopped talking with Haru flinched.
Reborn seemed to be the only one among them with enough experience to keep his cool, "You may think it's the end of the world, but instead quite the opposite. If you'd take the time to calm yourself, I might just explain."
Yamamoto ground his teeth together, temper near breaking point, but closed his eyes, releasing the wall from his splintering grip and took a deep breath. When his eyes opened this time, they still blazed, but it was less 'extreme' as Ryohei would so kindly word it.
Reborn nodded, accepting Yamamoto's barely contained control and motioned for him to sit beside him.
Yamamoto sat down with care, his movements all but silent. It was a stark contrast to the raging whirlwind he felt tearing up his insides.
"Tsuna heard the assailant give him name. Kokuyou High, 2nd year, Kakimoto Chikusa." His large, wise eyes narrowed. They held such power for such a young child and it only just outmatched the crushingly tight look in Yamamoto's amber eyes. The two had a silent stare down, Reborn demanding for calm, while Yamamoto felt the raw urge to go and smash something.
Reborn continued whilst their stare-off continued, "He is the worst kind of hitman Yamamoto," The infants eyes had dimmed, their childish competition forgotten as everyone leant in to what Reborn had to say.
He muttered to himself, "I'm surprised he wasn't killed right there and then. There are countless families' that would leap at the chance to slaughter the Tenth Vongola boss and his Guardian's."
Tsuna shivered, mashing his lips together so as not to make a sound. The last thing he wanted was to claim all the attention again. Gokudera must have known all along that the guy had been bad news. His heart shrivelled up into nothing as he hung his head in shame. He was supposed to protect his Guardians, not have them protect him, no matter what they had drilled into their heads.
Reborn caught on to Tsuna's slowly dominating aura of self-loathing and snapped, "If you want to wallow miserably, do it somewhere else where I don't have to see it Tsuna. If you're finished with your pity party of one, I'd like to explain."
Yamamoto hadn't taken his eyes off the infant the entire time. Though Tsuna's safety should have been at the top of his priority list he knew the Tenth Vongola boss had been bumped down to second place. All his thoughts were entirely centred on Gokudera.
He sensed the toddler was withholding information from them, and he would sit there for as long as it took for the child hitman to get it out of his system.
"The very fact that they took Gokudera means that they have plans; no doubt that involve all of us. By giving us such valuable information, Kakimoto Chikusa must want us to find them. That name though, I know I've heard it before."
Bianchi, who had been leaning against the dining room table, eyes shadowed in the dim light, spoke flatly, "Rokudo Mukuro, Reborn."
Never in his life had Yamamoto seen the infant hitman flinch. But this time, when he lifted his head to look at each of the Guardian's in turn, his eyes narrowed, "Chrome Dokuro. I knew the two were connected somehow," the child looked to Bianchi, eyes conveying more than words, "We're in more trouble than I first thought."
What on earth did Chrome have to do with this though? She was the mist guardian – what did she have to do with these assholes?
Bianchi only nodded, her crossed arms tightening, "That dumbass Hayato."
Reborn 'tched' her, "What he did was save Tsuna Bianchi. Remember that. Your brother is nothing if not loyal as a Saint-Bernard."
Yamamoto thought he might bore holes into the couch if he was left out of the loop for much longer.
Ryohei was the one to voice his concerns though, "Who the hell are they then?"
The infants face took on a dark, malicious edge that froze Yamamoto's veins, "They aren't even part of the mafia. They're outcasts, too dangerous even for us. Whatever they want with Gokudera, I can only try and imagine."
The steel poll came crashing down on his back once more, an inch away from the last spot he's been hit from. His muscles screamed out as the steel bruised him, splintering his nerves. His skin was bare, all his clothes stripped from him. All that was left was his naked form.
