A/N: Before I chatter away (I can tell I'm going to babble for this one D:) I'm really sorry if there were any grammatical errors in my last chapter (for the Italian mostly...) I don't speak a word of it, and in fact, I'm so bad at languages I normally get it confused with Spanish (face palm insert) so I relied on a translator for everything Gokudera said (but nearly everything spoken in Italian was written in English when he was thinking XD) If anyone who speaks Italian is appalled by the translators grammar (or not, it might be all correct :D) then please don't criticise me too much XD (Oh, and I don't know why my quote from the last chapter F***ed itself up...O.O centring text on hates me XD)

So... the angst now really begins to build up and the plot takes a bit of a turn ;D but don't worry yourselves too much – the comfort will begin soon XD (finally :P) The following chapters will probably be the hardest ones for me to write, mostly because I've never been in this situation (and would like to keep it that way) so, just so I don't offend anyone, this my impression of how I would imagine Gokudera and Yamamoto reacting and or expressing their emotions – kay? It's called artist's/author's expression :)

And thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews (I haven't got many, but each one of them is exactly what keeps these fingers skimming away 83 I would be lost without all your support ;D it fuels my greedy muse too) –looks to muse who is stuffing her face with chocolate. *sigh* you could at least be polite and eat like a human…-

But again, a brilliant song for this chapter and the next – Best of Me by Sum 41 (surprisingly it's rather melodic) and then there's Linkin Park's new song 'Iridescent'. Both are beautiful, and if you can be bothered to listen to either or both when reading this chapter, I don't know...I just think the music helps add to the mood of it ;D (At least that's what I do when I write :D)

Ok, my god...too much rambling...sorry! –Shuts up and writes- (but first...some sleep...)

Chapter Five - Comfort of Lies

"When you were standing in the wake of devastation
When you were waiting on the edge of the unknown
and with the cataclysm raining down
your insides crying, "Save me now"
You were there, impossibly alone.

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but failures all you've known.
Remember all the sadness and frustration
and let it go.
Let it go."

-Iridescent – Linkin Park

There was the hum of voices in his ears. He strained away from them mentally, like retracting a hand. He wanted to sleep so badly. He'd been so worried...so caught up with things...when was the last time he'd gotten any good sleep?

His numb body slowly came to life again, and it wasn't too long before the noises of reality buzzed even louder in his head – a radio that was finally settling on a station.

He groaned, eyes breaking open slowly. Someone gripped his hand tightly at the movement, and he coughed, opening his eyes wider, "Ugh..." was the best he could manage. His vocal chords felt dry and he swallowed thickly.

"Takeshi?" A small, low voice asked quietly, husky with what he knew must be fear.

Yamamoto squirmed, feeling out his surroundings. He was lying on the floor, his right hand captured by Gokudera's he supposed. There was a stinging, no, raw burning sensation that cut across his chest, the pain washing over him in hot waves. It wasn't enough to engulf his senses, but it still made his head throb.

Just as he was about to push himself up onto his elbows, he was crudely kicked in the side of the face by someone's foot.

"Reborn!" Gokudera cried, shocked by the toddler.

"If he's awake, then he should get up. C'mon sleeping beauty," was all the toddler could be bothered to say, "You've got to get this one home."

Yamamoto's eyes had barely opened, but he turned his head slightly to find the toddler stood right by his face, pointing to Gokudera.

"H-How's your wound?" Tsuna asked quietly. He fidgeted with his gloves, eyes looking anywhere but at Gokudera.

Yamamoto shot him a smile like he would if someone had just told him he'd made the baseball team, "Just a scratch. Nothing more. Takes more than that to take me out."

"Unfortunately," Hibari said but was cut off with a sharp hiss. Ryohei had woken up, and with his first aid done on his damaged arm, he had Hibari in a strange sort of headlock, with Hibari's body pressed to his from the side.

"What on earth?" Yamamoto accidentally asked aloud. Looks like being hit around the head too many times shorted out his mental filter.

Gokudera spoke flatly, "He dislocated his shoulder. Ryohei's the only one that knows how to fix it."

There was a cracking sound, and it must have been painful, even for Hibari, who groaned as his shoulder was locked back into pace. Yamamoto couldn't help but cringe. That was his biggest fear in baseball. Dislocate your shoulder once, and it becomes a handicap. That shoulder will always be weaker and more prone to dislocation again.

Yamamoto stubbornly got to his feet, despite Tsuna's best efforts to get him to sit down and try to 'rest'.

"Am I allowed to go back on one of the bikes with Gokudera?" He asked, voice straining as he tried to hide how much his chest burned. He could sense it wasn't as deep as he thought, but definitely more than a scratch. He was impressed that Gokudera had managed it though – had Mukuro followed through without Gokudera's mental struggles, Yamamoto would be split in two. He had to give his lover more credit when handling a sword.

Reborn nodded, arms crossed, "You may. We won't be far behind you."

