Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tyr, 45, Ex-Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

Tyr wound his way slowly through the maze of desks and file cabinets that made up Human Resources, his brand new cane-sword tapping dully on the charred carpet. Even now, Tyr thought HR felt like an odd choice of departments for what was essentially an assassin’s guild. It hadn’t existed prior to Tyr’s leadership, but Tavo had eventually convinced him of its necessity.

Not that he’d ever been able to say no to Tavo.

(Not even when Tavo decided to take up with that CEDEF plant, that one time. “But I know, and he knows I know, and he knows I know that he knows,” Tavo had said, and Tyr had gotten a headache and given up.)

Still, it hadn’t been a bad idea, all in all. Assassins’ specialised skill sets didn’t generally extend to organisation and taking care of themselves. They hadn’t really needed it before Tyr took over, but between the Eighth's iron-fisted shakedown of criminal Italy and the Ninth’s deep seated paranoia under his sunshine-and-daisies exterior, the Varia had just kept growing… and growing… and growing. That many dangerous personalities under one roof made for a volatile mix, and while people chafed at the rules and regulations, nobody could deny HR was the only thing keeping the rapidly expanding Varia from descending into chaos.

It also gave Tavo something to do that satisfied his strange obsession with corporate organisation, and kept him well away from any type of weaponry.

They hadn’t had the chance to talk about Tyr’s impending semi-retirement yet, but Tyr thought it would be a 50-50 chance on whether Tavo would stay. Perhaps he’d agree to help Tyr with the European Martial Arts school he’d always thought about opening …

Tyr turned the corner towards Tavo’s office. The air smelt faintly of gunpowder and rust, though someone had made a vain attempt to cover it with lemon air freshener. It was quiet, with most of Tavo’s underlings out of the office, leaving a miserable-looking pair quite literally shackled to their desks (ball and chain included). Tyr presumed they must have lost the daily scuffle for assignments and were stuck with the paperwork.

Said unfortunates looked up briefly and greeted Tyr as he passed, without so much as a stutter in their typing.

“Sir.”

“Morning, sir.”

After being ‘Boss’ for nearly two decades, the new term of address took some getting used to. Tyr wasn’t as upset about it as he thought he would be, though. He’d watched Xanxus grow up from a malnourished, lice-ridden street rat to a respectable teenage one-man demolition company, and he’d even trained him himself! (Once. For ten minutes.)

Xanxus would do fine as Boss, not as if there were any better options (that Squalo boy included). The job would get Xanxus cleanly out of the succession struggle, and perhaps Timoteo would finally quit being suspicious of the Varia’s loyalties, with it in family hands instead of some foreigner’s (if only he knew the truth of the matter, but that was neither here nor there).

“Morning. Is Ottavio in?” Tyr asked the minions, after finishing that thought.

“He’s in, sir,” chirped one of them, a pleasant girl named Sparrow, if he remembered right. “Might have an appointment later, though.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded to the deskrats and headed on to Tavo’s office at the end of the hall. The door was open, as it usually was during his office hours, with the smell of freshly-brewed coffee wafting out, probably Tavo’s favoured drip coffee instead of the usual moka pot brew most of the others drank. This early, it was even likely entirely the real stuff, rather than Cloud filler. Cloud-coffee always gave him heartburn.

“Any left for me?” Tyr teased as Tavo noticed him and stood up in greeting.

“Always,” said Tavo warmly, coming round his desk to firmly press Tyr into a chair. His brow wrinkled slightly, which signalled to Tyr his dissatisfaction about Tyr being up and about so soon after being nearly hacked to death by that Squalo boy, so Tyr let him fuss. Other than that, Tavo made no comment or complaint, and instead simply passive-aggressively poured him a coffee, which was peak Tavo, really.

“I filled out most of your paperwork already and was planning to take it to you,” said Tavo. Read: Tyr should have stayed put instead of traipsing about a castle full of murderers, bumpy stairs, and explosives. Tyr rather thought that was an overreaction! It wasn’t as if he’d lost his other hand or anything.

Tavo retrieved a folder and handed it to him. “It’s a bit chaotic at the moment, what with the leadership transition and recruitment drive.”

“I noticed,” said Tyr dryly, remembering the fresh carpet stains. He opened the folder and started flipping through the contents. “Someone angling for your position?” The Varia operated by the rule of ‘you break it, you own it’, which also applied to job positions, though it had been a very long time since anyone tried for Tavo or Tyr’s (well, until last last Tuesday, in Tyr’s case. Nobody actually wanted Tavo’s job).

“Ah? No, there was a new … recruit who came in last night and had some disagreements regarding HR policy. Something about rules not applying to royalty.” Tavo adjusted his glasses.

Surely there was a story there. It was so cute when Tavo tried to be coy about something. Tyr raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to go on. Tavo cleared his throat.

“It turns out he was actually really royalty. Of course, this is the Varia, so his royal highness will unfortunately have to live with it. Anyway, he’s Xanxus’s problem now.”

Oh? “Did they match up?” That boy could stand to pad out his collection of Guardians some; Xanxus was known to be notoriously picky in that regard.

“It’s early, still, but I believe so. The boy is a Storm.”

“Good!” Tyr approved. “Good start.” That Squalo boy was one, so that made what, two? Maybe three if the Sun (Luca? Lucy?) hanging around was any indication.

“He’s eight years old.” Tavo smiled.

“Sounds familiar.” It brought up nostalgic memories of when Tyr and his other guardians first met Tavo, so small and already so serious. Tyr had zero regrets kidnapping him.

Their reminiscing was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Ottavio?” A brown-haired man poked his head in and blinked when he spotted Tyr. “Ah, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“It’s alright. I remember the appointment. You’ve brought the special hire?”

After a quick glance at Tyr, who indicated he didn’t mind, Tavo motioned for the man and the girl accompanying him to come in. Tyr rolled his chair and his paperwork to a side table so he wouldn’t be in the way, and so he could surreptitiously observe the newcomers (since he was a mostly-retired busybody now).

The man he recognised-- Tavo’s assistant, Shrike-- but the girl was unfamiliar, probably the aforementioned ‘special hire’. She was extraordinarily beautiful, with long, raven-black hair cascading down her back in soft ringlets, and glittering violet eyes. Unfortunately, her striking appearance was eclipsed by the aura of affected aloofness she radiated, like she was trying too hard to be a textbook-perfect Cloud. Tyr found it a little bit funny.

She looked at Tavo with barely concealed disgust as he introduced himself, which wasn’t particularly unusual (no one liked HR), then glanced over at Tyr and kept staring, and not in the way awestruck underlings or fans would look at him, either. In particular, she seemed to be staring at the stump of his left hand. He’d not been able to get a replacement prosthetic yet, having wrecked the previous one in the duel with Squalo. Had the girl never seen an amputee?

“Miss Amaranth?” Tavo, usually the sweetest cotton-candy Cloud any Sky could wish for, sounded distinctly cold now, though he was still smiling. Barely. He’d always been very touchy about people staring at Tyr.

“This is Tyr, the former head of the Varia, who has now taken up an advisory position. Is there a problem.”

“No, I…” The girl--Amaranth-- looked quite taken aback. “Wasn’t. Expecting. I thought Squalo killed him?”

Behind her, Shrike cringed and mouthed “wasn’t me”.

Was that the latest thing circulating through the rumour mill these days? Tyr had mostly been laid up in the infirmary, so he was a bit out of the loop. He shrugged.

“Almost,” he told the girl.

Tyr would be one-hundred-percent dead, if Tavo hadn’t dashed to his rapidly cooling body and inflated his blood volume enough to sustain him until poor Max could get to him. As it were, Tavo had nearly killed himself with the effort, and Max said that they got very lucky.

“Shit, really,” said Amaranth, to herself, lapsing into English– her native tongue, perhaps? “Fuck, is this an Ay-You? Fuck fuck fuck what about Xanxus, does he know the Ninth isn’t---shit!” She clapped her hands over her mouth.

Interesting.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t seem like you’re a good fit for our organisation, Miss Amaranth,” said Tavo, no longer smiling.

“I’m not talking to you, traitor,” spat the girl. “I need to speak with Xanxus. I have important information. You won’t be gloating for much longer! I’ll tell everyone about your shady deals with the military.”

“Girlie, which mafia organisation doesn’t have shady deals with the military?” commented Tyr, amused. The girl shot him a horrified look that read oh my god he’s in on it too. Haha!

“Detain her, please,” Tavo told Shrike.

“Fuck!” The girl drew a pair of daggers and struck out in a panic as Shrike stepped forward.
“Why are you listening to him? He’s a traitor! He’ll rat out Xanxus! Believe me, I know the future!” Amaranth had raised her voice and appeared to be trying to attract as much attention as possible, which seemed a bit silly to Tyr. Who was going to rescue her, those two on clerk duty outside?

The girl had some skill with daggers, but seemed unpractised at stabbing actual people. She Propagated the weapons to completely unnecessary numbers, and a scuffle broke out as Shrike countered her attacks with...was that a spike from the perimeter fence? Tavo, for his part, simply looked irritated, swatting at the cloned daggers flying all over the place with a ring binder, and seemingly deaf to the screaming about how he was the scum of the earth and that his robot was stupid. Always calm, their Tavo.

Already tired of the clownery, Tyr stuck out his cane, tripping the girl (awful spatial awareness on that one), and Shrike took the opportunity to knock her out before she could contribute further to this one-sided discussion.

Unfortunately, Amaranth face-planted onto Tavo’s desk and broke her nose.

Some splatter occurred. Luckily, Tyr’s coffee escaped unscathed.

“Um.” Shrike carefully peeled Amaranth off the desk and looked at the mess. “I’ll call for cleanup?” He had a dagger sticking out of a bicep, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

“Thank you, but I’ll deal with it later,” sighed Tavo, sitting down and starting to shuffle around some papers. When no further reprimand or instruction seemed forthcoming, Shrike saluted and scuttled out, body in tow.

Tyr could see that Tavo was typing a transcript of the admittedly short meeting to attach to Amaranth’s slightly bloodied dossier, adding Tyr and Shrike’s names as witnesses. He printed it, stamped “FAILED EMPLOYMENT INTERVIEW” on it, and signed off at the bottom.

“Who recommended her?” Tyr asked. ‘Special hire’, in the Varia, referred to personnel not personally sourced by HR or the elite ranks, and instead came by external recommendation. As much as the Varia attempted to operate independently, some … accommodations …had to be made. However, even if these ‘special hires’ made Quality (rarely), they were generally regarded with some suspicion. CEDEF had sent its fair share of moles that way.

“She’s the Bellini heiress; the Don pulled some strings and got her recommended through the Beccio,” said Tavo.

Then why the English, thought Tyr.

“...probably to see if she could fit Xanxus’s Cloud Guardian position,” continued Tavo. “This is the first I’ve heard of any precognitive abilities, though, if that’s what was going on with her.”

“Hmm.” Prescience, even the wonky kind, was uncommon enough that it could explain why Amaranth’s sponsors had been sure she could make the cut. Regrettably, her rare talent had not been accompanied by the requisite level of intelligence or discretion. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find out.”

“We’ll see.” Tavo smiled at him and put the folder under his arm. “Teo, I’m just going to run this up to Xanxus to see if he wants to follow up on anything. I’ll be right back.”

Normally, this sort of matter would just stay at Tavo’s level, or whoever was vice-captain now, but Tyr supposed Xanxus, being new, might want to keep a tighter hand on the reins. Not unreasonable, in his opinion.

He waved Tavo off and continued sipping his coffee. Though, what was an Ay-You, he wondered, then shrugged, dismissing the thought.

Tyr relaxed into his chair as gunshots rang out in the distance, accompanied by the sounds of shattering glass and crumbling plaster. Just a regular Monday at Varia HQ.

Chapter Text

Xanxus of the Vongola, 15, Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

Xanxus was up too fucking early, considering all the nonsense that had happened with that stab-happy brat last night, but now that little hellion was his and absolutely Varia Quality, so Xanxus supposed that was something.

Back at the Iron Fort, Xanxus never woke up before ten in the morning unless there was school, and sometimes not even then. But now he had responsibilities, apparently, thanks to the stupid fucking shark, who’d dropped the Varia at his feet like a cat bringing home a mostly dead rat.

So here he was, up with the fucking sun, to do all the fucking shit that came with being Boss of the Varia, with a fucking backlog of tasks the size of Mt. Etna.

Xanxus had not appreciated just how much effort it took just to run the fucking place. The Varia apparently used to be a loosely organised clusterfuck of specialised assassins answering directly to the Vongola leadership. Then Tyr had taken it over, made it more or less independent, and given it proper structure.

The head, or Captain, had absolute authority (awesome). The vice-captain was second in command and was in charge of the day-to-day running of the show. The rank and file were kept in line by the Elite ranks, who in turn reported to the Executives – the leadership, who might or might not be the Captain’s Guardians. Instead of permanent squads, task forces were usually tailored to specific assignments, each headed by at least one Elite. Xanxus would’ve expected more solo missions, given the reputations of some of the assassins under him, but apparently those were considered inadvisable and consequentially rare.

And then there were the various divisions managed by Elite rank or higher: Human Resources, covering recruitment, training, and discipline, Operations, involving the everyday running of the Varia, Intelligence, Medical, and Accounting, which was in charge of payroll and well, financing their activities. Xanxus had met all the Elite in charge, but didn’t know them yet – that would take time.

The most fucking painful part, in Xanxus’s opinion, was the nitty-gritty stuff– the careful documentation of who wanted who murdered in what specific way, down to how much arterial spray on the wall was allowed. Quality ‘service’ and all that, and helped to calculate bonuses for whichever squad carried out the hit and made sure everyone got a fair cut. Not to mention the excruciatingly detailed records of ‘consultations’ with the trash at CEDEF, just to make sure whoever they were gutting wasn’t too crucial to Vongola’s “greater strategic objective”.

So, to sum it up, the Boss part was great, but the paperwork could go die in a fire. The Varia had been trying to streamline approvals and other processes, but it was slow going and kept getting delayed. Well, Xanxus was going to make it a fucking priority.

To be fair, most of this garbage was supposed to be the shark’s work in his capacity as vice-captain, but that asshole had buggered off on a world tour to solidify his position as the new Sword Emperor the moment he got out of the infirmary.

Pro: The new Sword Emperor was Xanxus’s Rain, and he was both proud and very very smug.

Con: That meant Tyr’s Cloud, Ottavio, who’d (technically) stepped down to make room for Squalo, still functioned as acting-vice captain for now, because Xanxus didn’t have anybody who could do the work (yet).

Considering how much shit Ottavio was doing, Xanxus thought Tyr either trusted him a lot, or needed to keep him busy.

‘Four-Eyes’, as he’d heard some of the men call Ottavio, had a mixed reputation – people either hated (the rank and file) or loved him (HR and the handful of Elite closest to Tyr). The consensus seemed to be that he was damned good at his job, but kind of shady even by mafia standards. Ottavio functioned primarily as some kind of high level clerk, because he wasn’t on the missions roster (and didn’t have an alias or underworld moniker, unless ‘Ottavio’ was his alias), which made the number of strange rumours about him very unusual (the Varia tended to prefer gossip about the strongest and bloodiest). Like that one rumour about some secret death robot in the basement Ottavio had filched from the military or something (if there was a secret death robot, Xanxus was taking it).

Xanxus had never met the guy before taking over the Varia, even at Vongola events attended by Tyr, but in general Tyr’s Guardians were quite secretive and didn’t crowd around him like his father’s or brothers’ ones did, so that might not be unusual. Hell, Tyr’s Mist was an unconfirmed rumour.

And given that Squalo had almost killed Ottavio’s Sky and by all accounts Ottavio (and probably the Sun, too) had been fucking pissed (understandably), Xanxus was still waiting to see if there was going to be any fallout. So that meant not completely trusting him with the full scope of his previous duties.

(That went for the rest of the Varia, too. So far, there had been no obvious discontent, but Xanxus wasn’t one to take things at face value.)

So, in conclusion, until he had better options Xanxus was fucking stuck with the fucking paperwork.

There was a knock on his door then, making him scowl and look up. “What?”

“Captain?” sounded a voice at the door. It sounded slightly familiar, but Xanxus couldn’t place it.

He grunted.

There was a pause, as if the person on the other side of the door didn’t know what to make of that response. Then they knocked again.

Xanxus flung his glass at the door. “Get in or scram!” he growled.

“It’s Ottavio. Pardon me,” said the voice, and the door swung open to reveal Ottavio, speaking of the devil.

Ottavio must have read something in Xanxus’s expression, because he adjusted his spectacles and quickly said, “I will summarise my report in thirty seconds.”

He started talking before Xanxus could say anything or throw something at him, and really took exactly thirty fucking seconds (Xanxus had kept half an eye on the clock on the wall). He took the document Ottavio handed him, and scanned it over quickly.

Huh. People claimed all sorts of things all the time, so Xanxus was not particularly alarmed at the report of someone claiming to know secrets about him, and apparently his father. There had been an endless stream of idiots trying to tell Xanxus things about himself since his days in the slums. Feeding him half-truths about Skies and Vongola history and rings. But he wasn’t Xanxus of the Vongola for nothing, and he hadn’t gotten this far by being gullible.

“Perhaps you overreacted,” he commented anyway, looking over the papers at Ottavio.

“I followed existing HR guidelines,” replied Ottavio firmly.

The guidelines which he’d likely set himself, considering there hadn’t been a real HR before Ottavio.

“The price for failing the employment interview could quite possibly have been death, so we were quite lenient, all things considered,” continued Ottavio, as Xanxus continued observing him. No shifty eyes, which was good, but every sign of being a stubborn bastard, which might cause issues down the line. “Miss Amaranth seemed to have personal information pertaining to you and the Ninth. Per Vongola directive, any such information is highly restricted.”

If the trash was hinting at his parentage – it wasn’t like everyone and their mother didn’t know he was an illegitimate son already, so Xanxus didn’t really get the point of that. He supposed it might be some sort of blanket protocol that also applied to his brothers. Something about it nagged at him though, just out of reach.

“Still,” said Xanxus eventually, putting that thought aside for now. He gave Ottavio a considering look. “Maybe she said something about you that you didn’t like.”

“If you’re referring to the accusations of being a traitor, I’m not currently incentivised to do so,” Ottavio replied very seriously. “I won’t pretend to swear any oaths of loyalty to you, but I take my work seriously. You are my current superior, and I respect that. But if you were planning a coup against Vongola leadership or something, I’d have to report you to Vongola HQ. Per protocol.”

There was a mildly awkward pause as they both thought about it.

At least the trash was honest about it. Xanxus rolled his eyes. “Sure. And what? She was looking at Tyr funny?”

“She was looking at Tyr funny,” agreed Ottavio, smiling politely, though there was a bit of a vindictive gleam in his eyes. Fucker wasn’t even the least bit sorry. “It is my opinion that Miss Amaranth is not a good fit for the organisation, despite her recommendation by our ally.”

“Get the fuck out of my office,” said Xanxus. He didn’t have time for this.

“Of course. Should you like to pursue any avenues further,” said Ottavio, opening the door, “Amaranth is in Holding Room 4. Mammon in Intelligence could also be of assistance, and answers solely to the highest bidder.” And was therefore without fixed loyalties to the previous leadership. Xanxus supposed Ottavio was trying to put him at ease.

Whatever. He cocked his gun. “Out.”

Ottavio’s (really fucking smarmy) smile did not falter. “Have a good day,” he said, and left a fraction of a second before Xanxus put a hole in the door.

Grunting, Xanxus reholstered his gun. The blood spatter on Ottavio’s report caught his eye again. Maybe he should investigate, if it gave him a break from this damned paperwork.

Chapter Text

Shrike, 23, Rank A, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

As one of the rare ‘flameless’ assassins in the Varia and therefore part of the sad handful who could see things as they were without rainbow-tinted glasses… Shrike could say, with great confidence, that anybody who could set themselves on fire with their will was never going to be in complete possession of their marbles.

So Shrike generally didn’t bat an eye at the things that went down in Varia HQ, especially when it came to new recruits with more innate firepower (heh) than sense.

With this latest batch though…they’d gone from straight from ‘eccentric’ to ‘suicidal lemming’.

Maybe something was in the water. Or maybe it was the concentration of Clouds driving everyone up the wall. For some strange reason, they’d collected more of them in one run than the past ten years of recruitment combined.

Sure, these shiny new recruits could all speak ten unrelated languages and knit with both hands tied behind their backs etc etc, but, (and there was always a but) a good half of them seemed to have some kind of death wish. The burden of genius, or whatever. They were down to six already, from ten recruits, not counting the ‘special hire’ he’d knocked out in Ottavio’s office.

The first one to go down had decided to give some lip to Levi-A-Than, a newly minted Elite with something to prove. All that remained of him was a charred outline on the front steps.

Then came two idiot Clouds who were apparently both angling for a Guardian spot with the new boss. They got into a fight, and then Xanxus came along and tossed them out of the Varia after giving them a good thrashing (heh!).

The fourth they’d had high hopes for– a rare Lightning-Mist mix with a talent for interfacing with electronics and could apparently travel through phone lines. So of course Mammon caught the girl red handed trying to snoop through Ottavio’s files and trapped her, charging through the nose for the service, too. (Why Ottavio though?) Word was, she was now stuck in Ottavio’s office telephone, possibly for life, or until someone bothered to plug the phone back in.

With such a bad attrition rate this time round, Ottavio had even personally come to see if anything could be done. Shrike felt pretty anxious about it too. It wouldn’t look good on his annual review, when he usually passed with flying colours. He was hoping to make Elite soon!

And then, to make matters worse, Potential Casualty #5 (Shrike hadn’t bothered to remember his name, which would be changed soon enough anyway if he made it through) challenged Ottavio to a duel. Because, death wish.

To be fair, it wasn’t exactly unheard of for lower ranking Varia to make impossible challenges to attract mentors or move up in rank (assuming they survived), but PC5 didn’t seem to have that kind of goal in mind.

“Have I offended you in some way?” Ottavio asked PC5, glasses glinting in the overhead light.

Shrike cringed.

He knew Ottavio meant it sincerely (most of the time), but it unfortunately came off as… oily and condescending. Ottavio’s brand of overly polite, deliberate niceness had made for a lot of unfortunate misunderstandings over the years. It had to do with how Ottavio’s voice and drawling accent made him sound like a sleazeball at the best of times, but mostly, people refused to believe a mafioso could be nice, and took it the worst way possible.

Sure enough, PC5 got offended. “I will smite you, in the name of Justice!” cried PC5, with all the bravado of youth.

Shrike couldn’t stop cringing, because what even was this? A kid’s cartoon show?

“Of course,” Ottavio sighed and checked his watch. “Might as well give a practical demonstration, since no one’s listening.” Ironically, his supervisor had been giving a seminar on conflict resolution, which had clearly fallen on deaf ears. Personally, Shrike didn't find Ottavio's weird staff workshops very helpful, except maybe the ones about (avoiding) taxes. Ottavio tried his best though, and nobody could fault him for trying to look out for them.

They relocated to one of the basement training areas, which had amassed a small audience as word spread. Everyone seemed pretty excited, since Ottavio didn’t fight very often (or at all, actually, now that he thought about it), and no one seemed to care how one-sided it might turn out.

Ottavio was Tyr’s Cloud, after all.

“Do you want me to hold that for you, sir?” Shrike asked when he spotted Ottavio still clutching his favourite pink thermos, which usually held his coffee. Sometimes booze with coffee.

“Ah, thank you, but don’t worry about it,” Ottavio replied, smiling and walking into the training grounds proper, thermos still in hand. Shrike couldn’t help but feel a bit worried about Ottavio’s caffeine addiction.

“Attention!” came a voice over a loudhailer. It was Sparrow, who’d tagged along as an assistant trainer. She had volunteered to play referee.

“Ottavio from HR versus,” Sparrow checked a clipboard, “uh… Raguel, formerly of Mafia Land, self-styled … Angel of Judgment. Alright. First one to incapacitate the opponent wins.”

Wow, that name certainly was… special. Bet that really impressed the other recruits.

“Face me, scum!” cried PC5, forming an impressively solid blade of Lightning flames in his hand. “Judgement calls!”

Seriously, Shrike really wanted to know what was with all the people convinced that Ottavio was some kind of supervillain. The only thing evil about that man was the triplicate paperwork.

“Ok,” said Ottavio mildly, making a beckoning motion with his free hand in the universal gesture for ‘come get me’.

PC5 hesitated for the briefest moment before charging with a battle cry.

Ottavio tossed his thermos at him.

It exploded on contact with PC5’s Lightning blade, the shockwave blasting him off his feet and throwing the surrounding spectators off balance. Shrike barely avoided falling on his ass, only managing to keep upright thanks to a strong grip on his arm holding him steady.

“Whew, thanks,” said Shrike, feelingly. He looked up to see who had helped him, and startled when he met the unimpressed face of his new, youthful boss. “Oh! Uh. Boss. Morning, I mean, afternoon.”

Xanxus grunted and let go. They both turned back towards the arena as a loud crash announced PC5 slamming into the wall with so much force he stuck there. Shrike winced. He’d be fine, probably. Lightnings were hardy (heh).

“Raguel, Angel of Judgement is unable to continue,” announced Sparrow, trying in vain to wipe off some of the fine film of coffee now coating everything and everyone, ew. “Ottavio wins the round.”

“The loser serves the winner. Tell Ottavio this trash is his problem now,” Xanxus informed Shrike, and stalked off, clearly in a foul mood.

Great. Shrike sighed and took an experimental sniff at himself. Ugh.

“Ah, the old Cloud vapour expansion trick.” Shrike, distracted from his thoughts, turned in the direction of the voice. Lugh, Tyr’s Sun, chief surgeon of the Varia, and regular witness to Shrike’s embarrassing encounters with sharp objects, had sidled up on the other side of him, mostly coffee-free due to the umbrella he’d opened up. Shrike only wished he’d had the same foresight.

“He used to do that with petrol cans, then light the whole place on fire,” reminisced Lugh fondly, stroking his moustache. “Good times. Cleared places out right quick.”

…good to know that his supervisor had a pyromaniac streak? Shrike suddenly felt a lot better that Ottavio had only brought a coffee thermos.

“Uh… shouldn’t you be,” Shrike gestured to PC5’s battered figure still partially embedded in the wall, “over there? Sir?”

Lugh shrugged. “The kids can handle it.”

True enough, Lussuria and a few others from the medical team were jogging over with a stretcher. They started prying PC5 out with a crowbar.

“I’m thinking I might retire soon anyway,” Lugh added. “It’s good experience for them.”

“Oh.” Shrike blinked. That was a little sad, but understandable, with the change in leadership and all. Lugh and Ottavio were the only Guardians of Tyr left in the Varia (the other surviving one, allegedly a Mist, had no interest in the assassin life, or so he’d heard). Tyr was basically retired now, retaining a consultant position by dint of his long years of experience and being a backup Sky in case things went sideways. He wondered if Ottavio planned to leave, too. They’d all miss him (well most of HR would miss him), if he did.

With the show over, people began filing out of the training hall. Ottavio wandered over to them, wiping his glasses with a cloth. He waved a little to Lugh, who waved back before ambling away, umbrella tucked under his arm. The rest of the recruits trailed after him like coffee-scented ducklings.

“...cost of cleanup is the responsibility of the loser,” Ottavio was explaining to his suddenly very tractable audience, “of course, exemptions can be filed and granted on a case-by-case basis…” He paused when they got to Shrike.

“Shrike, perhaps we should dismiss them for the day?” said Ottavio. “I believe everyone might like to freshen up.”

Yeah, Shrike really wanted a shower, himself.

“Alright, off you go,” he told the recruits, unable to keep the enthusiasm from his voice. “Back again tomorrow morning, 7.30 sharp!” They immediately scattered to make the most of their unexpected afternoon off.

“Did the Captain have any instructions?” asked Ottavio once the recruits had left. “I noticed him here with you.”

“Oh yeah.” Shrike scratched his head. “Said the kid,” he nodded at the PC5 excavation effort, “was our problem now.”

“I see,” Ottavio sighed. “We’d better think of a name for him, then.”

“Tit,” suggested Shrike.

“Booby,” piped up Sparrow from behind them.

“What have I said about hazing rookies?” Ottavio chided, but he seemed more amused than anything. He looked back at PC5 for a moment, gaze lingering on the obnoxious neon blue stripe in his hair.

“Bluebird,” he decided, and that was that.

Chapter Text

Bluebird, 14, Trainee, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly Raguel ‘Angel of Judgement’ Kaminari , vigilante, formerly Alan Sutherland, 14, student

Alan woke up, slowly, agonisingly, to a haze of numbed-but-not-numbed-enough pain.

He couldn’t quite turn his head, and his arms and legs seemed to be immobilised in casts. Everything hurt like a bitch. He was in a …hospital room? Things were beeping around him, and there were…tubes and stuff. Strangely, he smelled coffee …

Alan just lay there for a long while, as his brain tried to piece together what had happened.

He’d … died, in his previous life, he was pretty sure. There had been a storm, so, a lightning strike, maybe?

Pretty ironically, Raguel was a Lightning.

Yeah, it was super wild, but he’d somehow transported himself into the KHR universe, into the OC he’d made for fun one day. It’d been a bit of a fad on Tumblr? Post your OC, etc etc, fun stuff, good times.

His OC, Raguel, was supposed to be a mysterious vigilante, there like a flash of divine lightning, dispensing a well-justified beatdown, then vanishing again like the wind.

Alan had big dreams of being Tsuna’s Lightning Guardian, at the time. Because Lambo? Just no. The timing was a bit of a problem, as Alan figured out he was like ten years too early for canon or something, but he could just show up early, maybe. Be a cool older brother type figure.

The bigger issue was that he didn’t have any money, or papers, or any idea how to get forged papers. So he’d hung around in Mafia Land for a bit, doing odd jobs by day and practising vigilantism by night. His heroic deeds somehow managed to attract the attention of some passing Varia, who kidnapped him, taught him the whimsical regional variant of Italian common to Vongola and its vassals (he’d almost lost his mind learning it), made him sit some tests, then whisked him off to Varia HQ.

It was better than sitting around doing nothing, so Alan didn’t protest too much. His very own training arc! He had it all planned out.

Then he’d challenged Ottavio, sure that he could make a name for himself. Ottavio was kinda a pushover in canon right? Just scum trash all the way. If it came to it, Alan could handle the stupid robot with the stupid off switch on the back, easy.

But then Ottavio hadn’t used the Mosca at all. Or actually been a pushover.

(That was the problem with relying on fan-translated light novels and fanfic. Maybe he’d been a bit too overconfident.)

The last thing he remembered was being kicked into the wall, and then…nothing. One hit KO!

Maybe he’d died and gone back, somehow.

To that utterly boring and pointless life.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure sitting by his bedside. He focused, head spinning, and the shape gradually resolved itself into a pink-haired, olive-skinned girl in the Varia uniform who looked somewhat familiar. All the breath rushed out of him in relief. Still here!

At the sound, the girl looked up from whatever paperwork she had been working on. “Oh good, you’re awake,” she said.

Alan tried for a witty repartee, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate. The best he could manage was a croak. Humiliating!

“Yeah, I fed you something to make sure you’d shut up for a bit, at least until you understand what I’m going to tell you,” said the girl, making Alan’s eyes widen in alarm. “We don’t like loose lips here.”

We? Ottavio and his goons?! The Varia? Vongola? Byakuran’s underlings? A secret society trying to silence him, the prophet of the future?!

“First things first,” the girl continued, her tone clipped. “Xanxus stuck you with HR, so Ottavio is now your supervisor. You will address him as ‘Ottavio’ or ‘Sir’. Your name is now Bluebird. You will only respond to Bluebird. You may not dye your hair any other colour than blue.”

Bluebird? Also, that last rule was totally unfair.

“Secondly, Ottavio put me in charge of you, so you report to me. You may call me Sparrow.”

‘Sparrow’? Come to think of it, that trainer’s name was ‘Shrike’, too…

So, bird names, like CEDEF had herb and spice names? But Xanxus and his Guardians had the seven deadly sins theme going so he thought the Varia would have… cooler … code names … wait, no, there was that lame Lightning squad named One Two Three or something… okay, ‘Bluebird’ was fine, actually, though Alan would’ve personally preferred ‘Hawk’ or ‘Kingfisher’.

“Thirdly,” and with this the girl, Sparrow, fixed him with a stone cold gaze, “I’ve been watching you, even before your dumb stunt with Ottavio. You need to stop dropping hints all over the place about how you know things. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

A secret society trying to silence him, the great prophet of the future!!

Alan glared at her, trying to convey his condescension and defiance. He! Would not! Be Silenced!

Sparrow laughed. It was not a nice laugh and sounded kind of evil. Could he file a complaint against HR with HR if he was in HR?

“Yeah everybody who’s transmigrated here thinks they’re special at first, you know?” said Sparrow, checking her nails, which were painted a mint green. “They’ll try to give cryptic advice, change things. Try to get close to their favourite character. Joining the Varia’s also popular.”

“But it’s not that easy, is it?” she continued, soft and deadly. “This universe is like Australia on steroids, I’m sure you’ve noticed. The mafia has its claws in everything, world history is screwed up, and physics is fucking weird thanks to all this Flame stuff. All your faves are suspicious bastards and have better things to do than fall in love with you. You want to change things so people don’t suffer, but where would you even start? You don’t know the timeline, you don’t have the resources, you don’t have the power.”

Girl sure was salty. Not wrong, but definitely salty.

Wait, hold on, there were multiple self-inserts here? Or transmigrators, as Sparrow called them. Alan wasn’t sure how he felt about that! Wasn’t he supposed to be the protagonist here? Was there going to be a battle royale for the role of One True Protag?

“I bet you think I’m just being salty because I got nowhere,” continued Sparrow, narrowing her dark eyes at him. “Let me tell you, I’m one of the lucky ones. People have died, been captured, or worse. There was another one earlier, a girl who got taken to the holding cells. At least I’m alive, I’m more or less safe, and I get paid.”

Oh, now she was humblebragging?

Sparrow threw up her hands. “What I’m saying is, take things seriously! And keep your mouth fucking shut.”

But.. his Plans!

“Or I’ll keep your mouth shut for you.”

… nevermind his plans.

Chapter Text

Sparrow, 18, Rank B, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly Locusta of Malta, formerly Lili Ortiz, 22, student.

Hopefully, their newest dumbass got the hint. Lili was giving herself stomach ulcers stressing out over all these ungrateful assholes.

Lili understood where they were coming from. Everyone wanted to find meaning in their new life here, make a difference, save the world, get the girl. Or guy.

But the life of a transmigrated character wasn’t necessarily an easy one, in this fucked up universe.

She herself had been isekai’d here in the most hilariously cliched way — courtesy of Truck-kun.

Like everybody who was any sort of KHR fan, she had long had a secret self-insert original character thought up, ready in the back of her head.

Whatever greater power responsible for putting her here had been kind enough to preserve key characteristics of her OC– appearance, family history (why did she pick ‘sob story orphan’?!), talents, Sun flames… but that was where the concessions ended.

She was spat into Malta, a country she knew next to nothing about, smack dab in the middle of a gang war.

She vaguely remembered her OC having some kind of half-baked angsty backstory like this (again, why, self), but still. Very traumatic.

Being a sheltered middle class girl with zero street smarts, she was pretty much immediately captured the moment her flames were noticed, and forced to work for a syndicate.

It could really have gone a lot worse for a young girl captured by the mob, all things considered. Perhaps there were extra considerations for Flame users that made them just that little bit more cautious in the way they treated her. Lili didn’t like to think about it too much, and thanked every deity out there for small mercies.

They first tried to use her as a healer, but after ‘accidentally’ maiming some gangsters, they decided she would do better as a killer.

It took a whole lot of experimentation involving too many sewer rats, but she endured. Lili even managed to establish a name for herself as an assassin with a talent for poisons (re-Activating toxins, making formerly safe food unsafe again). Maybe it made her a bit of a coward, but it was easier than killing them directly, if she was going to have to kill them anyway. She even got a nickname, Locusta, which she took as her nom de guerre.

The moment Lili was strong enough and saw an opportunity, she killed her handlers, snuck on the first boat she could catch off Malta, and ended up on a beach somewhere in southern Italy with a bounty on her head.

But she lived, bitch!

Somehow, Lili survived her pursuers and scraped together enough competence to join the Varia, where she was finally (relatively) safe.

That was also when Lili realised the problem of transmigrating into a universe where so many details had been left out of canon.

And that this version of KHR might not even be the one she’d been familiar with.

Take this universe’s Ottavio, for example.

Lili hadn’t expected to be drafted into HR. They’d all been assessed for typing speed on their way in, and she’d outperformed the rest of the recruits by a mile. Ottavio, as vice-captain and Tyr’s blatant favourite, always got first pick of the fresh meat. So he immediately stole Lili out from under the nose of Accounting (according to the Varia’s biggest gossip, Jet from Operations) and named her Sparrow, as she was very small and underfed at the time. Taking up administrative duties in exchange for a reduced mission load didn’t seem like a bad deal to Lili, especially since she wasn’t really into the whole murder thing despite being good at it. She hadn’t really remembered what Ottavio did in canon until it was too late, and by then she kind of liked him as a supervisor.

Ottavio was weirdly anal about paperwork, and kind of distant, (an Ottavio thing, not a Cloud thing, because Flame attributes were not the MBTI equivalent in this universe, no matter what fanon said), but not unkind. He took particular care there wasn’t any harassment happening (especially since there were so few women in the Varia), and made sure everyone had a plan for career development and retirement. As far as she knew, he had no interest in weapons smuggling or robots. She didn’t even think he ever left the office unless Tyr told him to.

Lili had a hard time seeing him as a villain when she interacted with this perfectly normal and reasonable human being every day.

Of course, there was always that possibility that Ottavio was just playing the long game, or just really good at hiding his despicable side… but Lili doubted it. The only things Ottavio seemed to care about were Tyr, coffee, and paperwork, in that order. And another mark for Definitely an AU Universe– Tyr had lived! She wasn’t super clear on the details, but that definitely did not happen in canon.

Ah yes, and then there were all those fellow transmigrators.

Due to reasons related to the nebulous timeline of canon KHR, Lili could only definitively identify the ones that crawled out of the woodwork once Xanxus became boss. But she’d also heard of several attempts by suspicious ‘seers’ to approach Xanxus or Squalo at the Mafia School, or outside the Iron Fort. Needless to say… those particular ones came to a sorry end.

What a waste.

Fingers crossed, Bluebird wouldn’t go the same way. She should try and get his story from him, sometime, now that he looked appropriately cowed and hopefully more cautious. Maybe she could find a non-suspicious way to talk with Amaranth, too…

Lili didn’t know if there were more doing their best to befriend Tsuna (he was just a small kid now, wasn’t he?) or Byakuran or whoever, but surely they were out there. Dozens of them, probably, doing stupid things and getting killed like the ones here, or just plain lost like she had been, without information on where anything was located or a firm grasp of the timeline.

Honestly, she could just keep her head down and just live her life, now. She had a decent job, with reasonable murder quotas, and would probably be pretty protected from any shit that went down in Vongola or the Varia.

Other than maybe the Byakuran crap that went down in the ten years later arc. She really didn’t want to think about that, nor could she remember what exactly happened with the Varia then. Her memory of what went down in KHR was getting hazier by the day, mixed in and overwritten with her new reality.

Still, perhaps she was being naive, but sometimes, in her heart of hearts, she thought maybe, just maybe, everyone could come together, pool knowledge and resources, and actually change things.

Unlikely, because people were assholes.

(But, did anything need to be changed, asked that little voice in her head, considering everything turned out fine in the end in canon? Lili had to apply a metaphorical emergency brake before she could spiral uncontrollably down this philosophical rabbit hole, again.)

On the bright side, maybe Lili could even meet her secret KHR crush someday (Dino best boy! Though he was probably just a pimply teen now, so that would be weird— heck, Squalo was a pimply teen right now).

Haha, and pigs would fly.

A girl could dream, though.

Chapter Text

Amaranth, 16, candidate trainee, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly Amaranth of the Bellini Famiglia, formerly Katie Lee, 16, student

That asshole Ottavio put her in a cell.

Katie had woken up on a concrete floor, to four featureless walls, some kind of reinforced door and nothing else. What if she needed to pee? She sure as hell wasn’t using the bucket in the corner.

Katie wiped the dried blood from her nose (ow ow ow was it broken?!) and tried not to cry. She thought she’d been doing so well, too!

She’d been freaked out, then excited, when she randomly found herself transported to the universe of her favourite fandom, in the body of her very own OC!

Her OC was a ‘mafia princess’, but the Famiglia she’d ended up in, while bearing the same name as in her OC’s backstory, didn’t hold quite as much clout in the Mafia World as she would’ve liked. Still, the people in her Famiglia were super friendly and supportive, and it had been really fun, especially when her Flames manifested, right on cue! She was the only one in the Famiglia who could use them, so she didn’t have much in the way of a teacher, but she had a good imagination and her OC could use them naturally anyway.

She’d agonised for the longest time whether she should go for Dino or Xanxus (she hadn’t really decided yet, back when she was writing her fic, though commenters were leaning towards Xanxus), but in the end, she’d never gotten to meet them. Weirdly, she didn’t attend the Mafia Academy like she’d put in her OC’s background (something about her Famiglia not having any allotted places in the school, which was unfair), so she couldn't like, just run into them. And apparently Vongola balls and parties didn’t happen as regularly as she imagined, and the Bellini Famiglia usually didn’t get an invite, so no go on that front, either.

Then she’d overheard some underlings mention that Xanxus had taken over the Varia, and she knew she had to get there immediately to stop him from being iced!

Daddy dearest (now wasn’t that weird) hadn’t been too happy about her sudden desire to join the Varia, but caved after some pleading and crocodile tears. He pulled some strings to get Katie an interview, which was great because Katie hadn’t even known where the Varia were. Stupid details.

Anyway, Katie hadn’t been too worried. Thanks to her backstory, Amaranth was talented and Varia Quality. She was pretty confident in her OC’s looks and in her knowledge of Xanxus’s likes and dislikes, plus she was the protag, right?

Wrong.

Katie was in some kind of fucked-up AU where Ottavio was some kind of asshole gatekeeper for Varia recruits, and Tyr lived. Like what? But Xanxus was still Boss?

So it wasn’t her fault that she’d maybe blabbed too much while panicking at this realisation.

Now that she had some time to think … Was any of her knowledge still relevant? How much had changed? … Actually, that didn’t help at all, it just made her panic more.

What to do, what to do… Katie paced the room, uneasy.

She wasn’t dead, so…that was good, right? Maybe they were going to torture her for information? Which was bad. Very bad … maybe Katie should’ve just stayed with the Bellini.

If only she could talk to Xanxus…

She wheeled around as she heard the door unlock and swing open.

Xanxus!

And some mook carrying his chair-throne-thing, but he skittered away the moment he set the chair down so it was just her and Xanxus.

Yes!! Katie couldn’t believe her luck, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She greedily took in the sight of the one man she’d wanted to meet forever (Dino aside, sorry babe!), and oh… he was even hotter in person. A bit different from what she’d imagined, because no scars. Intimidating. Sexier than any human had a right to be. Was this what they meant by ‘fear boner’?

Katie must have been staring and/or drooling because Xanxus smirked as he sat down, and rearranged himself so she could appreciate him better.

Yeah, her brain stopped working for a good minute there.

Focus, Katie, she thought, hoping her hair didn’t look too crazy. Focus! Survival first, convince him you’re useful! Then you can think about whether he looks hotter with or without the scars.

“You look different without the scars,” was what came out of her mouth instead.

Why did she keep doing this?! It was like her mouth moved before her brain could catch up.

Xanxus raised an eyebrow and tilted his chin, a clear demand for Katie to explain.

Okay, okay, maybe this could be a good way to start dropping her knowledge of the future. “Uh. In my visions, yes, visions, you had scars!”

“Visions,” repeated Xanxus, in a tone that probably meant ‘I’m not buying it and you have ten seconds to change my mind before I shoot you’.

“Uh…” Katie grasped around for something, anything to say. “Like, you know how some Families who can … see into the future…”

“You’re related to the Giglio Nero?” Xanxus didn’t seem convinced. “That’s not on your file.”

Katie was tempted to say yes just to make things easier, but remembered just in time that ‘her’ father, the Bellini Don, had said that telling untruths about lineage was just Not Done, which made Timoteo’s lie even worse, in hindsight. Plus, she didn’t want to get into trouble later, and she couldn’t lie to Xanxus!

“Not that I know of,” she settled on saying. “But I’m telling the truth, I promise! I really do know the future!”

“I heard that you seemed surprised that Tyr’s alive,” noted Xanxus.

Katie winced, because yeah, true, but she was committed now. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

“...Yes, in my original…visions, he’d been killed by Superbi Squalo…”

“Superbia,” corrected Xanxus.

“What?”

“It’s ‘Superbia’, trash. Latin. ‘Superbi’ is the masculine plural of ‘superbo’, which doesn’t make any sense in this context.”

God, Xanxus was a nerd. It was kinda hot.

“Well? Get on with it!” This time Xanxus did shoot, scorching a hole into the ground just inches from Katie. She jumped a good foot into the air, barely holding back a shriek. Would Xanxus just chill already!

She totally got why Tsuna always freaked out when Reborn shot at him, now.

Katie gulped. “... He’d been killed by Superbia Squalo… but everything else is the same! Squalo defeated Tyr. You became Boss. So… not that different?”

Xanxus didn’t look convinced, but prompted, “the scars?”

“... caused by the Zero-Point Breakthrough,” said Katie. This was it, make or break… It was all out of order but she’d make it work! “It’s a Vongola Sky Flame technique. It…freezes things? Something about negative energy.” It was never really said explicitly, but since Zero Point was created by Giotto, it was probably a Vongola thing, Katie reasoned. And this was pure speculation, but Xanxus didn’t seem to be able to use it, or know of it prior to being frozen.

“Bullshit,” said Xanxus. “I’ve never heard of it, and I would know.”

Yay, her gamble paid off!

Yeah, and I wonder just why you would have never heard of it despite being a Vongola ‘son’, thought Katie wryly, but just shrugged and spread her hands.

“Um anyway, you were leading a coup and almost succeeded. This was the only way to stop you.”

Katie had expected denial, rage, maybe even offence, like a ‘if I led a coup I would definitely win’ type of reaction. Instead, Xanxus got an indecipherable look on his face.

“I suppose Ottavio reported me to HQ,” he said, sounding almost resigned.

Katie blinked. “Yes but how did you —”

“He said he would,” replied Xanxus, which, what? “It’s protocol.”

Um. What.

Xanxus looked more thoughtful now, fractionally more open to talking. Katie was honestly baffled, but just put it down to Ottavio just being all around shady and suspicious.

She wanted to then talk about why Xanxus made that attempt, but Xanxus had already moved on to his next focus. “If it’s a Vongola technique,” he continued, harshly interrupting her attempt to speak, “ which one of my brothers did it? Or do your ‘visions’ not tell you?”

Oh boy, here goes nothing, she thought.

Katie cleared her dry throat. “It wasn’t … it was Timoteo. The Ninth left you in there for years—fuck!” She had to dive out of the way of another gunshot.

“That’s a lie,” snarled Xanxus.

“Look, that’s what…what I saw, okay?” Katie held up her hands in surrender. “And it was the only way to stop you, like I said.”

Xanxus shook his head. “You interpreted wrong,” he insisted with conviction. “Or it’s all garbage. You’ve not proven anything. Show me proof that you’re a seer.”

“Um.” Proof? Of course Katie didn’t have proof. She grasped around for something she could use, but most of her knowledge was about the canon era. Other than that she really only paid attention to the Varia, and maybe Dino. Xanxus didn’t know about Nono not being his father yet, so… Should she say anything about Tsuna? Something that could be followed up on. Oh, but someone might catch Xanxus digging… would that be a problem?

Katie was starting to figure out that this knowing the future stuff was turning out to be more complicated than she had originally anticipated … oh shit!

She leapt backwards as another gunshot almost grazed her cheek.

“Well?” growled Xanxus. “The next one won’t miss.”

“...Mammon is an arcobaleno, formerly known as Viper?” ventured Katie timidly.

Xanxus looked impassive. “Anyone with a brain and the right connections could figure that out.”

Oh, damn. “...Ottavio is involved in weapons smuggling with the military!” she offered next. “You just have to do a bit of investigating and you’ll see!”

“No.” Xanxus just wasn’t buying it.

“Well, what do you want?” Katie asked, frustrated. She was trying so hard but Xanxus was being so dismissive! “Nothing’s happened yet! I don’t know when they’ll happen!”

“You’re the one who’s supposed to convince me, trash.” Xanxus just shrugged boredly.

Katie sucked in a deep breath. Her nose was twinging again, she just wanted to lie down and cry, and her KHR crush was being a mean jerk who wasn’t listening.

“Well, maybe you’ll believe me when all your brothers die,” she blurted out before she could stop herself, and choked as the air suddenly turned oppressively heavy and almost impossible to breathe. Xanxus had gone very still, and Katie was either hallucinating or there was a heat haze coming off his skin.

Katie was terrified, but feeling very angry and petty. She was committed now, damn it. Xanxus wasn’t believing her? Well, he would be sorry. Katie gritted her teeth and stubbornly continued, “Enrico will die in a gunfight, Massimo will drown, and there’ll be nothing left of Federico but bones.”

Xanxus was silent. Then he stood, and just left the room. The intense pressure of his presence lifted, and Katie collapsed to her knees, heart pounding in her ears as she gasped for breath.

“Oh shit shit shit shit….” she muttered to herself, and stiffened as the door opened again.

The minion from earlier scurried in, picked up the chair, and left without even glancing in her direction. The door slammed shut and locked behind him, this time.

Katie stared at the closed door, wondering what would happen to her now.

“Oh crap, I didn’t get to tell him about the Ninth,” she realised.

Chapter Text

Xanxus of the Vongola, 15, Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

Xanxus had already wasted too much time on that trash and her ‘visions’, so he ordered her to be thrown to the wolves, where she would be someone else’s problem.

By ‘wolves’, he meant Shrike and the other trainers overseeing Varia Basic Training, the programme for new recruits, affectionately known as ‘Purgatory’ by veterans. Xanxus had been put through a condensed, expedited version upon taking on the mantle of leadership, the newly christened Belphegor would be expected to go through the same, and probably the shark too, once he got back. From his own experience and what he’d seen of the full programme, it’d be a fucking miracle if that fake seer trash made it through the whole thing. Then they’d be fully justified in sending her back right where she came from once she flunked out, whether alive or in a box, ‘special hire’ be damned.

Xanxus expected someone would be keeping a watch on that girl, too, now that she had been flagged as a potential problem. Something just didn’t sit right with him, about her whole thing.

Xanxus knew that she was a fraud, the same way he just knew about things, sometimes.

He’d asked his father if this was the famed ‘Vongola Intuition’, back when he was younger, but had always just earned an indulgent chuckle and a change of subject. Xanxus concluded it might be a common Sky ability that was just a bit stronger in the Vongola line, hyped up for Vongola PR purposes.

On the other hand – that trash’s ‘predictions’ hadn’t felt like lies, despite Xanxus’s gut feeling that they were not precognitive visions. Xanxus wasn’t an expert or anything, but the way she conveyed them had, to him, sounded more like statements of events that had already happened. It was just really fucking weird.
One good thing had come out of that farce, at least. Because new ways of using Sky flames always interested him, Xanxus, on his own time, had gone digging into the truth of the Zero-Point Breakthrough technique. That fraud had gotten that part right, no matter how she had come by that information. What he did find in the Vongola archives had suggested it was a Vongola technique first used by Primo, though it was unclear if he had developed it. Other than a description of what it could do and that it required Hyper Dying Will Mode, there was scant information on how to execute it or reverse it, so it must be something imparted directly to descendents.

Yet, no mention of this technique had ever been made to Xanxus. There were a few possibilities:

One: Zero-Point was incompatible with Wrath Flames, which was why no effort had been made to teach him something he would not be able to use. There was no evidence to support this, but it could be, again, knowledge passed down personally from leader to successor.

Two: Zero-Point was only taught to presumptive heirs. Since his father was fucking indecisive and hadn’t chosen one yet, that could be one reason why it hadn’t been brought up. He’d have to see if anything could be prodded out of his brothers.

Three: It was a forbidden technique. Xanxus thought the idea of ‘forbidden techniques’ was fucking stupid– if it existed, there was always a time and place to use it, but Vongola was super prissy about that stuff. He doubted that Zero-Point was one, though, considering how Vongola had practically canonised Primo as a saint.

Either way, he was going to learn it. He still didn’t believe everything that trash had said, but an extra card up his sleeve never hurt. It didn’t matter that there was no one to teach him. He was Xanxus of the Vongola, and he was going to figure this out by himself.

It turned out learning Zero-Point was easier said than done. His Flames of Wrath wanted to consume and destroy, not crystallise into ice, which gave greater credence to Hypothesis One. Still, Xanxus thought he was slowly getting closer. At least he could reliably go into Hyper Dying Will mode six to seven times out of ten, though Lussuria was constantly nagging at him not to over-strain his body.

Well, Lussuria got his wish, over the ensuing weeks and months, as Xanxus got busy, and had far less time to spend experimenting.

The Varia adjusted to his new leadership (after Xanxus had dealt with a few discontents), and missions started picking up – which meant Xanxus also got to go on them. The first few times, Xanxus was strongly advised to tag along behind another Elite team leader, just to learn how things worked.

Interestingly, most of those assignments were led by Mammon, which said a lot about who Operations and HR thought had any hope of keeping him under control.

Xanxus liked them. Mammon was a ruthlessly decisive individual who tolerated no nonsense, gave very clear instructions, and was a scarily powerful illusionist in their own right. In turn, Mammon seemed to appreciate Xanxus’s competence and willingness to get down and dirty with the rest of them.

“Mou, you’ll do,” Mammon had said. “Betray my trust, and I will trap you in an eternal nightmare.”

And so Xanxus found himself with a brand new Mist guardian, who was one-seventh of the Chosen Seven, and the most powerful Mist user in the world.

Hell fucking yeah.

Mammon being an arcobaleno was not really a secret within the Varia, but not something the Varia advertised to external parties, and Mammon had ways to ensure no one noticed. Their history prior to being Mammon … well, that was a privilege accorded to Xanxus himself, and not the head of the Varia. They had done their level best to erase all connections to their former life, and did not like anyone bringing it up without their approval.

Xanxus had been bluffing, that time with Amaranth, but that trash seemed to have somehow gotten it right (again).

“How many people would you say know the name ‘Viper’?” he asked his newest Guardian, one evening when it was just them.

Xanxus couldn’t see their expression, but he was sure Mammon’s eyes had narrowed under their hood.

“Who are still alive?” said Mammon, almost casually. “Few.”

Xanxus looked into the depths of his wine glass. A shitty vintage for something he’d filched from his father’s cellar.

“One of the recruits, the special hire, told me your old name, once,” he said.

Mammon’s mouth flattened into a displeased line. “I’m charging you extra if it’s a false lead, mou.”

Mammon approached him a few days later, late at night when Xanxus was finishing up some paperwork in his office. There had been a gnawing feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach the whole day, and it was making him very intolerant of any disturbances. Still, he allowed Mammon to float in and perch on his desk.

“Your recruits are annoying,” said Mammon, unashamedly helping themselves to a look at the documents on the desk. Xanxus let them, since it wasn’t anything Intelligence shouldn’t know, anyway.

“Recruits, as in multiple,” Xanxus stated, raising an eyebrow. Some kind of security risk?

“Mou, even nameless street rats have histories,” Mammon said, sounding vaguely complaining, “but some of your fresh meat seem to have appeared out of thin air.”

Strange, but not problematic yet, was what he determined from Mammon’s attitude, so something to keep in mind. In the Varia, you were allowed your secrets, after all, as long as it didn’t affect your work. For this extra tidbit of information, Xanxus reached in his drawer for a small gold bar, which he placed in front of Mammon. It vanished quickly under their cloak.

“As for the girl,” continued Mammon without skipping a beat, “She’s no Luce, certainly, and as Ottavio wrote, there’s no record of her having had any precognitive abilities prior to coming here. I double checked.”

“Knew she was a fraud,” said Xanxus with satisfaction.

“Mou, I cannot determine how she was aware I was once called Viper,” grumbled Mammon, and Xanxus didn’t even have to look at them to know they were pouting. “But I would not call it an impossible thing.”

So they were back to square one on that front – no definitive evidence on whether that trash had any abilities they could use. Xanxus was a fool for even considering it, really. Why was he wasting energy on this, again?

That vague feeling of dread returned in full force, now that Xanxus wasn’t distracted by his conversation with Mammon. Mammon seemed to pick up on it, giving him a sideways glance, but said nothing. Xanxus drained his wineglass and attempted to refocus on his paperwork.

He hadn’t made much progress when hurried footsteps at the door broke his concentration. “Xanxus?” came a voice outside–Ottavio’s, accompanied by frantic knocking. “Sir, it’s urgent.”

“No,” growled Xanxus. “Come back tomorrow.”

“It cannot wait,” pressed Ottavio.

Xanxus hurled his wineglass at his office door. “Get lost!” he snarled.

“Please excuse me.” Ottavio had the gall to open the door anyway, which earned him the wine bottle to the face. He flinched and pulled away, but was showered with wine and glass fragments as the bottle shattered on the door frame.

Ottavio was clearly disturbed by something, as he shook his head but kept going, his usual veneer of pleasantness absent. “Xanxus,” he said urgently, as Xanxus felt his stomach drop like a lead weight, “I am very sorry, but your brother Enrico is dead.”

“What?” Xanxus leapt to his feet before he knew it, fingers digging into the wood of his desk. How? Why? and most importantly, who did he need to kill?

Distantly, he heard Mammon ask, “Is your source reliable?”

“I have a trusted personal contact who was in the… I suppose the right place, at the right time,” was Ottavio’s reply to them. “This information was given as a favour. You must understand, the Varia have not been officially informed, though I expect your own network will hear of it soon. I just thought Xanxus needed to know as soon as possible…”

The rest of the conversation faded in and out of Xanxus’s ears.

Enrico was dead.

Xanxus wasn’t close to his brothers, due to the age gap and vastly different interests. But they were still family, and Enrico in particular had happily played the part of indulgent older sibling, back when Xanxus had just been welcomed into the Vongola. In more recent years they’d had disagreements on everything from Xanxus’s manners to Enrico’s choice of gold-digging girlfriends, but …

Fuck, when was the last time he’d even seen Enrico?

“ … took the liberty of recalling Superbia from his … excursion, since we will likely need all hands on deck to manage the fallout,” Ottavio continued.

He would forgive Ottavio for acting on his own, this once, because Xanxus suddenly really missed that stupid shark.

“Mou, I’ll call a meeting in Intelligence,” said Mammon. “Was it an assassination?”

Xanxus looked up at that. Someone was going to pay for this, and Xanxus was going to make sure of it.

“A shootout,” said Ottavio. “Multiple casualties on both ends.” Xanxus’s mind went blank, because –

“It’s going to be difficult for HQ to control the news about something like that,” commented Mammon.

“I’ll see what I can–” Ottavio began, then choked as Xanxus reached forward and seized him by the front of his shirt.

“Say that again,” demanded Xanxus.

“What?” Ottavio sounded confused.

“How did my brother die?!”

“A gunfight,” repeated Ottavio, blinking. “I- I don’t have any additional information.”

Xanxus let go, and barely noticed as Ottavio made his excuses and left the room.

“Xanxus,” he heard Mammon say, but he could not respond.

“Enrico will die in a gunfight,” that trash had said. “Massimo will drown, and there’ll be nothing left of Federico but bones.”

It was a coincidence. Gunfights were unavoidable, in the mafia. Deaths were not uncommon.

It was a coincidence.

Chapter Text

Superbia Squalo, 14, 14th Sword Emperor, Vice-Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

Squalo had only been away for five months, but it might as well have been five years, with everything that happened in his absence. Xanxus had gone and gotten an actual child (who was also royalty) and an arcobaleno as Guardians, because Xanxus was insane. Oh, and Lussuria, but Xanxus and Lussuria had been hitting it off even before Squalo left, so he didn’t count. That left only Lightning and Cloud, but Squalo had a feeling Xanxus would fill those in soon with more crazy bastards, soon enough.

Squalo hadn’t yet had much time to get to know his fellow Guardians and new colleagues, and unfortunately Enrico’s funeral was going to have to serve as his first bonding activity. The wake was being held at Vongola HQ, in the chapel on the grounds of the expansive estate. Later, there would be a funeral mass, then Enrico would be interred at the Vongola family cemetery. About a third of the Varia was there, both to pay respects and as extra security. They all wore the Varia uniform with the emblem boldly displayed, a visible reminder of what fate awaited any idiots who tried to take advantage of any perceived weaknesses in the Vongola.

The Varia had already utterly destroyed the upstart little gang who had carried out the ambush, but Xanxus wasn’t satisfied. For good reason – the whole fiasco smelled fishier than a wet market on a hot day. The Ninth, had however forbidden further investigation of this matter, claiming that those involved had already been punished. Xanxus, obviously, wasn’t having any of it, which was why he wasn’t on speaking terms with his father at the moment.

“Voi, what do you think?” Squalo asked Mammon, who had the most experience out of all of them.

In response, Mammon rotated their body slightly towards Massimo and Federico, who were accepting condolences from the unending flow of guests.

Yeah, Squalo thought so too.

“Ushishishi, the prince is familiar with such scenarios,” said the fratricidal maniac Squalo was stuck babysitting.

“I bet you are,” muttered Squalo, rolling his eyes.

The signs were there, for all who cared to look. The rivalry between the brothers had accelerated in the past few years. Even back at the Academy, the Vongola inheritance had been a constant topic of gossip. Massimo was the only one married with children and thus a secured potential line of succession (though none of them Skies, so far). Federico was exceptionally well-connected and popular among his peers. Enrico of course had been the most qualified – he was the oldest and had the strongest legitimate claim, which meant he had the backing of the traditionalists in the wider Alliance.

In Squalo’s opinion, the Ninth probably couldn’t decide between them because they were all useless. Only Xanxus had any kind of real accomplishment to his name. His illegitimate status was unfortunately an obstacle to inheritance, but people were starting to come around now that Xanxus had shown himself to be an effective leader.

He returned his gaze to Xanxus’s remaining brothers, who both looked appropriately mournful, but looks could be deceiving. Interestingly, while he’d heard that two of Enrico’s four Guardians survived, they were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps held somewhere so they wouldn’t make a scene? Hopefully Ottavio’s informant would have more details. Xanxus had demanded to see them, and Ottavio had reluctantly set up a meeting after a great deal of hemming and hawing.

“Voi, anyone got a clue who Ottavio’s contact is?” asked Squalo, mostly to Mammon.

“It’s probably his ex,” said Mammon dismissively. “They sometimes pass along information the CEDEF wants us to know, unofficially.”

“Ottavio dated a CEDEF agent?!”

“He filed a disclosure, and Tyr was aware, so it was fine.” Mammon didn’t seem to care, so it couldn’t be a big of a deal as Squalo was imagining, security wise. Maybe Squalo was just too biased against the CEDEF. That Sawada had always been loudly disparaging of Xanxus leading the Varia, claiming Xanxus was too young and inexperienced, and that the Varia was ‘not a playground for children’. Well, who would he rather have? Massimo? Federico? The Varia would riot.

“Finally back, are you?” came a voice behind him.

Squalo turned as Tyr, the Sword Emperor he’d deposed, ambled up to him, Ottavio in tow.

The old man looked well, and a good deal healthier than when Squalo challenged him (was that a tan?), other than a barely noticeable limp. In contrast, Ottavio looked like he could use a week’s worth of sleep (Squalo was not looking forward to taking over some of the paperwork).

“How’s life with a prosthetic, boy?” asked Tyr, with a smile full of knives.

Squalo could suddenly sense a lot of interest directed at them, probably all raring to see if he and Tyr would get into another fight. Like that crafty old fox would give them what they wanted. Plus, this was a funeral – they might be Varia, but they weren’t barbarians. Not that Squalo would mind going toe-to-toe with the man again – his duel with Tyr had been the best fight of his life.

“It’s awesome,” Squalo replied with an equally sharp grin, holding up his arm and showing off the smooth 360 degree rotation of his prosthetic wrist, a function he’d specifically requested. The blade was retracted for the moment, but Squalo thought it still looked freaking cool.

“Bah, you young folk think of the strangest things,” scoffed Tyr, but Squalo thought he looked a bit covetous.

Ottavio cleared his throat and said, “Superbia, if I may discuss the roster…”

Squalo was about to ask what roster when he caught Ottavio’s pointed sideways glance. Ah.

“Sure,” he said, and looked around for Xanxus. His boss was standing a little ways away from the rest of his family, looking sullen and brooding. Xanxus seemed to feel Squalo’s eyes on him, and looked up immediately.

Squalo made eye contact, then tilted his head slightly towards Ottavio. He waited until Xanxus nodded in acknowledgement– he would follow them– before turning back to Ottavio.

“Are all of you attending?” asked Ottavio. He looked a little uncomfortable. Squalo rolled his eyes again. What, too many murderers for his former lover’s sensibilities?

“I”ll take the kid,” said Tyr helpfully, steering Bel away with a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the protests of “unhand the prince, peasant!” and nimbly avoiding the knives suddenly jabbing at his kidneys. “Have fun.”

Hopefully they didn’t cause too much carnage, especially as based on their trajectory, Tyr seemed to be planning to release Bel into an unsuspecting gaggle of Alliance children.

“Mammon is fine,” added Ottavio, after a shared moment of watching the duo with some concern, “ as I believe they and my contact are acquainted.”

“Voi, then let’s go already,” grumbled Squalo. They had to make it back for mass, after all.

He followed Ottavio to a secluded garden alcove a short walk away from the chapel grounds, Mammon hitching a ride on his shoulder. Xanxus caught up with them halfway, and Mammon did something to keep them from being observed. The alcove had only one point of entry or exit, and while Squalo could see someone inside, the trailing greenery obscured most of them. Ottavio stood aside for Xanxus to enter first, and Squalo walked right into Xanxus’s back when he followed suit.

“Voi, what’s the problem,” he complained, and stopped short when he looked around Xanxus and spotted that HR guy, Shrike, seated at a bench.

Except it wasn’t Shrike, was it?

“You can drop your illusion,” said Mammon. “I will ensure no one sees us here.”

‘Shrike’ made an acquiescing gesture and stood, appearance shifting to that of a slender, golden-skinned man of indeterminate age. Mammon’s moue of displeasure suggested that this new appearance was also fake, but he seemed to be letting it pass. Squalo exchanged looks with Xanxus, who inclined his head. They would be taking cues from Mammon, then. There were more important things, anyway.

“I’m Rue, of the CEDEF, but any opinions I express today are my own and do not reflect the views and opinions of my employer,” said the man, with a perfect customer service smile blander than oatmeal. “How may I help you today?”

… Okay, this guy and Ottavio were practically a match made in hell, thought Squalo.

Chapter Text

Rue, ??, CEDEF Agent, formerly Andrew Ginting, 35, sales manager

Rue hadn’t always been Rue, or outwardly female by default, for that matter, but he’d been Rue long enough that he could no longer fully be Andrew, and thought of himself mainly as Rue.

Andrew had been a high performing sales manager by day, and a closet anime fan by night who was slightly ashamed of his non-mainstream hobby. He hadn’t really been one of those dedicated fans, having only watched the anime, and didn’t read or write fanfiction, either. Still, everybody had fantasies of beautiful ladies, right? So, at the height of his KHR obsession, Andrew had imagined a femme fatale with a thousand faces who had stolen (adult) Reborn’s heart (and had given her some horrific stripper name he was still trying to delete from his memory).

Then, Andrew was punished for his hubris, and awoke in a woman’s body.

The early days had just been a blur of confusion and terror and the constant struggle to survive. Only after he was picked up by CEDEF (which liked to collect people with no family or organisational ties) and finally had a bit of breathing room to figure things out did he even realise he was essentially in an anime universe. Obviously, he’d arrived in the completely wrong time period for any Reborn seduction, not that he had cared at all.

These days, sometimes it was tolerable being (female) Rue, and sometimes (rarely) he even enjoyed being a hot lady with huge knockers. Other times, he felt more Andrew-shaped, but most days Rue just avoided thinking about it too hard. Being a decently talented Mist helped a little, since he could wear whatever appearance he wanted, whenever he wanted, and it was generally acceptable for a Mist to be a bit ‘eccentric’ in that regard.

What did not help his identity/gender/everything crisis was being CEDEF’s go-to honeypot agent, due to default Rue’s particular gifts. He’d tried explaining the situation to his boss, but Sawada Iemitsu, while not a purposefully cruel man, was denser than a brick when it came to non cis-heteronormative issues. In his eyes, Rue was a woman with formidable … assets, and those assets should be utilised to the greatest effect for the sake of the CEDEF and greater Vongola. Miss Lal didn’t quite understand either, but she did her best to assign him purely espionage tasks, bless her. Sometimes, though, he still had to take one for the team, so to speak.

Which was how he’d met Ottavio, actually.

It began with a colossal cock-up in a mission brief provided by HQ to the Varia, which cost the lives of three of Tyr’s Guardians and several squads. Tyr responded by setting up the Varia’s own intelligence division, refusing any further intel support from HQ or CEDEF, then closed the Varia’s doors. For a long time, the Varia still accepted and carried out tasks, but no one knew what was going on within it, which made CEDEF and Vongola leadership very uncomfortable. It was decided that espionage was the way to go. Unfortunately, the moles they’d tried to send in as recruits were having trouble making it past the training stage, so they had to try something else. The softest target appeared to be Tyr’s young, nerdy-looking secretary (who later turned out to be both the Varia’s HR head and the new vice-captain, in addition to being Tyr’s Cloud), and Rue was sent out for the job.

So Rue put his best tit forward and chatted Ottavio up at a (coffee) bar. Ottavio seemed confused, responding politely when spoken to, but paid only cursory attention to Rue. Rue was at his wits end, until somebody grabbed Rue’s bottom, and Ottavio reflexively backhanded the offender into a wall. Except that guy turned out to be Trident Shamal, and Ottavio ended up with a horrible rash for his trouble.

Rue of course seized this golden opportunity to lavish Ottavio with care and concern, and latched onto him like a limpet. Ottavio caved after a while, and they started going out. Eventually, Ottavio started bringing Rue ‘home’ to Varia HQ, where he could sneak out for a look around while Ottavio was asleep or busy in his office.

In hindsight, he should have known that things were going too smoothly.

“I’m ok with men, too, you know,” Ottavio said one day, nearly giving Rue a heart attack. “You seem more comfortable when you’re pretending to be Gull or Shrike.”

Rue must have made a weird face, because Ottavio laughed, and added, “By the way, we have a very powerful Mist in residence. You might want to stop poking around. What does CEDEF want to know?”

Ottavio then obligingly put in a request for the required information, got it stamped and signed off by a mildly annoyed Tyr, and gave it to Rue, who wandered back to CEDEF in a daze.

“Well, if it works,” Iemitsu had said, rubbing his chin.

So they continued to ‘date’ for a while, until relations between the Varia and Vongola HQ thawed enough that they didn’t need Rue’s brand of ‘special ambassador’ any more. By this time though, they’d become friends, of a sort, with a relationship defined by mutual trolling.

Five years on, and the sad truth was, they were probably each other’s only friends outside of their workplaces.

So obviously, Rue took Ottavio’s requests seriously, and here he was, being scrutinised by Xanxus and (some of) his Guardians as Ottavio gave him an apologetic look over Xanxus’s shoulder. Xanxus he’d seen from a distance, but Squalo he’d not laid eyes on before, and Mammon (who was doing some Mist thing to their arcobaleno form that was giving Rue a headache) he’d mostly interacted with through proxies. Really, half the reason why he’d agreed to this meeting was to gawk at them all up close and compare them to the 2D versions he half-remembered. He had to get his entertainment somewhere.

They’d barely all sat down when Xanxus started up with the interrogations.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “I haven’t seen you around before.” Rude.

“As I said, I’m Rue,” said Rue, plastering on his best customer service face. “I give a little heads up to Ottavio when something happens, because we are … friends … and he extends the same courtesy to me. You don’t notice me, but I’m … around. In Vongola HQ, at least.”

“You were at the scene,” stated Xanxus, and it sounded accusing. Rude! To think Rue used to think he was cool in the anime.

Rue made a placating gesture. “I was at a vantage point overlooking the scene,” he clarified. “I called HQ for backup when I recognised Enrico’s car.”

“Start from the beginning,” instructed Mammon curtly, and Rue didn’t roll his eyes only because he respected Mammon and was a little (a lot) afraid of him. Seriously, was Ottavio the only person in the Varia who would extend him some professional courtesy? He eyed Ottavio, who blinked at him. Poor thing, he was probably being bullied by the new leadership.

Rue sighed. “As long as you’re aware I can’t exactly tell you everything,” he began. “I was assigned to keep an eye on the Marchetti – you know about them, yes?” The Marchetti were an upstart little gang that had just started to encroach on some Vongola businesses, but no one really thought they would amount to much – well, until Enrico was killed.

“Yes,” said Xanxus shortly. “And?”

“I noticed they were gearing up for something, so I tailed a group of them to the ambush location,” Rue continued. “They seemed to be aware of Enrico’s itinerary for that night.”

“Someone sold him out,” concluded Xanxus, face darkening.

Rue spread his hands. “That’s all I can tell you,” he said. In his opinion, someone had either paid off the Marchetti or strong-armed them into doing it, but to be honest this was all above his pay grade.

“Voi, what were his Guardians doing?!” Squalo couldn’t seem to understand how any Guardian wouldn’t defend their Sky with their life, the sweet summer child.

“I couldn’t say,” said Rue delicately. “I just know two of them were with Enrico in his car, and two were following in another car further back – those were the ones who survived. I was too busy trying to get down to street level, but I was too late.”

“That’s all you know?” Xanxus didn’t seem satisfied, but while Rue sympathised, it really wasn’t his job to soothe Xanxus.

“That’s all I can tell you,” repeated Rue. Judging by their looks, Xanxus and his gang understood the distinction, but thankfully didn’t press.

Xanxus stood up and stormed out (rude!). Squalo, at the very least, muttered a “thanks” before following, with Mammon on his shoulder.

Ottavio remained behind. “Sorry,” he said, fiddling with his glasses in the way he did when he was uncomfortable.

“You owe me,” Rue told him.

“I do owe you,” Ottavio agreed easily enough. He stood and offered a hand to Rue. “Mass is soon, but I doubt they’ll miss us. Shall we go for a walk?”

This meant Ottavio wanted to update him on something, so Rue took his hand and pulled himself up. He shifted into his official work persona, which meant default female Rue, complete with a black skirt suit, hose, and pumps for the occasion.

“Nice stockings,” Ottavio observed, because he was a pervert like that. Rue punched him lightly in the side.

“So, what is it?” he asked as they walked. They were making their way to a more secluded part of the gardens, which was rarely frequented because the pond had a chronic mutant duckweed problem (Rue suspected it was an escaped experiment from Vongola R&D) and stank like a sewer ten out of twelve months of the year.

“Well, now that Tyr and Lugh have left the Varia, I’ll likely follow at some point,” said Ottavio. “Once Superbia is ready to take over my work, I’ll go. It’ll be some months yet, though.”

Well, that made sense, thought Rue. “I’m not working with your successor,” he said immediately. He was Ottavio’s informant, not the Varia’s.

Ottavio laughed. “I’m not asking you to,” he explained. “I just wondered if you’d like to come with me.”

Rue faltered a little. Go with Ottavio, which presumably meant leaving the CEDEF? Where to? And to do what? He’d only ever known the CEDEF, after randomly arriving in this impossible world.

“It’s only … well you said you were feeling burnt out, so I thought,” Ottavio stopped short then, staring ahead. Rue followed Ottavio’s gaze to the duckweed pond of doom.

“Is that a body?!” Ottavio exclaimed, already shedding his jacket and heading off at a run.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Rue.

Chapter Text

Bluebird, 15, Trainee, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly Raguel ‘Angel of Judgement’ Kaminari , vigilante, formerly Alan Sutherland, 14, student

Alan and his fellow recruits were all milling about in one of the training halls, waiting for their instructor to show up. Shrike was late, which was unusual.

The man was a demon. And also a robot. A robot demon. He was responsible for the training hell Alan had been in ever since he got out of the infirmary. Training started at 0730 sharp, but if you wanted a shower and a hot breakfast you had to get up at 0630 latest. In the morning they had basic (though ‘basic’ felt like a big understatement) fitness and stealth and other sneaky assassin stuff (like how to break into a house with nothing but a ballpoint pen). Then lessons, because even if they didn’t go to school no one wanted illiterate assassins who couldn’t calculate basic projectile trajectories or read a ‘DANGER: PIRANHAS’ sign. Afternoons were dedicated to Flame training, with Levi-A-Than in his case, where he’d probably narrowly escaped a future as one of those soulless Lightning squad members, because he already ‘belonged’ to Ottavio’s HR. Alan found Levi very intimidating in real life– he was built like a tank and would yell if Alan wasn’t making “more voltage MORE MORE are you a fucking flyswatter” (it was about how you used it, rather than how big your zap was, in Alan’s opinion!). They did get a break every Sunday, but that was right before assessments on Monday, so pretty much everyone spent the time training or studying. Alan, however, got to sit in HR, learning how to file paperwork.

It wasn’t all bad, though.

Alan had been too exhausted to think about it much, but Ottavio was like, actually an okay guy, and not the worst supervisor. Kinda had a stick up his bum but office-type adults were all like that, weren’t they? Alan didn’t know what to make of that, except to fervently hope not to be caught in the crossfire whenever Boss Xanxus decided to vaporise Ottavio or something. That was a while away, right? The coup thing hadn’t happened. He had time to transfer out of the department. Hopefully that was even possible…

Sparrow had told him not to worry too much about it, though, because they were in some kind of weird AU, and she’d worked with Ottavio long enough that she was maybe 80% sure he was fine. Maybe this was one of Byakuran’s parallel universes, thought Alan, which was a scary and brain-melting possibility. Sparrow checked in on Alan every so often– he was being good and keeping his mouth shut, promise! – and actually been really helpful getting him adjusted. She was also like, a legit badass. She had a reputation, as Alan had found out, and not just a ‘self-styled’ one like Raguel’s. Plus, it was just nice to have a senpai! Even if this one was a bit strict and threatened to ‘season’ his food all the time… she did give him an unpoisoned cookie for his birthday, though, which was nice of her.

Sparrow had also told Alan about Amaranth, as a cautionary tale. She was the prettiest girl Alan had ever seen, and the name, eye colour and Flame designation just screamed SI-OC. Amaranth had apparently been really careless from the get-go, raising Ottavio’s suspicions enough that she had been detained, and then questioned personally by Xanxus, no less.

They didn’t know what Amaranth had told Xanxus, but Xanxus had been in a black mood afterwards. Did that mean Xanxus believed whatever she told him, or not? He hadn’t done anything of note after that, not that low level rookies like Alan or mid-level staff like Sparrow would know. Worst case scenario, things would just veer wildly off canon, and all they could do was just hang on for dear life. Sparrow had apparently tried to talk to Amaranth in private, but gave up after a few tries because of Amaranth’s deep suspicion of anyone she considered Ottavio’s ‘henchmen’. So she told Alan to watch Amaranth, just in case she did anything crazy again, and to see if he could talk some sense into her instead.

Alan didn’t know what Sparrow expected him to do if Amaranth did do anything crazy. Luckily, if anything, she just seemed… kinda lost and sad. She struggled with Varia Basic Training, and seemed to find it difficult adjusting to communal living. It didn’t help that the others ostracised her a bit for being a ‘special hire’, which meant she hadn’t been recruited on merit alone. There wasn’t any outright bullying – the trainers made it clear they would shut that down immediately – but nobody went out of their way to include her, either, and she didn’t seem to have any idea how to properly make friends. Alan had tried to strike up a conversation once or twice, to which Amaranth had replied “Sorry, I can’t go out with you”(???) and after a while she’d realised he was slated for HR and avoided him ever since.

“I guess it’s fine,” Sparrow said, when Alan told her this, though she was probably getting ulcers again. “Maybe you can see if any of the other fresh meat – I mean recruits – look like they might be a transmigrator? A few others I know of got … eliminated… early, but who knows?”

“I dunno, from their names they all sound like NPCs,” Alan replied.

Sparrow had rolled her eyes. “Well, not everyone can be called ‘Raguel “Angel of Justice” Kaminari’.”

“Judgement, it’s Angel of Judgement,” corrected Alan, but okay, he could see her point.

There was Grigori, the trainers’ current favourite. He was the oldest of their batch of recruits at 22, very barely a Cloud, and was being trained as a sniper, super super cool. He used to be a hunter, and the Varia had picked him up after watching him shoot a bear through the eye from some crazy distance away. “They say, ‘Grigori, but can you do that to a human?’” Grigori had said, when asked about it. He loved to tell stories. “I tell them, ‘no problem, people are not as smart as bears and not so fast’.” Wild! Despite his badassery, Sparrow didn’t think he was a transmigrator either. “Too plain,” was her verdict.

Grigori had two bunkmates, Gianluca and Michele, who pretty much just had background character vibes. They came from the local criminal underground, knew the area better than any of the rest of them, and showed the other recruits around on off days. Gianluca was a Sun, while Michele was a Lightning like Alan. Gianluca didn’t really like healing though, and wanted to be a “legendary hitman like Signor Reborn”. Michele was pure fodder for Levi’s putative Lightning squad, which, RIP, bro. Better him than Alan!