Gokudera would have struggled, but he'd found a way to cope long ago. He bit down on his lip, biting down harder when he drew blood, his fists clenched so tight that he knew if he was any stronger he would have broken his knuckles. His nails dug into his palms like small knives, the small flitting jabs of pain the only form of release he could find as the steel pole struck him mercilessly.
The red eyed man didn't even seem frustrated with Gokudera's silence. Instead, his movements seemed too precise to be based entirely on emotion, like they would if you were being tortured. They struck parts of his body that drained all his energy – his arms, gut, back and legs. These were the most dangerous places to strike. The bones in both his legs and arms were easy to break, and compared with a steel pole, they were nothing more than twigs under someone's boots.
He felt certain his abdomen was suffering from internal bleeding and he felt certain he'd fractured his jaw. None of that mattered though. As the beating continued, the man just kept on asking the same question.
"Who is the Tenth Vongola boss?"
Each time he asked the question, another part of Gokudera's vulnerable body was struck and his head would drown in the thick pool of pain that washed around him.
Don't look around, He ordered himself, but couldn't stop curiosity from rearing its ugly head as another figure stepped into the room.
It took on the figure of a woman, and from what he could see with his blurred, blood stained vision, she carried a staff of some sort.
Ah shit, another torture tool?
Instead, the man stopped pounding Gokudera's already beaten body, leaving him to coil in on himself on the cool floor, the gritty surface biting at his wounds.
There were murmurs, but Gokudera was fairly sure his ears were clogged with blood from the blow to the head he'd suffered earlier.
The man nodded and shut the door. Gokudera knew better than to assume they'd been discussing when to have a dinner party. Some sort of exchange had passed between them, and it was only when the man's hands came around his bruised arms and pulled him into a crumpled sitting position that he understood.
He'd swapped the metal pole for chains and shackles. Now these he feared.
Shit, shit, fucking no! Gokudera screamed in his thoughts, expecting the worst. His torn up legs squirmed, earning him a swift kick to the groin for his efforts. He groaned and went to double over but was roughly dragged up.
His wrists were cuffed and the chain attached to something in the wall behind him, lifting his arms up. Now he just looked like a tortured prisoner, powerless and defeated.
He ground his teeth together and growled despite himself.
There was a low, sickening chuckle from his captor who crouched down in front of him. Gokudera refused to look at his eyes, those bewitching, fucking understandable eyes that lured him in and took away whatever will he had left. He drew his attention to his bleeding and discolouring skin. His hips ached and old wounds from years ago taunted him with their slow, dull pain.
His voice was close, too close for Gokudera feel in any way safe. His breath rustled the hair by his ear as he murmured the words, "You may feel strong now, but what if I remind you of where you stand amongst your Guardians…what if I remind you," he laughed, his hot breath scorching Gokudera's raw skin, "Of how broken you are…"
This was impossible. Surely it wasn't possible to feel this empty and yet filled with panic. Gokudera tensed, but that was the only reaction he gave the bastard. Inside though, he was in so much pain it felt like his organs were being re-arranged. His lungs shrank and he began to hyperventilate as fear reared its own ugly head to accompany the panic, its claws digging into his flesh, draining it of all its warmth.
His blood thrummed in his veins, so hot and pulsing he thought his blood vessels would explode.
No, he can't possibly know about what happened. He wouldn't, he just…he couldn't…he…
Whatever pathetic condolences Gokudera had been about to console himself with were swept away as the man claimed his chin with cool fingers, forcing him to look the man in the eyes.
The Storm Guardian's body slackened at the hot gaze, with its raw hatred burning so beautifully amongst such vibrant shades of both blue and red. There was a blur from his left eye, which then burst into flames.
Flames of his dying-will – his pupil was still deformed, but now he was closer, Gokudera noticed that It was shaped as a Japanese character. What it said though he wasn't sure. He may have learnt Japanese, but he wasn't a fricking expert – he was Italian by birth for God's sake.
"Why?" he rasped the demand. If he was going to be raped, abused or killed, he at least deserved a reason for his sacrifice.