"Right," Yamamoto said absent-mindedly, pushing up with hands to get himself up onto his feet without straining his chest too much. Gokudera hooked his arms around one of Yamamoto's helping the Rain Guardian as best he could. He'd grown rather silent, and Yamamoto was worried about how distant those eyes of his were getting. After he'd gone to all that trouble to coax the bomber out of his shell, it'd be disastrous if he clammed up, especially when he had promised to be honest with the swordsman.

"C'mon Hayato," he said softly, hooking his arm over Gokudera's shoulder, and his over his own. This way both of them were borrowing strength from the other and though Yamamoto may be more physically wounded that his partner, he knew it was Gokudera that needed the most support.

As they trudged towards the line up of motor cycles, Gokudera couldn't help but wonder if Yamamoto was going to have a go at him or not. He knew the Rain Guardian had more than enough reasons to be angry at him, but didn't feel prepared mentally for the onslaught of criticism he knew he would have coming at him.

"T-Takeshi-?" He spoke his lovers name quietly whilst Yamamoto set up the bike.

Yamamoto looked up from where he'd been fumbling with the ignition key and smiled warmly, "yeah?"

Gokudera felt that intense bubbling lurch rise in his throat, feeling the strange warmth that came from it. Those eyes of Yamamoto's, so ready to forgive and move on. No, they had already forgiven him.

"Your...your sword..." The bomber mumbled, holding out the weapon, hands shaking on the hilt. He knew it, he was poison. This sword had won Yamamoto every battle, had saved his life more times than could be counted. It had become a second arm to Yamamoto, a bare extension of his body. They were one whenever he fought, moving at its masters will with more obedience than a marionette to its puppeteer. To have such a thing turned on its master, he could feel the sword pulsing furiously at Gokudera, could feel the aching weight of it in his palm, outstretched to the Rain Guardian. It was supposed to protect its wielder, not slaughter him.

Yamamoto took the blade from him, that same warm, open smile pulling at the corners of his lips, "Thank you Hayato. You kept it safe, thank you."

He swallowed thickly, his voice flat, "But not you."

Yamamoto sighed, storing his katana away in the bikes secret compartment before hooking a leg over the bike, resting down on its leather seat. The wheels of the bike crunched on gravel at the added weight.

This time it was Yamamoto's turn to beckon Gokudera closer. But he did it with his eyes. He knew words could be deceptive, and didn't want Gokudera to get the wrong impression. Words didn't matter to him, he took them as they came, but knew how suspicious Gokudera was of words. He knew they were two faced and could cut you down to a raw skittering wreck, but Yamamoto had nothing to say that would matter. All he could do was feel what he knew couldn't be said, let them burn brightly within him, those precious emotions that defied explanation, and push that through with expressions and his eyes, hoping it would help Gokudera's pain fade. It had to; it was all he could do.

Come on, they invited, but there was an undercurrent. It wasn't a command, but close to one. He refused to allow Gokudera to sink back into that dark pool of misery, not when he could still help.

"But..." Gokudera began, starting to edge away. If you show me kindness, I'll lock onto you, drain you dry. I can't...I just couldn't do that...

"Hayato, you can't walk back."

There was a double entendre to that statement. No, you couldn't get back to the house on foot, but also, I won't let you go back to that near dead state. I won't let you lose yourself.

Gokudera didn't see the underlying edge to Yamamoto's words though, but still obliged and sat down on the bike, trying to distance himself as far away as he could without falling off.

Yamamoto revved the engine and threw it into gear and the engine kicked it forwards so quickly Gokudera thought he was going to slide off the back. He quickly wrapped his arms around Yamamoto's waist and held on like his life depended on it, even gripping the boys belt holsters.

Yamamoto laughed at Gokudera's sudden movement and his shuddering body ran through Gokudera's skin like molten honey, warming his skin.

The hum of the bike was soothing to Gokudera's cracked and fraying nerves, its continuous rhythm easing him into a sense of calm as he rested his head against Yamamoto's strong, muscled back. His eyes closed, his own breathing unconsciously synchronising with his lovers as he breathed in and out. He felt the steady thud of Yamamoto's heart, the tangible evidence that he was still there, still alive.

That he was still beside Gokudera.

A small smile broke across the Italian's solemn expression, cracking his otherwise expressionless mask. Yamamoto was more than he asked for, so much more than he deserved, but he knew he would make himself more worthy.

Except his sense of calm was shattered as a small voice inside his head reminded him of both what he had to tell Yamamoto, and what he'd done to him.

He has to know, the Italian thought, it's not right for him to have done what he has and not know but...but...

He felt the tide of madness wash in closer, the darkness ready to unleash its suffering agony on him once more. Numbness started to claim him again, his eyes slowly becoming lifeless once more as self-loathing consumed him. Yamamoto had done so much, saved him, loved him, and what had he done? He'd taken his sword and nearly murdered him with it.

His grip tightened on the swordsman's waist. He didn't want to let go of this boy, this brilliant soul that lit up his world and showed him the beauty of life that would still be cloaked in shadow without him. But...did he have the courage to be honest? Could he do it?