Alan himself shared a room with a cheerful Rain who reminded him a bit of Yamamoto Takeshi, Li Han (a former pirate! Why did everyone have cooler backstories than he did?). He was a couple of years older than Alan, and treated him like a younger brother. He’d asked if Raguel was half-Japanese, due to his last name, to which the very white and slightly regretful Alan replied truthfully, “it’s complicated”. Alan didn’t think Li Han fitted the transmigrator profile – in their early training days, he’d barely known what the Vongola was or even what part of Italy they were in. Still, in a short span of a few months, Li Han had somehow managed to network his way through most of the Varia, and even had some friends in Vongola HQ. Alan kept getting semi-regular reminders like this to not underestimate the original inhabitants of the universe. Good thing he’d kept his mouth shut like Sparrow said to!

In Alan’s opinion, Rosa, Amaranth’s roommate (people had started calling them ‘The Two Flowers’), was the most suspicious, despite her uninspired name. She was almost as devastatingly pretty as Amaranth (sus!), musically and artistically talented (sus!) and could wield three different Flame types (super sus!!). Sparrow agreed that the protag energy was strong with this one, so Alan was keeping both eyes on her, to the point where Li Han had asked if he fancied her (“No, I like blondes,” he’d told Li Han – Rosa had hair as red as her namesake). Anyway, Rosa seemed to be keeping a low profile, so whether she was or wasn’t a transmigrator didn’t matter as much, though it would be nice to have more friends ‘in the know’.

In conclusion, Alan had no conclusion, and would just have to keep observing.

He slowly tuned back in to the chatter around him. The conversation had turned to the most exciting recent event – Enrico’s death and funeral. Alan had no idea when Enrico actually died during the canon timeline. He’d heard it was some kind of ambush, which led to a shootout. One canon death down, Alan supposed. Most of the Varia contingent had returned as expected last evening, but the Execs and some of the Elite had only come back the wee hours of this morning, looking like they hadn’t slept a wink.

“Did you hear what happened during the funeral?” said Grigori in his accented Italian, practically bursting with the need to tell someone. Alan noticed that Amaranth perked up, but she was trying really hard to pretend she wasn’t interested, so Alan pretended not to notice, either.

“Everybody knows what happened by now,” scoffed Li Han.

“Hey, you had gossip and you never told me?” Alan smacked his bunkmate good-naturedly on the back.

“Oh, what’s this, what’s this?” The promise of gossip brought the other recruits round as well. Amaranth inched a little closer, now that her eavesdropping would be less noticeable. Actually it was still very noticeable, but eh.

“Grigori was gonna tell us about something that happened at the funeral?” Alan prompted helpfully. Li Han playfully checked him in the shoulder.

“Well,” said Grigori, speaking slowly to build suspense, “it was time for the funeral mass, so everyone was gathered at the chapel… except for HR’s Ottavio!”

“I heard,” added Li Han, clearly unwilling to let Grigori tell all of the story, “that Ottavio was with a lady friend.” He added an eyebrow waggle.

“Ooh!” chorused the recruits gamely. Wait, Ottavio had a girlfriend? Alan didn’t know why he was so surprised, actually. Even NPCs and minor characters had to date and reproduce!

“Really?” Grigori frowned. “I heard it was his ex.”

“Oooh.” Now this was juicy gossip.

“Anyway,” continued Grigori, “that is not the main point! The point is, there was not anybody around! They were walking, and they see this filthy pond. And what did they find?” Grigori paused for dramatic effect.

“A body! Floating face down!”

“Oooh!” chorused everyone again.

“It was Massimo, wasn’t it?” blurted Amaranth suddenly. Oh, thought Alan.

“Why do you spoil the story?” tsked Grigori, annoyed, but didn’t deny it. Amaranth looked morbidly satisfied. Yes it was a canon event but Amaranth could stand to look less pleased about their Boss’s brother dying!

“No, continue, continue, Grigori, please!” Alan pleaded, hoping to distract everyone from Amaranth’s inappropriate reaction.

Everyone else (Amaranth excepted) made noises of agreement, so Grigori gave a much put-upon sigh.

“Ok, because I like you, Bluebird,” he said (Alan gave him a bright grin and a thumbs-up). “So our Ottavio heroically dove into the disgusting pond! He pulled Massimo out and gave him the kiss of life...”

Wait–

“And so Massimo was revived! He saved the Ninth’s son!”

Oh man.

Everyone burst into applause, except Amaranth, who exclaimed, “That’s not possible!!”

“Of course it’s possible,” said Li Han. “I heard he saved the previous boss Tyr too, when everyone was sure Superbia Squalo had killed him. Maybe he uses some Cloud trick.”

!!! So that was what happened! Did that mean that in this universe, Ottavio was a good person, and Sparrow was right? He could see Amaranth having a personal crisis in her corner, which, relatable.

“I see everyone seems to have some interest in resuscitation techniques, so that will be the focus of your training today,” came a voice, and everyone scrambled to stand at attention. Ottavio walked in through the door, dressed in Varia-issue athletic wear and holding his signature pink thermos mug. He was trailed by Sparrow, who gave Alan a tiny nod. She probably knew too, then.

“Good morning,” said Ottavio, once he’d come to a stop in front of them. “Shrike is out with a cold, and Gull is on mission duty, so you’ll have myself and Sparrow as your instructors today.”

He smiled. “But first, laps.”

Chapter Text

Sparrow, 18, Rank B, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly Locusta of Malta, formerly Lili Ortiz, 22, student

Well.

Lili really should be less surprised. Tyr had survived, so why not Massimo? The one thing that the two incidents had in common, if the gossip going around could be believed, was Ottavio. Lili was starting to suspect he might be the catalyst of the changes in this universe. He hadn’t been around during Enrico’s death, for example, so that didn’t change. He’d been around for Tyr’s and Massimo’s, so they didn’t die. Following that train of thought, Ottavio was directly responsible for the failure of Xanxus’s coup in canon, right? So that wouldn’t happen here, which meant maybe Xanxus would not become a popsicle. Would that mean Xanxus seizing control of the Vongola? Did she dare extrapolate?

Too few data points, as her old professors back in her past life liked to emphasise.

Lili glanced back up at her supervisor, who was wearily drinking his coffee. She’d been the one to knock on Ottavio’s door at six in the morning (barely two hours after he and Xanxus and co. had gotten home) to let him know that Shrike was miserably coughing his lungs out and they needed to sub in a lead trainer. With Gull out on a mission and Bulbul on maternity leave, that really left Ottavio as the only available person A-rank or above in HR.

Ottavio had answered the door looking like death warmed over, and Lili had felt so bad that she volunteered to be his assistant for the day.

The lack of sleep clearly made Ottavio a bit cranky, because he started off by making the recruits run fifty laps. Then came the unending reps of pushups, and burpees and mountain climbers and squats, and Lili felt very sorry for everyone. The scene was giving her war flashbacks to her own time in Varia Basic Training.

“Ask,” said Ottavio unexpectedly, as the recruits’ agonised grunts and groans echoed around them. “I know you’re dying to.”

“Huh?” Lili blinked. Was she being so obvious? “Wait, really?”

“Yesterday’s events seem to be the talk of the town, so to speak, so I might as well try to provide the most accurate account,” replied Ottavio, sounding resigned.

“Only if it’s okay?” Lili said, a little embarrassed. Oh, but what should she ask first?

“It’s okay,” Ottavio confirmed, taking another sip of his coffee, which never seemed to run out. Wait. Was he using Cloud Flames to get unlimited coffee? … was it even healthy to ingest your own Flames? “Obviously I can’t tell you anything that is restricted information.”

“I understand, sir,” nodded Lili. Hesitantly, she ventured, “So, is Massimo okay?”

“He is receiving the best care available,” was Ottavio’s interestingly diplomatic non-answer.

Despite being really shitty at healing, Lili had gotten some rudimentary medical training as a Sun, so she had a little idea of what could happen with an almost-drowning. The oxygen deprivation could lead to memory loss, paralysis, coma, or worse. Who knew if Massimo would still be in the running for Tenth?

As a good little Varia employee, Lili knew better than to press on such sensitive issues.

“Did you really rescue him yourself? Wasn’t there anyone around?” she asked instead. Where had Massimo’s Guardians and bodyguards been? Did no one notice Massimo being gone from his own brother’s funeral service?

“That area is rarely frequented. We did not encounter any patrols,” Ottavio replied, very casually glossing over that giant gaping hole in security. Lili got the hint– not something she needed to think about, at her level. “I did get Signor Massimo out,” Ottavio continued, “and performed resuscitation while my companion went for help.”

“Your girlfriend?” Lili couldn’t help herself. She was curious, damn it!

For the briefest of moments, so fleeting Lili thought she might have imagined it, Ottavio’s expression warmed into a genuine smile. It was gone in a flash, swiftly smoothed into his usual professional pleasantness.

“Oh, is that rumour going around?” he said. “No, just a friend.”

Uh-huh.

“At any rate, the Execs are going to be busy,” reminded Ottavio, clearly changing the subject, “and are not likely to be in the most generous of moods. Keep your head down and the lower ranks in line. I’ll let the others know, as well.”

“Yes, sir,” Lili acknowledged immediately. Ottavio rarely passed down instructions like these, which meant you listened when he did. With Xanxus around, though, Lili thought, these reminders would likely become more frequent (Tyr had been pretty laid back, all things considered. Xanxus on the other hand… had zero chill).

They continued to watch the recruits suffer. Or rather, Lili watched the recruits suffer, in between going through the training records and yelling at people (mostly Amaranth) who were lagging behind, while Ottavio stared into space, clearly mentally preoccupied.

“Reps completed, sir!” croaked the nominal leader of the rookies – that sniper named Grigori – as everyone struggled to form up after their exercises.

“Good,” said Ottavio, acknowledging everyone in his gaze, except Amaranth, who he seemed to be ignoring. Lili remembered the red mark on top of Amaranth’s sheet, and suddenly had a bad feeling. “Take a water break and be back in ten.”

As the recruits crawled to their water bottles, a couple of Medical Division grunts brought in some CPR dummies and first aid equipment, accompanied by Lussuria.

“Hello, Lussuria,” greeted Ottavio. “I wasn’t sure you’d be in, as this was quite last minute.” Lili waved hello as well. She’d always liked Lussuria in canon, and Lussuria seemed pretty okay in person, purported necrophilia aside.

Lussuria was currently being groomed to head Medical. He had pretty much learned everything he needed to from Lugh, but Lili had heard he was being put through medical school at the local university, and thus was often gone for classes. Varia people were freaking smart – he was only 17!

“As if I’d miss this,” said Lussuria. “It’s high time a first aid course was added to basic training!”

“Mission squads do usually include a dedicated medic,” said Ottavio, more for the recruits’ benefit, as Lussuria and Lili already knew this. “Still, it’s probably good for everyone to have some basic knowledge.”

“Exactly,” agreed Lussuria, turning to the recruits. It was kinda weird but funny to see Ottavio and Lussuria on the same page. “One day you too can fish your own body out of a pond and have all kinds of fun with it~”

Ottavio coughed into his fist. “I would hardly call that experience ‘fun’,” he muttered.

Uh-huh. Mouth-to-mouth with Massimo did not sound like a good time.

“Actually, that’s true, I don’t really like bodies from freshwater either, not very hygienic,” mused Lussuria. “Squishy.”

Lili took that back. They weren’t on the same page at all! They weren’t even reading the same book!

After a lecture and demonstration by Lussuria, the thoroughly spooked recruits were then directed to practise CPR on the dummies, and bandaging on each other.

“As Shrike will have told you, you will be assigned your first missions in the next month or so,” said Ottavio in his pedantic lecturer voice as he made slow circles around the class to observe their work. “A full assessment of your performance throughout Varia Basic will be carried out at the end of the mission, should you successfully complete it …”

Lili had attended enough of Ottavio’s ‘staff seminars’ to know that once he got going, it was going to be hard for him to stop. This was going to take a while, she thought, already mentally checking out.

“ … and you will be given a rank, usually C or D. Should you fail, but remain alive– this is admittedly unlikely — you will have to go through basic training again. Should you … expire…the Varia will cover your funeral expenses, so please do not worry.”

Ottavio continued on and on about performance-based payouts and proper formatting for reports, and order of escalation of disputes. The recruits’ eyes were glazing over. Even Lussuria’s megawatt smile started to look a bit strained, and he quickly excused himself for “Medical Things” at the first opportunity.

Everyone else, sadly, was still trapped. Bluebird turned pleading eyes on her, but Lili ignored him. She had to live through this; now it was their turn! Plus it was better for Ottavio to get it all out before he decided they needed an actual staff seminar.

Apparently Bluebird had no fear, because he interrupted Ottavio mid-ramble. “Sir!” he called out. “Li Han was wondering if you used any special Cloud techniques to save Massimo!” The aforementioned Chinese boy gave his roommate a deeply betrayed look.

“No?” said Ottavio, successfully distracted. “Just CPR.”

“Oh, then what about Tyr?” asked Li Han eagerly, emboldened by Bluebird’s success. Tact, people, tact!

Lili didn’t know how to describe the expression that came over Ottavio this time. Trauma? Yeah, probably trauma.

“It was a joint effort by myself and my fellow Guardian,” he said eventually. “There was some propagation of blood volume involved, yes.”

“I wonder if you can use Cloud Flames to boost other flames?” pondered Bluebird aloud. “Like an amplifier!”

Even Lili thought that seemed a bit too OP.

But Ottavio nodded, seemingly relieved at the change in topic, and said, “You can”, which immediately got the attention of all the Cloud Flame users in the room.

Ottavio checked his watch. “You’ll be a bit late for lunch, but I can show you quickly,” he suggested, and was met by eager nods. Lili admitted to being curious, too. No one really knew the full extent of what Ottavio was capable of. “Alright, someone go get the FV counter.”

The Varia’s Fiamma Voltage Counter was an old, clunky thing from Vongola R&D, requiring the effort of four people to haul into the training hall. Lili had used it a couple of times, to get a relative gauge of her Flame’s strength (not too bad!). It wasn’t very sensitive, though, and could only give approximate readings of Flame output.

“You,” Ottavio indicated Bluebird. “Come here. Since you’re HR, it’s fine if I kill you by accident.”

Wide-eyed, poor Bluebird shuffled over to the machine and pulsed Lightning flames into the sensor as instructed. Ottavio waited until the reading stabilised and Bluebird was starting to flag a little from the effort, then reached over and … held his hand.

Bluebird’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, clearly feeling something as the counter started ticking up and up and up, and slowly, finally plateauing at a jaw-dropping whole order of magnitude above the initial reading.

“Holy shit, you’re a Flame power bank,” Bluebird breathed, eyes going all starry. Lili thought the rush of power was also making him high, probably.

“I prefer the term ‘support Cloud’,” Ottavio replied, amused, then let go. The numbers rolled back down. “You can actually kill someone doing this, by the way, if you’re not careful, so only practise under supervision. Who wants to try?”

Ottavio explained the technique (which totally went over Lili’s head), then Grigori, Amaranth and Rosa (who had Cloud Flames in addition to Rain and Mist) all had a go. Bluebird got to continue playing guinea pig and to hold hands with everyone. Surprisingly, only Amaranth managed to get the counter to tick up, though she could only boost Bluebird’s output less than twofold, compared to Ottavio’s ten. Lili was reluctantly impressed.

“A shame,” Ottavio murmured, which Lili didn’t quite understand until Ottavio made Amaranth stay behind while everyone else went for lunch.

“Miss Amaranth,” Ottavio began solemnly. “While you do have some talent, you have been consistently underperforming in basic training. Operations and HR have started generating preliminary forecasts of the upcoming trainee missions, and there is an 80% chance you will fail them. As I have said, in the case of failure, it is likely you will not return alive.”

Amaranth looked shocked – Lili didn’t know how, surely Shrike must have told her something similar a dozen times, considering her training records.

“That’s not possible,” she insisted. “I’m not that bad!”

Ottavio shook his head. “You are that bad,” he told her bluntly. “In my opinion, you should quit the programme. You are the Bellini heiress, after all, and I’m sure Don Bellini would want you home.”

“But I want to stay in the Varia!” Amaranth burst out. “I need to!”

Lili wanted to dig a hole in the ground and hide in it and never come out again, she was experiencing so much secondhand embarrassment.

“Why?” Ottavio sounded genuinely perplexed.

Amaranth said nothing, biting her lip. At least she hadn’t said “because I want to stay with Xanxus!” or anything too rabid-fangirly.

Ottavio sighed. “Perhaps she’ll listen better to someone who’s experienced the struggle firsthand,” he said to Lili. “Talk to her.” He then left the room, leaving Lili on her own with The Problem. At least she finally got her wish to talk to Amaranth?

But how to even begin? Lili eyed the sullen girl and took a deep breath. “Look,” she said. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for months.”

“To what, tell me I suck?” snapped Amaranth.

Amaranth was really not making this easy.

“To tell you that you’re not alone,” hissed Lili. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that there might be more people like you out here?”

“What?” Amaranth sounded confused, and defensive. “People like what? You’re not making any sense.”

“Transmigrators. Self-inserts,” said Lili. “You know, random people who suddenly find themselves in the KHR universe?”

Amaranth gaped. “What? You? I thought – “

“Nope, you’re not the protagonist,” confirmed Lili. She would be lying if she wasn’t enjoying Amaranth’s shock a tiny bit, honestly.

Before Amaranth could respond, she continued, “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but we’re in an AU, by the way.” She counted off on her fingers. “Tyr, and now Massimo. Who knows what else has changed? Especially if there’s a bunch of us transmigrators out there stirring up shit.”

Amaranth still seemed to be trying to wrap her head around the concept. “Why haven’t you told Xanxus, then? We need to stop him from being frozen! And you’re working for that traitor Ottavio!”

Lili wanted to roll her eyes. “It’s an AU,” she said with all the patience she didn’t feel. “And we don’t have the script! You don’t know if the coup will happen, or if it will fail, if it does. Telling the people here you know things is a sure way of getting into trouble, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Plus, the world did not just revolve around Xanxus!

“But–” Amaranth still didn’t seem convinced.

“It’s really not safe,” Lili reminded her. “You might not know, since you seem pretty sheltered, but other transmigrators have been incapacitated or killed. I almost died multiple times. It’s not just a story anymore. The Varia was the safest place for me, but for you it’s probably your character’s Famiglia, isn’t it?”

“I need to stay with Xanxus,” insisted Amaranth stubbornly. “He doesn’t deserve all the crap that happened – will happen to him!”

Xanxus doesn’t care if you live or die, Lili wanted to scream. At this rate, maybe it was better to keep Amaranth somewhere where she could keep an eye on her. And mitigate the damage.

“As I said, we don’t know if those events will actually happen. I don’t know what you told him, but did Xanxus even believe you?” asked Lili, rubbing her forehead. “What can you do?”

Lili knew from the defeated slump in Amaranth’s shoulders that she was at least aware that she was powerless. “But I want to stay here,” said Amaranth in a small voice.

“You’ll die,” reminded Lili. “Ottavio wasn’t kidding about how hard the missions are.”

“I don’t care,” cried Amaranth passionately. “I’ve died once already anyway. What’s the point of even being here if I can’t do the things I want?”

The words sent a frisson through Lili’s spine. Amaranth… kind of had a point, didn’t she? Lili had always been preoccupied with surviving, getting through life with the least amount of pain and suffering, avoiding risk. But what was she given this second lease of life for?

She... had wanted to change things, hadn't she?

“Okay,” relented Lili after a few moments. She couldn’t force Amaranth to do anything, anyway. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s try to keep you alive, at least. But you have to be more careful in what you say and do from now on.”

“Oh. I thought you were more of a bitch,” said Amaranth. “But I guess you’re okay.”

Lili still kind of wanted to strangle her.

Chapter Text

Tyr, 45

45 was a respectable old age for an assassin, and honestly Tyr never really expected to live that long, so he wasn’t complaining about being more or less retired. He was, technically, a ‘consultant’ for the Varia, but it was more of a courtesy title than anything. If they ever needed a backup Sky, then things probably had really gone to shit.

Tyr knew better than to relax completely. He’d known too many mafiosi who’d just up and died the moment they took a breather, just because paranoia and spite were the only things holding their battered bodies together. So Tyr had taken the trouble to retire with a healthy body and mind – a little murder here to discourage enemies old and new who might think he’d gone soft, a few ‘friendly visits’ there to whichever rivals that Squalo boy hadn’t killed off yet. All in all, he was having a splendid time, and was, most importantly, finally free.

(Technically, he was supposed to formally take Don Vongola’s leave, but to hell with that. They considered him an uneducated thug anyway, so his rudeness could be excused.)

Max joining him had made it even better, and it was almost like the good old days again, from before Daniela, before his ill-considered promise, so long ago it almost felt like it had happened to someone else. (Though it could never be the same without Sayeed and Sebby and Cecilia, but those wounds were too old and deep.)

Auntie, who’d been a constant presence since Tyr’s childhood, was pleased to have them back full time, of course. She was mostly doing her own thing these days, running a ‘cleaning business’ that had expanded so much over the years it was now practically a small syndicate. Maybe he and Max could go work for her for a bit, as a nice change of pace. Ha!

Now they were just waiting on Tavo to finish out his contract and whatever administrative minutiae his little heart desired. Tyr would never dream of rushing Tavo, but he was starting to feel indignant on his behalf. They were working his poor Cloud to the bone while undermining his power! Xanxus was a rude brat who needed anger management classes! That Squalo boy needed to start pulling his weight with the paperwork! Xanxus’s feral Storm child needed to stop throwing knives at people! The Varia were never going to get someone like his Tavo again, but were they appreciating him properly?

Nobody appreciated Tavo properly.

Case in point: Massimo’s near drowning.

“Why did you even try? I still think you should’ve just let him drown,” said Max in Dutch, the language he and his Guardians usually defaulted to when alone, since it was Tyr’s mother tongue, and they liked to make him feel comfortable.

It was Tavo’s day off, and he’d driven all the way to Auntie’s house on the outskirts of Palermo to spend time with them, despite feeling a bit poorly. Himself and Max were mooching off Auntie for the moment, despite owning their own properties around Sicily, because one just did not say no to the prospect of Auntie’s curries and fritters.

Tyr watched, amused, as Tavo’s face contorted into a truly hilarious grimace. He had to agree with Max on this one. Tavo had fished that waste of space out of what would’ve been his watery grave, and for what? He, and by extension Xanxus and his band of merry men, had been questioned, threatened, and all around treated with suspicion. Massimo’s harpy of a wife had even accused Tavo of leaving him in the water longer than he strictly needed to, leading to Massimo’s current health issues. Ingrates. Tyr rather thought their focus should be on how Massimo had almost drowned in a waist-deep pond, at his own brother’s funeral, in his own home, with no guards or Guardians in sight.

“Yes, Tavo, why?” he teased.

“Maybe if there wasn’t a witness,” Tavo sighed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. His silly Cloud was lying on the couch with his head in Max’s lap, glasses discarded on the nearby coffee table as Max worked on healing his migraine.

“Stop that,” scolded Max, swatting Tavo’s hands away. Tavo made a soft noise of complaint, but obediently folded his hands on his stomach. Max grunted in satisfaction and placed his fingers on Tavo’s temples, fingertips glowing gently. Tyr hoped he was going to do something about poor Tavo’s receding hairline while he was at it.

“As if his favourite CEDEF agent wouldn’t cover for him,” Max grumbled. “We all know it’s because of Tavo’s bleeding heart. Just look at HR. Full of his charity cases.”

“They’re not charity cases, Max,” said Tavo, sounding shocked.

“You picked a guy with no Flame talent and a propensity for getting himself stabbed as your second,” stated Max, who had sewn Shrike back together more times than Tyr could count.

“Shrike is well-respected!” protested Tavo.

“He is, now,” Tyr pointed out, grinning. “But back then?” Six (seven?) years ago no one even gave Shrike the time of day, Tyr included. Vongola, and by extension the Varia, was known for Flame users. A non-Flame user in a nest of Europe’s most terrifying Flame-using assassins? Barely an afterthought, no matter how skilled. Yet Tavo had taken him in, citing something about a diverse workplace, and the then-boy had surprised them all by forging himself into a man feared by anyone who had ever trained under his hand.

“And that girl, Sparrow,” continued Max, clucking his tongue dramatically and shaking his head.

“You’re calling the former Locusta of Malta a charity case?” Tavo finally cottoned on that they were mostly just poking fun at him, and smiled, playing along.

“I remember treating her for malnutrition, you know,” said Max. “She showed up looking like a half-starved rat who’d just crawled out of a flooded sewer.”

“She’s a very good employee,” Tavo defended.

“Hardworking girl,” agreed Tyr. “Bit jumpy, even now.”

Tavo was the polar opposite – once he got used to something, he would just roll with the punches, completely unperturbed.

Tavo had not been suited to their kind of lifestyle, Tyr recalled. Tavo did not have a choice, because he was too strong of a Cloud, was specifically Tyr’s Cloud, and thus would never be free of the mafia. While they’d gotten Tavo at what should’ve been a fairly malleable age, his unique circumstances meant it had taken a truly herculean effort to desensitise him to the blood and fire of the underworld and train the reflexes needed for his survival. Somehow they’d managed, and nothing really bothered Tavo now. He could at least defend himself (and inflict pain on those who really ought to know better), though they’d never been able to get him to be decent at any kind of weaponry. Despite all they did to him however, Tavo still remained stubbornly soft and sweet at his core.

It was probably why Tyr favoured him from the start.

(Max kept saying it was his damned paternal urges, which was nonsense.)

And then, Tyr had become the leader of the Varia.

Auntie was too old to get involved, but the others (Max, Cecilia, and Tavo, at the time) insisted on coming along to keep an eye on him. For all their talent in the art of human butchery, Cecilia and Max really weren’t managerial types, so Tyr had to lean heavily on Tavo to keep his house of mutinous murderers organised until he could whip it into better shape.

“As with all jobs,” Tavo had said, always wise beyond his years,“fake it till you make it. Besides, I have ten years of corporate experience. Sort of.”

(Tyr didn’t believe in reincarnation, or any type of life after death, but there was no other way to explain Tavo’s specialised knowledge when he had not attended a day of school in his life.)

Things got a little easier when he’d folded Sayeed and Sebby into their dysfunctional little unit, because Sayeed could talk circles around the wiliest CEDEF agents and Sebby was an administrative marvel, but oh, good things never lasted.

Tavo had taken on the bulk of the Varia’s administrative duties ever since, and never once complained. And then he’d gone and saved his life too, not too long ago. Best Cloud ever.

See, no one appreciated Tavo properly, probably not even Tyr.

“How’s the boy Xanxus foisted off on you? Blue Jay? Blackbird?” he asked, instead of letting himself wallow in those memories. Tavo had told them about the boy’s challenge (the kid had guts, at least) and the subsequent addition to HR. Max had apparently watched the fight, if it could even be called that, and said it was the funniest thing he’d seen in a while.

“Bluebird,” Tavo offered. “He’s very energetic. Brings some liveliness into the division. We’ll see how he turns out, after training, but so far, he’s promising.”

“I suppose Shrike will take over, after you leave,” mused Tyr. It would be his choice, anyway, were he still Boss.

Tavo shrugged. “I would certainly prefer it – He could easily make Elite in the next few months if he pushes for it, then Gull can take over his lead trainer role, and maybe Sparrow can be pulled up to fill Gull’s old spot. But it depends on what Xanxus wants to do.”

Bah, what did any of Timoteo’s boys know of management? Not like they had a decent example to look to.

“Work, work, work, all you boys ever talk about is work,” came Auntie’s disapproving voice from the kitchen. “And only Tavo is working now! You two unemployed bums can come set the table. I swear, nobody helps me in this house!”

“You keep chasing us out of the kitchen!” laughed Tyr, getting up. “I’ll come help. Max is healing Tavo.”

“He’s sick?” Auntie wandered out into the living room, looking concerned. “Tavo, do you want some ginger tea?”

“I’m okay,” Tavo replied quickly, sitting up. “Just a headache.”

“He’s fine, just stressed,” assured Max, patting Tavo on the back. They both got off the couch and joined them, helping to carry the dishes out to the table.

“I still think he needs some ginger tea,” decided Auntie, and went to make some, before they all sat down to dinner.

“Have you thought about what you want to do after this?” Tavo asked Tyr, once they’d started eating. Tyr’s nostrils were being assaulted by the sharp spice of his ginger tea from his seat all the way across the table, and he could tell Tavo was doing his level best to avoid drinking it. “I’m good with anything you decide.”

“Mafia Land extended an offer to join their security force,” said Tyr. “That could be an option. I should be able to set up my school there as well, on the side. There’s a spot for Max, too, if he wants. Shouldn’t be too hard to find you something clerical to do, and Auntie says she can move her business wherever.”

“Where there’s murder, there’s a need for cleaning,” said Auntie pragmatically. “There’s murder everywhere.”

“Who’s the current Arcobaleno-in-Residence?” asked Max. “Reborn?”

“No, Reborn’s been hired to tutor the Cavallone heir,” said Tavo. Tyr had heard the Cavallone Don was in poor health – they must be trying to speed up the succession. “It should be Colonello, now.”

“I don’t know if I want to take orders again, even if it’s from an Arcobaleno,” Tyr confessed. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Well, take your time, as Tavo won’t be done anytime soon,” joked Max, earning himself a halfhearted kick in the ankles from their youngest companion. “Ow.”

“Actually, if you’re at loose ends, why don’t you stay at my old place for a while?” suggested Tavo. “You could go hiking, maybe even skiing, a bit later in the year.”

“‘Come on, it’s going to be absolutely freezing!” protested Max.

Tavo was from a remote mountain village in Northern Italy, one of the ones that had practically become ghost towns due to urban migration. They’d met Tavo there, having run out of fuel for their car after getting lost, and Tavo had tried to sneakily propagate their petrol so they would get off his lawn. Well, they had to steal him from his senile grandma after that, didn’t they?

Tavo still kept his grandmother’s house up there, and had bought up quite a bit of land after he’d made some money in the Varia. He ran some kind of wine fraud operation in the area now. Giving back to the economy and all that.

“Need us to check on something?” Tyr was curious, since Tavo rarely asked them for help. “Or are you trying to get us away from Vongola territory for a bit?”

“A bit of both?” admitted Tavo. “Rue is really on edge, so something is happening, or CEDEF is expecting something to happen. Xanxus I know is advocating for an internal audit and clean-up – a purge, in his words.”

“After all that nonsense, it’s quite overdue,” said Tyr. Not that Timoteo would actually agree to it unless CEDEF forced his hand, considering the magnanimous, benevolent leader image he liked to project. The previous head might have done it, but Sawada? Sawada was Timoteo’s yes-man, and everyone knew it.

“Well, it’s not likely to impact you or Max, and Auntie’s always been safe, but I’d feel better, I think,” said Tavo, the considerate, sweet person he’d always been.

“So what’s happened in your sleepy little town, then?” asked Max.

“It’s probably nothing, but a few of the workers have gone missing, some equipment has been tampered with. I’d almost think it was gang-related trouble from someone wanting protection money, but most of the organised crime in the province doesn't really bother with the small villages.”

And if there really were any troublemakers, Max and Tyr could get some exercise.

“I don’t know about gangs, but how long has it been since someone cleaned that house?” said Auntie. “We’ll all go. Don’t you worry, Tavo.”

Well, Auntie had spoken, so they were going.

“And drink your tea.”

Tavo reluctantly drank his tea.

Chapter Text

Superbia Squalo, 14, 14th Sword Emperor, Vice-Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

Nobody really gave a shit, and they were Italian, and mafia, so they’d been drinking wine practically from the womb, but Xanxus seemed to be particularly hell bent on poisoning his liver these days, not that anyone could blame him, considering what a fucking mess Vongola was in.

First Enrico’s death, then Massimo’s almost-drowning, (which Vongola HQ was trying to present as purely an accident – were they insane, exactly no one was buying that) and then the Ninth’s suspicious refusal to investigate the attempts on his heirs’ lives, and last but not least CEDEF bleeding personnel at a slow but not unnoticeable trickle (they were doing a good job covering things up, but nothing escaped Mammon’s network) … No wonder opportunists were already circling like wolves, ready to lunge at any sign of weakness and scavenge Vongola’s flesh. Squalo had already heard talk (whispers for now, but they might not stay that way) that the Vongola’s heyday was over, and once most of the mafia was convinced, then the house of cards would come tumbling down.

So Squalo could understand why Xanxus was being driven to drink (not that it generally required much effort).

“Voi, you’ll stunt your growth!” Squalo had yelled at him more than once, only to have a wine glass, or even a mostly-full wine bottle flung at his head. He hadn’t quite managed to wash the stain from the last assault out of his pale hair, and had to endure snickers as he stalked through Varia HQ sporting a patchily pink head.

“It suits you,” Lussuria cackled, pointing to the cherry-coloured streak in his own hair. “Look, we match now!”

“Die,” Squalo ground out, and stormed into Xanxus’s office ahead of him.

Mammon was already there, perched on Xanxus’s desk like a small, chubby gargoyle. “You’re late,” they said. “I will be charging extra.”

Squalo rolled his eyes. “Bill Xanxus,” he retorted, then paused, looking around with some amount of dread. “Wait, if you’re all here, and Luss is out there, who’s watching the brat?” Bel needed supervision at all times, and there were only a select few who could handle his destructiveness.

“Ottavio,” said Xanxus succinctly. Now that was a hilarious but slightly worrying image.

Especially since the brat was probably throwing a tantrum at being excluded again but it wasn’t as if he could sit through a strategy meeting without being bored and needing to stab something (someone) and then it would be chaos again and nothing would get done and then they’d need another meeting and Xanxus would start shooting or throwing things and then the carpets and plaster would need to be replaced, and then the fucking expense reports —

Squalo took a breath, then exhaled slowly through his mouth. “Voi, don’t kill him before he can teach me how to do the CEDEF forms,” he settled on complaining, pulling up a chair and flopping into it.

Xanxus smirked at him. “He’s probably got instructions in a manual somewhere in his office,” he drawled. This was probably true, as that four-eyed freak documented everything. “Where’s Luss?”

“Here~” sing-songed Lussuria, whirling into the office and closing the door behind him in one movement. “Levi was hanging around looking like a kicked puppy again, so I had to shoo him off.”

Squalo levelled Xanxus with a scathing look. He’d better fucking not.

Xanxus ignored him, the asshole.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” said Mammon, before things could devolve further. “I will begin.”

Squalo sat up and paid attention. They were currently meeting about the whole Enrico and Massimo disaster – if the Ninth didn’t want to pursue matters, then they would just have to take things into their own hands. Squalo didn’t particularly give a shit, but he cared because Xanxus cared, and everyone else was likewise in unanimous agreement – even Mammon had only added a nominal surcharge, which was the greatest expression of support you could get from them.

It had apparently been a huge pain to get hold of information without tipping off the CEDEF, but if anyone could manage it, it would be Mammon.

“Firstly, of Enrico’s two surviving Guardians,” started Mammon, using illusions to project images of the two, a man and a woman. “Eco, Lightning, and Cadenza, Mist Flame, who were formerly detained by CEDEF and HQ.”

“Oh, wasn’t there a rumour going around that Massimo engineered Enrico’s death, and they killed themselves after avenging Enrico?” piped up Lussuria. “So tragic, so unbelievable.”

Squalo had heard that rumour, and found it interesting that the ones spreading it happened to be part of Federico’s posse of supporters. Officially of course, according to Vongola HQ, they died of their wounds after trying to save Enrico.

“I have determined that Cadenza has been terminated, on the Ninth’s orders, while the man known as Eco was given a new identity to live in America,” said Mammon.

“Cadenza did something, or both of them did something, and Eco sold her out for his own freedom,” Squalo guessed. “Dunno why they didn’t just kill the guy, too.”

“Hmm, maybe he was innocent, and HQ wanted him out of the way to protect Massimo or Federico?” mused Lussuria (though, when did innocence ever matter in the mafia?). “Wouldn’t be surprised if he met with an ‘accident’ on his way there.”

“Mou, that ‘accident’ was me,” stated Mammon. Luss let out an undignified snort of laughter, while Squalo had to grin.

Mammon gave them an irritated look, and clarified, “I sent an illusion in his stead, and brought him back for questioning.”

There was no doubt on whether Eco talked. Mammon always made them talk.

“Enrico’s entourage was corralled into a cul-de-sac,” Mammon began, switching the projection to a map of the area. “The Marchetti were prepared with armour-piercing rounds, semi-automatics, and explosive ordinance, which I have independently confirmed.”

They’d really wanted Enrico as dead as possible.

“Eco claimed Cadenza was the traitor,” Mammon continued. “According to him, she was using illusions to prevent him from reaching Enrico.” Tactically, it made sense. Isolate the living bulletproof shield in a different vehicle from the target, keep them separated, then riddle the target full of bullet holes before anyone could properly react. Not Squalo’s preferred method of assassination, but sometimes simple just got things done.

“Fucking useless trash,” snarled Xanxus, anger smouldering behind his eyes. Squalo knew he meant both Cadenza and Eco – the former for failing to kill a witness, and the latter for failing his Sky. And probably also for not fighting for justice on behalf of his deceased Sky and instead chickening out and running away to America. Squalo was pretty disgusted, himself.

“Cadenza did try to kill Eco,” said Mammon. “But Eco managed to endure, and then other Vongola agents arrived on the scene and neutralised her. Their response was remarkably fast, for Vongola.”

“Protection of the Ninth and his heirs take priority,” recited Squalo. He didn’t even remember where he’d seen that, probably in one of the ten thousand Vongola Directive handbooks Ottavio had offloaded on him and were haunting even his dreams.

“Enrico bled out on the scene,” Mammon added unnecessarily, and Squalo could see Xanxus’s grip tightening on his glass.

“Voi, why’d that chick do it?” Squalo redirected instead.

“Eco claimed not to know, though he’d noticed Cadenza going out more frequently,” said Mammon. “And that perhaps she was seeing someone.”

“Let me guess, that someone was either Federico or Massimo,” mused Lussuria, a finger pressed to his cheek. “Love, always a classic reason for murder.”

“I have confirmed accounts of meetings between Cadenza and Federico,” Mammon replied.

Xanxus was silent for a long time, but Squalo could almost feel the oppressive press of Xanxus’s volcanic Wrath Flames in the air.

“Find me any evidence of transactions between Federico, his Guardians or close associates, and the Marchetti,” he said at last to Mammon. “See if you can find any link to Massimo.”

Mammon very wisely did not press for a higher fee at this time.

A couple of weeks passed, during which Squalo barely survived Ottavio droning in his ear about standard operating procedures in his weird northern accent (seriously, he hadn’t even come as close to death during his duel with Tyr). Squalo was pretty sure Ottavio was doing it on purpose, as the man clearly still held a grudge against Squalo for nearly slicing his Sky in half (fair), even if he tried to be professional about it. He really wanted to know how Ottavio’s babysitting of Bel went, considering the brat was being suspiciously quiet about it.

As it were, the only respite Squalo had from his looming future as the Varia’s next Paperwork Guy was a quick mission jaunt, where Squalo finally got to stick someone in the gut. Very enjoyable.

Less enjoyable was Ottavio, who Squalo was starting to think of as a large, four-eyed, and particularly annoying fly, lying in wait for him on his return, looking equal parts dismayed and calculating.

“Respectfully, I don’t think you’ll have time to cover all your administrative tasks with your requested mission load,” said The Fly. “Perhaps pick out a few assistants? With your level of efficiency I recommend at least three.”

“Voi, shut your mouth,” Squalo retorted, but did end up picking three: one Elite for more complicated or restricted stuff, and to keep an eye on the two Rank B secretaries – one of whom was a favourite of Ottavio’s because Squalo could be petty too, when he wanted.

To his credit, Ottavio still managed to hold on to his regular plastic smile, though Squalo could tell he was pissed (the reckless, thrill-seeking part of Squalo’s brain, the one that had driven him to cut off his own hand and challenge Tyr, wondered, sometimes, what it would take for Ottavio to snap, and if it would be worth goading him into it).

“Sparrow is an excellent worker,” said The Fly, after a few moments of blandly staring at Squalo (probably fantasising ten different ways he could explode Squalo’s skull). “Please take care of her.”

Of course Squalo did. He even let her keep her name, just so everyone was clear he’d swiped her from The Fly’s birdhouse from right under his nose.

Since Xanxus seemed to be having a demon and/or seven deadly sins theme going on, Squalo renamed the other two after demons. The Elite, formerly from Operations, he renamed Berith, while the reassigned Rank B from Accounting was rechristened Marchosias. Berith had the advantage of also being a level-headed Lightning, which meant Squalo was flinging him in Xanxus’s direction every chance he got in the dim hope that this would stop him being stuck with Levi-A-Than as a fellow Guardian. Xanxus just had the absolute worst tastes sometimes.

At any rate, Squalo’s new paperwork assistants pretty much hit the ground running (including Sparrow, who incidentally also provided amazing entertainment when she almost disembowelled the other B-rank the first time he startled her), and suddenly Squalo had free time again.

From the last mission he’d noticed his movements were getting a bit stiff from all the deskwork, so Squalo decided to take advantage of the break in his schedule to do a bit of training. The dummies were in the basement training halls, so down he went, only to find Training Halls 1-4 absolutely packed with people. It became clear when he realised Xanxus was in Hall 5, and everyone had cleared out rather than risk his literal Wrath.

Squalo slipped in through the door, quiet enough not to disturb, but loud enough to let Xanxus know he was there.

His Sky stood in the centre of the room, red-orange Flame burning bright on his brow and hands, almost syrupy in their density – Hyper Dying Will mode, which Xanxus had been working on over the past few months. He was concentrating hard on the Flame in his hands, seemingly unaware of Squalo’s entrance.

Then he lifted his head, and Squalo met the magma glow of Xanxus’s gaze. That was all the warning he got before Xanxus flung himself at him like a flame-coated projectile, and Squalo had to throw himself out of the way with a curse.

“Fuck, you’re fast in that mode,” he laughed as he twisted away from a jab to the throat.

Xanxus seemed to be in the mood for just basic brawling (with Flames), as he hadn’t drawn his guns, so Squalo kept his blade sheathed as he ducked and weaved to avoid Xanxus’s blows. He couldn’t reach Hyper Dying Will mode like Xanxus could, but he could slow Xanxus with Rain Flames – or not, as Xanxus’s Wrath Flames, hotter and brighter than usual, ate through his Rain Flames like nothing. Squalo redirected what would've been a full on sock in the jaw to a glancing blow to his shoulder, numbing the pain with Tranquility, then took advantage of Xanxus’s proximity to come in with an uppercut. Xanxus moved to block with an elbow, which was exactly the opening he needed to deliver a right hook – except Xanxus had stepped away again in a flash of Flame.

“Voi! Fucking cheater!”

Xanxus didn’t reply – he was almost always nonverbal when he was like this – but Squalo could see the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

They went on like this for a while, trading attacks, parries, and counters in a violent dance across the training hall, until Xanxus’s Flame receded into the regular Dying Will Mode, and then flickered out. Squalo decided he was done, and sat down heavily on the floor, singed and smarting from bruises everywhere. Using Flames took a lot out of anyone, though there were special, rare foci that could help, like the Vongola Rings. His own duel with Tyr had been purely a clash between swordsmen, by mutual agreement, with any Flames restricted to internal use only, else neither of them would have lasted the full three days it took for them to establish a winner.

“Voi, that’s a lot longer than you held Hyper Dying Will last time,” he said to Xanxus, who looked tired but smug. “Fucking sit down already before you faint like a pansy.”

Xanxus sat on him, the fucker.

A bit of roughhousing later, Squalo finally managed to roll the asshole off him, and slapped him with the last of his Rain Flames to ease the muscle strain of Hyper Dying Will mode.

“That’s all you’re getting,” he warned. “I’m out.”

Xanxus sat up, looking contemplative. “Do it again,” he demanded.

“Voi, I just said I’m out!” Squalo snapped back.

“Rain Flames don’t negate, but slow down other types of Flame energy,” said Xanxus, as if he hadn’t heard Squalo. “I was trying to use it like a Rain Flame, that’s why it wouldn’t work. Zero Point isn’t true ‘freezing’, it’s an opposite displacement of wave energy. Flames are wave energy, I forgot. Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

“Voi, what?” Xanxus wanted a scientific discussion now? “Is this the thing you were working on?”

Xanxus had, eventually, reluctantly, told his Guardians about his questioning of Amaranth, and her not-quite accurate predictions. He seemed almost embarrassed to admit that he had been affected by her words at all, which Squalo could understand– Xanxus was not the type to buy into omens or prophecy, and they’d encountered their fair share of scammers during their school days.

Mammon had been stubbornly scornful, stating that there was only one line of true seers in the world (though they could not explain how the girl might have gotten her information). Luss’s theory was that maybe the girl could see sideways (as he called it), but not directly forward into their timeline (what the fuck). The brat had been the most supportive, and didn’t seem phased by the idea of people predicting the future. “Ushishishi, our court had such sibyls,” he had said. “As soon as they uttered their prophecy, their throats would be cut, ushishishi!”

Fucking weirdass murder kingdom. Some days Squalo felt like the only sane one.

Squalo himself didn’t really know what to make of all this, but he was all for shaking the girl down for whatever else she could spit out. Xanxus had disagreed, deciding that he’d already been influenced enough, which was fair. They’d just deal with whatever came their way, with their own power and on their own terms.

Anyway, the chick had told Xanxus about this thing called Zero Point Breakthrough (a lame name, if you asked Squalo) which turned out to be a real Vongola technique. Squalo found it a bit suspicious how Xanxus hadn’t been told of it, but Vongola was up to the gills in secrets anyway, so what did one more matter, in the long run? Xanxus had decided to learn it on its own anyway, which was dangerous, but they weren’t in the Varia to play it safe and cosy. Even if Xanxus never had to break out of an ice cocoon, Zero Point sounded like it would be a good suppression technique, in a pinch. Plus, the added side benefit was that Xanxus could use Hyper Dying Will mode now, which put him among the ranks of just a handful of Flame-capable mafiosi.

Luckily, Xanxus didn’t seem like he was going to push himself into Hyper Dying Will mode again just to try out his new theory, and just grunted in agreement.

“Good for you, I guess,” said Squalo, and grinned when Xanxus rolled his eyes.

A few days after that, Mammon called for a meeting. It had taken some doing, but Mammon had found evidence that Federico had been promising favours in return for support for his bid for inheritance. Most damning of all, a large sum had been paid to the Marchetti just prior to Enrico’s ambush and death, and Mammon traced the circuitous route back to one of Federico’s closest associates.

Xanxus’s expression was very carefully closed off, but Squalo could imagine what he was feeling. Betrayal, at the foremost. Xanxus might not be the closest to his half-siblings, but he still considered his brothers family and loved them, in his own asshole way. Fratricide, patricide and the like were not uncommon in other parts of the mafia, but the Vongola? Had always stressed the importance of family. It was one thing if Federico had managed to bump off Enrico with his own power, but he had involved outsiders in family matters, which was unforgivable.

“And Massimo’s ‘accident’?” Xanxus asked, deceptively calm.

“No connection that I could find,” Mammon replied. “The only one who knows for sure is probably Massimo himself, but I have heard that his memory of the incident is… patchy. Perhaps it was truly an accident.” Sure, and Squalo was the Pope.

“Voi, so what’s the plan?” he asked.

“The old man wants me to have dinner at the Iron Fort on my birthday,” said Xanxus. “I’ll take Eco as my plus one.”

“Ooh, are you going to cause a scene?” trilled Lussuria.

“I’ll make it so he can’t pretend one son didn’t try to kill the other,” said Xanxus. “Force him to disinherit Federico, or force a Ring battle.”

“Federico could deny everything, since he didn’t do anything himself,” warned Mammon.

“The blow to his reputation will be enough, for the upper echelon to doubt,” said Xanxus, eyes gleaming. “Vongola needs some new fucking management.”

Xanxus had clearly been thinking about this for a while. He hadn’t originally considered himself a contender for the throne of Vongola, Squalo knew. There were three legitimate heirs in front of him, and he was the youngest, illegitimate son. With Enrico dead, Massimo possibly paralysed for life, and Federico being traitorous scum, Xanxus’s chances were suddenly looking a lot better. The determined set to Xanxus’s chin told Squalo he was willing to fight for these chances. And why not? He’d be so much better than any of these fuckers.

“I’m with you, Boss, whatever you decide,” swore Squalo. He remembered thinking Xanxus deserved so much more than his brothers’ leftovers. And so Squalo had given him the Varia, the best thing that was within Squalo’s power to offer. Now, the whole of the Vongola was on the table, and why shouldn’t Xanxus have it?

Mammon and Lussuria said nothing, but Lussuria’s smile was predatory, and Mammon wasn’t complaining. Bel would also approve, Squalo thought – he’d have to catch him up later. Too bad there didn’t seem to be any bloodshed involved.

On the 10th of October, the Varia held a raucous celebration for Xanxus’s birthday, during which no fewer than ten people were shot, seven needed their stomachs pumped, and Levi-A-Than tripped into the cake in his haste to present his gift.

In the evening, Xanxus left for the Iron Fort, accompanied by Enrico’s former Guardian, Eco.

He did not return.

Chapter Text

Rue, ??, CEDEF Agent, formerly Andrew Ginting, 35, sales manager

What a mess.

“It’d be kinder if the Ninth had just killed him,” said Sawada Iemitsu, as they stared at Xanxus’s wide, unseeing eyes, expression frozen in a rictus of betrayal and agony. He looked like he was suffering.

Did you think the same, about Tsuna? Rue thought uncharitably, looking at the Xanxus popsicle in dismay. It was one thing to know it happened in canon, but seeing it in real life… Rue didn’t think he could ever be prepared for that sight. He couldn’t help but wonder if Xanxus was conscious – he hoped he wasn’t. That was a whole real human being in there, a kid, who’d just been celebrating his sixteenth birthday. Well, and also denouncing his brother.

That was something that Rue hadn’t expected to happen. Instead of staging a coup like in canon, Xanxus had somehow managed to find Enrico’s Lightning Guardian, who should’ve been halfway across the globe, and trot him out as a witness for Federico’s treacherous deeds.

Rue had been masquerading as wait staff for the ‘family dinner’ in celebration of Xanxus’s birthday. 16 was an important age, after all, and most of the family currently in Italy was in attendance, all thirty-odd of them. ‘Family’, after all, didn’t just mean the Ninth and his sons, but also uncles, aunts, cousins, in-laws – the network of extended blood family that helped control the behemoth operation that was the Vongola (dropping the only vaguely related Tsuna into the middle of this in canon sounded like the world’s worst idea). Skies really were very rare in this universe – as far as Rue knew, there were none in the extended family, and the general sentiment back then used to be frothing-at-the-mouth type envy at the Ninth’s good fortune at having four Sky progeny, in addition to leashing another two to the Varia and CEDEF. These days, however, there was quite a bit of schadenfreude.

It had been Rue’s job to blend seamlessly into the background to get a pulse on the mood of the room, listen for discontent, keep an ear out for any interesting gossip, and of course, interfere if any security concerns arose. It also got Rue front row seats to the Vongola Drama of The Year.

First, Xanxus had swanned in, in the company of a pale, nervous-looking man Rue recognised as the Lightning Guardian of the late Enrico (Rue wondered if anyone had tried to stop them, or if Xanxus had just barrelled his way through any attempts). Federico had gone ashen-faced, then green, while the Ninth looked grieved and disappointed.

Then Pietro Azzarà, Timoteo’s cousin and shit-stirrer extraordinaire, opened his mouth and asked, “Xanxus, who is that with you today?”

Was Xanxus ever ready for that question. He opened with a telenovela-worthy exposition on his poor dead brother’s virtues and how he didn’t deserve to die, then introduced Eco as Enrico's brave defender against their turncoat Guardian. Rue thought Xanxus had missed his calling in theatre.

The Ninth had tried to get Xanxus to quiet down a few times, to no avail, and of course everyone wanted to hear the story, mesmerised by Xanxus’s magnetism (Sky cheating, thought Rue).

“Imagine my horror, and sorrow, when I found out the very person responsible for Enrico’s death was my very own brother, Federico,” said Xanxus.

“That is a lie!” cried Federico, and all hell broke loose. Voices were raised, food was flying, people were taking sides, and accusations were being flung in every direction.

Then Federico shouted, “you’re not even Father’s real–”

“Croquant Bouche!” interrupted the Ninth, and suddenly no one could see or hear what was going on at the head table.

“Rue, get the guests out,” Iemitsu ordered, and Rue had to go shoo all the rubberneckers away, announcing that the dinner was over, so sorry for the inconvenience, and making sure they took any fisticuffs outside.

When Rue returned, there were char marks on the carpet, the Ninth and Federico were gone, and Xanxus had been turned into an ice sculpture, X-guns and all.

“Don’t go telling your Varia boyfriend, you hear?” said Iemitsu, and Rue wanted to roll his eyes. Ever since the Massimo incident, pretty much all of Vongola was convinced he and Ottavio had some kind of ridiculous Romeo-and-Juliet situation going on. People just didn’t understand bromance.

“We have to give the Varia an official statement, boss,” said Rue, already planning a workaround. Of course he was telling the one other sane person on this planet, was he stupid? Besides, Rue had already seen that story events could change with Massimo (even if it was by the freak accident of Rue and Ottavio passing by), and Xanxus could very well be another example.

“You don’t have to worry about that!” said Iemitsu with his irritating false cheer. “I’m sending you on a few long term assignments!”

Ass. “Don’t be cheap about hotels again, boss,” Rue wheedled instead, putting on his sweetest female-Rue smile and crossing his arms under his generous bosom. “There were bedbugs in the last one!”

To his credit, Iemitsu only glanced at his chest once. Perhaps he preferred smaller breasts, like Nana’s. “You know how it is with the budget, Rue-chan!”

Rue sighed. Months of roach motels and budget travel it was, then. He knew CEDEF had more funds than that, so where had it all gone? Or was it just Rue’s punishment for being too friendly with the Varia (which had started out on CEDEF’s orders in the first place)?

Turmeric and Oregano, Iemitsu’s most trusted personnel (were they also his Guardians? They never said, and Rue didn’t know how to tell), had arrived now, preparing to move the Xanxus-icicle to god only knew where. They sure as hell wouldn’t be letting Rue know.

Sure enough, Iemitsu was already redirecting him. “Rue, head straight back to CEDEF HQ, tell Lal what happened, and wait for my debrief, clear? Keep your pager on.”

“Of course, boss,” Rue replied, all professional again now that he had work to do.

Ah, the good old days of pagers. Mobile phones were starting to be a thing (the clunky keyboard ‘dumb’ phones, not the sleek pocket computers of his time), but the rank-and-file Vongola and CEDEF were still mainly using pagers, all connected to a centralised Vongola network. Rue had a couple of burner phones though, given to him by Ottavio, and he used one to contact his friend the moment he was in a safe place.

Two days later, Rue met Ottavio at the designated location, a busy cafe in one of the most touristy spots in Palermo. He was in disguise of course, as an unremarkable middle-aged lady this time.

This was his favourite way to troll Ottavio – he would show up as different people every time they met, and watch Ottavio melt his poor little brain trying to figure it out. It was a bit of a game between them, and good stress relief. Ottavio had clearly been raised around a Mist, too, so it usually didn’t take him long enough to be tiresome, but he still took quite a bit more time than say, Iemitsu, or the Vongola Ninth (the Ninth’s sons, unfortunately, were tragically untalented). True enough, Ottavio showed up, almost unrecognisable in jeans and contacts, and started looking around, smiling apologetically at a server who tried to help him.

Finally, he spotted Rue, and Rue could see a playful glint in his eye as he called out, “Tante!”

So they were doing that today, huh.

“Over here, Jan,” he said in Dutch, waving Ottavio over. It wasn’t widely known, but Tyr was Dutch, the son of the fabled 11th Sword Emperor (killed by the 12th, who was in turn murdered by Tyr, the 13th), who had simply been known as ‘The Dutchman’ to the Italians. Tyr had taught Ottavio the language, and Ottavio had then taught Rue. It wasn’t a language widely spoken in Italy, so it was very convenient for their meetings. Ottavio was tall, blond and slim, so he looked like a probable Dutch tourist anyway.

“How was your flight?” he asked as they exchanged cheek kisses. Then to the overly helpful waitress still hanging around, he added in Italian, “a coffee for him, please” to dismiss her.

“Oh it was all right,” said ‘Jan’, with a slightly devious grin. “You look well, ‘Aunt Emma’, despite your recent troubles.”

They kept up the meaningless small talk until Ottavio’s coffee arrived (with a phone number between the cup and saucer, the sly dog). Rue judged that no one was likely to be listening in, but put up an auditory illusion anyway (not his specialty, but hopefully good enough).

“Your boss has been frozen into a block of ice,” said Rue without preamble.

“...Excuse me?” Ottavio blinked.

Rue explained the situation as best as he could, adding in details he remembered from the anime – that the ice was the result of a Vongola technique used by the Ninth, for example, that he knew Ottavio would just assume Rue gleaned from his CEDEF work.

“His own son?” Ottavio was horrified. “I don’t care if he’s the leader of the Varia; Xanxus is a child. You don’t put children on timeout in an ice block! Do you perhaps know when he is likely to be released?”

Eight years? Rue hoped not. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “That’s another thing, by the way. If what I overheard Federico say is true, Xanxus is not the Ninth’s biological son. I don’t think Xanxus knew, so it must have come as a shock.”

“I’ll say,” Ottavio frowned. “What a mess. I’ll have to discuss this with the other Execs.”

“Did the Varia get an official statement?” asked Rue.

“Don’t those usually come from you?” Ottavio sounded confused. “No. There has been some rumour of a disturbance at the Iron Fort during the celebration, but no official statement, yet. Everyone’s still calm back at Varia HQ, but who knows for how long.”

“I’d try to find out more,” said Rue regretfully, “but I’m due to be sent out on assignments soon, and I think my boss is not very happy with me at the moment. He told me not to tell you about this, you know.”

And what a list of assignments! Iemitsu clearly wanted to keep him busy and away from Sicily until next year at the earliest. Rue’s tasks ran the gamut from getting politicians into compromising situations for blackmail, to tracking down drug trafficking rings, to finding disappeared CEDEF agents.

All these were better handled by a team, but CEDEF was sorely shorthanded these days. It was odd, and Rue didn’t remember this part in the KHR anime, but every so often one of his colleagues would just …go missing. No distress signal, no ransom, no trail, nothing. It was creepy, and Rue wasn’t feeling all that safe, especially when he usually worked alone. Like a lot of Mists, Rue wasn’t very physically capable. His illusions were probably only inferior to those of Mammon and Croquant Bouche, at Vongola, but if he were pushed to do Real Illusions, he would probably exhaust himself very quickly.

Unless he had a Flame focus. Flame rings currently existed, but they weren’t as common as they seemed to be in that one arc of the KHR anime (and of course box animals were still a distant dream). The CEDEF had a couple of Flame foci, but Iemitsu wasn’t likely to approve his request for one. Luckily, Rue knew a guy.

“We at the Varia are very appreciative of your hard work,” said Ottavio. “That’s unfortunate. Can I do something to help?”

Well, since he asked…

“Tavo,” said Rue solicitously, using the nickname Tyr and his Guardians used for Ottavio, which made Ottavio eye him warily. “We’ve known each other so many years… don’t you think I deserve a ring by now?”

To Rue’s amusement, Ottavio fumbled his cup and saucer, almost spilling the rest of his espresso.

“...Well,” said Ottavio, recovering himself. “Uh, yes, I can… get you a ring, if you want. Do you have… specifications?”

“A-Class, if you can get one, though B-class will work as well, I guess.”

“Ah.” Ottavio seemed a bit disappointed, for whatever reason, but nodded. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

Rue was halfway across Italy the next time Ottavio caught up to him, picking Rue up off a street corner and whisking him into a hotel. Rue winked at the wide-eyed Varia grunt they passed on the way in.

“Enjoying paid company on the clock?” Rue teased his friend. “Whatever will your superiors think?”

“Well, one’s unavailable and the other is preoccupied,” said Ottavio. “Besides, I’m sure they’ll make an allowance for me on account of my long years of service.”

Ottavio’s hotel wasn’t fancy, and was in the seedier part of town, but it was still heaps better than the dump Rue’d been squatting in while tracking some drug lord. It was a modest single bed room, and Ottavio clearly wasn’t sharing with the grunt. There was some food and a bottle of wine on a table, probably Ottavio’s dinner.

“Rough week?” asked Ottavio sympathetically. He poured Rue a glass of wine, then left Rue to sip gratefully at it while he went digging in his pack.

Rue just sighed. “It’s nothing particularly difficult, just mentally tiring,” he said. “How about you? What are you doing all the way out here? You never go on missions.”

“Recruitment, and tracking down Trident Shamal,” Ottavio replied, finding what he was looking for and rejoining Rue at the table. He slid a small box towards him. “It was difficult to find something suitable at such short notice. Auntie helped me source these. They’re a little bit better than the standard B-class, and they work best in a pair.”

“Shamal?” Rue wondered if the Varia wanted him to help treat Xanxus, when they finally got him out and defrosted him. Though, didn’t Shamal turn down an invitation to join the Varia in canon? Maybe things would be different this time. He opened the box, which contained two small gold hoop earrings, each with a tiny black gem that resonated pleasantly at his touch. “Perfect. Please thank her for me, Ottavio.”

“I will, and yes, Shamal.” It was Ottavio’s turn to sigh. Rue was certain he still held that years-old grudge against Shamal for inflicting that rash on him – Ottavio did not forgive easily. “He’s been on the recruitment list for ages and I’ve been putting it off. The Execs also want him for… you know.”

“The Ninth previously summoned him to fix Massimo,” Rue supplied helpfully. “Obviously, he couldn’t help very much, so he’s probably looking over his shoulder now, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He might bolt if he sees a Varia uniform.”

“Thanks, Rue,” said Ottavio, smiling. “Let me know if you hear any news about him?”

“Mmhmm,” Rue agreed, leaning back in his chair. He was as relaxed as he was going to get for the next couple of months, the wine was giving him a decent light buzz, and Ottavio had brought him a nice present. Why spoil such a good mood? He eyed Ottavio, who was pouring himself some wine, and tilted his chin at the bed next to them.

“For old times’ sake?” he suggested.

Ottavio paused in the middle of unwrapping his sandwich. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

Chapter Text

Superbia Squalo, 14, 14th Sword Emperor, Vice-Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

Xanxus did not return.

Squalo had had a bad feeling, ever since Xanxus had gone to dinner. Halfway through the evening his stump had started to ache, and then suddenly, a sharp pain in his chest, like he’d been stabbed.

Pushing down his rising panic, he took the stairs two at a time until he reached Mammon’s suite of rooms (why had they decided to live on top of the castle’s fucking tower? Squalo thought that they might be taking the mysterious evil sorcerer persona a bit too far). Hopefully they weren’t asleep, and wouldn’t apply too high of an after-hours surcharge.

“In,” came Mammon’s high, slightly squeaky voice as he approached.

Squalo opened the door. Mammon seemed to be expecting him, perched on the back of an armchair in the anteroom, where they normally received visitors. The furnishings here were normal sized, but Squalo knew that the rest of Mammon’s quarters were designed so everything was conveniently within a toddler’s reach.

“Voi, something’s happened to Xanxus,” he said, sitting down in the chair facing Mammon.

“I know,” Mammon replied. They held a piece of paper in their hands, which gleamed faintly wet with mucus. So they’d tried Thoughtography then.

“No reading?” Squalo asked, dreading but already half-certain of the answer. Mammon shook their head, clearly annoyed. Squalo let out a long, slightly shaky breath. “Xanxus said the Zero Point thing cancelled out Flame energy.”

Mammon’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “I refuse to believe that girl was right.”

“Unless Xanxus changed the plan and went for a one-man coup, she wasn’t completely accurate,” said Squalo, sitting down. “Fuck.”

A jumble of footsteps outside suggested the other Guardians had figured out where they were and had decided to join them. Sure enough, Bel came bursting through the door, followed closely by Luss.

“The prince demands to know where the Boss is!” Bel insisted, almost flinging himself at Mammon but stopping short after seeing the sticky snot-covered paper. “Mammon tried?”

“Yeah, no go,” said Squalo, trying not to sound too despondent, dammit. Bel’s face fell, and he crawled up next to Mammon for comfort.

Luss’s cheerful smile had also dimmed a little, and even his hair seemed to wilt. “It’s that, then,” he said.

“Unconfirmed,” said Mammon, stubbornly holding out, then cocked their head to the side, seemingly hearing something they didn’t. “Aureus, report.”

The door opened again to let in one of the Information personnel, who Squalo hadn’t even heard approach (Mists. Cheaters, the lot of them). They all wore hoods and cloaks like Mammon (reminding him of some kind of crazy religious cult), so Squalo couldn’t really tell them apart other than by build. ‘Aureus’ was the name of Mammon’s second, with the others named after other precious metals or currency.

“Disturbance at the Iron Fort,” said Aureus, clearly and succinctly (time was money, after all). “Dinner ended early, and guests were encouraged to leave. Argument between Xanxus and Federico, according to hearsay. Nothing from Vongola HQ or CEDEF. Il Mosca has advised that he will have more information from his contact soon.”

Under different circumstances, Squalo would’ve been amused at the quick adoption of his nickname for Ottavio. He’d let it slip once in earshot of some lower-ranking Varia, and it had spread like wildfire (“Does this mean that the Varia is the pile of shit he keeps circling?” he heard one of them wondering, before the mook was swiftly hauled away by his peers for a sound thrashing). Squalo had even been tempted to change Ottavio’s paperwork to put it down as his official Varia handle.

Now, however, he was just pathetically grateful. If Ottavio and his ex (girlfriend? Boyfriend? Squalo had no clue) came through with this, they’d owe them big time.

It was an agonising two-day wait, during which Bel almost destroyed the castle twice over. There wasn’t a peep out of CEDEF or Vongola HQ, though some chatter from the Family suggested renewed interest in Massimo’s rehabilitation and his children. Did this mean both Xanxus and Federico were in trouble?

Ottavio could only offer information on Xanxus, when he finally returned from his meeting with Rue, and it was bad news – Xanxus had been frozen via Zero-Point Breakthrough by the Ninth, with no current plans for release.

“Pardon me,” said Ottavio carefully, when he was met with stony silence, “but you don’t seem very surprised?”

“It wasn’t totally unexpected,” said Squalo shortly, without elaboration. Let The Fly draw his own conclusions.

Ottavio looked mildly disturbed for all of ten seconds, then seemed to decide it did not concern him and he did not actually care. “There is one other thing,” he continued, pushing up his glasses. “…Xanxus is likely the Ninth’s adopted, not blood, son.”

“What the fuck,” said Squalo, reeling. Suddenly a lot of things made sense in hindsight – the Ninth’s reluctance to discuss known Vongola traits with Xanxus, Xanxus’s exemption from certain types of training, meetings that included the Ninth’s sons but excluded Xanxus…

“The prince is outraged by this most heinous of lies!” cried Bel. Squalo agreed with the sentiment. Lineage was a very serious thing in the mafia, especially with so many talents and abilities being inherited traits.

“I can’t believe the Ninth would compromise Xanxus’s health,” said Luss, probably thinking about how half of Xanxus’s medical records would have to be thrown out.

“I don’t know if it will become widely known,” said Ottavio. “Rue overheard it by chance. Possibly some of the Family in attendance might have, as well.”

Either way, there was no hope of Xanxus inheriting now.

“I think you can expect to be called to the Iron Fort eventually, once they’ve decided what to tell the Varia,” Ottavio said quietly to Squalo. “That’s the Ninth’s style.” He then excused himself, leaving them to digest the news.

The moment Ottavio shut the door, Mammon shattered a mug through sheer psychic rage.

“I don’t care if he is the head of the Vongola!” It was times like these they were reminded just exactly what kind of monsters the arcobaleno were. “I will make anyone who touches my assets pay. Xanxus is mine.”

“Ours,” corrected Lussuria, tone mild but brooking no argument.

“So let’s get the Boss back!” cried Bel.

“We will.” Squalo promised. They had to.

As Ottavio had predicted, a summons soon came for Squalo to see the Ninth. The Fly, who’d been hovering about being a nuisance, insisted on coming along, for some reason, and Squalo was too drained to argue.

“If you trust me,” said Ottavio, “we could perhaps try to leverage the situation.”

Squalo frowned and looked at him.

“HQ hasn’t made a secret of the fact that they dislike the idea of what they think amounts to a bunch of children leading the Varia,” said Ottavio. “They are fine with me, because they’ve known me for many years, and they believe I follow their rules.”

“You don’t?” asked Squalo sceptically.

Ottavio just smiled. “With just a little bit of creativity,” he said.

Squalo thought he was getting better at interpreting Ottavio’s politely fake smiles, and had a catalogue mentally organised. The most common was smile #1, which was ‘I am in a neutral mood but I would prefer that you do not talk to me until I am caffeinated’, followed by smile #22, which said ‘if you persist in your idiocy I will drop you one rank, and/or out the window’, and the one most frequently aimed at Squalo, smile #3, ‘I don’t like you but we work together so let’s do this as efficiently as possible and then we can all go home and get drunk’.

This one was new. It said, ‘something wicked this way comes’.

“You want them to think you’re in charge now,” said Squalo, after thinking about it for a while.

“I would prefer if we can escape close scrutiny,” Ottavio explained. “If HQ thinks the status quo prior to Xanxus’s leadership has been restored, they may be more inclined to leave us alone. They want a pack of obedient hounds, not a loose cannon or threat at their back.”

Sheesh. Squalo wasn’t expecting that level of derision in Ottavio’s tone. No wonder Tyr and Lugh had just run without looking back, if this was how they really felt about being in (and leading!) the Varia. There had to be a story behind that – Squalo was going to ask the veterans once he got the chance.

“You are young,” said Ottavio. “Let them underestimate you.”

It rankled Squalo’s pride a bit, but he would jump at any opportunity to stick it to the Ninth and his cronies right now. Besides, Ottavio was right. If they were going to manoeuvre to get Xanxus back, they needed to maintain their current freedom to act.

“Voi, let’s see,” agreed Squalo. The Fly had proven to be trustworthy (if irritating), so far, so Squalo would trust him for now.

They ran into the Ninth’s Storm and Cloud Guardians as they were being escorted to their meeting.

“Good morning,” said Ottavio, with smarmy smile #52 (‘to my greatest regret, we are acquaintances’). He and Visconti did the subtle sizing-each-other-up thing Squalo had seen adult Clouds do, with Ottavio looking away first.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Coyote, with a glance at Squalo, who was doing his best to project teenage angst. “I guess if you’re still around, the Varia’s under control.”

“It’s always been under control, Mr. Nougat,” said Ottavio. “My work capacity has changed little.”

“A shame about Tyr,” said Coyote, perhaps a dig at Ottavio allowing Squalo’s challenge and the subsequent takeover. Ottavio’s smile did not waver.

“You and I both know that when our Skies are set on something, there is no holding them back,” Ottavio replied pleasantly. “Tyr is well, and will be delighted to hear your concern, I’m sure. Have you met our new vice-captain?”

“Siluro’s boy, eh?” said Coyote, looking over at Squalo. “Yes, we’ve met in passing. How old is he, twelve?”

“Voi, I’m fourteen! I’m the 14th Sword Emperor!” Squalo felt the need to protest, loud and shrill enough that the Ninth’s Guardians winced.

“Superbia,” Ottavio admonished, and Squalo fell back into sullen silence. He hoped he wasn’t hamming it up too much.

“Well, good luck with that,” Coyote told Ottavio, “and the other brats you’re babysitting.”

Ottavio inclined his head. “Please excuse us,” he said, and made a subtle, beckoning motion at Squalo. Squalo went, as sulkily as he could manage, and caught Visconti’s gaze following them thoughtfully. Suckers.

The Ninth was awaiting them not in his office, but in a separate meeting room, similar to Mammon’s antechamber. Seated in a leather armchair and flanked by Ganauche and Brabanter Schnitten, the Ninth seemed tired (Squalo was betting on Flame exhaustion), but still exuded an aura of power. It tasted (for the lack of a better word) different to the pressure Xanxus could exert when he was in a Mood; colder and heavier, reminding him a little of Tyr, actually.

“Ah, Ottavio, I haven’t seen you in a while,” said the Ninth genially, extending an arm. Ottavio stepped forward and kissed his hand with a deferential murmur of “Don”, and then it was Squalo’s turn.

Squalo hadn’t done any official swearing of loyalty or anything of the sort, since his thing with Xanxus was based on mutual understanding, and he’d run off on his swordsmanship campaign soon after the duel with Tyr. Though, as the son of a Vongola capo, it was expected Squalo would eventually also serve the Vongola. This just made it official, Squalo guessed.

“You must be Squalo, Xanxus’s Rain,” said the Ninth, as Squalo followed Ottavio’s example. “He should have introduced you to me, but Xanxus was never very good at following protocol.”

Squalo’s hackles rose unconsciously, and he had to very deliberately relax his shoulders after receiving a sideways glance from Ottavio. He doubted the Ninth missed that, but maybe a sign of weakness wasn’t a bad thing at this point.

“I am honoured to have Xanxus’s trust and companionship,” he said, after casting about in his brain for an appropriate reply that wouldn’t get his head torn off by Timoteo’s Guardians.

It seemed to be the right thing to say, as the Ninth nodded. “And I thank you for supporting Xanxus. That boy does not make friends easily.”

Then, the pleasantries were clearly over, as the Ninth adopted a more serious mien. “I’m sure you’re wondering about Xanxus –”

Squalo found himself holding his breath.

“ – unfortunately, his recent conduct is unacceptable. He will be under house arrest until further notice.”

“But what did he do ?!” Squalo burst out, unable to help himself.

Ottavio stepped in front of him as the Ninth’s Guardians shifted. “Please excuse his rudeness,” he said.

The Ninth waved his hand, indicating that Squalo was forgiven. “He is merely concerned for his Sky, as he should be,” he said, sounding exhausted. He folded his hands over his lap and looked at them intently, gaze burning. “What I say must not leave this room, if only for Xanxus’s sake. Xanxus raised a hand against his brother in anger, and hurt him. I do not believe he meant it, but he must still reflect on his actions.”

Fucking bullshit. And how was he going to fucking repent while frozen solid?! What about Federico, who killed the Ninth’s other son?!

“Superbia,” said Ottavio, in a warning tone.

“May I see him?” Squalo managed. He knew it was impossible, but he had to ask.

“I’m afraid not,” said the Ninth, sounding regretful, but firm. Then to Ottavio, he added, “I expect that the Varia can manage in Xanxus’s absence?”

It sounded a lot like ‘don’t expect him back’.

“It will be as it was, Don,” Ottavio replied.

“You’ve always been reliable,” said the Ninth, seemingly satisfied. “Give my regards to Tyr.” That was a clear dismissal, so Ottavio bowed and hustled Squalo out.

The Fly kept a steadying hand on Squalo’s shoulder until they got to the car, and kept hovering even after they got back to Varia HQ.

“Voi, go away, I’m fine,” said Squalo.

“I see,” Ottavio said, adjusting his glasses. “Don’t forget to clear the documents in your inbox tray.” Then he wandered away to buzz around someone else. Shrike, from the looks of it.

Squalo carefully tamped down any Feelings, because he had to take charge of this shitshow now, and make sure the Varia was in a fit shape for when Xanxus returned (because he would return). He recounted the meeting with the Ninth to the others, then it was more waiting as the situation developed and more information came in.

There was soon rumour (undoubtedly released by CEDEF or HQ) that the Ninth had been displeased by his children ‘getting into a disagreement’ (understatement of the year). As a consequence, Xanxus and Federico had been sent away to cool down and reflect on their actions. Massimo, probably for the first time in his life, was now the golden boy, despite his health issues, and miracle of miracles, his wife was expecting again.

(“How,” Squalo had wondered, considering Massimo’s paralysis. “There are ways,” Luss had replied, and Squalo most definitely did not want to know the details.)

“I can’t believe that after all that work, Federico’s deeds are just going to be glossed over,” sighed Luss. They were meeting again, in Squalo’s office this time.

“The contents of Xanxus’s accusations have spread, but no one will speak of it openly,” said Mammon. “It’s less impactful than we hoped, but it’s still a stain on Federico’s reputation.” They had found out, after a good deal of sneezing, that Federico had been moved to a villa on the fringes of Vongola territory, out of sight. Squalo wondered if they were planning to keep him there until things blew over. Would they release Xanxus at that time? Squalo didn’t hold too much hope.

“When are we going to get the Boss?” asked Bel for the millionth time. “The prince will kill everyone in his way!”

Squalo pinched the bridge of his nose. “We don’t even know where he is!”

“We need a plan for when we do get him back, too,” added Luss. “Getting him out of the ice, treatment for whatever damage Zero Point inflicted on him, rehab … I hate to admit it, but Flame-related injuries aren’t my forte.”

“Trident Shamal is the foremost expert on Flame-related disorders,” said Mammon. “He may be able to treat Flame injuries.”

“I’ll see if The Fly can get him, just in case, and just boost recruitment for Medical in general,” decided Squalo. “Maybe a Sky can get him out, but that would involve Tyr.” Unless he could somehow get Dino to help, but he was currently being tutored by the arcobaleno Reborn, who was on good terms with the Ninth…

“Mayhaps the treacherous sibling would know where the Boss is, since he was there,” said Bel suddenly. “We should take him hostage, ushishishishi!”

“And have the whole of the Vongola after us?” said Squalo dryly. Asking Federico was probably a decent option, but getting someone close to him was going to be impossible now that HQ probably had their guard up.

“Actually,” said Luss. “I might have an idea.”

Chapter Text

Antonio ‘Tonino’ Pozzi, 40, Manager, Landolfi Winery and Bottling Plant

Antonio was balancing the books in his office, when the damned geese outside suddenly started honking up a storm, making him jump. They’d gotten the geese a week or so ago, when Mr. Landolfi approved the budget for guard animals and a rudimentary CCTV system for security. Antonio would’ve really preferred dogs, but a few of the workers were afraid of them, and Franco was allergic, so what could you do? At least the geese would lay eggs they could use.

Franco came running in, holding a stick. Antonio was already reaching for the axe he kept propped up in the corner of his office.

“Uncle, it doesn’t seem to be the gangsters from last time,” said Franco, looking a bit worried. “They’ve got an older lady with them, Indian? I asked Jai to see what they wanted.”

The cacophony of honking cut off abruptly, and Antonio feared the worst. “Come on, quickly!” He grabbed the axe in one hand, and pulled his hapless nephew along with the other.

A small crowd had already gathered at the front gates to see what was going on. The geese were all alive and accounted for, cowering behind a stack of crates. A tall, lean man with greying brown hair, about Antonio’s age and quite handsome, was leaning over the crates, watching the geese with some amusement. A diminutive older Indian(?) lady stood next to him, dressed in a sharp-looking tailored suit. She was accompanied by another plumper, curly-haired man with a moustache, who had an umbrella under his arm despite the fair weather. The men looked friendly enough, but Antonio had hung out with the wrong crowd enough to know they were the dangerous type, probably acting as bodyguards, so the lady must be someone important. An inspector from the city? Though those didn’t usually have bodyguards, and Antonio was sure Mr. Landolfi had paid off all the relevant authorities… wait, something about them rang a bell…

“I can speak Italian just fine, and I don’t speak Punjabi,” the lady said patiently to Jai, one of the plant’s foreign workers, who probably had been trying to communicate with her using his native tongue. Her hair was almost completely white, and Antonio thought she must be at least sixty. “Who is in charge here?”

“That would be me,” said Antonio, stepping forward before he remembered he was holding an axe and that could be interpreted badly. He winced. “Can I help you, madam?”

“Antonio Pozzi?” she confirmed, politely ignoring the axe in his hand and opening a folder. God help him, she had a dossier. The lady then produced a letter of proxy, and Antonio recognised Mr. Landolfi’s signature on the bottom. “Your employer sent us to help with your problem. You can call me Auntie, and these are Teo and Max.” She jerked a thumb towards Tall-and-Skinny, then Plump Moustache as she spoke.

“Oh! Yes that’s me,” said Antonio.

Mr. Landolfi had just said “Auntie and associates” would visit, and Antonio had thought he meant his actual aunt, as in related to the late Granny Landolfi. From the few times he’d seen him, Mr. Landolfi was pale and blond and very much not Indian! Perhaps they were related by marriage? Whatever connection they had also explained the folder that the lady was carrying – Mr. Landolfi was very organised.

Antonio didn’t know that much about Mr. Landolfi, all things considered, other than that he was from their little corner of the Italian Alps along the Swiss border. He was allegedly the grandson of old Granny Landolfi, the widow who lived on the western slope before she passed away some years ago. There was really nothing here – the roads were crap, farming was a challenge on the slopes, and every so often a rockslide would remind you why living here was an exercise in futility. The only good bits of land were in the tiny little mountain valley, where their small town had sprung up hundreds of years ago. Now it was practically empty, houses crumbling away from disuse.

Like countless others before him, Mr. Landolfi had gone away to find work in the big cities further south. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t forget his roots once he’d made it big, turning the unused land on the slopes into terraced vineyards and opening this factory on the edge of town. Suddenly the area had life again, as there was now some kind of employment for people left behind amongst the scattered villages in the surrounding hills, as well as a surprising number of immigrants. It was a better option than joining gangs to scam tourists and shake down dairy farms, which was what Antonio had done in his youth. All they did anyway was just bottle wine to sell to foreigners who would pay too much money for a vintage from one particular Italian valley over another (but couldn’t taste the difference). Practically saintly!

Mr. Landolfi paid well, too, and on time, and was generous with bonuses when business was good. When a problem cropped up he usually solved it quickly, considering that he had to do things by phone, and seemed like a very busy man. His only stipulations were that everyone do their jobs properly, and that the plant workers offer assistance to the locals when things like rockslides or heavy snow happened and the local government was taking too long to get to them. This obviously endeared their little operation to the locals, who turned a blind eye to the not-strictly-legal deeds happening within and gave them advance warning when it looked like some trouble was happening. Which was why the disappearances had caught them completely unawares.