The man sneered, a cruel slit of a smile across his face, "Un occhio per un ochhio, tempesta custode."
The Storm Guardian started, automatically translating it in his mind, An eye for an Eye, Storm Guardian. What the hell had he done to be given this kinda treatment? Which mafia family had he pissed off?
The man continued, "My name is Rokudo Mukuro," He sneered again at the shock in Gokudera's eyes as his name registered with the abused teen, "And your family, the Vongola, along with your boss Tsuna Sawada are in need of my attention," he paused so he could relish in the paling of Gokudera's skin, "Vongola Decimo needs to feel the bitter cruelty of what the mafia world is saturated with. The senseless torture they inflict on innocent souls that mean no harm. Before I end him, I want to see his eyes swim with the fear and betrayal we felt."
This time, Gokudera resisted with as much strength as he had left, squirming as furiously as his muscles would allow. His chained arms were useless, and the shackles too strong for him to break with brute force alone.
Rokudo Mukuro just stayed crouched there, holding the Italian's chin in his hand, his grip tightening with each struggle. He loved the seething rage barely contained under the Italian bomber's green gaze. He enjoyed how the boy had abandoned himself to the pain of the beating. This was a body that had felt pain before, pain with all its different faces. His eyes held none of the terror or agony he had expected. Instead, he had seemed resigned, accepting the fate he had been dealt as best he could. He had a remarkable talent, one that Mukuro commended him for. He truly was fit to be the Storm Guardian.
But now his time as the Storm Guardian was finished. He was to be broken, shattered by the hands of this man, in the same manner as Mukuro had been. Judging by the boy's demeanour, he sensed it would not take much for him to break. If he touched the right buttons, he could unravel this child in moments. It would be quite a sight to watch his mind unravel.
"Let's awaken those nightmares of yours shall we?" the man purred and pressed his lips to Gokudera's, silencing his prisoner. He knew exactly which memory to expose to the boy's weakened consciousness. He found that shadowed memory with ease, pushing it up to the surface, his echoing screams both from past and present fuelling his strength. The memory crashed through to the surface and soon would engulf the boy entirely. All that would be left to do then was watch and enjoy.
Gokudera lurched, sickened by the man's lips on his. It dug at his heart and drained his blood from his body. God, he was so dirty, no, he was filthy. To be so weak that his senses were overcome by a kiss. He would rather die, no, he should be dead. This black pool of darkness that had become his soul should just swallow him whole and spit out his bones. And he knows who Tsuna is…God that had been his top priority! Don't let them find out Tsuna's the Tenth boss. Keep him safe.
But he'd failed, as he had all those years ago. He was unable even to protect himself. What gave him the right to even suppose he could protect another person? Did he feel so inadequate that he instead had to substitute his own safety for someone else's in order to feel strong? To feel capable of defending somebody's life with his own, knowing if his was taken, it would be a blessing rather than something to be damned?
There had never been so much darkness in his life. It swum around him, it was the dreams he dreamt, the words he spoke, even the very air he breathed. Anything he touched blackened and withered, poisoned by his tainted skin.
The man's red eye drank in any life Gokudera may have had left, whatever fire had been burning to keep himself going diminished, blown out like a candle.
Gokudera's vision was swimming, more than it had been even when his head had been struck. His lungs and throat burnt themselves to ashes as the red eyed man kept him in his mental choke hold for far longer than was safe. His mind wandered, but it was a forced wander. He could feel the pressure of the man's consciousness pushing down on his own, claiming control over everything he was.
That's why he'd beaten him, so that he wouldn't be able too resist. Gokudera felt shame wash across him. Even if he was in top form, he was uncertain if he would have been able to resist this man's ungodly strength.
The wailing child from his past rose up to claim him. He screamed himself, eyes bleeding tears of agony as the pit of his darkest nightmares rose up to swallow him whole.