Tears welled up once more and leaked out from the corner's of his tightly closed eyes. He wept, both for his own suffering, the pain he'd thrown upon his lover, the misery he'd caused everyone, his own weakness, his sins, his overwhelming despair, but most of all, the loss of his innocence and the darkness that lurked in the hearts of all men. He knew better than anyone how thin the tightrope of life was, and how terrifying the darkness was. Even with Yamamoto safely within his grasp, he wept.

Wept for his lost mother, the cruelty life gave him, wept for how hard he'd fought and yet failed, wept from the pain of his scars, wishing that this wonderful boy in his arms could heal the scars even he could not reach.

He couldn't not care about Yamamoto. He had tried in the beginning, but his efforts were wasted on the gifted, almost adorable boy.

Gokudera knew all too well things didn't hurt you if you didn't care about them; He had learned that a long time ago, at too young an age. It had defined him, almost too much. The loneliness had moulded him into what he was now. It hurt to think it was the things you cared about that hurt you... that destroyed you so easily...He wished it wasn't true, but after what had just done to Yamamoto, he couldn't deny it.

Love could destroy you. Within moments.

The motorbike purred its way down the still suburban streets, its engine as low and rumbling as a prowling cat. The silence that had built up between the two boys wasn't uncomfortable, in fact, Gokudera felt grateful it. He appreciated Yamamoto's ability to know when to shut up and let someone think. He was strangely talented in that area of expertise. He knew when someone was quiet because they were lost in their own thoughts, but also knew when someone was slowly losing it. It was a remarkable talent, and he was sure the baseball fanatic would exploit it tonight.

Gokudera hopped off the bike first when they arrived back at the house, but made no attempt to help Yamamoto get off. The swordsman didn't need any help, but even so, it would have been polite. Gokudera smarted at the distance he was putting between them, but knew it was his only way of keeping control.

Yamamoto parked the bike, wrestled to get his katana out from that fiddly little secret compartment under the seat, then killed the engine, pocketing the keys. He walked on to the front door, unlocked it and held it open, free arm held out to Gokudera.

"We're home you know. You can go in." He was saying more than necessary, but thought the Storm Guardian needed it. He had to be shown that whatever he was going to tell him, it didn't affect him. He had to make sure Gokudera was confident with his relationship between him and Yamamoto, or else he knew he would clam up and shut him out.

Gokudera slipped by him into the darkened house silently, making his way immediately up the stairs. Yamamoto sighed at the sound of the shower being turned on. He had to admit, Gokudera deserved at least a little peace. But despite that, he was worried. He felt like if he left the boy alone for too long, then that cold dull nothingness would swallow him again.

Hayato, just what happened to you?

Gokudera was too exhausted to take off his clothes when he started the shower.. He felt so grimy and filled with filth that he knew even if he scrubbed himself raw, he would only have broken the surface.

No, he snapped angrily, stop it. Enough with the self wallowing.

Angrily, he turned up the cold nozzle, ducking his head under the cold current, hissing at its sudden temperature. It helped clear his head though, even if just temporarily.

As his dark thoughts slowly receded, along with that insatiable wailing, he pounded his fist into the tiled wall, the dull jolt of pain helping him keep a firm yet still barely-there grasp on reality.

It was time. He should have done this long ago. Yamamoto wanted answers and he was going to give them to him, no matter what. Some of the answers he couldn't fully possess right now... but he would. He knew that behind that chained door and window in his mind was the darkest, blackest part of his past, one which he had sealed off long ago so the hurt wouldn't kill him. No matter what, he would break through it. It was time to see and remember what he had been running from for so long. The time to cower away and run was finished. He had to stand and fight his demons. Or be left dead.

In his anguish, he found a strange burst of strength, or maybe it was just his desperation to live up to Yamamoto's expectations. These memories had too much power over him; they had done for far too long.

They had some kind of hold over him that had made Yamamoto hurt and even himself in a way he'd never, ever dared to imagine. Gokudera needed to know why. Neither of them had suffered through this to have him back out like a coward.

In his mind, he strode up to the menacing looking oak door, painted white like the panes of the window frame. The chains looped around its frame seemed so frail.

Enough, he thought with his newly found strength. He didn't know how long this strength would last, and decided to throw himself into it like he did a fight.

First he tackled the window. In his thoughts, he struck through the glass, the black glass shattering under his fist. The muffled screams suddenly took on a whole new level of loud, consuming his senses.

Struggling through the quaking screams, he took a firm hold of the lock on the chains, planting his foot on the door for leverage. He pulled with all the strength he had, grunting and screaming in frustration. The rusted metal finally gave, and the chains fell away into nothing.

Come on, Gokudera thought as he hunched himself over in the shower, the water now so cold he could feel his body shudder with each breath, open. Come on!

With a roar, he kicked forwards, opening the door in a truly Gokudera-style fashion.

The onslaught of fear tore at him, the shame and carnage that lay just beyond the doorframe clawing into his heart, its white hot claws raking his chest.

