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A storm rises with your spilled blood

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He strolls into the locker room more out of curiosity about the commotion than out of any sense of dread, because he thought he heard Lawn-Head yelling in there just now and, well, why would Lawn-Head of all people be in the baseball team’s locker room, and yelling? Is he yelling at Yamamoto? If so, what had that Baseball Idiot done now?

So he more or less saunters in, not even remotely ready for the sight that greets him. Whatever he was about to ask gets stuck in his throat.


So much. Blood.

He thinks he's going to throw up.

And there, smack-dab in the middle of the mess, is Yamamoto, unconscious, pale, unmoving. It's… He frowns. Blinks. That can't be right.

Hayato rubs his eyes with the back of a hand, sure that the image would change, but no. No, Yamamoto is still lying in a pool of what is most likely his own blood, looking dead.

Suddenly, Hayato’s chest constricts and he can't breathe. He can't breathe, he can't… this isn't happening, there's no fucking way-

Sasagawa has Garyuu out, healing flames enveloping the entire room, and Hayato falls to his knees right next to him, trembling hands reaching for Yamamoto but afraid to touch.

He still can't breathe.

'The ambulance is on its way,’ he thinks he hears Sasagawa say, but he can't tear his attention from the boy on the floor. 'You should call Sawada.’

'I-’ he starts, but can't get out more than that. ‘What-’ And it’s like a numbness has frozen the blood in his own veins. Not again, the thought passes through his head on a tidal wave of rising panic. For a split second he thinks he sees grass instead of concrete, the locker room replaced by a windy forest. He tries to swallow past the knot in his throat. No, no, this is worse, this is so much more-

‘Oi, Gokudera, snap out of it!’ he hears, and finally, he does. He inhales sharply. There’s blood on his hands, under his nails, under his rings. (He wonders vaguely if he’ll ever be able to wash it off. He doesn’t think so.)

He stands up, tries to take his phone out of his pocket and fails miserably the first couple of tries with how hard his hands are trembling.

Suddenly, there’s another commotion, as medics rush into the room and push past the two teenagers to get to Yamamoto. For an insane second, Hayato wants to lash out at them, wants to blow everyone and everything up and make sure no one touches the unconscious boy again. (Unforgivable.) But Sasagawa puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him to the side, out of the doctors’ way, and Hayato comes back to grim reality.

He forces himself to breathe through it all, through the doctors moving Yamamoto into the ambulance, through them being told the ambulance will be heading to Namimori’s Central Hospital, through not being allowed to actually get into the ambulance with Yamamoto. He forces himself to breathe through the encroaching dread, the growing fear, the rage that starts burning through his veins and turning his vision red at the corners. (Fucking unforgivable!)

His hands are still shaking, as is his voice, when he finally makes the call to the Tenth.




Lawn-Head pulls him into one of the schools bathrooms so they can wash the blood of their skin before they leave school. Hayato wants to lash out at him, they don’t have time for shit like that, but when he looks down at his hands, he can’t get to the sink fast enough. He retches before he manages to wash his hands. (This is fucking unforgivable!)

His eyes burn, his vision blurs, just a bit, and he hurries to wash his face and the oncoming traitorous tears.





He allows himself just two moments of weakness.

Once at the hospital, ‘I won’t forgive whoever did this!!’ he says, almost yells, in a furious outburst, but he manages to shelf his rage for the moment when Reborn arrives and tells them of clues left by Yamamoto and of the Tenth deciding to turn down the Vongola title.

And then he gets home later in the evening.

And the moment the door closes behind him, it’s like all energy is sapped from him. His legs can’t hold him anymore and he slides down to the floor, back pressed against the door, knees us to his chest.

Yamamoto could die.

It’s the only thought that circles in his head, and once again, he finds he can’t breathe. His hands start shaking again. The doctors are on the fence about whether the Baseball Idiot will survive the night, so awful his wounds were, and Hayato honestly cannot think of a world without that idiot’s stupidly bright smile.

‘Fuck…’ he says to the empty room as he covers his squeezed shut eyes with a trembling hand. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re not supposed to die, you moron. You’re not supposed to fuckin’-‘

And there’s something like a sob pushing up his throat, and Hayato lets it, because who the fuck can judge him for it right now, and because he wouldn’t be able to push it down if he tried. It’s like he’s waking up in that damn infirmary in the future base all over again.





There are no good news in the morning.

He feels like punching a wall. Or blow up a city.

He just grits his teeth and puts on a brave face for the Tenth.




(And then days later, by some miracle, Yamamoto appears before them, alive, and in once piece, and looking like he hadn’t just had a gaping hole in his stomach.

The stupid, blinding grin is back on his –blood-free- face, and Hayato feels like something unwraps from around his heart, his lungs.

He grits his teeth.



He can breathe properly again.

Well… As much as he can, what with the moron suddenly engaged in battle against Daemon Spade.)