He clung with whatever strength he could muster, and for that, his captor had to smile. The boy certainly had strength, and a will that would be a joy to tame and bend to his own.
With one more push of his own mental strength onto the weakened boy, Gokudera's grip on reality slipped, dragging him into the darkened abyss of his most horrifying nightmares. Stark, intense, overwhelming fear claimed him.
Agony poisoned his heart, it ached so deeply – like a physical fist curled around his chest and lungs, squeezing until he thought he would die.
His breath hitched before slowly, his vision dimmed and he was sucked back into a world he would much rather have forgotten.
I wish he'd killed me.
Yamamoto had barely slept for more than half an hour that night, his thoughts all too consumed over what Reborn had told him. They replayed in his head constantly, some overtaking others, some repeating themselves endlessly. It was like being in a room filled with children, all begging for attention.
Mukuro is an illusionist - One that has broken out of a mafia prison.
He was exiled from the mafia.
He murdered his entire family except for two others. One of them was the boy named Chikusa that Gokudera fought against yesterday.
His left eye is said to be cursed in some way.
If he's got Gokudera, then-
And then thoughts of Gokudera would swarm and overthrow everything else.
He placed a hand over his face, breathing deeply, struggling to keep his composure. If he broke down this easily, then Gokudera would be left for dead. It wasn't that he didn't trust Tsuna to find him, only that Yamamoto couldn't bear the thought of having been too weak to save his own lover.
Once again, the one to break Yamamoto out of his own mental vice was Hibari. He didn't jump out of his skin this time though. He was too busy worrying to be startled by Hibari and his strange 'appear outta nowhere' tricks.
"You're emitting a traumatic aura again Yamamoto Takeshi." It was strange how the prefect addressed you by both names, but Yamamoto just shrugged the elder boy off, digging his hands into his pockets further.
"I've got my reasons for it alright? You can't bite me to death for thinking."
If Hibari was concerned by Yamamoto's tone, he was able to cover it expertly, his tone cool in comparison, "If I know Gokudera Hayato in any way which I regrettably do, I am certain he cope with whatever situation he has been put into."
Was Hibari trying to console Yamamoto in some way? The Rain Guardian peered at the Cloud Guardian, trying to de-riddle the prefect's peculiar personality, but when he drew up nothing, settled with the small chance he may have just been trying to cheer him up. Out of character? Definitely…but a nice change of scenery? Yeah, that too.
The prefect tensed beside him and when he looked up from his enthralling view of the ground, Yamamoto mimicked his movements to the letter.
Tsuna and Ryohei with Reborn were stood by some junior high student from another school. From afar, it looked like nothing more than harmless small talk, but there was a mannerism about the guy that threw up Yamamoto's guard immediately.
Reborn, who stood beside Tsuna, looked anything but calm, his head bent in a way that the swordsmen knew was for the worst of reasons.
He picked up the pace, but was stopped by Hibari who gripped his arm.
"What are you going Hibari? If he knows anything about Hayato," The teen pulled but Hibari's grip was unbreakable.
"You move another inch and I'll bite you to death."
Begrudgingly, the Rain Guardian consented, hanging back to observe rather than include themselves in whatever conversation was passing between them.
Once the student had left, Yamamoto all but raced towards Tsuna, "Who was he? What'd he want?"
Tsuna cracked his knuckles nervously; "H-he was the one that attacked us y-yesterday…" he broke off at the blistering gaze Yamamoto gave him.
"Calm yourself Yamamoto or I'll punish you like I do Tsuna," Reborn ordered. Yamamoto snapped his gaze over to the infant, nose wrinkled in fury. If he lost any more of his temper and he'd definitely do something reckless.
The infant sensed this and leapt up, smacking the Japanese teen straight across the face. He recoiled, holding his stinging cheek.
"Calm now?"
He scoffed, "You slap me in the face and think I'll suddenly be calm?"
