Chapter Text
‘What a strange dream’ was the first thought that came to Tsuna’s mind. Anything to distract from the fact that he probably, maybe, most likely had died and was now back in 8th grade, if the calendar hung on his door was any indication.
It sat wonky on his hook (hadn’t he gotten that fixed?) , threatening to fall off the badly hammered-in nail that Tsuna had bruised his thumb trying to affix to his door. Red crosses were scribbled in the small boxes that represented the days but stopped where ‘ELEMENTARY GRADUATION DAY’ was hastily written in, surrounded by smiles and hearts courtesy of his Mama.
He stared at his alarm. It stared back at him. 6:54 blinked back almost mockingly, laughing at the fact he’d missed out on 6 minutes of sleep. He considered turning over and going back to sleep, but something in his head whispered that he’d regret doing that. (Stop that. Stop what? You know what I mean. Do I?)
Quietly, he slipped out of bed. He made his way over the mess that was his room ( I thought I got rid of that bad habit. Not yet you haven’t), and entered his bathroom, taking in the messy countertop with half-empty shampoo bottles and emptied toothpaste tubes.
Tsuna stared blankly at the mess and dragged his eyes up to meet his reflection. To say he was shocked was an understatement.
The scar that sat on his cheek from an assassination attempt gone wrong was no longer there, and it was replaced by smooth skin not yet worn out from the stress of life. He lacked the eyebags that accompanied eyes that had seen too much (Although the eyes remain the same. They do not forget). His hair was fluffier and cleaner than it had ever been at his age, albeit a bit oily. And he was shorter. Fuck. Those centimetres he’d put on had been mercilessly swiped from him.
Tsuna took another look and proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet’s awaiting bowl. Because why was he looking for specific details in the mirror that didn't exist?
There wasn’t much in the foul contents of his emptied stomach, just last night’s dinner of rice and curry, and bile that swirled around the half-digested chunks.
This is fine. This is normal. You’ve always been in the 8th grade. He repeated that in his head while brushing his teeth, scrubbing furiously to get rid of the acidic taste of bile in his mouth. As he rinsed out his mouth and splashed his face with water, he watched the water drip from his face and fall onto the porcelain sink with a plink, plink, plink .
The rising sun was peeking through the curtains of the bathroom, shining bright enough that it washed the room with crimson red. The water continued dripping, slipping down the side of the sink like the blood that once stained–
– It dripped off his Rain’s sword, hitting the ground of the decimated town in an almost rhythmic pattern. Tsuna listened to it as well as he could, but the small droplets were lost in the crackling fires and debris that was all that remained of the decimated city. Reborn once said that grounding yourself was taking into account your environment. To listen and watch the world around you.
“Hayato said that all the evacuees made it out, although some are unaccounted for,” Takeshi said, lowering his hand from his earpiece and looked at Tsuna who stood a couple of metres away.
“Good, make sure they get treated by the medics on standby for any injuries. Is Ryohei stationed there as well?”
“Yes. Should we start the search?” He spoke quietly, the soft thrum of his rain flames hung loosely in the air, keeping the small tremor in Tsuna’s hands to a minimum.
“The sooner we start, the higher chance of civilian survival,” Tsuna replied, and headed into the centre of the town while Takeshi searched the outskirts.
It was routine now. Once a town had had its people evacuated, and then said town proceeded to turn into a battleground, the fighters would comb the remains of the town for any stragglers. Civilians caught in the crossfire of a war that was never meant to leave the watchful gaze of the underworld and it's keepers.
They used to find more civilians at the start of the Marchetti-Vongola war. They were less wary of the rumours that spoke of a gang war so horrific, that it threatened to leak out of Italy and into other parts of Europe, and no amount of police or political intervention could control the consequences of such a cataclysmic event.
But as news got out, and rumours spread, they became more fearful, leaving their homes and moving elsewhere for safety. Italy eventually became a warzone.
“Any sign of life?” Tsuna asked over the communicator.
“N- -ne,” Takeshi replied through the crackling frequency.
“Keep looking until you’re certain there’s no one here,”
“Ye-, Bo-,” Tsuna could almost hear his amused grin over the earpiece despite the interference, and he let out an exasperated sigh.
Takeshi had taken to calling him ‘Boss’ whenever he used a certain tone for giving instructions to underlings and was expecting no response in return. Just obedience. His guardians teased him over that, dredging up old memories of when he was less certain when giving instructions until Reborn whipped the meek and shy tone out of him with a literal Leon-whip.
Tsuna scavenged through the rubble, picking through charred pieces of fabric that once might have been a well-loved stuffed animal, or a favourite sweater to wear. Furniture was scarred with burns, and all that remained of some of the houses were smouldering foundations. The smell of burnt carpet was putrid and invaded his nostrils with a wave of fierce anger. The streets were deserted, only the corpses of Mafioso remained, blood pooled around them in large amounts, like inconvenient puddles after a heavy bout of rain.