No, he was not going to run and hide and nurse his hurts in solitude. He wouldn't run and lock away his pain in a box and hope it stayed there, quiet and obedient. Pain didn't work that way. It poisoned, rotted and dug its roots in deeper, sucking you away into it bit by bit. But enough was enough. He and Yamamoto had nearly destroyed themselves and each other in the past when they'd first started their relationship because they both retreated too easily. They would hide away in their own protective silence if ever their hearts were in danger of being hurt.

Both had been wary of each other, and their emotions so out of control in the beginning that they didn't have a clue what to do with themselves, much less the other person's feelings.

But since then, Gokudera had learnt a thing or two, including the fact that his and Yamamoto's relationship was worth fighting for. It was worth the pain of his memories and the struggle and the agony he had to endure. If he couldn't understand what was going on in his own head, then Gokudera was just going to have to force himself to understand.

Fuck you and your screams; he thought furiously, this is my fucking life! I'm the one that controls it – not some fucking memory!

He knew his masquerade was frail in its strength, but it was what he needed to strive onwards and walk through the doorway into the black chasm.

Yamamoto had been sat on the couch, head in his hands for a good hour and a half now. He'd known the best option had been to give him time. He'd gone to get changed and was now sat in jeans and a navy t-shirt. He struggled to keep control of his breathing, each thought anticipating what it was Gokudera was going to tell him.

He was just about to make his way up to the shower room to make sure Gokudera hadn't fallen asleep in the bath or something when a gut wrenching, blood curdling scream of raw, intense agony bit through his skin. It echoed off the walls in the empty house and was so strong Yamamoto thought he'd been mentally kicked.

"Hayato!" He yelled, leaping to his feet.

He bounded up the stairs at break neck speed, taking three at a time.

He tore around the corner and down the corridor towards the shower room. He could still hear the rushing water, but there wasn't any steam coming out from under the door like there usually was.

He threw open the door and froze. The instant he set foot in the frigid room, Yamamoto's heart filled with dread.

Gokudera's aura was so suppressing Yamamoto thought he would be driven into the floor with how heavy and opposing it was. It practically dimmed the room into total darkness and the brutal force of it threw his head straight into an immense migraine.

"Hayato!" He called out through the rush of water and haze of stars that burst across his vision.

As he made his way into the room, shutting the door behind him lest Bianchi came in, Yamamoto was shocked by what he saw.

Both mirrors and some of the lights had looked like they'd exploded, the glass splintered and smashed, littering the tiled floor and sinks. Thin trails of blood clung to the mirror edges that stayed held in place on the wall, a small crater splintering the glass inwards.

What had Gokudera done? Their sanitary items, shavers, tooth brushes, tumblers, shampoo, everything had been either ripped apart or shattered.

Yamamoto's heart leapt into his throat savagely, but after a few moments as he willed his heartbeat to slow, did he notice the crumpled figure huddled in the corner of the enormous shower stall.

"Hayato," he uttered the name like a prayer and made his way over to his lover.

He found him pressing himself into the furthest corner of the stall, fully clothed, body slumped in the corner, legs pulled up, arms hugging himself, rocking back and forth, shivering under the cold blasting water.

With a flick of his wrist, Yamamoto turned down the cold and evened it out with the heat so it was just hotter than lukewarm. The last thing he wanted was to give Gokudera chill-blains.

The silverette's fingers clawed his bare forearms ruthlessly, eyes staring ahead blankly, so lost and trapped in his own hell that it killed Yamamoto inside to look for too long.

The boy's nails just kept on clawing, deep enough to draw blood. The frightening shadow of despair in the boy's eyes crept closer, forging onwards steadily, ready to take full control of the Italian's psyche. Gokudera shook and cried silently, the running water diluting his tears. But the swordsman saw how blood shot and red-rimmed his lover's eyes were and just knew. The Italian hadn't looked up when Yamamoto had entered – he didn't even seem to know he was there. He seemed entirely unaware of his surroundings, a blind lamb in a field with nowhere to go. His eyes were glassy and sightless, more than shell-shocked – they were dead.

Gokudera was dead – figuratively. Whatever he'd let himself dwell on whilst running the shower, it had obviously dug under his skin and thrown him over the edge.

Yamamoto's heart pounded in his chest, wanting to burst out of his ribcage and replace Gokudera's broken one. He wanted to cradle his soul in his hands and heal it with all he had, but knew if he didn't act soon, Gokudera would be beyond repair.

He fell to his knees, the warm water immediately soaking him, "Hayato...Hayato! What the hell are you doing?" He tried to drag his lovers clawed hands away from his obsessive clawing, but the stunned Italian was too strong to restrain. "Damnit, stop it, please! Hayato!"

Still Gokudera didn't register his presence, even when Yamamoto shook him, softly at first, almost gently, but then his movements became more urgent, wanting to pummel a response out of the boy. Still he got nothing, not even when his hands gripped Gokudera's forearms bruisingly tight.

Shit, what was wrong with him? Hayato...oh God...what do I do?