Reborn fixed him with a glare of his own and it shut Yamamoto up immediately. It was easy to forget the child carried a gun with him and he knew if he pushed any more of Reborn's buttons then he'd end up with it aimed at his head.
"They've arranged for us to meet them at their base later on today." The child hitman spoke matter of factly, daring Yamamoto to say anything with his eyes, "We are all to be there, so even you Hibari Kyoya."
Hibari crossed his arms, but nodded his head bluntly, "They've disrupted school life, so it's accounted for that they should be bitten to death."
Reborn nodded curtly, glad that they already had such a good asset. Ryohei had immediately agreed the moment the junior high student - Chikusa it had been - left.
Lambo would have to be excused from this, Reborn knew that. If they were up against Mukuro, unless they no longer wanted a Thunder Guardian, he would have to forfeit this round. He had gotten in contact with Chrome that who had looked very much concerned by the unfolding events and so, she too was excused. Though unbiased, she had unrivalled loyalty to both Mukuro and Tsuna. If made to fight, she would probably lose on purpose if against Mukuro and Reborn wanted as few casualties as possible.
Tsuna had gripped his fists and promised to do his best to save Gokudera from whatever cruelty he had been having to endure all this time, but it was Yamamoto he was most concerned by.
He looked up to the swordsman with clear, dark eyes.
"Yamamoto Takeshi. I'm certain I don't need to know whether you will be accompanying us on this expedition, but know this. You may come, but on one condition."
Yamamoto's jaw tensed, but he nodded. He could complain after he'd heard the condition.
"Gokudera may be our top priority, but so is the safety of every one of your comrades. Do not rate him above anyone. If he is lost to us, you cannot throw yourself into battle and sacrifice your own life for an imaginary cause. It is Tsuna's decision on what we do. Not yours. Is that understood? You are to obey every order given to you."
The toddler looked at him defiantly, wondering whether the Rain Guardian would agree. He had suspected there was a deeper relationship than what met the eye between the two Guardians', but as long as it wouldn't interfere in operations such as these, he would say nothing about it.
Yamamoto wondered for a moment if he should resist, but he knew it would be infantile and instead, offered no resistance and agreed diplomatically. He turned to Tsuna, "I trust you'll know what's best. You always do," he grinned to take the edge off his words.
"We meet out by the gates at four o'clock. I'll be waiting," Reborn said as he turned and left.
Yamamoto felt his jaw muscle tense and looked out at the school gates, out to wherever Gokudera may be being held captive.
A little longer Hayato. Just a little longer – please hold on.
Mukuro pulled away from the tortured boy, his eyes holding a dark sheen of triumph. It had taken a while to break him, but he had succeeded. It seemed this boy was far more scarred than even he had thought. Whatever hell he had been through, it must have been quite stunning to have caused this much damage.
Tears dropped from his eyes freely. He'd been dressed again. His clothes were dirty, but un-bloodied like his body was. It hid the worst of his injuries and wondered how long it would take his comrades to notice how much pain he was in. The child looked like he could barely breathe, let alone speak, so whatever pain was rocking through his body would be suffered through in silence.
A sadistic smile turned the man's lips up. This boy would have been a brilliant asset had he not been a part of the mafia. But then of course, it had been the mafia that had turned this child into such a delectable creature. The way irony played with life was always entertaining to the man's bewitched eyes.
Gokudera wept silently, raw agony tearing him apart from the inside when the man left. He would be left here no doubt, until the battle that was so surely to come was over. No matter how strong he knew Tenth was, he was positive not even Reborn would be able to stand against that ferocious monster.
Pain bucked him back into order; as if angry he'd turned his attention away from it for merely a moment. He lurched forwards, sobbing like an infant, gagging on his own breath. His chest ached, his lungs so heavy he was sure they had been replaced with bricks. They dragged him into the ground, but he could only lean so far. His wrists were still shackled, hung up above his head. The blood had run out of them long ago, and he barely had enough will to keep on breathing, let alone clench his fists to keep the blood circulating.