“Tsu- a!” Crackled through Tsuna’s communicator, “-ush! G-t ou- w- ra-! -ist!”
“Takeshi?” Tsuna said, tapping the earpiece with his finger, “Could you repeat that? There was a lot of interference,”
“Mar- -’s -t g-dia-! -nd you!” came the frantic yell from his Rain.
Tsuna didn’t need to understand what Takeshi had said as his frenzied tone had him whirling around to meet the cold, dead stare of the Marchetti Famiglia’s Mist Guardian stood atop the spire of a small, crumbling church.
Something about the Mist had always unnerved Tsuna who had seen far gorier and more frightening things than the dead fish eyes of the Marchetti Famiglia’s attack dog. Maybe it was the way they never seemed to look at him, never acknowledged the fact that there was someone in front of them. The Mist's presence always made him uneasy, but for some reason, his Hyper Intuition never warned Tsuna of his proximity until illusions were being aimed at him, ready to tear him apart, or a well-aimed sickle was racing towards his face, ready to tear out an eye or two.
And from the Mist’s side came the sadistic Sun that had turned Tsuna’s gloves into nothing more than a pile of ash and dying embers, and had destroyed Gokudera’s Rain and Cloud flame attributes.
“My, my~ if it isn’t the big boss himself?” came the Sun’s mocking voice, blue eyes flashing with morbid amusement and cruelty as his mouth pulled into something resembling a leer.
“Zefire. Bold of you to show your face after what you did,” a snarl came out of his throat, deep and threatening. Tsuna was sure his eyes flashed orange.
“Don’t be so mean little Sky,” the Sun said, grinning like a kid at Christmas, “It wasn’t as if I was taking your Storm’s primary flame away. If I remember correctly, the last time we fought, you couldn’t hold a match to my skills until backup arrived. Not that it mattered anyway. Oh, are you going to ask your Rain for a hand?” the Sun snickered, “I’m afraid he’s a little… tied up,”
Tsuna whirled around at the Sun’s words and saw his Rain gagged by rusted barbed wire that snaked across his skin, leaving deadly cuts on his tied up limbs, his legs and arms firmly held together. His clothes were torn where the wire crawled on him. Takeshi looked to be in immense pain, hissing to himself as blood trickled down, staining the fabric and ground crimson. His eyebrows were pulled tightly together, a brave but crumbling expression on his face, and Tsuna saw red.
“Get your damn dog off him!” He roared, feeling the flame on his forehead flicker as his fists erupted in sunset orange, and he launched himself towards the Sun and Mist.
He saw the Sun’s eye twitch at the temperature of his flames, the rest of his face forced into passive pleasantry before barbed wire was wrapping itself around his body, cutting into his arm and hand, and pulling itself taunt, the fake metal creaking as it tried to restrain the fireball that was Tsuna’s rage.
“Ah, ah little Sky, this ‘damned dog’ doesn’t like it when others attack its Master,” the Sun ruffled the Mist’s hair. It would seem almost domestic, affectionate if it weren’t for the way his hand gripped the Mist’s hair and pulled it down. “Dog, bark ,” and the Mist-
-startled by the sound of the neighbour’s dog, Tsuna was pulled out of his thoughts and he heaved into the awaiting bowl. Thankfully, he had already emptied his stomach earlier, so only the small remnants of bile and saliva splattered into the toilet.
The rest of the morning went by in a blur. Forcing down a piece of toast for breakfast through the taste of bile, catching his mother’s pleasantly surprised face before she kissed him goodbye and reminded him that it was his elementary graduation and shoved the necessities into his bookbag. He grinned weakly at her familiar motherly skills, the faded memories of an absent, airheaded mum floating in the back of his brain like a ghost squeezing his brain.
Somewhere between his house and school, he took a wrong turn and ended down a street he had vague memories of. New construction signs were in place, the small cartoon man politely apologising for the inconvenience as they were repaving the street damaged by a busted water pipe.
Not this way idiot, a voice in his head laughed, this street hasn’t been open for a good while now, and it won’t be open for a long time yet. Don’t you remember?
He willed the voice to shut up, and politely it did.
Ignoring the temporary lapse in his muscle memory, he turned around and made his way to school. He arrived at the school gates with thirty minutes to spare. For some reason, that specific fact made his chest swell with satisfaction before he tripped over his shoelaces that had unlaced themselves in his absent-mindedness.
“ Typical Tsuna ,” he could hear an imaginary classmate titter. He grumbled in annoyance and lifted himself to his feet, suddenly overcome by an unfamiliar feeling of vertigo and lightheadedness.