“Let’s talk inside,” Auntie said (was he really supposed to call her ‘Auntie’?). To Tall-and-Skinny, she added, “Teo, stop terrorising their poultry.”

Mr. Tall-and-Skinny, Teo, laughed. “I haven’t seen guard geese before! Was this your Mr. Landolfi’s idea?”

“We were supposed to get dogs, but I’m allergic,” said Franco, who had been gawking at the newcomers with his mouth slightly open like a fool.

“My nephew,” Antonio introduced sheepishly. “He also works here.” He shooed Franco away. “Go, get Gilda, ask if she will make some coffee for the guests.”

Luckily, none of the newcomers reacted, so they probably didn’t care. Antonio brought them into his office, and scrounged up enough chairs for everyone to sit down. Gilda scurried in soon after with coffee and pastries, bless her. Antonio relaxed slightly when ‘Auntie and associates’ seemed quite satisfied with their hospitality.

“Uh, thank you for coming,” said Antonio, once everyone had had a bite. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon, as Mr. Landolfi didn’t give an exact date.”

“It seemed urgent,” said Auntie. “People have gone missing?”

“Yes, two of our younger workers, Blago and Surjan,” said Antonio. “We haven’t found them yet, and Surjan’s an illegal, so it’s not like we can go to the police...”

“No gangs making trouble?” asked Teo.

Antonio rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That's the thing – these Biscione guys only showed up recently, after Blago and Surjan had been missing for well over a week. Shouldn’t they make demands before kidnapping? But they just showed up and started breaking things, regular protection racket stuff, no mention of the boys at all. They didn’t seem to know about them when we asked for them back.”

“Odd,” agreed the other man, Max.

“Biscione?” Teo frowned. “Sounds familiar.”

“Marko – he drives the product down to Bergamo to be shipped out – says that they’re new to the area,” said Antonio, wringing his hands. He couldn’t quite stop himself now that there was someone new he could complain to. “They’re nuisances! They’ve been taking in orphans, aimless youths, ne’er-do-wells and the like, just anybody they can get their hands on, and then they just run wild and terrorise the villages. Stealing, ruining crops, harassing cows… Hooligans, the lot of them! I bet they put the boys to work somewhere.”

“Growing pains,” suggested Teo. “Trying to grow the outfit, but being too indiscriminate in recruitment, and not enforcing discipline.”

“Well, we’ll deal with them if they come back,” decided Auntie.

Mr. Landolfi clearly trusted them enough to give them the keys to Granny Landolfi’s old house, because people soon saw them moving in and airing out the place.

“They seem like they’ll be here for a while!” Gilda commented. “I hope they can help us.”

Mr. Landolfi’s associates (friends?) took things seriously, at least. There was always one of the men at the plant when there was a shift working, while Auntie went around town familiarising herself with the area. She seemed to be investigating the disappearances as well, calling in a van full of other staff to help out.

Eventually, five of the Biscione nuisances showed up again, heralded by the frantic honking of their guard geese, which had luckily recovered from whatever scare Teo had given them.

“The fuck are these?!” exclaimed one of the hooligans, as the feathered fiends descended on them with a vengeance. Feathers flew, men screamed like little babies, and Antonio and the others had a good laugh at their humiliation – until one of them pulled out a handgun.

“None of that!” Max, who was ‘on duty’ that day, appeared out of nowhere, swinging his umbrella, and knocked the gun out of the man’s hand. Antonio tensed as the other hooligans went for their weapons, but then the metallic click and catch of a shotgun being racked cut through the chaos like a slap to the face, freezing everyone in place.

Antonio swivelled around to see Auntie calmly holding the weapon in question, Teo standing behind her with his hands lightly clasped behind his back. They’d brought Auntie’s staff too, and while not all of them were visibly armed, Antonio knew better than to assume otherwise.

“Let’s talk like civilised people,” suggested Auntie. The barrel of her shotgun twinkled in the sun.

“Madam, we didn’t know this place was under anyone’s protection,” said the leader of the men, the one who had pulled the gun.

“Did you check?” Auntie sounded unimpressed. “We will be having words with your leader.”

The gangsters were efficiently disarmed and packed into a van with Auntie’s staff, while Auntie and her two bodyguards commandeered the car the Biscione had driven up in. Antonio had to come along too, to confirm the identities of Sarjan and Blago, should they manage to get them back.

“Aren’t we a bit too few to be confronting a gang at their headquarters?” asked Antonio cautiously. He never asked for any of this!

“We’ll just be talking,” said Auntie dismissively, which Antonio did not believe one bit.

The Biscione had set up in one of those old villas that used to be somebody’s family estate. Whether they stole it, owned it, or were just squatting Antonio didn’t know, but it looked fancy, if a bit rundown.

Security was lax, and there were an alarming number of children running around as they came up the driveway completely unmolested.

“Strangers! Strangers!” chanted the children, jumping up and down and pointing as they spotted the cars. A harassed-looking teenager, probably their babysitter, looked up in alarm and started herding the kids into the main building, shouting out warnings. He came back out holding what looked like an impractically large metal ball on a chain, just as they got out of the car.

“Interesting,” pronounced Teo, raising a brow at the weapon.

“Who are you and what do you want?” demanded the teen. He had really scary eyes, and a frankly terrifying scowl. The boy then spotted the Biscione they’d subdued earlier and gaped. “Leo! Pippo! Let them go, you bastards!” The last was directed at them.

“We’re just here to talk,” said Auntie mildly. “Are the adults at home coming out, or are they leaving you to it?” She tilted her head at the windows, where there was obviously activity behind the curtains. She had her arms crossed over her chest, clearly weaponless (where had the shotgun gone?) and Teo and Max beside her seemed deliberately relaxed.

At her nod, her subordinates released the five would-be extortionists, who quickly scrambled behind the boy. Was he a higher ranked member, despite his age?

“Lancia, they’re from the wine bottling plant down in the valley,” said one of them. ”Bastards have some kind of criminal backing.”

…News to Antonio! … though he really should have known…

“Yes, and the backing doesn’t like you strolling in like you own the place,” said Teo, sounding amused. “We’re willing to consider it a misunderstanding, depending.”

“Also, we were nice enough not to hurt any of your people,” added Max. “It’d only be polite for you to return ours.”

The boy – Lancia– frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Well, you might not know, but your boss probably has a better idea,” said Auntie. “These are negotiations that have to be made properly, do you understand, boy?”

“You think you can just waltz in here?!” someone shouted from behind Lancia. People were starting to appear from various parts of the grounds. Antonio counted at least fifteen adults.

“Well, nobody stopped us,” muttered Max crossly, making Teo chuckle.

“You can’t talk to our boss that easily!” yelled someone else. “Lancia, teach them a lesson!”

“I— “ Lancia seemed hesitant. “They don’t seem like they want to fight?”

“We’ll be laughing stock if we back down now,” argued the first speaker. “We can’t look weak!”

“Are you really all going to hide behind this poor kid?” asked Teo, amused.

“Lancia’s the strongest man in Northern Italy!” boasted one of the Biscione. A chorus of “Yeah!!”, “We’re counting on you!” and “Show ‘em, Lancia!” echoed behind him.

The boy’s grip tightened on the chain of his massive weapon. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I promised to protect the boss.” Then, swiftly, he swung the huge sphere into the air, barely missing Teo, who was standing in front, by inches. Everyone hurriedly backed away.

Antonio could feel the whoosh of displaced air all the way from where he was standing, and had to hold onto the car for balance.

Just what kind of a monster was he?!

“Oho!” Max seemed to be particularly interested in the scary teen. “That’s either a Cloud or a Sun, or I’ll eat my hat.”

Antonio didn’t know why they were suddenly talking about the weather but surely they should be less relaxed about the giant metal ball being swung around!!

“You don’t have a hat, Max,” said Auntie. “Though, I’ll bet on that one being a Cloud like Tavo, too. Just needs to be poked a bit.”

“Then I’ll go poke him a bit,” said Teo cheerfully.

To Antonio’s horror, Teo drew a sword out of practically nowhere and leapt at the monster boy, who barely caught the blade on the chain of his weapon.

“Untrained,” he said, clucking his tongue. “A shame, there’s talent here.”

The youth flushed and stepped back with an upward swing of his ridiculously impractical weapon. “I’ll stop you here!” he declared.

Teo sighed but seemed to indulge him, twisting away from the metal ball with unexpected agility.

“You have really got to stop that habit of closing your eyes before a blow,” said Teo, shaking his head. The boy flushed again, and swung harder.

“He seems like a sweet boy, like our Tavo,” said Auntie. Who was this Tavo they kept talking about?

“Tavo’s not a little boy anymore,” remarked Max.

“Ah, but all of you will always be my little boys,” said Auntie.

“Aww,” said Teo, smiling, then suddenly lunged forward. Lancia was forced to quickly back away to get some space to swing his weapon, but Teo was too fast. He darted between Lancia and the giant metal ball, smacking his hand with the flat of his sword before he could react. With a yelp, Lancia loosened his hold – and was immediately sent flying away from his weapon with a kick. Teo stepped over, and pointed the blade at his throat.

Antonio thought he might have imagined it, but Lancia’s irises seemed to flash red for the briefest moment.

“Seriously?” muttered Max, sounding disappointed. Teo smirked.

“Auntie likes you, so I’m inclined to spare your life,” he said. “But maybe you should leave this bunch. They seem like a bad influence on the youth.”

“I owe them a debt for taking me in,” said Lancia, even as the onlookers yelled, “Hey, he’s ours!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Antonio saw someone raising a gun to shoot, and was about to call out when Max calmly pointed his umbrella. Something shot out the end and nailed the would-be attacker in the neck, dropping him like a stone. Teo did not even look up.

“Don’t worry, he’s not dead,” said Max, amidst the cries of “Bertino, no!” and “Bastard, what did you do!”. “But he will be in about,” he checked his watch, “45 minutes if I don’t administer an antidote.” Swords and now poisons! Now Antonio had really seen everything.

“On that note, I think we’ve had enough, haven’t we?” said Teo. He passed his sword from his left to right hand, then pulled off his left leather glove with his teeth. Antonio gasped – the hand underneath had a markedly different texture and colour than skin, clearly a prosthetic.

“It’s Tyr the Sword Emperor!” cried someone, raising a fearful murmur in the crowd. Even Antonio had heard of the Sword Emperor, back in his gang days! Though, wasn’t he heading some kind of assassin group, working for that mafia superpower down south, the Vongola? What was he doing working for Mr. Landolfi?

“Former, unfortunately,” corrected Teo (Tyr?), with an imperious tilt of his chin. “But I think we all understand what the best course of action is going forward, yes? Don’t try my patience.”

There was some commotion, and a chorus of “Boss!” went up as a middle aged man in a suit emerged from the crowd.

“It’s all right, I knew this would happen one day,” said the man, in a fancy Milanese accent. He was trembling slightly. “I’ve spent all this time looking over my shoulder, and finally, they’ve sent assassins after me…”

There was… clearly some kind of misunderstanding here. Antonio could see Tyr rolling his eyes.

“Boss, I’m sorry,” said Lancia. “Even though I promised…”

The Biscione boss smiled shakily. “It’s… it’s alright, Lancia. You did well.”

“What is even happening,” grumbled Max, soft enough that only the people around him could hear. Antonio agreed with the sentiment.

“Ready to talk?” asked Teo, with a touch of impatience. At the boss’s nervous nod, Teo stepped back and sheathed his sword (apparently he kept it hidden under the back of his coat), allowing Lancia to get to his feet.

Antonio went into the house with Teo and Auntie, with Max remaining outside with Auntie’s staff. The interior had clearly seen better days, even if the furnishings could be considered luxurious, and once upon a time it might have been a magnificent house.

They went into some kind of meeting room with Lancia and the Biscione boss, who broke down immediately the moment the door was closed.

“Oh, Santa Maria, it’s been so hard, but I swear I tried my best!” he wailed. “Please, I did not mean for any of this! If you’re here to kill us, spare the children, at least!”

“Boss!” said Lancia, dismayed.

“Please stop,” said Teo, holding his head. “I’m not here on Varia business. If I were, you wouldn’t even know before you were dead.”

“Then, a warning?” wondered Lancia’s boss, distressed. “Oh, I knew my day of reckoning would come!” He then launched into a completely unsolicited, impassioned retelling of the Biscione’s history.

The Biscione’s boss’s name was Andrea Litta, and he had started out as a fairly low-ranking soldier in the famiglia. The Biscione were originally based around the Milan area (explaining his fancy accent), and two or three generations back had been quite the regional power.

“That’s where I remember the name from,” Teo commented. “I thought that particular mafia family died out, however.”

“The old Don and the underbosses are no more, God rest their souls,” said Litta, with an air of fatalism. “At… at the end, he gave me this, and told me to run, and take whoever I could with me. Said our enemies might not remember to come for someone like me.” He took out what looked like a signet ring from his breast pocket, and placed it on the table.

Teo picked up the ring and rolled it between forefinger and thumb, scrutinising it. Antonio couldn’t quite make out the design from where he was sitting, other than that it was black and silver, maybe depicting something serpentine, with some kind of gem that caught the light.

“Do you even know what this is?” Teo asked Litta.

Litta laughed bitterly. “I don’t know, an heirloom? I’ve just been trying to hold whatever’s left together, and maybe rebuild. I’ve clearly made a mess of things if I’ve angered the Varia...”

“It’s not like you could use it, anyway,” said Teo. He slid the ring onto his right pinky finger, then lit it on fire. Litta, Lancia and Antonio stared, open-mouthed. “It’s a Sky focus. Rare.” But clearly not impressive enough for Teo, as he took the ring off and placed it back in front of Litta.

“And for the last time, I’m not here on an assassination contract!” he added. “We just want your minions to stop harassing the people at the plant, and if you could cough up some reparations that would also be good. Just a friendly suggestion.”

As Litta (hopefully) digested the information (Antonio was starting to think he was a little touched in the head and that was why his organisation was in such a mess ), Teo turned to Antonio, gaze assessing. He looked amused at Antonio’s shock, and patted him companionably on the back.

“That’s what happens when you play in the big leagues of the mafia,” he said conspiratorially. “Everybody’s on fire. Best get used to it, if you’re sticking with your Mr. Landolfi.”

“He can do that too?” Antonio asked with some trepidation. But Mr. Landolfi looked so…normal. Like a slightly unscrupulous businessman! Wait, so this meant Mr. Landolfi was in the mafia ‘big leagues’ …

Teo’s responding laugh was not at all comforting.

“Anyway, fascinating story, but let’s get back to business,” said Teo, and then almost punched Litta in the face as Litta suddenly grabbed his hand across the table.

“Don’t do that,” he hissed, and tried to pull away, but Litta clung on with surprising strength, a feverish look in his eyes.

“It’s destiny that you can use the ring! You should be our new boss,” he said fervently. “I’ve been trying so hard but god knows I’m not boss material… But with you we won’t be weak anymore! We don’t have to be bottom feeders if we have the Varia backing us up! The only one of ours who can really fight is Lancia, he’s self-taught and we don’t have the means to train him…and we spent all our money making that metal ball for him... ”

“What, me? No thank you!” said Teo, finally shaking his hand free and cutting off Litta’s rambling. “I’ve had enough of managing people. I’m also no longer in the Varia! Though…” He paused and looked at Auntie.

“What do you think? A present for Tavo?” he suggested.

“It’ll give him something to do after he retires,” shrugged Auntie. “You know how much he loves managing things. I’m not sure if the winery will be enough for him.”

Oh, of course, ‘Tavo’ was the contraction they used for ‘Ottavio’!

“Teo,” came a voice from the door. It was Max, who’d clearly finished outside and had come in to look for them. “I leave you for five minutes.”

“I think it’s been about an hour, actually, give or take,” said Teo, with a look of innocence that fooled no one.

That had to be the oddest and least violent takeover of a rival gang ever (not that Antonio had experienced very many, but still). The Biscione were confused and wary, but most of them were new, and didn’t have that much loyalty to Litta’s leadership anyway. For the old guard, Litta’s obvious happiness and relief, as well as Lancia’s support and the prospect of strength eventually won most of them over. Auntie’s people started moving in to enforce discipline, and Antonio found himself essentially working two jobs as he was given the task of straightening out their accounts (which were a nightmare).

The worrying thing though, was that the Biscione really hadn’t taken Blago or Surjan, and the boys were still nowhere to be found. Still, the Biscione were roped into the search effort, and for a short while, Antonio was cautiously optimistic.

Then some of the Biscione children went missing, too.

Chapter Text

Bluebird, 15, Rank C, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly Raguel ‘Angel of Judgement’ Kaminari , vigilante, formerly Alan Sutherland, 14, student

A lot of things had changed, and Alan could really only sit back and let it happen.

First Sparrow had been reassigned under Squalo’s command (!), so Alan now reported to Gull, an A-rank Rain who sometimes helped run the recruit training program. Gull wasn’t bad, he was a really chill guy (whose cool Flame superpower was having a stomach of iron that made him resistant to nearly all poisons and the aftereffects of bingeing on junk food), but he wasn’t Sparrow-senpai! Alan was feeling a little lonely without a fellow transmigrator to commiserate with (Amaranth didn’t count). Sparrow still checked in now and again, but she was so busy now that it started to become a rare occurrence.

Then the recruits had all been sent on their first proper missions. Alan had been quite nervous, as this was his first time having to actually kill a person.

It… wasn’t as bad as he thought (and what did that say about him?).

The mission was a milk run, all things considered. Pretty bog-standard setup: one Elite leader, an Intelligence division agent on consult over comms (but who was not paid to lift a finger otherwise), one medic on standby (in his case, the medic was the Elite, an older woman named Libitina— Medical was all L names, after the Varia handsign for ‘this loser is possibly dying, send help’), and two actual stabby people, including himself. Alan had heard that sometimes there would be a specialist involved, but it hadn’t been needed for his mission.

Anyway, the point was to get in, off their target (and whoever else got in the way) in a ‘The Varia was Here’ sort of way, and get out again. Their target was some paranoid old guy, so there were a lot of bodyguards, but his teammates made short work of them while Alan covered everyone with a Lightning shield.

Alan was assigned to take out the target, so Libitina made sure Alan made a clean kill, then supervised as Alan opened him up and removed some of the organs as stated in the service agreement (it was a convoluted and tasteless Halloween-themed request). She then patted him on the head and took him somewhere to throw up.

Alan thought he’d have nightmares for a while, but he was fine– slept fine, ate fine. Everything was fine. Guess his OC was really cut out for this life.

He wondered if Sparrow-senpai had felt the same.

When he came back though, the atmosphere at Varia HQ seemed subdued, and he quickly found out why.

“Xanxus has been detained and is ‘reflecting on his misbehaviour’,” said Sparrow, when she’d managed to grab hold of him.

“Does that mean he’s on ice?!” exclaimed Alan, half excited (because canon event!) and half shocked. “Did I miss a coup?”

Sparrow shook her head. “No coup unless Xanxus went for a one-man job,” she said. Shocking!!! This universe was even more divergent than he thought. “I dunno the details, but given how despondent Squalo and the others seem to be … I’m betting he got Zero-Pointed.”

“That’s so strange,” said Alan (understatement!) “I wonder what’s going to happen now.”

Sparrow shrugged. She looked exhausted and was idly rubbing her stomach (ulcers again?)— her new position must be more stressful than expected.

“Vongola put Ottavio officially in charge now,” said Sparrow (unexpected!). “Practically, though, it’s Squalo and Lussuria running the show; Ottavio doesn’t seem to give two shits, though he still signs off on the paperwork. I feel like he’s really annoyed by the whole thing and wants to bail ASAP.”

“Should we do anything?” asked Alan. Not like they really could, but they could try! Couldn’t be too hard to break Xanxus out of the Iron Fort, right? …. Yeah maybe not.

Sparrow shook her head. “The Execs seem to be planning something, so just don’t get in their way? I’ll let you know if I figure anything out. You just stay alive. Oh, Amaranth flunked out of the training programme, by the way. I heard she almost died.”

True enough, Amaranth was absent when the recruits were gathered for a briefing (Alan did hope she was okay, even if there was no love lost between them). Shrike had said they were going to be getting their ranks and division designations, which was exciting! Well, he already knew he was in HR, but he was eager to see how he matched up against the others.

“Congratulations, you are now confirmed members of the Varia,” said Ottavio, before reading off a list of ranks, new names and designations. Alan and Grigori (now Buer) were the only Rank Cs (yes!), while the others were given the entry rank of D. Other than Alan, Li Han, Alan’s roommate, was the only one specially assigned to a division, Intelligence in his case. Mammon had given him the new name ‘Yinli’, meaning something like ‘flecks of silver’ (Alan thought it was still better than ‘Bluebird’, though). Everyone else was in the catch-all that was Operations, though they might go into the various subdivisions like Logistics etc. later.

“Salary pays out on the 25th of each month into your Vongola account and bonuses will be reflected every quarter,” continued Ottavio, after a long spiel about expectations of proper conduct that nobody paid attention to. “You will be informed of your next assignment soon.” Then everybody was dismissed, and Alan was about to go gossip with Li Han–Yinli– when Ottavio held him back.

“Bluebird, I have your next assignment,” said Ottavio. It was really soon after his last one, but Alan was eager to do something.

It turned out that he, and Ottavio, were going to get Trident Shamal, for something hush-hush that Ottavio wasn’t telling him (but Alan could guess). Or maybe Ottavio was just quickly getting himself out of the way in order to claim plausible deniability for whatever plan Squalo and his buddies were cooking up.

At any rate, as cover, they would be visiting mafia hotspots around Italy, supposedly for recruitment purposes (well, they really did need to recruit some more people, according to Ottavio), and to do some PR because the Varia wasn’t looking too great lately due to Xanxus’s sudden absence. To make it look more legit, Ottavio was taking a rookie for ‘training’, rather than a more experienced murder team. A road trip with a villain! Or not-villain, maybe. ‘Bluebird and his Evil Supervisor’ would make a good band name, though. Either way, exciting!

“Is it just us, sir?” asked Alan, as Ottavio handed him a thick sheaf of documents. A ‘brief’, his ass.

“We will have Intelligence on call, of course,” said Ottavio, pushing up his glasses. “Depending on the circumstances, I may arrange for other personnel to rendezvous with us. The last time I did this in 1989 …”

Alan tuned out the ancient history and instead started leafing through the brief while nodding and pretending to listen. There was a big ol’ picture of Shamal at a really unflattering angle, looking much younger than in canon– he was 27, according to the brief. He hadn’t quite developed the scruffy pervert look yet, and had a clean-shaven, if slightly roguish appearance. Still looked fairly shady, though. As for his info, most of it he already knew – Shamal’s use of Trident Mosquitoes (‘APPROACH WITH CAUTION’, suggested the page), and ooh, confirmed Mist Flame … his philandering ways etc etc. Interestingly, it looked like the Varia got requests to off him like, all the time, but hits on Shamal would not be accepted unless there was approval from the Vongola Top Brass. ‘Courtesy Service for the Arcobaleno Reborn as Requested and Paid For by the Vongola Ninth’, it said in a footnote. Huh.

For this particular mission, they were supposed to get Shamal by hook or by crook (kidnapping was a valid recruitment method, as Alan had personally experienced), so Alan would have to be prepared. He could do it, he thought. He was going to be the best human flyswatter ever and zap those Trident Mosquitoes into oblivion— wait. Crap, Levi-A-Than had called him a flyswatter and he’d been right! Ugh.

Distracted, Alan only realised belatedly that Ottavio was looking at him with an exasperated expression.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” he said sheepishly.

Ottavio sighed. “I asked if you had any questions,” he said, pushing up his glasses.

“Er, no?” Alan replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Ottavio raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” he said mildly. “I’ll see you in three days.”

Three days later, Ottavio met him in the motorcycle garage, wearing a leather jacket over his dress clothes, his suit trousers carefully tucked into leather boots. Alan found himself staring a little because leather just automatically made people hotter (literally… he didn’t know how Ottavio wasn’t boiling in there). Ottavio had told Alan to at least wear a padded jacket and other durable clothing to prevent abrasions in case of falls, but still dress nicely because they were mafia gentlemen on business. Alan didn’t own any clothing like that (he didn’t really own anything), so he was just going to wear his shiny new Varia uniform (which was fairly sturdy) and hope for the best. Ottavio didn’t comment, but Alan thought he was probably judging.

As they went down the rows of vehicles, he wondered what kind of bike Ottavio rode. A Harley? Too showy for someone like Ottavio… maybe a Yamaha? Ooh, this was Italy… so maybe a Ducatti!

“You might have to ride pillion once we catch up with Trident Shamal,” said Ottavio as he went up to … a pink Vespa with a matching sidecar. He tossed Alan a helmet, also pink.

This was…admittedly not what Alan had pictured.

He reluctantly put on the helmet, and got in as Ottavio started up the engine.

Ottavio was a pretty law-abiding driver, other than the fact that Alan was pretty sure a Vespa with their configuration should really not be on the highway or actually be able to attain the highway speeds which it was magically achieving. Alan also thought their embarrassingly pink scooter would get a lot more attention, but nobody seemed to notice, and it was practically invisible to the dozen or so traffic police they passed. It was like everyone had spontaneously agreed not to acknowledge its existence (probably for the best).

After first crossing onto the mainland, the plan was to zig-zag north. Every so often, Ottavio would stop, find the local criminal watering hole, and put out word that the Varia was hale, hearty, and hiring. Whoever was interested could either catch up with Ottavio, or present themselves for an entry interview at Varia HQ.

It looked like Ottavio was looking for people with what he termed ‘value-added’ skill sets – people with talents other than murder. A butcher with a hankering for cutting up something more challenging? A physiotherapist with a penchant for breaking bones? A side job in masonry? The Varia wanted you!

Ottavio relayed all of this to the relevant people (essentially, the information brokers, like the bartenders and such), while Alan got to stand around with a clipboard looking important. He must have zoned out for a bit at one point, because Ottavio glanced at him sidelong and said, “It’s almost a given that someone might try to murder you, especially once we get out of Alliance territory.”

“Why?!”

“It counts as an entry interview, too,” shrugged Ottavio. “And there will be those testing the waters to see if the Varia has softened up, after the news about Xanxus. It’s been a tumultuous year for the Vongola.”

Alan paid attention after that.

True enough, things got dicey the moment they crossed over into non-Alliance territory. They had taken like two steps into an alley (Ottavio had made a slight detour to get coffee) when a dart embedded itself in the cobblestones barely an inch from Alan’s foot.

“Good evening,” said Ottavio pleasantly to a dramatically backlit figure on a roof, who Alan hadn’t even noticed! “Are you here for him or for me?”

“If I kill him, I get his job, right?” asked the figure. It was hard to tell the person’s gender with the setting sun behind them, but Alan thought the voice sounded like a girl’s.

“That’s correct, but your exact role is subject to evaluation,” said Ottavio, and stepped to the side, checking his watch. “You have five minutes; we’re in a hurry.” Thankfully, the girl (‘Silver Dart Eva’, or something) went down quickly after a couple of zaps. Ottavio said there wasn’t a need to kill her (small mercies!), so they just propped her up out of the way somewhere (“It’s inconsiderate to clutter pedestrian areas,” Ottavio reminded) and went on their way.

Things carried on in the same vein for the next several hours. By the time they made it to their accommodations, it was almost midnight, Alan was wheezing and nearly out of juice.

“It’s certainly less trouble to have Varia members bring in prospective recruits, like how you were recruited,” admitted Ottavio. He’d finally taken pity on him and briefly held Alan’s hand to give him a quick Flame boost. “I’d say it’s good experience for you, though.” Yeah, Alan had probably gained like, five whole levels with this kind of encounter rate.

Too winded to answer, Alan just took the energy bar and room key Ottavio handed to him. He was surprised he was getting his own room since there were only two of them, but quickly realised why when he saw a couple of Varia runners with briefcases waiting outside Ottavio’s room. Geez, there was a line. That really explained why Ottavio never left the Varia compound.

The next few days were much the same (other than an epic encounter with some of Tyr’s old enemies which had resulted in Ottavio throwing three people off a bridge). Alan got used to fending off attempts on his life (maybe he was actually good at this?!?) and started enjoying their little tour of Italy (from the seedy underbelly perspective, but still fun). Meanwhile, Ottavio spent a lot of time checking his pager for updates on Shamal’s location from Intelligence, and asking around. People (especially women) had seen him around, but he was apparently being unusually slippery of late.

“Maybe he went to Mafia Land?” pondered Alan, during a lunch break.

“Did you encounter him while you were living there?” asked Ottavio, surprised. Oops!

“Uh, no, but I heard about him all the time!” lied Alan brightly.

“If that’s where he went, then that’s where we’ll go,” said Ottavio. “But Intelligence reports that he’s been mostly staying in Italy these past few years. He was the physician for a mafia family for a while. He’s not there at the moment, though.”

Ohhh, that had to be Gokudera’s family, thought Alan with some excitement.

The frustration of not finding Shamal must have really been getting to Ottavio, because one evening he went out and came back with a young man on his arm (sus!!!). The man winked flirtatiously at Alan as they passed, and he could feel his cheeks heat up. He thought Ottavio had a girlfriend! Or ex-girlfriend. Oh, maybe that’s why she was an ex-girlfriend…

It felt awkward just hanging around in his room right beside Ottavio’s waiting for Ottavio to finish (ew, pun unintended), so Alan wandered into town for a bit and got himself some supper. When he got back, Ottavio’s, uh, companion… was smoking a cigarette outside the hotel.

“You a rookie?” asked the man, smiling at him. Alan felt himself blush again – he didn’t think he was bi, but the guy was really very pretty and had a nice smile– and shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to reveal too much. Most of the Italian underworld seemed familiar with the Varia, wherever they went, but they had to maintain a sense of mystery, yanno?

The man didn’t seem bothered by his lacklustre reply, and laughed. “I swear, the recruits get younger every year,” he said, and stubbed out his cigarette. “Well, good luck with everything.”

Nice guy, thought Alan, watching him disappear into the night.

In the morning, Ottavio was a changed man. He double checked Shamal’s last known location, drove the pink Vespa to the next city on their list, then outlined their new strategy.

“I have information that Trident Shamal may be wary of Vongola, and by extension, Varia personnel at the moment,” he said. Alan wondered why. Did he try to seduce someone he wasn’t supposed to? “Change out of your uniform, and then we’ll double back. We’ll draw him out.” He handed Alan a bag.

Which contained a dress.

“Why?!” wailed Alan.

“Didn’t Shrike cover disguises in training?” Ottavio seemed slightly taken aback by Alan’s reaction. “Everyone crossdresses at some point in their career, it’s normal.”

No it was not!!! The mafia world was just crazy!

“Here’s a hat, and a camera…” Ottavio pulled out more stuff from the bag. “I think you’ll make a pretty convincing tourist.”

It took another couple of days of Intelligence fabricating their appearances elsewhere in the region before Shamal seemed to find it safe enough to pop up again and go back to his womanising ways. He was apparently currently in Bellagio treating a rich patient (and perving on the locals), so they scrambled to get Alan in position.

Lake Como was gorgeous, but Alan couldn’t find it in himself to appreciate the view as he walked on the shore in the stupid breeze with a hand on his stupid hat and the other preventing a Marilyn Monroe type wardrobe malfunction. It was kind of chilly, but at least Ottavio had let him have a froofy sweater and didn’t make him dress like a skank.

It was his second afternoon of pretending to go around the town taking pictures, doing obviously touristy things. In a dress. I swear to god, thought Alan to himself, if I have to do this much longer I’ll–

“Ciao, bella!” came a distinctly sleazy voice that made Alan’s skin crawl.

And sure enough there was Trident Shamal, in the flesh, sidling up to him.

“Surely a pretty girl like you can’t be all by your lonesome!” he leered, arm already reaching around Alan’s waist. “Why don’t I show you all the best places around town?”

Alan had half a mind to zap the wandering fingers when Ottavio (finally!) interrupted.

“Certainly not without a chaperone,” he said, stepping out from where he’d been keeping watch. “Ciao, Dr. Shamal. It’s been a while.”

Chapter Text

Amaranth, 16, of the Bellini Famiglia, formerly Katie Lee, 16, student

How did it end up like this?

She’d screwed up. She’d told herself she really needed to pull herself together so she could pass the assessments and stay in the Varia… and she’d botched it. For a while her assigned mission had been going kinda okay… until the very last moment, where Katie realised she just … couldn’t take a life. Her hesitation had all that had been needed for the target to shoot at her, and she’d probably be dead if Jet, her teammate, hadn’t shoved her to the ground at the last minute and rammed an icepick in the target’s skull.

“I only helped because Sparrow traded me a favour to look out for you,” said Jet after their squad’s hasty extraction, looking annoyed. “Dunno why she bothered. I think you’d best go home like they told you to.”

If only she could.

Katie missed home. Home home, not the Bellini territory in Calabria. Where there was real modern internet, and YouTube and TikTok and smartphones, and Mom. God, she missed Mom, and their dog, Bacon. Poor Bacon, nobody would sneak him food under the table now.

Maybe if she’d died on her mission she’d be home again? No, no, she’d died there, that’s how she was here. Katie didn’t think she had any more second chances.

Katie spent her time moping in the infirmary, being treated for the sprain she’d gotten when Jet had pushed her (it didn’t seem like Sun Flames were warranted for her type of injury). She’d been wondering what would become of her now, when a Varia runner told her that she was scheduled to meet Squalo at 10.30 sharp.

Were they going to kick her out of the Varia now? And Xanxus wasn’t available? While in the infirmary, Katie had heard that Xanxus was being ‘detained’. She bet it was the Zero-Point– they must not have listened to her and gone ahead with the coup! …She must be too low-ranked to have been involved in it. She bit her lip as she limped her way to Squalo’s office. Focus, Katie, she told herself. This was her last chance to convince them of her usefulness! She could tell them how to get Xanxus out!

This was her first time coming up to Squalo’s office. There was a small work area outside, comprising one large desk with two smaller ones pushed together in the middle to form a ‘T’ shape. The Elite at the bigger table she didn't know, but Sparrow, that other ‘transmigrator’, was seated at one of the small desks. Wasn’t she working for Ottavio, though? What was she doing here?

Sparrow looked up as she approached, and got up to knock on Squalo’s office door. “Vice-Captain, your 10.30 appointment,” she said, not meeting Katie’s eyes.

“Voi! Send them in,” came Squalo’s voice behind the door.

“Go in and close the door behind you,” said Sparrow, and just went back to her desk. Wasn’t she going to say anything? Help her? Katie thought she cared!

Taking a deep breath, she entered Squalo’s office, closing the door behind her like she’d been told. Squalo was seated behind a huge mahogany desk piled precariously high with folders. He looked really young and barely into puberty, with spots on his face and his hair cut short. It would’ve been comical were it not for the situation, and the fact that Squalo was probably going to fire her.

“You’re that chick with the crap ‘visions’,” he said, barely looking up from his work. “You failed the training programme, yeah? I don’t care, just go home or something.”

“They’re not crap!” Katie immediately protested. “Look, I know Xanxus is frozen, from the Zero-Point Breakthrough, right? That’s why you’re here instead of him. You need me. I can help!”

“Is that right?” Squalo sounded unconvinced. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what you think happened?”

That sounded like a trick question.

“The Ninth did it,” she said, reasonably sure that was true.

Squalo finally put down his pen, closed the folder of documents he was working on, and looked at her. “Voi, that’s a serious accusation to make without proof,” he said. “And why would the Don attack his own son?”

“...Because he led a coup?” Katie instinctively felt that was the wrong answer the moment it left her mouth, but Squalo didn’t react.

“Sure. So, wise oracle,” said Squalo. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Katie took another deep breath to steady herself. “You’ll need pure Flames to reverse Zero-Point,” she said. “ You can use the Vongola Rings, held by strong people of each Flame type…”

“So you’re telling me,” said Squalo, “that I just need to take the Vongola Rings off the Ninth and his Guardians, magically deduce where Xanxus is being held, and then melt him down. With the Rings.”

Okay, it did sound ridiculous when Squalo put it like that.

“We need to save Xanxus,” she said helplessly. Squalo just stared at her like she was stupid.

“We’re done here,” said Squalo. “Dismissed, get out.”

“Wait!” Katie cried. “Please, I can help! Let me stay in the Varia! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything,” repeated Squalo.

“Anything!” confirmed Katie.

Squalo seemed to think about it for a while, while Katie waited with bated breath.

“Perhaps I might have a task for you,” he said, finally. Katie heaved a sigh of relief. “But it’ll take some time to set up, so just go home and wait for someone to contact you. If, and only if, you manage to complete this task, I will permit you to remain in the Varia.”

It was better than nothing, so Katie called home, and a car came round to pick her up the very next day.

Her OC’s father, Don Bellini, was already standing by the driveway together with other members of the famiglia, waiting eagerly for her arrival.. He enveloped her in a crushing hug the moment she got out of the car.

“Papa!” she greeted, a little guiltily, patting the man on the back. She couldn’t quite think of Don Bellini as her real father, but she knew he doted on her OC, especially after her OC’s mother had passed away. Katie had probably just… replaced the original Amaranth when she transmigrated. That was how it worked, right?

“Oh, stellina, let me look at you…” Don Bellini finally pulled away – were those tears in his eyes? Shucks, he was making Katie tear up a bit too– and looked her up and down. “They said you were hurt?”

“It’s just a sprain, Papa,” Katie reassured him. “Let’s go inside? I missed you all.” She was surprised to find that it was true. It was nice being somewhere she was welcomed, and loved, and she couldn’t believe how much of it she took for granted before.

And she was really looking forward to having her own room again. Not that Rosa was a slob, or anything, but a girl needed privacy.

With a long sigh, Katie opened the door to her bedroom, only to find people already in it.

A hand covered her mouth before she could scream. “Settle down,” said the owner of the hand, a hooded and cloaked figure, who sounded like a woman. “We’re from Varia Intelligence.”

Oh. They must be the contacts Squalo mentioned. That was fast. How did they even get in?!

“Hi, sorry for the intrusion,” said the other figure cheerfully, who sounded a little familiar. He pushed back his hood just long enough for Katie to recognise him as Bluebird’s roommate, Li-something. He was in Intelligence now?

“My new name is ‘Yinli’, by the way,” said Li-something-now-something-Li. “And that’s Orichalcum, my A-rank supervisor. She’ll be your handler and I’ll be assisting!”

“Can I call you Ori?” asked Katie, because that name was a mouthful. She was met with silence.

“You should take a trip to your family’s villa in Tropea,” said Orichalcum after a long pause. She seemed very unfriendly.

“What? Why?” Katie was blindsided by the random suggestion. “It’ll be rainy and gross now, and too cold for the beach.”

“You have your instructions,” said Orichalcum, clearly impatient to be done. “We will rendezvous with you there.” And then they just left, somehow, without being seen, maybe under cover of Orichalcum’s illusions (she’d felt kinda Misty to Katie).

Reluctantly, she made the arrangements (Don Bellini was surprisingly encouraging, saying the sea air would help lift her spirits, and promised to visit when he had time), and was soon at her family’s vacation home, with a full entourage including a driver and a cook.

Who was the Something-Li guy. Katie should really say something to Don Bellini about security.

And she really should’ve been less surprised when she discovered Orichalcum pretending to be one of the cleaning staff already at the house.

“There’s your target,” said Something-Li, handing Katie a pair of binoculars. They’d crowded into her room again, without her permission, and it was pissing Katie off.

Katie took the binoculars with a put-upon sigh. Were they finally going to tell her what she was supposed to do? She looked through them in the direction Something-Li was pointing. There was a dark-haired man, maybe mid-twenties, walking along the beach outside another of those seafront villas that dotted this part of the town. There were bodyguard-types trailing after him, and probably a few more watching from the house.

“Who’s he?” asked Katie. The man’s appearance didn’t ring any bells for her.

“Shouldn’t you know?” Orichalcum raised an eyebrow. “Someone told me you knew everything.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Katie protested, flushing.

“...Sure.” Orichalcum just shook her head. “That’s the Vongola Ninth’s son, Federico. He’s getting a nice relaxing seaside holiday here while our boss rots in a cell somewhere, I’ll bet...”

“And Squalo wants me to what, assassinate him?!” Katie was horrified.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Orichalcum, sounding irritated. “You’re to get close to him and find out if he knows where Xanxus is being detained.”

“Like, seduce him?!” Federico was the youngest of the three legitimate Vongola sons, but he had to be almost 10 years older than Katie, from what she’d heard. But this was the mafia, and anyway the age of consent here was 14, so nobody would think too much of it, which was probably why they had decided on this plan. Katie was super creeped out, though.

“Missy, nobody has time for your prudishness,” said Orichalcum. “If you won’t do it, someone else will. The deal will be off, though.”

No! She … she would do it, for Xanxus.

“You don’t have to sleep with him if you play it right, it’s the chase that gets men going, anyway,” said Orichalcum, rolling her eyes. “Just my luck to be stuck with a novice for this type of work… now Rue from CEDEF, there’s a true professional.” There was an admiring tone to her voice. “Wish Ottavio would poach them already...”

“I’ll do it,” Katie interrupted, clenching her fists.

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” said Something-Li encouragingly. “Look, we got a wire for you to wear! And a hidden earpiece. So, you know, you won’t actually be alone with him.”

Katie wasn’t comforted at all.

The plan was to just… exist for a while… and wait for Federico to notice and approach her.

“Security is tight, but he’s a bored young man without his Guardians,” said Orichalcum. “Easy. Plus, you’re exactly his type–fair-skinned with dark long hair, petite, not particularly bright–”

“Hey!” That was mean! And uncalled for!

“–and he’ll be less on guard if he’s the one coming to you,” concluded Orichalcum.

So every day that it wasn’t raining, Katie would go out for a walk along the beach, let her hair blow in the wind, and maybe stare mournfully out at the sea for a bit. Sometimes she’d read, or listen to music on her portable CD disc player (yes, those things).

Sure enough, it didn’t take long for Federico to notice.

“Incoming,” said Orichalcum in her ear. Katie swallowed and tried her best not to react, turning the page of her book and pretending to read until a pair of leather shoes (on the beach? Really?) came into view. She looked up.

“Good book?” asked Federico di Vongola. He had dark hair and a generic appearance, like in that singular manga panel he was featured in. What was new was an angry red scar across one cheek. An accident? He seemed alone, too – Katie wondered if he’d dismissed his guards.

“Act normal,” instructed Orichalcum.

What kind of instruction was that?! Katie decided to just look suspicious and pretend Federico was just some rando who tried to talk to her. Which he was, anyway. She closed her book and started to walk away, but Federico was undeterred.

“You’re from that villa on the hill, aren’t you?” he said, cutting in her path. “Here on vacation?”

“Don’t talk to him, just leave,” said Orichalcum. Katie didn’t quite get it, but did as she was told.

Orichalcum had Katie stay in the house a couple of days (“Playing hard to get is a sure-fire path to success,” she said) before finally letting her out again. Federico appeared almost immediately, again seemingly alone.

“Sorry if I scared you the other day,” he said with a friendly smile. “You’re Don Bellini’s daughter, right?”

“The Vongola contingent has probably done their homework,” said Orichalcum through the earpiece. “He probably knows you were in the Varia recruit programme, too. You’re a really bad liar, so try not to lie too much.”

Orichalcum was such a bitch sometimes. Katie wrinkled her nose, trying to think of a good response. “Who are you?” she settled on asking.

“I’m Federico,” said Federico. He slyly put a finger to his lips. “But I’m supposed to be incognito right now, so don’t go spreading that around.”

Katie got the feeling that to another person, he would’ve seemed very charming, but Katie herself was seriously underwhelmed. After meeting people like Xanxus… well, Federico was just disappointingly ordinary. Not just his in his totally minor side character type appearance– even his Sky Flames felt ordinary. Amaranth had good ‘Flame Sensitivity’ (what she’d termed it in her fic), so she could ‘taste’ Flames of those who were subtly using them, sort of like synesthesia. Xanxus’s Flames were unmistakable, of course, all fire and promise. Tyr she’d only encountered briefly (ugh), but his presence was cold and heavy, like the sky before a snowstorm. By contrast, Federico felt more like a regular sunny Italian afternoon. Not bad, but kind of boring after a while.

“Um, I don’t know a Federico?” said Katie. (“Perfect, be a little dumb,” commented Orichalcum.)

Federico laughed. “Oh, you’re cute. What’s your name?”

Orichalcum told her to keep their initial interactions short, but eventually they started talking more, and sometimes Federico would bring little treats or hot chocolate to their meetings. As Orichalcum had guessed, Federico (or more likely, his staff) had found out Katie had spent some time in the Varia, and was very sympathetic to Katie’s (almost heartfelt) complaints about Xanxus being a jerk.

“That brother of mine wouldn’t know how to treat a nice girl like you,” said Federico with a slight sneer. “He was always a bit too close to that Rain of his, if you get what I mean.”

Okay, Katie was also a XS enjoyer so she wasn’t too upset by Federico’s insinuation, but that was still a really mean thing to imply about Xanxus, whether it was true or not.

“He got into trouble for arguing with you or something?” asked Katie.

“Yeah, gave me this scar right here,” said Federico, pointing to the burn mark on his face. “He’s always had a bad temper.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Katie, which was an honest reaction. “That looks painful.”

Seemingly pleased by Katie’s response, Federico nodded. “Yeah, it burned like hell for days. They had to use Rain Flames to stop it from melting my face. Still sometimes flares up.”

Ouch. Katie winced. Xanxus could really be ruthless when he wanted to be.

“But he won’t be causing trouble for a long, long time,” said Federico, with a darkly satisfied look on his face.

Was this it? Katie’s heart pounded in her chest. They were so close!

“Is that true?” she said, trying to sound casual. “Did they put him in isolation somewhere?”

Federico eyed her, expression unreadable. “Something like that,” he said, and Katie had to bite down on her disappointment.

Federico continued to be evasive about what exactly had happened to Xanxus, or his whereabouts, and instead spent more time trying to lure Katie to his beachfront property, and Katie was going to run out of excuses soon.

“Don Bellini’s coming over at some point, right?” reasoned Orichalcum. “You can invite him to dinner instead. Play up the strict family angle.”

But before that, Federico lost his patience.

“I know you’re sweet on Xanxus, though god knows what you see in that brat,” Federico snapped at her when she tried to broach the subject again. “Tell you what, I’ll give you the information you want … if you spend the night with me.”

“What, no!” Katie said reflexively, even as Orichalcum warned, “Amaranth!” Ignoring both Orichalcum and Federico, she turned to leave, only to be grabbed by the wrist.

“You little bitch, think you’re too good for me?” Federico snarled. He was doing something with his Sky Flames that Katie did not like, trying to twist her into compliance.

She lost her temper. “In fact, yes, I am too good for you!” she spat. Trying to use his fancy Sky Flame jutsu on her, was he?! Well, she was going to make him regret it. She reversed the hold on her wrist, pulling Federico in and kneeing him in the face (practically on autopilot from Varia Basic Training by now). Remembering that one class, she turned her own Flame on Federico’s, overloading his output beyond what his body could bear.

She was just aiming to cause pain so he’d stop and back off, but she must have been too angry to control her Flames properly, causing a feed-forward reaction that just kept snowballing. She definitely wasn’t expecting Federico to burst into a huge column of Flame. She leapt back with a scream and watched, horrified, as Federico burnt himself to nothing but bones.

“Alright, Yinli’s got us a visual– oh, that looks like a slight problem,” said Orichalcum through the earpiece, sounding vaguely impressed. Katie could hear shouting and people running in her direction. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Chapter Text

Shamal al-Hakim, 27, ‘Trident Shamal’, freelance hitman and unlicensed physician

The moment the 13th Sword Emperor’s Cloud showed his face, Shamal’s brain registered Varia and fuck and force-booted into flight or flight mode. He pulled away from the cute little missy he’d just been saying hello to (probably a Varia agent too), and surreptitiously palmed two Trident Mosquito capsules.

“I see you remember me,” said Ottavio (that was his name, right?), tone mild. He still looked relaxed, but the girl had dropped into a ready stance. “That makes things easier.”

Shamal snorted. Of course he remembered Ottavio. Hard not to after Tyr the Sword Emperor had backed him into an alley, politely ‘requesting’ a cure to the disfiguring rash which he’d inflicted on the prick not two hours prior for smacking him into a wall for no good reason (okay fine, he’d copped a feel of his girl, but still). He’d then realised Ottavio was kind of a big shot in the Varia, and he’d come within a hair’s breadth of making permanent enemies out of Tyr and his Guardians. Then there was his recent job at the Iron Fort (he’d tried his best, he really had!) where all anyone could talk about was how Ottavio and his girlfriend had fished Massimo out from what would’ve been his watery grave. So yes, he remembered Ottavio, who was probably here to kill him.

He’d told the Ninth up front that chances of any of his treatments working were slim, given the amount of time that had passed before he’d been able to see the patient, and brain damage was always a bit iffy anyway. He’d been assured that he would be held blameless no matter the outcome. In the end, they hadn’t seemed pleased, exactly, but still paid him generously and let him go… Had they changed their minds already? Or did they want him silenced to prevent the truth of Massimo’s condition from getting out?

“Look, I did everything I was supposed to, okay?” said Shamal. “I can’t perform miracles!”

“It’s not about that,” said Ottavio.

Oh. “I didn’t do anything the missus didn’t want me to do!” Shamal had just helped with some… stress relief! Free of charge!

Ottavio frowned as he contemplated this. “Did you…did you cuckold Massimo Ranieri?!”

Shit. Now he had to get rid of them, even if it meant bringing Tyr’s wrath down upon his head. He crushed the capsules in his hand, sending Monica and Lidia flying towards the Varia duo.

Just as the modified insects were about to land on their targets, a green webbing sparking with electricity shimmered into place above their skin – the girl was a Lightning! – frying the Trident mosquitoes to a crisp.

“Thunder Net!” crowed the little missy, pumping a fist in the air. The movement made the hem of her dress ride up. “Take that!”

Tch. Well, if it was going to be like that… Shamal started reaching for a custom grenade, which he’d filled with the nasty stuff.

“Bluebird, don’t call out your moves,” Ottavio sighed, sounding exasperated. He clearly had spotted Shamal’s movements, because he held up his hands, placating. “Like I said, Dr. Shamal, we aren’t here for that. I’m not concerned with what you did or did not do to, with, or for your previous clients.”

Shamal didn’t relax, still suspicious. “Then what are you here for,” he demanded.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” said Ottavio. “I am Ottavio of the Varia, and I am here in my capacity as the Acting-Captain as well as head of Varia HR, to offer you a career opportunity.”

To demonstrate his sincerity, Ottavio arranged for dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town. He didn’t even poison the food, and politely refrained from discussing business until after the main course, like any proper gentleman. And here Shamal thought the Varia were all thugs.

“They really gave you a nice budget for this, huh,” commented Shamal, watching Bluebird obliviously lick her dessert spoon out of the corner of his eye. The girl seemed a bit of a tomboy, but her bubbly energy made up for it. Shamal wondered idly if he’d get a cute little assistant like that if he joined the Varia.

“Well, you’re a senior level hire,” said Ottavio, “which affords you some privileges.”

Shamal had to be slightly flattered by Ottavio pulling out all the stops. He hadn’t been aware that Ottavio was actually in charge of the Varia in Xanxus’s absence, and the fact that the leadership had personally come all this way to look for him was… well, it was good for a man’s ego, for sure.

“What did you want me for, again?” Shamal had to ask, lighting a cigarette as they were served their post-meal espresso.

“The Varia is in the business of murder, of course,” said Ottavio, setting his cup down. The bastard was probably doing really well for himself, considering the easily six-figure Audemars Pigeut timepiece he was wearing. “We pride ourselves on Quality service, which means providing a variety of options for our clients, particularly those outside the Famiglia. These days, it’s no longer enough for a clean hit – there are plenty of freelancers out there who can do that – people want a bespoke service, you see. The right spectacle for the right message.”

And that’s when you knew the mafia had gone to shit, when ordering a hit became even fussier than going to the tailor’s for a new suit.

“Other than diversifying our repertoire with your skills,” continued Ottavio, “there is also the matter of your reputation. Speaks for itself, wouldn’t you think?”

“Yeah?” Shamal was pleased, despite himself.

“We’ve been looking for a medical professional with your expertise,” said Ottavio. “Flame related disorders and injuries tend to be hazards of the job, especially now Flame use is becoming more widespread.”

“I don’t treat men anymore, just so you know,” said Shamal. He’d decided on that after the whole Massimo thing. Men were just ungrateful bastards!

“I wasn’t aware of that,” Ottavio said, a small furrow in his brow. “I hope you’ll reconsider that stance. Cases will be triaged, of course, and overseen by the Head of the Medical Division, so you won’t have to deal with regular scrapes and sprains. Yours will be a more specialist position.”

“Hang on,you’re not going to offer me Head of Medical?” he asked, mildly insulted that Ottavio would think he would be subordinate to another doctor. He knew his worth!

“Do you actually want to file paperwork?” asked Ottavio, with a raised brow.

“Fuck, no,” said Shamal with feeling.

“Then there you have it,” said Ottavio. “To clarify our offer: you would be directly assigned A-Rank and its associated privileges, with the possibility of moving up to Elite after a probationary period. This is our standard practise for senior specialist hires.”

“Unfortunately, I prefer having the freedom to act on my own,” said Shamal, exhaling a puff of smoke from his cigarette. Sitting in a castle all day was going to cramp his style. “The Varia has to do whatever the Vongola commands, right?”

“On paper yes, but we have a certain degree of autonomy,” Ottavio reassured him. “We don’t even accept missions unless they meet a certain cutoff predicted success rate. We are part of the Vongola, make no mistake, so our goals will always be aligned. Still, if you had to pick a famiglia, you could do worse than the Vongola.”

“Eh,” Shamal made an ambivalent motion with his hand. Ottavio wasn’t wrong, but it still didn’t solve the problem, which was that he hated being tied down.

“Take some time to think on it,” said Ottavio, getting up. Shamal could see a couple of Varia (they’d waved to Bluebird) outside the restaurant, possibly waiting for Ottavio. Or not, as the agents opened the door and escorted two very lovely ladies in. “In the meantime, do enjoy your evening, with our compliments.”

The combined attentions of the two ladies (sisters!) kept Shamal pleasantly occupied all through the evening and well into the next day, right up till the point where Shamal discovered that the next job he’d had lined up, and the one after that, and the one after that, had all been cancelled.

Shamal hadn’t believed for a moment that the Varia was just going to try to win him over with honeyed words and bribes, and sure enough, they’d shown him the carrot and now the stick.

He stormed into the hotel the Varia were holed up in (not difficult to find out where, if you knew who to ask). The grunts were apparently expecting him, because he was let in without a fuss, which was a bit of a shame, because Shamal sure was itching for a fight. Bluebird didn’t seem to be around, and Ottavio was seated alone at a desk, working.

“Hello, dottore,” greeted Ottavio genially, looking up from his pile of documents. “Have you considered our offer?”

“You…” Shamal gritted his teeth. “Cut the crap. You’re messing with my jobs, aren’t you? And here I thought the Varia were playing nice for a change.”

“It would be … shall we say, lethally apparent, were we not being nice,” said Ottavio, with that annoying fake smile of his. “As you are a valued potential colleague, we simply took the liberty to manage your schedule for you. We understand how difficult things can be without resources to undertake proper screening procedures.”

That was the biggest load of bullshit Shamal had ever heard. “By canceling all my contracts?” he asked sceptically. “You trying to ruin my reputation, or what?”

“On the contrary,” said Ottavio. “I think you sell yourself short. You just finished an assignment with Vongola as your client, and for all intents and purposes they were satisfied with your services, which is a big deal in the mafia, as you know. I think you could stand to be more selective in your selection of assignments from now on. One of the ones we…rescheduled… was quite clearly a trap, for instance…”

“That ain’t something you should be deciding for me!” interjected Shamal (though he had thought the job in Bari was a bit fishy).

“We will not interfere with any of your longstanding obligations, of course,” Ottavio continued, seemingly deaf to Shamal’s protests. “We understand the importance of trust between patients and their physician…”

Fed up, Shamal slammed his hands on Ottavio’s desk. “Listen here!”

Unintimidated, Ottavio looked him straight in the eye. “Dr. Shamal,” he said, very slowly and deliberately.. “Since you started gaining notoriety, we have had countless requests listing you as a target. Yet I’m sure you’ve noticed the distinct lack of Varia assassins in your daily life.”

Shamal’s blood ran cold. Of course he had enemies, in his line of work – every hitman had enemies, in the first place– but he probably had twice the number, just from treating those whom other people did not want saved, and being privy to all kinds of private information as a healthcare professional. But Ottavio was right. Never once had one of his would-be murderers been Varia. He’d thought he’d just gotten lucky. But why? Because he was potentially useful to the Vongola? Had they planned to recruit him from the start? If so, why wait till now?

“I hope it does not come to a point where we have to re-evaluate our priorities,” said Ottavio with a politely threatening smile. There was a knock on his door then, and Ottavio sat back in his chair. “Perhaps we can continue this discussion at another time?”

Prick. Shamal turned on his heel and made for the door, wondering if it would be worth it to inflict Ottavio with something and then just make a run for it. Shamal had a few extra nasty disease options he was seriously considering.

Bluebird was on the other side of the door, along with another older teen (who didn’t look like a Varia agent, he noted). She’d changed out of her loose, floaty dress and back into her uniform, unfortunately, with the jacket hanging open to show the form-fitting undershirt underneath… wait.

“You’re a boy?!” Shamal exclaimed.

Bluebird looked at him quizzically, tilting her–his head. “I’ve always been a boy?”

Shamal had to go re-evaluate his life.

Unfortunately, Ottavio showed up later that evening at the bar Shamal had gone to brood at (and unsuccessfully pick up some girls).

“Piss off,” Shamal told him.

Ottavio didn’t seem offended. “As recompense for your loss of income due to our reshuffling of your schedule, I would like to hire you for a task,” he said. “It would also serve as a formal evaluation for joining the Varia.”

“I haven’t said anything about joining!” Shamal reminded him.

“You are at leisure to decide later, of course, but you’ll be paid for this, regardless, and it will more than make up for those three jobs,” said Ottavio. “We have to leave right now, though. Are you coming or not?”

What on earth was the hurry? Shamal was curious, despite himself.

“What sort of a job?” he asked, cautiously.

Ottavio smiled, glasses glinting in the orange light of the bar. “A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Maybe a little arson, definitely some property destruction, a murder or two. We’ll see.”

“Arson’s not really my thing,” said Shamal.

“Really? I could’ve sworn you were itching to use some explosives, earlier,” Ottavio replied. He seemed different. Lighter, less formal. Slightly crazed. Was this a Varia thing? He’d heard they were all nutjobs.

“Look, I don’t take jobs without knowing what I’m up against.”

“Very prudent.” Ottavio had already hooked him by the elbow, ignoring Shamal’s “Oi!” of protest, and started hauling him out of the bar. “Save your little capsules for where we’re going, Dr. Shamal, or I’ll have to haemorrhage your brain. I’ll brief you along the way.”

Oh, why the hell not.

Chapter Text

Lancia, 17, of the Biscione Famiglia

No matter how much people like Leo and Pippo grumbled about interlopers and dirty opportunists, Lancia thought things had definitely changed for the better since the winery people had come and taken over the Biscione. They’d fixed up the main house, for one, and the heating actually worked now, which was a lifesaver for the little ones now that the weather was turning cold, and started carving out a small territory for them. Boss– no, Mr. Litta now – was so much happier now he wasn’t weighed down with the responsibility of keeping almost fifty people fed and safe. Still, it was a bit strange that their future(?) boss was someone they’d never met.

Mr. Pozzi, the manager of the winery, came by every week to do the books and bring supplies (and sometimes pastries as a treat). He was used to following Mr. Landolfi’s instructions from a distance and had told them they’d get used to it, too. Of course, since all the changes were still new and to prevent things from descending into chaos, Teo– the mysterious (former?) ‘Sword Emperor’ who had ignited the strange orange flame on Mr. Litta’s ring– had stuck around, together with his companions, Auntie and Max.

Teo was head of the famiglia now, until Mr. Landolfi could take over after his retirement from the Varia. They didn’t call him Boss, just ‘Tyr’ or ‘Teo’. The veterans regarded him with a mixture of respect and fear, but if any of the newer members were so foolish as to forget who was in charge, Teo would beat a painful reminder into them. Lancia, personally, still couldn’t look at Teo properly without remembering how he’d been defeated so easily, but he was mostly kind to Lancia, and more importantly, kind to the kids, so he was alright in Lancia’s book. Teoalso offered to find someone to teach Lancia properly, once they were more settled. In the meantime, he had prescribed some exercises that Lancia followed religiously. He also led drills for some of the others who had an interest in fighting, but had to be reminded every so often (by Auntie, usually) to… tone down his expectations.

Auntie was the childrens’ favourite, as she always had candy or some magic trick to entertain them (“Illusions,” she’d told Lancia, and patiently explained the weather flame thing the bigger mafia families were so keen on). She seemed to be the boss of her own little group, and her people were helping out around the place. Together with Teo, she enforced discipline and tightened up security. Petty crime was no longer allowed — instead they would be doing proper protection rackets and maybe some cheese smuggling, or perhaps they’d expand the wine fraud business – Mr. Landolfi was still looking into options.

Max, who always appeared a bit grumpy, apparently had medical expertise (“I didn’t finish my degree, though,” he’d said, but he was better than a lot of the mob doctors out there, according to Mr. Litta), and had spent the past couple of weeks checking everyone over and getting their medical records straightened out, in particular ensuring the kids had their vaccinations updated. He’d forbidden Lancia from using anything as heavy as his original weapon until he was done growing, and instead Auntie had a smaller, lighter version made, with grooves that let the metal sphere skim through the air like a swallow (well, if a swallow were round, but Lancia wasn’t much good at similes).

Lancia was profoundly grateful, and felt like he’d never be able to pay back their kindness.

Then he’d gone and lost Annina and Toni on one of their semi-regular excursions to get gelato. Lancia had almost gone mad with worry and guilt, tearing through the town and surrounding countryside. His search was fruitless, but Auntie unearthed a few rumours of disappearing children around the region. She and her subordinates started combing the areas closest to home, while Lancia volunteered to venture further out.

In Lecco, someone seemed to have seen a girl matching Annina’s description being carried onto a ferry to Bellagio, so Lancia followed suit. He’d originally planned to ask around in the bars, when he witnessed a toddler being snatched from a stroller while her mother was busy with a merchant.

Lancia took off in pursuit before he really knew what he was doing, pushing past tourists and locals alike in his rush to catch up. The kidnapper darted off in the direction of the less populated streets, clearly intending to lose him in one of the many narrow alleyways.

Halfway through the chase, Lancia realised he wasn’t alone. There was a boy running in parallel the next alley over, with a bright blue stripe in his hair. He spotted Lancia too, at an intersection, doing a double take, then shook his head and jerked his head towards the escaping kidnapper. Right! It was more important to catch the bastard first. The boy hauled himself up onto a wall and then the roof (?!) while Lancia resumed his pursuit.

Two blocks down, the boy cried out, “Lancia, behind you!”, and Lancia swung around just in time to deflect a knife with his weapon. Dammit, there were more of them further down the alley, running towards him.

“Your AoE is probably better than mine, so I’ll get the kid, you hold them off!” said the boy, nimbly scrambling across the rooftops.

Lancia didn’t understand the first part, but he could hold off the rest of the crooks. There wasn’t much room to swing his weapon in an arc, so he used one of his new techniques, centering the metal sphere in front of him before propelling it forward with a powerful palm strike. Before long, he’d knocked down all three of his attackers, laying them out cold on the ground.

“Wow, great job!” came a voice behind him, and Lancia turned to see the boy from earlier. He was carefully carrying the toddler, who was alarmingly limp, in one arm while struggling to drag the body of the kidnapper with the other.

Lancia rushed forward to help, and the boy deposited the toddler in his arms.

“I think they got her with chloroform or something,” said the boy. “She’s still breathing.”

Lancia sighed in relief, then looked over at the body with some trepidation.

“Is he –?”

“Nah, just knocked out,” said the boy, dusting off his hands. The unconscious man looked charred.

“Thanks for your help,” said Lancia. “Were you looking for these kidnappers too?”

“Not really!” the boy replied. “I was at the town centre for something and saw them grab the girl and… well, I used to be a vigilante, so I had to help. Old habits die hard, yanno.”

“You’re a good person,” Lancia said sincerely.

The boy flushed. “I’m glad you think so!”

Finally, Lancia remembered something. “How did you know my name?” he wondered.

“Ah? Oops.” The boy rubbed the back of his neck. Lancia noticed he was wearing a black jacket with a distinct emblem. Teo had showed him this design before – the Varia, which he used to be boss of, and where Mr. Landolfi was still part of the leadership.

“Wait, are you Varia?” he asked. “Do you work for Mr. Landolfi– Ottavio? Is that how you know me?” He knew Teo sometimes called Mr. Landolfi to update him on the goings-on at the winery and house, and he’d definitely said he’d mentioned Lancia as being promising (Lancia was still a bit embarrassed about that).

“Uh…yeah! Yeah, I’m Varia, and I work for Ottavio,” said the boy, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Um, though I don’t think I was supposed to know about you so don’t tell him!”

Ah, he probably eavesdropped. “I’m still surprised you could figure it out.”

“Yeah, your ball is kinda distinctive,” said the boy with a lopsided smile, then frowned. “Wait, that came out kinda wrong.”

Lancia blinked and looked down at his weapon. It was true, there probably weren’t very many mafiosi going around with one of these.

“How do you know Ottavio again?” asked the boy. “Wait, before that, let me go ask if he’ll help with these guys. He can probably help to return the kid to her mom, too.” He prodded one of the unconscious men with the toe of his boot. “Can you watch them and the kiddo while I find a payphone or something?” He then darted off before Lancia could reply. Well, Lancia thought he seemed trustworthy, and maybe Mr. Landolfi could help figure out what was going on.

The boy returned as promised, having contacted Mr. Landolfi and securing them a pickup. He introduced himself as Bluebird of the Varia while they waited, a name which Lancia thought really suited the cheerful, chatty teen. He worked in Mr. Landolfi’s division, and was accompanying him as an assistant on Varia business. In return, Lancia told him about the Biscione, and how Teo had taken them over in retaliation for bothering Mr. Landolfi’s hometown.

“I wasn’t expecting that story,” said Bluebird, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “That’s so interesting." He looked up at the rumble of an engine nearby. "Oh look, I think our ride’s here… oh did they steal a van?”

A blue van pulled up on the side of the road closest to the alley, and the windows wound down.

“For fuck’s sake, Bluebird, The Fly sent you out to get coffee,” said the man in the driver’s seat, a skinny dark-haired man with multiple piercings. The person in the passenger seat, a burly man with a goatee, got out to help Lancia settle the toddler into a seat before securing and moving the knocked-out kidnappers into the van.

“Crap, I forgot!” exclaimed Bluebird. “Can we stop by the town? We have to get the girl back to her parents anyway.”

“Did you bust a human trafficking ring?” mused the driver. “Only you, Bluebird, only you. Fine, whatever. It’s all on you though, if The Fly gets mad. He’s super cranky today. Who’s your friend?”

“That’s why we have to go get his coffee before he flies off the handle or something!” said Bluebird, as everyone got in and the van moved off. “Oh! This is Lancia, by the way. He works for Tyr now, I guess? He needs to see Ottavio about,” Bluebird gestured to the pile of bodies, “that.”

“Sorry for the trouble,” Lancia said awkwardly.

That introduction immediately got the attention of the other two Varia agents.

“Really?” said the driver. “Wow, good to hear Tyr’s doing okay.”

“Xanxus is great, but Tyr was pretty badass too,” said the man who had helped Lancia move the bodies. “I’ve seen him split a guy open like a watermelon, head to crotch.” He looked fondly nostalgic. “Even the vertebrae were perfectly bisected, like a work of art.”

The Varia were… kind of scary, decided Lancia.

After they’d returned the little girl (who had come to during the drive and started crying, sending everyone into a panic) to her mother, and Bluebird finished buying coffee, they were taken to the hotel the Varia had set up in.

Lancia had to wait outside Mr. Landolfi’s room a bit for him to finish his appointment, and found himself once again the centre of attention the moment the other Varia agents in the place learned that he was currently ‘running with Tyr now’. As Lancia tried to fend off their questions, a dark-skinned man came storming out, looking angry. He stopped short when he saw Bluebird.

“You’re a boy?!” the man demanded.

“I’ve always been a boy?” he overheard Bluebird telling him.

…The Varia seemed like a complicated place.

Lancia and Bluebird entered the room soon after, where a bespectacled man with blond hair was seated at a desk. The man raised an eyebrow as Bluebird sheepishly presented him with his (probably very cold by now) coffee, then smiled at Lancia.

“You must be Lancia,” said the man. “Auntie’s told me a lot about you. You can call me Ottavio.”

Mr. Landolfi– Ottavio listened very carefully as Bluebird reported what happened, and then turned to hear Lancia’s version of events.

“I see, so you think they’re behind the disappearances?” said Ottavio, pushing up his glasses. “We should be able to find out more once we question them. If you don’t mind, I’ll take care of that.”

“Uh,” Lancia wasn’t used to having his opinion asked on these matters, though maybe Ottavio was just being polite. “That’s fine? Thank you.”

“In the meantime, you should let Auntie know where you are,” said Ottavio. “Bluebird, show him a telephone he can use, please, and send in Jasper and Onyx. I’ll let you know as soon as I have more information, Lancia.”

Bluebird snapped off a cheeky salute, earning himself a shake of the head from Ottavio, and hustled Lancia out.

“Who’s Auntie?” he asked curiously, leading Lancia to another room in the hotel. “This is my room by the way, you can use the phone here, take a break, whatever.”

“She’s this old lady who came along with Teo and Max. I think she runs her own gang?” Lancia replied. “She… I guess she’s like a kind aunt who takes care of everyone, so everyone calls her Auntie.”

“Oh, cool!” said Bluebird. “Didn’t know Tyr had Guardians other than Ottavio and Lugh. Anyway, I gotta go get the others, so see you later!” He ran off, leaving Lancia alone.

Picking up the room’s telephone, Lancia called back to the Biscione headquarters, where he received a gentle scolding from Auntie for not keeping them updated. It was… it was sort of nice, that someone cared. Lancia hadn’t really felt anyone cared, other than Mr. Litta, ever since his Ma died.

“If Tavo looks like he needs a hand, stay and help if you can,” said Auntie. “We’ll keep looking on our end, too.” Lancia was on board with that. Their initial meeting had been quite brief, but Lancia thought Ottavio looked pretty tired.

After hanging up, Lancia awkwardly settled in to wait. The driver from earlier popped in after a while, accompanied by other Varia members offering to trade snacks or a beer for news about their old colleagues. For an assassin group, they sure loved gossip.

Eventually, Bluebird poked his head back in. “Lancia, Ottavio wants to see you,” he said.

Ottavio was standing by the window when they came in, looking at the view of the town painted red by the setting sun. There was a weary slope to his shoulders, and Lancia thought he seemed a bit upset. As they went closer, Lancia noted that Ottavio’s otherwise immaculate suit had a blood spatter along one pant leg. Lancia had known the ‘questioning’ would unfortunately involve violence, but Ottavio hadn’t seemed the type to handle that kind of work personally.

“The four men you found are just contractors,” Ottavio began, turning slightly towards them and pushing up his glasses, “but they brought up a name I haven’t heard in a long time. They’re supplying children and women of reproductive age to a group called the Estraneo. They were a group notorious for developing Flame-based weaponry and carrying out unethical scientific experimentation, but were thought to have dissolved some years back.”

Lancia didn’t recognise the name, but Bluebird apparently did, from his widening eyes.

“Were they the ones who took our Family’s kids?” asked Lancia.

“It’s difficult to know, as these men don't quite keep track,” said Ottavio. “They have been operating in the area, so it’s possible. I intend to investigate, regardless. The Estraneo…” He looked away again, out the window. “Let’s just say I don’t like unfinished business.”

“I want to help,” said Lancia. If this Estraneo had the children (for…experimentation? That was unforgivable) then Lancia had the responsibility to rescue them.

Ottavio smiled. “I appreciate it, as we’re a bit shorthanded,” he said, then straightened. “These contractors were due for a ‘goods transfer’ tonight, and were just trying to make a little extra money by abducting the child you saw earlier. I’ll send a small team to rescue whoever they’ve captured. Meanwhile, we’ll have someone impersonate our traffickers, and hand over a ‘captive’ tagged with a tracker.” He looked directly at Bluebird.

“Oh. Oh no, I see where this is going,” moaned Bluebird.

“Get in the dress, Bluebird,” said Ottavio, mercilessly.

Chapter Text

Superbia Squalo, 14, 14th Sword Emperor, Vice-Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

Squalo’s first thought upon hearing the news of Federico’s death was good fucking riddance to bad fucking rubbish.

His second was I can’t believe she actually did it, and then fucking shit fuck it all.

Because a) they were no closer to finding out where Xanxus was and b) CEDEF and Vongola HQ were going to be on their asses again, after all that work to get them to back off.

“How’d she kill him again?” he asked Mammon, who had been the bearer of the news. He resolutely ignored Bel’s unhinged cackling and celebratory destruction of the wallpaper in the background.

“It was accidental,” said Mammon. “Federico went up in his own Sky Flames. According to Yinli, she was fending off Federico’s advances, and probably used a Cloud technique taught by Ottavio to amplify his Flame, which can be lethal in some circumstances.”

“And it just went shit out of control, I’m guessing,” concluded Squalo, frowning. “Why the fuck would she choose to do that?” Squalo could think of at least two dozen ways to neutralise someone who was being handsy that didn’t involve fucking with someone’s Flames. Mammon made a movement that could loosely be interpreted as a shrug.

Fair. Women were mysterious beings, as his old man always said.

“Voi, damage control?” Squalo decided to bring the discussion back to the more important stuff.

“Federico’s bodyguards were far enough away they didn’t see what happened, just that there was a column of orange fire,” said Mammon. Squalo sneered a little. HQ only had themselves to blame, really, being so careless. “They heard Amaranth scream and came running. Orichalcum made the call to tell her to stay put, and that seems to have worked to confuse them, especially since she was unarmed and obviously shocked. They should be examining Federico’s remains now. Intelligence will deal with any eyewitnesses.”

This Orichalcum had a good head on her shoulders. Squalo made a mental note to ensure she got a bonus for this.

“Let’s hope they find nothing,” decided Squalo. “Any response from HQ and the CEDEF? The Ninth?”

“No news from HQ, though the Ninth is apparently on sick leave,” continued Mammon. “Influenza, is the official story.”

“His poor old heart can’t be doing too well after that shock,” Luss commented cheerfully. (If only he’d keel over from a stroke or something, thought Squalo.) “Sounds like they’re locking down the news of Federico’s death for now.”

Mammon inclined their head. “He and Xanxus are technically supposed to be in seclusion, so it won’t seem strange if there’s no news about either of them for a while. But word will get out eventually.”

The reminder of Xanxus’s incarceration brought the mood down again. They’d have to figure something out, Squalo thought determinedly, as he listened to the rest of Mammon’s report.

“Voi, your Intelligence guys are still in there, right?” Squalo shook himself out of his funk and turned to Mammon. “They're good to sit tight?”

According to Mammon, that Amaranth chick had been ‘requested’ to stay in her holiday villa while CEDEF and HQ tried to figure out what the hell happened. Even if they suspected she was responsible, she was still the Bellini heiress, so it wasn’t like she could be dragged off to an interrogation room in the absence of solid proof, without Vongola appearing heavy-handed. Don Bellini was already kicking up a fuss, especially since no one was telling him exactly why Amaranth was being held, just that they needed her ‘cooperation’ for an incident. His indignation was a surprisingly effective rallying cry for the other small famiglie eking out an existence on the fringes of the Alliance, and they were all stepping up to accuse the Vongola and the bigger famiglie in the Alliance of being bullies.

Mammon’s operatives had done a good job in directing Amaranth’s initial response. The best kinds of lies were the ones closest to the truth, so Amaranth cried a lot, showed them the hand-shaped bruise on her wrist, and generally played the part of a confused and scared young woman. The mafia still underestimated what women could do, even after the Eighth, and most importantly no one wanted to believe that Federico had been done in by a 16 year old girl not even half his size, former Varia trainee or not.

Still, Amaranth was effectively under house arrest, and the Varia agents pretending to be part of the estate’s staff were also trapped with her. With the number of eyes on the place, extraction would be difficult. Not impossible, but difficult.

“They can take care of themselves,” said Mammon dismissively. They seemed unconcerned, but Squalo suspected Mammon would exact painful retribution for the inconvenience later. As long as it was directed towards Amaranth, CEDEF or HQ’s goons and not him, he didn’t care.

“How long before CEDEF comes knocking, do you think,” wondered Luss.

Squalo grimaced. “Hopefully never,” he muttered, though he knew that was a vain hope.

Sure enough, Sawada Iemitsu showed up at the Varia castle shortly after, accompanied by a bespectacled girl with light brown hair (Parsley? No, Squalo was pretty sure she was called Oregano), who was probably CEDEF’s discount version of Ottavio.

Mammon, Luss and Bel were all jerks, and abandoned him to deal with The Jackass on his own. Even his three paperwork minions had cleared out, just in case the Stupid was infectious or something. This left Squalo to play the overwhelmed, resentful teenager reluctantly thrust into the role of leadership, all woeful and alone in his office.

Sawada burst in without knocking, because he was clearly raised in a barn.

“Oh, just you?” he said, falsely jovial. “Where’s your boss Ottavio?”

Ottavio had never been, and would never be his boss.

Squalo didn’t look up from his paperwork. “Not here.”

“When will he be back?”

Squalo shrugged. He stamped the document he’d been reading, put it in his outbox, then moved on to the next one.

Sawada pulled out one of the chairs in front of Squalo’s desk and sank down into it, while Oregano remained standing. “Now see here, Sharkie-boy,” he began.

Sharkie-boy?! Squalo could feel his eyelid twitching.

“In Ottavio’s absence, can I help the CEDEF with anything?” Squalo interrupted, before he could be tempted to carve Sawada’s mouth out of his face. “If you want to order a hit you have to do the forms, like usual.”

“Federico is dead,” said Sawada, suddenly serious.

Squalo let himself blink, as if digesting the news, then exhaled noisily through his nose. “Okay. Well shit,” he said. “So, who do you want us to kill? You still gotta do the forms, though.”

“You don’t seem very surprised, sharkie-boy,” Sawada accused. Squalo noted the herb-girl was taking…minutes?

“There’s really only one reason why you’d come all this way in person,” said Squalo, sitting back and folding his hands. “Someone important died, and you think we had a hand in it. And considering the recent pattern…it’s gotta be one of the Vongola heirs.”

“Looks like you’re very certain of what happened, hmm?” said Sawada with a sardonic smile. “Sure you didn’t do it yourself?”

“Look,” said Squalo. “What the hell do you want, Sawada?”

The Young Lion (who the fuck gave him that nickname) held out a hand, and the bespectacled girl handed him a manila folder. He rifled through it, opened it to a page, then slammed it on Squalo’s desk. There were several photos of Amaranth, either walking along the beach, or in some pictures, seemingly speaking with Federico.

“She’s a Varia trainee, isn’t she?” said Sawada. “She was getting up close and cosy with Federico right up til his death. Convenient, eh?”

“Oh, this chick,” said Squalo, with a completely heartfelt groan. “You think she killed him? And that we told her to do it?” He made sure to inject the maximum incredulity in his voice, because honestly, that was an insult to the Varia.

“You tell me,” said Sawada.

“Voi! She’s the worst recruit we’ve had in like, twenty years or something, so we kicked her out,” said Squalo. “She’s no longer Varia, and we have no control over whatever the heck she was doing in …” he checked the photos, “...where’s that, Palmi?”

Sawada just looked at him, grim and expectant. There was an amber tint to his eyes, and Squalo could feel the press of Sky Flames in the air. Squalo refused to let himself be intimidated. He was used to Xanxus, even if Sawada was technically stronger, and he would not be cowed by a man who didn’t give the Varia the respect it deserved. He placed his palms flat on the table and squarely met Sawada’s gaze.

“I’m guessing you haven’t killed her or demanded blood money or whatever it is you and your Spice Girls do,” said Squalo, with a sharp grin, noting the tension in Sawada’s jaw. “Which means you don’t even know if she did do it. Shit, Sawada, are you even doing your fucking job?”

“I don’t appreciate that tone, boy,” said Sawada coldly. “If the Varia are involved, there will be consequences. You will cooperate with our investigation.”

“And I don’t appreciate yours,” Squalo said, standing up. He rolled his eyes as Sawada and Discount-Ottavio stiffened, and Discount-Ottavio’s hand went to the gun in her jacket. Idiots. If he was going to kill them, he wouldn’t do it here, and risk the blood spray ruining his paperwork. “I swear, on the honour of the Varia, we didn’t tell anybody to kill Federico, ever,” which was true, “and of course, the Varia will cooperate. Ottavio always reminds us that we serve the Vongola, after all.”

(Specifically, Ottavio had said, right before he left, “Should HQ or the CEDEF press you for anything, comply, preferably to excess.”)

Squalo hadn’t really understood what he meant at the time, but now he thought he did.

CEDEF wanted to know all about their former trainee, did they? Well, Squalo could give them everything. Her bio, dental records, training records, every single assessment she did, her headache-inducing mission ‘report’ from her singular, failed mission, reports from everyone else on that singular failed mission, minutes from the HR meeting discussing her performance and expulsion, and the fifty-page exit process document including the termination letter, non-disclosure agreement, exit paycheck and other minutiae. They’d carefully and seamlessly removed anything pertaining to her ‘seer’ abilities beforehand, of course, and changed the reason for her failing the entry interview to ‘disrespecting Tyr’ (not untrue, and entirely believable given the interviewer was Ottavio).