He wasn't afraid if he died. Before, his fury and pleads to die had been filled with self-loathing. Now though, he had no energy. He wasn't even running on empty. There was nothing there. He was an empty shell, the ghost of the boy who had been thrown in here earlier. His eyes had taken on such a dark burning shade of green earlier, but now, were dulled and closer to grey.
He'd never felt so defeated and so weak to his own ferocious demons.
As if on queue, a wail ricocheted through his barren mind, its sound harsh and raw, begging him for more attention and comfort than he could give.
It's already been done, was all he could think, scream all you want. Shriek if you want. No matter what, it's gonna be done to you, and you just live past it. You just…live…
Before, the Storm Guardian had felt certain he would have something to live for in his life. Once he'd arrived in Japan, his life felt fuller, more complete. His friends and experiences didn't fill the gouging hole in his heart, but it had helped it heal, shrunk it so that the pain was more than endurable. He'd begun to move on, to grow stronger, and believed he had made it past the fear and the terror of what he'd experience back in Italy.
Instead it had been a dream. Nothing but a bare illusion. It was rather cruel if you thought about it. He'd felt at peace with who he was. He'd even found himself someone he cared for more than both himself and the Tenth.
Yamamoto.
This time, the jerking motion was from an all too different kind of pang. It dug away at his gut and he drew his knees to help muffle the pain. Tears kept on coursing down his smooth, reddened cheeks, stinging at his bruises and cuts. They spilt onto the floor, pooling around him.
He was in no way able to go back to him. Whatever progress he had made with his lover had just been crushed. The sins he'd been forced to commit had made him filthy. He was rotten, a poison that would kill the person who meant most to him. If he was any kind of man, he would end it. He would.
But he couldn't and the cowardice he felt for that made the tears fall harder. He was so weak he wished he would just crawl away and die somewhere. There wasn't enough light in the world to chase away his darkness. Maybe Yamamoto might have once been able to. He even had been, little by little. He'd never forced Gokudera. If he stopped half-way through, he would pout and fondle him, but stopped. The respect he felt for his lover swelled till it nearly hurt in his chest. He doubted Yamamoto would handle what Gokudera had been through. Fuck, not even he was coping.
His body ached, both from past and present wounds. The ghost fingers from his past ran over his skin and he groaned a sound that soon morphed into a whimper.
Gokudera let his eyes slide shut, but the tears still leaked from the corners of them, but he still seeked peace in the darkness, but finding only more pain as tainted memories rushed into his thoughts and his body spasmed in the painful throes of suffocation and drowning. The words from the men echoed around him, and they held such a tangible element that each voice seemed to strike at him in more violating ways than another.
This time it wasn't his younger self that was suffering, but the both of them. His out of body experience had been him moving on. But Mukuro had made sure to turn him around and push him back to square one. Now he was suffering through the torture all over again.
The humiliation tore at him and he cried out, a hoarse cry that would jerk the heart strings of the toughest of men. It was a desperate plea, no, a begging for some form of salvation and forgiveness. He begged to be released, to be saved and held away from the cruelty of this world, of his own world.
But instead there he was, chained in a cell to battle his demons alone, with nothing but tears as a weapon. Pity had never beaten them before; it wasn't going to win now.
"You're ours for life boy."
"No! Please!" he had shrieked the words, only to be silenced by one of the men's thick, hot appendages. He'd gagged around the hot length, choking as it was driven into his throat at a brutal speed. His lower back burned as he was taken from the back as well.
Both men rocked him back and force at irregular intervals, so he either ended up being choked or torn up. He couldn't choose which was more painful or traumatic.
Fingers clawed at his skin, in their obvious pleasure. He tried to concentrate of the small pricks of pain, like you would a drop of rain amongst a fire, but it was lost in the blaze.
Just as he was.