While the water trickled down his face, the boy just stared onwards sightlessly, looking and god knew what, tears down his cheeks at a horrendous rate, trailing down well worn tracks.

"Please Hayato, say something, please. What's wrong? Look at me! Hayato, please!" Yamamoto felt whatever control he'd built up crumble, and he was beginning to feel both disturbed and exceedingly frightened.

The small, heart rending sounds of his lover's sobs that wracked his entire shivering body were his only reply. Whatever private hell that had been incarnated for his eyes only his lover had been trapped in, it must be beyond horrifying. Yamamoto was desperate to drag him out, but he didn't know how anymore, nothing seemed to be working. Before, Gokudera had at least responded. This time, he just rocked back and forth, his sobs of intense despair the only proof he was still alive in there.

In his desperation and increasing panic, Yamamoto tried to force his rain affinity to calm and sooth his lover, forcing his flames to enter the boy's body and calm his nerves. All that did was make Gokudera shudder and recoil.

In desperation, Yamamoto cracked his palm across Gokudera's face, but all that did was knocked his face in the wall, and there it hung, eyes still vacant and lost to the darkness.

"Hayato!" Yamamoto screamed, crying now too, hugging his lover as tightly as he could. To Yamamoto's surprise, this made his lover jolt, and even resist a little, but the moment was lost, and Gokudera just went still, unable to rock backwards and forwards when held against the wall by Yamamoto's strong body. Even slapping the Italian hadn't gotten his attention; it didn't even seem to have registered with the boy.

Yamamoto could feel his heart constricting, lungs straining as stress began to thwart his insides. His blood thrummed in his ears, eyes blurring with tears as he looked at his catatonic lover.

"Please Hayato...you promised me...you promised me!" He dipped his head as he bellowed the words in despair, tears streaming from his eyes, fist slamming into the slick tiled wall, "Come back to me damnit! Please!"

Minutes past, with Yamamoto clutching Gokudera for all he was worth, willing life to come back to his lover. Still the water flowed freely from the shower head, and it was a while before Yamamoto gave up and switched it off. Gokudera looked like a doll with those eyes of his and when he was this still, you wouldn't have thought otherwise.

Tenderly, Yamamoto picked Gokudera up into his arms, hugging the cold body to his, chin trembling and stepped out of the stall, shouldering open the door and walked soundlessly into his bedroom. He laid Gokudera down on his bed, and stood there for a moment, just staring.

He was too numb to really think anymore, and let his body do the work. He undressed Gokudera, stripping him down till he was naked, and then himself, chucking their dripping clothes into the laundry basket. He brought out a pair of baggy jeans and a simple black t-shirt for Gokudera and dressed him quickly, not forgetting to put boxers on the boy first. He then dressed himself in similar attire, except he was in grey shorts and a matching grey shirt. It seemed to suit his ashen heart.

Where have you gone Hayato? Why can't I find you?

"There's one other thing you could do."

The young voice shocked Yamamoto out of his dulled numbness and he whirled around to see Reborn stood on their coffee table, eyes earnest and even concerned. He didn't even bother getting angry at the toddler for having just sauntered in. At least the door was closed, so if any of the others were there, they would know better than to barge in.

Yamamoto looked back to Gokudera's still unseeing eyes that stared at the ceiling now. He was still breathing, thank God, but seemed well and truly in a catatonic state.

"The boy was a moron and released his emotions in one big blast. I'm surprised he didn't mentally implode from it all."

Yamamoto looked at him blankly, "what?"

Reborn shrugged and walked towards Gokudera, having hopped off the table, "I don't know all the details, but I do know that whatever Mukuro did to him, it wasn't enough."

Yamamoto just gave him another blank look.

"You know how Mukuro exploits your worst fears and memories?"

Yamamoto nodded, deeming that the best response.

Reborn looked to Gokudera's face, "It seemed he couldn't exploit everything. According to Bianchi, something happened that was so awful, so traumatising, that Gokudera's mind blocked it off. Shut it away. Quite startling, but not uncommon in traumatised children. It's a natural method of survival. If something is too much to handle mentally, then the brain forces itself to temporarily forget it until it thinks it can. Sometimes the memories come back slowly, sometimes they don't at all and you're left with the ghost of them. It seems Gokudera," He looked to the boy and then back to Yamamoto, "forced himself to remember. Quite dangerous if you ask me. He could very well die from this – that's how much stress this boy is under."

Yamamoto swallowed. Had Gokudera done that for him, knowing that Yamamoto had wanted to know the whole truth? Oh god, if he'd caused this, been the reason for the unravelling of Gokudera's sanity, he didn't know what he'd do. Probably die.

"Oi, get a hold of yourself Yamamoto."

Yamamoto gulped again and hugged himself, suddenly cold, "Is there a way for me to save him?"

Reborn looked troubled but answered, "There is, but it's untested."

Hope, the evil emotion, made his voice catch, "How?"