The look on Sawada’s face was priceless as Squalo went round his office pulling out the relevant folders from every which where, combining all the documents into a large box, which he hefted onto the desk. Squalo pushed it towards him, feeling very satisfied.

“You want the info on all known associates too?” asked Squalo vindictively.

Sawada actually looked a little sickened by that thought. “No need!”

“Then you have everything,” said Squalo, opening another folder of paperwork and proceeding to ignore Sawada. “I won’t see you out. I gotta finish all this before Ottavio gets back.”

Hopefully, once they’d gone through everything, they’d decide that Amaranth was too useless to murder anybody (which was generally true), and leave it at that. They’d have to find a scapegoat somewhere, or claim Federico had died of illness or something, but it was none of Squalo’s business as long as it didn’t involve the Varia.

Sawada threw Squalo one last look of warning, then strode out, leaving the hapless Discount Ottavio to pick up the CEDEF’s folder on Amaranth and the box of documents. What an ass.

Luss brought him an apology plate of tuna carpaccio later that day, arriving with Mammon and Bel to hear Squalo’s account of the meeting.

“Sorry for leaving you alone with that man,” he said, “but I really can’t stand him.”

“It was the prince’s naptime,” Bel informed him imperiously.

“I’m not paid to deal with idiocy,” added Mammon.

“Voi, I still hate all of you!” Squalo informed them, though it was without heat. He still ate the tuna, after telling them about Sawada’s visit.

“If only Ottavio hadn’t taught the recruits that technique,” groused Squalo. Hopefully it was unknown outside the Varia, and the CEDEF wouldn’t make the connection. “Actually no, it sounds useful. If only Amaranth hadn’t been a recruit. I’ve never heard of Cloud Flames being used like that before.”

“Ottavio’s actually quite talented with his Flame,” piped up Luss. “Helped Lugh gas a whole infirmary full of naughty boys, once. He’s usually too busy to teach the Cloudlings, though.”

“Huh.” The Fly had always just been the Annoying Paperwork Man to Squalo, so he was having trouble imagining him with any combat or Flame capability. Logically he knew Ottavio must have other uses, and it was probably in his file somewhere (which he should actually remember to go through in detail, once he had time…which at this point was going to be never). Plus, the guy had been around the Varia for… forever? So he might have picked up skills here and there. Squalo was going to have to make sure the more experienced members handed down any unwritten history or useful techniques properly, before Ottavio and everyone else from Tyr’s generation had all retired.

“Oh, that’s right, Luss, you were here before Xanxus took over,” recalled Squalo. “You know how Tyr’s lot seem so unenthusiastic about HQ? Any clue why?” He still remembered the scorn in Ottavio’s voice when referring to the old fogeys there.

“I don’t know for sure, I’ve only been in the Varia for three years,” Luss replied, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Tyr and his guardians had been leading the Varia since right before the Ninth came into power 15 years ago, and I think Tyr worked for the Eighth, even before that. If I had to guess, they’ve probably just seen all the shit Vongola has to offer and got tired of it.”

Hell, Squalo was kind of sick of it already, and he’d not even been Vice-Captain for a year

“I knew they were old fossils,” mused Squalo, “but not that they were that ancient.” That would put Ottavio at Squalo’s age or younger, maybe, when he started out in the Varia. No wonder he’d said the Ninth’s cronies were used to him.

“Mammon would know better, they’ve been here for… five? Six years? Basically since the Varia got an Intelligence division,” Luss pointed out.

“Voi, not paying out my nose for that!” Squalo retorted, rolling his eyes. Else he’d have asked already.

Mammon sniffed. “I don’t do things for free.”

“Then just ask any of the veterans, squaletto,” said Luss reasonably, as Mammon tsked and turned away. "You’re the Vice-Captain now!”

“Voi, don’t call me that!” said Squalo. Luss had a point, though, and Squalo vaguely remembered that he’d planned to do that, anyway. Maybe later, after they dealt with this. If something else didn’t crop up. Squalo was beginning to see that yes, there was always something. Even if he thought he’d cleared all his tasks for the moment, there was always a new fire to put out, or it would turn out that one thing or another had slipped his mind.

Come to think of it, Squalo was pretty sure he was forgetting something …

“Voi! Did anyone remember to tell Ottavio the news?!”

Chapter Text

Shamal al-Hakim, 27, ‘Trident Shamal’, freelance hitman and unlicensed physician

Shamal wanted out of this sausage fest. It was dark, freezing cold, and he was currently stuck in the backseat of a car full of men, suffering through being squished against Ottavio every time their driver took a hairpin turn too quickly. His recruiter/temporary employer/tormentor seemed to have partially forgotten about him, busily switching between fielding calls and listening to something on a radio receiver the moment they got in the car. Even now, he had a cellphone wedged between shoulder and ear, talking to someone called ‘Auntie’ (Shamal doubted it was his actual aunt) as he tracked some kind of signal on a laptop. Occasionally the radio would crackle and deliver some kind of coded message, to which Ottavio responded in kind.

In the driver’s seat sat a Varia agent who looked like he would jangle like a tambourine if he so much as tilted his head (but didn’t, because Shamal suspected he was a Mist and therefore a cheat). Beside him, riding shotgun, the non-Varia teen with the seriously exaggerated widow’s peak (that Shamal bet would become quite the pickle once he hit 30 and encountered male pattern baldness) looked anxious but determined. Sadly, Bluebird was nowhere to be seen, and Shamal thought he really had hit rock bottom if he was seriously preferring the company of the bubbly crossdresser over these three louts in the car at the moment. Were there even any real women in the Varia?!

Fantasising a little about how he’d go about enacting a grand escape, Shamal was pretty sure he could get everyone with his Trident Mosquitoes if he tried. He’d have to pick something that could kill Ottavio before he could use whatever Cloud nonsense he’d threatened Shamal with, though.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Ottavio absently.

Damn it.

“I was promised a brief?” he ventured, as they bumped along the mountain road.

“Go in, kill stuff?” suggested the driver.

“Yes, thank you,” said Shamal sarcastically.

Ottavio sighed and put down his cellphone for the moment. “Six years ago, the Alliance made a concerted attempt to eradicate the Estraneo,” he began.

The Estraneo. Shamal had heard of them, of course. They’d shown interest in him, right when he was starting to gain notoriety for treating his own Flame disorders by infecting himself with more diseases. They’d offered good money for blood samples and tried to entice him with senior positions in the famiglia. Shamal declined all of it, of course, and ended up having to kill several of them (finishing up with a lot of explosives, so they couldn’t get any interesting biological material back, even from their own people) to get away. Then their reckless pseudoscientific pursuit of greatness finally pissed off the Vongola Alliance, and they were wiped off the map. Or maybe not, by the sounds of it.

“Most of the labs were destroyed, the boss and consigliere assassinated, and the majority of the scientists rounded up,” Ottavio continued, pushing up his glasses. “The Varia was involved, of course, as it always is when there is wet work to be done.” He looked out the window for a moment. “It was quite a difficult operation.”

Meaning casualties, thought Shamal, reading between the lines. Heavy casualties. There were whispers of something called the Possession Bullet back then, which would have caused absolute mayhem if it did what it sounded like it did. And then there had been the cleanup of multiple former Alliance famiglie, as well, after that. Shamal heard through the grapevine that some opportunists had tried to scavenge the remnants of the Estraneo’s research, even going so far as to stab Vongola in the back to get to the tech. Well, the Vongola didn’t take it lying down, obviously, and heads rolled. It had been an awful, unstable time in the mafia. Shamal had gone to hide in Mafia Land for a bit, away from the crazy, and almost missed Lavina’s due date as a consequence.

“An underboss escaped, together with a branch of the family, but we originally thought they’d left Italy,” said Ottavio. “I learned that the Estraneo still exist here and are up to their old tricks, or at least, sourcing children from traffickers for no doubt nefarious purposes.”

Shamal noted that Not-Varia had tensed. Some kind of personal stake?

Ottavio then went on to explain that there’d been a slim window of opportunity to track the Estraneo back to their base, and he’d taken it. The tight scheduling and scramble for personnel made sense to Shamal, now.

“It would be a stain on the Varia’s record to leave this unfinished,” said Ottavio. “I won’t deny that I’ve also been personally inconvenienced by the Estraneo’s actions, so I’m doubly incentivised. This operation is aimed at sabotaging any ongoing research, rescuing research subjects, and ideally, obtaining information on any other Estraneo cells and the underboss Livio, no known last name. Known hazards include Flame-based weaponry, and decently strong Mist users, especially if we encounter Livio.”

That was a lot for two Varia agents and one random teenager. And well, they had himself, he supposed. However reluctantly. Shamal sure hoped they had backup somewhere.

“And what do you want me to do?” asked Shamal.

“As I said, this will also serve as an assessment for your final rank placement in the Varia as well as salary bracket,” said Ottavio. “I’d like you to assist with infiltration, as well as the retrieval, and medical assessment of any people we decide to rescue.”

Well those were things he could do, but …“I haven’t agreed to joining the Varia!” reminded Shamal.

The driver snorted loudly in disbelief, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir.”

“If you can’t do it, you’ll just die, I suppose,” added Ottavio, casual as anything.

“Fuck you,” grumbled Shamal.

Ottavio glanced over at him with a mildly disdainful look that seemed to say, ‘You? No thanks’, then turned back to his work. Shamal bristled in indignation, then decided it wasn’t worth it. Bastard.

They’d driven for god knew how long when Ottavio suddenly sat up straight, swivelling his entire body like a pointer dog towards something in the pitch-black nothingness outside.

“Ah!” he said, with a delight that made the hairs of Shamal’s arm stand on end. “They’re here.”

“Who?” asked Shamal.

Ottavio didn’t reply. “Turn off the road when you can,” he told their driver.

“Here, sir?” The car pulled off the main road, turning down a dirt path.

“Yes,” Ottavio confirmed. “Can you see it?”

Shamal frowned. There was… something, all right. The tell-tale oil-slick feeling of a Mist illusion. They’d never been his strong suit, but he could usually still tell when there was one.

Then the air shimmered as the illusionist allowed them to ‘see’, revealing a clearing half hidden in the trees, where two vans were parked in a wide ‘V’, forming some kind of mobile command post.

“Oh, it’s Auntie and the others!” said the non-Varia teen, sounding pleasantly surprised.

“I thought we might need a hand, so I asked Auntie if her cleaning company would help,” said Ottavio.

“‘Cleaning company?” frowned Shamal.

“Auntie’s Cleaning Company’? The one that Kite joined after he retired?” asked the driver eagerly.

Oh. Shamal had heard of them here and there. People hired the service to deal with the aftermath of murders, shootouts, obvious Flame use, that sort of thing, to uphold Omerta and avoid the notice of law enforcement. Their clients were often the smaller famiglie who didn’t have the manpower or resources to do their own cleanup. He hadn’t heard they’d expanded this far north, though. As far as he knew they only operated in Sicily and Calabria.

Ottavio nodded. “He might be here, actually,” he told the driver. “Tyr and Lugh are also around – look, they’re over there. They wouldn't miss this.”

Wait, the former Sword Emperor was here?!

Before Shamal could panic about this, the car stopped and he was hustled out by an uncharacteristically impatient Ottavio … and almost tripped and fell at the feet of said swordsman.

“Oh, I think I remember you,” said Tyr, sounding amused. Ottavio had made a beeline for him and now looked creepily euphoric as Tyr looped an arm around his shoulders. “Doctor Shamal, was it? It’s been a while.”

“Haha, pleasure…” said Shamal, uncomfortably reminded of their last conversation. Even after so long, he could still feel the phantom sensation of Tyr’s blade tickling his throat.

“And hello Lancia and… oh, one of Tavo’s!” said Tyr, noticing the other two from their car. “... Nightjar?”

“Good to see you, sir!” was the enthusiastic reply from their driver.

Finally Shamal could put names to faces. The walking tambourine was Nightjar, and the teen with the widow’s peak was Lancia. Ottavio also seemed to pull himself together enough to do a quick round of introductions, where Shamal met ‘Auntie’, the elderly Mist lady who was holding the illusion over the place, and the field surgeon, Lugh. They all knew who Shamal was, which was equal parts flattering and terrifying, but none of them seemed remotely interested in why he was there – just the fact that Ottavio had brought him was good enough, apparently.

A few other personnel were monitoring stuff on screens, including what looked like night vision surveillance of a dilapidated barn, or checking over weapons and ammo. Auntie took them to the screen displays to explain things.

“This is the place we tracked your Bluebird to,” she said, opening up a crude diagram overlaid over a map of the area. Shamal was honestly impressed at how organised everything was, considering the likely short notice. “There’s a Mist illusion over it, but Teo and Tavo should be able to see through it.”

Who, again?

“Most of the base is underground. Geppa’s over there making notes, and I’ve put a watch over the place. He’s located a couple of potential entrance or exit points, vents and the like. He found their generator too.”

“Geppa is Kite’s new alias,” Ottavio said softly to Nightjar, who nodded.

“So we could potentially kill their power, send them into a panic and disable some of their tech,” suggested Tyr.

“I’d worry about ventilation systems, if everything’s underground,” said Lugh. “And if they had more delicate ‘experiments’ hooked up to something…”

“Ok, so no cutting the power,” agreed Tyr readily enough. “We’ll do multiple entries, then? We should have enough people for two teams. I’ll head in by their front door and distract them if necessary, Tavo gets Bluebird and whoever else they’ve got in there.”

Ottavio nodded in agreement. “Nightjar, go with Tyr and Lugh,” he told Nightjar. “Manticore’s on his way after the dropoff, so I’ll take him and Dr. Shamal.” And Shamal’s input was immaterial, he supposed (but said nothing, because Tyr was there).

“Can I help?” asked Lancia, looking concerned.

“Please stay here with Auntie,” said Ottavio. “She’ll need someone to back her up if there’s trouble. The team I sent to retrieve the traffickers’ captives should also be reporting in soon, and I’d like you to verify if any of the Family’s children are among them.”

Shamal didn’t think he meant Vongola, but the way he said “Family” implied it was a shared one between himself and Lancia. Maybe whichever famgilia he’d belonged to before he joined the Varia? That would fit the Estraneo causing ‘personal inconvenience’, as Ottavio had mentioned earlier.

Lancia seemed a little unsure, but agreed, so Auntie took him aside to discuss details. Meanwhile, Ottavio brought Shamal over to one of the vans, where the others were picking out some equipment.

“Help yourself,” said Ottavio, buckling a gun holster on. “If you can’t see well in the dark, take a pair of night vision goggles as well.” Shamal always had his Trident Mosquitoes, of course, together with a nice selection of explosives and several knives just in case. Still, he wasn’t going to say no to free stuff. Even if it was borrowed free stuff he had to return later. He chose a standard Beretta semi-automatic (no need to be fancy) and a foldable multitool that looked like a swiss army knife on steroids (seriously, he needed to get one of these for himself).

‘Manticore’ arrived shortly after that. He was an imposing, solidly-built bruiser, the image that came to mind when people thought of Vongola’s pet killers. Ottavio spent some time briefing him, then left him to ‘get to know’ Shamal while he stepped away to confer with Tyr.

Shamal ignored Manticore and took the opportunity to take a smoke. God knew when his next one would be.

Soon enough, Ottavio collected them and they were off, making their way through the woods in the dark, taking what Ottavio said was the ‘back way’. Shamal really hadn’t signed up for a hike up a mountain at two in the morning, and even with the night vision goggles he was having trouble picking his way through the terrain. By contrast, Manticore and Ottavio were swift and sure-footed on the uneven ground, and in some parts had to bodily lift Shamal over obstacles. Shamal felt tiny and useless, sandwiched between Manticore’s bulk and Ottavio’s lanky height, despite being essentially six feet tall himself.

“We’re going to have to work on your physical fitness,” said Ottavio disapprovingly, after Shamal nearly slipped on a pile of fallen leaves while scaling a particularly steep slope. He’d caught him by the arm and hauled him up single-handedly.

“I haven’t said I’m joining!” Shamal retorted. He was in shape, alright? Just apparently not crazy Varia levels of fit.

Manticore snorted, exactly like Nightjar had done, back in the car.

Rude. They were all so rude.

Chapter Text

They ended up in a copse of trees just out of sight of the abandoned-looking barn he’d seen on the surveillance feed earlier. A few men were standing around, keeping watch, but they seemed to recognise Ottavio and nodded to them – Auntie’s staff then, Shamal surmised.

One of the men stepped forward. “One of the entrances is that barn which isn’t really a barn,” he said to Ottavio. “The other one is here.” He brushed aside some leaves and branches on the ground to reveal a trapdoor. “We haven’t gone in, but Geppa says the tunnel leads towards the facility below the barn.”

“Thanks,” said Ottavio, and broke the combination lock barehanded. What, tools were too good for the Varia?

“Alright, do your Mist thing so we can delay detection, as I’m not sure if they’ll have any surveillance inside,” Ottavio said to Shamal.

“Er,” said Shamal. He could maybe hide himself, but probably not all of them.

“Performance anxiety?” suggested Ottavio, an eyebrow going up.

“Screw you,” said Shamal hotly. “You never said you needed an illusionist!”

Manticore, who’d been silent up till now, eyeballed him incredulously. “I’ve never heard of a Mist who couldn’t use illusions,” he said slowly, looking Shamal up and down as if trying to determine why the Varia had ever wanted to recruit him.

“Look,” said Shamal a bit defensively, because it was a sore point, despite everything. “I know the theory and everything and it’s not that I can’t can’t, but my talents lie elsewhere, alright?”

“Hmm, I had wondered why there weren’t any reports of you using more traditional Mist techniques.” Ottavio tilted his head, looking thoughtful. “I suppose your use is focused and more internal. Is that why you put your Mist flames into the little capsules?”

“It’s not about how much you have, yeah? It’s about how you use it,” said Shamal evasively.

”I see. I wonder if it’s a size thing, or you just can’t keep it up,” mused Ottavio. “Either way, good thing you’ve got me.”

Why the fuck would he say it like that– Shamal’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Ottavio grabbed his hand and almost gave him an aneurysm with the sudden rush of Mist Flame surging through him like a tidal wave.

He felt powerful. Invincible, like he could rewrite reality however he wanted, with just a wave of his hand.

Blessed saints above if this was how any half-decent Mist felt like on a regular basis no wonder they were all batshit crazy, thought Shamal deliriously.

“Let’s go,” said Ottavio, after Shamal recovered enough to layer a clumsy, out-of-practice illusion over them. Should be good enough. “We’ll have to hold hands like kindergarteners for a while, though.”

Shamal was going to get hives.

They descended into a dimly-lit tunnel with shelves built into the walls. There wasn’t much on them, just the odd toolbox, rope, and other odds and ends.

“Looks like they don’t often come this way,” noted Manticore, eyeing the dust.

“I don’t see any cameras here,” said Ottavio. “Let’s just keep up the illusions, in case. Dr. Shamal, let me know if you start feeling unwell.”

Well, Shamal was feeling a lot like the couple of times he sniffed glue as a boy, did that count?

They encountered a few more doors which required some sort of ID card access, but Manticore just melted holes in them with his Storm flames, leaving the locking system uselessly intact (what was it with these Varia people and their brute force approach to everything?). While they’d yet to encounter a single person (perhaps because it was the time of night where any reasonable person would be asleep), they were approaching more inhabited areas, judging from the better lighting and other signs of occupation, like tables with partly filled ashtrays and carelessly closed filing cabinets.

Ottavio was already nosing through the files. “I’m curious about how they're funding themselves,” he explained. “R&D is expensive.”

“I think I know,” said Manticore, peeking into the window of a set of double doors leading to what Shamal had thought was a kitchen. On second look, what kitchen needed card access? Shamal joined him, curious, which meant Ottavio came along too, as they were still unfortunately holding hands.

“That looks like a meth lab,” Shamal noted.

“I’ll add it to the list of things we need to follow up on,” sighed Ottavio.

They finally encountered a lone guy in a lab coat, clearly engrossed in whatever report he was reading as he power walked down the corridor. He didn’t see them due to the illusion Shamal was still managing to hold, so Manticore grabbed him with relative ease, a hand over the scientist’s mouth.

And that was why working late was a bad idea.

A gun to his back handily persuaded the man to lead them towards where the ‘test subjects’ were kept. They quietly passed a security guard, who kept walking, unaware. Shamal noted their hostage didn’t seem surprised, apparently familiar with Mist illusions, which made sense, assuming they were working on Flame-related experiments.

Just as they moved into some kind of research area, some kind of alarm went off. “Intruder alert,” said an electronic voice. “Protocol 23 activated.”

Startled and distracted, Manticore must have slackened his grip for just a second, but it was enough for their hostage to activate some kind of device in his coat. A red light started flashing, and a different warning siren started to wail.

“The fuck did you do,” hissed Manticore. The scientist laughed and spat in his face, earning a backhand that broke his nose.

Then Shamal felt it – a sudden weakness in his whole body, and his illusion fizzled out. Ottavio cursed, dropping his hand.

“Some sort of Flame-cancelling technology,” Ottavio guessed, as guards started running in.

“Fuck, they’re here too, Dry Lab 4,” Shamal heard one of them shouting into a radio.

Manticore used the scientist as a shield against their opening hail of bullets (a submachine gun? In a lab?!), then dove behind cover. Ottavio grabbed Shamal by the collar and dragged him behind a cabinet before returning fire.

He managed to miss every single target despite emptying his clip.

“Dio mio, your aim is shit!” exclaimed Shamal, disbelieving.

“My talents lie elsewhere, alright?” Ottavio bit out, hastily reloading. He didn’t hit anyone the second time, either, which prompted a fresh round of expletives from Shamal.

“You’re bickering like an old married couple,” complained Manticore.

“Shut up!” both Shamal and Ottavio snapped at the same time. Whose fault was it in the first place?!

Manticore shrank further behind his cover, where he was at least being useful, having nailed one of the advancing guards in the knee with a knife. Shamal hurriedly felt around in his coat for a stick of dynamite, then lit it and sent it sailing into the group of enemies before diving down with his hands clapped over his ears. The resulting blast shook the room and sent several objects crashing to the floor.

“Some warning would be nice!” growled Ottavio, having barely braced himself before the explosive detonated. After exchanging a couple of quick hand signs, the two Varia immediately took advantage of the momentary opening to neutralise the remaining guards that hadn’t been taken out by the blast. Shamal didn’t look, still peeling himself off the ground, but there were screams, the unmistakable sound of breaking bones and the wet schlick of a blade cutting into flesh, followed by silence. Stone cold bastards.

“Sheesh, be more grateful to the one who saved your asses,” he said, dusting himself off and walking up to the bullet-riddled body of the unfortunate scientist, looking for a way to turn the stupid Flame-cancelling waves off. He was starting to feel… not so good, considering he usually used his Flames internally to help manage his diseases. It didn’t look like pressing the panic button again did anything, so they would have to find some way to override it.

Ottavio noticed his discomfort. “Let’s leave the area,” he suggested, after swiping a few ID cards from the scientist and the guards, as well as their radio, even if it seemed to be on the fritz. “I doubt this thing covers the entire base. We might get more company soon, and I don’t want to meet them here.”

Sadly, the Flame-disruption-whatever did seem to hit everywhere they went. Shamal suspected it was a safety (ha) feature for this lab area, at least. He wasn’t completely incapacitated, and even managed to shoot a few of the goons they ran into (there wasn’t that much resistance, as most of the security seemed to have been drawn elsewhere), but he was very uncomfortable.

Ottavio’s temper was starting to fray, clearly frustrated due to his reliance on his Flame techniques and augmented strength (yeah yeah Shamal was being a hypocrite but at least he could shoot). He’d been supporting (dragging along) Shamal with one arm, and the muscles under his uniform were so tense that Shamal was slightly concerned he would snap and rip the base apart with his bare hands the second he got his abilities back.

“Where is everyone?” he said, half to distract himself from his own spinning head and half to distract Ottavio from cutting off all circulation in his arm. “That can’t be all of them. You think they’ve got some kind of bunker or escape route for the eggheads?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Ottavio shortly. “There are people watching the area, and we’ll just burn the place to the ground afterwards.”

Well. That killed the conversation pretty effectively.

Thankfully, Manticore made up for his error and nabbed another scientist type, who was half-dressed, clearly having been abruptly roused from sleep. Frantically typing away at a computer terminal, the man hadn’t been paying the closest attention to his surroundings, making himself an easy target. Had he been deleting files? Making a backup? Initiating a self-destruct sequence for the base? Maybe Shamal had seen too many of those trashy foreign B-movies…

“Dr. Shamal.” Someone was patting his cheek. “Hey.”

Shamal blinked, only to see Ottavio right up in his face, looking at him with a constipated expression. “Oi, personal space,” he protested, sitting up as Ottavio backed away. Sitting up? He found himself on the floor against the wall, in an unfamiliar room with multiple control panels. The annoying siren and flashing red lights had stopped, and the feeling of weakness was gone.

“You blacked out for a moment,” said Ottavio. Sounded like an understatement, if they’d changed locations completely. “Manticore managed to get the Estraneo scientist to lead us to the control room. We turned off the wave emitter, so you should be feeling a little better.”

He nodded at one of the panels. “There’s a schema of the base here, so Manticore’s gone ahead to retrieve Bluebird. We’ll go catch up in a minute.”

Well, that was embarrassing. Shamal did feel better though, and got to his feet, looking around. There was blood on the floor, belonging to the two guards, whose had been piled unceremoniously in one corner. They were in a control room, like Ottavio had said, with multiple screens displaying surveillance of various areas, with a handy little reference layout of the base etched nearby. They were on level B2, where the labs and holding areas were. Shamal caught a glimpse of Manticore on one of the cameras, herding… children? Shamal didn’t want to think about what the Estraneo were keeping them here for. B1 looked like an office and living area … and there’d clearly been one hell of a fight there, what with the blood and bodies and bullet holes.

“Let’s go,” said Ottavio, and Shamal followed him out.

They hadn’t gone far when Ottavio perked up as they rounded a corner. “Tyr’s coming,” he said. Shamal would never stop finding that creepy. He’d never heard of Guardians being able to sniff out their Skies like dogs!

Sure enough, the door to a nearby stairwell opened, and the other half of their little expedition team walked out. Tyr’s sword was unsheathed and dripping with blood, and he and Lugh looked grimly satisfied. Nightjar was wild-eyed, like he’d just encountered several near-death situations and hadn’t quite come down from the adrenaline high.

“I got him,” Tyr said to Ottavio.

“Good,” responded Ottavio vehemently. (Shamal was clearly missing some context here, but was it his business? No. He was tired and would like to go to bed.)

Ottavio gave Tyr and the others a brief update on what had happened (it sounded like the Flame-cancelling issue hadn’t extended to B1), but before he could finish, someone came running down the corridor towards them.

It was Bluebird, wearing what looked like a very skimpy hospital gown. Had Ottavio made the poor boy play bait?

“Ah, Dr. Shamal,” he exclaimed, noticing him. “And Lugh! Oh, that’s good! Please, there’s someone you have to help!”

They followed him at a quick jog into what looked like an observation area for an operating theatre. There was a man in a lab coat on the ground, dead, with a bullet hole in his temple and a gun in his hand.

“It’s a bit too late for him, I think,” said Shamal.

Bluebird shook his head. “No, in there!” He gestured urgently towards the viewing window.

A child, maybe seven or eight, lay on an operating table, hooked up to what looked like a bypass machine. And if the flashing displays on the desktop monitors nearby were any indication, the kid had no heartbeat and the machine meant to be taking over had been shut off.

And something felt really off, in there. Shamal would almost call it an evil energy, if he were superstitious.

“All right, everyone out,” Lugh commanded, taking charge. “Except you, Dr. Shamal, you’re with me.”

Well fuck.

Chapter Text

Tyr, 45, Interim Boss, Biscione Family

It had taken six long years, but finally, finally, their revenge was complete. Oh certainly there might be more Estraneo cells out there gasping their last breaths (because Tavo would certainly find and get them if Tyr didn’t), but the most important thing was that Livio was dead. Livio, the Estraneo’s strongest Mist user, who the CEDEF had somehow completely missed during reconnaissance, who had turned his Guardians on one another using the Possession Bullet, who had forced Tyr to cut down his friends with his own two hands… Too tied up with Varia work to pursue his enemy to the ends of the earth like he wished, and even after retiring, not knowing where to even begin his search, Tyr had spent the last six years resigned to dying with this one regret lodged like a fishbone in his throat. Now that it was over…

It didn’t change anything, did it? It wouldn’t bring his Guardians back to life. It felt anticlimactic and empty and not enough, but Tyr had not expected fulfilment or closure, anyway. (He hadn’t felt anything even back when he took revenge on the man who had killed his parents for the Sword Emperor title, so why would he feel anything now?)

Sensing his upset, Tavo reached over from where he was flipping through some documents he’d found, and squeezed his hand. Tyr gratefully squeezed back, slowly breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, pulling himself back together.

Once again, they had Tavo to thank, even if it was a string of coincidences. It started from him asking if they could go check on his hometown, hadn’t it? Then the Biscione, which gave them Lancia, who’d stumbled headfirst into Estraneo-related business … And then Tavo somehow managed to track these scum down, and organise a raid, all in the short span of several hours.

His Cloud didn’t have anything very exciting going on in his noggin most of the time, and was hardly a schemer by mafia standards (despite what people said about him), but boy, could he get a plan together when pressed.

Things had gone… pretty much as smoothly as they could’ve gone, despite the hiccups that Tavo had told him about involving the Flame-cancelling technology on B2. Tyr had a gut feeling that Livio would be here, and he was. Surprised and unprepared, Livio had been drawn out, holding the gun that no doubt held the Possession Bullet in one hand, and the cursed trishula he used to mark his targets in the other. Tyr froze for the briefest moment – before Max, solid, dependable Max, smacked him out of his stupor. Tyr rallied and focused his Flames through the Biscione Sky Ring to melt Livio's weapon, while Max shot enough neuroparalytics into the sorry bastard to fell an elephant. It was laughably easy to slit Livio’s throat after that, and clean up the grunts that were still putting up a token fight. Like he said, anticlimactic.

They then locked the noncombatants and whoever else surrendered into a room (they’d have to remember to get them before Tavo inevitably wanted to burn the place down), then systematically combed the floor, extracting hard drives, rifling through documents, and flushing the odd scientist out from a closet. CEDEF had really done a shit job, if they managed to miss this many people hiding away (though perhaps it wasn’t too surprising, considering the followup coincided with the chaotic fall of Saffron VII from grace and his subsequent replacement by Sawada, who had other priorities). From the dormitories they passed, Tyr estimated there were about eighty people living in the base, with maybe sixty to seventy percent noncombatants (not counting whatever ‘research subjects’ they’d amassed).

Then they’d caught up with Tavo, and his little bird from HR led them to … whatever was in the operating room behind them. There was a little kid in there, true, and Tyr agreed that it was probably the right thing to help, but something felt wrong. Tyr didn’t know what, exactly, the scientists had been messing with, but the uneasy feeling was enough to make him stand guard outside, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice if his Sun needed help. Tavo, too, hovered nearby, half an eye on him while he coordinated a sweep of the base for anything of interest.

Eventually, the doors to the operating room opened, and Max poked his head out.

“Kid’s alive, for now,” grunted Max. “Can we jerry-rig a stretcher? I’d rather not carry him out, just in case we pull his stitches.”

“On it,” said Tavo, hurrying away to organise.

From his position, Tyr could see the strain around Max’s eyes and behind him, Trident Shamal’s spooked expression. Whatever it was could wait until they were somewhere safe, though. An improvised stretcher, together with two of Auntie’s staff, arrived soon enough, and Tyr escorted them out, glad to be rid of the place.

“Ahem, attention?” A voice came over the base’s PA system as they were about to leave. It sounded like the plucky Bluebird boy, the one Tavo had gotten to play bait. “Courtesy warning for any of you Estraneo hiding wherever, we’re about to blow the place up. Surrender, or don’t, I guess.”

Tyr chuckled darkly and moved on.

It was well past dawn by the time they regrouped by the vans, the Estraneo base a smoking ruin behind them. A Vindice officer had shown up (which was good, in Tyr’s opinion, as it suggested the Estraneo had been for all intents and purposes, wiped out), and everyone was giving them a wide berth. Except Tavo, who was handing over paperwork and a stack of gold bars.

“This is an extension of Project E-299C, Reference Number #V-V77138 which the Varia have already submitted the paperwork for,” said Tavo to the officer. “But just in case, here is a duplicate copy with updated details.”

The paperwork and bribe disappeared into a black void. The officer slowly rotated to regard Tyr, Shamal (who was quaking in his boots – must be his first time seeing Vindice), Max and Auntie, and the rest of the non-Varia people standing around.

“Contractors,” supplied Tavo.

The officer then turned the other way to stare at the rescued children huddled under blankets. Some of them burst into tears, probably scarred for life, if not from their experience with the Estraneo, then by the terrifying sight of the Vindice.

“A couple are ours, the others we will try to return to their families,” said Tavo, unruffled due to his long years of desensitisation. “There are also Estraneo children, but we will not harm them.”

Now that Tyr had not been expecting. They had their own children in the laboratories? And people called the Varia monsters.

The Vindice officer seemed to think that was satisfactory, and disinterestedly turned away, seemingly about to leave. Then they paused, and looked straight at Tyr.

Oh, Tyr knew this one.

“Now that the Biscione has Flame users again, we will submit the annual documentation as required,” he said. He’d almost forgotten. It wouldn’t do to get audited right when they were just getting started.

The officer inclined their head in a stiff, jagged movement, and vanished in a twist of black Flame. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief.

“I hate you,” Shamal hissed at Tavo.

It was nice to see Tavo making friends.

The surviving adult Estraneo remnants were rounded up and taken to a Vongola safehouse, where Tyr suspected Tavo was going to foist them off on the CEDEF so he wouldn’t have to deal with them. The children would be hosted by the Biscione for now, until they could figure out what to do with them. Ah, who was Tyr kidding, they’d probably keep the ones they couldn’t return. Poor Antonio was going to cry over the accounts again.

They’d thankfully found little Annina and Toni, to Lancia’s great relief. The children had narrowly avoided the Estraneo facility, and had instead been rescued from the traffickers’ hideout. Tavo’s teenage plant workers had also been recovered, but one of them (Blago?) had been on death’s door and was now under constant medical supervision, while the other had had something implanted in his spine that Max was still trying to figure out.

“Get some rest,” he told Tavo, who had decided to come with them for a little while (as long as he could get away with, at least), bringing along Shamal and Bluebird to help. He was doubling up with Tavo for the moment, due to the sudden influx of people they weren’t quite prepared to house, while Shamal had set himself up in the makeshift infirmary with Max, and Bluebird was bunking with Lancia. His poor Cloud looked quite worn out, and Tyr was certain he’d been overworking himself even before this operation.

“I wish,” sighed Tavo, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have a lot of missed calls and pages from Varia HQ I should catch up with …”

Tavo’s cell phone started ringing right that moment. He must have switched it back on at some point, while they were travelling back.

“Speaking of the devil,” said Tavo, smiling tiredly. He glanced at the phone, then pressed a button to answer the call while, for some reason, holding it well away from his ear.

“VOI!!!!!”

Ah. That Squalo boy was as energetic as ever.

“Boy, tone it down!” Tyr barked in the direction of the microphone. There was a brief silence, and Tavo pressed the cell phone to his ear with a soundless sigh.

“Hello? Yes, I’m with Tyr; I just finished a mission with his assistance. Yes, I’m aware you did not approve it, but there was a time constraint. There should be runners with a preliminary report arriving later tomorrow…” Tavo sent an apologetic glance to him.

Tyr nodded and stood, patting Tavo on the shoulder as he passed, and left the room so he could finish his call in peace. Might as well find something for them to eat while he was at it.

When he returned, Tavo was lying face down on the mattress, glasses loosely held in one hand, which dangled off the side of the bed.

“That bad, huh,” Tyr commiserated, setting down the plate of bread and cold cuts he’d scrounged up. He sat down next to Tavo, who rolled slightly onto his side to peer up at him with one hazel eye.

“Federico is dead,” said Tavo, sounding utterly drained. “And it might be partially my fault…”

“What?” Tyr frowned. This was beyond carelessness, on the part of the Vongola. They had one job! And how could it be even the least bit Tavo’s fault?

“Well…”

Tyr still had high-level clearance within the Varia due to his standing NDA and consultant position, so Tavo didn’t hesitate to tell him everything.

That was two out of four heirs dead, one ineligible and at any rate locked away by a frankly barbaric method that Daniela herself only ever used to neutralise the worst of enemies (Tavo had told him about Xanxus a while ago), and one disabled. So Vongola was completely out of options, unless one of Massimo’s children manifested Sky Flames. All of that effort Daniela had gone through, her careful planning to have one and only one uncontested heir, all that blood sweat and tears to smooth Timoteo’s ascent to power and pave the way for a stable and prosperous Vongola ... wasted. The old lady was probably churning like butter in her grave.

“Should I be glad you never set me on fire?” Tyr joked, in an effort to lift the mood. Tavo so seldom had an opportunity to impart his skills, and for this one attempt to backfire so spectacularly must have been quite a blow.

Tavo smiled weakly. “You’ve met that girl, the special hire,” he said. Ah yes, that interview he’d sat in on, just before he left. “She’s … not quite right in the head, I think.”

Tyr had to agree.

“It’s not your fault,” he said decisively. “That technique is … not designed to have that effect. When you did it to that Cloud he didn’t catch on fire, did he?” Back when he’d first brought Tavo into the Varia, some chump had challenged him… and ended up being an experimental subject for Tavo’s newly developed technique. He did not survive, and none of the rabble dared come within arm’s reach of Tavo for a long, long time.

Tavo shook his head and pushed himself up to a seated position, frowning a little at the memory. He killed, because Tyr had trained him to kill, but he never liked remembering his body count. “No, you’re right, his heart just stopped because he couldn’t handle the strain.” Tavo put on his glasses and adjusted them. “Do you think it’s a Sky Flame thing?”

Sky Flames, after all, were notoriously mysterious. Well, to the rest of the mafia, at least. To Tyr they were just his regular old Flames. But they were very flexible – Sky Flames could burn, could freeze, could maim or heal, could essentially do anything, as long as one had the Will – all thanks to the nebulous property of Harmonisation. But no, they generally did not burn their user to ashes. At least not in Tyr’s experience.

“Not that I know of,” Tyr replied, after thinking about it for a while. “The type of corrosive burn you described sounds more like Xanxus’s Wrath Flame.”

“I’ll have to read the report closely when it arrives, but I don’t think Wrath Flame was noted,” mused Tavo. “Perhaps Federico was just… imbalanced?”

“That’s a problem for future Tavo, if it’s even your problem at all – why is that Squalo boy making it your problem, again?” Tyr gave his Cloud a stern look and handed him the plate of food. “Now eat something, then sleep, before Auntie makes you.”

Sadly, that nap seemed to be the only undisturbed rest Tavo was able to get. The next few days saw him running all over the place, first checking in with Antonio over at the bottling plant and reassuring his workers that the missing boys had been found. Then Tyr and Auntie had brought him up to speed with what was going on in the Biscione, along with the in-progress territorial expansions and relations (or non-relations) with their criminal neighbours. And of course, Tavo couldn’t go five steps without a new Varia runner showing up with paperwork, then lingering because they were nosy.

Tyr only tolerated their presence because he knew the Varia were inveterate gossips, and would spread the news that he was setting up here to the boys and girls back at Varia HQ. Hopefully, when they retired and decided that a quieter life up north might be up their alley, they’d remember to look for him here.

The CEDEF agents starting to crawl around, however, Tyr had much less patience for. He’d assigned young Lancia to look out for any suspicious persons, and eager to make up for his perceived previous mistakes, he’d taken on the task with great fervour. Varia runners soon learned to announce themselves properly with proof of identification, but the hapless CEDEF goons were unceremoniously thrown back over the wall (sometimes literally). Maybe Tyr needed to look into getting some geese.

They’d briefly thought about asking CEDEF to help with looking for the rescued children’s families, but decided to hold for now. Tavo preferred to talk with Rue directly (and he wasn’t currently available), and at any rate they surely had their hands full with the investigation into Federico’s death.

The kids were mostly all right, though they obviously lacked proper socialisation and education (there went another chunk of change if they had to get tutors). Tyr believed with a little care they’d be running wild with the Biscione’s own brats soon enough. The teenage plant workers were the exception rather than the norm (upon examination, Max suggested they might have been used for ‘practice’ before moving on to smaller, more delicate test subjects). Horrifyingly, the youngest rescuees had barely learned to walk (they’d really have to get a full-time nanny, which meant more expenses!), and were consequently no help in determining where they came from. The ones old enough to remember their families, interestingly enough, seemed to be mostly Estraneo.

Included amongst them was the strange little thing Max and Shamal had brought back from the dead. Subject NE-069 (the scientists had used IDs instead of names, possibly to distance themselves from their subjects) was a dark haired little boy, with one regular blue eye, and the other a sinister red, positively leaking Mist flames. The boy’s cursed eye (there really wasn’t another more appropriate word for it) was marked with the Chinese character for four. Not particularly auspicious.

Tavo had collected information on the children from his sweep of the base, of course, just so they knew what was going on with them. Notes pertaining to NE-069 seemed to reference Buddhist cosmology, in particular the Six Paths of Reincarnation. There was some kind of frankly demented experimental plan that required the subject to die six times, for seven days at a time, which explained the state they’d found the boy in.

“He doesn’t quite sound or act like a kid,” said Max. “He’s learning quickly though, and he’s starting to mimic his peers to garner more sympathetic reactions from the adults.”

Ah, a budding psychopath. Cute.

The most interesting thing, though, happened when the boy encountered Tavo for the first time. He went completely still, his one normal pupil fully dilated while the other eye flashed red, oscillating wildly between the characters for one through four.

“I know you,” he said to Tavo.

Chapter Text

Amaranth, 16, of the Bellini Famiglia, formerly Katie Lee, 16, student

Katie hadn’t meant to kill that asshole Federico. She just wanted him to hurt a little. Even if she might have lost control a bit… It wasn’t her fault he died.

(Dimly, she was aware of Orichalcum telling her to stay calm and stand her ground.)

It wasn’t.

She’d told the crazy Vongola bodyguards as much when they swarmed her and started shouting at her, even though all she wanted to do was run away. Katie didn’t remember very much of what happened after that, but she punched the first guy who tried to grab her, which resulted in all of them pulling out guns.

The few Bellini underlings that Don Bellini had sent with her came running up then, drawing their own weapons.

“You sure you want to be doing this?” said one of the Vongola men. “This bitch murdered a Vongola in cold blood. That’s getting your tiny little famiglia wiped off the map for sure.”

Shit, Katie hadn’t even thought about how this would affect the Bellini. They didn’t deserve this.

“You leave our young miss alone!” shouted Jacopo, who was one of her supposed bodyguards (they weren’t much good at it, to be honest). “Look at her, she’s unarmed! Did you see her kill him with your own two eyes? And your boss’s been harassing her for days, everyone’s seen it! Miss Amaranth’s a gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but that scumbag deserved what was coming to him! A punishment from God!”

“Why you!” The Vongola group didn’t like that.

“Amaranth!” hissed Orichalcum’s voice in her ear, shocking her into action.

Katie stepped between her people and the Vongola before anyone could start shooting.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice cracked a little, hoarse from screaming. “I am the daughter of Don Bellini, and Vongola or not, I demand that you treat us with the respect due a member of the Alliance!”

“The Bellini?” sneered the Vongola guard. “You’re so weak you might as well not exist.”

“Is that something a nobody like you should be saying?” she said, putting on her best Karen face, even if she was tightly clenching her hands so they wouldn’t shake. “Who even are you? Get me your supervisor.”

“State that you’ll cooperate, but you expect to be treated respectfully, and you’ll wait for them at home,” prompted Orichalcum.

“It’s not that I won’t cooperate,” Katie added, lifting her chin defiantly. “But I’ll only talk to someone who knows what they’re doing. I’ll be in the Bellini villa.” She then started striding away, trying to look confident.

Out of the corner of her eye, the man looked like he was going to argue, but his companions seemed to think better of it and held him back.

Katie crumbled the moment she stepped back into the villa, sobbing uncontrollably while the Bellini men hovered concernedly, swearing vengeance on the Vongola. No one seemed to know how to comfort her.

“Miss, let’s get you into your room to rest,” said Orichalcum, appearing in her guise as Maria the maid. “Li, can you make her something hot to drink?”

“Yes, miss Maria,” replied Something-Li.

Orichalcum hustled her into her room and hastily stripped her of all her wires. “You can’t have the earpiece in when the CEDEF comes to question you, they’re a lot more observant than these goons,” she said. “Do you have your responses straight?” Katie didn’t reply. She just wanted to be left alone. Couldn’t she just have like five minutes to process?!

“I’d slap you right now if it wouldn’t leave a mark,” said Orichalcum, shaking her. “Pull yourself together. What do you think Don Vongola will do to you if he’s convinced you killed his son?”

“I didn’t,” insisted Katie, trying not to sound hysterical. “I didn’t do it. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Orichalcum gave her a sharp look. “Maybe if you keep saying that they’ll believe you,” she said. "If they decide you’re guilty, or if you’d make a good scapegoat, there’s not really anything anyone can do. The Vongola’s way up there, so your father’s words won’t mean much.”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay!” Something-Li had come in at some point while Katie wasn’t paying attention, and handed her a cup of hot apple cider.

The warmth in her hands was of little comfort.

Katie had said she wanted to talk to the Vongola grunts’ supervisor, but she hadn’t realised it meant Sawada Iemitsu, who showed up sometime that evening.

He was sharply dressed and put together, totally unlike his slob oil miner persona in the manga or anime. He didn’t seem to have that clownish personality on display either, instead looking very serious and focused. It was a little intimidating.

“So, you’re Bosco Bellini’s kid,” he said, sitting down opposite her. They were in the villa’s sitting room. CEDEF or Vongola agents had completely surrounded the place, and Katie could see them out the window. He gave a cursory glance to Orichalcum-as-Maria, who was shakily setting down a tray of coffee. Orichalcum quickly backed away, and Iemitsu returned his attention to Katie.

“You’ve really done it now, you know? At the very least it will be an eye for an eye. That’s the mafia rule. But maybe if you cooperate, we can leave old Bosco out of this.”

“Whatever you’re accusing me of, I didn’t do it,” said Katie.

Iemitsu questioned her on everything from her time in the Varia, to why she was in Tropea, how she’d met Federico, Federico’s death... Katie stuck to the story they’d agreed on (she’d repeated it so many times she almost believed it to be true by now), sticking to her answers when Iemitsu tried to catch her out.

She could feel that Iemitsu was doing something with his Sky Flames (he felt a lot more powerful than Federico or even Xanxus had been, and it was scary). It was the same trick Federico had tried on her.

“I hate that,” said Katie, suddenly really angry. “Please stop.”

“What?”

“Federico was doing what you’re doing, with the Sky Flames,” said Katie. Dammit, she felt like crying again. “He was trying to get me to sleep with him. I didn’t want to.” She showed him the red bruise from where Federico had grabbed her. It was starting to purple already.

Iemitsu grimaced, but stopped the weird Sky voodoo bullshit. (Katie was surprised he listened, but maybe it didn’t work properly if someone was aware of it?)

“You’re a sharp one eh?” he said.

That was a first. No one had ever called Katie sharp, in this life.

“So that’s why you killed him,” Iemitsu concluded. “Because he was … harassing you.”

“No, I… I kneed him in the face, then he caught on fire,” Katie said. “I don’t know how it happened.” It was all true. She didn’t kill Federico. She didn’t. There must have been something wrong with Federico that caused that reaction.

The questioning went on for a while, but luckily Iemitsu didn’t seem to want to take her away to be locked up, for now at least.

He did order a search of the house, though.

“You don’t mind right?” he said, sounding annoyingly nonchalant. “It’s better this way.”

Katie hated it, hated all these strangers just walking all over her house, but there was nothing she could do.

Luckily, they didn’t find anything of note, and left the villa. They were all stuck inside though, with a ring of guards around the perimeter.

“Ha! Men never think to check the vacuum dust bags,” crowed Orichalcum, when they met back up in Katie’s room.

“Never mind about that,” said Katie. “What do we do now? We’re trapped in here.”

“My orders, as well as Yinli’s, are to stay put,” said Orichalcum.

“Ugh!” Katie was disappointed they didn’t mount a rescue after all that Katie had done (“You didn’t do shit,” Orichalcum snarked. Super rude). They just wanted her to stay put?! Just let the CEDEF investigate as they liked? What was that going to achieve? They should do something!

Katie didn’t really know what, but they should do something.

The following days were a mixture of anxiety and boredom. The other staff were all on edge too. Only one of them (the old housekeeper Giulia) was allowed to leave at all, to get groceries and stuff, and she was accompanied by a guard at all times.

There wasn’t any internet, the house telephone had been disconnected and any cell phones and pagers had been confiscated. So really the only thing to do in the house was to eat and sleep, and maybe watch whatever was on the local TV channel.

Sleep often came with nightmares, these days. She’d close her eyes, and all she’d see would be an inferno of orange flame.

Food, too, was a bit hit or miss with Katie at the moment, because the whiff of any kind of charred meat would remind her of the smell of Federico’s burning flesh.

As much as she hated to admit it, Katie would probably have gone crazy if not for the company of Yinli (she remembered his name now), and even Orichalcum.

Orichalcum kinda had resting bitch face most days, but Katie learned over the past few days that she probably wasn’t mean on purpose, just doing her job. She was the one keeping in contact with the Varia during their enforced lockdown, in between scrubbing toilets and vacuuming the curtains.

Yinli was like the one saving grace out of this entire shitshow. He was pretending to be the cook on staff, so he was responsible for everyone’s meals and single-handedly kept everyone’s spirits up with his culinary talents. It made him very popular with the rest of the villa’s staff. Honestly, Katie thought he was wasted in the Varia.

“You can’t just eat salad,” said Yinli, after witnessing Katie’s lack of appetite. “You’ll waste away. Anything in particular you miss from home I could make? I’m not that great at baking, just so you know.”

Katie knew Yinli meant her family home at the main Bellini compound, where the matronly cook would make her little petit fours, or the regional version of nougat. But Katie was suddenly hit by a strong wave of homesickness for her real home. There were a lot of things she hadn’t had since she transmigrated.

As Yinli was Chinese, it kinda reminded her of Panda Express…

“Orange chicken?”

Yinli frowned. “Like… orange peel chicken?” he ventured. “The spicy Szechuan dish?”

“No! It’s not spicy…” How did Yinli not know about orange chicken? Katie had to describe and explain the dish to him, which only seemed to confuse him further.

“So, like sweet and sour pork, but chicken,” he concluded.

“That’s not it at all,” said Katie, but she still ate what Yinli ended up making. It was pretty good, for something that still wasn’t orange chicken.

“Well, at least it made you smile,” said Yinli.

“Seriously?” muttered Orichalcum from where she was hunched over her radio equipment in a corner, sounding disgusted (though Katie noted she was inhaling her portion).

“Hey, she’s rich, pale-skinned, and pretty, my mother would approve,” replied Yinli.

Wait, he was hitting on her?

“Not interested!” she told him, though the attention was flattering and made her feel a bit better about herself.

“That’s okay,” said Yinli, smiling and seemingly unbothered by Katie’s rejection. “A man should make a name for himself first, I understand.”

That wasn’t the point at all, but Katie was grateful for the distraction regardless.

The uneasy tension mixed with ennui continued for what felt like months, though in truth it was more like a week. Katie just wanted to scream all the time, or go on one of those ‘Cloud rampages’ people used to write about in their fics (she didn’t even know if she could, it just sounded like it would feel so satisfying).

Eventually though, something happened.

“They’ve pulled back half their personnel,” said Orichalcum, after she’d burst into Katie’s room with a vacuum cleaner.

“That’s good right?” said Katie, for once not minding the intrusion. “Does that mean we can break out?”

“That’d be a great way to convince everyone of your guilt,” said Orichalcum. “No, it just means something’s happened to divert their attention.”

Katie wondered what would be more important than the death of a Vongola heir.

Orichalcum shrugged when Katie asked. “Aureus said Ottavio made some kind of huge ruckus up north. Maybe it’s that.”

Ugh, maybe he was doing the weapons smuggling thing. Katie just knew he was shady.

She didn’t really think too much of it, until the next day when there was a disturbance outside. Katie pulled back her curtains to peer out her window, only to see two men trying to break through the guard at the entrance. Orichalcum barged in shortly after.

“Can you at least knock?” complained Katie.

Orichalcum ignored her protest. “Some people are trying to get through the guards. I think I recognise them – they’re Federico’s Guardians. Could be trouble. Yinli and I can’t break cover, so good luck.”

“Wait what?” But Orichalcum had already vanished, just as she heard the front door burst open. Katie ran out of her room and looked over the upstairs railing to see what was going on.

“Hey you can’t just—” Jacopo and the other Bellini men in the foyer were knocked back by a sweep of a quarterstaff, held by a tanned man with a shock of wild black hair. The other intruder was a thin redheaded man, who grabbed Jacopo by the collar.

“Where’s that fucking bitch who murdered Federico?” he demanded.

Katie was really pissed at all these people doing whatever they wanted in her space. She wished she had her daggers, but Iemitsu’s lackeys had confiscated all the weapons in the house. Looking around, she grabbed a decorative vase from a nearby stand and threw it down on top of the redhead guy’s head, hoping it didn’t hit Jacopo.

It shattered on top of the man, staggering him, and Jacopo was able to push him away and shove his head into the side of a table, knocking him out.

“Get the hell out of my house!” yelled Katie.

“Pomelo!” exclaimed the guy with the crazy hair, then glared poisonously up at Katie before running up the stairs. “Bitch, I’ll kill you!”

Katie started pelting him with whatever she had around her, accelerating the force of throws with Cloud flames, but the man batted them away easily with his staff, which crackled with Lightning Flames.

Ugh, this was a bad matchup, especially when she didn’t have weapons.

As the man got closer, and closer, backing her into one of the rooms, Katie could see his bloodshot eyes, and the dark circles underneath. Was this what losing a Sky did to someone? Katie doubted he was sane anymore.

Then something crashed through the window and kicked the Guardian in the face. It was another man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, with Asian features and long green hair pulled into a low ponytail. There was a sheathed katana in his hand.

Why were all these men coming into her house and breaking all her shit?!

“Mora,” said the new arrival. “That’s enough.”

“You’re a fucking traitor, Nashi,” accused the crazy guy, Mora, clambering to his feet. “You never cared about Federico, and now you’re siding with this bitch? Maybe you were working for Xanxus all along, huh?!”

“You’re obstructing the CEDEF’s work,” said Nashi. “That’s not helping the investigation.”

“If you won’t avenge Federico, I will!” screamed Mora, and reached for his quarterstaff, but was blocked by Nashi’s sheathed sword. Nashi seemed completely unfazed by Mora’s crackling green Flames.

“You know you can’t defeat me,” said Nashi. “Go.”

Was Katie a bad person for thinking Nashi was cool … and kinda hot?

Mora stared hatefully at Katie for a few moments, then spat at Nashi’s feet and limped away.

Nashi waited till he was out of sight and out of earshot, then turned to Katie.

“If you are still able to contact the Varia,” said Nashi, “give this to Squalo.” He tossed something at Katie, which she caught out of reflex. It seemed to be a ball of wax, only as big as a pea, and Katie hoped she wouldn’t lose it.

Katie looked back up to ask what it was, but the man was already gone.

Chapter Text

Nashi, 30, former Cloud Guardian to Federico of the Vongola, formerly Ikemiya Naoshi of the Vongola East Asia Office, formerly Lynn Ko, 26, teacher

New life, new beginning, or so it was supposed to be.

Funny how the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. It all circled back, even if Lynn was in an alternate universe.

The office politics, the annoying coworkers, the well-meaning but exasperating boss who kept pushing them into situations they did not appreciate, the entitled man-children… they were just the same thing in a different package. People were people, no matter which universe, which meant they were quite often awful.

The male body was new though. Lynn didn’t quite mind – they’d never felt all that feminine, in their past life, and often joked with their friends that they wished their uterus would just disappear. The change still caught Lynn flat-footed sometimes, particularly the facial hair and the morning wood, but otherwise Lynn had no complaints.

This body, ‘Naoshi’, was an OC Lynn had created, part of an escapist fantasy they’d thought up in between lesson plans and marking. Lynn had based Naoshi’s appearance on a male version of Sailor Pluto (just because she was Lynn’s favourite senshi), and had originally intended for him to be distantly related to the putative Hibari clan (to which the canon Hibari Kyoya was popularly imagined to belong).

Well, the ‘Naoshi’ Lynn replaced was still (very) distantly related to said Hibari clan (which did exist), just completely estranged from it. Instead, Naoshi’s parents worked for the regional office of the Vongola Family.

Yes, that Vongola.

After the untimely expiration of teenage Naoshi’s parents (what was a SI-OC without a suitably traumatic backstory?) and the near-death experience that (presumably) led to Lynn taking his place and conveniently accessing Dying Will Flames, Naoshi’s guardianship passed to his parents’ boss, the head of the East Asia Office, Ercole of the Vongola.

Ercole, a jolly-looking, retirement-aged relative of Timoteo’s, decided that Naoshi needed a change of pace, and transferred them into a new school, where they found themselves classmates with the wrong Sawada.

Lynn gave up on understanding the timeline there and then.

According to Ercole, the Sawada family had been loosely affiliated with the Vongola East Asia office since the reconciliation of the main Vongola line with Primo’s descendants in the ‘70s. The family had shrunk considerably after two world wars and various accidents (or not-accidents), and now consisted solely of Sawada Iemitsu and his widowed mother.

The Vongola were quite invested in the preservation of Primo’s line, so they did make sure the two were cared for. Lynn had a job to that effect – they were to keep an eye on Iemitsu during school.

Lynn could tell wily old Ercole had seen an opportunity: Iemitsu clearly had access to his Sky Flames at that age, and was running around with a few other boys Lynn suspected were of various Flame designations. Just missing a Cloud, very conveniently for Naoshi.

Iemitsu was an extroverted sort of person, and frankly quite exhausting to be around. Still, he had a certain magnetic charm, and was fairly popular at school. Lynn found themselves being gradually drawn into his circle, despite having serious misgivings about being in the company of so many rowdy teenagers.

That period had been Lynn’s own, surreal version of a Daily Life Arc. They trained, studied, occasionally played bodyguard to Ercole (who had a good head for business but had zero sense of self-preservation), and had inadvisable teenage adventures with Iemitsu and his gang.

Then Timoteo, the heir-apparent to Vongola at the time, had stopped by on a tour of Vongola’s overseas offices, and invited Iemitsu to visit him at HQ. Driven by his insatiable thirst for adventure, and at any rate, doomed to a life in the mafia, Iemitsu accepted.

He started off spending a week of summer at HQ, but every year Iemitsu would stay away longer and longer, until after high school he seldom returned to Japan at all. Lynn had no idea what went down in Italy, but each time Iemitsu did reappear his IQ seemed to have dropped an additional 10 points, his laugh became louder and more obnoxious, and he pushed his formerly close circle of friends further and further away.

There’d been a brief reconciliation when Iemitsu invited the group of them to his wedding (to poor deluded Nana, who was barely out of high school), but went right back to being a flake thereafter. He didn’t even come back when his wife became pregnant, perhaps trusting his ageing mother to take care of her.

Lynn had wondered, at first. if he had some misguided notion about protecting his friends and family from the Vongola.

“He has the bloodline, and enough raw power to rival Timoteo on a good day,” said Ercole, when Lynn finally complained one day. “That is a threat as much as an asset.”

Was that why Iemitsu played the buffoon? Refused to acknowledge any Guardians? Did the Ninth place him as head of the CEDEF to put him out of the inheritance, or had Iemitsu volunteered? Whose idea had it been (or rather, would it be) to seal Tsuna?

Lynn didn’t know if they bought that line of reasoning completely, but it was probably as good an explanation as they were going to get. Their group of friends all drifted apart after that, though there was an unspoken agreement to keep an eye on the elderly Mrs. Sawada and Iemitsu’s hapless wife.

The others seemed to have everything in hand, and there wasn't anything left in Japan for Lynn, so when Ercole finally decided to retire later that year, they went with him back to Italy.

“Why are you here?” demanded Iemitsu, when Lynn had shown up with Ercole to a Family event one day. “You were supposed to protect Nana!”

“I don’t recall making any promises to you,” said Lynn, “and you shouldn’t assume the same of the others.” After all, it wasn’t like Iemitsu had made any promises to them, either.

In hindsight, that incident marked the beginning of the end.

Ercole had his children and grandchildren with him now he was back in Italy, so he didn’t really need Lynn much. Lynn spent some time as security detail for various Vongola family members, and earned a reputation for being the stoic, dependable sort. None of it was particularly difficult or even dangerous work, which was the way Lynn preferred it.

Lynn had perhaps been the most content when they were tutoring/babysitting Xanxus. He’d been a difficult student, still feral from the streets, and the other tutors hated him. The Ninth had hoped a native speaker could help him with the Japanese language, and Ercole had helpfully volunteered Lynn (or well, he’d tried to volunteer Iemitsu first, but he’d made himself conveniently unavailable due to Tsuna’s birth). It really wasn’t that much different from wrangling misbehaving children in their past life, and Lynn found the familiar work calming despite the boy practically spitting fire every time he was addressed. In general, Lynn thought he was a good kid, just traumatised from living in the slums, and derived satisfaction from seeing his improvement.

It came as a bit of a surprise when the Ninth, perhaps impressed with Lynn’s knack with wayward children, asked if they would be a Guardian to his son Federico.

Lynn hadn’t paid much attention to the Vongola heirs, knowing they would eventually die (Lynn found that they didn’t much care – it wasn’t like they knew the men personally).

Enrico was just kind of coasting along, not doing anything notable, but also not behaving badly either. As the eldest he had the highest chance of inheriting, so he didn’t need to do much. Massimo seemed uninterested in Vongola business as a whole, more interested in making the next generation with his pretty new wife.

Federico, however, well, he was a piece of work.

A fair bit younger than his two older brothers, Federico had been spoiled as a child, then had gotten in with the wrong crowd. The Ninth had expressly forbidden Federico from choosing Guardians amongst his friends and associates, and had instead assigned Mora and Pomelo, hoping that they might be good influences on him.

Sadly, Pomelo was too spineless, and Mora too eager to please, and so the Ninth had to look for another piece of tape to slap on the problem.

And that was how Lynn reluctantly became the babysitter to three grown men.

Federico was fascinated at first, and even showed Lynn off to his friends (because men never grew out of thinking katana were cool, apparently).

Lynn, on their end, just wanted to do their job, but grew steadily more disillusioned over the years. While drinking and partying were valid ways to network, Lynn found Federico’s social circle to be quite distasteful. Federico’s ‘friends’ had introduced him to the pleasures of women and gambling, among other vices (Lynn had also half-expected drugs, but thankfully no one would try plying a Vongola with those things in Vongola territory). Lynn spent a lot of time rescuing women from Federico’s unwanted advances, and dragging Federico out of parties that got too wild.

“I answer to the Ninth, not you,” Lynn had told Federico bluntly, after he’d shoved a decanter of dubious liquid into Lynn’s hand and tried to order them to stop being such a wet blanket.

What little trust between them degraded rapidly after that. The last straw had been when Federico tried something on them that felt like some kind of hypnotism, in an effort to persuade Lynn not to report his most recent misbehaviour to the Ninth. Uncaring of Mora and Pomelo’s shouts of alarm, Lynn had slammed Federico into the wall.

“If you do that again,” said Lynn, feeling violated, and far angrier than they’d ever been in either of their lives, “I’ll kill you, and then kill myself before your father can kill me.”

They decided then and there that they’d leave Federico to his fate, consequences be damned.

The three idiots started going behind Lynn’s back after that, but Lynn still watched them when they could. They noticed when Enrico’s pretty little Mist started visiting. They noticed when Federico started plotting with his ‘friends’. They told all of this to the Ninth, but he didn’t seem to think much of it.

And so Enrico died, just like in canon.

Massimo almost died, too, in the canon way, but didn’t, in the end. Lynn found that a little weird, but thought that maybe their memory of canon events was just patchy. It wasn’t like they could just check the fandom wiki.

Lynn, however, did figure that something was seriously up after the altercation at Xanxus’s birthday dinner. They’d not been in the dining hall itself, but they’d seen Federico stumble out clutching his face. Later, they spotted Iemitsu’s people putting a drape over what looked like a suspiciously human-shaped block of ice, then wheeling it away. Lynn pretended not to have seen anything (an essential skill no matter the workplace) and instead listened dispassionately to the Ninth’s frankly awful cover-up plan, all the while thinking about Xanxus and how things had veered off the canon trajectory.

(Out of curiosity, Lynn kept their eyes and ears open, and started piecing things together.)

That was the last time Lynn ever saw Federico. His Guardians were not told where he would be going, nor permitted to visit him in seclusion, though Mora and Pomelo did try. When he died, burnt down to his bones like Lynn remembered, they didn’t even know until a few days after the fact.

Mora and Pomelo had been inconsolable and almost hysterical in their grief, but Lynn felt…mostly nothing. Relief, perhaps. Exhaustion. Some guilt. But mostly nothing.

Then some idiot leaked the involvement of some Varia girl, which sent Federico’s fruit salad duo haring off to avenge him.

Lynn was originally going to just leave them to it, but the Varia mention got them thinking about Xanxus, that angry little boy who had watched them draw pictographs to help him learn kanji, now just 16 and trapped in unmelting ice (and he hadn’t even done anything to earn it this time). While they’d heard Ottavio had opportunistically usurped the Varia in Xanxus’s absence, Squalo should be around. They were even acquainted (Lynn had lost to Squalo, humiliatingly, in a duel, when the latter was just 11).

One last thing then, thought Lynn. One last thing, no matter if it worked or not. Then at least Lynn could say they tried to do something during their time in this universe.

After, Lynn holed back up in their room at the Iron Fort, and started packing up. They weren’t entirely surprised when Iemitsu showed up.

“Thanks for stopping them, Naoshi,” Iemitsu said in Japanese, eying the piles of stuff that Lynn had sorted into ‘discard’ and ‘give away’. They weren’t really planning to keep anything.

Lynn continued what they were doing, not looking up. “Oh? I thought I might be too boldly interfering with your plans, consigliere.” They used the regional variant of Italian, because Iemitsu had once sharply reprimanded them for using Japanese in earshot of the Italians, and Lynn wasn’t above a bit of pettiness.

“Nao,” Iemitsu whined. It’d not been cute when Iemitsu was a teenager, and now it was even more disconcerting to hear a full grown man whine like a petulant teenage girl.

To preserve their sanity, Lynn sighed and switched languages. “You must admit that it would’ve been a tidy way of dealing with things,” they said. “Have Federico’s Guardians take out his suspected killer. Poetic justice, nice and clean.”

“You have no idea what kind of chaos that would cause,” said Iemitsu (that was Iemitsu alright, never explaining anything because ‘you wouldn’t understand’). “But no, I didn’t reduce the guard on purpose. Something came up, and we’re a bit shorthanded.”

Of course, Iemitsu stopped just short of an apology.

“Is that all you’re here for?” asked Lynn. They were so tired.

“So cold as always,” said Iemitsu, with false cheer. “Can’t a guy check on how his friend’s doing?”

“I’m fine,” said Lynn.

“Take a break, after Federico’s funeral,” said Iemitsu. Word must have gotten out, then, if they were planning a funeral. “I’ll put in a word for you.”

“Isn’t that a given?” asked Lynn. “I’m out of a job, after all.”

“You could go back to the Japan office. Mamoru and the others are still in Namimori, aren’t they?”

And just pretend nothing had changed? Lynn didn’t think they could do that, and so did not reply.

“Well, think about it,” said Iemitsu.

Just as he turned to leave, Lynn remembered something. The whole… Flood of Blood thing … that was soon, wasn’t it? They weren’t sure when. But how to even bring it up…

“Mitsu-san,” they called after Iemitsu. Iemitsu paused and turned around, but Lynn’s words stuck in their throat.

“...Please be careful,” was all they managed to say. Iemitsu gave them a jaunty wave, and left, closing the door behind him.

Lynn sighed and continued sorting through their belongings. One last thing.

They met with Squalo on a rocky cliff by the sea, one of the few quiet places Lynn could escape to when they had a chance. They hadn’t been back since becoming Federico’s Guardian, though.

Squalo held up the little strip of paper that had been sealed in the wax ball that Lynn had given the Varia girl. “Bit antiquated, isn’t it?” He’d certainly grown up from when Lynn had seen him last, taller and broader. He looked tired, but his eyes were sharp and eager.

“I was hoping one of your people would have to deliver it the traditional way,” said Lynn. In ancient China, such secret messages would be swallowed by messengers for safekeeping, then retrieved through … natural digestive processes.

Squalo barked a harsh, grating laugh. “Ha! We’re better than that,” he said. “So? What do you want? Another duel? You’ll lose.”

“Tell me to my face,” said Lynn, clasping their hands behind their back. “Did the Varia have anything to do with Federico’s death?”

Squalo’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “I’ve already said this to Sawada, but I swear on the Varia’s honour that we have never ordered a hit on him.”

That was an interesting way to word it.

Squalo must have noticed Lynn’s scepticism, because he added, “I’ll swear it on my sword too, if that works better for you.”

“I don’t particularly care,” said Lynn with a sigh. “I just wanted to know.”

“But that’s not all you wanted to talk about,” guessed Squalo.

Lynn looked out over the water. “This is just a guess, but you do know what really happened to Xanxus, yes?”

Squalo’s silence suggested he did.

“I’ll not beat around the bush, then,” they continued. “You probably know that there are catacombs under the Iron Fort. They connect to tunnels that serve as an escape or supply route in times of emergency.”

“Yeah, they were used during the wars,” said Squalo. Lynn couldn’t see his face at the moment, but there was clear suspicion in Squalo’s tone.

“Recently, a couple of the side tunnels have been closed up, supposedly for safety reasons.” Lynn turned to meet Squalo’s eyes. “This happened sometime in October.”

Disbelief surfaced in Squalo’s expression, swiftly replaced by anger and a little hope as he digested this information. “... Are you sure?”

“Take it or leave it,” Lynn replied, feeling a bone-deep weariness. “I’m sure you have ways to confirm if I’m telling the truth.”

“What I don’t understand,” said Squalo, “is what you’ll get out of telling me this. Why, and why now?”

Lynn shrugged. “Federico is dead, and my task is complete,” they said. “There is nothing holding me back from doing what I want. The worst they can do is kill me.”

“I don’t get it,” said Squalo, tilting his head at them, as if evaluating a particularly interesting puzzle. “But I’ll take it.”

After Squalo left, Lynn stood on the very edge of the cliff, and contemplated the sea.

Chapter Text

Shamal al-Hakim, 27, ‘Trident Shamal’, freelance hitman and unlicensed physician

Shamal had never worked so hard in his life.

First it had been that godforsaken mission in the middle of the night where that bastard Ottavio had squeezed every ounce of use out of him (last minute illusions? Cleaning up after Ottavio’s shit aim? Improvisational surgery on an eldritch abomination? Why not build a rocket to space while he was at it? Oh, and then the bloody Vindice). Then he was abducted to a country villa somewhere in the sticks and forced to play paediatrician to a dozen snot-nosed brats.

At least Ottavio had paid him as promised, recompensing him for all the jobs he’d cancelled on Shamal’s behalf, and at least he wasn’t doing all this work on his own. Shamal hated to admit it, but having someone to talk shop with and bounce professional ideas off of was pretty nice, and something he didn’t get to do often.

Lugh, who apparently used to head Varia Medical, was a very skillful professional. Shamal had thought the creepy little kid was done for, back at the Estraneo base, but somehow they’d managed. Resolutely not paying attention to the boy’s evil red eye, Shamal turned the machine that had been replacing the function of his heart and lungs back on, then Lugh had quite literally reanimated the body with Sun Flames and restarted his heart. With very slow and careful work, they then successfully weaned the boy off the machine, all without permanently damaging anything (honestly a miracle). Even discounting the Sun Flames, Lugh’s surgical techniques were nothing to sneeze at. Shamal was very impressed and slightly jealous.

“Where did you train?” Shamal asked him during some downtime at the Biscione headquarters. Lugh seemed outwardly grumpy, but Shamal had learned that his temporary colleague was actually quite affable as long as you didn’t waste his time.

“Messina,” said Lugh. “I started late, though, and didn’t finish. But I think experience counts for more, especially with all the Flame nonsense that goes down in the mafia. There’s not really anywhere you can learn that sort of thing in a standardised way, and the Families don’t share knowledge.”

That was true. Shamal had to suffer through all his diseases on his own before he figured out how to control them. Even now, his treatments for Flame maladies were one half experience, one quarter conjecture, and the rest gut feeling and prayers.

“If you ask nicely, the Varia boys will let you try all kinds of stuff, especially if it might get them a cool new scar,” added Lugh, sounding gruffly fond. “Also, I taught Lussuria – that’s the next Head of Medical – everything I know, so you can ask him to show you a few things, once you’re there. Libitina’s also quite brilliant, she has this theory –”

Well, good to know there were actual women in the Varia, but –

“I’m not joining the Varia!” protested Shamal.

Lugh rolled his eyes. “You might as well,” he said. “Tavo takes care of his people.”

Well, it sure hadn’t felt like it during his conscription!

Frankly, Shamal could’ve probably just left. Ottavio was very busy with his work (as well as dealing with the little red-eyed monster that had started stalking him, for some reason), and Bluebird was stuck helping him. Tyr and Lugh didn’t seem to care what he did (though Lugh did appreciate the help), so no one was really watching Shamal. Yet, for some reason, Shamal stayed.

Was this some form of Stockholm Syndrome?

(Or maybe it was the local cheese. Yeah, probably the cheese. And the butter, which they got fresh from the surrounding farms every morning. Dammit, Shamal was putting on weight.)

At any rate, he avoided thinking about it, and continued to help Lugh with his work. He promptly regretted it when flu season hit the Biscione like a gale-force hurricane.

Children were just nasty little plague incubators by default, and the Estraneo rescuees were extra susceptible by dint of having lived in isolation for so long, so the disease spread like wildfire, hitting adults and children alike.

They had a literal scare with the creepy Mist boy (whose name was apparently Mirco). He’d been weak from his recent brush with death, and apparently got so sick Lancia had come running to him and Lugh in a panic.

Shamal opened the door to the room the boy rested in – only to find a portal to hell. The room had become a massive cavern, where one moment it was blizzarding and blisteringly cold, and the next the very ground was on fire, with flames shooting up to the ceiling. Indistinct figures screamed soundlessly as they stumbled through the ice and fire, covered in bursting boils that oozed blood and pus. Just standing at the door, Shamal felt like his skin would split open from the searing heat and cutting winds. He could not take a single step into the room.

“Damned illusions!” exclaimed Lugh. “They’re Real Illusions, too, so they’ll hurt. Should’ve just removed that eye.”

Would that obviously cursed eyeball have let them, though, wondered Shamal. It might have even been the one thing keeping its host alive. Suddenly, the anti-Flame mechanism at the Estraneo base made a lot more sense.

Thankfully, Auntie and Ottavio came running up, and together through some complicated Mist fuckery (again, not Shamal’s forte) managed to destabilise the illusion enough for them to approach. Shamal and Lugh quickly checked the boy over – he was running a very high fever, and probably delirious.

“Sponge bath, antipyretics, fluids, maybe sedation,” decided Lugh, which Shamal agreed with. As they worked, Ottavio talked quietly to the boy in some sort of country dialect, which seemed to soothe him. The hellscape, which had gone from a terrifyingly tangible thing to flickering images and a general feeling of dread, faded further into mere ghostly projections. Still very creepy, though.

“Do they know each other or something?” Shamal asked Lugh.

Lugh shrugged. “Not my story to tell.”

Oh, come on!

After that bit of excitement, it was back to dealing with the regular, non-infernal occurrences of influenza, which meant lots and lots of disgustingly snotty kids. Shamal knew he was in for it the moment a toddler coughed in his face. With his immune system having less integrity than wet tissue paper, the flu bug hit him like a baseball bat to the skull, laying him out in bed for what felt like an eternity.

Lugh had checked on him once and asked if he needed a drip (Shamal had declined), but everyone else seemed to be busy. Unexpectedly, Auntie came by to visit, bringing with her a terrifyingly pungent brew that gave off literal fumes of something very, very spicy.

Auntie looked at him knowingly, setting the cup on the small table beside his cot. The vapours were making Shamal a bit lightheaded.

“The boys all hate it, but it works a treat, I promise,” she said. “It’s ginger, honey, and lemon, with a little bit of spice.”

‘A little bit’ sounded like a gross understatement.

“You seem to have known Tyr and the others for a long time,” Shamal noted, hoping to distract her.

Auntie looked fondly nostalgic. “Yes, Tijs, Teo’s father, was my old Sky, so I raised Teo after his parents were killed,” she said. “Tavo’s been with us since he was about 8, so I watched him grow up, too. I didn’t raise Max, but I’ve known him for almost thirty years now.”

What a saint.

“You certainly don’t look old enough to have raised two young boys to adulthood!” said Shamal fawningly, because all women deserved to be flattered, and also because he still had some faint hope he would be spared the experience of imbibing that concoction.

Auntie just laughed and watched Shamal expectantly until he choked down the horrific mixture. (It was eye-wateringly spicy, but did clear his sinuses.)

Still, it was …sort of nice, to be looked after.

One morning, at the breakfast table, after Shamal had barely gotten back on his feet, Ottavio told him to pack up, as they would be returning to Varia HQ soon.

“What’s that got to do with me?” scoffed Shamal. “I”m not –” He stopped short as Tyr very slowly and deliberately put down the newspaper he was reading to look at him.

He would not be intimidated, damn it!

Tyr continued staring, looking darkly amused.

“Er, I mean, there’s a scheduled appointment I have to attend to, first,” amended Shamal quickly. “So I can’t go with you, so sorry.”

“Ah, that family you used to work for, yes?” said Ottavio. “They’re in the Milan area, not all that far away, so it won’t take too much time, I hope.”

“Eh, who knows,” hedged Shamal. Maybe he could stay there long enough that Ottavio would have to leave without him. Surely Don Carlo wouldn’t mind!

When he did try to leave the Biscione, however, Ottavio appeared out of thin air, blocking his exit. For once, the man wasn’t wearing his Varia uniform, had slicked back his hair and put on a pair of shades instead of glasses, in some kind of low-effort disguise attempt.

“What are you doing?” asked Shamal suspiciously.

“Obviously, I’m coming with you,” said Ottavio. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

Who was responsible for getting him into all that trouble in the first place?!?

Unable to shake him off, Shamal arrived at the Anderloni’s family estate, tormenter in tow. The staff were expecting him (Shamal had called ahead; he wasn’t a barbarian), and at any rate Felice was due for one of his twice-yearly checkups (to make sure he hadn’t inherited Lavina’s fatal illness), so he was let in without a fuss.

The majordomo of the main house, Luigi, did pause at the sight of Ottavio, though.

“I had not realised your…preferences… had changed, Dr. Shamal,” said Luigi, eyeing Ottavio.

“What?!” Shamal was horrified. Okay, so, he might have a track record of bringing women with him to impress them with the opulence of the estate, especially during the time when he was the live-in physician, but he’d never brought a man! “No, he’s just–”

“His bodyguard,” supplied Ottavio, with the oiliest smile known to mankind.

Shamal privately scoffed. As if he’d ever hire a bodyguard who couldn’t even shoot straight.

“Very good, sir,” said Luigi politely, but Shamal could tell Luigi did not believe him one bit, and that this ‘news’ would spread throughout the house in less than an hour, goddammit. “We’ll have the young master meet you at the usual place, Dr. Shamal.”

Shamal hoped they wouldn’t run into the Don’s wife along the way. The mistress of the house had some misunderstanding that Shamal had been the one to introduce Lavina to Carlo (if anything, the only reason why Don Carlo trusted him was because of dear sweet Lavina’s recommendation), and had always been extremely unpleasant to him (Shamal having been hired for the dedicated care of Lavina’s son didn’t help matters either).

Thankfully, they made it without incident to a bright airy room with a daybed that Shamal had habitually used as an examination room. Lavina’s boy was already there waiting for him, looking distinctly green around the gills. He perked up slightly when he saw Shamal.

“Dr. Shamal!” greeted Felice happily. He looked curiously at Ottavio. “Is this your brother? I thought you only had sisters.”

“Sisters?” asked Ottavio, amused.

“Yeah, Dr. Shamal has over sixty sisters,” said Felice, sounding impressed. “Sometimes he brings them home!”

“No, no, he’s my bodyguard,” said Shamal hurriedly, shooing Ottavio out of the room before Felice could spill anything else. “I need to examine my patient, get lost.”

Once Ottavio had been chased out, Shamal had Felice sit on the daybed and took out his stethoscope from his doctor’s bag.

“Kid, you’re looking a bit peaky,” he commented, fitting the earpieces in and placing the resonator against the boy’s chest. “Did you get sick recently? The flu’s been going around.”

Felice shook his head. “My stomach keeps hurting,” he said. “I took the medicine you gave me but it stopped working.”

That set off alarm bells in Shamal’s head.

“Okay, I’ll see if I can find you something stronger,” he said, deliberately casual. “Does Bianchi still like to cook?”

“Yes, she practises a lot,” said Felice. “She bakes me good luck cookies every time I have a recital.”

For God’s sake! He’d warned Don Carlo!

“I’m playing later at Papa’s party tonight, will you come see?” asked Felice hopefully, unaware of Shamal’s inner turmoil.

“Uh, I’ll try,” said Shamal. “Let’s just … try and get your stomach settled.”