Gokudera winced, physically retracting from the memory. He would have hugged himself, but his arms were chained. He could feel blood trailing down them in thin rivulets and wished that was the only pain he had to focus on. It was dull, natural, unlike the beastly misery he had had to withstand before.
What a masterpiece he'd made of his life. He was so gone he couldn't scrunch up his face and cry. He just sat hunched over, hair hanging over his face, hiding the tears that just kept on falling one by one. If only the memories could fall away so easily.
He wished for someone to understand him and forgive him, to cry with him, feel his pain and share it.
He'd thought that might have been Yamamoto. But Yamamoto was gone. He wouldn't be able to save him. He was lost to the world and he knew it. Dare he touch his lover again and he was sure he would ruin it like he did everything he touched. Gokudera couldn't help but love the baseball nut, his heart yearning for that same gentle touch he had grown so accustomed to feeling. Those warm inviting lips that drank all the sorrow away from him. Without them, he felt naked and bare, detached from the world.
He was drowning and there was no light to beckon him towards the surface, just the dark waters, enclosing around him.
Gokudera had been drowning silently for years, the tide flowing in closer and closer. All that had distracted him from the slowly deepening waters had been Yamamoto's life line.
But Yamamoto wasn't anywhere and without his lifeline, he was powerless to the powerful that threatened to drag him away.
No one had been able to see or reach him. Not even Yamamoto had been able to notice Gokudera's pain.
No, he had, and had worried constantly about it. Just like that night when he'd hallucinated. Yamamoto musts have been certain there were more skeletons rattling around in his closet than there had appeared, but like the moron he was, Gokudera had ignored any reassurance Yamamoto had been willing to give him.
All he wanted to do know was physically follow through on what he'd already done emotionally. Numbness spread through him, his eyes carrying the pain his heart refused to divulge.
He wouldn't cry. He couldn't. If he had any pride left, then he would use to suffer in silence. No-one needed to see how much pain this had caused him, or how such a thing had left such deep scars. He was alone in the world and knew it was the best way for him to live.
Apathy settled around him and he gladly took it in, the tears still rushing down his face. At least now when he opened his eyes and saw not the cell he was locked in but the dank, darkened room from his memories, he wouldn't have to grit his teeth through the misery. He was void to it. It couldn't reach him now. It had done its damage. All that remained was his vacant eyes and the overwhelming sorrow.
I'm sorry Yamamoto…please forgive me… but…you weren't enough to save me…It was early when Yamamoto had left classes to walk towards the school gates. He'd just had sport and had gotten dressed at lightning speed. There was a question he wanted to ask Reborn, one he knew he just couldn't ask around the others.
Yamamoto was startled but surprised to see their method of transport when he got to the school gates and despite the severity of the situation, chuckled.
Reborn stood on the seat of one of the five motorcycles and fixed him with a smirk, glad with the reaction.
Yamamoto cleared his throat cautiously, "Uhm, Reborn?"
"Hmm?" The child posed it in as open a way as possible.
The swordsman rubbed the back of his head before scratching the side of his nose. What a terrible poker face, the infant thought.
"If you're wondering why I directed the conditions only to you then you carry a lower IQ than I anticipated Yamamoto."
Yamamoto felt his ears redden and stammered, "T-that's harsh…"
The child sighed, sitting himself down on the seat like he owned the bike, "you don't need to pretend you haven't got an established relationship with Gokudera anymore you know. Everyone knows; there's nothing to be embarrassed by."
Yamamoto felt his cheeks redden despite his best efforts. He dug his hands into his pockets, not knowing what to do with them, "Nah, it's not that…it's just…ok, yeah, It's a little embarrassing, but everyone's known for ages so I was just wondering why you decided to put such a proposal to me now. I've done loads of operations with Gokudera and you've never warned me like you did this morning…"
The child sighed, but understood the teens point.