Reborn looked to him seriously, "If you do it, I think it should work. A Guardian with the affinity for rain should have a higher chance of coaxing Gokudera's soul back into a semi-stable state. Once he's woken up, the real coaxing will be up to you."

Yamamoto sighed, a huge weight taken off his chest, "So there is a way then?"

Reborn nodded once, "But it's difficult."

"What is it?"

"You have to put your consciousness in his. Don't look at me like that," the child growled when the swordsman regarded him like he'd sprouted another head.

He sighed, crossing his arms, "If you were any other Guardian with a different flame, it would be too dangerous, your flame would run the risk of either draining the rest of Gokudera's own flame, or you would sucked into Gokudera's consciousness. Then you both would die. No body can sustain two souls for very long. It's impossible. With your rain flame though, its soothing effect should cancel out the storm flame's fury."

"T-then, how do I do it?"

Reborn gave him a small, sober smile, "You just have to channel your own mind into Gokudera's, like a channel of some sorts. It sounds very far fetched, but it was a method that was created and then discarded by the first Mist Guardian."

Discarded, the word didn't help Yamamoto's confidence at all. No-one liked trying out a scrapped idea.

"But with you," Reborn spoke like he had read his thoughts, "you have fifty-fifty chance of it working. It's worth a shot Yamamoto. You don't have any other alternative and Tsuna needs his Storm Guardian back."

Yamamoto nodded and looked at Gokudera longing, his heart aching. His eyes had closed and looked almost peaceful as he lay there breathing soundly, but those tears that kept on falling down his face were proof that there was still something very, very wrong with him.

"Well, I'll be going then," the toddler said, before closing the door behind him. The kid really knew how to appear and then disappear.

Yamamoto walked over to the door, locking it quietly. Now would definitely be the worst time for someone to come on in uninvited, and Yamamoto wanted to make sure he got this right. He knew he only had one shot and he'd be damned if he fucked it up because of some so-and-so coming into to borrow some deodorant.

Walking back to Gokudera's bed, he sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath, centring himself as best he could, focusing his flame internally and leant down slowly, gently pressing his forehead against Gokudera's, brushing away his damp silver locks.

C'mon, c'mon, he chanted in his thoughts, imagining a channel, opening himself up as fully as he could, focusing his whole being into one spot, exactly where their foreheads were touching.

I am what you are Hayato. Your pain is mine as well. Please, it's enough for you to just live – please, just come back to me. Or at least let me come to you. I'll bear the burden with you

With that thought, Yamamoto felt a lurch and fought himself not to resist it. It went against his instincts, but he let the sensation drag him forwards. It was like the sudden plunge when you're at the peak of a roller coaster. He felt himself rocking forwards, about to plunge into freefall, and had to force himself not to scream. It was all figurative, but the image suited the moment pretty well.

The mental connection was weak, but with each passing second, as Yamamoto managed to channel his consciousness into his lovers bit by bit, it grew stronger, like a light beam that slowly brightened.

He found his body synchronising with Gokudera's, his breath as even as his, heartbeats nearly identical as their minds merged. It wasn't something you did very often, and the closeness really made Yamamoto feel naked.

Forging onwards into Gokudera's mind, Yamamoto concentrated on what he needed to do. To find Gokudera, to take him away from whatever hell was sucking out his soul and slap him back into reality, no matter how painful it was. If he could share the burden with the Italian, maybe it would ease the pain. It had to. The Japanese teen was out of options otherwise.

As he delved deeper, Yamamoto struggled to keep on walking from the onslaught of agony and despair. The emotions swarmed around him like a ferocious gale, tearing at him and stripping him bare.

Shame nearly brought him to his knees, and self-loathing almost made him want to end his own life. It took a few, forcedly measured heartbeats for him to understand that these weren't his emotions, but instead Gokudera's. He reeled at their intensity, from his chaotic confusion, but forged onwards in their connection, searching for his lost lover faithfully.

Thoughts and images swirled around him like a hurricane, with a live audio feed blaring various shrieks and voices all clustered together into an enormous gibbering monster. Yamamoto covered his ears as he moved onwards. If he was beginning to see glimpses of Gokudera's past, then he must be closer to him than he thought. The sound was so loud it could outmatch a gale, his mental voice carrying less strength than a breath.

The very state of his lover's mind was a shock in itself. It was just so black, so empty and filled with such dark emotions he felt he should just curl up and cry.

But there, amongst all the chaos, at the deepest part of his lover's mind, further than he thought he could ever venture, further than he had dared at first, he found.

He found Gokudera.

He was huddled in nearly the exact same manner that he had been in the shower, but though there wasn't much of a physical presence, Yamamoto found his own thoughts interpreting it in a visual way. Gokudera's position made it look like he was hiding, trying to ball himself up enough that he could just disappear, pushing himself in a corner.

It was strange how this realm defied anything logical and wondered if Mukuro or Chrome had much experience with these things. They probably did, being both illusionists and mentalists. Everything Yamamoto saw, or what he thought he saw, was always expressed as a metaphor. It seemed to be the only way to describe it. Everything else defied any concrete sort of description. It would have ended up a long list of contradictions as it became one thing and yet not at the same time. Nothing could be rationalised or related to. You just had to take it as it came.