As Shamal finished up and Felice left the room, there was an odd flicker on the edge of his vision, but Shamal chalked it up to still feeling a bit off from his bout with the flu.

Shamal generally had a standing invitation to whatever soirees the Don held at the house, so he showed up to that evening’s gathering, mostly to keep an eye on Felice. Ottavio, still playing bodyguard, had melted into the background somewhere, no doubt poking his nose into everything. The Anderloni Family was one of the bigger mafia groups out here, after all, and practically neighbours with the Biscione.

As Felice stumbled towards the piano for the much anticipated recital, Shamal’s heart sank. Bianchi’s Storm Flame-laced cooking had gotten stronger, and had clearly burned right through the activated charcoal he’d loaded Felice up with in an attempt to stave off the poisoning. The music started off fairly normal, if agitated, then quickly took on a disturbing avant-garde flavour as Felice started to hallucinate.

The audience loved it, though, sick bastards.

Ottavio reappeared at Shamal’s shoulder. “You have some explaining to do,” he said sotto voce. He pulled Shamal into a quiet corner, leaning in uncomfortably close to prevent being overheard.

“Now, what’s going on?” he asked. “Is the boy ill?”

“It’s… a family matter,” said Shamal, not really willing to talk about it.

“His sister is poisoning him,” said a potted plant with a distinctly odd shimmer.

“Mirco, you’re supposed to be back at home,” sighed Ottavio, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Were you hiding in the boot of the car?”

“I was in the room with the doctor and heard the boy say his sister gives him cookies before his recitals,” said Mirco-the-potted-plant, ignoring Ottavio’s censure. “Then I saw the sister feeding him some, right before the party. Her father praised her and said she did well. Humans are truly deplorable beings.”

Why did it sound like he wasn’t counting himself in that category?!

“Oi, there’s something called patient confidentiality!” exclaimed Shamal. “And you can’t just listen in on people like that!”

“Yes, you could have been caught,” said Ottavio (that wasn’t the point!). “You’ve improved a lot working with Auntie, but your control still isn’t the best.”

The potted plant shrugged one waxy leaf. “There was only one person who had the same type of aura as me, but I stuck them inside a toilet.”

Shamal really hoped he meant ‘inside a bathroom’ and not ‘inside a toilet bowl’.

“Flame, not aura,” corrected Ottavio, then narrowed his eyes at Shamal.

“The child is being poisoned, on purpose,” he said slowly, “and you’d just leave him here?”

“He has family,” Shamal argued. “I can’t do anything!”

“We could just steal him,” reasoned Mirco. “You stole me.”

“What’s one more kidnapped kid, I guess,” muttered Ottavio, sounding resigned. Wait, what? Shamal was not on board with this.

“We steal him, and then kill everybody,” concluded plant-Mirco, being the delightful, well-adjusted child he was.

“Wait just a minute–” Shamal protested.

“We steal him and torch the mansion,” bargained Ottavio, which did not sound better at all.

“How about we just steal him?” suggested Shamal desperately.

In the end, they stole Lavina’s boy, and torched the estate’s Fazioli grand piano.

And, fearing the wrath of Don Carlo, who would most certainly place the blame on him for the kidnapping of his only son, Shamal joined the Varia.

Chapter Text

Superbia Squalo, 14, 14th Sword Emperor, Vice-Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

Squalo had been suspicious when he received a message from Federico’s Cloud Guardian, of all people. They’d met, and crossed swords, but that was all, and he barely knew the man. After checking the wax ball for tricks and possible poisons, he’d cracked it open to find a tiny strip of paper, which held only a time, date, and set of coordinates. At first, Squalo wondered if it had anything to do with the incident involving Federico’s Guardians at the fake-oracle’s holiday home. Maybe he wanted to challenge Squalo to avenge his Sky? Squalo thought it should prove to be an interesting distraction, at least.

Nashi had surprised him, in the end, coming forward to supply information about Xanxus’s whereabouts. Squalo had briefly considered that it might be a trap, but quickly discarded that thought. The man had looked very unwell, and had the solemn resoluteness of someone carrying out their last duties. Squalo even thought he might jump, when he turned back only to see Nashi standing on the edge of the cliff.

“He won’t die, at least not before Federico’s funeral,” said Mammon, who had come along as backup (because Squalo wasn’t stupid, and it wasn’t like the note had said he couldn’t bring someone) and had been observing from a distance. “He’s the overly responsible type.”

“I thought he and Federico didn’t get along,” reflected Squalo. It’d been a subject of gossip in the Vongola, back in the day, and had come up at school a few times, usually in discussions about how ‘difficult’ Clouds were. Garbage.

“Who knows,” shrugged Mammon, clearly uninterested, and threatened to charge him extra if they didn’t hurry home.

The fuss Federico’s Guardians made meant the cat was out of the bag regarding Federico’s death, and soon the entire mafia world would know the Vongola had lost another heir. The CEDEF still hadn’t seemed to decide whether they blamed Amaranth or not, and at any rate, were quite distracted. There was the hornet’s nest Ottavio had stirred up after somehow uncovering and completely destroying the remnants of the Estraneo (seriously, that had come way out of left field). In addition, some dumbass with more balls than sense had apparently been shooting into the residences of Vongola allies (as a prank or as intimidation, nobody knew). No one had been hurt, but obviously people were alarmed, and it had quite ruined the mood for Christmas. Add that to the fact that the Ninth was still poorly, and nobody on their end of Italy was having a good time.

Except maybe Squalo. And his fellow Guardians. Because finally, they had a lead. Fucking finally, they were getting somewhere. It was just a clue, but at least it was something.

Mammon and some of his most trusted personnel were investigating Nashi’s tip. So far, what Nashi said seemed to be true– there had been some ‘safety works’ carried out in October, and a few tunnels leading to former supply caches had been sealed off (they’d probably worked on multiple to muddy the waters). Working out which tunnels, where they were, and how to access them would take some time, especially if they didn’t want to tip off Vongola HQ.

Luss had suggested one of those remote controlled robots with cameras, which might be an option once they knew what the terrain would be like. Otherwise, Mammon or one of their Mists would have to go personally. Then the problem would be to get Xanxus out. Unless they could thaw him in there, they’d have to find some way to cart his frozen ass back to the castle. But it was too early to even think about that.

The wait was agonising, but they couldn’t rush things. Not now.

To distract himself, Squalo finally got round to talking to the veterans that had been around during Tyr’s tenure, hoping to a) ensure their skills were properly taught to others, and b) figure out what the hell was up with Ottavio and the rest of Tyr’s band of loons.

Luss had suggested he start with Libitina in Medical, as she was about Tyr’s age, and had been friends with one of Tyr’s deceased Guardians. She’d apparently had been around since before Tyr, back when the Varia hadn’t been quite so independent from Vongola HQ. She was pretty much done with her career by now, so Squalo would have to seize the opportunity while she was still around.

Libitina was a Rain like himself, and had short dark hair that was starting to show a bit of grey. She was surprised by Squalo approaching her, but willing to chat. Whatever she knew had already been recorded by Lussuria and taught to the other Rains, so they were good on that front. She’d also most definitely heard about Ottavio’s exploits in Northern Italy, probably from the diehard gossips returning home.

“I’m glad Tyr and the others got rid of those scum,” she said. “I would’ve jumped at the chance to be there.”

From Libitina’s story, Squalo deduced that anyone who’d been around six years ago for that first round against the Estraneo bore a serious grudge against that Family. Tyr himself had lost three Guardians; no wonder Ottavio had dropped everything to go after them, and Tyr and Lugh had been so ready to help. It hadn’t been the most professional thing to do, but Squalo felt it was certainly the Varia thing to do.

The other veterans said much the same thing: it was just one of those things that had to be repaid in blood, for the pride of the Varia if nothing else. Everyone seemed pleased that Ottavio had finished the job. And no, there were no other standing grudges/blood feuds/ long term conspiracies Squalo needed to know about (Squalo wasn’t so sure about that, but he’d believe it for now).

Fine, maybe Squalo was starting to feel some reluctant respect for The Fly.

He quickly reconsidered when piles of lifted documents and hard drives from the Estraneo started coming in with the runners. When was he going to have the time to go through all of this?! (“Delegate, squaletto, delegate,” reminded Luss, when Squalo almost drew his sword to shred everything to pieces.)

Ottavio had also sent an apology wheel of cheese. And a case of wine with a note that it was “for the Captain upon his return”.

“Why doesn’t the prince get any presents?” complained Bel.

Squalo rolled his eyes and ignored him. “The Fly’s got Trident Shamal in his clutches already, right?” he said to his three assistants, who were sorting through the pile. “Tell him to get his ass back here.”

Eventually, Ottavio returned from whatever the hell he was doing up north, looking mighty pleased with himself. Other than his HR lackey Bluebird, he brought with him one very harassed and reluctant-looking Trident Shamal, as well as two elementary school aged-children, of all things, and took all of them to Squalo’s office for some kind of meet and greet. Beside themselves with curiosity, Bel and Lussuria had also crammed themselves in the room, sizing up the newcomers.

Squalo had received reports from the Varia runners that Tyr and the others had rescued a bunch of kids from the Estraneo, of course, and that they were all various kinds of fucked up. The boy next to Ottavio probably took the cake, with one blood red eye that practically screamed ‘mad scientist experiment’. Instead of a pupil, the eye was inscribed with what looked like black ink. Squalo’s grasp of East Asian languages was comparatively poor, but he could read that the character said ‘four’ (four what, was what he wanted to know). The other one appeared mostly normal at first glance, with luminous green eyes and brown hair (which was very uneven and probably hastily dyed). He looked quite lost and unsure. Neither of the boys looked very healthy.

Squalo really hoped Ottavio had brought those brats back because they were promising potential assets for the Varia, and not because he’d suddenly had a midlife crisis and decided parenthood was the answer.

“Ah, let me introduce you,” said Ottavio, adjusting his glasses. “Gentlemen, these are Superbia Squalo, our Vice Captain,” here he indicated Squalo, then moved on to the others, “Lussuria, our head of Medical, and His Highness Prince Belphegor.”

He then gestured to Trident Shamal, who gave a half-hearted wave. “This is Dr. Shamal, whom you will know by reputation,” and then to the green-eyed boy, “and his ward Hayato.”

Huh. Squalo hadn’t heard that Trident Shamal had a kid.

Finally, Ottavio patted the head of the strange red-eyed boy, who was smiling like a good little axe murderer. “And this is Mirco of the Biscione, who is under my care.” Of course he’d have the creepy one.

“Oh, those two are adorable,” cooed Luss, the weirdo. “Are we keeping them?”

“Voi, we’re not a daycare!” protested Squalo.

Ottavio looked at Bel, then at Squalo, lifting an eyebrow. Aren’t we, his expression seemed to say. Squalo gave him a flat look.

“I thought it might be good for Belphegor to interact more with his peers,” Ottavio said instead.

“Hmm, it is good for his social development,” Luss agreed, clearly in it for the drama. Squalo gave him a betrayed look.

On his end, Belphegor was pretending not to look interested. Huh. Perhaps he had missed interacting with other kids. He only really hung out with Mammon, Luss, and himself, after all, and he’d been the youngest person in the castle (other than the children of the auxiliary staff) up till now.

“The prince will permit these peasants to attend upon him,” allowed Bel magnanimously.

The fake-brunet seemed a bit confused, but the red-eyed child gave Bel a taunting smirk that could only be interpreted as ‘you wish, peon’.

Insulted, Bel sent a knife flying at him – only for the boy to vanish into smoke.

Fucking Mists.

“Kufufufu, you don’t seem very princely,” said Mirco, re-materialising on the other side of Ottavio as the knife embedded itself into the wall. Ottavio didn’t even twitch, clearly used to the kid’s shenanigans.

“Better than a peasant with a pineapple for a head, ushishishishi,” was Bel’s very mature rejoinder.

If Squalo squinted a bit, the tuft of hair on the back of Mirco’s head did bring to mind a certain fruit…

This clearly hit a sore point, as the boy scowled and drew himself up. “Not a pineapple,” snarled Mirco, the shadows around him lengthening menacingly. Bel cackled and spun away as tendrils reached for him, tossing out a Storm Flame-laced blade that started eating away at the illusory constructs (and the carpet). Mist-boy retaliated with the same blade turned back against Bel, and Bel sent back ten more.

Something fell off a shelf and broke.

“Voi!!! Not in my office!” yelled Squalo, suddenly aware of all the paperwork that was in danger. “Ottavio, control your kid!”

“They’re just playing,” said Ottavio mildly, his smile never wavering. Yeah, and there were suddenly actual live vipers in the room now, what the fuck.

“You’re literally the only one who thinks that, you lunatic!” hissed Trident Shamal, voicing everyone’s thoughts. He had protectively pulled his wide-eyed ward to the back of the room, where Bluebird had formed a shield over them.

Just then, the door to the office slammed open, revealing the floating form of Mammon, who had probably come to investigate upon detecting unfamiliar Mist energies. The boy had already sensed them coming and swung around, meeting Mammon’s gaze head on.

“What is that,” said Mammon flatly, staring at the red-eyed little demon.

“What is that?” wondered said demon at the same time, regarding Mammon with an expression of fascinated delight.

“It’s an UMA!” declared Shamal’s ward, eyes sparkling.

Squalo could feel a headache developing. He wished Xanxus were here– he’d have found this funny, and then shot everyone because it was noisy.

The introductions were cut short, and the two underaged offenders were hauled off by Luss for a time-out (and probably a check-up, for the Misty medical curiosity). Bluebird led Shamal to HR to sign the employment contract and whatever onboarding paperwork nonsense The Fly got off on. Shamal’s boy went with him, with one last longing glance at Mammon the ‘UMA’, much to Mammon’s irritation.

With just Mammon, himself, and The Fly left, they could get down to business, at least. It was as good a time as any, so Squalo briefed Ottavio on the situation.

“Do you think your CEDEF contact might know anything about the tunnels?” asked Squalo.

“He’s previously said he didn’t know where Xanxus had been taken, but perhaps he might have heard something else of use,” Ottavio replied. “I’ll ask him. He’s not been contactable lately, but that’s not unusual during his assignments. I’ll try again.”

That didn’t sound promising, but perhaps they’d see.

The Fly then finally explained why he’d brought the kids to the Varia castle. Hayato was apparently the kidnapped son of some Milanese Don (“Are you fucking insane,” Squalo asked, deadpan). The kid was apparently being poisoned on a regular basis by Storm Flame- infused cooking and was probably only alive due to his own potpourri of Dying Will Flames (“We’re not really sure how many types he has, we keep finding more,” said Ottavio, which, what). Fine, a potential asset, then, but Squalo wondered why the doctor was so protective of him. A former patient he’d grown attached to?

As for the troublemaker Mirco, Squalo had already seen that he was a very strong and potentially versatile Mist. Ottavio, apparently, hoped for Mammon to take him on as a student.

“I don’t take apprentices,” said Mammon, but Squalo could sense they were at least a little bit interested.

“Auntie said the last time she saw this type of talent was… before,” said Ottavio. “He is too powerful for her. Croquant Bouche would not be able to handle him, either. It has to be you.”

Before?

“I am not as I was,” said Mammon, bitterness in their tone.

Ah. Before.

“You’re still the strongest Mist on the planet,” said Ottavio, shamelessly buttering them up. “And you have the experience.”

Squalo could tell Mammon was starting to waver. He said nothing, because it was Mammon’s decision, after all, and Mammon had always liked a challenge. It might even do them good to have a new project.

After some hemming and hawing and discussion of fees, Mammon grudgingly agreed to a trial period, and went with Ottavio to collect the brat and convey the news.

Squalo sighed and decided he might as well do some work. He was about to sit down at his desk, but quickly stopped himself at the sight of something crawling in his chair.

There were still fucking snakes in his office.

Chapter Text

Rue, ??, CEDEF Agent, formerly Andrew Ginting, 35, sales manager

Rue was really at his limit.

Between the ratty motels and the unpredictable hours required by his job, it’d been more than two months since Rue had had any decent sleep. His skin was itchy and marked with rows of bedbug bites, his eyebags could only be concealed by illusions at this point, and he hadn’t even dared to look closely at the state of his hair, preferring to keep it pinned up in a loose bun.

He wasn’t vain, exactly, and Mist Flames could technically fix anything, but Rue did rely on his appearance for work, and the current state of affairs was just not good for his self-esteem. This was especially the case since Rue had recently been trying to seduce a politician who’d been a bit of a thorn in Vongola’s side, to no avail. He had to wonder if it was because Rue looked and felt like trash, and it was somehow coming across to his target despite his liberal use of Mist tricks to cover his flaws.

Speaking of work, Rue hadn’t talked to anyone from CEDEF (or Vongola, for that matter) for ages. He still dutifully handed off reports and stolen documents at the designated dead drops, still received messages on his pager that basically just amounted to “RCV’D” or “PCD”, and still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of a familiar person since the last time he saw Ottavio.

This was very difficult for an extrovert like Rue.

He was even starting to miss the bitchy secretaries at CEDEF who called him a hussy behind his back.

So Rue was perhaps inordinately excited when he received a message on his pager instructing him to “CALL HQ IMMED”.

Abandoning the charity gala he’d crashed to get close to his target, Rue took on a more generic male appearance and slunk off to the nearest public phone, dialling the number of the CEDEF headquarters from memory.

“Cockle Construction, how can I help you?” Even the gratingly chirpy voice of the operator sounded pleasant to his ears, after so long. A real live person!

“R006, checking in,” said Rue cheerfully.

“R006, acknowledged, putting you through,” replied the operator, sounding a little taken aback by Rue’s enthusiasm. There was a brief pause and dial tone before the phone was picked up again.

“Rue, the Boss wants you back at HQ,” came the voice of Turmeric from the speaker.

“Hello to you too, Turmeric,” said Rue dryly. Turmeric and Oregano, despite their youth (Turmeric was about twenty, and Oregano was an infant who should be in high school), were so dull and uninteresting. Probably because just being in Iemitsu’s proximity sucked all the fun out of a person. “I’m assuming ASAP? I’m in the middle of the thing with Russo, do I proceed?”

“Let me check with Lal Mirch,” said Turmeric. There was some rustling and talking in the background. Sounded like Iemitsu wasn’t around, then, if Turmeric was consulting Miss Lal.

Surprisingly, it was Miss Lal’s childish, but decidedly no-nonsense voice she heard next. “Rue?”

“Miss Lal.” Rue immediately took on a respectful tone – you just didn’t mess around with Lal Mirch.

“I took a look at the list of assignments that–”(’that idiot’ was implied if not said)“ –Iemitsu gave you. Looks like you’ve completed most of them?”

“Yes ma’am,” confirmed Rue. “Just this current one with Russo, then the two in Naples.” He’d worked his ass off to try and finish before the new year, but that looked like it wasn’t happening.

“Good, those aren’t too important right now,” said Lal Mirch (ha, Rue just knew Iemitsu had just been giving him busywork). “If you want to finish your current job, do it. Just be back at HQ within 72 hours. There’s a lot we need to brief you on, and then you have a new job.”

“Acknowledged, see you at HQ,” said Rue, and the call ended after a grunt of agreement from Lal Mirch.

After stepping away from the phone booth, Rue lit up a cigarette and stood there smoking it for a while, thinking.

His current mark, codenamed ‘Russo’ (the politician’s name was not actually Russo, but because said politician was red-headed, and Iemitsu was pretty bad at naming anything, they called him Russo), had been under CEDEF monitoring for a while, but he was very cautious and no one had been able to get serious dirt on him. Rue had followed him all the way out to this relatively impoverished part of the province, hoping Russo would be a little easier to tackle away from his home ground, but either Rue was losing his touch or he was really immune to seduction, which was a pain.

While Rue really did have half a mind to just call it quits with this one, his annual bonus did depend on the number of successful missions he completed, and Rue was in the middle of saving up for an investment property…

One last shot, then.

He’d already cased the hotel and the private floor where Russo was staying, and knew that he’d had the surveillance of that floor cut for ‘privacy reasons’ (if that didn’t signal shady business, Rue didn’t know what else would). Checking his watch, Rue decided that Russo would probably not be back for a while due to the ongoing gala, so it was a good time to poke around.

As long as one dealt with the security goons posted outside, which hadn't been there the last time Rue had looked around the place. Was Russo back early? Rue kind of doubted it, as Russo tended to have at least four or five bodyguards with him, and there were only two here.

Rue decided to risk it.

While illusioned to avoid notice, Rue rubbed the black gem on one of the earrings Ottavio had given him, creating an illusion of a paparazzi-like person skulking around the floor with a camera. One of the guards narrowed his eyes and took the bait, stalking off in pursuit. One down.

For the other one, Rue made his walkie-talkie seem to crackle with an indistinct order. The remaining guard frowned and tried to adjust the frequency, unconsciously stepping a bit further away to try and pick up a better signal.

Rue ignored the lightheadedness from trying to hold so many separate illusions at once, and swiftly broke into the room with a credit card while the man’s back was turned, covering the noise with an extra loud crackle of static. He paused for a moment to catch his breath and slowly dissolve the illusions he’d been using as distractions, then quickly scanned the area.

It was a one-bedroom suite, with the entrance where he’d come in from opening out into the living area. Rue crept along the edges of the space, listening for any signs of activity.

The living area, kitchenette and bathroom were clear, and so was the private balcony. The bedroom door, however, was closed. Rue was about to go listen at the door when there was a sound at the front entrance. He hurriedly hid in a corner, making sure his illusion was still in place.

Just his luck. Russo had come back early.

“Did they bring what I wanted?” Rue heard Russo ask the men at the door. He sounded eager, and slightly impatient.

“Yes, sir, he’s… he’s in there.” There was a bit of hesitation in the reply, which was interesting. A ‘he’, who was talked about like an object… a male prostitute, perhaps? Possible blackmail material, promising (though Rue still felt like something was off, especially since Russo hadn’t shown any interest in his male guises either).

The hotel door closed, leaving Russo alone. He carelessly draped his jacket over the nearest chair, then strode to the bedroom, opening the door.

“Oh, aren’t you a pretty one?” From his hiding spot, Rue couldn’t quite see who was inside, before the door closed again.

Rue carefully snuck up to the door. He couldn’t quite make out what was being said, until Russo shouted, “Stop crying!”

The outburst was followed by a loud smack, and then the wail of what sounded like a child.

Oh for fuck’s sake! Yes, he’d wanted dirt on Russo, but not this kind of dirt!

Rue wracked his brain for the best course of action, torn between rushing in and giving that bastard the what-for and waiting a little longer for a better opportunity. Then, there was a thump from the room, the sound of something heavy like a body hitting the ground, and then Rue’s knees abruptly gave out from under him as he was hit by a wave of sudden exhaustion, where every movement felt like he was moving through molasses.

Rue had been around enough Rains to know what this was.

Rue bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, using the pain to keep him conscious, and pulled himself to his feet.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered to himself, flicking open the switchblade he kept in his pocket and opening the door.

He was greeted by the sight of Russo, half-undressed, collapsed on the floor. The man was bleeding from the head– he’d probably hit it on the nightstand or something on the way down.

And on the king-size bed, a young boy sat hunched over with a watery blue Flame on his brow, looking terrified. He scrambled backwards as their eyes met, opening his mouth to cry out, but shut it quickly as Rue shushed him, eyes on the switchblade in Rue’s hand.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” whimpered the boy, cowering. His Rain Flames surged, completely out of control, and Rue staggered a little.

“Hey, hey, calm down!” said Rue, shaking the haziness in his brain and trying to soften his tone. He eyed the body on the floor before folding his knife and putting it away. “See, I’m not here to hurt you. Are you injured?” There was a red mark on his cheek, probably where Russo had hit him.

The boy shook his head. As he hesitated, unsure, the pulses of Tranquility sputtered and faded. “Are you the police?” asked the little boy, his blue eyes wide and fearful. “I didn’t mean to be bad!”

Rue considered the body on the floor and carefully squatted down to check his pulse. Nothing. Oh well.

“No, I’m not the police,” said Rue. “Honestly, this bas-bad man deserved it, and it’s self-defence, you know?”

The boy blinked up at him, not expecting that response. He was still covered in tears and snot, but on a closer look, he seemed a bit familiar to Rue… Well, he could think about that later.

He smiled kindly at the boy. “Want to come with me?” he said.

It looked like the boy’s Flames had taken out the guards as well (looked like he was going to be quite a formidable Rain!), as they were all fast asleep. Rue skedaddled before they could stir, firmly keeping an illusion over himself and the boy until they got back to his shitty little motel.

After he got the boy cleaned up and settled, he shyly told him Rue his name, and Rue felt as if he’d been struck by lightning, finally remembering who he’d been reminded of.

The boy’s name was Basilio. Rain Flames. And he had the same light-brown/dark blond shade of hair, and enormous blue eyes. And taking Iemitsu’s lazy naming scheme into consideration… Rue was very likely looking at Basil, the CEDEF agent.

Was this some kind of behind-the-scenes canon event that resulted in Basil joining the CEDEF? Was there a secret in-universe Rue equivalent that would have replaced Rue’s role in this in canon?

Or maybe Rue was wrong? In the anime, didn’t Basil have to use pills to trigger Dying Will mode? Basilio had obvious Rain Flames, though… Perhaps he would have trouble summoning them on command later. Rue did understand by now that his world did have some differences compared to what he knew of canon, so maybe he should just not think about it too hard. Easier said than done, though.

He fed the boy and let him sleep, as he was obviously exhausted from all the Flame use (and trauma).

Rue, however, spent the whole night having a bit of an existential crisis.

In the morning, Rue resolved to take Basilio to CEDEF (what else would he do with a kid?), and immediately got the both of them on a train to Palermo. Basilio didn’t ask any questions, sticking to Rue like a burr and in general being such a well-behaved, obedient child that it made his heart twinge in sympathy.

After a bit of coaxing, Rue managed to get Basilio’s story. The poor boy was from a local orphanage where he’d not been particularly happy, but at least he’d been fed. Then one day, the director had told Basilio that a very important man was going to give them a lot of money so they could buy clothes and toys for the children. He was taken to Russo’s suite, and instructed to make him happy, or the orphanage wouldn’t get the money. The charity gala Rue crashed had been a fundraiser for orphan children, and he wondered if it was the same organisation Basilio was from.

Scum. Rue was glad Russo was dead, even if it meant he probably wasn’t going to get a bonus payout for this mission.

“Well, he can’t hurt you or anyone else any more,” he comforted Basilio, who nodded and gave him a tiny, unsure smile.

CEDEF was headquartered in an office building not far from the Palermo city centre, amongst a cluster of other Vongola-owned properties and businesses. Rue got a lot of odd looks as he walked in with Basilio close on his heels.

“That your kid?” Bay, one of the colleagues he was on neutral-friendly terms with, poked his head out of a cubicle.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Rue replied with a wink, though he didn’t offer to introduce them. “Do you know if Miss Lal is in?”

Bay shrugged. “Should be? I saw Turmeric talking to her earlier.”

“Thanks.” Rue nodded to Bay and guided the slightly overwhelmed Basilio along to an unoccupied cubicle. He didn’t have one of his own, as he and the other field agents mostly hot-desked whenever they needed to do any office work. He left Basilio there with a colouring book and some crayons he’d picked up near the train station (was that age-appropriate? Rue had no clue), and headed up to Lal Mirch’s corner office.

Miss Lal had clearly been informed that Rue had arrived, and was waiting for him, perched on top of her desk so they were at each other’s eye level when Rue sat down.

Rue gave his report on Russo first. Because he was dead, any dirt on him was kind of a moot point now. Miss Lal did raise an eyebrow when Rue explained that Basilio had manifested Rain Flames in self-defence, and that was why he’d brought him to CEDEF.

“Well, we can’t keep him,” said Miss Lal brusquely. Rue opened his mouth to say something, but immediately closed it as she gave him a sharp glance. “More importantly, there are things we need to catch you up on.”

Then Rue was rudely smacked in the face by the one-two whammy of the news of Federico’s death (and its utterly bizarre circumstances), and the (re)discovery and destruction of the Estraneo by Ottavio and the rest of Tyr’s set.

Well, the first one was a canon event, but the second one really had taken a sharp turn! Wasn’t it Mukuro who was the one who killed off the Estraneo, in the show?

Lal Mirch updated him on some other things too, such as the new famiglia Tyr had set up in Northern Italy, and the recent mysterious shootings who’d left a number of Vongola allies spooked (Rue remembered neither of these from the anime, but he really should really stop making assumptions).

And then came the true purpose for recalling Rue from the field — Iemitsu had pissed off Squalo, and nobody in the Varia was talking to CEDEF. Everything had to go through several rounds of official requests, which would be rejected if the forms were filled incorrectly. They’d thought at first it would be solved when Ottavio (who was considered a very reasonable man by CEDEF leadership) returned from trashing Northern Italy, but that didn’t happen, so would Rue please go flutter his eyelashes at Ottavio and see what was going on. And get them to cough up whatever they’d gleaned from the Estraneo (any "potentially dangerous weapons and technical know-how" was what Miss Lal said, though Rue guessed they wanted to know if the Varia had the Possession Bullet or the means to make one).

Fine. Liaison officer Rue, back in action. Though Rue would really like CEDEF to make up their minds whether his familiarity with Ottavio was a good thing or not.

“About Basilio,” ventured Rue, when Miss Lal was about to dismiss him.

Miss Lal frowned. “CEDEF policy is that we take in double digits and above, preferably above twelve,” she said. “That kid is what, five? Six? Nobody’s available to babysit him, and he won’t be useful for years. We have a personnel shortage as it is.”

“Then what am I supposed to do with him?” despaired Rue. So what happened in canon? DId Basil only get recruited when he was around ten? Did Iemitsu override the policy, but because he wasn’t here at the moment that wouldn't happen?

Miss Lal shrugged. “See if any of the Vongola capi will take him in?” she suggested, sympathetic but firm. “Or take him to the Varia; they start them young there.”

Rue was still at a loss when he exited Lal Mirch’s office, but managed to spare a smile for Basilio, who hadn’t budged an inch from where he’d left him. What an angel.

“We’re going to visit my friend for a bit, okay?” he said to Basilio, who nodded. The boy hadn’t asked where he was going to end up, but Rue could tell he was frightened and insecure, and desperately clinging to his rescuer (i.e. Rue). Maybe separating from him wasn’t the best idea right now, and at any rate, perhaps Ottavio would have a solution.

He always had solutions.

Rue took them to a nearby plaza, and had Basilio amuse himself by watching the pigeons as he dug out his cellphone to dial Ottavio.

The line picked up almost immediately. “Ah, one moment,” said Ottavio.

“No problem,” Rue replied.

He could hear the sound of a door closing, and guessed Ottavio must have shut himself in his office or something for privacy.

“Sorry for the wait. Rue, it’s good to hear from you.” Ottavio said warmly, sounding pleased. “I was just about to contact you. Are you done with assignments, then?”

“Yeah, I’m back in Sicily,” said Rue, unable to help smiling a little. “I’m done for now. I’m supposed to come seduce you instead.”

“Oh, again?” Ottavio sounded amused. “What do they want now?”

“It’ll be easier to tell you in person,” said Rue. “Mind if I crash at the castle for a bit?”

“Sure,” said Ottavio immediately. “There are some things I’ve been instructed to ask you, as well.”

“Sounds good,” said Rue. “Come get me? Though, I refuse to get on that pink scooter of yours. I’ve got a kid with me, too.” Rue didn’t know why Ottavio loved that …thing… so much.

There was a brief pause as Ottavio seemed to digest this information.

“What’s wrong with the Vespa?” he said at last. “But alright, I’ll take a car.”

“What, not going to ask me about the kid?” Rue teased.

“I’ve acquired one too, recently,” said Ottavio, and Rue almost dropped the phone because this was news. “Are you near CEDEF HQ? I'll be there in an hour.”

After agreeing on a pickup location and hanging up, Rue took himself and Basilio to a nearby cafe, rewarding the patiently waiting boy with a hot chocolate and pastry. He sat downwind of the boy, chain-smoking and tying his brain in knots as he tried to figure out who Ottavio’s kid might be. From what he’d just learned at HQ, Ottavio had cleared out the Estraneo, so would it be Mukuro and the others (Rue couldn't remember their names, some dog boy and yo-yo boy)? But Ottavio had said ‘a kid’, singular. Maybe it was completely unrelated, and it was his kid from a girlfriend or something that he hadn’t told Rue about… but did Ottavio have any such person in his life and why wouldn’t he have told Rue about it?

Basilio looked at him with some concern, but Rue just smiled and patted the boy on the head.

After about an hour, Ottavio showed up in an understated silver Fiat Tempra. He got out to open the rear passenger door for Rue, then took their things to stow away in the boot, exchanging an amused glance with Rue. He wasn’t normally so chivalrous, and Rue would hardly tolerate being treated like a helpless damsel, but this close to HQ, people were watching, and so they had to put on a bit of a show.

Rue was really very glad to see him, though.

“It’s okay,” he told Basilio, who was eyeing Ottavio and the vehicle with some trepidation. “Ottavio is a good friend of mine. I trust him. Ottavio, this is Basilio.”

“Hello,” Ottavio smiled at them over the roof of the car before getting back in the driver’s seat. “Come, we can chat more in the car.”

Ottavio had barely pulled away before someone suddenly appeared (no– they’d always been there, just illusioned) in the front passenger seat, making him and Basilio jump.

“Hi,” said the person, whose form resolved into a child roughly Basilio’s age, maybe older. The child had dark blue hair, and Rue would recognise that red eye anywhere. The infamous Rokudo Mukuro. There was something a bit off about him that didn’t quite match his memory, but Rue couldn’t place it. It’d just been too long.

“Mirco,” chided Ottavio, turning briefly to check that his passengers hadn’t been scared too badly. Basilio was being quite brave, just staring at Mukuro (Mirco?) with wide blue eyes, though he was grasping tightly at the sleeve of Rue’s jacket. “He’s a bit of a trickster, but a good kid.” Ottavio then looked at Mirco expectantly.

Mirco blinked but ducked his head. “Hello, I’m Mirco of the Biscione,” he said politely in an evidently well-rehearsed tone. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too!” Rue replied, having recovered from the shock (also, the Biscione? Tyr’s new group?). “I’m Rue, and this here is Basilio.”

“Hello,” echoed Basilio faintly.

The rest of the journey consisted of one the most bizarre car trips Rue had ever experienced. Mirco was very chatty (and even more long winded than Ottavio, bless), and insatiably curious. He asked if Rue had stolen Basilio too (too?) and seemed darkly satisfied when Rue replied in the affirmative (it was technically true).

“I think you’ll like Hayato, he’s quiet like you,” he concluded to Basilio, after a long explanation (probably mostly incomprehensible to Basilio) about the castle and its inhabitants to the other boy. The poor thing still had no idea he was going into a nest of professional assassins, thought Rue guiltily. (Basilio was rather taken with the idea of castles and princes, though.)

That one name drop did get his attention though. “Hayato?” he couldn’t help questioning. Gokudera Hayato? In the Varia?

“Ah, he’s Dr. Shamal’s ward,” supplied Ottavio. “I managed to recruit Trident Shamal, by the way.”

“Huh,” said Rue, mind whirling with a million thoughts. “I suppose anything can happen.”

Chapter Text

It was quite late by the time they got to the Varia headquarters. Basilio had started drooping halfway into the drive, and only perked up when Mirco told them they were arriving at the castle. Sadly, he was disappointed that it was too dark to see anything outside.

“Mirco can show Basilio around tomorrow,” consoled Ottavio, as he pulled into the castle’s basement garage. “Don’t worry, the boys know not to bother the children.”

Baby demon Mukuro would probably teach whoever was dumb enough to try the most pants-wettingly terrifying lesson of their lives, Rue bet. Basilio would be safe as houses if he stuck with him. Just maybe slightly traumatised.

“Basilio can stay with me and Hayato,” suggested Mirco, tilting his head to one side like a bird.

Rue was a bit surprised by the offer, and how … (relatively) normal Mirco seemed in general, considering anime Mukuro always seemed a bit unhinged to him. Maybe the baby version just had less capacity for bloodthirstiness, or Ottavio was a grounding influence.

“The children share Lugh’s old room, the one next to mine,” Ottavio elaborated. “Plenty of space.”

“Are you sure? Basilio, what do you think?” said Rue, turning to his little tagalong. Basilio looked at him, then at Mirco, and back again at Rue before nodding shyly.

Mirco smiled a little creepily, looking pleased. Maybe he was gathering minions? Rue patted Basilio’s head in sympathy while the boy looked up at him in confusion.

“How about me? Am I bunking with you, then?” Rue asked Ottavio teasingly.

Ottavio cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses. “If you like,” he said.

As they entered the castle from the garage, they were met by a pink-haired girl Rue thought he’d seen once or twice before. She glanced over at Rue and Basilio, before reining in her obvious curiosity and approaching Ottavio.

“Sir,” she said. “The Vice-Captain would like to arrange a meeting with yourself and Agent Rue as soon as possible. Will tomorrow at 1400 suit?”

“That sounds good,” Rue agreed with a (hopefully) professional and friendly smile (he was really tired). “Please, just call me Rue, miss–?”

“Ah, I’m Sparrow, one of the assistants to the Vice-Captain,” said the girl, blinking. Funny, with that name, Rue would’ve pegged her for one of Ottavio’s HR birdies.

“I’m good for that time as well,” said Ottavio, after a brief check of the planner he kept in his breast pocket.

“Alright, I’ll set the appointment for 1400 in Meeting Room 3, then, South Wing, second floor. Thank you, sir, Rue.” Sparrow nodded to them and took her leave.

“I still have some matters to attend to, so you can go on ahead,” said Ottavio to Rue. “The code’s the same as last time, so just let yourself in. I’ll send up some food for all of you, as I don’t think Mirco’s eaten yet either. I’ll have someone put a cot in the children’s room for Basilio, too.”

“I had a snack,” said Mirco, in the same tone a serial killer might use to confess to sampling the hearts of his enemies (as a treat) and waved bye to Ottavio.

Ottavio’s quarters were located on the northern face of the roughly rectangular main castle building, on the third floor. They received quite a few curious looks from Varia members along the way, but everyone gave them a wide berth, probably because Mirco was present. When they arrived, Mirco took Basilio next door, while Rue let himself into Ottavio’s room.

Rue hadn’t been in there for years now, but it was pretty much as he remembered it. It had a layout like a small apartment, with a living area, bedroom, ensuite bath, and a balcony which looked out onto the castle’s garden. As Ottavio was a moderately boring guy with no hobbies (or rather, as Rue suspected, barely enough time for sleep, much less hobbies), his room was fairly bland and uninspired, decor-wise. A few photos of himself with Tyr’s set, an unhappy-looking cactus which had miraculously survived all these years of neglect, and a coffee machine (of course) were the few indications the space belonged to Ottavio. The shelves held books, of course, but those were mostly utility books like grammar guides and dictionaries for foreign languages rather than actual reading material… and a parenting guide? Rue had to chuckle at that one. At the very least, it meant Ottavio cared, so hopefully Mirco would grow up less homicidal.

After his brief look around, Rue promptly hopped into the shower (finally, hot water that didn’t cut out in the middle of shampooing!) for a thorough scrub down. He’d heard a knock halfway through and found a childishly scrawled note under the door after he came out, so he shifted into his favoured male form (to leave the problem of long wet hair for Future!Rue) and went next door, where his dinner was promised to be.

Basilio didn’t recognise him and ducked behind Mirco, but Mirco eyed him briefly and said, “Hello, Rue.”

“You’re very good,” Rue praised Mirco, who smirked, before turning to an apprehensive Basilio. “Don’t worry, I just like to change appearances sometimes. Did you write the note?”

“I did,” volunteered a third, brown-haired kid who Rue had noticed but not really paid attention to, figuring it was another baby Varia or something. “Mirco doesn’t know all his letters yet, and Basilio wasn’t sure how to spell some words.”

Mirco’s smug expression immediately turned sour as his illiteracy was pointed out. “That’s Hayato,” he introduced grudgingly.

Wait… wasn’t Gokudera silver-haired? Rue took a closer look at the kid’s head of hair, and noticed some uneven patches here and there, with roots showing just the teensiest bit in a few spots. He didn’t quite remember what baby Gokudera was supposed to look like, other than being a smaller version of teen Gokudera, but the kid did have green eyes.

“Hello, Hayato, it’s nice to meet you, and thank you for leaving me the note,” he said, while wondering why Gokudera was masquerading as a brunet.

Rue ate with the children, Basilio having recovered from his surprise and coming to sit beside him. The boy kept stealing bewildered glances at him, trying to figure out how Rue had changed his appearance.

“You have to look through, not at,” said Mirco sagely. “It’s an illusion, so Rue is still Rue.”

“I don’t get it,” said Basilio, turning a little red with embarrassment. He couldn't be faulted, though, no one had even explained the Flame thing to him yet.

“I don’t get it either,” Hayato added, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s a skill that can be learned, it just takes time and will,” reassured Rue, though he didn’t add that it depended quite a bit on individual talent, too. He patted Basilio on the head, noting his hair was slightly damp, and softer – he must have cleaned up too. “Ask Ottavio to teach you, maybe? He can see through many types of illusions, and I know it was something he was taught.” He’d grown up with Auntie, after all.

After ensuring the kids were all settled (god, how did moms do this every day), Rue went back to Ottavio’s room, brushed his teeth, roughly dried his hair, and crashed.

The next time he opened his eyes, the sun was high in the sky, and he was still alone in the room. There was a person-sized depression in the sheets next to him, so Ottavio must have slept at some point, but had probably left for work long before Rue woke up. Checking the time, Rue had luckily not missed his meeting with the Execs, and even had a bit of time for lunch before then.

Rue had originally wandered out wearing his male form, but as he got to the mess hall he spotted Trident Shamal sitting in a corner, listlessly poking at a sausage, and scented an opportunity to get more information.

Time for the big naturals to make an appearance.

“Got a light?” he asked huskily, sliding into the chair opposite the doctor and tapping out a cigarette.

“Oh, hello.” Shamal sat up immediately, eyes glued to Rue’s chest. He started frantically patting down his pockets. “Anything for you, signora… ah, shit, the trainers made me quit, so I don’t have it on me…”

The sound of a lighter being flicked made Rue turn, only to see that Ottavio had appeared beside him, a Zippo in one hand and a tray of food in the other. Rue rolled his eyes and let Ottavio light his cigarette. Spoilsport.

“I was talking to the lady, piss off,” said Shamal sourly. “Why do you have a lighter anyway?”

“For arson, obviously,” said Ottavio, setting the tray down in front of Rue. He pulled out a chair next to him and sat down, to Shamal’s visible annoyance. “Rue, this is Lempo, formerly Trident Shamal, as you probably know. Lempo, this is Rue, who will be a guest here for a while.”

“Hi,” said Rue, with a secret-not-so-secret wink at Shamal. At least Ottavio was kind of playing along.

“Charmed, miss,” Shamal/Lempo replied, still eyeing him lasciviously (clearly, he didn’t remember Rue, or maybe it was because he’d been staring at a different body part the last time). “What brings you to the Varia? Surely you must be tired of hanging out with this bore?”

Ottavio raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “As opposed to? The likes of you?”

Shamal bristled like an angry cat.

Rue watched them snipe childishly at each other while he ate his lunch, extremely entertained. He didn’t know how much of it was a performance for his benefit, but the fact remained that he’d never seen Ottavio act like this before. It wasn’t what he’d had in mind coming to talk to Shamal, but not a total loss either, as he picked up quite a few interesting tidbits from their exchange: that Ottavio apparently had worse aim than a stormtrooper, Shamal couldn’t create an illusion to save his life, and Ottavio was a big bad meanie who had essentially conscripted Shamal and then bullied him into the Varia.

“You’re very funny,” Rue told Shamal with absolute sincerity. This was better than reality TV.

Ottavio sniffed and checked his watch. “We should go, or we’ll be late,” he said to Rue, standing and making to pick up Rue’s tray.

“Nah, I’ll get it,” said Shamal with a wave. He grinned roguishly at Rue. “I’ll see you around, bella.”

Rue wiggled his fingers at him in a coquettish little wave before leaving with Ottavio, resuming his male form the moment he was out of sight of the mess hall.

Ottavio shook his head fondly at him. “You’re terrible,” he said in mock disgust.

Xanxus’s Guardians were seated in the meeting room already, except for Belphegor (well, he was eight, probably not old enough to contribute productively to meetings) and Levi-a-Than (Ottavio had never mentioned him, so perhaps he wasn’t a Guardian yet?). It was Rue’s first time seeing Lussuria in the flesh, so he took a good long look.

“I like your hair,” he told Lussuria, in explanation of his staring. The other man had an impressive mustard green mohawk at the moment.

Lussuria beamed. “Why, thank you,” he said. “You must be Rue!”

“I am,” said Rue, with a professional smile worthy of a toothpaste ad. “Officially, I’m here as a liaison from CEDEF, but do let me know if I can help you with anything else.”

“Yeah,” said Squalo, a bit awkwardly. “Thanks for the last time.”

“What he means,” said Lussuria, in a stage whisper, “is thank you for telling us about Xanxus.”

Rue was quite touched!

“It’s nothing,” he said earnestly. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

They went over official business first.

Rue politely gave them a heads up that Federico’s funeral would probably be held in the next couple of weeks or so, then relayed the CEDEF’s eagerness to get the Vongola’s murder machine cranking at a decent pace again. Squalo reiterated that they at the Varia were always at Vongola’s disposal— as long as the people were treated with respect and, you know, not accused of every single crime that happened on Italian soil. Rue laughed uneasily and promised to make suggestions (goddammit Iemitsu!), while Squalo and Ottavio agreed to make allowances for a few of the more recent requests to pass muster, on good faith.

Squalo did also ask how the investigation into Federico’s death was going, and if the Varia should expect any kill orders anytime soon, but Rue regrettably didn’t know anything about that.

Next, Rue delicately asked if the Varia had uncovered any materials of interest during their raid on the Estraneo. Squalo looked extremely exasperated at that, shooting Ottavio a death glare, to which he responded with one of his signature bland smiles.

“We’re still trying to separate the wheat from the chaff,” said Ottavio. “There’s … quite a bit to look through.”

Rue caught Squalo muttering “fucking understatement!” under his breath.

“Ah, anything dangerous?” pressed Rue.

Ottavio blinked, then a look of comprehension came over him. “Ah. They want to know about the Possession Bullet,” he surmised. “You can tell your boss not to worry. It’s gone, Tyr destroyed it.”

“Sounds good.” Rue was just going to take their word for it — anything else was Not His Problem.

They took a quick snack break after that. Rue and Mammon had cake (lemon, his favourite), Lussuria helped himself to biscotti, and Squalo and Ottavio had buttered bread with anchovies, washing it all down with copious amounts of coffee.

Then it was time for what Rue had been calling the Interrogation Segment in his head, during his mental preparation for this meeting.

“So, we recently got a tip that Xanxus might have been moved to the tunnels under the Iron Fort,” Squalo began. “Know anything about that?”

Rue frowned. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it, actually,” he admitted. “I was sent away almost immediately after the incident.”

Squalo and the others looked disappointed.

“Unusual patterns in personnel movement?” prompted Mammon after a while.

Rue shook his head. “I’ve been away too long to know of any recent changes,” he said. “I only got back to Sicily yesterday.”

“It was a long shot, anyway,” Squalo acknowledged grudgingly. “We appreciate your willingness to help.”

“Xanxus is Vongola, so I’m helping Vongola,” reasoned Rue, with a bright, vacuous smile. “Completely in line with the CEDEF’s mission statement.”

“Ha!” That seemed to amuse Squalo. “You’re all right.”

Rue promised to update them via Ottavio if anything of interest came up, and the meeting was finally brought to an end.

“Go take a break,” suggested Ottavio, as they left the room. “We’ll catch up later?”

“Are you actually going to show, you workaholic?” teased Rue.

“I will, I promise,” Ottavio laughed. “There’s a lot I want to tell you, and I want to hear about your adventures, too.”

“Adventures? Suffering, more like,” sighed Rue. “All right, see you.”

He checked in on Basilio, who excitedly told him about the prince he’d met (Bel, Rue assumed), and how big the castle was. The boy seemed to know to stick with Mirco and Hayato, so Rue felt relatively less worried about letting him run around a castle full of assassins. Satisfied that Basilio had survived with all his limbs intact, Rue retired to Ottavio’s room for a well-deserved nap.

He woke up to the sounds of Ottavio setting up dinner in the living room.

“Did you not sleep whilst you were on assignment, or something?” Ottavio said, looking amused.

“Or something,” grumbled Rue groggily, dragging himself to the table to start complaining at his friend.

“I see,” said Ottavio, after Rue got to the part explaining where he’d picked up Basilio. “The others were asking about him, you know, and didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t know a thing. You said CEDEF won’t take him? Odd, since he seems like he could be trained into a fairly potent Rain.”

“It’s probably due to the manpower crunch– there’s no one available to handle him,” groused Rue. “Maybe if Iemitsu were around he’d make an exception? Miss Lal suggested I leave him here, with the Varia, or find a Vongola capo that will take him.”

“He’s at the age where he can be moulded into anything, really,” said Ottavio. “I don’t mind if he stays here, if you aren’t opposed to the idea of turning him into an assassin. Or I can have someone from the Biscione pick him up. We have a lot of children there now, and there are a couple about his age.”

Ottavio then outlined the whole deal with the Biscione (Rue couldn’t believe Tyr just took over a whole mafia family with the intention of giving it to Ottavio, just like that!), then explained the Varia’s, and in particular Tyr’s set’s feud with the Estraneo. Belatedly, Rue realised that the CEDEF fuckup six years ago that led to Rue being assigned to tackle Ottavio must have had something to do with that. Look at that, full circle.

He still didn’t know what the best option would be for Basilio, but Ottavio reassured him that they didn’t have to make the decision right away.

Rue was just relieved that there was some kind of solution, so he turned his line of thought towards something else.

“And? What’s the deal with your kid?” Rue questioned, poking Ottavio’s calf with his foot as he lit a cigarette. “I can tell he’s a very strong Mist, but that eye…”

Ottavio twitched his leg away. “The Estraneo were experimenting on their own children,” he said. “Mirco was one of them, and the eye is a result of that. He almost didn’t make it.” He then gave a brief rundown (brief, for Ottavio) on what had happened with the boy, and how he’d almost died a second time back at the Biscione headquarters after he’d caught the flu.

Poor boy.

“As you can probably tell, he’s very strong, and who knows what issues that cursed eye will cause down the road,” said Ottavio. “So I brought him with me, in the hopes Mammon would take him on as a student and teach him to control his power. It took some convincing, but he eventually did.”

Rue was a bit envious. He wondered what secret Mist techniques Mammon would impart onto his new pupil?

“Admittedly, I’ve grown a bit attached, for various reasons,” continued Ottavio. “I gave him the name ‘Mirco’, as he only had some kind of ID number assigned to him by his own blood family, can you believe it? Bluebird called him ‘Mukuro’ at first, which I thought was a bit uncharitable of him, even though he was pretty much a corpse when we found him…”

Hang on.

“Bluebird?” wondered Rue aloud, even as he tried to process the meaning of that bit of information.

Ottavio smiled. “You’ve seen him,” he reminded Rue. “That boy you teased when I picked you up during my trip to get Shamal, remember?”

Ah, that little rookie. Interesting.

“I remember,” said Rue, thoughtfully taking a draw of his cigarette. “He’s one of yours?”

“Yes, Xanxus assigned him to me,” said Ottavio. “He was a bit of a troublemaker … well, still is, but I quite like him now. He’s kind of hilarious.”

Ottavio started telling Rue about Bluebird’s misadventures, including how the poor boy was used to bait Shamal, but Rue could only listen with half an ear, mind preoccupied.

Coincidence?

Or something else?

Chapter Text

Mirco, 8, of the Biscione Famiglia

When Ottavio told him that the funny floating baby was going to be his maestro, and that he should listen to him from now on, Mirco’s first thought was that Ottavio had finally had enough of him and was giving him away.

He knew that he was an odd child, after all.

Perhaps he’d always been like this, or perhaps it was the eye, which was all people saw when they looked at him (he’d learned to hide it by now, if he wanted, but he didn’t. If it made people uncomfortable Mirco didn’t care).

Mirco didn’t really remember when, exactly, the Estraneo scientists had put in his eye, but he did remember a time before it. He had very faint memories of someone who must have been his mother, who called him her little angel (maybe his name might have originally been Angelo?). But Mirco could not quite remember what she looked like, had only vaguely fond feelings associated with her, and didn’t recall having a father, either. Perhaps she was dead now. He’d never asked Ottavio if he knew anything about it.

After the eye … it was difficult to know how much time had passed, with all the drugs that they gave him that made him sleep and dream so much. Mirco wouldn’t even know how old he was were it not for the records Ottavio found.

The other children back at the Estraneo base avoided him, as he looked strange, and did strange things, like create shapes out of thin air (Mirco had thought they would like it, but they didn’t). The adults treated him like a dangerous but fascinating object, watching his every move, and even when he’d been rescued he sensed many of the Biscione were uncomfortable around him. He tried to copy the lively Biscione children with their easy wide smiles, instead. It worked on some but not all of the adults. Some of them still didn’t like him.

Like Doctor Shamal, who avoided meeting his eyes, and Max, who maybe didn’t dislike him, but frowned every time he saw him (Mirco didn’t like them either, because their needles and tools reminded him of the Estraneo). At least Lancia and Auntie were kind to everybody, which included Mirco, and Auntie in particular would sit and talk with him while he was recovering from surgery. She told Mirco that he had a special gift.

This Mirco knew already. He was special, and that was why people treated him differently, and why the scientists paid so much attention to him, and why he always had to hurt.

Then he caught sight of Ottavio, and suddenly choked up, because he was so familiar.

“I know you,” he’d told Ottavio, trying to smile like he’d learned. He couldn’t put into words how, because there were only bits and pieces of emotions and scents and broken images he couldn’t quite string together. Frustrated, he’d burst into tears for the first time in years (Teo called it a ‘meltdown’) and got so upset he gave himself hiccups and a headache. It was very embarrassing.

Ottavio didn’t remember him, but he brought him a glass of water and asked if he would like a new name (they didn’t want to use the ID numbers, and Mirco didn’t want the name ‘Angelo’ and never mentioned it, so they’d just been calling him ‘Boy’, or ‘Mukuro’, in the case of that funny blue teen who hung around Ottavio). Together with Auntie, he tried to help him puzzle things out from notes they’d found in the base.

“If the numbers in your eye mark the paths you have walked, perhaps what you recall is not a human memory, and that’s why it’s difficult to understand, as you are currently a human,” suggested Auntie, after explaining the concept of saṃsāra to Mirco. She knew a bit more about the Six Paths than the others. “No one is meant to remember their past lives, for good reason! Perhaps you’ll work it out once you have better control of your abilities, if you want to, that is.”

Mirco had started training with Auntie after that. She had the same type of aura – Flame, they called it – as Mirco, which stunned him for a while. There were people like him!

Auntie said their particular type was called ‘Mist’, and even though multiple people might have the same kind of Flame, they all used them differently. Auntie used hers to hide people and things, and Doctor Shamal used his to stay alive.

Ottavio’s Flame type was called ‘Cloud’, which multiplied things (Mirco had yet to witness it), and Max’s was ‘Sun’, which he used to help sick people. Teo was their ‘Sky’, and the way Auntie said it made it seem like it was a very precious and special thing. Mirco did not understand it, other than instinctively knowing Teo was not someone he should cross. There were also Lightning (Ottavio’s funny assistant, Bluebird), and Storm (Auntie said Lancia might be this type, but he wasn’t using it so they weren’t sure) Flames. Mirco did wonder why everything was named after the weather.

As Mirco quickly got better at using Mist Flames, no one could stop him from following Ottavio around (“He’s like a cat, he just does what he wants and gets into everything,” he overheard Max remark to Teo, once). There were so many new things to see, compared to the dull grey of the labs, and the ‘Varia’ people were more interesting than the other children. Ottavio didn’t seem to mind, as long as Mirco didn’t disturb his work.

“I was very small, and you helped break me out of somewhere dark,” said Mirco one day, curled up in an armchair next to Ottavio’s desk. The images had just come to mind while he was staring at Ottavio, thinking. Ottavio didn’t have glasses, back then. And perhaps he was shorter? And his face was a bit different?

“Pardon?” Ottavio looked up, blinking, but Mirco didn’t remember anything else.

“Can you speak anything else other than Italian?” Mirco asked instead. “Auntie was telling me about the Varia, and how everyone knows more than one language.” Auntie had also been trying to get Mirco to learn how to read and write, which was …going.

“Ah, yes,” Ottavio nodded. “We have to know at least seven. I know about eleven, though I’m only fluent in seven or so…” He started speaking some of them, one of which sounded very familiar to Mirco, but he fell fast asleep before he could ask what it was.

Mirco remembered more after he got very sick with the flu, when Auntie said he’d lost control of his power for a bit. Not just the part he shared with Ottavio, but also the constant fighting, the awful endless hunger, the fire and ice that would burn off his skin, which would painfully and slowly grow back, only for the cycle to repeat again and again…

Not that the bit he remembered Ottavio from had been very happy either, but it was paradise compared to the realms where he’d just been suffering. He’d been small, and sickly, but Ottavio had cared for him and protected him, for a time.

“Because I was weak, you kept me in your coat pocket until I was bigger,” he told Ottavio, who had been visiting him as he rested. Mirco carefully watched for his reaction as he spoke. “But even after that the others would peck at me and steal my food, so you kept me inside the house. The old woman shouted at you.”

“Oh,” Ottavio looked surprised, then covered his mouth. “Oh.”

“I think…one day you weren’t there?” Mirco continued, trying to piece the memories together in a way that made sense. “Then the woman grabbed me, and I don’t remember anything else.”

Ottavio excused himself, promising to return, and when he came back he was very pale. He took Mirco’s hand in his, and said very seriously, “I’m very sorry you had to go through that. I’ll take care of you now, if you are agreeable.”

Mirco didn’t think he needed looking after, but sensed that Ottavio wanted him to agree, so he nodded.

After that, Ottavio acted as if nothing had happened, so Mirco did the same.

Mirco wanted to know if Ottavio meant what he said, though, so he kept presenting Ottavio with increasingly far-fetched scenarios.

What if Mirco killed everybody?

Well, Ottavio would stop him, he said, and if he couldn’t, then he’d be dead and it wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

What if he wanted to go to space (he’d just heard something about it on the TV)?

Ottavio said that being part of the Biscione meant that he’d always have the family at his back, no matter what he wanted to do, so they’d find a way, even if it meant sponsoring a rocket.

Ottavio did put his foot down when Mirco said he didn’t like the mafia, and wanted to leave.

“There is no other choice, for people like us,” said Ottavio solemnly, meeting Mirco’s eyes to make sure he understood that this was serious. “You don’t have to like it, but you must accept it. You may leave a mafia organisation, but you’ll always be beholden to mafia laws.”

‘People like us’, Mirco realised after a while, meant people with Flames. He didn’t know why, other than some kind of powerful mafia police would catch people who broke mafia law and put them in prison (they’d shown up when Ottavio and the others had taken him from the Estraneo, according to Auntie, but Mirco had been unconscious at the time).

Then, Mirco wondered, would the solution be to destroy the mafia altogether?

Ignoring the problem of the Vindice (the mafia ‘police’, as was explained to Mirco), Ottavio had said it would be a ‘Sisyphean ordeal’. It would be like pulling a weed – it was hard enough work getting all the roots out, but something or other would blow in with the wind and ruin your nice cleared patch again. Either you crowded it out with something else you wanted, or you salted the earth so nothing would ever grow again.

But you couldn’t poison the ground like that. There was a secret behind the mafia that concerned the existence of the whole world, so you couldn’t get rid of it, and even Ottavio didn’t really know what it was, exactly.

Mirco still didn’t see why it would be so bad to just destroy everything.

People were just stupid and got attached to everything, he thought. Even Felice (who was called Hayato now) was upset at being taken away from his family, who were the ones who had hurt him in the first place. He’d been quiet and withdrawn after they’d rescued him, but proved to have a temper when he snapped at Mirco one day.

“They’re my blood family, of course I love them!” he shouted, and shoved Mirco. “You don’t understand, because you don’t have any!”

He was right. Mirco did not understand.

(After some nudging by Ottavio, he apologised, and Hayato forgave him and apologised as well, and they never brought it up again.)

A few days after they’d rescued Hayato, Ottavio had brought them to the Varia. On the very first day, Mirco had gotten into a fight with a ‘prince’ (Mirco was not convinced he actually was one), who seemed to be an important person despite being a kid like Mirco. Ottavio didn’t seem angry, but the one with the colourful hair (the ‘prince’ called him Luss) took them away and made them each sit in a corner for a while, so perhaps Mirco had crossed a line.

Then Ottavio had told him to go with Mammon, so now he was face to face with his new teacher, who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“Mou, let’s see what you’re capable of, before I decide what to do with you,” said Mammon. They had taken him to a large empty room that reminded Mirco uncomfortably of some of the test chambers he’d been in. “Be ready.”

And suddenly Mirco felt like he couldn’t breathe. Mammon’s aura pressed down on him, and Mirco realised this was not a baby at all, but a dangerous thing like Mirco, but much, much stronger, who could and would kill him in the blink of an eye.

“Well?” Mammon demanded. “I was told you were talented.”

Then Mammon sent tentacles twisting towards him without any warning, and even though Mirco used all the tricks he’d picked up, he was flat on his back within a minute, heart thundering in his chest.

Mammon hovered over him, mouth turned down like a frog’s. “Mondays, Thursdays, Saturdays, 4PM sharp, here. If I have other tasks for you I will let you know. Clear?”

Mirco nodded sulkily, and Mammon left, leaving Mirco to pick himself up from the ground. Surprisingly, Ottavio was waiting just outside, looking slightly worried. Mirco was so relieved to see him he ran right at him and buried his face in Ottavio’s jacket.

“Oh.” Ottavio didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, and ended up patting Mirco’s head like he did sometimes. “It’s been a bit of an eventful day for you, hasn’t it? Was Mammon scary?”

“No,” lied Mirco, and stuck to Ottavio for the rest of the evening.

He had two days to get used to living in the castle (during which the ‘prince’ picked another fight with him), before he had to go for his lessons with Mammon again.

“Boy,” his master said, floating in with a snake in their tiny hands. It was limp, but still alive. “What is this.”

“It’s a snake, maestro,” said Mirco. Obviously.

“Yes, I know it’s a snake,” said Mammon, annoyed. “You summoned it in Squalo’s office — how.”

“It’s just a snake,” said Mirco, not really understanding the problem.

“It’s not even a Real Illusion,” hissed Mammon, sounding offended. “You got real live snakes, somehow, into Squalo’s office, one of which escaped and bit Berith, and now he’s in the infirmary being pumped full of antivenin.”

“Oh, I forgot about them.” Mirco considered this for a bit, and decided that maybe Mammon wanted him to apologise. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to make it leave? I think I can do that.” The snake in Mammon’s grasp wriggled weakly, and when Mammon let go, it fell on the floor and slithered out from under the door.

“It’s going to go back through the garden,” Mirco told Mammon, who didn’t seem angry anymore. His teacher looked thoughtful, instead.

“Very well,” they said, and started Mirco on something very annoying they called ‘basic drills’.

Time seemed to pass quite quickly after that. On the days when he wasn’t with Mammon, Ottavio had someone teach him reading, writing, and numbers. Hayato had lessons with Belphegor instead, as they were learning the same material despite Hayato being younger (Mirco found it funny that Bel was unable to accept this and had thrown several tantrums).

After a while, Basilio came to live with them, which pleased Mirco greatly, as Basilio seemed to like him better than Hayato and Bel. Mirco had also pestered Ottavio’s friend Rue to teach him disguises (he couldn’t help with Mirco’s potted plant impersonation, though), which was fun.

When he was bored, Mirco played around with the Paths, in particular the Beast Path, which he used to spy on people. The Varia had many people who were sensitive to illusions, and Mirco wasn’t good enough to hide himself completely (yet!). The creatures that Mirco summoned were just animals, though, so people just thought there was a mouse infestation or something. If Mirco lay down and tried not to move his head too much, he could even get a sense of what the creatures were seeing, instead of just commanding them to do things.

Then one day, Mammon caught him red-handed.

“Boy,” said Mammon. “If you can make yourself useful, I will teach you everything I know.”

Chapter Text

Sparrow, 18,  Rank B, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly Locusta of Malta, formerly Lili Ortiz, 22, student.

Lili finally understood the adult problem of getting a change in job title without a corresponding salary increment (not like she’d had any choice in the matter).

Going from an everyman in HR to the Varia equivalent of an aide to a C-suite executive sounded like a big step up on paper, but in practice it really was more trouble than it was worth. Lili even kind of missed her old supervisor, wasn’t that crazy?

Squalo was the kind of boss who expected you to work late because he was working late (and he did very often work late), while Ottavio was the type to become disproportionately concerned if you consistently failed to clock out after 8.5 hours of work (somehow, this did not apply to himself). Squalo was direct, but often shouty when displeased (which made Lili jump a bit, at first). Ottavio, on the other hand, never raised his voice (but could be annoyingly passive-aggressive), and responded to most things in the same mild tone. What Lili missed most of all, she thought, was Ottavio’s general unflappability and utter refusal to engage in drama. Whatever happened, he just kept smiling (even if he was probably screaming inside), which was really good for keeping everyone calm and focused. Squalo was probably too young and inexperienced (he was a teenager, after all, despite his talent), to keep his own tension from bleeding into the environment and affecting other people. With Squalo under pressure from Xanxus’s absence, as well as the increasing number of tasks Ottavio was slowly but steadily offloading onto him, the work atmosphere got kind of stressful at times.

Then there was her new Elite rank manager, Berith, who was generally a decent person and a meticulously organised man, but a poor manager. He did not particularly care that the other B rank aide, Marchosias, was a chauvinistic asshole, and ignored any conflict so long as work still got done. Luckily, Lili had demonstrated early on that she could and would shank a bitch (he’d snuck up on her, so it was as good an excuse as any to each him a lesson), and Marchosias mostly left her alone now, other than some snide comments now and again (Lili might also have given him explosive diarrhoea once or thrice, and filed a complaint with HR).

Still, it wasn’t all bad. Lili’s new duties meant she could now access all kinds of news and information she couldn’t before, especially after Berith and Squalo started to trust her more, after a period of observation.

Like, for example, the fuss around Federico’s death, and that Amaranth’s involvement (Lili didn’t know the details, but she was definitely mixed up in it, and Lili had already done her best to keep her alive so she dearly hoped Amaranth would stay alive).

And then the whole Estraneo … thing.

Lili remembered staring, horrified, at the piles and piles of stuff that the runners kept bringing in, while a vein throbbed visibly in Squalo’s temple. Lili honestly thought he was going to flip a table.

She wondered if Mukuro and the others made it though okay, with this new development. It meant years taken off their suffering, right? Or maybe it was early enough they got to skip it altogether? That had to count for something.

Jet, undisputed king of gossip, had a lot of tea to spill on the subject.

They were kinda-sorta-dating now, after Jet had very awkwardly asked her out. Lili had noticed Jet hanging around her more, and initially thought he wanted a date as a return favour in exchange for looking out for Amaranth on her ill-fated first and only mission.

“No, no!” Jet had panicked, looking horrified, when Lili brought it up. “I’d never—that’s not it at all! I just…wanted an excuse to talk to you? Again, I mean. I’d ask you out properly, or it wouldn’t be fair. Oh…”

He looked so pathetic and flustered it was actually kind of cute, in a kicked puppy sort of way, and Lili generally had a good impression of him (gossipmonger tendencies aside), so she decided to give him a chance. So far so good — she wasn’t madly in love or anything, but it was nice having someone, and Jet was kind of growing on her.

Anyway.

Jet’s division colleagues, Onyx and Jasper, had been assigned to run documents to Ottavio during his quest to recruit Shamal, and were full of juicy hot gossip when they returned. They’d met a northerner working for their old boss Tyr, who was named Lancia (Lancia!!!). The guy apparently had come to Ottavio for help, and Onyx and Jasper found themselves abruptly roped into Ottavio’s impromptu human trafficking sting operation, which somehow escalated into a full-on raid on the Estraneo base, with Tyr and Lugh coming to help.

Jet added, “this was before you or I joined, but the Varia had a big face-off with the Estraneo in the past. Killed off a ton of Varia, including a bunch of Tyr’s Guardians. So I guess there was a grudge there. A bunch of the veterans went and got blind drunk, after the news came about Ottavio getting rid of the Estraneo.”

Ah. That explained why Tyr only had two Guardians, when Lili joined.

Onyx and Jasper had regretfully not been involved in storming the base itself, but had rescued some children that had been taken from Tyr’s new famiglia (Lili really wanted to know which dumbfuck trafficking ring had been seriously stupid enough to mess with Tyr). They’d also said that other children had been rescued from the Estraneo base, too, which made Lili quite hopeful.

In the ensuing days, Manticore from Operations and Nightjar from HR, who had actually been in the raid, returned with a ton more stories of their own to tell. There were toasts to Ottavio and Tyr’s health every night at the bar.

“Is Squalo worried?” asked Jet, during one of their lunch ‘dates’. Lili didn’t always have time for actual dates, so they made do with sharing sandwiches and snacks in the garden or elsewhere. “I mean, the old guard are going to be a lot happier following Ottavio now, if they weren’t before, and I bet quite a few of the newer members will be impressed.”

Lili certainly hadn’t thought of that angle before. “No, Squalo’s still the Sword Emperor, that holds a lot of weight,” she mused. “Besides, I don’t think Ottavio’s ever been interested in leadership of the Varia. He seems to be trying to leave, actually.”

She paused.

“Wait, don’t go around saying I said that!” she reminded Jet hastily.

“Don’t worry, I know what I should and shouldn’t share,” Jet reassured her. He’d better!

The real highlight of the Estraneo mess (or as some of the Varia were calling it, ‘Flymageddon’, due to Ottavio’s unexpected involvement) was Rokudo Mukuro showing up in the flesh.

He’d come along with Ottavio, his reluctant senior hire Shamal, and startlingly enough, a bottle-brown recolour of Gokudera Hayato.

Lili’s brain had been so overwhelmed by all these unexpected developments that she blanked out for a good five to ten minutes before Berith jabbed her with an elbow.

When he had the chance, Bluebird eagerly told his version of the story, too, with clear modifications and embellishments (“You left out all the crossdressing,” Lili noted, to Bluebird’s great embarrassment). He had access to all the little details though, like the workings of the Biscione, Lancia’s amazing child-wrangling abilities, Hayato’s kidnapping from his own famiglia, and Mukuro’s inexplicable fascination with Ottavio.

“I thought Mukuro would be creepier,” Bluebird said. “I mean, it’s not like he isn’t, but he’s more mischievous than malicious, you know?”

Baby Mukuro, who was called ‘Mirco’ now, was a right terror, in Lili’s opinion. He was now Mammon’s student, which meant he was untouchable, and also most of the lower ranks were wary of him, after Bel picked a fight with him and lost. There were also the fuck ton of snakes which Mirco summoned in Squalo’s office, and which Lili and co. had to clear out by hand. Berith had got bitten by one, and had to go to the infirmary. Thankfully, it was a common viper, and they had the anti-venom stocked, so poor Berith wasn’t in any mortal danger. Marchosias predictably tried to establish himself as top dog while Berith was out of commission, but Lili wasn’t having that, so she asserted dominance through a few poisonings and he shut up.

Lili was more worried about Hayato.

The poor kid looked lost and despondent most of the time. Shamal had his own stuff to do, so he couldn’t always keep him company, and Mirco was often busy with Mammon. Lili wasn’t sure what had happened for Hayato to have to come to the Varia in disguise, or what Shamal had told the boy, but Hayato seemed kinda homesick and lonely. Lili had found him wandering the hallways once, and offered to show him the rec room. While he was initially suspicious, Hayato’s face lit up at the sight of their dinky little upright piano in the corner, and played her a cute little waltz as a thank-you.

Hayato would greet her with a wave now, which melted her heart every time.

Totally worth it. Lili only wished she could do more. HR did seem to be keeping an eye on him, though, so he'd be safe, at least.

And then because Lili wasn’t done with the rollercoaster off-road tour of this alternate universe, Squalo told them that Ottavio’s CEDEF buddy (the ex totally-not-girlfriend Lili had heard about) would be coming to visit and would Lili schedule a meeting ASAP, please and thank you (well, there was no please or thank you, just ‘VOI!!!’).

Ottavio had shown up with an absolute bombshell of a lady (and Lili was just a teensy bit envious because she looked a bit like a Mediterranean version of a French actress she liked, seriously, what was his luck?!). Rue had been professionally dressed in a charcoal-coloured skirt suit, the kind she’d seen female CEDEF agents wear in various shades of black, navy, or grey. The suit itself was modest, with the skirt hem ending at the top of her knees, but the whole outfit was meticulously tailored to accentuate the generous curve of her hips and her… huge…tracts of land (Lili felt extremely self-conscious of her own scrawny figure afterwards). Even though she was obviously tired, she still smiled at Lili, pulling at the mole under her mouth. Lili would have stared at that mole for way too long had it not been for Ottavio and Mirco’s presence nearby (especially the latter), and the distracting little boy hiding behind Rue.

Blond (or was it actually light brown? It was kind of hard to tell in the artificial light) haired and blue-eyed, the kid didn’t much look like Rue (or Ottavio, for that matter, because everyone was probably thinking it), but there was something about his appearance that tickled the back of Lili’s mind. She still had a job to do though, so Lili put away the thought for now to finalise Rue’s meeting with the Execs. After presumably sending Rue and her little hanger-on off with Mirco, Ottavio caught up with Lili as she headed back towards Squalo’s office.

“I’ve heard you’re doing good work for Superbia, and that you’re handling yourself well, despite some annoyances,” he said. Ugh, had he heard about her and Marchosias? Someone had likely brought up the complaint she filed. Luckily, Ottavio didn’t seem interested in pursuing that particular matter, instead commenting, “It seems you are much busier than before?”

Despite her slight embarrassment, Lili was a little touched that her former supervisor would remember to ask after her.

“A little bit,” she admitted, “but nothing I can’t handle.”

“If you do have a bit of free time to spare,” said Ottavio, “I would like to ask you a favour.”

It turned out that Ottavio wanted Lili’s help (Lili’s! Her help!) in teaching Gokudera Hayato about poisons (!).

“Before he came here, Hayato suffered poisoning on a regular basis,” explained Ottavio. “It would be good for him to learn to identify poisons, and develop some general resistance, as well.”

Ottavio must have meant Bianchi’s Poison Cooking. That was very different from the kind of toxins Lili used, though …

Ottavio must have read her hesitance, because he smiled and added, “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you were capable. There are other poisoners in the Varia, but I trust you, and you seem to have some rapport with him already.”

That was…really nice to hear, actually, even if she suspected Ottavio was just flattering her to get her to agree.

“You can think on it a little,” said Ottavio. “It will take a while to bring Hayato up to full health, and then Lempo will help draw up a plan.”

Lempo— ah, Dr. Shamal. It was weird having to get used to his Varia alias. Shamal still flirted with anything on two legs that looked vaguely female, but at least he mostly kept his hands to himself now, after the first dozen or so times people threatened to remove them for him. More often than not, when Shamal was being a bit too lecherous, Ottavio would also appear out of nowhere and haul him off by the collar like a misbehaving dog. He clearly took HR’s anti-harassment policy very seriously.

“They have a weird relationship, don’t you think,” Bluebird had said, in a tone of voice that made Lili think of that one conspiracy theory gif. “They’re always snarking at each other, but they’re so touchy-feely, and Shamal always has breakfast with Ottavio, have you noticed? He did that even back at the Biscione HQ! Well, I guess Tyr and the others were there too…”

Huh, come to think of it, she’d seen Shamal sitting with Ottavio in the mess hall a couple of times, but hadn’t thought much about it. Maybe it was just habit, or just because Ottavio was like the one guy Shamal knew in this whole place.

“I kinda ship it,” admitted Bluebird.

“Bluebird, no,” sighed Lili, facepalming. “They’re real people!”

This had been before Rue showed up, so perhaps Bluebird would be a bit more sensible now… yeah, no, he was probably formulating some kind of 50-episode K-drama love triangle in his head.

Bluebird’s disturbing thought processes aside, Lili thought she’d be able to handle Shamal’s involvement. Maybe he’d take things more seriously where Gokudera was involved, and if he didn’t behave? Well, perhaps it would be time for him to get more closely acquainted with the porcelain throne. She could also always rat him out to Ottavio.

“I’ll think about it,” she promised Ottavio, who seemed pleased.

“Ah, one last thing,” said Ottavio, pushing up his glasses. “Could you see if it is possible to have lemon cake as part of the refreshments, tomorrow, at the meeting? Thank you.” He then smiled and nodded at Lili before splitting off to head towards his own office, leaving her standing there, blinking.

Cake? The only sweet-toothed person attending the meeting was Mammon, and they usually had granita or some fruit salad…

Oh. Oh. That was kind of sweet.

Over the next few days, Rue was seen wandering all over the castle (sometimes in a male form, interestingly enough), sometimes (rarely) accompanied by Ottavio, sometimes with the kid she brought in. The Execs knew about it, but didn’t say or do anything, so people assumed she had their tacit permission.

“There’s precedence,” said Berith, when Lili commented on it. He had been on light duty after the snakebite incident, but had recovered enough to sit and work at his desk for most of the day. “I wasn’t here, but the same thing happened when Rue stayed here a few years ago. They’re like some kind of liaison officer? People should know what to say and what not to say to outsiders, and anyway, I’m pretty sure Intelligence is keeping an eye on things.”

“I don’t mind if she hangs around,” said Marchosias, because of course he needed to comment. “She’s so…”

“Ottavio will kill you,” reminded Berith in a mild tone, and Marchosias shut up.

Lili would have just put Rue out of her mind after that, but she noticed that Rue seemed to have taken an interest in Bluebird, of all people.

“Why’s Rue always talking to you?” asked Lili, once she’d finally managed to catch Bluebird alone.

“She was asking about what Ottavio’s been up to, and if we did anything interesting on our trip!” replied Bluebird excitedly, chattering on like a rapid-fire machine gun. “I think she wants to know if he’s been cheating. She’s so pretty, and such a nice lady, you know? I did tell her about the guy Ottavio brought back to the hotel that one time… she deserved to know! Weirdly, she didn’t seem very upset. Do hookers not count, or something?”

Hiring an escort totally counted as cheating, in Lili’s book, but maybe it just wasn’t a big deal in the mafia (not like she would know). Actually, even though Rue shared a room with Ottavio and everything, Lili didn’t really get the vibe that they were lovers? Ottavio was clearly very fond and considerate of Rue, but there wasn’t that … spark. They didn’t even have the awkwardness of exes, just the ease of two people used to living out of each other’s pockets. Maybe they really were ‘just friends’, as Ottavio claimed, or it was some kind of weird magical mafia situationship thing.

“I’m not sure Rue is actually a woman,” she remarked instead, after failing to come to a conclusion, “because Ottavio exclusively refers to Rue as a ‘he’. Rue walks around as a man a lot, too. Maybe the lady agent thing is a cover.”

Bluebird looked flabbergasted. “Is this a Mist thing?” he wondered. “It sounds like a Mist thing. Oh, that explains so much about Ottavio!”

Did it. Did it really. Lili had no idea what acrobatic leaps of logic Bluebird’s brain was taking this time.

“Did Rue ask about anything else?” Lili interrupted, before they could get too distracted. “You know not to tell her anything sensitive, right? Whether about the Varia or…otherwise.”

“Nah, she— or he—- just wanted to know my story and my experiences here,” said Bluebird dismissively, scratching his cheek. “You know the kid Rue brought along? She—ugh this is confusing—Rue was thinking of leaving him with Ottavio, but was worried life in the Varia might be too rough for the kid.”

“Oh, that boy,” said Lili. “Is he Rue’s?”

Bluebird tilted his head. “Well, s-he didn’t say,” he mused. “Don’t you think he looks kind of familiar? His name is Basilio! Do you think —“

Basilio? Basil! Come to think of it, there was a resemblance to what Lili remembered of the character, though the hair and eye colour were not uncommon, so…

“Could be, but we can’t be sure, can we?” she said.

Bluebird sagged a little. “Aw, I guess,” he sighed. “Maybe I’ll try to find out if he has Rain Flames!”

Lili should really have paid more attention to what Bluebird was doing, because he came to their next meeting looking very sheepish… and with Rue in tow.

“Hi,” said Rue, lips curving into a charming smile as some kind of illusion settled over them like a curtain. The paired gems on the earrings he wore glowed a tell-tale indigo. “So, Bluebird tells me that the letters ‘K’, ‘H’, and ‘R’ might mean something to you, hm?”

Chapter Text

Bluebird, 15, Rank C, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly Raguel ‘Angel of Judgement’ Kaminari , vigilante, formerly Alan Sutherland, 14, student

Alan was having the time of his life!

Everything was just so fresh and exciting, and canon had totally taken a flaming nosedive into the unknown, but that was half the fun, wasn’t it?

And he was getting to meet so many canon characters! Well, the wrong ones, compared with the ones he’d really hoped to meet (come to think of it, he’d not even really met his own boss, Xanxus), but it was something, and a whole lot of fun.

There was Shamal, of course, who still looked at him funny (he’d told him he was a boy! Multiple times!), and Lancia, who he’d become best buddies with. They were even writing to each other now, since texting still wasn’t really a thing (god, Alan missed texting, and smartphones in general), and Lancia’s dialect was a bit difficult to understand through the phone.

And then there was Mukuro Rokudo! Alan patted himself on the back for playing a big part in his rescue.