"The enemy is beyond strong Yamamoto. I'm sorry to sound blunt but I think you can handle it."
Yamamoto narrowed his eyes at the hitman, "what?"
Reborn sighed, "It's been 19 hours since we saw Gokudera. If he really is being held captive by Mukuro, well, I don't think even Gokudera can hold out for that long."
Yamamoto felt his face fall, "What do you mean Reborn? He can't possibly have been killed yet!"
The child's eyes took on that old sheen again, so old and filled with the past it nearly hurt to look at them, "Yes I understand that but, if Mukuro's torture methods are anything like what I've read, Gokudera will most probably be either dying or wishing he was dead."
All the blood and feeling in Yamamoto's body washed away with the soft breeze that swept around the two boys.
"W-what are his methods Reborn?" Yamamoto couldn't tell if his tone was angry or scared.
The child had his arms crossed, hat pulled down so his eyes were hidden, "It's a very specific type of torture. He never needs information; he can get it by any means. I won't say he's popular because he isn't but he has nearly as many connections as the Vongola do."
Yamamoto's patience took another blow, "Reborn, how does he torture prisoners?" The word 'prisoner' left a sour aftertaste in his mouth.
The child looked pained but continued, "He beats them senseless so they can't fight him off when he enters their sub consciousness. I did say he was an illusionist. What I didn't mention was how he's a mentalist as well, the most dangerous of ones too. He finds your most painful memories and forces you to relive them. It's the cruellest of torture because he only has to sit back and watch. If ever he did need information, I don't know a man on earth that would be able to hold their tongue after having to suffer through their own hell twice."
Yamamoto swallowed, his eyes wide in horror. Gokudera had to suffer through this? Did he still have to endure it?
Thankfully, this was the exact moment when Ryohei appeared with Tsuna. They'd had sport with Yamamoto too, but when he'd mentioned he had something to ask Reborn, they had both let him leave with a smile on their faces.
"You alright Yamamoto?" Tsuna asked the question carefully, like he treading on glass.
He nodded, smiling like nothing was wrong, "I got the answer I needed."
Tsuna seemed relieved, but his relief was short lived. He saw the bikes and his eyes widened to an abnormal size.
"Oh god no," he moaned. Reborn smirked, all too aware of how much his student hated the machines.
"One of them is in for service, so Yamamoto; you can use Gokudera's." The child directed it at Yamamoto none too subtly and he hated how his cheeks reddened.
Tsuna put a hand on his friends as Yamamoto gripped his lover's bike, "I know how much he means to you Yamamoto. I'll do everything I can so we can save him."
Yamamoto nodded, smiling sadly. How long had it been since he and Gokudera had come out about their relationship? Two months maybe? It was surprising how everyone had adapted to it and gave them their blessing. It wasn't that they had felt like they would be shunned, it was the 21st century for god's sake, but they were worried Tsuna or Reborn would see them as more of a drawback rather than an asset.
They'd settled back into their lives easily, relieved that their relationship no longer had to take place in secret, or be held under the radar like some hidden kitten they didn't want their parents to notice.
In fact, it was embarrassing to find out everyone had had their little hunches and weren't surprised. Good to know they had fool-proof poker faces.
When Hibari made his way towards them, they all strapped up and with their weapons concealed in either a sports bag like Yamamoto's – his baseball bag to be precise - or a compartment hidden in the seat of the bike, they revved their engines and drove away in the direction of the base they'd be directed to.
Soon, Yamamoto thought, not daring his heart too leap too soon with hope. It was too easy for the emotion to betray him. Instead, he just concentrated on the gears of the bike and the fact that this was Gokudera's, not his own, but his lovers. It definitely sounded like the boy he loved – furious, powerful and intimidating. But very, very reliable and he knew how delicate these machines were. If you didn't take care of them, they broke down on you.
He gripped the handles at the thought, promising himself he wouldn't stop until he found him.
I'll find you Hayato. I promise.