Which was exactly what Yamamoto was doing.

Walking towards him, Yamamoto filled his thoughts with genuine relief, love and overflowing reassurance, more than he should have been able to muster. He was already trying to coax and soothe his lover, and hadn't even touched Gokudera yet. He just wanted to bring him out of the darkness. To show him how to live again, to prove how it was worth living, that this was no way to die.

But Gokudera's mind was a formless void, and his form was small, so small, and looked so fragile and it shrank back, away from the wave of warm sensations the Rain Guardian gave off.

Please, Gokudera's voice cut through the noise of his emotions, so clear...but so sad...so regretful...so fricking alone.

You'll hate me if you see what I am. You'll despise me like I despise myself. You shouldn't know Yamamoto. You shouldn't even be here...please...go before I drag you down with me...I'm so dirty Yamamoto...so filthy...It'll never be the same...I'll never be able to forget.

This wasn't Gokudera. It wasn't the boy he'd fallen in love with, Yamamoto knew that. The darkness clung to him like a vice, chaining him to his memories, trapping him in this labyrinth of pain. It was a tangible thing, with coiling tendrils, darker than black, sucking away at whatever brightness was left in Gokudera's life.

Clenching his teeth and centring himself, Yamamoto dove forwards, battling through the thick overwhelming haze. He clutched onto the quivering form of his lover and stuck fast, shocked at the cold vacuum inside the dark clutches of his misery.

It will be the same. Nothing could change. I'll know, but that'll only make me stronger – more determined to protect you. Please Gokudera, don't think so little of me. Tell me what's hurting you – don't shut me out like everyone else...

Gokudera sobbed, a wracking shriek of agony, something that he knew shuddered through his own soul, blackening it to Gokudera's one shade of darkness.

You're like a sun Yamamoto, Gokudera thought feebly, trembling, I'm just a black, cold star. I can't handle it...I can't...he broke off, wanting to greedily run into his lover's soft warm glow and bask in it until he was cleansed. In his own consciousness, in contrast to Yamamoto who saw images, Gokudera saw light. Yamamoto's was bright and near blinding in its purity and drove away any darkness that touched him. He moved like a God, purifying everything he touched, giving everything but taking nothing.

It was so different, so tempting, so damn compelling. Gokudera wished he was that pure, that his own flame burned so brightly. But he was a shadow of his own potential. Despair yawned, a black chasm under him, and it was only Yamamoto's plead that gave him the strength to force it closed.

You promised me! You promised to be strong and tell me, yet you broke it! You left me, all alone, and I thought you'd died Gokudera! You were so cold, so...lifeless, you should have been dead!

Gokudera was chilled, feeling colder than he was already. So it was true. Love did kill people. Here was the proof. But he didn't regret it though. Yes, he'd almost died when breaking through his own mental barrier, but it'd saved him as well. Slowly, he felt that wailing reflection of his sinking into his body, becoming one with him, letting go of the pain, but then of course, that left the memories to swarm and engulf.

Shame smothered him like a thick falling curtain, but there was Yamamoto again, wrenching him out, refusing to let him fall under. Fuck, he was just too good for him – he always was. The guy didn't deserve to deal with this.

Yet he'd pleaded, no, he'd begged to know. He'd literally gotten down on his knees like he was now, his white–blue glow shortening as he held him, his voice rasping hoarsely, always the same plead.

He really wanted to know...he actually wanted to understand...

Whatever remnants of a barrier Gokudera's had kept his memories from fully entering Yamamoto crumbled and he allowed full entry. Yes, he was vulnerable, raw and broken into pieces, but if he had any faith and any trust in his lover, he knew he would try to heal him. Yamamoto was a man of his word, honourable in his promises. Gokudera gripped the glowing white-blue blaze slowly purifying Gokudera's changing it from its now blackened, blotched gray colour back into a blazing red. It was slow, and painful, but slowly, the two consciousnesses merged and Yamamoto was plunged into Gokudera's memories.

It pained Gokudera, clawing at already raw spot in his chest, to know that by doing this, by opening himself so fully, appeasing Yamamoto with such submission, he was going to lose him...but still...he had to hope...it was a bare thread in the darkness...but the boy would be damned if he didn't at least grab onto something.

With a lurch, there was a sudden blast of pictures and sounds around Yamamoto, but when they had been undistinguishable noise before, they now made perfect sense, flowing, if jaggedly, but smoothly across his field of vision. The vision's sucked him in, and Yamamoto wondered what kind of realm this would be.

It seemed non-linear, in the sense that the images didn't pass by like a movie...that was too clear, too tangible. There wasn't a storyline with a beginning, middle and end. This was a life, something that never really began at a certain point, and hadn't ended – it didn't really follow any sort of order – chronologically or alphabetically. It was a line that stretched out to the horizon, or, if that wasn't enough, the view of the night sky. You knew there was no beginning and no end to what you saw, but somehow, one day, it had end.