He’d reluctantly crossdressed (again) to be handed over to the Estraneo by Manticore, who’d played the part of one of the trafficker thugs. Thankfully, the Estraneo lackeys who’d signed off on the ‘package’ hadn’t scrutinised him too closely until they were back at the base, where they’d made him change into a very breezy hospital gown (luckily, the tiny tracker Ottavio had given him was hidden in his hair, close to his scalp). Obviously they’d found out then and there he was a boy. Luckily, they just thought that they’d been scammed (they paid more for women and children), and were real pissed about it. Alan caught some ominous mutterings about using him for “control transfusions” before he was shut in a tiny room with two other teen boys.

They were maybe a little bit older than Alan, and both of them looked kind of sick, with their arms pocked with what must have been needle marks. One in particular was so pale and unwell he could barely sit up from his mattress on the floor. They watched Alan warily as he (sneakily!) swept the room for cameras and bugs.

“...Your names wouldn’t happen to be Blago and Surjan, would they?” he asked them, after finding none. They did match descriptions of the people Ottavio had told him to look out for. The boys’ eyes widened, which Alan took as a yes. “Oh good! Your Mr. Landolfi sent me!”

Alan bummed around until an intruder alarm sounded. He figured that was the signal Ottavio and the others had come to get them, so he quickly broke out of the room, and none too soon! There was some kind of funky scifi anti-Flame emission thing that shut down his Flames after that, which meant he had to use his sneaky assassin skills and not his rainbow weather magic skills.

He told Blago and Surjan to stay put while he rescued the others, as Blago couldn’t really walk. He found the other holding areas readily enough (there weren’t even any guards, they must have been distracted), and picked the locks. The Estraneo seemed to have organised the kids by age (there were babies in cots, what was wrong with these monsters!), and one room in particular had Ken and Chikusa in it! Ken looked just like a mini version of the one in the anime, while Chikusa didn’t have the barcode yet, but it was them, alright. But where was Mukuro? Weren’t they all kept together in the manga?

Alan did a headcount again and again until Manticore appeared and briefed him on what was going on.

“I heard there’s one more,” he told Manticore. “Why don’t you get the other kids out, while I’ll go look around.”

He ran down the hallway of labs, quickly looking into each one, without any luck. Then he heard a gunshot, and followed the sound to where a scientist had obviously ended his life. That was where he saw Mukuro lying still in the operating room, with the machines next to him blinking red, and immediately ran off again to find someone who could help.

He’d found Lugh and Shamal just in time, thankfully!

This Mukuro seemed to not have finished developing the Six Paths, as a consequence of his rescue — his eye read ‘four’ instead of ‘six’. Alan couldn’t quite remember which number corresponded to what Path, but he was a bit worried now. It was great that Mukuro was rescued! But did it mean he would be less powerful than he was in canon? Canon Mukuro was very important for multiple battles! What were they going to do with a nerfed Mukuro?

AU!Mukuro, who Ottavio had named ‘Mirco’ (“Mukuro?” he’d said when Alan had a slip of the tongue, oops. “A corpse? Inappropriate.”), was somehow completely obsessed with his supervisor. He’d follow Ottavio around, and since Alan also had to follow Ottavio around, they were in each other’s company a lot. Alan didn’t really know how to interact with kids, having been an only child himself with no young relatives (and Mukuro didn’t seem to really know how to be a kid, either), but apparently Mukuro found him entertaining, and didn’t try to murder him or anything.

He was very fragile, though, health-wise. The rescued kids all were, actually. Lugh said it was because they were kept isolated for so long and hadn’t seen very many germs. Mukuro seemed to be the worst off of all of them, and for a moment Alan thought he was going to die from the flu, of all things. But he pulled through, and became even clingier to Ottavio, who was pretty much his dad now.

Shamal joined the single fathers club when he and Ottavio (and an unrepentant Mukuro smelling faintly of kerosene) came home one day with a very confused Gokudera Hayato. They spent forever locked in the bathroom arguing over what colour to dye Gokudera’s distinctive hair to disguise him, with Mukuro making unhelpful suggestions outside. Eventually Shamal won(at what cost, Dr. Shamal, at what cost?), but Gokudera cried for a whole half hour after his silver locks became muddy brown. Yeah, Alan thought it was a pity, too.

The poor little guy was obviously having adjustment issues, lashing out at Shamal and Mukuro, so Alan took it upon himself to distract him when he was assigned babysitting duty, which was… often, especially during their too-long drive back to Sicily. Oh, that had been a nightmare, with Mom and Dad bickering in the front, while two children who didn’t really know how to play, much less play together, were trapped with him in the back seat (Alan would really have murdered somebody for an iPad). Alan ended up buying a magnetic checkers board at a rest stop and teaching the kids how to play, but of course Mukuro Mist-cheated once he realised he was losing to baby genius Gokudera and then it all went downhill from there…

Exhausting! Alan decided he never wanted kids.

Back at Varia HQ, swept back into HR and buried under an avalanche of backlogged mission reports (the Estraneo one was a bitch to fill out) and other paperwork, Alan didn’t have much time for the kiddos anymore. But more importantly, Ottavio (and by extension Alan and everyone on that raid, to some degree) was a celebrity, all of a sudden!

Ottavio had never been like, super popular. People respected him as part of Tyr’s set and as an Exec, sure, but there was always that little bit of derision, you know? Because Ottavio was almost 100% desk jockey, and never did missions, people didn’t feel like he was really an assassin (and he wasn’t, in all actuality) and therefore didn’t quite represent the Varia (his long winded ‘staff seminars’ and anal-retentiveness didn’t help either). But now he had avenged the Varia! Restored their honour! Et cetera, et cetera … and everyone was celebrating. Quietly and within the Varia only, because Federico had recently died (canon event?!) and it would be insensitive to the sombre mood in the greater Vongola if they were too blatant about it.

Alan was asked to tell his version of the story no less than a dozen times (he left out the crossdressing), and someone even bought him his first drink (the wine served at dinner didn’t count)! His fellow rookies were all congratulatory and envious, and a lot of the higher ranks even knew him now! It felt…really good.

His newfound status didn’t excuse him from his rookie duty of bringing Ottavio food, though.

Ottavio usually had breakfast in the mess hall (with Shamal! And they usually didn’t even fight! Maybe it was too early…), but more often than not worked through lunch and dinner. Sometimes he’d have a snack in the late afternoon too, if he wasn't in a meeting. Alan was supposed to take turns with the D ranks to fetch Ottavio’s meals, but lately it was mostly Alan, as Greenfinch and Warbler were out on mission duty and Wallcreeper kept mixing up Ottavio’s new dietary preferences (he’d abruptly turned pescetarian sometime after the Estraneo raid —- maybe some of the fighting had been really gory?). It wasn’t too much of a pain, as he’d usually just go eat and take something for Ottavio back to the office with him. Ottavio appreciated the effort, and would sometimes reward him by letting him leave early, or giving him money to buy cannoli for the whole office.

So, according to his colleagues, Alan was a ‘favourite’ now (apparently Sparrow had been one too, when she was still in HR), which meant he got volun-told by everyone (except Shrike and Gull, who were suspiciously deaf to the lower ranks messing around and instead looked very focused on their paperwork) to ask Ottavio about the sexy lady (a CEDEF agent?) who’d moved in with him (and had brought a kid!).

Ottavio sighed the moment Alan poked his head into his office. “Rue’s a good friend of mine,” he said preemptively, “and I know very little about the boy. I can hear all of you gossiping from here, you know? Where are your reports?”

Alan meekly slunk back to work, not forgetting to recount Ottavio’s words to his colleagues. Shrike and Gull just looked amused, as if sharing some private joke. Sus!

Said sexy lady actually came to talk to Alan one day.

“You’re Ottavio’s new rookie?” she said (Alan was absolutely not looking at her boobs and absolutely maintaining eye contact, absolutely). “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Agent Rue (that sounded so cool) was very concerned about Ottavio’s recent adventures. Ottavio had never been away for so long, she said, one slender hand on her huge — blouse ruffle. She’d heard Alan had been accompanying him, and so wanted to talk to him to “get some perspective”. The kid she’d brought along, Basilio (sounded familiar) also needed a place to stay, and Rue was worried whether the Varia would be suitable for such a young child. She was such a nice lady!

Alan had never received so much undivided attention from the opposite sex before, much less from such an attractive person (Sparrow didn’t count– she was like a very strict older sister), and was honestly so distracted he couldn’t really remember what came out of his mouth at some points.

He did tattle on Ottavio, though, but Rue didn’t seem too upset. Or maybe she was putting on a brave front! Poor lady, Ottavio did her dirty.

Sparrow’s reminders jolted him a little (Rue, a man?! But they were so pretty and ladylike!), and made Alan resolve to choose his words more carefully, but Alan must have gotten distracted (again). He was 100% invested in discovering whether the adorable blue-eyed boy named Basilio was actually Basil from CEDEF!

And maybe he’d been too eager about it.

“He does have Rain Flames,” said Rue casually during their next conversation, “but I’m not sure if he’s actually Basil from canon, still. CEDEF wouldn’t take him.”

Oh. Still, there was a possibility —-wait. Alan gaped at Rue. Did Rue just–?

“You’re not the only one, are you?” Rue noted, smiling slightly.

“Huh?” Alan was still trying to process what happened.

“Someone’s been schooling you on what to say,” said Rue. “Whoever you met between our last conversation and this one, I want to meet them.”

Rue refused to say more about himself until they’d met with Sparrow (“I don’t want to repeat myself,” he’d said, which was fair). He was safe, right? Rue had been super nice to him so far. And it was always good to find more people like them! It would be a nice surprise for Sparrow-senpai!

The look of utter betrayal and disappointment Sparrow shot him as Rue brought an illusion down over them made Alan squirm in shame.

“It’s a pretty secluded meeting place you’ve got here, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful,” explained Rue, looking slightly apologetic. “I’ve set up a visual and auditory illusion. Mammon’s busy with Mirco today, so exactly no one will be able to listen in.”

He gave them a big smile as he sat down on the edge of the stone parapet. They were up on one of the battlements today. “Let’s try this again: hi, I’m Rue, I’ve been in this crazy anime universe for almost 20 fucking years, how about you kids?”

!!!!!

Twenty years!

It had occurred to Alan before, but hadn’t really sunk in. He was going to be here forever, until he died of old age or violence. He’d never see — ok, shutting that down, now.

“Um, this is very sudden,” said Sparrow cautiously.

“I know,” said Rue. “I might never have noticed there were others like me if I never heard about Bluebird. Our paths don’t really cross.”

“There aren’t any in CEDEF?” Sparrow asked, before glaring at Bluebird. “And how did he slip up?

“Senpai,” whined Alan. He was sorry!

“Not that I’ve noticed,” said Rue. “I’m not close with the other agents, though.” He smiled at Alan. “Ottavio mentioned Bluebird had called Mirco an odd name – ‘Mukuro’. And Bluebird was … unusually eager to establish Basilio’s identity.”

Sparrow groaned and put her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry!” said Alan, cringing. Sometimes he just couldn’t help himself!

“There must be more of you in the Varia, for you to ask that question,” guessed Rue (he really was a pro, thought Alan). “But let’s have proper introductions first. Mind if I smoke?”

With the ice broken, they all reintroduced themselves (no names or details from Before, just the basics) and shared some history on how long they’d been in the KHR universe and how they’d managed to get to where they were. Bluebird had heard Sparrow’s story previously, but wow, did everyone sound like they had a really bad time in the early days. Alan thought he’d gotten very lucky. He’d just slept rough for a couple of months.

“You’re babies,” muttered Rue despairingly, after learning their stories. “Infants. Well, I suppose Sparrow was an adult before she crossed over, but Bluebird? God. Are you old enough to be murdering people?”

“I’ve already murdered people,” Alan told Rue, who looked even more stressed.

“I was murdering people when my current body was at Bluebird’s age,” added Sparrow, which did not help.

“Damn, they really start ‘em young in the Varia,” Rue sighed, scratching his forehead. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be infantilising either of you. It’s a different world, with different rules.”

“Hey, I knew what I was getting into,” protested Alan. Mostly, anyway. “It’s fine.”

Rue eyed them for a moment before taking a long, slow drag of his cigarette, relaxing his shoulders with the exhale. Looking at him, you’d never guess he was a man on the inside. “Well,” he said. “As long as you kids are doing all right.”

Alan wondered if Rue felt responsible for them, just because he was an adult. He really was a nice person.

“We’re doing okay, but there were people I know of who didn’t make it,” said Sparrow grimly, because she’d always been hung up on that. Alan didn’t really see the point of worrying over people they didn’t personally know, but Sparrow was a big ol’ squishy marshmallow inside her spiky exterior.

“I think that’s enough heavy conversation for one day,” decided Rue, after Sparrow elaborated. He checked the slim leather watch on his wrist. “I’ll let you two discuss among yourselves. I’m here till Federico’s funeral at the very least, so you can catch me again. I’d prefer if we met only when Mammon isn’t around, but I can probably make things work.” He waved goodbye to them and left, heels making no sound at all on the stone.

“He’s so mature!” commented Alan, after Rue left.

“Unlike you,” huffed Sparrow, massaging her temples.

After some discussion, they decided that Rue seemed trustworthy, and it would be helpful to have someone ‘in the know’ who could feed them information from CEDEF. There was so much Alan wanted to know! Like if Iemitsu was really a goofball, or–

“What’s it feel like dating a canon character?” asked Alan eagerly the next time they saw Rue, before Sparrow could stop him. “Is Ottavio like that because you fixed him?” The power of love! He’d read something like that in a web novel once!

Rue blinked and frowned. “Excuse me, what? Fixed Ottavio? For what?”

It turned out Rue had no idea Ottavio was even a named character in the series. He’d not even read the manga, much less the light novel.

“So you think I fucked the evil out of him,” said Rue dryly, making Alan sputter and turn red, because! “Sorry to disappoint you, but Ottavio has always been like this. He’s the sanest and possibly the nicest man in the mafia. I’ve known him for years.”

“Also, we’re just friends,” he added after a pause.

Alan and Sparrow exchanged looks of sheer disbelief.

Rue rolled his eyes. “Suit yourselves,” he said. “The whole Vongola seems to think I’m his woman anyway.”

“You’re a man though,” said Alan, though he could see how the super conservative sexist mafia could get it wrong. Rue looked like he didn’t care, but it must be awful to be misgendered all the time! “If you’re not dating…is that why you weren’t upset when I told you about the escort?”

Rue just laughed, and suddenly he wasn’t Rue anymore, but the pretty young man who’d flirted with Alan outside the hotel. “Did he look like this?”

“Oh!” Alan turned bright red. That was so cool, though! Kind of like Mystique from X-Men!

“Mmhmm,” agreed Rue, resuming his regular CEDEF agent shape. “I don’t particularly care though, it’s true. Ottavio can sleep with anybody he wants. More importantly, I would appreciate it if you could tell me about any other manga or light novel exclusive events? I think that could be important…”

“Yes! I think there’s a big one coming up,” said Sparrow. “Come on, Bluebird, let’s brainstorm.”

They ended up going through the whole series chronologically, comparing notes on what they remembered (Rue’s memory was pretty hazy, as it had been too long for him).

“It’s already started,” said Rue, when they got to the Flood of Blood. “Someone has been shooting into the residences of Vongola allies.”

Oh no. And Rue was a CEDEF agent!

“Um, be careful if you’re asked to look into an art dealer,” said Sparrow, obviously nervous. She was going to get ulcers again at this rate. “Avoid hotel elevators?”

Rue didn’t look so good himself. Maybe he thought he had a good chance of being sent out to investigate. “I’ll try,” he said. “I’ll sure as hell try.”

Chapter Text

Mirco, 8, of the Biscione Famiglia

“Alright, up you go…Mammon is pushing you very hard these days, hmm?”

Large hands lifted Mirco up by the shoulders from where he was lying face down on the floor, from where Mammon had left him earlier. The voice and presence were familiar, so Mirco didn’t struggle.

Sure enough, it was Ottavio’s face that greeted him as he was helped to his (wobbly) feet, then after a considering pause, picked up completely.

“I’m too old to be carried,” he protested, though it brought back nostalgic recollections of another life, where Ottavio would scoop him up in his hands and tuck him in a pocket. He’d peep out as Ottavio (young, maybe only as old as Mirco was now) worked, cheeping defiantly at the other fowl eyeing him with malice. Sometimes Ottavio would walk a very long way to a … road? Highway? Cars would stop, and Ottavio would sell them something, Mirco didn’t really know what, probably eggs. Then Ottavio would walk all the way back, and give the money to the nasty old woman. Eventually, Mirco got too big, and Ottavio had to leave him at home.

“Can you even walk by yourself?” asked Ottavio, distracting Mirco from his fuzzy memories. His brow wrinkled slightly. “Ah, you’re all sweaty. Where is your handkerchief?”

Mirco obediently fumbled a handkerchief from his pocket and scrubbed at his face, though his arms felt like jelly.

“Here, let me.” Ottavio took over and gently wiped his face and neck. He then handed Mirco a box of apple juice, which he sucked on until Ottavio set him down outside his room, by which time he felt a little less light-headed (something about dehydration and blood sugar, as was explained to him previously).

Opening the door, Mirco saw that Hayato and Basilio were in the room, building some kind of mechanical toy (or more likely, Hayato had been doing the building while babbling about physics as Basilio listened and occasionally handed him a part). They looked up as Mirco and Ottavio came in.

“Hello,” greeted Hayato, echoed shyly by Basilio. He looked at Mirco. “Oh, it’s a training day.”

“Yes,” said Ottavio. “Would you two please make sure Mirco doesn’t drown in the bath?”

“Okay,” agreed Hayato despite Mirco’s scowl (he wasn’t a helpless baby!). “We’ll all go to dinner together later.”

“Thank you, Hayato, Basilio,” said Ottavio, smiling, and left them to it.

“Training sounds really tough,” commented Basilio sympathetically, after Mirco stumbled out of the bathroom.

“You’ll start soon, if you stay here,” said Mirco, towelling his hair. Even Hayato was being taught how to dodge and tumble now, and on occasion would be prodded into using Flames.

“I can stay here?” asked Basilio hopefully. “I don’t mind training if I can stay.”

“Do you want to, though?” sniffed Hayato. He still missed his evil poisoner family, to Mirco’s disgust. At least he never talked about running away, and seemed to actually like living at Varia HQ, some days.

“I don’t want to go back to the orphanage,” said Basilio, looking worried. He’d told them (in very vague terms) what happened prior to being stolen away by Rue. Mirco and Hayato had been impressed that he’d actually killed a man, and even that annoying ‘prince’ Bel had been approving.

“Let’s ask Ottavio later, then,” decided Mirco. Today was a rest day for Ottavio, which meant he would be testing Mirco’s progress on reading and his times tables (“That’s baby stuff, ushishishi,” Bel taunted him the other day, and they got in trouble for destroying half the garden while Mirco was trying to get back at him), and then lecturing them before bedtime (“It puts me right to sleep,” Hayato complained).

When they went to dinner, Ottavio was already sitting with Rue and Lempo (why the mafia had so many names for the same person Mirco had no clue). Hayato made a face and turned his head away.

“Ugh, I’m not sitting with him,” he said, referring to Lempo, his guardian (they were probably having a disagreement again), and pulled them towards another unoccupied table. Rue, who was facing Mirco and his friends, spotted them and winked, which Mirco took to mean that he’d tell Ottavio where they were. Sure enough, Ottavio turned, smiled at them, and went right back to arguing with Lempo, so Mirco guessed it didn’t matter if they sat by themselves.

After they ate, all three of the adults followed them back to the room. Rue wantedto catch up with Basilio, and Lempo was interested in what Hayato was up to (much to his annoyance). Basilio hadn’t met Lempo and still hadn’t gotten over being afraid of strangers, so he clammed up and hid behind Mirco, his question from earlier forgotten.

Mirco had no such fear of the doctor, and besides, he wasn’t relevant to Basilio.

He tugged at Ottavio’s sleeve. “Is Basilio staying?” he asked as the man looked through his workbooks. “Can he stay? He wants to stay.”

Rue and Ottavio both looked at Basilio at that. Basilio seemed uncomfortable with the sudden attention, but nodded. “I really do,” he said earnestly. “I like living here. And my new friends!”

“Kid, has anyone even told you what kind of place this is?” scoffed Lempo. “Best think twice.”

Basilio flushed, but put on a determined face. “I’m not stupid,” he said. “Everyone in the castle is an assassin. Assassins kill people for money.”

The ‘everyone’ bit wasn’t true, thought Mirco. Was the mess hall lady an assassin?

“And you’re all right with that?” asked Rue carefully.

Basilio nodded, looking conflicted. “I’ve already killed a person,” he said. “I didn’t want to, but I think I could do it again.”

“For fu-” Lempo started to curse, but Ottavio immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling the interesting (bad) words that children like them weren’t allowed to hear.

“Basilio, you are welcome to stay,” said Ottavio, drawing back his hand after Lempo smacked it away. Basilio sagged, relieved. “You don’t have to decide right away if you want to be a Varia assassin. I certainly don’t have such expectations of Hayato or even Mirco, and no one will force you.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll never return to the orphanage,” added Rue. “You have Dying Will Flames, so you wouldn’t be allowed to.”

“Dying Will Flames?” questioned Basilio.

Rue smacked his forehead. “I forgot! No one’s told you! I’m surprised your friends haven’t said anything.”

Hayato and Mirco exchanged a look. “I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to,” said Hayato. “It’s not like people don’t use them around Basilio, so I thought he knew something.” Mirco had even thought the adults were keeping things from Basilio on purpose, actually.

“Oh, do you mean the illusions and magic tricks Mirco and Rue do sometimes?” Basilio, blinked, confused. “But I can’t do any of that?”

“Oh, you just have a different type!” said Rue.

The adults spent the rest of the time explaining things to Basilio. Rue described the Rain Flames Basilio had used when he’d found him (apparently Basilio had no idea he was doing any of that), and Ottavio spoke more about the Vongola, how the Varia worked and what they did. Even Lempo had something to say, suggesting that Basilio should go for a check up to make sure everything was all right after Basilio had activated his Flames, though Mirco thought he was maybe trying to impress Rue.

While this was going on, Hayato looked at the clock and gave Mirco a secret thumbs up – they’d managed to skip the quizzing and lecturing scheduled for the evening.

Sure enough, Ottavio checked his watch and announced that it was time for the boys to get ready for bed.

“I need a drink after that,” Lempo declared as the adults got up to leave. “Let me buy you one, bella?”

“I have a better idea, let’s just raid Ottavio’s liquor cabinet for the good stuff,” said Rue sweetly. “Ottavio won’t mind, will he?”

Ottavio’s long-suffering sigh was the last thing Mirco heard before the door closed behind them.

“They’re such good friends,” whispered Basilio.

Mirco just thought adults were strange and stupidly indirect about everything.

The issue of weird adults continued to circle his thoughts until his next session with Mammon.

“Are you an adult, maestro?” he asked his teacher.

Mammon paused. “What is this?” they said, sounding unamused. “Are you wasting my time with stupid questions?”

Mirco cocked his head at him. “I knew you weren’t really a baby,” he said. “But I couldn’t think of what else you might be. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand why I don’t understand it?”

Mammon’s mouth turned down in displeasure. “It’s a curse,” they said. “It does something to make most people overlook the discrepancies.”

“Then we’re both cursed,” said Mirco. The Estraneo scientists had called his eye a gift and the Estraneo’s hope, but Mirco knew better.

His teacher was silent for a moment. “I suppose we are,” they said eventually. “Now, stop dawdling. Time is money!”

The training ended as it always did these days, with Mirco sprawled breathless on the floor.

On days where he didn’t meet Mammon, Mirco had to do physical exercise – running, gymnastics, or swimming (“I’m not letting you become a noodle-armed Mist like Rue,” Ottavio had said), which wasn’t so bad as he often had Hayato for company.

On the days with Mammon, training always consisted of three parts: first his most hated ‘basic drills’ (Mirco had made so many illusory boxes), then his Paths, focusing on the Beast Path for now, after Mammon had caught him using it to look in places he shouldn’t. He summoned all kinds of animals, from mice to rats to snakes and in one instance, chickens (“Never again,” said Mammon), and had them run through mazes Mammon constructed to complete various objectives. The last part was the shortest, but most thrilling, in Mirco’s opinion – illusory combat. He barely lasted a minute against Mammon every time, but he thought he was getting better. Mirco was always tired by the end of it, but Mammon said that should improve with time.

Ottavio came to pick him up again.

“Is it too much?” he asked, handing Mirco a juice box as he sat up. It was orange juice, which Mirco didn’t like as much as apple.

Mirco shook his head. “Just tiring,” he said. “I’m getting better.”

“I know you are making good progress,” Ottavio agreed. “What is Mammon having you work on?” Ottavio helped him stand up. Mirco was less wobbly this time, so they walked slowly back, Mirco leaning on Ottavio for support (and comfort, though he’d never say it out loud) and telling him about his training.

“They’re getting impatient,” Ottavio commented. He smiled and shook his head when Mirco looked questioningly at him. “It’s all right. I trust Mammon … to some extent. Work hard, but don’t push yourself to exhaustion, you hear?”

Mirco nodded, and Ottavio patted his head fondly. “I hope… it works out,” he said softly. Mirco thought he was probably talking to himself. Adults were very strange.

One day, some time after Rue had left (to Basilio’s dismay), instead of going to the training rooms, Mammon took him out on an ‘excursion’. They went by car, but it stopped some distance away, and they had to walk (well, Mammon floated) until they arrived at what looked like a disused jetty at the foot of a cliff. There weren’t any boats, but Mirco was still fascinated by the water, and the weird little barnacles(?) growing all over the pilings. Maybe he should ask Ottavio to take them to the beach the next rest day.

Mammon alighted on Mirco’s shoulder and tugged lightly at his hair to direct him. “Don’t get distracted,” they said. “Over there.”

Aureus and Platino, Mammon’s subordinates, were standing by a door, which seemed to open into the cliff (a tunnel?). They were the strongest of the people under Mammon – Mirco had only noticed them after he came closer and felt something off.

“We’re going in,” his maestro said to them, and they nodded.

“We’ll stick to the plan,” said Aureus. “Godspeed.”

Mammon brought Mirco into the tunnel, which was almost pitch black inside. They seemed fine in the dark, though (maybe Phantasma helped?), and let Mirco hold on loosely to their foot as they floated forwards. After some walking (Micro did not like the damp, dark enclosed environment), Mammon stopped and drifted onto Mirco’s shoulder.

“Here is fine,” said his teacher. “Send the mice out.”

Mirco was more sure than ever that Mammon was looking for something. But what?

“What do you want me to find?” he asked, activating the Beast Path. Skittering noises and little squeaks echoed around them as the rodents heeded his summons, gathering first at his feet, then scattering in all directions. Mirco thought, amusedly, that he was like that Pied Piper from that one story Auntie had read to him while he was sick.

Mammon took a while to answer. “It’s…person-sized,” they said eventually. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

It sounded like something very important to his teacher.

Mirco tried to focus on sending his Mist energy through the mice. It was difficult, and his head started to ache a little, but he’d trained for this. Mammon had trained him for this. If Mirco found this thing for Mammon, would he still want Mirco as a student once he stopped being useful? If Mirco did not find this thing for Mammon, would he still want Mirco after he disappointed him? Would Ottavio be upset if Mirco was no longer Mammon’s apprentice?

“Focus, child,” snapped Mammon.

“Yes, maestro,” said Mirco. He imagined strings connecting himself and the little creatures. If they encountered something interesting, there would be a tug, and he would look, but otherwise he let them run wherever. There were boarded up spots, or tunnels blocked off by walls, but there was always a hole big enough for a mouse, or nothing a bit of burrowing wouldn’t solve.

The mice found some really old food, first, which Mirco didn’t think Mammon wanted. Then something that smelled a little bit like that secret compartment in Ottavio’s room that Mirco wasn’t supposed to know about. Not that either.

Then a mouse bumped into something that abruptly cut off Mirco’s connection, shocking Mirco into a twitch.

“What is it?” Mammon noticed, of course.

“Something broke my control,” said Mirco. “Just for one mouse.”

Mammon tensed. “Redirect the others there,” they said. They sounded… hopeful?”

Mirco complied, and frowned as it happened again. He stopped his mouse army further away and looked … and didn’t see much. Mice had really bad eyesight.

“There’s something, I can’t tell what,” he admitted to Mammon.

“That’s fine,” said Mammon. “Take me there.”

“There’s a wall in the way,” reminded Mirco.

Mammon made a dismissive noise.”No matter,” they said. “Lead on.”

Mirco tried to figure out the most direct way to get there (the mice had not travelled in a straight line), one hand on the wall of the tunnel to help his footing. It was quite a long way, but they came to the obstruction Mirco had warned Mammon about. His teacher took out a flashlight from under his cloak and checked the wall, then the surrounding tunnel sides. They then stuck something about the size of Mirco’s palm to the surface of the wall.

“What is that?” asked Mirco, as the thing began blinking a red light.

“An explosive,” said Mammon. “Back, quickly!”

Mirco quickly retreated with Mammon, and a section of the wall blew apart into chunks of plaster and brick. There was no sound – Mammon was muffling it with an auditory illusion. They carefully went through the opening, and when Mirco looked back it was good as new (also an illusion, of course).

The new space had a lot of junk in it, crates and sacks and what looked like unwanted furniture. Mammon however, went straight for something covered with a heavy cloth in the back. Reaching with their tiny, trembling hands, they pulled the cloth away, and Mirco found himself holding his breath, straining for a better look in the dim light.

It was a man? Boy? He was covered in what looked like ice, that wasn’t melting at all. He looked like a statue.

Mammon let out a small noise that sounded angry and miserable and triumphant all at once.

“Who is that?” asked Mirco, almost in a whisper.

“Xanxus,” said his maestro. “My Sky.”

Chapter Text

Nashi, 30, former Cloud Guardian to Federico of the Vongola, formerly Ikemiya Naoshi of the Vongola East Asia Office, formerly Lynn Ko, 26, teacher

Four days before Federico’s funeral, Ercole passed away.

It was a peaceful death, a sudden heart attack in his sleep, or so Lynn had heard. It was a small comfort that he did not suffer, at least.

At the wake, Lynn felt out of place surrounded by Ercole’s children and grandchildren, the one outsider amongst blood kin. Lynn didn’t know them, and they didn’t know Lynn. All that tied them together was this man who Lynn had come to see as a parental figure.

And now he was gone, and Lynn might as well be all alone in the world.

It was a simple, modest affair – there wasn't that much politics associated with Ercole, especially not after he retired, and it was mostly members of the Family in attendance. The Ninth must have been busy grieving his own son and dealing with the fallout of Federico’s death, but he still showed up briefly for his (distant) cousin’s funeral with an armful of flowers. Clinically, Lynn observed the reactions from Ercole’s immediate relatives (they were touched! Profoundly grateful! Humbled!), and could barely shake themselves out of their dissociative state when the Ninth approached.

“My condolences,” said Timoteo, clasping Lynn’s shoulder. Lynn had not seen him since before learning of Federico’s death, and he looked significantly aged and worn. “I knew you were close to Ercole.”

He probably also said other things, but Lynn had lost the capability to pay attention by that time, just keeping their head bowed slightly and nodding respectfully at the right times.

The Ninth could not stay long, but Sawada Iemitsu, bane of Lynn’s second life, lingered like a bad odour.

“It was a good long life, and a productive one,” said Iemitsu. Lynn ignored him. Iemitsu sighed.

“Come on, you look like shit,” he said, hooking an arm around Lynn’s shoulders and corralling him towards a quiet corner. Iemitsu grabbed a glass of water along the way and put it in Lynn’s hand, closing their fingers around it.

“What do you want?” Lynn asked tiredly.

“Look, it’s been a rough couple of months. You need to get away from all this, get a change of pace,” Iemitsu gestured vaguely around them. “I’ve arranged something.”

“You’ve arranged something.” Lynn stared at Iemitsu, unable to believe their ears at Iemitu’s presumptuousness. “Who are you to make decisions for me?”

“I–” Iemitsu seemed genuinely surprised at Lynn’s vehement rejection of the idea. “Nao, it’s for the best…”

“Whose best?” said Lynn. “The Vongola? You? Are you giving me an order, consigliere?” Before Iemitsu could reply, they shook their head and turned away, refusing to spare Iemitsu another glance. “Leave. I’m not in a good mood.”

Iemitsu sighed. “I’ll come talk to you after Federico’s funeral,” he promised, and retreated for the moment. Lynn half-wished something would come up so Iemitsu would be distracted.

Iemitsu suddenly choosing to care now? After barely interacting with Lynn for so many years? They couldn’t help but think something was up.

After Ercole was put to eternal rest, it was Federico’s turn.

The rumour mill had been working overtime ever since word got out that something had happened to Timoteo’s second youngest, and as most people believed, favourite son. The most prevalent rumour was that Xanxus, upset over their previous disagreement, had gotten the Varia to murder his brother. Others said that Federico’s womanising ways had finally caught up with him, and he’d been killed by a jealous lover. There were other whispered conspiracy theories — Federico had attempted a coup, or there was a curse on the Vongola bloodline, every plausible and implausible idea under the sun.

Of course, the official Vongola statement was that Federico had died of a sudden illness, which not even children believed.

The funeral was meant to be quiet and quick (there were no viewings, for obvious reasons), but all the usual suspects had shown up. Alliance Dons, of course – Lynn spotted Dino, probably here on behalf of his ill father – excepting the Bellini, which was stirring up a bit of talk regarding their possible involvement. No accusations or action had been brought against them, but The Ninth’s attitude towards the Bellini had noticeably cooled, which might as well be declaring open season on them. Lynn also spotted a few of Federico’s friends and associates milling about (the Ninth was pretending they did not exist, but tolerated their presence for his dead son’s sake, Lynn assumed), probably mourning the loss of their most important connection.

The extended Vongola Family was in attendance, of course, including Iemitsu’s CEDEF, and a significant number of Varia, headed by Ottavio. Squalo trailed behind him, curiously (suspiciously?) deferential to the older man, followed closely by Lussuria, and much further back, a resentful-looking Levi-a-Than. No Mammon, but Lynn thought they remembered something about them avoiding being in the same vicinity as Reborn (who had come with Dino), or perhaps they were just being unnoticeable. Obviously, there was no Xanxus. Lynn didn’t know what Squalo had done with the information they had given him, but they doubted they’d managed to extract and thaw Xanxus yet.

Xanxus’s continued absence seemed to be drawing some talk amongst the guests. Lynn had barely moved from where they were standing with their fellow Guardians (who were throwing him hateful looks every five minutes or so, in between wallowing in their grief), but there were some very loose lips around them. Some of the bolder ones even tried to provoke comments from the three of them when the Ninth’s head was turned, but a stern glance from Lynn usually sent them packing (and reminded Mora and Pomelo to keep their mouths shut).

A couple of hours of this, and Lynn felt a headache coming on as the din around them (Italian funerals were … energetic) became almost unbearable. As Federico’s former Guardian, they, together with Timoteo and Massimo (when he could) had to stay with the casket while receiving visitors. Ercole’s passing had taken more out of them then they’d realised, and the stress of Federico’s funeral didn’t help matters, either.

The Ninth noticed, of course.

“The three of you, go get some fresh air,” he said to Lynn and the others. “It will be a long day.”

Lynn bowed and walked away without waiting for Mora or Pomelo, interpreting the instruction as emancipation from his duty of babysitting these idiots. They thought of Lynn as Timoteo’s man, and not part of Federico’s set, after all, and Lynn had never even pretended to like them.

They walked purposefully to a quieter part of the grounds, not far enough to be completely out of sight, but at least enough distance away from the hubbub so they could breathe. Lynn sat down on a bench, exhaled in one long breath, and just let their mind go blank.

Unfortunately, the relative peace didn’t last long.

Lynn lifted their head at the very deliberate crunch of leaves underfoot, the way someone used to walking silently might politely announce their presence without startling someone.

It was Tyr, of all people, almost unrecognisable in a suit instead of the Varia uniform. Lynn knew of him, of course, as a master swordsman and as the former head of the Varia, but they’d never actually spoken. They’d heard in passing that Tyr had set up a famiglia somewhere up north, after their retirement, and had been involved in something about the Estraneo (Lynn hadn’t had the energy to follow up, but it was being talked about everywhere). Lynn had seen him at Enrico’s funeral, so they supposed it was appropriate for him to be at Federico's. However, they could not think of why he would suddenly approach Lynn.

“My condolences, though I suspect you are tired of hearing that,” said Tyr. “A moment of your time?”

Lynn nodded politely but didn’t get up, and Tyr sat down next to him.

“This is our first time speaking, isn’t it?” said Tyr. “Our circles didn’t intersect much. I’ve heard of you though, or rather, I noticed your sword first. A Fujiwara blade, if I’m not wrong? Antique?”

Lynn was surprised – they’d not thought Tyr had an interest in Japanese katana, since his swordsmanship was distinctly European, primarily the German longsword style.

“Yes, it’s an heirloom,” they replied, but didn’t offer to show Tyr (as a swordsman himself, he’d understand). Lynn’s katana, Kumokiri, had been crafted by the sole lineage of bladesmiths in Japan who worked Flame-conductive metals, and had been passed down from father to son for generations. It was probably going into the grave with Lynn, though.

“Fantastic. I’d love to visit Japan someday.” Tyr sounded wistful. “Bah! As much as I’d love to talk swords, unfortunately, I can’t, not today. It’s a bit rude to do this during a funeral, but it’s not like I’ll have another opportunity, so I’d like to extend you a job offer.”

Lynn frowned. A job offer?

“You have a Cloud already,” they said.

Tyr laughed. “And he’s the best Cloud I could ever have!” he said. “No, it’s not about that. Have you heard about my little outfit up north?”

“The news has been difficult to miss, yes,” said Lynn.

“We have a plague of little tykes running around now,” said Tyr fondly, unbothered by Lynn’s dry tone. “So many. The problem is, we’re all uneducated hicks up there, and these children need to be brought up properly.”

“I’m not a nanny,” said Lynn, though they most certainly had felt like one during all those years with Federico. Also, ‘uneducated hick’, Lynn’s foot. Anyone who knew more than half a dozen languages couldn’t be considered ‘uneducated’.

“We have actual child minders for that,” Tyr explained. “They need role models, teachers. When you did so well with Xanxus, all those years ago, it caught the attention of the extended Family. There had been talk about putting you in teacher-protector roles for Family children, before the Ninth assigned you to Federico. Ercole was fending off swarms of them trying to find out more about you!”

That was…news to Lynn. No one had ever mentioned anything of the sort to them. They hadn’t even realised such roles existed. Certainly, there was Reborn but…Lynn had always thought he was a special case. Lynn couldn’t deny that tutoring a bunch of (how old were they, kindergarten age?) children sounded like a decent alternative to whatever plans Iemitsu seemed to have for him.

“Anyway,” continued Tyr, “if you find yourself sick of Sicily–” sick of the Vongola, seemed to be what Tyr implied “–give us a call.” He handed Lynn a card with a phone number on it, then stood up.

Iemitsu appeared almost immediately after Tyr left. “Time to head back; the Ninth wants to introduce you to a few people,” he said, glancing in Tyr’s direction. “What did Tyr want?”

“He asked about Kumokiri,” Lynn replied truthfully.

“You sword-obsessed nerds are all the same,” laughed Iemitsu, though his gaze was sharp. “Come, let’s not keep the Ninth waiting.”

The rest of the day seemed a blur.

Somehow, Lynn made it through mass, and then watched blankly as Federico’s casket was lowered into the ground. Mora and Pomela were a screaming, crying mess, and even the Ninth staggered a little and had to be propped up by Brow Nie. Once everything was concluded, the Ninth retired to his quarters, and Mora and Pomelo slunk off somewhere, perhaps to drink themselves to death.

Iemitsu followed after Lynn.

“May I help you?” they sighed, head starting to hurt again.

Iemitsu draped an arm companionably around Lynn. “You’re always so cold,” he complained. “Come on, you look like you could use a drink.”

“No.” Lynn stubbornly dug their heels in.

“Nao, don’t be like that,” wheedled Iemitsu.

“No,” said Lynn again, massaging a temple.

“I need to talk to you about,” Iemitsu made a vague gesture, “that thing I told you about.”

“I thought I made it clear I don’t like people making decisions for me,” said Lynn, shaking off Iemitsu’s arm.

“Look, just hear me out,” Iemitsu insisted, suddenly serious. “I promise I didn’t do this on a whim.”

Lynn was sure they would regret this, but relented.

“No bars,” they said, not really wanting to be around other people at the moment.

“Okay, okay,” Iemitsu sounded relieved. “Your place?”

Hosting Sawada Iemitsu wasn’t what Lynn had been planning to do after Federico’s funeral, but here they were. As much as it annoyed Lynn to do it, their habits and upbringing (in both lives) demanded that they make Iemitsu tea.

Iemitsu took the cup without hesitation, looking around at the bare room. “Wow, you’ve … really cleaned up. Were you planning to move somewhere?”

Lynn shrugged. “I’m no longer a Guardian, so I won’t have this room for much longer. I just thought I’d preemptively clear out some things.”

“The Ninth isn’t like that, he’d let you live here permanently if you wanted,” said Iemitsu.

“That’s a moot point, isn’t it? With someone making arrangements for me already,” said Lynn, folding their arms and sitting down. “Well? Talk.”

Iemitsu rubbed his nose and set the cup of tea down. “I’ve secured a place for you as the vice-chief of the East Asia office,” he said.

Lynn had suspected, considering the last time Iemitsu was in this room, he had suggested that Lynn should return to Japan, but they hadn’t expected that particular role.

“I’m not qualified,” said Lynn immediately, frowning. They’d never had any leadership roles. “And won’t you be stepping on the current chief’s toes?”

“He’s being a bit fishy, which is why I suggested your appointment to the Ninth–who agreed, by the way,” said Iemitsu with a dismissive wave. “And you followed Ercole around for how many years? You know how things are done.”

So they wanted Lynn to babysit again?

“You could literally send anyone else loyal to you or the Ninth and it would work out,” Lynn pointed out. “And if you say ‘since you were at loose ends anyway’, I will stab you with Kumokiri.”

Iemitsu had the grace to look sheepish. “Come on, Nao, it’ll be good for you to go home for a bit!”

“Is it?”

“Is it what?” frowned Iemitsu.

“Home,” said Lynn. “There was nothing for me there, which was why I left and came here with Ercole. And you’re telling me to go back?”

Iemitsu was quiet for a moment before bursting into boisterous cackles. “Ha! Good one,” he said. “What do you mean? Everyone’s still there! Of course it’s home.”

Lynn shook their head. “I haven’t talked to any of them in years. Everyone drifted apart after you left.”

“That can’t be true,” insisted Iemitsu. “We built some solid bonds, yeah? These aren’t so easily broken.”

“Friendship is a two-way street, Mitsu-san.” Lynn could not believe they had to explain this fact to this stupid, stupid man. “You have to put in effort. You cannot expect everything to be exactly the same as where you left it, when we were just teenagers! What sort of delusion are you living in?”

Iemitsu, for once, had nothing to say to that.

Lynn pinched the bridge of their nose. “I bet you’re like this with your wife and kid, too. And your poor mother.” No need to bet, actually they knew. “When was the last time you went home?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” said Iemitsu, with a bright, brittle laugh.

“No, I don’t know how it is,” Lynn informed him coldly. “Now, Sawada Iemitsu, exactly why are you sending me away? Don’t think I’ll believe that rot about keeping an eye on the chief, and do not beat around the bush. My patience is wearing thin.”

“I’m not sending you away, Nao,” said Iemitsu. Then in a much quieter tone, he added, “I need my own people there, in Japan.”

Lynn raised an eyebrow at being included as Iemitsu’s people, but indicated that Iemitsu should continue.

“You know the situation,” said Iemitsu. “Enrico and Federico dead. Massimo … his condition has improved, but it’s not likely to get much better. Xanxus … does not qualify, for separate reasons that I won’t go into right now, and it’s not likely the Ninth will release him soon. Massimo’s children … it’s too early to tell, they say, but …”

Iemitsu paused, and took a bracing sip of his tea. “I just, I have this feeling.”

The famed Vongola Intuition? Lynn knew he was right, if canon still applied in this case.

“And you’re CEDEF, so that leaves your son,” said Lynn, not pretending they didn’t understand.

“Yes.” Iemitsu closed his eyes and leaned back against his chair. “I never wanted this for him. My little tuna fish, Nao!”

“The Ninth?"

“He hasn’t had the presence of mind to think much about it, with Federico’s death and all, but he will, soon,” said Iemitsu. “If the Ninth decides that Tsuna is a candidate, I intend to request that Tsuna live out his childhood in Namimori. I’ll beg if I have to.”

“Surely it would be better for him to be here, to be brought up in the business,” Lynn began, then thought about it a little more. “Ah. He’s ruined three – no, four boys already, and you’re afraid he’ll ruin a fifth.”

“Nao, you can’t just say that,” said Iemitsu, actually looking horrified.

“What?” said Lynn. “It’s the truth. And? Me being there would accomplish what, exactly?”

“I was hoping you’d look out for him. Steer undue attention away, that sort of thing,” said Iemitsu. “CEDEF is shorthanded, I can’t spare anyone from there. You’re the only one left I can trust, Nao.”

With a sinking feeling, Lynn could feel themselves wavering. They still cared, despite everything. Despite all their efforts not to.

“I don’t know what else to do,” admitted Iemitsu, staring into his cup. “Even back then, it was always you and Mamoru getting us out of scrapes.”

“You could ask, instead of deciding for me,” said Lynn. “Talk to me, like you are now. Ask nicely, like a normal human being. Don’t play games, don’t try to manipulate me, if you still consider me a friend. I’m not a chess piece, Mitsu-san.”

Iemitsu lifted his head and looked at Lynn, looking slightly stunned (Lynn hoped he realised he was being a complete asshole). They’d never seen this vulnerable side of Iemitsu before, and hoped it wasn’t an act. Lynn believed his worry over Tsuna was genuine, at least.

“Apologise, you idiot!” prompted Lynn.

“Yeah? I mean, yes, I should,” Iemitsu lit up, sensing Lynn's softening attitude. He set the teacup aside and stood, bowing low at the waist. “I sincerely apologise for my presumptuousness.”

“You’re so annoying, Mitsu-san,” sighed Lynn resignedly, putting their head in their hands. If he did something like that again, Lynn really would stab him.

With a butterknife. No sense sullying Kumokiri, after all.

Chapter Text

Rue, ??, CEDEF Agent, formerly Andrew Ginting, 35, sales manager

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Across the table from Rue, Ottavio raised an eyebrow at him. They were sharing a nightcap in Ottavio’s room as Ottavio wound down for the day. Rue had invited Shamal a few times (for the entertainment), but it was just them tonight.

Rue grinned at his friend, not all that ashamed at being caught out. After that…interesting… conversation with his fellow … what was the word, ah yes, transmigrators, he couldn’t quite help studying Ottavio from time to time, trying to find some trace of the villain he was supposed to be.

Of course there was nothing. Ottavio had always been like this the whole time Rue had known him: a little bit fussy about this and that but otherwise chill, boundlessly indulgent of those he cared about, and superficially pleasant but distant (and sometimes slightly petty) towards the rest. The only time he seemed a bit out of character was when he was bickering with Shamal, and even then Ottavio had admitted he was mostly doing it for a bit of stress relief (and because it was fun, like poking a squeaky toy). This was already some alternate universe, where one had to take canon with a pinch of salt, so perhaps someone else had intervened earlier on, for Ottavio to have turned out all right. Maybe one of Tyr’s Guardians? Ottavio always spoke fondly of Auntie, who was essentially his mother figure (Ottavio’s actual family had been kind of horrible, Rue inferred), so perhaps it was her, or one of the Guardians who had passed away.

Rue had briefly wondered if Ottavio was a transplant himself, but he’d never shown any foreknowledge or planning with the intent to change events. He was focused on his Sky, his few friends, and his work, and that was pretty much it. And well, it was only a sample size of three, but so far all his fellow transmigrators had arrived in the form of their original characters. Perhaps there was some kind of rule for this phenomenon? Ugh, it made Rue’s head hurt.

“Just staring at your awful dark circles,” he teased Ottavio, putting those thoughts aside for now. “And I think I see some wrinkles!”

Ottavio sniffed, pretending to be offended. “All lies,” he said, though he self-consciously rubbed under his eyes a little. He did turn in soon after that though (after a brief trip next door to check on the kids), because the crazy man wanted to get up at four in the morning (ugh, early birds).

Rue stayed up for a while, nursing his drink and thinking.

He really regretted sending off his report before finding out about the whole Flood of Blood thing, as this flagged him as available to tackle the next job. Rue thought he had a pretty good chance of being sent out – not that he was bragging, but he was one of the more effective agents specialising in espionage, and had a near 100% success rate for solo male targets (that pedo Russo aside). If he’d dallied a bit, perhaps he wouldn’t get assigned to investigate this… Kozato? Cozarto? But what was done was done, so Rue would just have to think up a Plan B. And possibly a Plan C. And D.

He wasn’t that enthusiastic about changing the plot (though less death was always good) and more interested in staying alive.

How, though, did one survive something like Demon Spade? Rue didn’t remember that much of the fever dream that was the last leg of the KHR anime, but Demon Spade didn’t seem as lethal there as what Sparrow and Bluebird had warned him of. Possession would be a problem – there was no way to know whose meat suit he would be wearing – and then there were his illusions. Even with his foci earrings, Rue was going to be hopelessly outclassed.

After futilely trying to think of some ideas and unable to come up with anything better than ‘fake illness and stay home’, Rue gave up and crawled under the blankets, but ended up tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

“What’s wrong?” came Ottavio’s sleep-heavy voice from the other side of the bed, startling him. Ottavio usually slept like the dead! “You’re flopping around like a landed fish.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Rue, feeling guilty. Ottavio already did not get enough quality sleep on a daily basis, and the last thing Rue wanted to do was cut it down even further. “Go back to sleep, I’ll quiet down.”

Ottavio shifted closer, yawning. “It’s all right. You seem to be pretty distracted lately, is something on your mind?” he asked. “If it’s not too sensitive, I can provide a listening ear, at least.”

Rue hesitated. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about telling Ottavio about the whole reincarnation/transmigration thing, but you had to agree that it was going to sound crazy to the actual living breathing inhabitants of this universe that you had viewed their lives through a cartoon. And what did he tell Ottavio, oh by the way you weren’t even in that cartoon; you were in a different piece of media I didn’t even know existed so actually you weren’t that important in the grand scheme of things? And if Rue wasn’t careful he’d end up outing Sparrow and Bluebird as well.

“It’s just a feeling,” he said after a while. “That’s why I didn’t really say anything. Could just be irrational anxiety.”

“Your concerns are always valid,” said Ottavio, sounding very patient for someone whose sleep had been rudely interrupted. “Talk to me about it? Maybe we can figure something out.”

Ottavio really hadn’t ever let Rue down before, so perhaps it would be a good idea to pick his brain. Selectively. Rue didn’t know how he would help against a powerful ghost Mist, though… no, wait! Ottavio was probably the closest thing the Varia had to an expert on possession, together with Tyr and Lugh. Surely some things would apply! Now, how to phrase the question…

“CEDEF is dealing with a lot at the moment,” said Rue, then paused. “You know what, I don’t think this is appropriate pillow talk. If we’re going to talk about this I want to get up.” Figuring that Ottavio was probably wide awake by now anyway, he reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, blinking as his eyes watered from the sudden light. Ottavio sat up as well, blearily feeling around for his glasses.

Rue found them first and handed them to Ottavio, then waited for his friend to put them on before speaking again.

“You know how CEDEF agents have been dropping off the radar for a while,” he began, trying to see if he could spin it in a plausible manner. Ottavio nodded, listening intently (Rue noticed that the lighting made his eyebags look really bad, poor guy). “No bodies, no traces, nothing.” He looked at Ottavio. “Then you told me about the Estraneo and the possession bullet … and what if—?”

Ottavio narrowed his eyes, suddenly very alert. “You think they were possessed.”

“It’s a bit far-fetched,” said Rue doubtfully. While he was pretty much pulling the whole idea out his ass, now that he thought about it, perhaps it did make some degree of logical sense? Surely the disappearances must be linked with Demon somehow, if it was going to end with twelve CEDEF agents stuffed into an elevator; perhaps he was using them to get a read on CEDEF’s movements and access intel?

“While I think–well, I hope it is unlikely, it is possible that the Estraneo did sell the Possession Bullet technology to another party, or that there’s another isolated cell of them somewhere we missed,” mused Ottavio.

“I have this feeling that things will come to a head soon. While I hope I never have to, I can’t help but think about how I’d deal with a scenario like that,” said Rue. “Or dealing with a Mist stronger than myself, in general.”

Ottavio looked pained, and Rue felt horribly guilty for reopening an old wound.

“We weren’t able to figure it out in time, in the end,” Ottavio said soberly.

Tyr and the others had had to kill their possessed comrades, Rue heard. He couldn’t even imagine how awful it would have been.

Ottavio smiled a little sadly and reached over to pat Rue’s hand. “We spent a lot of time after that thinking about what we could have done,” he said. “Probably not the healthiest thing to do, but for a long while that was the only way we could cope, preparing for the time we would encounter Livio again. But in the end, it was all very anticlimactic, and he died too easily.”

He shuffled off the bed and beckoned to Rue. As Ottavio moved across the room, he launched into lecture mode, going off into a long spiel about what they knew about the Possession Bullet, the conditions for possession, and the various things they knew didn’t work.

Rue felt even worse now, considering what he would be dealing with had nothing to do with the Possession Bullet or the Estraneo at all. Still, the general principles probably applied: 1. incapacitate the Mist user prior to possession (obviously), failing which 2. paralyse or incapacitate the possessed body, preferably nonlethally, or 3. cut the connection.

All easier said than done.

“Don’t feel bad about bringing this up,” said Ottavio, misinterpreting Rue’s expression. “If I can help you, it’s worth it.”

…Yep, Rue was the worst.

He followed Ottavio to his bookshelf, where Ottavio was feeling around the back of one of the shelves. He triggered something, and the whole section opened up to reveal a secret recess in the wall.

“Oh! That’s interesting,” said Rue. He elbowed Ottavio’s side. “You never showed me this before!”

“The last time you were in here I didn’t quite trust you yet,” Ottavio replied with a quiet chuckle (fair enough, Rue supposed). The main access to the space seemed a bit ancient in construction, possibly part of the original castle design, but the safes and lockers housed inside were of modern make. Everything was very well secured.

“This seems a bit overkill,” commented Rue, as Ottavio unlocked various compartments with a combination of fingerprint recognition, pin codes, and some kind of tiny key he unscrewed the ear hook of his glasses to obtain (this was really some 007 level shit, thought Rue).

“Mirco is a very curious young man, and I don’t want him hurting himself by accident,” said Ottavio. “Some of this stuff is lethal if you even look at it wrong.”

“He comes in here?” Somehow Rue couldn’t really imagine a child in Ottavio’s almost pristine space (it had gotten a fair bit untidier after Rue came to visit, oops).

“As if you could keep the boy out of anything!” laughed Ottavio, his expression finally lightening (aww, the kid was good for him). “Yes, he comes in here. Not often, usually only after he’s had a spat with Hayato or Belphegor. He’ll drape himself over the couch and sigh melodramatically until he inevitably falls asleep or something.”

That made a cute mental picture, even if Rue couldn’t quite reconcile the image of Rokudo Mukuro with that of a pouting little boy. The melodrama did fit, though.

“I hope I’m not imposing, then,” said Rue.

Ottavio gave Rue a look that made him slightly uncomfortable with its intensity. “You could never impose, Rue,” he said with gentle sincerity (why did he have to be so nice, when Rue couldn’t – no, not the time for this). Then he smiled and turned back to what he was doing. “Ok, do you want some neuroparalytics? Possessed bodies can’t do much if their function is shut down. I’ve not seen possession of actual corpses, but obviously those wouldn’t work then…”

Rue gingerly accepted the vials of toxins and their antidotes, thankful that they were in a box, and set them carefully aside. Ottavio was still digging through his treasures, and extracted some kind of electronic device around the size of a CD player, but chunkier. It had various wires dangling out of it, as if it had been ripped out of a wall (knowing Ottavio and his brute force approach to nonadministrative problems, it probably had been).

“We found these in the containment area of the Estraneo base, where the labs were,” said Ottavio. “I think they were for dealing with unruly Flame-active test subjects, as they emit some kind of wave that cancels out Dying Will Flames. Gave us a fair bit of trouble.”

Rue had heard both Ottavio and Shamal talk about that. They’d been triggered by some kind of panic button, and couldn’t be shut off until Ottavio had found the control room.

“We’re submitting one to Vongola R&D, but this one I kept for myself,” Ottavio explained. “I didn’t like how helpless I was after my abilities were cut off, so I thought to try and find a workaround. But this should definitely dispel a possession.” He handed the surprisingly heavy object to Rue.

It would definitely exorcise a stupid Mist ghost! Temporarily, at least.

“Are you sure you want to give me this?” he asked Ottavio. The last thing he wanted was for Ottavio to be put at a disadvantage. Ottavio wanted him alive, and he wanted Ottavio alive!

“The Varia kept another one, don’t worry,” said Ottavio. “I’ll show you how it works tomorrow. Obviously, you won’t be able to use illusions once you activate it. And just so you know, it’s not very convenient to set up and draws a lot of power, so you’ll have to be smart about it. I’m also not an expert at electrical engineering so my stopgap solution to get it working is a bit…hazardous.”

Certainly not as hazardous as Demon Spade would be to his health.

He’d really have to do something nice for Ottavio sometime. It seemed all he did was take, these days.

“You’re the best,” said Rue, and gave Ottavio a big wet smack on the cheek. His friend looked very pleased.

Ottavio found an empty briefcase he had lying around somewhere, and packed all of Rue’s shiny new toys into it for him, then stowed it in his secret hideaway.

“There,” he said, satisfied, and closed everything back up. “I’ll keep it safe for you until you have to leave.”

“Thank you,” smiled Rue, and couldn’t hold back a yawn. Now that he had some method of dealing with the situation, some of the weight had lifted off his shoulders, and he was suddenly feeling sleepy again.

“Go back to sleep,” said Ottavio, nudging him back towards the bed.

“How about you?” frowned Rue, checking the clock. It was three in the morning!

“Since I’m awake I might as well make the most of it,” Ottavio began, but Rue shook a finger at him.

“Taking a break once in a while won’t kill you,” he pointed out. “On the contrary, it might even help you live longer. You’re going to work yourself into an early grave, you know.” He put his hands on his hips. “Come on, back to bed with you. Take the day off!”

Ottavio’s gaze turned calculating. “And how were you planning to make me?”

How, indeed. Rue cracked his knuckles.

“I spent a couple of weeks working in a massage parlour on one of my assignments, you know. I’ve picked up a few things.” He smirked, taking in Ottavio’s increasingly alarmed expression, and pounced.

“Ow ow ow ow ow Rue!!!”

Ottavio did not get up again until well past noon.

All too soon, Rue’s semi-holiday came to a sad end. After a protracted goodbye with Basilio (the poor boy was so upset he wouldn’t stop crying, and Rue had to promise he would come back and visit often), Rue was back with the CEDEF, working security at Federico’s funeral disguised as one of the staff at the Iron Fort.

He got to see Ottavio pretending to lead the Varia (even the idea of it was funny, but somehow he had everyone fooled and even Squalo was playing along), which was very entertaining. Dino had shown up too, carrying Reborn on his shoulder (god he was so young).

The other guests were restless, for good reason — there was no clear heir to the massive Vongola empire now, especially with Xanxus conspicuously missing (the prevailing logic was, if he wasn’t even allowed to attend his own brother’s funeral, was he even in the running?). The Ninth hadn’t made any comments (it wasn’t the appropriate time, anyway), and Rue suspected he would drag things out as long as possible until it became clear Tsuna was the only option (not that Tsuna was a known player to most of the Vongola, at this point). Despite the discontent in the atmosphere, no one tried to stir up any trouble, at least, which Rue was thankful for.

As the guests started leaving at the end of the service, Ottavio managed to find him, and took him to a quiet corner under the knowing glances of the assorted CEDEF members around them (Rue was internally rolling his eyes so hard).

“Just remember that you have options,” reminded Ottavio. “As I said before, should you decide you’ve had enough, I will help you quit. Auntie would be glad to have you, or you could come with me to the Biscione.”

Why did that sound like his very own death flag?!

“I’ll think about it,” Rue replied. “Thank you for everything.”

(Death flag! Death flag! chanted his brain helpfully.)

Ottavio smiled. “No need for thanks between us,” he said. “Take care.”

After Federico’s funeral, the worst case scenario did come to pass – Iemitsu assigned Rue to investigate an art dealer named Kozato Makoto. At this point, Rue was just glad that the anticipation was over and done with and he could now focus on handling the situation.

Interestingly, Iemitsu seemed to decide that a combined effort was needed this time (or CEDEF was really feeling the pressure from the affected Alliance families to solve this ASAP), and finally committed the resources to set up a team for the task. Rue hadn’t really worked with other people in a long while, and the idea of having to deal with colleagues constantly sounded a little bit annoying.

When they were all gathered for the brief, Rue counted thirteen others in the team, which was the biggest group he’d ever worked in (Wow, this was serious, thought Rue). Including himself, that would make fourteen, but only twelve were killed in the elevator, according to Sparrow and Bluebird. Did that mean two of them escaped that terrible fate?

Either way, Rue assumed everything would be fine, up until they had to gather at a hotel or something.

Boy, was he wrong.

Chapter Text

Superbia Squalo, 14, 14th Sword Emperor, Vice-Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

Squalo had had his misgivings when Mammon brought up his plan to use the kid to locate Xanxus within the vast network of tunnels under the Iron Fort. Sure, he’d experienced firsthand the little demon’s magic critter-summoning abilities, thanks to the snake infestation in his office, but using animals for reconnaissance?

But it worked. Mammon had caught the boy using his ability to snoop around (Squalo felt like a bit of an idiot having to put out a memo to remind people to watch out for pests for opsec reasons), and after a bit of training and testing, decided to put his new student’s abilities to more productive use.

After the disappointment of Rue not having any new information for them, they’d been resigned to weeks, or even months of searching.

But the brat had actually managed to find Xanxus on the first go.

His Sky had been stored in some dark damp corner, with a tarp carelessly thrown over him, like a piece of unwanted furniture. The space had even been bricked up — it was as if they wanted to forget Xanxus ever existed.

Mammon’s voice had been trembling, ever so slightly, when they called in to report, and Squalo could scarcely believe his ears. Luss had been over the moon.

The only one not completely ecstatic was Bel, because he didn’t want to believe that Mirco (who he resented for taking up Mammon’s attention) had actually found their Sky. Still, the joy at finding Xanxus overrode all other feelings, and now he was being a pain in Squalo’s ass incessantly pestering him about when they would get Xanxus out.

That was the question, wasn’t it? When, and how.

The entrance to the tunnel network that Mammon and his pupil had entered by was only lightly watched (which was why they’d chosen it in the first place), as it was inaccessible by land vehicle, and could only be approached on foot or somewhat perilously by sea. Unfortunately, Xanxus was actually located a fair distance away from that access point, in the other direction from the Iron Fort.

“That way’s R&D, and some of the warehouses,” said The Fly, as they all bent over a map.

After some discussion with Luss and Mammon, they’d decided to bring him on board (although the man looked like he’d very much rather not), since his kid was involved and he was generally useful. “Do we know if some of the tunnels exit through R&D?”

“There should be one directly connecting R&D to the Iron Fort,” said Mammon. “I will need to confirm exactly where it opens up.”

“Voi, you don’t mean to get Xanxus out through there?” asked Squalo, incredulous. R&D was one of the most tightly guarded areas around HQ!

“I don’t think they know Boss is there, or what happened to him,” Luss commented, “or they’d be all over his frozen body. I know those types~”

Ugh. Squalo made a face.

“That place is crawling with guards, and there are probably cameras everywhere,” Squalo pointed out. “Gonna be tough.”

“We’re due to hand over the stuff we stripped from the Estraneo base,” said Ottavio (‘We’? thought Squalo. It was all Ottavio).

“Ah!” Luss clapped his hands. “Good excuse to bring the vans, have a number of personnel in the area. Lots of distracting little crates.”

“Unfortunately, we probably need a big crate,” said Ottavio. “Fortunately, the FV Counter needs to be serviced, and R&D hasn’t yet sent a technician over, despite our reminders. Perhaps we should bring it over. In its extremely large, specially-designed, vibration-proof case.”

“I took measurements of Xanxus’s current form,” Mammon contributed. They’d gone over every inch of the frozen block, trying to find any trick to thawing out their Sky. So far nothing, so they would focus on the rescue, first.

Ottavio nodded. “Double check if he’ll fit,” he agreed.

“Sounds like a plan!” cheered Luss.

“Voi!! Wait a minute, that’s not a plan!” protested Squalo. They’d skipped at least ten fucking steps in between!

The Fly just raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said, and gave him a completely insincere smile before walking out. Ass.

“He’s not happy we involved his baby boy,” said Luss with a laugh. “We might need both of them again later, though, so maybe we should just leave him to his hissy fit.”

Mammon, their Intelligence lackeys and their pupil scoped out the area over the next week or so. Mammon’s agents mapped the tunnels, while Mirco’s rodent army ran around R&D getting an idea of the layout (that ability sure was useful, but according to Mammon it was barely the surface of what the little demon was capable of) and what was happening inside.

Interestingly, R&D seemed to be a hotbed of activity, according to Mammon, with all hands on deck developing some kind of new weapon, a Flame bullet of some kind.

“Voi, it’d better not be something like the Possession Bullet, those hypocrites!” Squalo exclaimed.

Mammon shook their head. “I don’t think so,” they said. “One of Mirco’s rats stole a note; the purpose seems to be to trigger Dying Will Flames.”

For what? Drawing Flames out of people who had trouble accessing their own?

“Maybe they want to use it on Massimo’s children? To see if any of them are Skies,” suggested Luss.

Huh. It was true that it was generally difficult to assess the Flame type of an individual unless they were in a life-or-death situation and manifested their Flame. Trying to predict Flame type from personality was complete bullshit, in Squalo’s opinion.

If that was the case, then Vongola must really be desperate. Shooting children! What next?

Still, it wasn’t really important right now. Their goal was to get Xanxus out.

The tunnel connecting R&D opened up in a hidden area next to the garbage room, where trash was temporarily held until it could be picked up by disposal trucks. It was on the same side of the building as the loading bay, where they would park the vans for unloading and loading. Going over the maps, they’d marked out all possible routes they were likely to take from the loading bay to the labs or workshops, and found a corridor where they all converged.

There was a janitor’s closet there, which held cleaning supplies. And one of those four-wheeled trash bins.

So the plan was to put Xanxus in a bin from the garbage room (ha, who was the trash now), swap that out with the one in the janitor’s closet, and then swap Xanxus for the FV counter when the rest of them passed by.

Squalo left the specifics to Mammon’s team. Worst case scenario, they’d just take Xanxus back by force.

The Fly did come along when they finally headed out to R&D, probably because Mammon had decided to have Mirco take part, and Ottavio was extremely displeased about it (he’d said nothing, but Squalo was girding himself for retaliation via paperwork).

Mammon and a small group went via the tunnels, while Squalo’s contingent drove there in a caravan of three vehicles. Despite Ottavio having called ahead, R&D was still nervous enough to meet them at the loading bay with a swarm of armed guards.

Like regular grunts could do anything to Varia personnel. They probably couldn’t even scratch Mirco.

“Captain Ottavio!” greeted a very … round and shiny man walking (rolling?) up to them, oblivious to the tension in the air. This man was shaped and textured like a boiled, peeled egg, which Squalo hadn’t thought could be used to describe a human being, up till now. He was sweating profusely, and mopped at his shiny, balding forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief as he spoke. “How rare to see you in person!”

“Director Giannichi,” acknowledged The Fly. He angled his body to include Squalo in the conversation. “Have you met our vice-captain, the Sword Emperor Superbia Squalo? He’s about the same age as your son.”

Squalo then realised there was a teenage version of the egg-man, equally round and shiny and sweaty, half-hidden behind Director Giannichi and his ring of guards and assistants.

“Oh! An honour, an honour,” said Egg Sr., Giannichi. Squalo had to bend to shake hands with him, and then the teen egg. “Yes, this is my son, Giannini. He’s here learning the ropes.”

Good old Vongola nepotism.

“As for why I just had to come here in person, well.” Ottavio was still smiling pleasantly, but he was looming quite menacingly over the much, much shorter Giannichi. It was like a Cane Corso staring down a pug. “It’s been very difficult to get hold of any of your technicians for maintenance work. I understand we’re an independent entity and thus have to contract you separately, but we’re still Vongola and entitled to your services, yes? I just had to make sure.”

Giannichi sweated even more. “Yes, yes, of course,” he agreed. “My apologies! We’ve all been busy with a new project. But not to worry, I’ll have my boy see to it personally! Giannini?” The teen jumped a little and nodded hastily.

“Excellent.” Ottavio looked at Squalo. “Superbia, could you please go with him? Now, Director, about the main reason for my visit today…let me tell you about these interesting contraptions I found at the Estraneo base…”

Squalo watched as Giannichi’s attention was successfully redirected. He disappeared in the direction of one of the labs with Ottavio, some of their Varia boys trailing after them with various boxes and crates. Platino was amongst them, just waiting for an opportunity to melt into the shadows to coordinate with the rest of Mammon’s people.

Time for the operation to begin.

“Right.” Squalo turned, and addressed Giannini. “Our FV counter needs some servicing. The gauge is busted. And the wire things are fraying.”

“Oh!” said Egg Jr. “That should be an easy fix. Come with me!”

Squalo directed a select few to follow – a couple of grunts supervised by Levi-A-Than (he was there to ‘test’ the FV counter and to short out R&D if things went to shit and they had to bail) to carry the clunky thing in, Melusine to distract the techs who probably hadn’t seen a woman (or sunlight, for that matter) for months, Mirco, who was pretending to be Ottavio’s lackey Bluebird, and another of Mammon’s underlings, Siglos.

Egg Jr. took them to a workshop, where the boys carefully unloaded the piece of equipment. Egg Jr. immediately got to work, humming as he checked the thing over.

“Voi! You sure we can’t get a replacement?” he asked Giannini, amidst the clanging and banging as Egg Jr. and his staff beat the machine back into shape. “This damned piece of junk breaks down at least twice a year!”

Giannini mopped sweat off his forehead. “We don’t have a spare, and when we brought up commissioning a new one Varia Accounting told us it was too expensive…”

Squalo made a disgusted noise. “Whatever,” he said. “Just fix this one, then.”

He sat down to wait, watching Giannini work while keeping half an eye on the others. Melusine chatted to the technicians, pretending to be interested in improving her weapon (she used an axe, what was there to improve). Meanwhile, Levi-a-Than busily looked vicious and threatening (even though Squalo knew the nerd was listening in on all the tech babble going on around them), which meant security had their eyes glued to him. Everyone was preoccupied enough that they didn’t notice Siglos vanishing, and then returning some time later.

Siglos surreptitiously gave Squalo the handsign for ‘ready for transport’.

Squalo just blinked in acknowledgement, and had to school his expression so he didn’t give anything away.

Eventually, Giannini finished up, and the FV counter was carefully placed back in its padded case.

“That’s that,” said Giannini. “Let us know if there are any issues, vice-captain.”

Oh, there would most certainly be issues.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Squalo, and walked back out with the others, escorted by security. As they passed a certain janitor’s closet on a certain corner where vermin had very conveniently chewed on the wiring for the surveillance cameras, Mirco-Bluebird’s eye flashed red, the character for ‘one’ replacing the pupil. The guards continued walking, obviously experiencing some other reality, while the FV counter was hurriedly swapped out for the contents of the bin in the closet.

It was Squalo’s first time seeing Xanxus’s frozen form, but it was only for a moment before the case was closed up again. They quickly caught up to the guards, and Mirco released the illusion. The guards didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, and their precious cargo made it to the vans in the loading bay without incident.

After Xanxus was unloaded and hidden away in the back of a van, Squalo nodded to the others, and sucked in a breath.

“Voi!! You idiots, what is it now?” he yelled, loud enough the entire building could probably hear. He paused for a minute, pretending to listen to an explanation, then added, “Hurry up and get it fixed, then!”

He exited the building and waited outside with the vans (and Xanxus, ready to defend him to the death should this go south), turning on the receiver in the vehicle to listen in on the grunts. The case went back the same way, and at that one corner the FV counter was placed back in, with one of the dials knocked off, and the whole thing went back to Giannini’s workshop again.

“Didn’t we just fix that?” asked someone, probably a technician.

“Thank God I opened the case to double check after we loaded it,” came Melusine’s voice, sounding aggrieved. “Something fell off, and I don’t know how to put it back again. Ugh, I got yelled at by the vice-captain, and it wasn’t even my fault!”

“Oh, I bet it’s the dials,” said the technician sympathetically. “The older models are like that, they fall out all the time. Here, let me show you how to do it in case it happens again, it’s really easy...say, do you smell something?”

Thankfully, Melusine managed to distract the technician again, and the rest of the mission proceeded successfully.

“Good work,” Squalo told the team, after they returned with the real FV counter. Mirco collapsed onto a seat, dissolving his disguise as Bluebird. He was too exhausted to speak, and Squalo hastily shoved him a box of juice before he could faint. Ottavio would probably torch the castle if something happened to his kid.

Finally, The Fly reappeared with Giannichi.

“If you need any specialised weaponry, we’d be happy to discuss,” Squalo overheard Giannichi saying as they approached.

“I don’t need weapons to do my work,” said The Fly with a smile that was definitely borrowed from his demon kid. To the eggheads it probably sounded vaguely threatening, but Squalo knew he really just meant that he worked a desk job. “Good day, gentlemen.”

And then they were off. Squalo didn’t even mind The Fly droning at his kid in the background as they headed back to Varia HQ.

They had Xanxus back.

Chapter Text

Rue, ??, CEDEF Agent, formerly Andrew Ginting, 35, sales manager

Rue flipped open the brief they’d been given. Pitifully little was listed: 30+ year old male, family name Kozato, given name Makoto (but was known to go by ‘Marc Cossart’, probably for the benefit of all those lazy Europeans who couldn’t handle Asian names), art dealer, Japanese nationality, residence unknown. Marital status unknown (though Rue knew from Bluebird and Sparrow that he had a wife and kids). Frequent travel to Europe to buy and sell art, presumably for money laundering purposes. Known to frequent mafia associated areas. Family affiliation: unknown. Flame designation: unknown. There was a note that he had been seen with assistants or bodyguards on occasion.

Did CEDEF know that Kozato was the Simon (Simone?) Family’s boss at all (Bluebird said something about them having holed up on a secret island), or was the information classified and unavailable to agents of Rue’s level? Sparrow and Bluebird hadn’t been very clear about how much anybody knew about them, and at any rate it seemed like there wasn’t that much information about the Simon, in general, even in the manga.

Kozato was suspected in the shooting incidents because he’d been observed in the vicinity when they happened, and because the bullets were unusual in design, and likely came from a specific type of antique pistol, which Kozato was known to collect.

Wow, how convenient! Almost like someone was setting him up!

Accompanying this information was a grainy picture of a thin, redheaded, red-eyed man with features that could only be described as ‘inoffensive’ at best (maybe Rue had been too spoiled by all the beautiful people in the Vongola and had been treated to Ottavio’s handsome mug for the last couple of weeks). There were also equally unhelpful photos of his henchmen – all in black suits and shades, how novel.

Their assignment had the following objectives: A) Determine if Kozato was truly responsible for the incidents and B) determine why he did it, which might be related to C) who he was working for or with.

To that end, their little task force was divided into groups: the operators, who would consolidate intel and coordinate the operation, the small team who would be infiltrating the auctions and galleries that Kozato would be likely to visit, and another team investigating Kozato’s associates. Their leader was Sage, a senior agent who Rue hadn’t seen around in a while (even before Rue had been gone for months), but who he remembered being pretty quiet and focused.

Rue, as usual, had been given the task of charming the pants off their target (literally).

Well, it wasn’t Rue’s first time being a homewrecker, so it wasn’t any skin off his back. He was more concerned about using illusions in front of someone who might be the equivalent of a Sky (Bluebird and Sparrow said something about Earth Flames, which confused Rue so much), and one of unknown strength at that.

There wasn’t even a guarantee that Kozato was actually Kozato, and not, say, a ghost who refused to pass on. Though, Rue thought it should be unlikely for an impersonator to be travelling with other people, unless they could also fool the assumed identity’s companions. On that note, did Demon Spade have minions?

At any rate, Rue was sort of pathetically impressed by the resources being dedicated to this operation. They even had a chartered flight to transport the whole team and their things to their destination! Rue thought he could get used to this feeling of actually being adequately funded. After all, what was the point of working for the mob if you didn’t get to enjoy the benefits?

Unfortunately, during the flight, Rue was stuck with Bay for a seat partner. It could’ve been worse – Bay was… fine, generally, and Rue was friendly with him, but he was very talkative. Rue wasn’t in the mood for chatting, and would rather spend time making contingency plans.

“What happened to the kid who was with you the other day?” asked Bay, not five minutes into the flight. Rue got the feeling the other man was bored out of his mind and just trying to find something, anything to talk about.

“I left him with Ottavio,” said Rue, not above muddying the waters since everyone assumed whatever they wanted anyway.

“He’s okay with that?” probed Bay, completely unsubtle about what he was really asking.

Rue just smiled mysteriously. “Why wouldn’t he be? He’s already raising one, what’s one more.”

Bay blinked. “...Wow,” he said after a while. “He’s a… productive man.”

Rue shrugged and ignored him after that, pretending to nap while going over the information he knew in his head. The flight was a short one, just under two hours, and soon enough they were in Milan.

It was overcast and gloomy, and much colder than Sicily. Rue had been here several times, so he knew it might snow at some point, this time of year. What a pain.

In the city, Sage and the operator group split off to set up a command centre in a hotel (Rue wondered with some trepidation if it was that hotel), right across the street from the apartment Kozato Makoto was renting while he was in Italy. Rue and the remaining agents went to haunt spots around the city to do some information gathering, and on Rue’s part, find some way to engineer a ‘chance’ meeting with their target.

Rue checked into a fairly decent hotel, hid his stuff, then, after finally having escaped from his nosy colleagues for the time being, made a beeline for a bar he knew in quasi-neutral territory (there were a handful of big regional players in the city), in an attempt to root around for information. Or, at least, what had been a bar in quasi-neutral territory.

The vibe was completely different than he remembered. If Rue had to put it in words… it felt … cheerfully murderous? There was some sort of celebration going on (and the food smelled really, really good), but everyone went quiet and swivelled to look at him the moment he stepped inside, which was ominous.

“Ma’am, we’re closed for a private event, didn’t you see the sign?” said the bartender gruffly.
Rue frowned, trying to recall. There had been a sheet of paper taped outside, but whatever had been printed on it was blurry and illegible.

“Maybe, but I think it got wet and the ink ran?” he hazarded a guess.

Someone groaned. “I told you we should have put it in plastic!”

“If you hadn’t smashed the chalkboard sign we could have used that!” yelled another.

An internal argument ensued, Rue left to the side (they were probably hoping the strange lady would feel uncomfortable and leave). The commotion eventually disturbed someone in the back, and a short, elderly woman wandered out.

“What’s going on?” she asked, looking around, then caught sight of Rue. “Oh! Aren’t you Tavo’s friend?”

By this time, Rue had recognised the woman as well, from the photos in Ottavio’s room.

“Auntie?” he guessed, pretty sure he was right.

Everyone in the bar seemed to relax at the sign that they knew each other, and Rue continued to be ignored, except this was now a polite leaving-you-to-your-privacy sort of ignoring rather than the hostile disregard he’d been treated to earlier.

“Yes, it’s me,” said Auntie, smiling and gesturing to him. “Come! We can talk in the back, leave the boys to it. It’s the birthday of one of my employees, so we’re having a party.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Happy birthday!” Rue called out to whoever the mystery birthday person was before following after Auntie.

Auntie was apparently in the middle of making something in a pot that smelled like heaven. There were other people in the kitchen, but they nodded to Auntie and left when she cocked her head in the direction of the door.

“I didn’t know the bar had changed hands,” commented Rue, after the others had exited. “This was a neutral watering hole the last time I was here…maybe five months ago?”

“Well, we couldn’t keep squeezing everyone in at the Biscione HQ, so we found our own place,” said Auntie, shrugging. “It still functions as a bar, when we feel like it.”

She smiled at Rue. “It’s so nice to finally see you in person! I recognised those earrings immediately. I picked them out, you know!”

Ah, those foci that he’d asked Ottavio for. “Yes, Ottavio told me you’d sourced them,” said Rue. “Thank you, they’ve been very useful.”

“I’m glad! Now…” Auntie turned curious, her eyes bright and sharp. “Are you on your own, or is there a plague of CEDEF agents running around?”

“There are … a few of us,” Rue replied, hoping his colleagues wouldn’t run into or annoy Tyr and the others. He told Auntie they were there investigating someone of interest (details omitted, of course) and would probably be in town for a while.

At some point, he ended up with a bowl of the most delicious stew he’d ever eaten while Auntie patiently explained the recent unrest in the local criminal underground. It sounded like mostly Tyr’s fault, to be honest, even though Auntie swore up and down he never started anything and didn’t actually have any plans to establish a significant presence in the city (their base was about two hours out in the mountains after all), and that it was just everybody else panicking and overreacting and being too trigger happy, which meant that of course they had to be smacked for their misbehaviour. And then for all that effort you had to get something back, right?

Tyr was just the paradigm of the ‘that escalated quickly’ meme at this point.