He stumbled again, his knees buckling below him as he gripped onto the pillar of the school gates. Nausea hit and his vision swam as his body curled up into a crouch and the feeling of dizziness was gone as soon as it came. He heaved in a breath and shuddered as he exhaled.
“Tsuna…?” came a familiar soft voice, “Are you okay?”
Standing before him was a worried looking Kyoko, with a disgruntled Hana behind her, her book bag slung absently over her shoulder.
Gunpowder. Ash. The taste of metal and storm flames. The crackling sound of a dying Flame. A punch to his gut. A cry of guilt and regret. Thoughts of revenge, revenge, rev enge, revenge-
“Oh, uh, Kyoko, no I-I’m fine,” He said with another shuddering breath, “Just, uh, tripped. Yeah… it was just that,” He smiled awkwardly, and cringed at the way it seemed to pull at his lips before it eventually fell off.
“C’mon Kyoko,” Hana sighed, dragging a hand down her exasperated face, “The monkey’s up to his usual tricks,”
Kyoko pouted at Hana’s dry remark but seemed hesitant to leave Tsuna leaning against the pillar. It was a trait about her that Tsuna had always admired, even before they were dragged into the world of guns and flames. But that’s what had made her strong, he mused.
“Kyoko, I’m fine, I promise. Not even a scratch,” He said reassuringly, “If it hurts or if I feel sick, I’ll go to the nurse’s office,”
She smiled awkwardly back, her eyebrows still creased in worry before she left with a weak wave.
He sat crouched by the pillar for a few more minutes waiting for the lingering dizziness to disappear by regulating his breathing (a lesson learnt from Reborn) before he stood up and walked to his classroom.
The first period of the day. Business as usual as his homeroom teacher reminded them to gather in the gym at lunch for the graduation ceremony and heartfelt comments were made by the teacher and the students.
You know something’s wrong. You can’t deny it. Things are the same, yet so different . You can’t ignore this anymore. Don’t deny it.
Second period went by without a hitch. His teacher smiled as she congratulated her students, and handed out cards she made with the help of other teachers, filled with polite words and fond memories.
Do you even remember half the things on the card? You don’t, do you? How did you lose your front tooth? When did you get those striped socks you loved so much? Stop ignoring me. You’ll lose any sense of the future you might’ve had. When did you break the seal?
Third period. His hands were clammy, and he was focusing on maintaining his breathing steady. He ignored the teacher who handed him his yearbook, mumbling thanks and didn’t try to ask any of his other classmates for scribbled signatures in the back of his book.
Let’s see how long you can ignore me until you snap. Until you’re begging for the memories you’ve repressed. To think you woke up this morning with the memories of a past life and ignored them , and did your best to try and write them off as a strange dream . How long will you last? How long can you ignore me? Maybe if this damned seal wasn’t here you’d listen to me and do something about your own impending doom.
Fourth. He had to excuse himself to the bathroom to splash some water in his face and dry heave into the toilet bowl. The water did nothing but highlight the haunted shadows under his eyes in the bathroom mirror. He passed Sasagawa in the hallway and the voice in his head grew lo uder.
You failed him. You failed them. You’ll fail them again if you don’t listen .
Lunchtime found him stumbling into the gym, tripping over the steps on the stage as another bout of dizziness washed over him, the soft laughter of his peers echoing mutely in the gym. They were crowded onto a small stage in the gym. All their shoulders were touching, and he could feel the breath of someone running down his spine (or was that chills?). The sight of an empty seat carved something out of him with a rusty spoon.
They left you, abandoned you, why do you care? She already told you she wasn’t going to be able to come today: or did you just forget? Did the sight of two loving parents at your High School graduation already fill the hole today left? Besides, that hasn’t even happened yet.
Something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t because his mind wouldn’t shut up. It wasn’t because he’d only tripped or bumped into something twice today. It wasn’t the claustrophobic environment of the small stage. It was something else.
Have you realised it yet? No, that’s the wrong question.
The class representative’s speech–a graduation diploma in shaking hands–half memorised words coming out in dismal tones–a major case of deja vu he’d been ignoring all day–(What? When did that happen?)
(They were clapping. Why were they clapping–oh, the ceremony is over.)
He followed his class down the steps, vertigo swirling and blending the stairs as he shakily made his way down.
(They were in the classroom–The teacher’s saying something.)
Pay attention Little Sky. The devil’s in the details.
“Tsuna, are you alright? You’re looking a little pale…” a familiar (yet younger) voice asked.
Yamamoto.
Baby faced, and scarless. Eyes filled with worry, but also hope, youth, and innocence .
The hand on his shoulder had a familiar (yet lighter) weight. Despite it, it felt like the hand weighing on his shoulder had alleviated something in him. He recognised the latent rain Flames that his guardian used to push through him when his hands started to shake a little too much, or he recognised the wild glint in his eyes as the start of a spiralling panic attack, and not the sharp gaze of a scheming Boss.