Just not today. Yamamoto would bargain his life in exchange for Gokudera's safety.

One memory in particular spun into focus, vividly assaulting him with its flashes of colour as it slowly focused, forming into a real place - A mansion.

The focusing image was shown to Gokudera as well and the boy cried out, terrified and hid his eyes, but it wouldn't block it out. He could imagine the approaching images, the groans, the pain, the harsh slap of a whip and the hot, jolting pain.

Gokudera wanted to die. There was no hyperbole in his request; it was pure, raw, naked truth. Even though he'd seemed distant and controlled earlier when Yamamoto had rescued him, he'd still been reeling, his mental state overcome and clouded by his trapped feelings that had nearly destroyed him all those years ago. Even now, knowing the consequences, he craved silent death over the agony of living with this shame, but death had turned him away.

He'd wanted to fade away, so had made the water so cold, had made sure there was no hot water at all. He'd wanted to die painfully, to get hypothermia and die a cold death. Maybe the numbness would have taken the edge off the pain before the end. It hadn't worked though, and he'd been too cowardly to go and find a razor. But, god help him, if this happened again, if what happened to him happened again, he would do it. No matter how the sight of his own blood terrified him, he would take the blade to his skin and cut until he bled himself dry. He wouldn't survive this again. His desperation would win out over common sense and he would commit the tragic act, daring Death to turn him away when he had no blood left in his body to keep him away from his doorstep.

Even with Yamamoto here now, the edge to his jagged memories was only just dulled, and still cut deep, tearing open his wounds. Reliving through all that had almost claimed his sanity barely a few years ago was nearly too much to bear, but with the Rain Guardian here to soothe those wounds, to help coax him out of this hell. Maybe it was possible, but until Yamamoto saw the depth and extent of his scars, it wouldn't be possible.

Whatever happened here, Yamamoto was fairly certain that things which would normally take hours to happen or even explain in real life took barely a few heartbeats here. It was like when you could imagine a whole essay in your head within a few moments, and understood it all immediately, but would then sigh when you had to put it to paper. It would take hours to get the tangible evidence of the thought, but had taken barely a few breaths to imagine. This was exactly the same; it flowed into the rain guardian with ease.

He made sure that whatever he touched, no matter how jagged, he would put all his energy into soothing it, smoothing out its edges, collecting up the pieces and piecing them back together with care. No matter how awful, these memories had made Gokudera what he was today, and that was precious to Yamamoto. He wouldn't let go of the boy so easily.

He knew how raw these memories were to Gokudera and tried as hard as he could to ease the pain that was so obviously tearing him apart bit by bit. He felt relieved as Gokudera's consciousness seemed to sigh, relaxing slightly under the soothing flame, but still the memories came and soon Yamamoto was engulfed, so caught up by the images he couldn't keep up.

Despite the calming of Gokudera's consciousness, his voice wafted into Yamamoto's thoughts, giving him one last plea.

I didn't remember Yamamoto. Not this...I did for everything else...just not...not the fire...not what I did...I...

He broke off into an anguished sob, but forced himself to stay afloat in the sea of guilt that threatened to drown him. If he broke down and shattered now, he knew what the effects would be on Yamamoto. Now he was so deeply in his mind, if he were to die, then so would Yamamoto. He wouldn't be able to retract back into his own mind in time. He had to stay strong to keep his lover alive. He didn't want to see the outcome, to see Yamamoto's reaction, but if he cared at all, then he would strive to live...to stay alive long enough for Yamamoto to escape.

But still, his tone betrayed whatever strength he felt and Yamamoto knew it. He didn't have to be told. Gokudera's tone told him he wanted no forgiveness from the swordsman, none at all.

He thought he deserved absolutely none.

Yamamoto felt the memory, the past Gokudera had fought to control and keep hidden rear its ugly head and open its jaws under him. Ready to leap in, Yamamoto cupped his hands over his mouth, and boomed the confession.

I love you, Hayato Gokudera. I'll be insulted if you forget that!

And let the memories take him.

A/N: well, isn't that a cliff-hanger :D Sorry about that! Honestly, I am already writing the next chapter, and honestly, I'm actually both enjoying it and not enjoying it at the same time XD I feel like I might be making Gokudera a little too wishy-washy, maybe making too big a deal out of this, but I hope it doesn't come across that way O_o I want it to seem that it's actually that painful, because it seems that cases like Gokudera's do lead to suicides. Again though, this is my own imagination at work here, ok? I've never dealt with this kind of situation, so I'm taking it as it comes and going with my gut on most of it XD I hope the next chapter doesn't take too long to write, because I know how infuriating cliff hangers are D: I would have incorporated it with this chapter, but it's just so long…D: It should be up within the next few days, Sunday at the latest – so...wait in suspense until then :3 and thank you so, SO much for reading this XD (again...another long A/N –shot-) I'm sorry, I'll stop babbling and go back to writing the next chapter XD