“Well, feel free to drop by anytime,” Auntie concluded, after enlightening Rue on the most recent goings-on in the city. “I won’t always be around, but if you need help, just ask for Geppa. He’s ex-Varia, so even if his knees aren’t what they used to be, he is very good at making problems go away.”

Auntie was just so nice. Rue could see where Ottavio got his temperament from.

Over the next couple of days, Rue and the others watched Kozato’s movements, trying to figure out his habits and the types of people he was meeting with. The man, for the most part, seemed to be keeping a low profile, spending most of his time in galleries and at slightly shady art auctions. He stored the stuff he bought and sold in a rented warehouse space, where Rue’s colleagues were planning to break into at some point to see if there was anything amiss. In the evenings, Kozato would either attend gallery openings, meet potential buyers for an evening of wining and dining, or spend time in bars, listening for mafia gossip.

Rue first met Kozato at one of those ritzy gallery events, posing as the bored but expensive date of one of his colleagues, who in turn had piggybacked on the identity of the owner of one Vongola’s many businesses.

An elegant (fake) yawn and a tilt of the shoulders sent Rue’s oversized fur stole ‘accidentally’ sliding to the ground, just as Kozato walked past. Kozato gallantly picked it up and returned it, and Rue now had an excuse to talk to him after thanking him profusely.

“My name’s Maria, like every other girl here,” said Rue with a calculatedly endearing eye roll. “Maria Ricci. But my friends call me Marisa, so you can use that if you like. How should I address you?”

“Marc Cossart,” Kozato replied as they exchanged a handshake. Well, he looked ambiguously European enough to get away with it, Rue thought.

And oh good, he was staring at Rue a little.

“Oh, are you French, Mr. Cossart?” Rue asked interestedly. “I can’t quite place your accent. What brings you to Milan?”

“Please, just call me Marc,” said Kozato, pointedly not answering the first question. “I’m a dealer in fine art, antiques, that sort of thing.” He gestured around. “That’s why I’m here.”

“That sort of thing?” Rue turned up his nose at the frankly garish abstract painting occupying pride of place in front of them. “Call me old-fashioned, but I can’t appreciate this.”

Kozato laughed. “I can’t either,” he confided. “I’m only here to see if I can convince the gallery owner to buy something for his personal collection.”

They talked a little more about art and other things, and then Kozato spotted the gallery owner and had to leave. He did promise to show Rue ‘real art’ later, though.

Yup, in his bedroom.

(Rue was fairly convinced Kozato wasn’t Demon in disguise after that performance.)

“It’s scary how good you are at that, Rue,” Bay commented, the next time he (very cautiously) went to check in at the command centre (in his male guise in case one of Kozato’s goons spotted him from across the street).

“It’s my job,” said Rue, mildly annoyed (though he really only had himself to blame for his OC’s design). “Sorry, can we keep this professional?”

Things were starting to … not add up, in Rue’s opinion, though he could be biassed from already knowing the ‘truth’ (canon).

Kozato seemed to be under a fair bit of stress, and clearly had been looking for a short fling to take the edge off (his poor wife and kids back home, though). He complained frequently about how isolated and stifling his hometown was (though he said he couldn’t move due to family reasons), and how difficult it was to keep the family business in the black. Dealing in art wasn’t even his primary job, he griped, just another way to put food on the table, though he didn’t elaborate.

Rue got an interesting reaction out of him when he casually complained about the weather, and that he envied his sister who married and moved to Sicily. Kozato suddenly looked very angry.

“I’d never set foot in Sicily,” he said bitterly, resentment oozing from every pore. “My family has enemies there.” He refused to say more, and Rue had to try all kinds of tricks to cajole him into a better mood.

Men.

Rue’s colleagues weren’t finding anything to definitively tie Kozato to the shooting incidents within the Alliance, either.

The fishiest stuff they’d found in the warehouse was forged art. No weapons, no fancy antique gun. Rue hadn’t noticed that particular weapon on Kozato either – he had a regular, modern revolver in the inside of his jacket (that Rue pretended to be too much of a bimbo to spot), and a knife in his boot, but that was all.

Sage seemed annoyed by the team’s lack of progress, but just told them to keep looking.

Eventually, Kozato broke the news that he had to leave, and Rue had to pretend to be heartbroken while being extremely confused. Did this mean something had changed?

He got his answer when he received a call from Bay late at night.

“Hey Rue,” said Bay. “Sage wants all of us to meet at the CC. Says he has a tip that Kozato’s planning something big.”

“Now?” Rue felt only dread. “Wait, that’s not possible. Kozato left for the airport this morning, he’s no longer in Italy! I told Sage this earlier!”

“Strange, maybe Kozato lied?” suggested Bay. “Yeah, it’s a little late, but Sage said as soon as possible. Maybe he’ll have an explanation. Anyway, get over here! See you soon.”

“Wait!” said Rue, but Bay had already hung up.

Something… was not quite right. Rue’s gut feeling told him he was going to end up dead in an elevator if he went.

What to do? Rue could… maybe bail, but that would just get him hunted down for desertion. He could… also show up with the anti-Flame device, like he’d planned for in a worst case scenario.

He really didn’t want to, though.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, even though Rue had put up the ‘do not disturb’ sign.

“Who is it?” Rue called out suspiciously, going to look out the peephole. It was Sage.

“It’s Sage,” he said. “I want to crosscheck what you reported earlier.”

Sage, huh. Rue was beginning to put all the suspicious little pieces together.

He very quietly moved towards the air-conditioning vent, where he’d stashed the device Ottavio had given him.

“Just a moment,” he said, trying to buy time. “I’m not dressed!”

“That’s not a problem.” The door opened of its own accord, even though Rue had most definitely locked and latched it.

“You are a nuisance,” said very-evidently-not-Sage. Rue immediately gathered his Flames, but Sage levelled a gun at him and fired before he could react.

Rue collapsed to the ground immediately. He could feel the hole the bullet had burned through his chest, and the wetness seeping out through his clothes to pool underneath him. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, his heart thudding erratically, fruitlessly, trying to compensate for the blood rapidly draining out of him. There were spots in his vision, but Rue clenched his teeth, fighting for consciousness, until not-Sage’s footsteps faded away, the door closing behind him.

So was he supposed to die here? Rue felt a hysterical need to laugh. Oh, definitely not. If Mukuro could make entire organs for Chrome, then Rue could plug up a bullet hole, god fucking dammit!

Nothing stoked Dying Will Flames like the imminent threat of death. Rue’s Mist Flames surged within him in response to his resolve, and the cold darkness melted away, leaving only the clarity of Flame-enhanced awareness. He stopped bleeding, eventually (though it still hurt like a bitch), and pulled himself up using the nearby bed as leverage.

Stumbling towards the bedside table, Rue grasped for the phone and dialled CEDEF HQ, sitting down on the mattress and trying not to tip over.

“R006, emergency,” he snapped at the operator. “Get me Ms. Lal or the boss, quickly!”

“R006, acknowledged, are you on a secured line?” asked the operator, a different one from normal. Sounded new, and like they were reading off a script. “Please call back–”

“I have a bullet hole in my lung!” exclaimed Rue. “Transfer me, now!”

“Um, let me get my manager,” said the operator. Rue wanted to scream.

“If I die before passing on my message, everything’s on you,” he threatened.

That seemed to do it, and he was finally transferred to Lal Mirch.

Rue gave her the rundown as quickly as possible, then waited for instructions.

“If what you say is true, it’s very concerning,” she said. “I’ll launch an investigation immediately and send out a message on the pagers. The other available agents in the region will take time to get there. Rue, I hate to ask this of you, but if your condition is stable enough, I want you to scope out the hotel and report back.”

Couldn’t he just… lie down somewhere?

“Yeah,” he said eventually. Twelve people. Plus Kozato and his family. Rue wasn’t particularly altruistic, and wasn’t attached to any of them, but the idea of leaving them all to die left a bad taste in his mouth.

Ha, maybe it was the kids rubbing off on him.

“Don’t push yourself,” said Lal Mirch, evidently hearing something in his tone. “Come back alive, agent.” The call disconnected.

Easier said than done.

Rue pushed himself up to standing, then went to retrieve the stuff he’d hidden away. The Flame jamming device and paralytic toxins were in a leather messenger bag, while everything else went into the magic bag of holding that was female Rue’s brassiere. He threw a coat on to hide the bloodstains and headed out the door.

It was just the next neighbourhood over. He could do it.

Rue just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to walk as fast as possible. As luck would have it, he bumped into someone along the way, almost dropping the bag and its precious contents.

“Lady, watch where you’re— oh, aren’t you Auntie’s friend?”

Rue looked up briefly and realised he was outside the bar.

“Sorry, I’m in a hurry,” he told the man, and quickly shuffled off.

“Wait, is that blood?” he heard from behind him, but didn’t have time to answer.

When Rue arrived at the hotel, everything looked normal… on the outside. Inside was a different story. Demon had shrouded the place in an illusion with the purpose of preventing anyone on the outside from interfering with what he was doing, and Rue had to really focus to make his way through, the foci embedded in his earrings almost cracking from the strain.

He loaded the paralytic toxins Ottavio had given him into a dart gun as he staggered down the corridor towards the hotel room that held the command centre.

Did he have a plan? No.

Was he doing this?

Apparently yes.

He couldn’t hear anything from outside the room (they’d soundproofed it), so he just burst in (“FBI OPEN UP” said his unhelpful brain), weapon raised and ready.

“Rue? I thought Sage said you weren’t coming?” said Bay, looking up. “Hold up– are you bleeding?!”

No Demon-Sage! It was only Bay, and a couple of others – Hyssop and Mint.

“Where’s Sage?” Rue demanded.

“He stepped out for a bit, since the others are taking a long time to arrive,” Bay replied. “Wait, what happened?!”

Demon was probably picking them off one by one while they were lost in the labyrinthian illusion.

“We need to find him,” Rue decided. “He’s the one who shot me, I don’t think he’s actually Sage any more. Haven’t you realised the whole hotel is under a powerful illusion?”

“Wait, are you joking?” Rue’s colleagues didn’t seem to believe him. Rue did not have the time or patience to persuade them.

Fine! He’d do it himself, whatever. He’d gotten this far.

He shrugged off the messenger bag and tossed it at Bay. He’d need both hands to shoot properly. “Bay, hold this for me, we’re going,” he said. “I don’t care if you believe me or not, there’s no time!” He rushed back out the room, hoping Bay would follow.

He did, fortunately, scrambling to adjust the strap. “I don’t understand..?” he began, but Rue shushed him.

“There’s no time, later!”

Running down the hallways, they came to the elevators, which Rue had avoided on the way in, preferring the stairs. One elevator was on the first floor, while the other was on the sixth. Rue pressed the button – only the one on the first floor started moving, even though their floor was closer to the sixth.

“Sixth floor,” he said, moving for the stairs.

“Aren’t we taking the elevator?” asked Bay. Rue ignored him.

As they emerged and turned into the lift lobby, Demon-Sage was there, with a collection of bodies already. He seemed caught by surprise when he saw Rue.

Not bothering to confront him, Rue fired twice immediately. One shot went wide, while the other dart hit Demon-Sage’s shoulder.

“Interesting,” said not-Sage, Mist Flames swirling around him. “I didn’t expect you’d still be alive.”

Was he just overriding the paralysis using Mist Flames as a cheat or something?!

“Wait, Sage is a Storm, he can’t use Mist Flames…” commented Bay unhelpfully.

Thank you, Captain Obvious!

“Go plug that in!” he shouted at Bay, gathering his own reserves. He fucking hated illusory combat. Or any kind of combat. Demon had materialised a scythe and Rue was decidedly not looking forward to it.

“Plug what in?”

“The thing inside!” shouted Rue, barely missing Demon’s scythe by the skin of his teeth.

Walls, walls. He couldn’t do much, especially in his condition, but he could construct walls. Walls were easy, the first thing they taught kids. Box the asshole in– ah, and he was out again without any effort at all, shit.

“Plug it in where?!”

“I don’t know, somewhere?!” God fucking dammit Rue hated his useless colleagues!!!

“If your deplorable morals didn’t disgust me, I’d have used your body instead,” said Demon, because was it even a shonen battle without trash talk.

“Dream on, grandpa!” snapped Rue, firing more darts at the possessed body.

He might not be able to stop Demon from puppetting the body, but he could at least make it more difficult!

The only reason Rue was not dead yet was because Sage’s body was moving a bit stiffly from the toxin, and Demon seemed to be having software-hardware compatibility issues. Maybe he needed to possess Mists —

Rue’s half-formed thought went up in smoke as Storm Flame (Sage’s?!) suddenly blasted towards him, eating through his Real Illusion barriers, and forcing Rue to dive out of the way.

And now Bay behind him was exposed. He’d managed to find a power outlet in the corridor and was struggling to untangle the electrical hazard that was the Flame-jamming device. Demon was swinging his scythe —

Wall!

Intent on his prey, Demon-Sage crashed face-first into Rue’s construct, tripping him up for just mere seconds. But it was enough for Bay to slam the plug in and flip the switch.

There were twin screams of agony — Bay being electrocuted to within an inch of his life, and Demon’s shade being forced out of Sage’s body (oh my god Rue was actually seeing a ghost).

The translucent thing made an abortive lunge for Rue, who for a moment thought he was done for, before fading away.

Rue doubted that was the end of Demon Spade, but at least the crisis was stopped for now. He sank down against the nearest wall, unable to keep standing now that he was no longer running on adrenaline.

Oh, his stopgap fix for his gunshot wound had been cancelled out too, hadn’t it? But Rue was too exhausted to care.

“Hey, hey! Stay with us!” Bay was shaking Rue’s shoulder. He felt so tired, and it was so hard to breathe …

"Dio mio, there’s so much blood …Hyssop, you’re a Sun, get over here!”

“Dumbass, we don’t even know if the bullet’s still in there! Put some pressure on it!”

There was some kind of commotion coming towards them, but Rue was already fading.

“Ah fuck, it’s the in-laws!” was the last thing he heard, before slipping into darkness.

Chapter Text

Tyr, 45, Interim Boss, Biscione Family

Heading a Family was hard work!

It was quite different from running the Varia (as Auntie had to constantly remind him), and there was a lot less help (Tyr missed Tavo’s talent so much). They had cash flow problems right off the bat, and Tyr and his Guardians had to put in some of their own money to keep things afloat before their finances started looking better.

First, there was all the renovation of the main house and expansion of the villa’s grounds to house all their new members. Some of the men, mostly those with families or those hoping to start families, had moved to Tavo’s hometown the next valley over to help with the wine fraud operation there, which alleviated the housing crisis a bit. Then Auntie had found a place for her people in Milan, where she was finding most of her business these days, so that also helped. They still needed space for offices, a proper infirmary, an armoury, and other things, so Tyr bought over a neighbouring farm and started building on that (he could still hear Antonio’s scream of anguish when he went over the books).

(The farm had also come with some very aggressive and territorial geese who lived in a very big, roomy shed, so Tyr thought that was their security settled, ha!)

Another (good) problem was their little plague of children (they’d only found the family of one of them so far, so they were stuck with the rest). They were an investment for the Family’s future, though, so Tyr didn’t mind too much.

It was a shame Nashi of the Vongola had not responded to his offer – Tyr thought his talent was completely wasted there (and they were clearly sucking his blood dry). He’d consoled himself by hoping that at least one of the children would show interest in swordplay. Two were stably Flame-capable– a sandy-haired Sun they’d unimaginatively called Ciro, and a quiet, myopic Rain that had somehow ended up with the slightly staid name of Placido. Max had his hands full trying to train Ciro (it was like herding cats), and while they didn’t have a fellow Rain to help Placido yet, Libitina had promised to come (to Max’s delight – he’d always admired her), so that was settled. Tyr had yet to find a suitable teacher for young Lancia, unfortunately, but at least he was picking up some things from Tyr and Max, and was looking like he’d become a formidable warrior in the future. The rest of the children either did not have any Flame talent (totally fine), or it was too early to tell, but they needed food and clothes and care all the same.

The need for money meant looking for more profitable ventures, which inevitably meant a push for territory. Tyr didn’t think he was purposefully stepping on anyone’s toes, but their neighbours were irrationally antsy over Tyr’s presence in the area (Tyr thought they should’ve been more concerned about the Estraneo having run around undetected for years). This prompted an ill-considered rush by some of their rivals to stifle the Biscione’s growth, hoping to crowd them out before they could establish a firm foothold. Well, Tyr couldn’t have that, so he had to rap those naughty grasping hands across the knuckles.

Which had the unintended effect of scaring everyone into hysterics, and now it was just chaos.

Tyr thought he was being quite restrained, really! He hadn’t assassinated anybody yet!

All in all, Tyr was very glad he could leave Tavo to it, when the time came. So much for a peaceful retirement!

Some time after the new year, Auntie came back from Milan with the news that Tavo’s favourite CEDEF agent was in town, together with several of his colleagues.

“What are they doing?” he asked her.

“Rue just said they were investigating someone,” Auntie replied. “But I found out who, after looking around. Some art dealer who goes by the name Marc Cossart.”

“Never heard of him,” said Tyr. Auntie and Max also shrugged. Well, as long as the investigation didn’t interfere with the Biscione, Tyr didn’t really care. He tucked that particular tidbit of information in the back of his mind, and more or less forgot about it, busy with running the Biscione.

One particular day, it must have been a blue moon or something, because Tyr received a direct phone call from that Squalo boy, rather than through Tavo as an intermediary. Luckily, the teenager remembered not to shout, or Tyr would have just hung up.

“This is unusual,” said Tyr. “Don’t you usually have Ottavio talk to me?”

“He said I should learn how to negotiate terms myself,” said the boy, sounding his age for once, impatient and a little petulant. “Gave me a long ass lecture.”

“It’s something that requires practice,” agreed Tyr. So considerate, his Tavo. Though perhaps this particular situation involved a matter he didn’t quite want to get involved in. “Well? What’s going on?”

It turned out the Squalo boy had finally found and extracted his poor frozen Sky, but now didn’t know what to do with him.

“Voi, we’ve tried everything!” said Squalo. “Only The F– I mean, only Ottavio managed to flake a chip of ice off and it really was the tiniest chip. Mammon got some reaction channelling Mist Flames through a focus, but it wasn’t really enough, either. We’re thinking maybe it needs Sky Flames. Could you come take a look?”

“Can’t do that, sorry, in the middle of a turf war,” said Tyr, wondering what names Squalo had been about to call his poor beleaguered Cloud. “Why didn’t you say something when I was in Sicily for Federico’s funeral?”

“Because we hadn’t even found him then!” exclaimed Squalo. “When do you think you’ll be available?”

“Don’t know,” Tyr said truthfully. “Not soon.”

Squalo made a frustrated noise.

“I’ve seen Daniela use and reverse Zero-Point a few times,” offered Tyr, feeling a bit sorry for the boy. “She always thawed them out right after the situation got under control, so I don’t know if it’ll be any different for someone kept in Zero-Point for so long. It did require pure and focused Flames – she used the Vongola Sky Ring. If you gather a bunch of people with multiple Flame types and the appropriate foci it might work.”

The boy grumbled something about “does it look like I’m made of money”, which was fair. Foci were rare and expensive, especially the good ones (the price went up exponentially with each class), and the Varia did not need them on a regular basis, so Tyr had never had a set made. Out of Tyr and his Guardians, only Auntie really used foci with any regularity, or even owned any. Tyr himself had never used one until Litta gave him the Biscione Sky Ring. Maybe the Varia would commission some, going forward, if they had the funds, but that would take time. He doubted Squalo could wait that long. Oh well, not his problem. Tyr was just a consultant.

“If that’s all, I’ll just send you the bill for today’s consult,” he told Squalo cheerfully. “Ciao!” He ignored Squalo’s exasperated scream of “VOI!!!”, and hung up.

Not long after that, Auntie, who had been working a late-night cleanup in Milan, called to say that Rue was in trouble.

One of her staff had run into the injured agent, and called Auntie while tailing him. They’d detected a formidable Mist domain at the hotel Rue had disappeared into, and told Auntie, who contacted Tyr and Max for backup.

Tyr himself was pretty ambivalent about Rue (he was a little too flighty for Tyr’s tastes but otherwise fine, Max wholeheartedly believed Rue was using Tavo, and Auntie was just grateful Tavo managed to connect with someone outside their circle), but for whatever reason Tavo was hopelessly fond of him, so that meant they would try to keep him alive. Tyr was more interested in knowing what was going on in his neck of the woods – it sounded quite serious, and he didn’t like the idea of an unknown, powerful Mist wandering around willy-nilly.

By the time they all managed to get there, however, the fighting was over, and there was no trace of the unknown Mist.

Tyr did not like that.

Auntie had some difficulty setting up her usual Mist curtain to shield the goings-on from civilian eyes, but just as abruptly, the block was gone. It reminded Tyr of the Estraneo tech Tavo had recovered from the base and told him about, and he liked that even less.

He stormed in with Max, picking up and shaking the first panicked CEDEF agent they found until they were brought to the scene of the massacre.

Because it was a massacre, with a pile of bloodied bodies stacked half in half out of an elevator, another man dead or unconscious on the floor in the lobby, and Rue collapsed against a wall, two other agents ineffectually trying to staunch the bleeding from his chest.

The agents finally noticed him and Max. “Ah fuck, it’s the in-laws,” said one of them.

“Out of my way!” ordered Max, shoving his way through and kneeling down beside Rue. He was already pulling on gloves. “You, assist me.” He commandeered one of the agents (a probable Sun, Tyr thought) and got to work.

Tyr left Max to it and turned to the remaining (live and able-bodied, if slightly charred-looking) agent. “What the hell happened?” demanded Tyr “Who’s in charge here?”

“Uh…” the agent looked at the man on the ground. “Sage, but he was apparently possessed until recently…”

“Possessed,” said Tyr flatly. And no one noticed? He went over to the man, Sage, and squatted down next to him. The man still had a pulse, but out cold, and probably would be until an antidote was administered, if he didn’t die before that. Tyr recognised the darts embedded in the man’s shoulder and thigh – this was the kind of thing Max used. Tavo had probably given a set to Rue, the softhearted thing.

“And who’s in charge if this Sage is not available?” asked Tyr.

The agent's eyes darted towards the pile of bodies by the elevator. Tyr resisted the urge to sigh.

“And after that one?”

The agent had to think on that for a while. “Probably Rue,” he admitted.

Good grief!

“Get your boss,” he told the agent, who he still didn’t know the name of.

“Uh, Mint went for help; the phones weren’t working earlier, I’m not sure if he managed to contact HQ…”

“Then check?” Tyr was being very good. Very patient. He was not going to murder random CEDEF mooks today.

The agent wisely ran off to check. Tyr remained to guard Max, and to ensure none of the bodies reanimated as zombies or anything (Mist nonsense was varied and unpleasant). Scanning the area, he noticed some kind of half burned-out device near a power outlet. It looked kind of familiar, but Tyr couldn’t quite remember where from.

Eventually, the agent (whose name was apparently Bay) returned, and Tyr got a very brief and vague summary of the ‘altercation’. Tyr was no longer Vongola, so Bay understandably left out most of the details (Tyr thought Bay already said too much with the mention of ‘possession’, but all the surviving agents seemed too shell-shocked to realise).

Tyr could, however, put things together, and really did not like the situation. A powerful Mist infiltrating CEDEF by possessing senior agents? He wondered if it had anything to do with the Estraneo.

“Teo, I’m going to take Rue back to the villa,” came Max’s voice, bringing Tyr out of his dark thoughts. “I’ve done what I can, but Rue needs a couple of units of blood, or a Cloud who can do what Tavo does.”

“I’m Type O, would that help?” volunteered Bay.

Max shook his head. “I don’t have the equipment to do anything with fresh blood,” he said briskly. He seemed to belatedly notice the other guy, Sage, on the floor and quickly checked him over. “Ah, right. Was there a bag or something that the toxins came in?”

Bay hurriedly handed him a satchel, and Max rooted around in it until he found a vial. He injected its contents into Sage’s arm, then got up.

“I don’t think he’s in any mortal danger,” said Max. “Might want to keep an eye on him though. Now I really have to get going.”

“I’ll secure the area with Auntie until CEDEF can come clean up,” said Tyr. “I hope Rue pulls through.”

Max sighed. “You and me both!” He left with Rue on a makeshift stretcher, helped by some of the Biscione boys who had come with them.

That left Tyr with three live CEDEF agents giving him a wide berth, another one laid out on the floor, and a pile of bodies. Pleasant company all around.

Auntie came by soon after.

“I saw Rue being carried out earlier, he doesn’t look good,” she commented worriedly. “Tavo’s on his way.”

“Tavo?” Tyr scratched his chin. “I suppose he’d want to come. He’s coming on the Varia jet?”

“I think so,” said Auntie. “Seemed like he was bringing half of Varia Medical with him.”

“And he says they’re ‘just friends’,” said Tyr dryly.

“Oh, leave him alone,” said Auntie. “He’d do the same for you and me.”

“That’s different,” said Tyr. They were family!

Auntie just shook her head fondly at him.

It was around dawn when Sawada Iemitsu arrived with a small army of CEDEF(?) personnel. Auntie gladly relinquished control of the area to the lot of them, and melted back into the background, where she preferred to be.

Tyr didn’t really want to deal with the Young Lion either, but he was a responsible adult and had to behave like one.

Thankfully, Sawada seemed to realise that they’d done CEDEF a big favour, and remembered to at least pretend he was grateful.

“Thanks for your assistance,” said Sawada. “We can transfer Rue to a Vongola medical facility once she’s stable.”

“We’ve got it covered,” Tyr replied. “Surely your agent could use a break after all this. Ottavio’s on his way, too. He’d want to see Rue.”

Sawada grimaced slightly at the mention of Tavo. “We’ll need to ask Rue some questions,” he said.

“You can do that when Rue is awake,” said Tyr firmly. “We’ll contact you.”

By the time they got back home, Tavo had apparently arrived. He was nowhere to be seen, probably in the infirmary with Max and Rue. There were a handful of Varia personnel around, moving some … questionably large luggage, carefully watched by some of the Biscione, good lads.

Tavo’s rookie assistant (Tyr remembered that gaudy blue stripe in his hair– Bluebird!) was among them, and so was Max’s successor (Lucas? Lucia? Lucifer? Ah, Lussuria!), with a suspiciously diabolic grin on his face.

Tyr crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “What’s all this, then?” he asked, addressing Lussuria as the highest-ranked Varia among them.

Lussuria smiled, all teeth. “Oh, just some medical equipment.”

“Right.” Tyr made the gesture for ‘go on’.

“And the thing you were meant to take a look at,” said Lussuria, clasping his hands together in the very picture of innocence (ha!). “Since you didn’t have time to come to us, we decided to bring the problem to you!”

Tyr couldn’t find it in himself to be more than just a little bit annoyed. Look at that, the brats were learning to be sneaky! He was a bit proud, to be honest.

“Tavo let you?” he had to ask.

Lussuria shrugged. “He was distracted. By the time he noticed, we were landing.” Poor Tavo. He was probably blaming himself now.

Tyr sighed. “I can’t promise I’ll have time to look,” he said. “And you’re taking a big risk here! CEDEF will be around, as you well know. Who else is here?”

“I’m sure you’ll have somewhere we can hide him,” said Lussuria brightly. “Other than these boys? We brought Libitina, since she was moving here anyway, and Lempo–that’s Trident Shamal. They’re with Lugh right now helping out!”

That was a lot of doctors. Probably not just for Rue’s sake, either!

Tyr flagged down young Lancia, who was joyfully greeting Bluebird like they were long-lost brothers. “Could you help these folks move their…ah, cargo… to the goose shed? Hush-hush like.”

“The … goose shed?” Lancia was understandably confused. Even Lussuria was giving him an incredulous look.

“Safest spot we have at home!” said Tyr, and left them to it. He had a Cloud to soothe!

Tyr quickly made his way to the infirmary. As he walked in, the atmosphere was serious, but not tense, so Rue was likely mostly out of danger.

The CEDEF agent was lying on the bed closest to the window, still unconscious, with a young, light-haired boy Tyr hadn’t seen before (his Cloud seemed to be developing a habit of collecting children) worriedly watching over him. Tavo himself was in a chair nearby, looking pale and exhausted. He perked up when he sensed Tyr approaching.

“Teo,” he greeted quietly, standing to give him a quick hug. “Sorry for the unexpected visit.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, always good to see you,” said Tyr, patting poor Tavo on the back and feeling him relax slightly. Ah, this close, Tyr could tell his Cloud had undone all the work Max had done to fix his bald spot! What on earth were they doing to him back at the Varia? “How’s Rue doing?”

“Stable for now, so we’ll just have to wait and see,” said Max, lifting his head from where he’d been conferring with Shamal and Libitina. The other two nodded in greeting, Libitina flashing him a quick smile while Shamal looked slightly uncomfortable. Tyr figured Rue was in good hands, at any rate – all three of them were very skilled doctors.

“Basilio, this is my Sky, Teo, also known as Tyr,” Tavo told the boy next to him. The kid seemed a little intimidated, but politely stood up and said hello. “Teo, this is Basilio.”

Tyr remembered now, it was the boy Tavo had told him about, that Rue had rescued. “Ah, you're Mirco's friend!” said Tyr. “Welcome, welcome.”

That seemed to put the boy more at ease, and he smiled shyly at Tyr. Cute kid.

Tavo instructed Basilio to stay in the room, while he went outside with Tyr to talk.

“Auntie will be sad you didn’t bring Mirco,” said Tyr, instead of immediately ribbing Tavo about the Varia brats pulling a fast one over him.

Tavo sighed, massaging the spot in between his brows. “Don’t remind me,” he said. “He made a huge fuss, then Hayato also wanted to come, and then if all three boys were going Belphegor would probably insist on coming along as well, and believe me, you don’t want that.”

Tyr was very amused.

They spent a little more time catching each other up on various things, and just basking in each other’s company (it just wasn’t the same without Tavo around!). Eventually, Tavo brought up the elephant in the room.

“I should have known they were up to something,” groaned Tavo. “I was wondering why Superbia offered the use of the jet! And all the personnel he let me bring! I had been planning to get on a commercial flight with just Basilio.”

“It’s fine,” Tyr reassured him. “We’ll just leave him in the shed for a while. I don’t think we’ll be able to try anything for a bit, anyway.”

“The shed?” Tavo queried.

“The goose shed,” confirmed Tyr.

Tavo burst out laughing, so Tyr considered it a win.

Chapter Text

Ikemiya Naoshi, 31, vice-chief, Vongola East Asia Office, formerly Nashi, Cloud Guardian to Federico of the Vongola, formerly Lynn Ko, 26, teacher

It felt strange, being in Japan again. Lynn hadn’t been back for the better part of a decade, and so much had changed, even just from the airport. It certainly didn’t feel like home, no matter what Iemitsu thought.

Home, after all, was, perhaps, a whole other universe away, and Lynn had long given up any hope of ever going back.

There was only forward, now, to whatever awaited them at the end.

The Vongola East Asia Office, being Vongola’s regional headquarters and requiring a certain amount of connectivity, was not actually in Namimori, but in Tokyo, in one of the many glossy office buildings in the Otemachi area. That made Namimori about two hours out from the regional office by regular train, and a little less by car.

Lynn’s Tokyo apartment, which Naoshi had inherited from his parents, was located in a residential district a half-hour’s commute from the regional office (Lynn had another one in Namimori, one Ercole had purchased when Naoshi had transferred schools). Lynn had planned to go directly there to start tidying up and unpacking, but apparently there were other plans for them.

“Nao, over here,” greeted someone who was not-quite a stranger. It was a face that Lynn hadn’t seen since Iemitsu’s wedding, and it took them a few seconds, but soon enough Lynn recognised them, and smiled for the first time in a long while.

“Kasuga-san,” they said. “This is unexpected.”

“Come on, you used to call me Shichiro, remember?” said Kasuga–Shichiro.

Kasuga Shichiro had run with Iemitsu and Lynn back in the day, and had been the most academically-inclined of the lot of them (even Lynn, who basically had a cheat code since it was their second time round, couldn’t quite match up). The last Lynn had heard, he’d passed the notoriously difficult Japanese bar exam on the first go, after graduating from law school at a prestigious university in Tokyo. Lynn had just assumed he’d be a partner in a law firm somewhere by now.

“Shichiro-san,” Lynn said in compromise, unsure whether to shake hands or slap him on the shoulder or whatever was supposed to be the appropriate manly greeting in Japan these days. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be welcoming me.”

Shichiro solved the dilemma by clasping his shoulder. Lynn mirrored the action, but startled as they felt Mist Flames drawing a ring of privacy around them, snapping their head around to look at Shichiro.

Back then, only Iemitsu and Lynn had sufficiently traumatic near-death experiences to draw out Dying Will Flames. The others all felt like they could, the ability simmering just under the surface (maybe being in a Sky’s vicinity did that?), but Lynn had never seen them use Flames, and Lynn and Iemitsu always made sure not to mention them in earshot of their friends. The others had seemed to realise that Lynn and Iemitsu shared something they weren’t privy to, but somehow it had never come up for discussion (though Lynn always thought they knew more than Iemitsu assumed).

“Long story,” said Shichiro, noticing Lynn’s reaction. “I'll tell you later. You’ve got your bags?”

Lynn had already successfully retrieved their luggage from baggage claim (just one suitcase, really, and Kumokiri, with all the appropriate licences and registrations– Lynn’s cover in Japan was that of an iaido practitioner and instructor returning from teaching overseas, and at any rate the appropriate channels had been liberally greased and they had transferred via Mafia Land). Shichirou helped with Lynn’s carry-on duffle, and soon they had the opportunity to speak more in the privacy of Shichiro’s car.

“Your bar exam was so stressful you activated Dying Will Flames?”

“Don’t laugh!” said Shichiro, slightly sheepishly (Lynn didn’t actually laugh, they were just incredulous). “I didn’t cheat or anything.” Shichiro hadn’t had any idea what he was doing, but the Hibari apparently noticed him the moment he stepped back into Namimori, and Shichiro was pretty much forcibly conscripted, starting his involvement with the mafia.

(The Hibari were the undisputed kings of Namimori and its surrounding towns, and had been for decades – the Vongola operated only with their permission within certain areas there, which was also one of the reasons why their office was actually in Tokyo).

Shichiro was now one of the lawyers on retainer to the Hibari (mostly working from Tokyo these days), and occasionally acted as a liaison with the Vongola East Asia office when needed. The Hibari were the ones who had told Shichiro about Lynn’s arrival, after the Vongola had politely informed the Hibari of the new appointment.

“You never said you were Hibari,” said Shichiro.

“I’m not,” Lynn replied. “I’m surprised they kept tabs on my family.”

“They keep tabs on everyone,” Shichiro informed them.

Somehow, Lynn was not surprised.

Shichiro then updated him on what their old circle of friends had been up to. No one had heard from Iemitsu in forever, of course – nothing new there – and everyone had, as Lynn told Iemitsu, naturally drifted apart. Mamoru, always the steady, responsible one, and who Lynn had always suspected had Lightning potential, had settled down in Namimori, having started a liquor import business. He was the only one Shichiro kept in regular (if very infrequent) contact with, and on occasions like New Year’s they’d sometimes go together to check on Iemitsu’s mother, who they called Aunt Kikue. The others had mostly found work outside of Namimori, returning only during long holidays and such, and neither Shichiro nor Mamoru saw them much.

“I don’t understand why she doesn’t live with Nana-san and little Tsunayoshi,” said Shichiro of old Mrs. Sawada. “There’s plenty of space in the old house. It’d be less worry all around, I think.”

“Perhaps she likes a little peace and quiet?” suggested Lynn. Privately, they thought that while Nana seemed very friendly and easy going in canon and in person, perhaps even someone like her wouldn’t want to live with her mother-in-law. Taking care of both a small child and an elderly family member seemed a bit much for one person. And old Mrs. Sawada had a lot of pride.

“I don’t know, she seems lonely,” said Shichiro.

“Blame Mitsu-san,” said Lynn, to which Shichiro expressed vehement agreement.

Shichiro dropped Lynn off at their apartment, and handed them his name card.

“Keep in touch,” he said, after Lynn took the card. “The clan head has expressed an interest in meeting you, by the way.”

At some point Lynn would probably have to meet Hibari representatives as part of their work, but they wouldn’t be seeking them out on their own.

“I’m sure we’ll have opportunities to meet, soon enough,” Lynn replied, before saying goodbye.

Lynn spent the next couple of days cleaning out the apartment, unpacking, and recovering from jetlag. The neighbourhood had changed drastically, and now there seemed to be a convenience store within fifty paces in every direction. Shops had been replaced by new tenants, there was a WcDonald’s (yes, it was called WcDonald’s here, very amusingly) just down the street, and everything was just so … foreign, to Lynn.

It felt very strange.

On the day Lynn was supposed to start work, a car came for them, looking very sleek and black and out of place in the neighbourhood. Sent by his new superior, apparently. The driver, wearing shades, bowed as Lynn exited the apartment, and opened the rear passenger door.

Lynn ignored him and the car, and took the train. It was probably faster, anyway, considering Tokyo traffic.

When Lynn got there, instead of the bustling but friendly atmosphere that Lynn remembered from Ercole’s leadership, the current prevailing mood in the office seemed to be one of wary tension. Lynn wondered if it was because of Naoshi’s sudden appointment, or something else.

They’d done their homework, of course, regarding their new place of employment.

Ercole’s vice-chief back in the day had been promoted to chief and transferred to a newly set up regional office when Ercole had retired, leaving the top two positions open. Alceu, a man in his late forties, was eventually appointed as chief. Lynn didn’t know who put him there (the Ninth?), but after some research, they concluded that he was, as Iemitsu said, ‘fishy’ (he hadn’t lied about this, at least).

Alceu “just call me Al” of the Vongola was even more distantly related to Timoteo compared to Ercole (Lynn did not care to figure out where in the sprawling family tree he belonged, but he had a faint resemblance to Xanxus and presumably hailed from the Second’s branch). He presented himself as a shrewd and competent individual, willing to make difficult choices to achieve the Vongola’s goals.

Upon his appointment, Alceu brought in his own right-hand man as his vice-chief, and for a while it seemed like the East Asia Office was in good hands.

Then quite recently, a few months back, the auditors (CEDEF accountants, basically) started noticing some discrepancies in the books. The specifics gave Lynn a headache, but the gist of it was that someone had been embezzling money, and a lot of it, at that. Alceu tried to fault Ercole’s previous business practices for the financial oddities, but eventually there was enough evidence to pin on Alceu’s leadership. To cut a long story short, Alceu pushed all the blame onto his vice-chief, who had probably been pressured or threatened into admitting his guilt and sole involvement.

The former vice-chief was dealt with (probably shot and tossed into Tokyo Bay), while Alceu got away more or less intact.

He wasn’t completely off the hook, though, and knew it. Likely, he viewed Lynn as someone tasked to keep an eye on him.

Not unexpectedly, Alceu gave Lynn an assessing look when they presented themselves at his office.

“I hear you didn’t take the transport I sent,” said Alceu, tapping the end of his cigarette into an ashtray. He was lounging in his imported Italian leather chair like it was a throne. “Not up to your standards?”

“I don’t get into strange cars,” said Lynn.

“Ah yes,” said Alceu. “Must be a habit from your time as a glorified bodyguard.”

Lynn had heard worse from their time as a ‘glorified bodyguard’, so they just stared passively into the middle distance until the briefing was done. They were then shown into their office (smaller than Alceu’s, with an inspiring view of the opposite office building) and introduced to their assistant, a conventionally attractive young woman whose purpose was unfortunately quite evident, from the length of her skirt.

Lynn paid her no attention, and started looking through reports.

The Friday of Lynn’s starting week at the office, Alceu organised a little ‘welcoming party’ at a Vongola-owned nightclub in Shinjuku. Lynn declined the company of the hostesses, declined the cigars Alceu offered, and declined the celebratory champagne.

“Just a little,” coaxed Alceu, though there was an edge of irritation to his tone. “It’s a celebration! I thought you Japanese were all about giving people ‘face’.”

“It’s a habit, I’m afraid,” Lynn replied. “From my time as a …glorified bodyguard.”

If a Vongola heir couldn’t make Lynn drink, a mere middle manager could forget about it.

“I see,” said Alceu. “I suppose it is true, what they say about Clouds.”

Alceu continued to try and get a read on Lynn, while keeping them away from important or sensitive work. It was clear that they would never be more than barely civil to each other, but Lynn just did not care.

If Alceu had work for Lynn, they did it. If he didn’t, Lynn just left, or found their own work to do. What was Alceu going to do, fire them? Alceu couldn’t touch Lynn, and he knew it.

Lynn, meanwhile, used their newfound free time to investigate the situation in Namimori.

It was quite nostalgic, being back in the city Naoshi had spent his adolescence in. Some things hadn’t changed at all, like the old shopping street with the same shops that had been in business for generations. The business district and its skyscrapers were new – most of them Vongola investments, as was Kokuyo Land, the amusement park that would become defunct by the time canon rolled around. Takesushi was also new, having supplanted an old soba restaurant. Lynn wondered if Yamamoto’s mother was still alive, at this point. Perhaps they should go in for a meal sometime.

Not at the present moment, though.

Noticing early on that they were being followed, Lynn decided to keep their first visit relatively short, just checking in on their Namimori apartment (extremely dusty) and re-learning the general layout of the city.

Alceu was waiting for him back at the office.

“What were you doing in that little dump?” he asked, looking calculating, and not bothering to hide that he had eyes on Lynn. “There’s surely nothing interesting there.”

Lynn was sure Alceu knew that Primo’s descendants lived in Namimori – the East Asia Office was supposed to watch over them, after all. Whether Alceu thought Lynn knew or not was a different matter. As far as Lynn was aware, their connection with Iemitsu was not well known.

“My ancestral clan is there,” Lynn replied without elaboration. It was not a lie. Alceu did not need to know that Lynn did not have any plans to contact them, though.

“Is that so,” hummed Alceu, and seemed to lose interest.

Lynn would have to be careful, but in general they weren’t that worried. The shadier Alceu behaved, the easier it would be to remove him permanently from his position.

The next time Lynn went to Namimori, they confronted their stalkers and sent them for a swim in the sea before heading towards the neighbourhood where Iemitsu's wife and son lived.

Lynn did not approach the house; they walked around the neighbourhood, checking the security of the area. Iemitsu wasn’t a complete idiot – there were people watching the Sawada’s family home, and they discreetly made themselves known to Lynn, having clearly been tipped off about Naoshi’s arrival.

“The consigliere says we are to follow your instructions, and your instructions only, should you have any,” said one of them, who was running a newspaper kiosk conveniently in direct sight range of the house. “We’re a direct assignment from HQ – Alceu doesn’t know about us. He has a man stationed at the pizza shop on the next block, but that’s it. The rest are downtown running the businesses.”

Good to know. Lynn selected a copy of the local newspaper and a bottle of mineral water, paying with a note.

“No instructions for now,” they said, while pretending to wait for the man to count out change. “Is it just the two of them at the house?”

“No, there’s a young relative of Mrs. Sawada’s living with them,” said the man, as he handed over some coins as change. “Recently moved in.”

Lynn frowned a little, not expecting that. Perhaps this was just something not covered in the main story, since they were currently in the nebulous timeline before canon.

“I see,” Lynn replied. “Carry on.”

Idly flipping through the paper as they strolled, Lynn went to the Sawada’s ancestral family home next.

It was a mansion built in the giyofu style (more or less Western-looking, but with Japanese carpentry, as typical of the period), worn down with weather and age. Iemitsu had never liked it, proclaiming it stifling and gloomy, which was probably why he’d bought the modern family home for Nana.

The old Mrs. Sawada lived there all alone now, with a helper who came by three times a week to help with chores, according to Shichiro. She did not seem to be home, so Lynn just left some nonperishable gifts they’d picked up on Iemitsu’s behalf by the gate, deciding to come by another time.

As Lynn made their way back towards the train station, they encountered a gaggle of schoolgirls approaching head-on, clearly freshly released from classes, giggling and whispering as they caught sight of Lynn. Lynn ignored them; they knew their current body was considered attractive by both sexes, and stares were not uncommon.

Suddenly, a vaguely familiar face lifted her head from the sea of uniformed children huddled together like penguins.

“Oh, it’s you!”

Without missing a beat, Lynn pivoted on their heel and power walked in the opposite direction.

Lynn had no idea what that girl was doing in Japan, but they had caught a glimpse of her flushed cheeks and shy expression, and just, no.

Chapter Text

Amaranth, 16, of the Bellini Famiglia, formerly Katie Lee, 16, student

Things weren’t going well for the Bellini, and despite feeling that it was super unfair and really not her fault at all, Katie still felt kind of guilty.

A couple weeks after Federico’s scumbag Guardians (except the hot one who’d helped her, he was forgiven) trashed her beach house, CEDEF seemed to decide there wasn’t enough evidence to blame Katie, concluded their investigation, and withdrew their guards. Don Bellini immediately rushed to get her, worriedly checking her over for any injuries and cursing Federico under his breath.

“I know it’s not your fault, stellina,” he told her. “Everyone knows he was a rake, and that his lifestyle was going to catch up with him one day. The worst of the Vongola sons!”

That was of little comfort to Amaranth, and the Bellini Family in general. CEDEF had apparently warned Don Bellini that they were on thin ice after the incident, and to not show their face in front of Don Vongola until they’d redeemed themselves (why should they have to redeem themselves if they weren’t guilty of anything?!). The rest of the Alliance had apparently also gotten the news, and their Family was being ostracised. Business was very bad, and Don Bellini had to sell a few assets to keep things going, including the villa in Tropea (Katie had bad memories there anyway and was glad to see it gone).

The staff there were let go or reassigned, and Katie’s Varia overseers took the opportunity to withdraw.

Katie was conflicted.

On one hand, she considered it the Varia’s fault she was in this mess (wasn’t it Squalo’s idea for her to seduce Federico?!). On the other, Katie couldn’t believe she was even thinking this, but she would miss Something-Li (mostly his cooking) and maybe even Orichalcum. Despite how annoying they (especially Orichalcum) were, it sucked to be by herself again, without anyone her age to talk to.

And she wouldn’t know what was going on in the Varia anymore (like, was anybody going to help Xanxus out?!! What was the thing that Nashi had given her to pass on to them?!? Katie was dying to know!).

But it was okay. Katie was bored, because Don Bellini was reluctant to let her out of his sight after what happened, and she felt guilty enough to comply. But it wasn’t horrible. She was still the apple of her Papa’s eye, still living comfortably. Just bored, and it wasn’t like she knew enough to help out with the running of the Family, so she could only watch helplessly as Don Bellini’s stress piled on by the day.

The last straw for Don Bellini came when the assassination attempts started.

Luckily, her Varia training kicked in, and she was able to fend them off. The first time, her assailants just escaped once they realised things weren’t going their way, but they tried again not long after, and her bodyguard Jacopo got quite badly injured. This time, they managed to stall the assassins long enough for help to arrive, and they were all subdued and captured.

Upon questioning, Katie’s attackers only said they were mercenaries hired by an anonymous third party. She bet it was Federico’s Guardians, trying to avenge their Sky! If they really wanted her dead they should come after her themselves!

The would-be assassins disappeared after that, and Katie didn’t really want to ask how the Bellini had disposed of them.

Don Bellini was equal parts incensed and scared out of his mind, for Katie’s sake.

“Stellina, maybe you should get out of the country for a while,” he told her. There was a bit of a crazed look in his eyes that Katie didn’t really like.

“Papa,” she said, feeling uneasy and a bit worried. Despite Don Bellini not being her real father she’d grown fond of him, and he’d always been so good to her. “Um, it’s okay, I can defend myself. I have Varia training! It’ll be fine.”

Don Bellini shook his head, taking Katie’s hands in his and squeezing them. “Stellina, you are the only family I have left,” he said. “I can’t have anything happen to you! Until things calm down, please, for my sake, hide away for a while.”

Katie didn’t really want to. Xanxus and Dino were in Italy, and if she went somewhere, when would she see them again, if ever?

(Not that she’d ever seen Dino in person.)

“How about Japan?” suggested Don Bellini. “You’ve always wanted to go! And you know the language, so it won’t be as difficult.”

Japan! That’s right, there was Japan!

Katie couldn’t say she wasn’t tempted. Tsuna was there, and so was Hibari! And it was where all the stuff happened in canon! If she could get to Namimori, there would be Xanxus and Dino, at some point.

There was a small voice in the back of her head reminding her that she was in an AU, but things hadn’t gotten that far off track, so far!

She’d never gotten to go to Japan, during her first life, and in this one Don Bellini got anxious whenever Katie wandered too far. For him to send Katie away now…

“Papa,” she said, feeling guilty again, “what about you? It’s not safe for you either.”

“They’re after you, not me,” replied Don Bellini, though it didn’t sound very convincing to Katie. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ll hire more bodyguards.”

“Let me see them first,” she decided. She hadn’t forgotten the security lapse that let the Varia people in so easily!

“Of course, of course,” Don Bellini reassured her, smiling. “So, you’ll agree?”

It turned out that Don Bellini wanted to send her to Namimori (what were the odds)! Vongola (in the worst case scenario where they had a change of heart and decided to pursue matters) had at least one base in Japan, but their presence there was nowhere as strong as it was in Europe, and Japan was generally a very safe country. And as long as they stayed away from the big cities where criminal activity was concentrated, Don Bellini reasoned, they would be fine (and Katie wasn’t about to disabuse him of the notion).

A friend of a friend of a friend of Don Bellini’s could get Katie into the highschool division of Yumei Private (rang no bells for Katie, but she supposed it was a better school than Namimori High). One of Don Bellini’s most trusted underlings, Sante, and his wife Marina, would pose as Katie’s aunt and uncle, and they would live in a house in the suburbs. Jacopo would go as well (he’d be Katie’s ‘cousin’), but otherwise they’d have minimal other personnel, just trying to lay low.

Katie was kind of looking forward to it.

She could get a fresh start!

It took a while to get everything arranged, but when the time came to leave Katie suddenly almost couldn’t bear to go. She’d been transported into this universe for nearly two years by now, and had spent most of it with the Bellini. Other than her time training with the Varia, it was all Katie knew.

Don Bellini gave her a very tight hug, and told her to take care of herself and stay safe.

(Why did he look so sad, like he wasn’t going to see her ever again?)

Katie secretly cried a little on the flight, and Jacopo and the others were kind enough to pretend they didn’t see anything.

The moment she arrived in Japan, though, Katie got distracted by all the things she had to do, so she didn’t have time to mope anymore. There was the horrible jetlag, then moving into and decorating her new room (so small compared to the one back in Italy, but Katie had lived in a Varia dorm and could deal), and preparing for school.

In this life, Katie had always been schooled at home, after the incident that killed the original Amaranth and her mother (and allowed Katie to take over Amaranth’s body– not that she liked thinking about it), so school would be a bit of a novel experience.

Katie had arrived at quite an awkward time for a transfer, almost at the end of the Japanese school year, but Don Bellini’s contact had clearly pulled a few strings so she could start right away. The uniform was very Japanese – a gakuran for the boys and sailor outfit for the girls. Katie thought she looked cute in it!

When she was introduced to her new classmates by her homeroom teacher, the whispers of “Oh my god, she’s so pretty!” and “Woah, a foreigner bijin!” were very gratifying.

“I’m Amalia Di Bello from Italy,” Katie introduced herself when prompted by the teacher, using the fake name on all her documents. “I hope we’ll get along!”

In the first week of her transfer to the school, Katie was already getting confessions and requests for dates. It was a little bit annoying (and she had no intention of dating these immature schoolboys), but she felt good all the same. The other girls in her class wanted to know about her life in Italy, her style, the makeup she used, and things like that. Varia basic training made her really good at sports too, so with hardly any effort at all Katie had basically become her school’s new idol.

This was how transmigrating into your OC was supposed to be! Katie should’ve just tried to come to Namimori earlier. She could’ve still met Xanxus during the canon timeline, during the Ring Battles!

Ugh, it was too late for that now, and there was the whole complication of being in an AU. Hopefully Xanxus would still come to Namimori at some point. She just had to hang out around Tsuna, and plot would happen, right?

Which meant finding him, first.

That was easier said than done! Katie didn’t really dare to go snooping around too blatantly – she’d heard from Sante that the Hibari (who he described as ‘the local mildly evil overlords’) had eyes everywhere, and maybe CEDEF had people around too, though in fic Tsuna was always neglected or something. She’d been keeping an eye out, but she couldn’t really figure out where Tsuna’s house was supposed to be just based on her memories, and Namimori was a lot bigger than she’d anticipated. It had to be within walking distance of Namimori Middle, though, so maybe Katie would try to look around there, next.

She did find Takesushi, though.

During one of her wanderings after school (when Jacopo was told not to follow too closely), she finally found the shop with its familiar purple banners and name! It was a multi-storey building like in the anime, but not particularly spacious. Katie wondered how an entire family home and dojo could fit in there. Maybe she’d gotten too used to big spaces like the Varia castle and her villa at home. Excited, Katie immediately went in, despite the fact that it wasn’t quite dinnertime.

It was expectedly quiet inside, given the time of day. Yamamoto’s dad (what was his name again?) seemed surprised when Katie came in, but called out a friendly greeting anyway (maybe it was the time, or maybe it was weird for a highschooler to come eat sushi by themselves?).

“I just moved to Japan, and I really wanted to try sushi!” Katie tried to explain, even though she didn’t really need to. She wanted to leave a good impression!

“Oh, you’ve come to the right place, then!” said Yamamoto Sr. jovially, seeming to take her eagerness at face value.

“I’ll leave it to you, then, chef,” said Katie. She’d never had sushi omakase style!

Even though she was really here to snoop on Yamamoto and his family, she really was looking forward to the food too. Katie wasn’t a huge fan of raw fish, but she’d eat it for the occasion, and the sushi had always looked so good in the anime!

As she sat down at the counter, a male server poured her some tea. It seemed to be only the two of them working in the restaurant, with no sign of Yamamoto or his mom (if she was still alive!). Surely elementary school should have let out by now. Maybe Yamamoto had afterschool activities, or he was upstairs in the family home.

“Your Japanese is very good, young miss!” said Yamamoto Sr., bringing her the first course “Where are you from?”

Katie stuck to the story they’d agreed on, and Yamamoto Sr. didn’t seem suspicious of her. The sushi was very good and totally Instagrammable – not for the first time, Katie wished she had a smartphone.

Sadly, Katie didn’t see any sign of Yamamoto even after she finished her meal. She’d have to come back.

A week or so passed where Katie didn’t have much luck finding either Tsuna, or Yamamoto, or even Hibari! Didn’t Hibari patrol, or something? Or was that fanon?

Katie had to console herself that it was early days yet, and she had plenty of time and would encounter them eventually. She was very busy anyway, making friends, catching up with the syllabus, and trying to make sense of the social structure at the school. People were very indirect here and it was kind of annoying. Katie kind of missed the no-nonsense way the Varia was set up.

One day, some of her female classmates invited her to join them for cake. Katie originally wanted to spend more time looking around, but agreed, figuring maybe her classmates might know more about the area and the people living in it. Their destination was some famous cake shop near Namimori station, which apparently attracted even Tokyoites on the weekends.

Come to think of it, didn’t Kyoko like to eat at a cake shop like that, in canon? Katie wondered if it was the same one.

They were just walking on the sidewalk when one of Katie’s classmates suddenly grabbed another by the arm. “Hot guy alert!” she said excitedly, and tried to surreptitiously tilt her chin towards one of the people walking in their direction.

There were a lot of giggling and mutterings of “huh, where?” before everyone figured out who she was looking at.

To Katie’s shock, it was a familiar face.

“Oh, it’s you!” she gasped, recognising the man who had broken through her window, back in Tropea.

Nashi immediately turned and walked away without even acknowledging her. Rude!

“Oh, do you know him? Who is he? He’s so handsome and adult!” Naturally, Katie’s new classmates were curious. “Why didn’t he say hello?”

“Oh, he… helped me before,” said Katie vaguely, distracted by the encounter. “Maybe he’s busy?” She wondered what Nashi was doing in Namimori, quickly dismissing the possibility that he was here to get rid of Katie (he wasn’t like the other two assholes!). Nashi probably wasn’t a Guardian anymore because Federico was dead, so work for the Ninth, maybe? Were they preparing for Tsuna already? There weren’t any heirs left, other than Massimo, and Katie had heard he wasn’t healthy.

It was a nice surprise, thought Katie. She hadn’t thought she’d see anyone from Italy in Namimori so soon, and surely it couldn’t get any better than Nashi (except maybe Xanxus, though Xanxus would probably be mean to her; Nashi at least seemed nice). Katie was sure he’d recognised her, just, maybe it wasn’t convenient for him to acknowledge her at that moment? Or maybe he was doing something in secret and wasn’t supposed to be spotted… not like Katie would tell anyone!

A little dreamily, she wondered if she would see Nashi again.

Chapter Text

Shamal al-Hakim, 27, ‘Lempo’, Rank A, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly ‘Trident Shamal’, freelance hitman and unlicensed physician

Shamal was currently stuck in the boonies, again, with Ottavio, again, because Ottavio’s … Shamal was going to go with ‘partner’... got shot in the chest, then took down a rogue CEDEF agent completely solo while trying not to bleed out, according to hearsay.

(Well, Shamal was also here because of other reasons that he would much rather not think about, thank you very much, though now he finally had an answer for Xanxus’s perplexing absence the past several months and blessed saints above he knew the Vongola were crazy but not this crazy!)

Ottavio had also brought along Lussuria, Shamal’s division head, their division colleague Libitina, Ottavio’s crossdressing assistant Bluebird, a few grunts Shamal didn’t recall the name of, and Rue’s rescue project and de facto kid, Basilio. There hadn’t even been such a turnout for that godforsaken Estraneo ‘mission’!

Shamal’s new colleagues were … unusual (though he supposed this was the Varia, so what did he expect).

Lussuria was a disgustingly talented teenager (who was also apparently some kind of bodybuilding champion) who did not care if people thought he was too young to lead the Medical Division and would answer disobedience with brute force. He was clearly a bit of a nancy boy, in Shamal’s opinion, but his first day at work he’d seen Lussuria beat someone to within an inch of their life, heal them up, and then proceed to do it again, so Shamal kept his thoughts to himself and did whatever Lussuria wanted him to do.

As for Libitina, Shamal had already heard Lugh sing her praises the last time he’d stayed with the Biscione. Maybe he hadn’t paid enough attention to her specific talents, because the first time Shamal had met her, his heart had, quite literally, skipped a beat.

He’d just been, you know, saying hello to his beautiful (she was quite a bit older than him, but that wasn’t stopping Shamal) new colleague! No bad intentions! But Libitina was a no-nonsense sort of lady who’d survived thirty years in the male-dominated mafia and had no tolerance for what she called ‘misdirected machismo’.

So perhaps she might have taken offence and stopped his heart from across the room.

When Shamal reopened his eyes, his heart almost stopped again from the terrifying sight of Libitina looming over him with a bone saw. Shamal very wisely apologised, and they’d gotten along just fine (eventually) after the air was cleared.

Sheesh, Varia women were fierce.

Shamal didn’t really mind. It was kind of hot.

His continued friendly overtures to his other female coworkers were not well received, in no small part due to that asshole Ottavio interrupting him with annoying regularity, dragging him away before Shamal could, quote, ‘embarrass himself’. Rude bastard.

“If you want to wake up in one piece the next morning, I suggest you refrain from prepositioning our colleagues,” sighed Ottavio, not even pretending to listen to Shamal’s complaints about how people here were too serious and couldn’t take a bit of harmless flirting. He tossed a copy of HR’s harassment policy at him, and Shamal barely caught it before it impacted his face, the jerk. “I’m going to have to write you up, you know. If you’re that hard up for company, that’s easily solved.”

Ottavio sent him to see Bulbul, the stunning HR lady in charge of staff welfare, who occupied a coveted corner cubicle near a large window. She wore unapologetically vivid makeup that shimmered in the sunbeams slanting through the glass, reminding Shamal of a poisonous butterfly. After reading the memo that Ottavio had sent along, Bulbul handed him a photocopied little booklet, which contained the names and numbers of the working ladies (and gents, apparently) in the area.

“The ones on the first page have all been cleared,” said Bulbul. “Just don’t bring them home.”

“I’d much rather have your company, pretty lady,” said Shamal with what he felt was his most charming smile. Might as well try his luck!

“Sadly, I’m married,” said Bulbul with a grin of her own, teeth very white against her bright pink lips. “And while my husband stays home with the kids these days, he had the highest kill count in the Varia before he retired. Sometimes he feels the old itch to slit a few throats, you know what I mean?”

Shamal did indeed know what she meant, having encountered his fair share of jealous spouses. He meekly took the booklet, and left.

Not having much luck with his colleagues, Shamal did eventually procure the services of one of the local ladies, on one of his precious days off. While undoubtedly skilled, she was sadly not as beautiful or talented as either of the two lovely sisters Ottavio had hired for Shamal during his ill-fated recruitment drive (the one fond memory he had of the whole horrible experience), and left him feeling vaguely dissatisfied.

There wasn’t much to be done about it, and Shamal’s low mood continued until he encountered Rue, who had the most mesmerising figure he had ever laid eyes on.

Rue seemed vaguely familiar, and it took Shamal a bit to remember where he’d seen Rue before. It finally came to him the moment the CEDEF agent turned around, gracing him with the sight of that dearly missed, lovely round bottom. Even though their first encounter had been so many years ago, Shamal could pick that derrière out of a lineup! With his eyes closed!

Rue didn’t mind Shamal’s flirting, and genuinely seemed to find him funny. Rue enjoyed hearing about Shamal’s life and experiences and asked a lot of questions about Shamal himself (yeah, Shamal got that Rue was a CEDEF agent, but Rue wasn’t asking anything important). Rue seemed interested.

(Rue was also Ottavio’s alleged girlfriend, but that didn’t bother Shamal, and didn’t seem to bother Ottavio either.)

Shamal thought he might be a little bit in love.

Then came the revelation that broke Shamal’s heart.

Rue was a man (!!!), despite his outward appearance (what a waste!!!) and once he got comfortable with Shamal, almost exclusively presented himself as one.

Why did this keep happening to him?! First that Bluebird boy, now Rue?!

He should’ve known, to be honest – Ottavio was about as straight as a coil spring, from the number of pink things he owned (saints above, that Vespa was a crime against the Italian nation), and he was generally a bit of a freak so his girlfriend/boyfriend/whatever was bound to be an oddity, at the very least. Shamal had just been too distracted by Rue’s voluptuous curves to pay attention to the warning signs.

Once upon a time, Shamal’s reaction might have been reflexive disgust, and to be fair he couldn’t quite bring himself to be fully comfortable. Still, it was impossible to dislike Rue, who was fun, outgoing, and truly Ottavio’s better half. He dragged Shamal kicking and screaming into socialising, and cornered him into a reluctant friendship with the duo (not the kind of ‘friendship’ Rue and Ottavio claimed to have between them, the weirdos).

There were only so many times you could wake up hungover on a guy’s couch (after his partner drank Shamal under the table instead of inviting him for a threesome like he’d secretly hoped at first) before friendship status was conferred. With or without Shamal’s consent.

(Shamal swore it was the last time every single time Ottavio threw him out at four in the morning, and then hopelessly repeated the whole cycle again and again until Rue left.)

All this brainwashing meant Shamal would be more than a little bit sad if Rue kicked the bucket (and Ottavio would be impossible), so he didn’t mind helping out.

He’d just be a bit happier about it if his colleagues would stop flirting.

They’d all been professional and serious when Shamal and Libitina had been brought in, of course. Everyone had discussed Rue’s condition and a plan for care and recovery, but honestly Lugh had pretty much done everything that needed to be done, for the moment. Libitina had dealt with any excess inflammation and Shamal was drawing up a plan for Rue’s Flame exhaustion, but that was about it. Now that they had a bit of free time and Ottavio had exited the room to speak with Tyr, Libitina had started aggressively making advances on a very flustered but flattered Lugh.

Right in front of Shamal! And young Basilio! Who was too young to get what was happening, but still!

By the time Ottavio returned from speaking with Tyr, Shamal was at his limit.

“Look, why don’t you both go take a break?” he suggested. If Libitina and Lugh didn’t stop making eyes at each other like lovesick teenagers, Shamal was going to gouge his own eyeballs out. “Rue’s stable, and we’re going to do shifts in the infirmary, right? One of you can just come back later.” While discussing things earlier they’d already decided on six-hour shifts each (Lussuria included) until Rue was demonstrably better, and then after that they could just go back to shorter clinic hours.

“That’s a good idea,” Ottavio agreed, smiling tiredly. “Why don’t you show Libitina around the place, Max? She hasn’t been here before.”

Oho, it looked like Ottavio seemed aware of things, too. Shamal waggled an eyebrow at Ottavio, who gave him a politely disinterested look that read “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about”. Bah!

Things quietened down after that. Ottavio made the drooping Basilio take a nap on one of the unoccupied beds, drawing the privacy curtain around it before settling into a nearby chair, massaging his temple. Like Ottavio and Basilio, Shamal hadn’t rested since everyone got woken up in the middle of the night to come here, but he wasn’t feeling that tired, so he went into the adjoining office and started leafing through some of the medical journals Lugh kept there.

He lost track of time reading, and only looked up when he heard a low but urgent “Shamal!” from the infirmary.

Shamal hurried back to see that Rue had regained consciousness, and was blinking groggily at Ottavio, clearly confused. Basilio had been disturbed from his nap as well, and hovered over Rue’s bed like a distressed little bee.

“Don’t worry, you’re with us at the Biscione HQ,” he heard Ottavio tell Rue as he grabbed a stethoscope and headed over. “Auntie’s staff thought you were in trouble, so the others went to get you. And they told me, so I’m here.”

“I’m here too!” said Basilio, earning a small smile from Rue.

“Don’t forget about me, bella,” said Shamal, bumping Ottavio out of the way so he could check on the patient. Everything seemed… acceptably fine so far, thankfully. It was not good, exactly, but what could you expect? “Sheesh, you really got yourself into some trouble.”

Rue tried to laugh, but winced. “Ow,” he rasped.

“Yeah, don’t strain yourself,” said Shamal. “Lugh patched you up pretty well, but you’ll have to do the rest of the healing on your own.”

“Don’t worry about anything and just focus on recovery,” added Ottavio. “Leave the work to the consigliere and the rest of CEDEF.”

…Was that meant to be reassuring, because Rue did not look reassured.

Ottavio seemed to realise his mistake, and gently squeezed Rue’s hand instead. “Don’t worry about anything,” he repeated.

Rue looked up at the ceiling, then back at Ottavio. “A problem for future Rue,” he decided, and fell quickly back asleep, clearly still exhausted. It’d be a while yet before Rue would have enough energy to sit up and talk.

Eventually, Lugh (looking suspiciously jolly) and Tyr came back in to bully Ottavio into resting in his room (a drowsy Basilio was just picked up by Tyr and carried off under one arm like a newspaper), and Shamal successfully handed off his shift to Lugh.

Hands in his pockets and whistling a tune, Shamal walked back to the newly constructed wing they’d put the Varia up in. He’d just passed Ottavio and Basilio’s room, where they were opening a suitcase, when he heard the child squawk in alarm, followed by an uncharacteristic curse from Ottavio.

Curious, Shamal backtracked and stuck his head into the room, then promptly regretted it.

“What is that smell,” he complained, fanning the air in front of his nose.

“That boy put one of his rats into my suitcase!” said Ottavio, exasperated, quickly slamming the suitcase closed. “It must have suffocated and died in there, and emptied its bowels in the process.”

Basilio looked revolted. “My things are in there too,” he said unhappily.

There could only be one particular child Ottavio was referring to. Shamal vaguely knew about Mirco’s unusual abilities, though it seemed like he was capable of more and more ridiculous feats by the day (come to think of it, he’d never asked Ottavio what Mirco’s deal was).

“I should’ve known he’d try something when I said he couldn’t come,” Ottavio continued. “What a mess!” He checked the time, then pulled out his cellphone and walked further into the room, presumably to give the miscreant a piece of his mind.

See, at least Felice– no, Hayato now (the name Lavina had tenderly given him before he was taken away) didn’t put rats in Shamal’s things.

Actually, he should probably check. Spending so much time with Mirco was bound to give Hayato ideas.

Thankfully, there were no critters, dead or alive, in Shamal’s duffle. He went off in search of the bathroom for a quick wash up, and when he returned, Ottavio was waiting for him, phone still pressed to his ear.

“I’m not changing my mind,” Ottavio was saying into the phone. He looked up as Shamal walked back in. “You need to learn that actions have consequences. Is Hayato still there? Lempo’s back–”

“I don’t want to talk to him!” shouted the boy in question, so loud even Shamal could hear, despite the call not being on speaker. The line had clearly been hung up on the other end after that, as Ottavio blinked at his cellphone before putting it away.

“What did you do?” asked Ottavio. “He’s usually such a nice boy.”

Shamal rolled his eyes. “What did I do? This is all your fault!”

Hayato had been… moody, ever since Ottavio and his demon kid had kidnapped him from his home and essentially forced Shamal into the Varia in the process.

Don Carlo had placed a bounty on Shamal’s head, but that had been hastily withdrawn once word had gotten out amongst a select circle that he was now in the Varia. There still remained a reward for returning Don Carlo’s son to his family (though Shamal was very sure the Don’s wife probably hoped Felice would never show up again).

Hayato had had a hard time adjusting to life away from the only home he’d ever known. He didn’t really understand why they’d taken him away at first, not having previously connected his poor gut health with the cookies his sister kept feeding him, but that little demon Mirco had laid it out for him, probably expecting Hayato to be grateful (he was not). The two boys had a big fight about it, but eventually fell into a sort-of friendship.

It still took a while for Hayato to understand that his blood family had hurt him, and that he’d been taken away for his own good, and to be honest Shamal didn’t know if Hayato had completely accepted it.

Hayato had asked, once, if he was staying with Shamal forever.

“Hell no,” said Shamal. “I’m releasing you back into the wild once you can fend for yourself.”

Hayato got upset, for some reason, and stormed away. Shamal really didn’t get kids; you couldn’t really reason with them, and Hayato was six and not particularly rational.

The brat was grumpy and difficult after that, and Shamal despaired of having to deal with him in the middle of the hell that was Varia basic training (basic, his ass!) and being forced to quit smoking cold turkey.

Thankfully, Ottavio seemed to realise this was all his fault, and more or less took charge of Hayato’s care.

The man appeared to view caring for two children as not particularly different to looking after one (or maybe he thought his little demon child needed to spend time with normal children to develop properly), so he often added Hayato into whatever he was doing for Mirco. When Basilio came along a little later and joined his little daycare, Ottavio seemed to think it was a bit rude to exclude that monster Belphegor (especially since his minders consisted of teenagers and an infant-bodied arcobaleno. An arcobaleno!! Shamal had never heard that the Varia had one, before joining and having to sign a non-disclosure), so he might as well include him and raise the whole lot of them together like sheep in a pen, for convenience’s sake. He’d take the brats out on excursions, and God only knew what they did, but the boys came back dirty and ravenous, and would fall asleep right after dinner.

Either way, Shamal was glad he didn’t have to do the child-rearing. He did check up on Hayato regularly, but the boy was still resentful of him.

“You need to talk to him properly, spend more time with him,” advised Ottavio. “I don’t know him as well as you do, so it's not really my place to help. If whatever’s bothering him isn’t resolved, he’ll grow up wrong.”

“Worry about your own kid,” Shamal told him sourly.

He still hadn’t told Hayato the truth about Lavina, and didn’t know if he ever would.

Chapter Text

Asano Chiyo, 12, student, formerly Anita Choudhary, 19, student

Anita hadn’t asked for this, honest.

Her riveting new adventure had started with waking up in a Japanese hospital with a broken leg and a concussion. Considering Anita’s last memory before that was tripping down a staircase all the way back at her college dorm, this had confused her for the longest time. Added to this was the mystery of her new, younger, and ethnically dissonant outer shell and miraculous new ability to understand and speak Japanese.

Lo, I am become an anime protagonist, thought Anita sarcastically, when she’d limped to the bathroom and saw herself in the mirror for the first time.

Implausible naturally strawberry blonde hair colour, considering the body was (likely) a native Japanese, check. Equally implausible sunset orange eyes, check. Slightly terrifying (in an uncanny valley way), perfectly symmetrical proportions, check. Alarmingly fair skin, check. It didn’t feel like Anita at all. She felt like she was piloting a meat suit.

This person did bear some resemblance to the self-insert original character protagonist of her abandoned forever-WIP fic, that she’d written for the KHR fandom ten thousand years ago before some other media franchise had distracted her. She’d used some kind of imagemaker (picrew or something) to create a visual for her OC, and while 2D didn’t quite translate to 3D, the major physical characteristics were there. Adding this to her other observations, Anita had a wild thought that perhaps… maybe… could it be…that she’d succumbed to the popular web novel cliche of transmigrating into an anime universe?

But that character had been fourteen, and was named Sawada Chiyohime. She was meant to be Tsuna’s older, wiser twin (a bit cringe, looking back) and so Anita had used the name of the historical Tokugawa Iemitsu’s eldest daughter. Her current body was instead called Asano Chiyo, and was only twelve years old. She’d heard from the gossiping nurses that Chiyo had gotten into an accident while attending boarding school, and her parents weren’t available because they were away working on a polar research vessel (honestly really cool), though they had called a few times via satellite phone while ‘Chiyo’ had been hospitalised.

The doctors had conveniently diagnosed Chiyo with amnesia from her head injury, so Anita thankfully didn’t have to explain to anybody why she had no clue what was going on. She’d spoken to Chiyo’s parents once, and they seemed nice enough, if devastated that Chiyo didn’t seem to remember them (Anita felt a bit guilty at that, though it wasn’t as if she’d asked to come here and…possess their daughter’s body). They reassured Anita that a relative would take care of her until their ship got back to civilization at some unspecified time in the future, which sounded like a convenient plot point to Anita. First rule of an anime protagonist – have absent or irrelevant parents to enable the shenanigans!

Anita really wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now. Just go along with it, she supposed, then figure it out from there. Maybe she’d just wake up at some point and be back in her college dorm. Or in the ER. Nothing she could do about it.

Anita did get a bit of a shock when the promised relative did show up.

“Hello, Chiyo-chan,” said the oddly familiar-looking woman. “I don’t know if you remember, as you were only about as old as my Tsu-kun is now, but you attended my wedding with Nee-chan and Shugo-san! You can call me Aunt Nana, or just Nana is fine!”

Wait…she couldn’t be… Anita stared at the woman in front of her. Didn’t Nana have short hair, though? This Nana’s hair came down to her shoulders, though it was probably the right shade of brown.

The nurses and doctors all agreed being with family would probably help Anita recover, so she was smoothly discharged into Nana’s care with a wheelchair and crutches. Anita sat in a daze as Nana brought her all the way back to Namimori (Namimori!!!), chattering away at a mile a minute.

It really, really only hit home when Nana collected her kid from the babysitter, and brought him home.

“And this is Tsu-kun!” said her aunt, pushing the poofy-haired little boy forward. Her aunt, Sawada Nana. Introducing her son. Sawada Tsunayoshi. As in. The protagonist. Of a whole ass animanga series.

(Oh dear she’d shipped this tiny boy with other boys who would be equally tiny right now oh god she was a SINNER and this was her punishment, wasn’t it.)

“I don’t know if Nee-chan told you about him, but I sent pictures!” Nana smiled, ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately.

“Tsuna,” blurted Anita. The boy stared up at her, shy but curious. He’d clearly been playing in the yard or something, and had dirt all over his clothing.

“That’s right, his name is Tsunayoshi!” exclaimed Nana, clapping her hands in excitement. “It’s good that you’re starting to remember!”

Baby Tsuna. Anita could usually vaguely tell children’s ages, with younger siblings and cousins back home, but Tsuna looked so small! How old was he, exactly, and was this before or after the whole seal thing? He looked pretty normal to Anita, not the wilting flower he was in some interpretations.

Mind preoccupied, Anita sat blankly as Nana explained to Tsuna that Chiyo was his cousin, and that “Chiyo-neechan” would be staying with them for a while, while she recovered from her injury. Tsuna didn’t seem very interested until Anita belatedly dug around in her pockets for a bribe and came up with a piece of candy that a nurse had given her. The boy looked to his mother, then accepted the candy with a shy smile when Nana beamed and nodded.

“I’ve never had a cousin before,” said Tsuna, looking uncertain.

“I’ll try to be a good one?” said Anita. She was pretty sure she knew how to be a decent cousin. Not sure if she could defend Tsuna from potential assassins, kidnappers etc like Chiyohime had done in her fic but… she could buy him candy. Assuming she had pocket money. ….She had pocket money, right?!

Nana pronounced them “too cute!”.

Nana gave Anita one of the rooms on the first floor, considerate of the fact that Anita was on crutches and couldn’t deal with stairs at the moment. It was set up like a guest room already– perhaps Nana just liked having people over or something, considering she was so ready to put up so many people in canon. Chiyo’s things would be sent over from her school dorm eventually, but for the time being she was borrowing some of Nana’s clothing and some undergarments Nana had made a quick run to the department store for.

It was surprisingly easy to settle in. Anita had already had her panic attacks and identity crises back at the hospital, so she’d moved past anger and denial and was now floating somewhere in the depression-acceptance headspace.

There was just… absolutely nothing to do, except be trapped in her own thoughts. Days passed and Anita was, to put it simply, bored.

One would think that being magically transported into another person’s body, on the other side of the world, and, according to her understanding of recent developments, in a different, fictional universe, would be fresh and exciting. Nope. It was more tedious than anything, really.

The doctors had said it would probably take at least 3 months for her leg to heal, so she was stuck mostly indoors with limited mobility, with just Nana and Tsuna for company.

Every morning, Anita was awoken by the sounds of Nana trying to get Tsuna up and ready for elementary school. The boy just could not get out of bed, and Nana would fuss and call for him repeatedly until she eventually hustled him out the door at the last possible moment. After a couple of days of this, Anita just gave up trying to go back to sleep, and hobbled to the kitchen to help make toast or something while Nana tried to coax Tsuna out of bed.

Nana seemed to appreciate it, and told Anita she’d be a wonderful bride and mother someday.

…Right…maybe Anita should start brainwashing her new cousin so he wouldn’t grow up to expect women to clean up after him all the time.

There wasn’t much to do during the rest of the day, either. Sometimes Anita would watch daytime soaps with Nana (she could feel her brain cells dying) or help fold laundry. Sometimes her aunt would tell Anita stories about her Chiyo’s mother, which was cool, in an effort to help her ‘remember’ things. She didn’t really talk much about Iemitsu, interestingly enough.

One morning, Anita was trying to brush Tsuna’s hair into some semblance of neatness (to no avail), and wondered aloud about the level of poof in it, considering Nana’s sleek tresses.

“Tsu-kun’s Papa also had hair like that when he was young!” Nana laughed. “He’d already cut it when we started dating, but I saw pictures! People called him a lion!”

Huh. Sawada Iemitsu with big hair. Anita would pay to see that.

“Papa? Is Papa coming home soon?” asked Tsuna hopefully. At this age, it seemed like he hadn’t yet built up much resentment towards his absent father. Anita looked towards Nana, half expecting the “Papa’s gone to become a star!” nonsense.

“Papa’s very busy, but he’s always thinking of Mama and Tsu-kun!” said Nana, looking dreamily off into the distance. “Oh, that man…”

Tsuna just sighed. “Mama’s always like this when she talks about Papa,” he said to Anita.

Anita remembered that there’d been all kinds of fan theories about Nana, back in the day. Some people thought she was clearly delusional, for not noticing all the insanity that happened under her roof. Others said she was mentally broken somehow, and ‘emotionally abusive or neglectful Nana’ had been a hugely popular subculture of fic (the juicy, juicy angst!), often paired with neglectful idiot Iemitsu, suffering!Tsuna and a white knight OC or something (and Anita miiiiight have been guilty of writing at least one, help).

Well.

Anita wasn’t sure what her verdict was quite yet, but from her observations, she could say one thing: Aunt Nana was …surely one of a kind.

She was the most aggressively happy person Anita had ever met, and she was absolutely determined that nothing would darken her subjectively wonderful life. She found so much genuine joy in all the little things, like a sale on cabbage at the grocery store, or birds coming to eat the crumbs from the tablecloth she’d shaken out in the yard, that it was impossible not to feel cheered just by her presence.

The neighbours obviously talked – Suzuki-san from next door kept trying to subtly ask if Chiyo was some sort of product of an affair or something and didn’t quite believe she was Nana’s niece (these ladies had too much time on their hands!), and who knew what other rumours they were spreading about Nana’s effectively single parent status. Still, Nana didn’t seem to care, and their subtle barbs slid like water off a duck’s back. She gave absolutely no indication of being lonely, or of being resentful of an absent husband (of course, Nana could be just keeping up appearances, and Anita hadn’t been around long enough to learn her tells), and really just seemed … happy.

Anita hadn’t decided if this was a case of delulu being the solulu, or actually a really smart way of living life.

Tsuna, too, was different from what Anita had imagined.

He was just a normal kid, really, who hated homework (mood) and loved cartoons about robots (also a mood). He was in elementary school, Anita learned, which meant he was past the whole sealing thing, and it didn’t seem to have affected him that much. Sure, he fell over every now and again, but small children weren’t very coordinated in the first place. Anita’s baby cousins probably got more scrapes and cuts than Tsuna did!

Anita did ask if there were people who were mean to him, or if he’d noticed scary people following him.

“There was this weird nee-chan who kept trying to talk to me,” said Tsuna, face scrunching up adorably. “She said I would grow up to save the world like Super Robot Man! But she went away after a while.”

….Slightly disturbing.

Hopefully that meant teachers or other responsible adults were attentive at keeping creeps away from the kids.