He opened his mouth and let out a silent breath. He was sure he looked stupid standing in the middle of the classroom, gaping like a fish as his classmate looked at him with such a familiar fondness and concern that it made him want to gag.
“I-I’m fine, just, a bit overwhelmed,” he smiled back, trying to look anywhere else but the eyes of a —---- .
Finish your sentence. C’mon, you know what the ending is. He’s a…
Traitor.
Why?
He killed me.
Why? When?
I don’t know.
I don’t know. I don’t know idontknowidontknowidontknowidontknowidontknowidontknowidontknowidontknow–
Don’t say that. You do know when.
…
In 16 years.
What happens then?
I will die.
From what?
Bleeding out from a stab wound.
Who dared to draw their blade against you?
“Takeshi. I’m sorry to worry you,” Tsuna said, forcing a pleasant smile onto his face. “I’ve got to go, Mama said we’d celebrate tonight… see you next semester, though,”
His classmate looked shocked, as well as a bit miffed. Well, he had a right to feel annoyed considering the way Tsuna brushed him off. But the voice gnawing at his mind reminded him that this was the guy that had murdered him. Or will.
Tsuna stood up from his desk, and it clattered noisily as he pushed it forward, its legs screeching across the floor, drawing the attention of his classmates. Not enough to kill the casual conversation, but enough to dampen the chatter to a murmur.
“Oh, uh, goodbye…?” Takeshi said, waving at Tsuna’s back as he fled the classroom, grunting as he narrowly managed to run into the door, letting his bookbag take the brunt of the door’s wrath.
He managed to make his way home through the winding roads of Namimori, almost stepping towards the direction of the detour before reminding himself of the construction signs that stood in his way, a blatant reminder of his untimely predicament.
The voice was quiet as he made his way home, probably revelling in its little victory. It was replaced by a nagging feeling of worry and dread in his brain.
Anxiety, he diagnosed it, trying to smooth down the feeling, I did just graduate elementary.
You're avoiding the subject at hand again.
And Tsuna had spoken too soon. It was back. And he wasn't avoiding it per se. It was more... yeah okay, he was avoiding it. But could you blame him? Time travel, while it had happened before, just seemed out of place in this scenario. It was a lot to take in. There were things about the future that seemed unbelievable. Like the fact that he was dead. And now he suddenly wasn't.
So sue him if it was a lot to process.
"Tsuna! Welcome home! How was school?"
The flowery voice made him jump, pulling him out of his thoughts. He hadn't even realised he'd made it home. "O-oh, Mama. I'm... yeah school was good," he said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek, a habit from Italy, "I'm going upstairs, I'm tired. Today was... hectic," Hectic was a bit of an understatement. But tell her he was 16 years from the future and dead might get him checked into a mental hospital. Or she'd laugh it off in true airhead fashion.
"Just make sure you're hungry! I'm making your favourites!" she exclaimed happily, and a pang of sadness and hurt went through him.
Tsuna's 'favourites', according to Nana, was ramen with a side of natto, unagi, and Salisbury steak. The only thing she managed to get right about the dishes was the Salisbury steak. Not only did he hate the taste of natto and unagi, but the ramen was also always oversalted and the noodles were left too long out in the broth, becoming thick and soggy. For years Tsuna had wondered why she made his favourite dinners like that, almost exactly the opposite of the way he liked it, and then gushed about how she could never eat his ramen for it was too salty for her tastes, and how she only ever made natto for him. The steak had never tasted bad though, so he accepted it over time with a grain of salt.
He wouldn't get an answer until his dad finally sat down for a family dinner and his mum had made Iemitsu's favourite dishes in celebration. And on the table was a bowl of ramen, oversalted and soggy, with a side of natto, unagi. Except the usual steak had been replaced with tempura.
("Sorry dear! I know you were cooking the steak already, but I'm just not a fan anymore. Although I'm always happy to eat what my beautiful wife cooks for me!" He had exclaimed, smothering her in kisses and hugs as she laughed with pure joy and love.
So the steak was just a coincidence?)
"...No it's okay. I'm going out for dinner with my homeroom today," Tsuna said, already making his way up the stairs, "Maybe tomorrow?" Or never, he didn't say.
She gasped before smiling, "Oh you're meeting with your friends? That's great to hear! And here I was worried my useless son was going to be friendless forever," she laughed, "Bring them over one day so I can meet them, yeah?"
"...Yes, Ma," he replied and left upstairs without another word.
He grabbed a box from under his bed that he knew had unused notebooks collected over the years and took out the one on top, which was water-damaged and the picture of a dog sleeping on grass was half faded and covered in dust.
Grabbing his pen, he flipped to the first page and wrote down everything he remembered concerning the future. Well, the past.
"Here's to not getting stabbed this time 'round," he mumbled.