Tsuna also had friends– sometimes he would go play at a classmate’s house (Anita realised that the kids here were pretty independent, and in general it was safe enough to let them run wherever), so he wasn’t some sort of social outcast – yet, anyway.

Maybe something happened before middle school. It wasn’t like Anita knew how this part of canon was supposed to be like! Heck, maybe Chiyo would go back to boarding school before anything exciting happened, and then twenty years later Anita would have a mafia boss cousin who could buy her a house or something.

In the meantime, though, Anita was really bored and would probably go mad if she didn’t go outside and get some mental stimulation anytime soon.

First things first, she needed her broken leg to get better. She could get around with crutches, but it was an inconvenience and would unnecessarily alarm Nana. Anita … sort of had a solution, but she wasn’t sure if it would still work, and she sort of had major secondhand (though, was it considered firsthand, now?) embarrassment thinking about it.

See, her original OC ‘Sawada Chiyohime’ was a Sky, and had an amazing gift. Through the power of song and the Sky Flame’s property of harmony (cringe), she could soothe people’s spirits and heal wounds (cringe), and even fade Xanxus’s scars (oh god why). Anita wasn’t sure if ‘Asano Chiyo’ was still a Sky, but she had to give it a try, right?

So she waited till Tsuna was at school and Nana had gone grocery shopping, then holed herself up in her room, sitting down on her bed by the window. Her leg still hurt a lot, especially when she tried to move or put pressure on it, and Anita was really hoping she could at least dull the pain a little.

She got settled. Took a breath. Opened her mouth.

….why was this so embarrassing?!

In the end she couldn’t decide what to sing, so she settled for “Baa Baa Black Sheep” at the lowest volume possible.

Nothing happened.

Oh wait, she needed resolve, because these were Dying Will Flames.

It took a couple of tries, but eventually Anita felt something resonating within her. Encouraged and emboldened, she sang louder and louder until her leg actually did feel better! She didn’t really know how she did it, but a win was a win. Anita was about to do a fist pump in triumph when she felt someone looking at her.

She whipped her head around and froze when she realised that a passerby on the sidewalk was staring at her across the yard and through the open window. The man seemed to realise he was being rude, and quickly walked away, head down.

Turning bright red, Anita slammed the window shut, and drew the curtains. She was never going to recover from that.

Anita didn’t want to become some kind of medical curiosity, so she only used her newfound ability sparingly so she didn’t magically recover overnight. Even so, the doctors marvelled at her physical recovery when Nana took her for her checkups, though her ‘amnesia’ obviously did not improve.

Nana eventually let her wander out on her own, as long as Anita stayed close so she wouldn’t get lost. Some days she would walk very slowly to pick Tsuna up after school, always wondering if she would run into some baby versions of canon characters (did they even attend the same elementary school?). She thought she caught a glimpse of an energetic little boy who looked a bit like Ryohei, once, but couldn’t be sure.

…Sadly, Anita was still pretty bored.

Something of interest did happen, one weekend. Nana got a visitor who wasn’t Suzuki-san next door complaining about Tsuna’s ball rolling into her yard again, or the town council handing out informational fliers. Instead, it was a very handsome man wearing a suit, maybe in his late 20s or early 30s. He could maybe pass for a regular salaryman if not for his low ponytail (green hair!), and the fact that Anita had never seen such a physically fit-looking office worker.

Anita’s mind immediately went ‘mafia!’, because, what else could it be, given the setting. Should Nana really be letting a random man in?

“-haven’t seen you in forever, Ikemiya-san,” Nana was saying as the man stepped through the door. It seemed that Nana knew him, which was slightly reassuring. “Since the wedding, I think!”

“Please, Mitsu-san calls me Nao, so I would be honoured if you do the same,” said the man, Ikemiya. “Yes, I moved overseas for a bit, but I’m back in Japan now.”

“Then call me Nana!” chirped Nana happily. “It’s so nice that you’re back!” She then seemed to suddenly remember Anita beside her. “Oh! I’m so rude… this is my niece, Asano Chiyo, who’s staying with us for a while. Chiyo-chan, this is Nao-san, my husband’s friend!”

…Sawada Iemitsu had friends? Anita was betting that Ikemiya was really a Vongola underling or something, doing a check-in on Nana. Or maybe they were curious about Chiyo’s sudden appearance?

He seemed kind of too good-looking for an underling, though. Wasn’t Iemitsu worried…?

Anita swallowed her suspicions for the moment and performed the little multifunctional good-for-all-kinds-of-situations bow she’d subconsciously absorbed from living in Japan.

Ikemiya gave a polite nod. “Pleased to meet you, Asano-san,” he said. Anita was just pleasantly surprised he held eye contact while greeting her, and didn’t just use diminutives, considering she was just a kid here.

Nana clapped her hands. “That’s right, you haven’t met our Tsu-kun, either!” She called up the stairs. “Tsu-kun! Come greet our guest!”

Tsuna was a little shy, but finally came down the stairs, immediately going to hide behind Nana. Ikemiya’s expression went gooey soft (yeah, Tsuna’s cuteness was a force to be reckoned with) as he crouched down to say hello.

Nana pressed Ikemiya into staying for dinner, where he politely tried to include the children (counting Anita in as well, she supposed) in conversation. He expressed that he was sorry to hear about Chiyo’s accident, and offered to refer her to some of the medical professionals he knew if needed (Vongola?).

“I’ll see what Nee-chan and Shugo-san say!” said Nana gratefully. “Chiyo-chan’s leg healed really fast, but her memory hasn’t come back at all so it’s quite worrying!”

Ikemiya gave Chiyo a considering look. “I see,” he said. “I hope you have a swift recovery.”

…Somehow, that sounded… kind of ominous.

Chapter Text

Rue, ??, CEDEF Agent, formerly Andrew Ginting, 35, sales manager

Rue still couldn’t quite believe the fact that he’d faced off against Demon Spade, and survived.

Barely. He’d definitely paid the price. Rue felt like he’d been run over by a truck.

But he survived a 1v1 against Demon Spade!

Rue didn’t really remember what happened after the Flame-cancelling device had forced Demon Spade out of Sage’s body. It seemed like one moment he was back at that nightmare hotel, trying to catch his breath, and the next he was opening his eyes to the sound of Ottavio and Basilio’s familiar voices.

He was naturally a bit confused and disorientated, but he’d never been more glad to see Ottavio. Rue trusted that his friend would handle any and all situations that came up, and despite Rue’s serious misgivings about Demon Spade still haunting the earth, he knew he was as safe as he could get. So he could succumb to whatever cocktail of painkillers they had him on, and just … rest.

Rue didn’t really know how long he drifted in and out of consciousness. He vaguely remembered being helped out of bed by a lady doctor (Varia?) to use the bathroom. Ottavio visited at some point, and (clumsily) brushed his hair away from his face, gathering it into a plait so it wouldn’t tangle. There’d been little hands (Basilio?) pulling up the sheets under his chin, and Rue seemed to recall someone feeding him something at some point, but didn’t quite remember who. He wasn’t too bothered, happy to be babied for a while, and just slept and slept and slept.

Eventually, Rue woke up, mostly alert, throat as parched as the Sahara. He still ached, though it wasn’t unbearable (thanks painkillers). He tried to sit up, and was horrified to feel himself struggling.

“Woah there, bella!” Shamal came hurrying in, and helped Rue sit up before he could hurt himself.

“Water,” Rue croaked. Shamal obligingly brought him a glass of water with a straw. Rue made a grateful noise that he hoped could convey his thanks.

“Lugh fixed the hole in your chest, so that’s fine, won’t even leave much of a scar,” said Shamal, starting to check Rue over once he was done rehydrating. He wasn’t even leering (much) at Rue, which meant his condition was serious or Rue just looked like garbage. Maybe both. “Absolutely no illusions for the time being. You emptied the tank and then some. Any further and you’d have started burning your own life force.”

Oh. That explained why Rue felt so drained.

“And take it easy, you’re not getting any younger!” added Shamal unnecessarily, and was promptly clubbed over the head with a ring binder by a woman passing by. She was wearing a white coat over a Varia-issue shirt, probably the lady doctor who’d been helping Rue.

“Rude!” said the lady, who looked to be in her 40s. Rue was amused, considering he was probably almost 70, totalling his two lives together.

“Oh, but you’re gorgeous, Libitina,” said Shamal, unconsciously digging himself in deeper. “Maturing like the finest of wines…”

The ensuing beatdown was glorious to see.

When she was done, Libitina stuck her head out the door. “Ottavio! HR violation!”

That summoned Ottavio out of the ether with alarming speed. “Ah, Rue, you’re up!” he exclaimed, briefly distracted by Rue being awake, but gathered himself. “One moment,” he muttered, and turned to Libitina, eyeing Shamal’s prone body.

“I thought we’d managed to get him to behave,” he said, sounding disappointed.

“Shouldn’t violence against colleagues be a violation?!” groaned Shamal from the floor, then yelped as Ottavio pointedly kicked his ankle (not all that hard, Ottavio could easily break a bone if he tried). “Sheesh okay, fine, fine! I’m sorry! Please don’t dock my pay again, I’m practically an indentured servant by now…”

“Get up, make yourself useful, or get out,” said Ottavio, unsympathetic. He ignored Shamal and sat down next to Rue’s bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked Rue.

“Happy to be alive,” said Rue, watching amusedly over Ottavio’s shoulder as Libitina dragged Shamal out of the room and shut the door to give them privacy.

“‘I’m so glad you’re alright,” said Ottavio, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I’ve lost a lot of people I cared about. If you had….”

Oh, Rue realised, it would absolutely ruin Ottavio if something happened to Rue too, wouldn’t it?

Fuck, it was kind of terrifying to have so much influence over another human being.

“I’m okay.” Rue immediately shoved his inconvenient Feelings^TM in a box and hurriedly reassured Ottavio. “Thanks to you! Everything worked as it should!”

“I heard about it,” said Ottavio, sounding distressed. He had that little furrow in his brow he got when he Did Not like something. Rue patted his hand comfortingly, and Ottavio took hold of it and squeezed. “Possession! Again! I wish we’d be free of the Estraneo’s shadow already.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it was the Estraneo,” said Rue, and started telling Ottavio about the whole Kozato fiasco and his encounter with Demon Spade. He had to pause every so often to take a sip of water, but that just gave him the opportunity to watch Ottavio’s increasingly bewildered expression.

“A ghost? Using Mist Flames?” Ottavio made a face. “I believe you, but … I feel like my whole worldview has been upended. I still think it might be connected to something the Estraneo did, somehow?”

“I know, it’s terrifying, isn’t it?” Rue replied. Demon could be anyone. It wasn’t till canon-era that Rue’s ‘special knowledge’ could even pin down what bodies he might be in. And fuck, was that going to change now because of Rue meddling?! And he’d painted a target on his own back, hadn’t he?!

Ottavio sensed Rue’s mild panic, and squeezed his hand. “You’re safe here,” he said. “Teo would burn down Northern Italy before letting another rogue Mist get the better of him. Auntie’s here and can feel Mist activity a mile away, Max is here with his entire arsenal. Libitina is very dangerous, and so is Lussuria, and Shamal can be a meat shield, I guess.”

That did make Rue feel better. “And you’re here,” he reminded Ottavio.

“I’m here,” agreed Ottavio, smiling.

Ottavio was a frequent visitor over the next couple of days. He’d apparently been banned from working more than three hours a day (by Lugh, doctor’s orders– apparently he’d been having migraines, and it was a chronic enough problem Rue was mildly upset he didn’t know about it), so he spent his free time distracting Rue with stories about his set and the Varia, and otherwise doing everything in his power to make sure Rue was comfortable and not bored (or, Rue suspected, left alone with his thoughts).

Basilio was often present, as well. While Ottavio said he had introduced him to the other children, Basilio did not play with them much (when asked, Basilio shyly said he preferred Rue, and Rue now understood what girls meant by ‘ovaries exploding’). Rue noticed that Mirco wasn’t around – Ottavio had left the other kids at home, only bringing Basilio due to his connection with Rue (and because it might have been the last time Basilio got to see him, was not said).

Mirco had not taken it well, according to Ottavio. That made sense, as they’d not really been apart since Ottavio had fished him out of the Estraneo. The boy had even placed a rodent spy in Ottavio and Basilio’s luggage, which died and contaminated everything inside (yuck!).

Ottavio grounded Mirco after that, which meant he was not allowed to go on excursions with the other children for a while, but he didn’t seem very angry.

“I left him behind again,” he said, and promised to explain to Rue once he was sure Mirco was okay with it (something to do with Mirco’s experiences? Past lives?).

Sometimes Ottavio had other things to do, like sneaking off with Tyr somewhere, and if Lugh was on duty in the infirmary the both of them would slink back in after a while to ooze all over him, hoping for a Sun Flame pick-me-up.

Lugh would throw up his hands and look frustrated. “Fine, run yourselves into the ground for all I care!” he grumbled every time, but still checked his Sky over to make sure he was all right. Rue wondered what they were up to. Secret Biscione stuff?

If Ottavio was unavailable and Basilio was elsewhere, he would sometimes send Shamal, who kept Rue entertained with his antics. Auntie visited from time to time, too, often bringing some sort of soft, easily digestible food (Ottavio said he was lucky Auntie didn’t bring her infamous tea– how bad could some ginger tea be, really).

It was nice, actually. Doing solo fieldwork for the CEDEF got lonely sometimes. It was just… nice, for a change, to be surrounded by people who cared about him.

At some point Bluebird, who had apparently tagged along with Ottavio, crept his way up to the infirmary with the excuse of delivering something to Rue on Ottavio’s behalf.

“Dude, what happened?!” Bluebird whispered, practically vibrating with excitement.

Not here, mouthed Rue. He didn’t even have the energy to wear his male form, much less put up a privacy barrier, and Lugh was on duty in the adjoining office.

“Oohhh okay,” said Bluebird, disappointed but understanding. “Feel better soon!” He put down the book he was delivering (Rue’s entertainment, he supposed, since they hadn’t set up a TV in the room yet), and scuttled away.

When Rue finally could stand and take short walks as part of his recovery, Ottavio helped him do a couple rounds of the infirmary, then after a day or two, around the floor the infirmary was on.

The building was new, according to Ottavio, but from the windows he could see the original villa, a grand-looking house surrounded by gardens. There was even a fountain, and he could see children playing tag in the courtyard. Basilio was not among them, as he had chosen Rue again that day, but he didn’t seem envious at all (the sweet child was instead taking his ‘job’ of fetching Rue little things like water or a handkerchief very seriously).

“It looks very peaceful,” Rue commented, and then promptly had to eat his words as there was suddenly a huge racket of ducks(?) quacking and somebody screaming in the distance. “...Or not. What’s that ruckus?”

“The geese!” said Basilio, looking proud that he knew what it was. “They get angry sometimes.”

“Yes, it’s just a Biscione-style welcome,” Ottavio said, sounding unbothered, although his glasses glinted like he was an anime villain (which he was, technically!). “Sounds like you have visitors.”

He guided Rue and Basilio back to the infirmary, and sure enough, Sawada Iemitsu showed up not long after, accompanied by a very harried-looking gaggle of CEDEF agents (who Rue mostly only vaguely knew). Iemitsu seemed like he’d gotten away from whatever or whoever had targeted the group, but the others had scuffed shoes and tears in their suits.

“Consigliere,” greeted Ottavio with one of his ‘I don’t like you but I will be professional’ smiles.

“Ottavio,” Iemitsu acknowledged, eyeing Basilio as he shied behind Rue’s bed. “Cute rustic little place you’ve got here. Practically a farm, eh?”

“Part of it used to be one,” said Ottavio in a light, conversational tone (polite small talk mode activated!). “We kept some of the animals.”

“Those geese are a menace!” exclaimed one of the agents. Rue would pay to watch his colleagues being chased around by waterfowl.

“Unfortunately, they do get a bit tetchy around mating season,” said Ottavio mildly.

Iemitsu seemed to get a bit impatient at all the inconsequential chit-chat, and gestured at his underlings, who nodded and went to take up positions outside the infirmary. Seemed like it was time for Rue’s interrogation.

“Lovely chat, but I’m afraid I need to talk to Rue about CEDEF business for a bit,” he said.

Ottavio got the hint and stood up, inclining his head politely at Iemitsu before extending a hand to Basilio.

“I wouldn’t have pegged Ottavio for a family man,” Iemitsu commented, rubbing his chin as he watched Ottavio exit the room, Basilio holding onto his hand.

Rue mentally rolled his eyes. Even Vongola’s greatest fuckup dad, the Ninth himself, was a ‘family man’ compared to Iemitsu.

It was true, though, that Basilio was very comfortable around Ottavio, considering his (understandable) anxiety around male adults. From Rue’s recent observations it was obvious Basilio really wanted parental figures and had cautiously and hopefully attached himself to the nearest suitable person, Ottavio (and Rue as well, from the way Basilio treated Rue – for fuck’s sake was he co-parenting?!...though Rue found he didn’t reject the idea completely, as Basilio was just too cute).

Anyway, he was pretty sure Iemitsu knew where Basilio came from, and was just being deliberately obtuse.

Once everyone had left the room, Iemitsu flopped down into the chair Ottavio had just vacated.

“How are you feeling?” asked Iemitsu. “That was a brave thing you did.”

“There was no choice,” said Rue truthfully. Between Miss Lal’s orders and his canon knowledge… there really had been no other option.

“Still, I appreciate it,” said Iemitsu. “It could’ve been an even worse tragedy than it already was.”

After establishing that Rue was satisfied with his current medical care and had no desire to be transferred to a Vongola facility, Iemitsu wanted to hear Rue’s report.

“When did you start suspecting there was something wrong with Sage?” was the first question.

“In retrospect, he seemed a bit off from the start,” said Rue, taking a sip of warm tea from the (pink) thermos Ottavio had left him to moisten his throat. “But I hadn’t seen him in forever and I’m not that familiar with him in general, so I thought I was just overthinking… I guess I started to have suspicions when nothing about Kozato matched up to the accusations.”

Rue then gave a detailed summary of his observations regarding Kozato, promising a written account when he was better.

“He’s definitely associated with a criminal organisation,” concluded Rue. “There must be a reason why the person possessing Sage targeted him, of all people, considering he doesn’t seem local.”

Of course, he couldn’t flat out say Kozato was part of the Simone family, though he did emphasise Kozato had mentioned ‘enemies’ in Sicily.

“We’ll look into it,” said Iemitsu. “The identity of that Mist…I don’t like it. From what you say, you weren’t a match for him at all, and you’re one of the best Mists in the Vongola. ”

Well, that wasn’t really true, considering Mammon, but perhaps Iemitsu didn’t know Mammon was in the Varia. It wasn’t like the CEDEF advertised Miss Lal, either. Croquant Bouche also packed a lot more firepower than Rue, but Ottavio had mentioned once that the Vongola Rings, and being part of a matched set, made the Ninth’s Guardians a lot scarier than they would actually be on their own.

“I’m telling you, it looked like a ghost, coming out of Sage’s body,” said Rue, describing Demon Spade’s appearance as much as he could. He doubted Iemitsu would link it to Vongola’s first Mist Guardian, but Rue thought he should try anyway. “Bay should’ve seen it too.”

His boss obviously didn’t really believe him. Rue couldn’t really blame him – ghosts possessing random CEDEF agents, sabotaging their activities, and elaborately framing foreign criminals for no good reason! It sounded crazy even to him.

“Bay was in too much pain from being electrocuted to notice anything,” Iemitsu said. “Sounds like it was a tough spot. Perhaps you were seeing things.”

The conversation then drifted back to combat (Rue really hoped Iemitsu understood just how powerful Demon had been, and that was in an incompatible host), then eventually an interrogation about all the definitely-not-CEDEF-issue gadgetry Rue had used.

Rue told a little white lie, and said Ottavio wanted Rue to stay safe so he’d armed Rue to the teeth (to be fair this was not entirely untrue) from his personal armoury (emphasis on ‘personal’ so Iemitsu wouldn’t get any ideas). Iemitsu seemed slightly disappointed that Ottavio probably wouldn’t share, but Rue didn’t care.

He did ask about his surviving colleagues from that nightmare mission, and found out that they were all (physically) fine, if horribly traumatised (who wouldn’t be?), and had all been granted extended leave. Sage however… was in containment in a special Vongola medical facility. He was in bad shape from both Demon abusing his body like a rental car and the toxins Rue had shot him with (oops, but no regrets), and they couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t be possessed again. Iemitsu said they’d started questioning him, but gave no specifics.

“Another thing,” said Iemitsu. “There’s something going on here. Too many Varia. Keep your eyes open.”

Rue did think the Varia turnout was a little excessive for his medical emergency, but he couldn’t completely rule out Ottavio just being fussy old Ottavio. His mind did turn to the ‘secret Biscione stuff’ Ottavio seemed to be doing with Tyr, but Rue wasn’t about to bite the hand that fed him.

“Boss, I’m an invalid and stuck in this infirmary,” said Rue flatly. Not exactly in the best condition to snoop around! Besides, Rue was on medical leave! “In case you haven’t noticed.”

Iemitsu made a dismissive gesture. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. Get your man to talk.”

Iemitsu could be such an ass, sometimes. But at least Rue got a raise and a promotion to senior field agent for his trouble. He was allowed to ‘rest and recover’ for as long as he needed to, though Iemitsu contradictorily expressed that he would like Rue to return as quickly as possible.

(Screw that, Rue was taking a break. Maybe he could kidnap Ottavio and go somewhere sunny.)

When Iemitsu finally made to leave, signalling to his men that they could let people in, he ran into Shamal on the way out.

“So this is where you ended up,” Rue could hear Iemitsu saying to Shamal where they were standing by the door. “I’d heard rumours, but I thought you were adamant about staying a free agent. What, the Varia got dirt on you or something?”

“With all due respect, it’s none of your business, consigliere,” was Shamal’s bored-sounding reply. “I hope you haven’t agitated my patient while you were in there. It’s a miracle Rue survived.”

“I’d appreciate medical records to be shared with Vongola HQ,” said Iemitsu, and left.

“Sheesh!” was Shamal’s verdict.

Rue agreed.

Peace returned to Rue’s life after that, thankfully. He could feel himself recovering his strength, and he might be able to resume Mist Flame usage soon! Life was good, generally (other than not being allowed to smoke), but the looming threat of Demon Spade kept surfacing in the back of his mind. He got nightmares, sometimes, but Libitina prescribed him something that was definitely Rain Flame -laced (she said the Varia used them all the time), and it helped.

One morning, Rue woke up to the dawn light slanting through the windows (he was becoming an early bird living with these people, terrifying) and took a big, satisfying stretch as he sat up. A cursory look around showed that none of the doctors were in the room, but the bed next to him, interestingly, was occupied. The patient must have been brought in the previous night, and Rue must not have noticed due to his medication. The privacy curtains were not fully drawn, but from this angle Rue couldn’t really see who it was.

Curious, he leaned forward so he could peer around the curtain, and almost fell off his own bed in shock.

It was Xanxus.

Chapter Text

Ikemiya Naoshi, 31, vice-chief, Vongola East Asia Office, formerly Nashi, Cloud Guardian to Federico of the Vongola, formerly Lynn Ko, 26, teacher

Despite Lynn’s initial sense of alienness, they did slowly start getting used to Japan again, and Lynn no longer felt like there was a millstone around their neck.

The distance from Vongola HQ and all its bad memories helped, and so did reconnecting with Shichirou and Mamoru – they’d even gotten to hold Mamoru’s infant daughter. Lynn had almost forgotten what it was like to have friends.

There were definitely annoyances: Lynn’s new work environment was not pleasant (though some of the colleagues who weren’t pleased with Alceu’s leadership were starting to warm up to them), and Alceu had to be closely watched, but he hadn’t yet stepped out of line. It was still better than babysitting Federico and the other two idiots.

And there was that Bellini girl, who had inconveniently turned up in Namimori, of all places, and seemed to have developed a crush on Lynn. After some discreet inquiries, Lynn had figured out that she was here incognito, laying low after Federico’s death, which made her fixation on Lynn, who was ostensibly Federico’s Guardian and had every reason to want her dead, all the more incomprehensible. To avoid trouble, Lynn tried to plan their trips to Namimori during school hours, but it wasn’t always possible. At least Lynn was good at losing a tail. The Bellini girl didn’t seem very skilled, for someone who had been in the Varia.

Lynn’s day-to-day life mostly consisted of office work, with occasional trips out to various Vongola-owned enterprises for meetings and spot checks. In the evenings, they kept up their training, making use of the underground facility attached to the regional office. Two or three times a week, Lynn would go to Namimori, checking up on the security around the Sawada’s family home and old Mrs. Sawada’s residence.

Lynn had also gotten to know the people Iemitsu had stationed around Namimori, and would receive in-person as well as regular email updates through the Vongola-issue mobile phone he’d received from Iemitsu (which operated on a Vongola private network– Lynn had no clue how it worked). It was generally agreed upon that Lynn would not be called unless there was an emergency or some other pressing issue.

Lynn was thus slightly apprehensive when their phone started vibrating one afternoon.

Based on the caller ID, it was Matsumoto, the operator of the newspaper kiosk near the Sawada family home. As Lynn had learned, he was the nominal leader of Iemitsu’s home security task force, and the usual point of contact for Lynn to get hold of the other agents.

“Yes, this is Ikemiya,” said Lynn, answering the phone in Japanese, watching impassively as Sato’s ears perked up (Sato, the personal assistant Alceu assigned to Lynn, had been trying to seduce them since Day 1, and when that proved futile she eventually resorted to plain old spying). It was a code that had also been agreed upon – Lynn would speak in Japanese if they were in public, at the East Asia Office, or otherwise in a non-private space. In a secure area, Lynn would use Sicilian or Italian.

“There’s an issue that’s cropped up at the neighbour’s,” said Matsumoto, meaning the Sawada family home. ”I think it might be best if you took a look.” Lynn did not get the sense that it was very urgent, but they thought it was better to be safe than sorry.

“I see,” they said. “I’ll pay a visit after work.” Matsumoto seemed tentatively satisfied with that, so Lynn hung up and turned to their assistant, who was not doing a very good job at pretending to type something. Might as well make use of an otherwise useless person.

“...Hai?” said Sato, startled that Lynn was actually looking at her.

Lynn sent Sato off on an errand to buy a box of sweets from a fancy shop in the area, then spent the rest of the afternoon working in peace. When she returned, Lynn packed up, grabbed the temiyage, and headed off to Namimori.

After stuffing the two men tailing them into a trash receptacle, Lynn met up with Matsumoto at his newspaper kiosk. Rino, one of the other watchers of the household, was there as well, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Rino was what was known as a ‘screen’ in the Vongola – a Mist who was not particularly effective in direct confrontations, but very useful for keeping questionable activity from being noticed by the public. That he’d showed his face suggested that there had, in fact, been ‘questionable activity’ in the area.

Unexpectedly, the problem turned out to be Nana’s niece– the young relative staying at the Sawada residence. The girl had gotten into a severe accident at boarding school, and because her parents were working overseas in a remote location, Nana was taking care of her for the moment. According to Rino, she had been using Flames, and was a Sky.

“Felt similar to the consigliere,” was Rino’s observation.

The child apparently had healing talent, and had been clumsily using Sky Flames to fix her broken leg. Rino and Matsumoto reported that she was walking on the leg just a week and a half after Rino noticed her Flame use.

“She could see me!” recalled Rino. “Skies are generally a bit less susceptible to illusions, is what I’ve been told.”

Lynn had already planned to check on the household, so they agreed to investigate. After checking that everyone was home, they knocked on the front door, gift in hand.

Nana greeted Lynn with great enthusiasm, and Lynn couldn’t help smiling as well, infected by her cheer. She hadn’t changed much at all in appearance since the wedding, which was when Lynn saw her last. She was happy, upbeat, and gave no indication she was struggling as an effectively single parent. The house was well-kept, with a cosy atmosphere, and Lynn felt comfortable almost immediately.

Lynn was then introduced to Nana’s niece, who seemed like a regular, well-mannered, civilian child. She was understandably curious about Naoshi, and had that guileless, clear gaze characteristic of beloved children who had very little suffering, growing up. Having spent much time with the Ninth, Iemitsu, and Federico, Lynn could tell that yes, Asano was probably a Sky, one who was unused to their power. She reminded Lynn a bit of Xanxus when he’d first arrived in the Vongola – much less angry, obviously, but similarly ‘leaky’, for the lack of a better word.

Unfortunately, the girl was about to have her childhood cut short. Lynn didn’t like it…but it was what it was, in this unfair world.

The situation was manageable for now, if the child continued to ‘experiment’ cautiously and only at home. Rino could hide any signs. But if the child grew much stronger? Had an accident? Someone needed to teach her, eventually, and bring her into the Vongola. Preferably before some other group got it into their heads to ‘poach’ the new talent (Lynn believed the Hibari would show restraint, considering the household was Vongola and they had an accord, but they couldn’t say the same for less level-headed organisations).

Then Lynn met Tsuna, who was small and fluffy and utterly adorable. They couldn’t feel the same ‘leakiness’ that Asano and young Xanxus had, but Tsuna didn’t appear to be hampered by the seal the Ninth had placed upon him, and seemed like a normal child, just shy, like many children his age. Perhaps it was because the seal was relatively fresh and might only cause problems as it decayed over time, or puberty would somehow interfere, or both. For now, Lynn was just glad Tsuna seemed healthy and happy.

Lynn stayed for dinner, taking the opportunity to try and feel out Asano’s situation a bit more. According to Nana, the girl had lost her memory in the accident, in addition to her leg injury. Lynn had heard of temporary amnesia after life-threatening situations that triggered Dying Will Flames, but if the child had managed to heal her leg, there wasn’t any reason there wouldn’t be any improvement on the memory front as well. Lynn was thinking of getting a medical expert in to make sure it wasn’t anything serious, but they’d have to discuss it with Iemitsu.

After the meal (where Lynn had mentally prepared themselves for Nana to ask about Iemitsu … but nothing), Lynn returned to their Namimori apartment, checked the time (past noon in Italy), and dialled Iemitsu on his direct line.

The phone picked up after five rings.

“Nao?” Iemitsu sounded apprehensive, probably because he knew Lynn wouldn’t call without good reason.

“Mitsu-san, I visited the house,” said Lynn. “Something’s come up.”

They explained the situation as best as they could. Lynn was relatively certain Iemitsu had received reports of the new member of the household, but made a detailed summary anyway, starting from Asano’s accident, and ending with Rino’s discovery of her Sky Flames and Lynn’s investigation in person.

“I’m inclined to agree that she’s a Sky,” concluded Lynn.

The other end of the line went silent for a bit.

“My wife’s niece, eh?” said Iemitsu brightly. “I’ll see if she can be moved.”

Lynn frowned, not liking that that was Iemitsu’s first reaction. “Why? She has Flames; she’ll need to be inducted.” Though, Iemitsu getting rid of the girl would explain her absence during the canon period.

“Oh she will be,” said Iemitsu. “A new Sky line we can bring under the Vongola? She’ll be treated like a princess, don’t worry.” Lynn was more alarmed than reassured, considering the mafia’s attitude towards women. They also did not feel comfortable that it seemed like a done deal that Asano would be Vongola –Lynn understood, and probably better the Vongola than parts unknown, but it still rubbed them the wrong way.

“Why are you planning to remove the child from her only available family?” clarified Lynn. “She’s amnesiac, probably very confused…there’s your in-laws to consider, too.”

“It’ll be handled,” said Iemitsu dismissively. “We can keep her under the aegis of the East Asia office, if you’re that worried. I think I’ve seen a report somewhere that her original school was in Tokyo; she can just go back there. She’s old enough to understand Omerta.”

“Why can’t she stay where she is?” Lynn repeated.

“Of course she can’t,” Iemitsu laughed. “It’ll be a disturbance. Attract the wrong kind of attention, that sort of thing. And Nana might suspect something!”

Lynn drew in a sharp breath. They were just so… disappointed.

“Mitsu-san, you’re better than this,” said Lynn. “I agreed to watch over your household, and I will honour that agreement. That includes your niece. Your niece, Mitsu-san, she’s your niece as well! Or are your blood relatives the only ones that matter? Can you think about other people for once in your life? Don’t you think Nana-san might like the company of her side of the family? Won’t she worry if your niece is taken away?”

There was another short pause. “Nao,” said Iemitsu after a while. “Why are you … she’s a Sky, are you..?”

Lynn had never felt so insulted in their life.

“Sawada Iemitsu,” they said slowly. “You always refused to acknowledge anything, and I never promised anything either. But you know, and I know, that I only ever had one Sky, and it wasn’t Federico.”

Lynn hung up before they could lose their temper.

Iemitsu did not call back, even after several days.

Matsumoto and the others hadn’t received any new orders either, and Nana’s niece was still there, so Lynn supposed Iemitsu was just avoiding the matter altogether, and it was up to them now to act as they saw fit. As much as Lynn tried to get over it, the conversation still left them in lingering low spirits. Lynn had never really accepted that they’d subconsciously considered themselves Iemitsu’s Cloud until they’d voiced it, though a lot of things now made sense, in hindsight.

Now Lynn just felt disgusted. With themselves, for being stupid. With Iemitsu, for being the world’s biggest ass. With the Vongola… for everything.

Several narrow escapes from the Bellini girl in the ensuing days only served to worsen Lynn’s mood, and it was becoming visible to the people around Lynn – the office was obviously treading lightly around them, Sato had been quiet as a mouse, and Alceu kept giving Lynn calculating looks, as if plotting how to best exploit their weakness.

Alceu’s ‘grand plan’ ended up being sending Lynn to a ‘retreat’ hosted by the Hibari. Perhaps he thought Lynn’s black mood would scare their counterparts into submission, or he was hoping that Lynn would lose it and murder someone they shouldn’t.

Lynn had also inferred that Alceu didn’t deal well with the Hibari, who were purportedly very shark-like in their business methods and milked any advantage for all it was worth. He was probably looking forward to blaming Lynn when they inevitably misstepped.

“You’re all Japanese, maybe you can get them to see sense,” was Alceu’s rather racist reasoning, when Lynn politely inquired if Alceu really wouldn’t rather see to things himself. (Alceu probably also didn’t think it was important enough for him to make a personal appearance, as the clan head was purportedly not going to be in attendance.)

So Lynn went, accompanied by some subordinates (thankfully not Sato), who were all very, very quiet on the way there.

The retreat was held at an onsen ryokan in the mountains outside Namimori. Other than the Vongola, there were some minor yakuza clans in attendance. Lynn supposed the main goal of the meeting was to remind everyone that the Hibari were in charge here, and then fight over the scraps that the Hibari magnanimously allowed to fall through their fingers. In essence, exactly the same as Vongola Alliance meetings back in Italy.

The meeting location being an onsen, the primary social activity was communal bathing. Lynn did not want to be naked in the same pool of hot water as other naked people, especially when some of those people were their subordinates, so they only bathed in the privacy of their room. Perhaps the Hibari would think Lynn a bit of a prude, but Lynn just did not care.

The meetings themselves were… fine. Lynn didn’t speak at all, and no one seemed to expect them to. Lynn would almost think they were afraid of Lynn, for some reason. They let their subordinates handle most of the negotiations, and just nodded when the terms seemed reasonable to them.

As the last of the meetings was winding down, a man bearing that distinct, harried look of an extremely overextended executive assistant approached Lynn.

“Pardon me for troubling you,” said the man. “I am here on behalf of Kyosei-sama, who would like to extend you an invitation to a private gathering, if you are available.”

Nearly everybody on the Hibari side was, well, a Hibari (other than a scant few representatives from vassal clans and branch families), so for clarity most people were referred to by their given names. ‘Kyosei’ was the name of the current clan head – men of the main branch shared the character ‘Kyo’ in their names (so Hibari Kyoya probably was closely or even directly related to Kyosei, though Lynn hadn’t heard that Kyosei was married or had children).

Lynn did not particularly want to meet the local tyrant, but on Hibari territory, surrounded by Hibari men, they had a feeling they were being asked only as a courtesy.

“I have some free time in my schedule,” Lynn replied, resigned. They instructed their subordinates to either enjoy the baths or return to the office as they pleased (Lynn expected they would tell Alceu that Lynn had an audience with Kyosei, but they didn’t care at all), then stood up and followed the patiently waiting assistant.

The assistant, who introduced himself as Kusakabe (Lynn should really not be surprised at this point), respectfully handed Lynn Kumokiri back on a tray (weapons had to be left outside the conference rooms during meetings), then led Lynn to a secluded annex. Lynn only saw a few guards along the way, and it was very quiet. They didn’t think the Hibari wished him ill (there would be little point, and they wouldn’t give Kumokiri back in that case), but Lynn was on alert all the same.

Eventually, Kusakabe opened the screen door to what seemed like a banquet room.

“Kyosei-sama is inside,” he said. He waited till Lynn walked through, then bowed and slid the door closed behind Lynn, remaining outside.

The moment the screen clicked shut, the hairs on the back of Lynn’s neck prickled. On instinct, they stepped quickly to the side, just in time to avoid a nunchaku smashing with considerable force onto the spot where they’d just been standing.

…this would be the reason why Lynn had been allowed to carry Kumokiri.

“Hello, cousin,” said the man on the other end of the weapon.

Great, thought Lynn, backing away to put distance between themselves and their assailant (who was probably the clan head they were supposed to be meeting). Just as battle-crazy as the canon Hibari. They’d been half-expecting this, though, considering the lead-up.

Lynn kept the ends of the nunchaku off them using Kumokiri’s sheath, looking for space and a chance to draw. Kyosei wasn’t giving them the opportunity, pressing close with dangerously wide swings of his weapon. He wielded the steel-tipped weapon with practical brutality, lashing out with straightforward but lightning-quick diagonal slashes and uppercuts which would definitely crack Lynn’s jaw or kneecap if they connected.

An unexpected flourish distracted Lynn for a moment, and Kyosei came in low, sweeping his leg towards Lynn’s ankle. Lynn leapt out of the way in time, using the distance and the brief breath between attacks to finally draw Kumokiri from its sheath.

Unlike in movies, there was no sound, only the hypnotic, icy gleam of the blade under the light. Like a conditioned reflex, Lynn’s mind entered the blank, still space of focused combat.

They fell back into a basic stance, torso balanced and strong, and then it was Lynn’s turn to press Kyosei, Kumokiri giving Lynn the advantage in reach while still being able to deflect and parry.

Kyosei didn’t seem discouraged at all, baring his teeth and throwing himself at Lynn with increased ferocity. He could block with the nunchaku too, holding the sticks flush against his forearm to shield against Kumokiri’s slashes as Lynn kept him at bay.

During the struggle for control of the fight, Kyosei managed to wrap the chain of his weapon around Kumokiri’s blade, hoping to immobilise Lynn. Lynn immediately took advantage of the closeness, pulling Kyosei in with all their strength. They twisted Kumokiri’s blade around and up, snapping the chain before whipping their body around and roundhouse kicking Kyosei across the room.

Kyosei landed in a pile of banquet tables and lay there for a while.

“You’re good,” wheezed Kyosei, rubbing his chest where Lynn had kicked him. He sounded winded, but not at all put out. Sitting up slowly, Kyosei called towards the door. “Toshi!”

The screen slid open again, and Kusakabe reappeared with a tray of towels and tea. Lynn sheathed their sword, but all they could think about was all the repair work and sharpening they’d have to do on their poor abused weapon. Kumokiri was of excellent make, but Kyosei’s brute strength had done a number on it. They were also starting to be acutely aware of the pain from the few glancing blows they’d received to their forearm and sides– those were going to bruise badly.

Kyosei wiped his face and propped himself up at a table that Kusakabe had put back upright. Now that Lynn had time to look at Naoshi’s distant relative properly, they realised that Kyosei actually looked disturbingly like Naoshi. The hair and eye colour was obviously different, but the facial shape and overall build resembled Naoshi's. Hibari Kyoya really must take after Fon rather than the Hibari family members, then.

“Now, wasn’t that nice?” said Kyosei, after a drink of tea. He looked relatively unbothered, though Lynn was pretty sure they’d cracked at least one rib. “I always want to beat someone up after a long stuffy meeting.”

… said the man who hadn’t even attended a single one.

Lynn did feel better after having kicked someone in the chest, though.

Chapter Text

Bluebird, 15, Rank C, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly Raguel ‘Angel of Judgement’ Kaminari , vigilante, formerly Alan Sutherland, 14, student

The Varia were sneaky sneaky people!

Not that Alan should be surprised, considering this was an assassin group, and assassins were supposed to be sneaky.

But it took some serious balls and skills to show up at R&D, which was by all accounts the most well-guarded Vongola facility, and smuggle out a Zero-Pointed Xanxus, completely undetected!

Alan hadn’t known what had happened at first. He’d noticed that Squalo and the rest of Xanxus’s Guardians seemed happier after the big R&D meeting, and that the other people who’d come back all looked super excited about something (but weren’t allowed to say what). It was Sparrow-senpai who’d taken him aside one day and told him what happened – that they’d gotten Xanxus out!

But it was a secret (sort of), so Alan could only scream into his pillow in excitement.

There was still no sign of Xanxus even after a long time, so Alan figured they needed time to get the Vongola Rings or find some other way to thaw him out. He hoped it would be soon, but had no way to know when, really. As long as it wasn’t eight (?) years again!

But because Alan had protag energy, he got involved.

In the middle of one perfectly ordinary night, Alan was roughly shaken awake, given 15 minutes to pack and run to the bathroom, then shoved into a van next to a very suspicious, person-sized package wrapped in several layers of tarp. Confused and not exactly awake, Alan could see that Ottavio, Lussuria, Libitina, Shamal and a bunch of guys from Operations had come along, so he thought they were going on a super important urgent mission at first (with three Elite plus Shamal! Overkill much?!). But then he caught sight of Basilio, huddled into Ottavio’s side – unless Basilio had some special secret skills, there was no reason to bring him along on a mission! Alan didn’t have too much time to think about it, as less than an hour later, they were in the air (in the Varia jet!!!), and about two hours after that they were landing in Northern Italy.

Ottavio had been visibly stressed the entire time, and Basilio looked on the verge of tears and kept a death grip on Ottavio’s jacket (it was his first time on a plane, brave kid!). Alan really wanted to know what was going on, but everyone else seemed to understand it was Serious Business, and kept their mouths tightly shut. He looked to Libitina, whom he was more familiar with due to her leading his first rookie mission, but she shook her head at him, so he didn’t get anything from that. He didn’t really want to ask Shamal because he was still weird about the whole crossdressing thing, but Shamal didn’t seem like he wanted to chat either, and instead kept shooting Ottavio concerned looks (OTP real!!).

Seriously, Alan almost died from the anticipation.

Towards the tail end of the flight, Ottavio seemed to have some sort of belated epiphany about their super sus cargo (which Alan was 99.99% sure was ice block Xanxus now) and started yelling (well, what was considered yelling for Ottavio but was more like a very stern talking to at a slightly higher volume) at Lussuria. He seemed to realise after a while that he couldn’t actually do anything about it, and just sank down in his seat, looking depressed.

There was a gleam in Lussuria’s eye. Sus!

Ottavio’s low mood continued (Alan thought he looked like he was having a really bad headache) even after they transferred to ground transport. It was about dawn when they reached the Biscione compound, where they were met by Alan’s best bud Lancia!

Lancia’s eyes lit up on spotting him, but he gave Alan a tiny shake of the head and an apologetic smile (Alan totally understood, work before bros, sadly), then turned to Ottavio.

“Mr. Landolfi, Max is with your friend in our new sickbay,” he said. “I’ll take you there.” Ottavio nodded and immediately picked Basilio up, following after Lancia with quick strides.

“We’ll go as well,” said Libitina, indicating herself and Shamal. They got a nod from Lussuria, then jogged after them, hauling their medical supplies.

Ottavio’s friend! Did that mean Rue? That would explain why Ottavio and Basilio were so upset… Alan wondered what happened, then remembered their last discussion.

…Oh.

Well, crap.

Alan hoped Rue was okay. Or would be okay. He didn’t know how Rue ended up with the Biscione, but Lugh, Libitina and Shamal were here now, so hopefully everything would be fine.

“Alright boys, the rest of you unload the van,” said Lussuria cheerily, clapping his hands and drawing Alan out of his thoughts. “Chop chop!”

They got their suspicious package out of the van, then were made to wait in a room under watch. Lussuria didn’t seem to mind, so the rest of them just dozed or played silly games until Tyr showed up.

Alan thought Tyr would be hopping mad at their obviously unannounced visit, but he seemed more exasperated and amused than anything. Like they were just a bunch of naughty children, and kids would be kids, whatcha gonna do?

“Tyr doesn’t anger easily anyway, and he’s more generous when his set is around,” one of the others said later, when Alan finally gathered up his nerves to ask about it. “Bringing Libitina helped, I’m sure – I mean, she was supposed to come here after she retired anyway, but I heard she was best friends with Tyr’s Rain, back then, and they all like her.”

That was cool. Alan had heard Libitina had been around forever, so it made sense she knew Tyr’s set.

Tyr, however, despite agreeing to ‘take a look at it’ at some point, made them store their super sus cargo in a shed.

Occupied by geese.

Alan barely escaped with his life!

The geese were mean (Alan had a very personal understanding of why people called them cobra chickens now). The only person they seemed to like was Lancia, which was why Tyr had him go with them. Even then, they attacked everyone else, and Alan got several vicious pecks to his legs and even one on his butt! Even Lussuria got his fingers nipped! He was nice enough to heal everyone else up afterwards, though.

“Why on earth didn’t you use your Flames?” tsked Lussuria. “Aren’t you a Lightning? What’s Levi even been teaching you lot?”

“I forgot,” said Alan sheepishly. It hadn’t even occurred to him! Though, it’d be bad if the geese hurt their beaks on him or something. They were still cute! Just … from a distance.

At least Probably-Xanxus was going to be very safe and snug in there, though Alan worried a bit about all the goose poop getting everywhere. At least there was a covering, and maybe they didn’t have to tell Xanxus when he got out.

Other than the people from Medical, everyone else got to have some free time after that. Lussuria told them to consider it a little break, but to keep up training and be ready for mobilisation if needed.

Best of all, he got to hang out with Lancia again!

Lancia was a proper capo now, and had his own people and everything, which was super cool! Tyr and the others clearly liked and trusted him a lot (honestly who wouldn’t, Lancia was such a good guy), and even the older Biscione guys listened to him. Alan was so proud of his friend.

He was busier now, but still made sure to make time for Alan (what a bro). He’d brought Alan around the last time he’d come with Ottavio to the Biscione HQ, and he did the same this time around, showing him the new stuff that’d been built (Biscione HQ had really changed a lot since the last time Alan was here). Sometimes they’d go play cards with some of the other Biscione guys, or take the kids to town for treats (Basilio came along once, but he didn’t seem to like the other kids).

The rest of their Varia party liked Lancia too.

Maybe a little too much, in Lussuria’s case.

Lussuria kept ogling Lancia’s pecs (Alan kinda understood, cause they were like, there, and in your face, even if they were mostly covered by a shirt), and would sometimes flirt with him. Lancia didn’t seem to get it, and just took Lussuria’s invitations to ‘wrestle’ at face value (they did actually wrestle, once, right in front of Alan’s salad crostini! Alan had to cover his eyes the entire time).

Alan didn’t know if he should clue Lancia in. Maybe ignorance was bliss.

As long as Lussuria didn’t try to turn Lancia into a dead body it should be…fine?

Anyway, Alan wasn’t used to having this much leisure time! Aside from daily drills with his colleagues, Alan thought he’d need to assist his workaholic supervisor at least a little bit, but he didn’t even see Ottavio, some days!

He’d confirmed by now that Ottavio had come to see Rue, which explained Basilio accompanying him. Apparently, Rue had gotten severely injured (was it Demon Spade?!), and one of Auntie’s people had run into him (guess they all knew each other somehow?), got the word to Tyr and the others, and they had staged a rescue (oh man Alan was dying to know what happened, but even Lancia didn’t know). Obviously, that meant Ottavio got wind of it, explaining the mad rush to get here.

How had the Boss-popsicle factored into it, though? Alan wondered if Lussuria wanted Tyr to thaw him out. Was it even possible?

The other Biscione members were naturally curious about the link between Ottavio, Rue, and now Basilio, but didn’t quite dare to ask, considering all the Varia standing around looking intimidating. And Tyr being legit terrifying. And Ottavio either holed up in the infirmary or looking like the world was ending.

Lancia ended up being pushed forward by the others to ask Alan, probably because he looked friendly, some of them knew him from last time, and because he was best buds with Lancia.

“He’s a very good friend of Ottavio’s, and the kid’s a foster,” said Alan, which was the ‘official’ truth. Kinda sus, though, in his honest opinion! Despite Rue’s own protests and Sparrow-senpai’s ‘women’s intuition’ that there wasn’t anything romantic going on… well, Ottavio was behaving an awful lot like an overprotective boyfriend, wasn’t he?

(And also the two of them and Shamal were all awfully cosy together…sus!)

“Oh,” said Lancia, then seemed to realise something. “He?”

“Yeah!” Alan confirmed with a big smile. Hopefully no one would be too weird about it.

“But she’s a …woman!” said Lancia, who’d clearly never encountered such a situation before. “...right?”

“Oh, sometimes,” said Alan. “But usually he prefers to be a man! It’s not a big deal. He’s a Mist, too, so he can look like anything.” It was better to get Lancia used to the concept, considering Rue was probably going to stick around (Alan was already imagining him wearing leopard print and holding a big Prada bag or something like a stereotypical TikTok ‘mob wife’) and his situation was extra complicated. Cool, but complicated.

Lancia seemed unsure, but he was too nice to say anything, and looked like he was genuinely thinking about it, so Alan thought he did a pretty good job adding some good ol’ nuance to that gender thing. Lancia just didn’t have it in him to be mean, so he’d come around soon enough, and if Lancia was cool with something, surely the others would be, too.

Thankfully, Rue seemed to be recovering well, and Ottavio started looking less stressed. Alan managed to visit him on the pretext of running an errand, but Rue refused to say anything with Lugh nearby, which was understandable, but a bummer. He looked rough, but Alan believed the medics would help him get better quickly. Shamal, Libitina, and Lugh? Rue would be fine!

Then Sawada Iemitsu (!!!) turned up.

It was Alan’s first time seeing the CEDEF head in person! He looked quite a bit less scruffy than what Alan remembered of him in the manga (where to him Iemitsu had looked to be like, 50 instead of in his late 30s), and had a serious look on his face. There were a bunch of CEDEF guys with him, but Alan didn’t see anyone who could be Turmeric or Oregano (which were the only CEDEF people he remembered, and he couldn’t remember who was who, just that one of them was a girl with glasses).

Tyr didn’t seem pleased with their presence, but they’d come to see Rue, so he let them in. Someone had let the geese loose, though, and so the moment the CEDEF guys stepped on the grassy space between the main house and the new building, the whole dozen cobra chickens went bonkers.

Watching the men in suits get chased around by angry geese was totally the highlight of Alan’s trip! He would treasure this memory forever! Sadly, Iemitsu somehow managed to escape unscathed, but you couldn’t have everything in life.

The CEDEF people stayed for about half a day, and everyone was glad to see them go. Lussuria and others hadn’t bothered to hide their Varia presence, and Iemitsu had eyed them super judgingly like he knew they were going to commit crimes and destroy the planet or whatever. Not like anybody cared about CEDEF’s opinion, in the Varia, but it was just bad vibes.

“Hm,” said Tyr, as they all watched Iemitsu and his goons leave. Ottavio heaved out a big sigh, sounding very tired, and rubbed his temple.

“I think we shouldn’t delay much further,” said Lussuria cheerfully.

“I think so too,” said Tyr, crossing his arms. “Just so all of you can get out of my house.”

Aw, but Alan was just starting to enjoy slacking off!

A few days later, Tyr came to get them, accompanied by Lancia. It was late at night, when most of the Biscione who lived offsite had left, leaving mostly just the leadership and a rotation of guards at the house. And the Varia, of course.

“Go get your precious cargo,” said Tyr, then paused. “Maybe hose it down, first. Lancia, go with them, then show them to the basement. I’ll meet you there.”

Alan thought the geese would be sleepy and less aggressive at night, but no.

Maybe it was because they were trying to take something this time, and the geese weren’t having it, because Alan swore they were twice as ferocious! Alan remembered about Flames this time, and so his butt was relatively unscathed, but it was still scary to be swarmed by angry geese!

Lussuria didn’t have time to heal people this time round, but it was okay, everyone was super focused on the job. With the help of his colleagues, Alan hosed down the tarp covering (it had goose poop all over it and was a bit stinky), then wheeled the whole thing to some kind of basement area.

The space looked like it wasn’t quite finished, with building supplies and paint buckets set to the side, and naked lightbulbs hanging down from the ceiling.

“Teo wanted to build a recreational area here for people to relax in,” Lancia explained. “We haven't had time to work on it much.”

“We have a rec room in the Varia castle too!” said Alan, looking around with fascination. “Can’t wait to see this when you’re done.”

“Chit chat later, boys!” called Lussuria, clapping his hands. He still sounded as cheery as usual, but Alan thought he seemed a bit nervous.

“Lancia, go outside and guard the door, good lad,” said Tyr, and Lancia immediately went to do just that, no questions asked.

Alan and the others unloaded the Xanxus-icle, and carefully undid the fastenings on the coverings. He couldn’t help staring when Xanxus’s frozen form was completely revealed. It was… Alan was only just realising what it meant to trap a whole live person in there like that. Like, how cruel did you have to be? And Dying Will Flames needed resolve, so… you had to mean it. The Ninth had meant it. He meant to do this, to someone who was supposedly like a son to him.

And Xanxus… his expression was fierce, and pained, and …desperate? Alan wondered if he could sense anything. Was he conscious?

“Bluebird,” said Ottavio, making Alan jump a little.

He snapped to attention. “Sir?”

“Just in case Xanxus comes out swinging,” said Ottavio. “I want a Lightning shield ready. Myself and the others may be occupied. You just need to slow him down until he’s aware of his surroundings.”

Uh… Alan wasn’t at all sure he could hold Xanxus off for any period of time. He’d just have to…prepare for some burns. Libitina would fix him if he acted pathetic enough!

“Okay,” he agreed, probably not very convincingly.

“You’re better than you think,” said Ottavio, and left Alan alone.

…Did he just get praised?!!

Alan couldn’t gloat for too long, though, as things were happening!

Lussuria, Libitina and Shamal went up to stand on one side of frozen-Xanxus, with Ottavio and Lugh supporting Tyr on the other. The rest of them formed a loose circle around the translucent block. Everyone seemed tense, and…hopeful?

Tyr had removed his glove from his flesh hand, and Alan noticed he was wearing a ring on his pinky finger. A Flame ring like the Vongola Rings? Alan couldn’t see the design properly, but it was mostly silver, with some kind of gem on it. He lit it with his Flame – and this was actually Alan’s first time seeing Sky Flames in person!

It was … kinda hypnotic, to look at.

And well, Alan thought the flame would be… bigger? In the show and manga Tsuna’s Flames had always been like, FWAAAAH super OP fire, but Tyr’s Flame was … a bit underwhelming.

On closer look though, now that Alan was squinting at it, he could see that Tyr was focusing his Flame through the ring like a laser, so it was tightly compressed instead of flickering everywhere like an actual flame. Ottavio then held onto Tyr’s other arm (above the prosthetic) and started doing his amplifier thing. The two then proceeded to just … blowtorch the Xanxus-icle like they were toasting a Baked Alaska.

It took a long time, but it worked! The Zero-Point ice didn’t exactly melt, just kind of started receding, bit by bit (sublimation, Alan recalled from his mostly-forgotten science lessons a bit later). The anime had made it look so easy, with the Varia using the Rings, but Tyr and Ottavio seemed like they were actually having a rough time. They were both sweating, Max watching them like a hawk with his fists clenched in worry.

Eventually, the last of the ice was dealt with, and Xanxus’s X guns clattered to the ground as he started to slump forward. Luss caught him immediately.

“Boss, Boss, it’s me,” he said, as Xanxus started to struggle. (Alan didn’t think they needed his shield at all, but just in case, he was ready.) “We got you out. The Varia is here.”

Libitina and Shamal had hurried forward as well, checking Xanxus’s vital signs (he wasn’t cooperating and seemed disorientated).

“There’s some superficial skin damage,” noted Shamal, “but I need to do a more thorough check to make sure his organs are fine.”

Libitina frowned, forming a deep crease in her forehead. “Agreed, let’s take him to the infirmary,” she said, then called for the stretcher they’d prepared beforehand.

“Boss,” said Lussuria again, and pulsed his Flame briefly over Xanxus. Xanxus finally seemed to register that he was in familiar hands, and grasped Lussuria’s wrist.

“Luss,” said Xanxus hoarsely, and relaxed.

Phew, no burns for Alan this time!

The medics hustled Boss Xanxus out quickly afterwards, taking two of Alan’s colleagues to carry the stretcher and leaving the rest of them behind. Lugh stayed as well, busy fussing over Tyr, who looked a bit pale.

“I’m fine,” said Tyr, lighty swatting at Lugh. “Don’t fuss.”

“I’ll fuss if I want!” grumbled Lugh. “Those kids better be grateful…” he trailed off into a grumpy tirade in some language that Alan didn’t know, but whatever he said made Tyr and Ottavio laugh.

Lancia had come in at this point, obviously confused as to why someone had come out in a stretcher, and to see if he could help with anything.

“Just make sure the Varia boys clean up after themselves,” said Tyr, then thought for a while before adding, “and if anyone asks, let’s say… my nephew Sandro ran away from home, and got into trouble.”

… yeah, the mafia was full of lies, huh. Oh well!

Lancia was still confused, but agreed, and soon ‘Tyr’s nephew’ was known to be recuperating in the infirmary as well, though the Biscione didn’t seem to find this as interesting as the alleged Rue and Ottavio drama (everyone seemed to have a troublemaking rebellious teen in their family somewhere, so nobody cared about the same old story with a ‘Sandro’ when they could be speculating about whether Rue was going to be their Mr. Landolfi’s wife).

Either way, since Xanxus was out way early, it looked like they were speedrunning canon now!

Chapter Text

Xanxus of the Vongola, 16, Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

The last thing Xanxus remembered was Federico clutching his face, screaming, and his father shouting at Xanxus to stop.

He’d brought Enrico’s Lightning, Eco to his birthday dinner at the Iron Fort, and everything had been going as planned.

Xanxus could read Federico’s guilt in his reaction to Eco’s presence, and so could his relatives, judging by the murmurs in the room. Federico denied Xanxus’s accusations, of course, but Xanxus could tell people were being swayed. It was working.

Xanxus kept pressing, and Federico kept denying and accusing Xanxus of having done the deed himself, which was complete and utter bullshit how dare he –

Then Federico shouted, “you’re not even Father’s real–”

Federico was interrupted by his father snapping out an order, and a Mist screen went up.

“That’s enough, Federico, Xanxus,” warned Father.

What had Federico been about to say?!

“You should have told him long ago,” continued Federico, emboldened now that he wasn’t under the scrutiny of the extended Family. His voice was louder now. “See? He’s got his hopes up, when he can never inherit, that’s why he’s acting like a brat. Trying to paint me as the villain! Ha! As if it would do him any good. Once a street rat, always a street rat. Blood will out!”

Xanxus didn’t remember standing up and drawing his guns, but he had them pointed at Federico now. His brother’s plus-one, his current fling of the month, let out a piercing shriek. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”

“Xanxus!” exclaimed Father. “Put down your weapons!”

“What, did you think you’re actually Vongola?” said Federico, edging behind Coyote like a coward. “As if Father would ever touch a dirty whore like your slut of a mother!”

“Take that back!” roared Xanxus, and lunged for Federico.

His father’s Guardians immediately leapt to defend their Sky, while Federico’s date scrambled under the table. Federico dodged the first flash of Wrath Flame Xanxus shot at him, and brought up his own Flame to block the next.

But Federico had always neglected training, and Xanxus’s Wrath Flame overpowered his defences, scoring a burn across Federico’s cheek.

Federico screamed in pain as the Wrath Flame started dissolving his face, and his father shouted, “Xanxus, stop!”

Xanxus couldn’t stop if he wanted to, blinded by rage and blood pounding in his ears.

What had Federico meant?! He was lying, he had to be!

Then something blasted him square in the back, freezing Xanxus to his very bones, from his spine to his limbs and his skull, and then, nothing.

The next time Xanxus was aware again, he could barely see from the excruciating pain coursing through every inch of his body. He was being held down, and someone was strapping something onto him. Xanxus struggled, trying to break free. He thought he heard Luss’s voice, but that was impossible, Luss hadn’t come with him to the Iron Fort…

“Boss,” said the Luss-voice again, and then he felt Luss’s unmistakable, sparkling Flame. Some of the pain eased, and he could focus now.

“Luss,” said Xanxus, relieved. It really was Luss, somehow, so it would be all right.

Xanxus was loaded onto a stretcher, then carried up some stairs into what looked like a room designated as a sickbay. One of the beds seemed to be occupied, but the person did not even stir despite the ruckus they made as they came in.

Lussuria spoke to him in a reassuring voice all along the way, telling him that he’d been trapped by the Zero-Point Breakthrough technique, and it was now March (fucking hell, he’d been gone for months. His father had left him in there, for months).

Luss told Xanxus that Squalo and the others had to stay home but they were all waiting for Xanxus, and that Xanxus was currently in a safe place.

“Where,” gritted out Xanxus. Forcing the words out felt like swallowing cut glass.

“We’re with the Biscione, shhh,” said Luss, jabbing a needle into Xanxus’s vein. “I’m just going to draw some blood for some tests, be good and stay still, Boss…”

Xanxus barely felt the prick— Luss was always good at blood draws, and it was nothing compared to how shit he was otherwise feeling. “Biscione?” he managed after a few beats. Xanxus felt like his brain had slowed to a fucking crawl, and he couldn’t pay attention no matter how much he tried. He didn’t remember a place or mafia group with that name.

“Tyr’s retirement home,” said Luss, with a watery smile. He was done with the needle now, and had now hooked Xanxus up to a drip, adjusting something. “This should help with the pain. I promise to tell you more soon, don’t try to speak too much.”

Tyr. Xanxus vaguely thought he’d seen Tyr in that room. Had he been the one to get Xanxus out? What had the Varia offered him in return?

It could wait. Luss would fill him in eventually, and Xanxus hated that he was so fucking weak, but there were spots in his vision and he was rapidly losing hold on his consciousness.

Before he slipped into darkness, he heard Luss say in a whisper, “welcome back, Boss.”

Eventually, Xanxus woke up, because he felt someone staring at him. It took a moment for him to orient himself and remember where he was (hooked up to too many annoying things, far away from Sicily, Tyr’s turf, Luss and other Varia around), before he opened his eyes.

It was the occupant of the bed next to him, a woman with long dark hair.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was just curious, as I never heard anyone come in last night!” said the woman, looking apologetic. “... Welcome back?”

Xanxus frowned. He didn’t remember her. “Who are you?” he rasped, sitting up. The pain was manageable now, but his movements were still slow and stiff.

The woman carefully shuffled off the bed and poured two glasses of water from the jug sitting on a nearby sideboard, then brought them back, handing one to Xanxus.

“I didn’t look like this the last time, but we’ve met,” said the woman, drinking from her own glass. “I’m Rue of the CEDEF.”

Xanxus took the water and downed it in one gulp. He remembered Rue, though in that memory Rue had worn the shape of a man. Rue had given the Varia information on Enrico’s death, so they weren’t completely useless, for CEDEF.

Xanxus would have to ask Luss what Rue was doing here, later. He could hear someone approaching, footsteps coming from the direction of what looked like a small attached office to the room he was in.

Sure enough, Libitina appeared, holding a clipboard. “Ah, you’re both up,” she said, coming up to them. She turned to Rue first. “Rue, Ottavio said he’ll send someone to take you down to breakfast later, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Ah, then I should get dressed,” said Rue understandingly, with a flicker of their eyes towards Xanxus. “Excuse me.”

After Rue left, Libitina approached Xanxus, checking some notes on her clipboard. “How are you feeling, Boss?” she said, squinting at the machine monitoring Xanxus’s vitals. “I’m going to let Lussuria know you’re up, and he’ll come as soon as he’s able.”

Xanxus grunted in reply, so Libitina seemed to take it as a sign he was fine. Xanxus tolerated her prodding and poking until she was satisfied (because no one gave lip to Libitina, not even Xanxus). Libitina pronounced him “alive and functioning, for now” and then left Xanxus alone again.

The next visitor was not Luss, but a small, light-haired boy about six years old.

The boy seemed startled to see Xanxus, and hesitated at the door, looking anxiously towards Rue’s empty bed.

“Bathroom,” said Xanxus shortly, deducing the kid was here for Rue.

“Oh,” said the boy, then seemed to steel himself before walking into the room. He went to wait by Rue’s bed, fidgeting slightly and stealing timidly inquisitive glances at Xanxus. The boy was visibly relieved when Rue came out of the bathroom, having changed into a blouse and trousers.

“Oh, Basilio, here to get me?” greeted Rue. “Have you met Xanxus? He’s the Boss of the Varia!” They then turned to Xanxus. “Young Basilio here is being fostered at the Varia castle.”

Fostered? Since when had the Varia started taking in brats? (Bel didn’t count.)

“Oh, you’re Boss Xanxus! Bel’s Sky!” exclaimed the boy, Basilio, visibly brightening.

“You know Bel?” Xanxus didn’t even think Bel would deign to talk to commoner children.

“We’re friends,” was the unexpected reply.

Bel, having friends. That he hadn’t murdered. What next? Playing patty cake while having tea with dolls?

“Mirco and Hayato too,” added Basilio, which made Xanxus raise an eyebrow. Just how many brats were living in the castle now?

“Mirco is from the Biscione Family, and is apprenticed to Mammon. Hayato is Shamal–Lempo–’s ward,” Rue elaborated helpfully. “The kids all play together.”

Trident Shamal had joined the Varia? That flake? More importantly, Mammon? Taking an apprentice? They must have bled the Biscione’s coffers dry to agree to that.

It felt like Xanxus had been gone for a fucking decade, with how much he was out of the loop.

Rue looked like they wanted to say more, but Basilio tugged hesitantly at their sleeve. “Ottavio is waiting,” he said. He was watching Rue and Xanxus – to make sure they weren’t angry, Xanxus observed. He knew that look from the slums – that was a kid who had learned to read and anticipate adult behaviour for their survival. Must be a recent foster.

“Ah, yes,” said Rue with an apologetic glance at Xanxus. “We’re headed to the main house for a bit, need anything?”

“No,” said Xanxus, and watched them leave.

Xanxus barely got started on straightening out all the new information in his head before he ended up dozing off.

The next time he woke up again, Luss was sitting beside him, a ridiculously dopey smile on his face.

“Good morning, Boss!” he said cheerfully, immediately noticing that Xanxus was awake. “I brought you breakfast in bed~”

“The fuck is this.” Xanxus looked at the tray Luss had set in front of him. Some sort of rice gruel so thin Xanxus could see his reflection in it, and a cup of tea so watered down it looked like piss.

“Your organs haven’t had to work for months and you probably still had your birthday dinner in your digestive tract, so who knows how that’s going to go,” said Luss brightly. “We don’t want to stress your gut, honey~”

Xanxus eyed the food, disinclined to eat it. Back in the slums he’d eaten anything his mother could give him out of necessity, even food that was spoiled or on the verge of spoiling, but once he started living with the Vongola he swore he’d never eat anything he didn’t want to ever again.

“Auntie made it. She’s Tyr’s Mist, a sweet little old lady, and an amazing cook, so it probably doesn’t taste too bad,” Luss coaxed. “But you don’t have to eat now, if you’re not feeling it.”

Tyr had a Mist? Xanxus lifted the bowl and sniffed it with some suspicion. There was the faintest hint of some kind of broth, pepper, and some other spice, so it wasn’t completely bland, at least. He reluctantly tried a spoonful, and it wasn’t offensive, so he had another.

As Xanxus ate, Luss gave him a quick rundown of what he’d missed. How Rue had been the one to tell them what happened, because his ‘father’ couldn’t admit the truth. How everyone had looked for him. How Squalo had faithfully kept the Varia running while he and Ottavio gave the old farts at HQ the runaround. The people who’d helped, and who Xanxus and the Varia owed now: his old teacher and Federico’s Guardian, Nashi. Mammon’s apprentice and Ottavio’s foster brat, Mirco. Tyr.

And then, very carefully and gently, Luss broke the news:

Federico was dead.

Luss whisked his tray away before Xanxus could smash something.

Federico … deserved it, for his betrayal of the Vongola, and what he did to Enrico, and for what he’d said to Xanxus, but it didn’t mean Xanxus really wanted him dead. Not before he could be punished for his deeds. Not before his father– the Ninth, could acknowledge that his favourite son, the golden child, wasn’t just a spoiled, arrogant prick, but rotten to the core.

(Xanxus knew he was just as good as any of the Ninth’s other sons, if not better. He’d always wondered why the Ninth couldn’t see that, and now he knew – he’d never been a real son at all.)

But he was dead now, so everything was moot.

Done in by that fake oracle trash, of all people.

Xanxus needed to think. He ripped out his IV line and the various leads attached to him, earning an offended squawk from Luss, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His boots were there, so he put them on, not bothering to do up the laces, and stood up.

“Boss?!” Luss sounded exasperated. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk,” said Xanxus shortly. It wasn’t like he was an invalid. “Don’t follow.”

“Twenty minutes, or there’s a tranq gun in your future,” called Libitina’s voice from the office, sounding very unimpressed. She hadn’t even bothered to come out.

“You heard her, dear,” sighed Luss. “Watch out for the geese.”

Xanxus found his way out easily enough, and stepped out into the morning sunshine.

This place was very different from Sicily.

The air was crisp, with frost still in the air, but the sun was warm on his face. Xanxus was only wearing a fresh pair of pyjamas Luss had obviously brought from the castle, but it wasn’t all that chilly.

(Nothing could be as cold as that ice, so cold it burned –)

It was mostly quiet, except for birdsong. There were a few people out and about doing manual labour – looked like construction– who gave him odd looks, but left Xanxus alone. Relaxed, rural, boring, thought Xanxus, looking around. Fitting for a retirement home for old fossils like Tyr.

Xanxus stepped onto the wide lawn that divided the more modern building he’d exited from what looked like a slightly run-down, 19th century villa. There were waterfowl pecking at the new grass that was poking up through the soil – those geese Luss had warned him about. They looked at Xanxus with suspicion in their beady little eyes as Xanxus passed by. The lead gander, a hefty-looking bird which looked like it would make a fine roast, hissed at Xanxus as it waddled forward, lowering its neck in a threat display.

Xanxus ignored it, because he was bigger and meaner and knew it.

The goose hissed again and made to charge at Xanxus’s ankles before stopping short, seeming to think the better of it. It tilted its neck to stare at Xanxus.

Xanxus stared back at it, wondering if the bird was daft.

Eventually, the goose honked and shook itself, relaxing. Xanxus thought that’d be the end of it, but then the rest of the flock came waddling up to investigate, and he was suddenly surrounded by a dozen-odd birds all giving him judgemental looks.

Xanxus took a step.

The geese waddled forward, honking.

Xanxus widened his stride, increasing his pace.

The geese hurried to catch up.

Whatever. Xanxus found a bench under a vine-covered pergola and sat down, annoyed at his fatigue after such a short walk. The geese milled around him, tugging at whatever plant life they could find and making a variety of goose noises while they shat everywhere.

Xanxus ignored them, lost in thought.

Xanxus had a mess of emotions regarding his ‘father’ that he didn’t think he could untangle at the moment. He wanted to burn the Vongola down for this betrayal, he wanted to grieve the filial relationship which had been a complete lie, he wanted to shake his father and ask why, he wanted to save the Vongola from itself, and why the fuck did he even care!

Xanxus wanted to shoot something, but his guns had been damaged by Zero-Point. He couldn’t even take it out on the bench he was sitting on, because it was Tyr’s property on Tyr’s turf. Xanxus made a frustrated noise and did some Varia breathing exercises.

In. Out.

In. Out.

Moderately calmer, Xanxus thought about the bigger picture.

Vongola was in a weak position now, with all their heirs down for the count. Enrico and Federico gone, Massimo indisposed – he’d need to find out if his condition had improved, but Xanxus thought it was unlikely– and his children too young to be assessed for eligibility. Xanxus wasn’t clear what the wider Family thought about Xanxus’s chances, and whether Federico’s words had spread– another thing to investigate.

Vongola’s weakness, though, meant that they couldn’t afford to take more hits to their reputation. Presenting a strong, united front would be the priority right now, which meant they needed the Varia more than ever. And… the Ninth would not and could not do anything to Xanxus, were he to just saunter into the Iron Fort right now.

Shit, his foster father might even pretend Xanxus was a candidate to the rest of the mafia world, just to shut everybody up until he could scrounge up a replacement somewhere. Then maybe he’d freeze Xanxus again if he suspected Xanxus would do something to his new heir.

But why was blood so fucking important? Xanxus was Vongola in all the ways that mattered. In other mafia families, leadership might even be passed onto the most promising underboss, or decided by vote, rather than directly inherited by blood family. There must be something that Xanxus was missing.

Before Xanxus could ponder more upon that, a shrill whistle cut through the air.

Xanxus looked up in the direction of the sound, only to spot Libitina at a window, an air rifle balanced threateningly on her shoulder. With her free hand, she conveyed to Xanxus the Varia handsign for ‘get your ass back here’.

Grudgingly, Xanxus went, accompanied by the geese, which luckily stopped outside the building and didn’t insist to be let in.

“New friends?” teased Luss as Xanxus re-entered the infirmary. Xanxus grunted in reply and let himself be poked and prodded again.

His whole care team was there: Luss, Libitina, and Trident Shamal. They didn’t know if being frozen via Zero-Point Breakthrough had done any lasting damage on Xanxus, explained Luss, so they were all being extra careful.

So far he had some minor nerve damage and loss in muscle (which explained the pain and why he felt so fucking weak), and some scarring over his skin (Xanxus had yet to see himself in a mirror). They were still waiting on the results of some blood tests they’d bribed a local hospital to do, but otherwise his doctors seemed confident they’d be able to fix most of it.

“Maybe not all of the scars,” admitted Libitina. “I can fade most of the superficial ones since we got them early, but not the deeper ones, especially not the big one on your back.”

“There’s always laser therapy,” suggested Shamal.

Xanxus didn’t care. “Leave them,” he said. “In case the old man needs a reminder of what he’s done.”

Libitina rolled her eyes. “Teenagers! Always so dramatic!” she sighed, but didn’t argue.

After lunch (which featured the world’s saddest piece of bread, in addition to yet another serving of rice soup), Luss brought him to a secluded room, where they phoned home.

“Fucking finally, Xanxus!” Squalo sounded choked up. “Hold on, let me get the others –”

Shit, it was good to hear Squalo’s voice again, though it hadn’t been that long, for Xanxus. There was some scrambling in the background, and the phone switched to speaker mode.

“Boss!” That was Bel, crying.

“I’m not fucking dead,” Xanxus said. “Since when were you such a crybaby?”

“The shark’s crying too!” Bel accused.

“Voi, I’m not, shut up!” snapped Squalo, though it sure sounded like he was.

“You are well?” Mammon sounded almost the same as usual, but Xanxus could sense relief in their tone.

“Yeah,” said Xanxus.

“He’s being a naughty boy,” piped up Luss, immediately ratting him out.

They talked for what seemed like hours, until Luss resolutely cut things short, citing Xanxus’s need for rest (he was fucking fine).

“I’m just… glad you’re back, Xanxus,” said Squalo, at the end of the call. “We’ll be waiting for you at home.”

“Yeah,” said Xanxus. Thank you, was what he wanted to say, but the call had already ended.

Chapter Text

After the call with Squalo and the others, Luss marched Xanxus back to bed and told him to take a nap.

Xanxus grudgingly acknowledged that he felt some fatigue, but he couldn’t sleep, turning over all the new information he’d learned so far over and over again in his head.

Fuck, he’d been gone for just months, and so much had already changed.

Squalo and the others had seemed… tired, even Bel, who didn’t have any responsibilities other than the occasional murder and refraining from destruction of the castle. Squalo’s speech, while loud as ever, was much more measured, like he’d had to learn to talk carefully around people. Mammon had borne the brunt of the responsibility of the search for Xanxus, and sounded worn down. Even Luss had gotten a brittle edge to his wide smile that was jarring to see.

He’d left his Guardians and made them worry. These people he’d made promises to.

Xanxus would have to make it up to them, he resolved.

When Basilio and Rue returned later that afternoon, Xanxus had his eyes closed, but wasn’t asleep. He lazily cracked one eye open, watching the brat wave bye as Rue was whisked away for a checkup. He’d barely closed it again when he sensed Basilio approaching his bed. Something was placed on the nightstand next to Xanxus, then there was the sound of small feet scurrying away. Xanxus listened until he was sure the boy had left, then opened his eyes.

He’d been given a piece of candy. Xanxus wondered if it was a bribe.

The next day, it was Lugh’s turn in the infirmary, trading off with Trident Shamal who had in turn relieved Libitina the previous night.

Tyr and Ottavio came along as well, to see how Xanxus was doing. Rue had voluntarily moved out of the bed next to Xanxus’s, claiming they were well enough (Xanxus could tell they did not feel comfortable resting next to Xanxus), and had gone somewhere with Basilio. Everyone not Varia or part of Tyr’s set had also gotten the hint and vacated the room, leaving them in relative privacy.

“Alive and kicking, I see,” said Tyr, looking him over appraisingly.

Xanxus was scrutinising Tyr as well. The last time he’d seen him was at Enrico’s funeral, and it looked like retirement was continuing to treat him well.

“...thanks to you, I hear,” said Xanxus, after Luss elbowed him. Tyr had thawed him out, after all.

Ottavio and Tyr rolled their eyes at the exact same time (though Ottavio was more discreet about it, and did at least turn his head away).

“Oh, spare me,” said Tyr, crossing his arms. “I’m billing you for all of this, just so you know.” He turned to look at Luss, who had a suspiciously innocent-looking smile on his face. “And not like your sneaky little Sun gave us much choice. At least one of you remembers you’re all supposed to be assassins!”

Xanxus was the leader of an assassin group. Assassins were wasted in direct confrontations. Xanxus had, however, chosen to directly confront Federico, and had been stupid for it.

At least, that was what Xanxus thought the old man was getting at.

“I don’t regret what I did,” said Xanxus.

“There’s no point, what’s done is done,” Tyr agreed, to Xanxus’s mild surprise. Ottavio didn’t seem annoyed, either, even though they’d completely left him out of Xanxus’s plans, then turned around and dragged him into everything else that happened as a result.

“Boy,” said Tyr seriously, “you’re at the age where you’ll do exactly the opposite of what anybody tells you to do, but listen to me – do not think about going up against that lot head on, especially while the Ninth has a full set of Guardians, and they are in possession of the Vongola Rings. I’m not sure my old bones can handle thawing you out again, if Timoteo or his pet dogs don’t end up killing you this time.”

“I’m not stupid,” said Xanxus.

Tyr snorted. “Nobody’s not stupid at your age, that’s the whole point of teenagehood.” He sighed and ran a hand through his greying hair. “But, you’re in the mafia, and despite everything, still a Vongola scion, so one misstep…you get what I’m saying.”

Xanxus was used to being talked down to by the trash at Vongola HQ, because of his age, because of his illegitimacy, or because of his coarse manners and rough upbringing. This felt different. This was more like the time Tyr had walked in on a 12-year old Xanxus fooling around with his Flame unsupervised, briefly and casually corrected him, and then carried on with whatever he was doing at the Iron Fort. Or when Nashi (or sensei, as he’d made Xanxus call him) had actually explained why people put so much stock in etiquette (even if Xanxus still chose to ignore most of that bullshit, but at least it was an informed decision). This was, if Xanxus hadn’t lost his touch and was reading it right, well-intentioned advice, and not a scolding.

“I don’t need your advice,” was what came out of Xanxus’s mouth anyway.

Tyr eyed him doubtfully for a moment, then grunted.

“Well, not my problem,” he decided. “I’m going to leave Tavo here, but don’t keep him too long.” He patted Ottavio on the shoulder, then left.

“I am glad you have returned,” said Ottavio (and disturbingly enough Xanxus could tell he was being sincere). He pulled up a chair and sat down. “I’m sure Lussuria and the others have already started to bring you up to date, but please let me provide my account.”

“Oh boy,” said Luss, with some amount of dread.

“Just a few things,” Ottavio promised, retrieving a laptop computer from his briefcase.

It took the better part of three hours, and Xanxus was only prevented from shooting Ottavio in the leg by his lack of functional X-guns and Luss keeping a firm hand on his shoulder, but finally they were done.

Xanxus was now fully briefed on the state of the Varia’s coffers (fine but could be better), recent assassination tasks (normal but boring), staffing (fine), and other administrative minutiae (Xanxus didn’t fucking care). The only vaguely interesting bits he’d heard had been regarding Ottavio’s extermination of the Estraneo and the various trinkets he’d hauled back to the Varia (he’d have to ask for a more detailed report on that later). Beside him, Luss was staring off into space, having zoned out an hour or so into Ottavio’s presentation.

Ottavio gave no indication that he’d noticed Xanxus’s darkening expression or Luss’s inattention, and checked his watch.

“Well, my three hours are up, so perhaps we’ll continue this another day,” he said, and put the damned laptop away, much to his and Luss’s relief. “May I ask if you’ve decided when we are returning to the castle?”

Xanxus wanted nothing more than to return home to see the rest of his Guardians again, but he understood there were other things to think about first.

“I’ll let you know,” Xanxus replied.

“I see. Please let me know if you need anything else,” said Ottavio. He nodded politely at them, and exited the room. Luss immediately collapsed like a limp doll into Xanxus’s side.

“What’s with the three hour limit?” Xanxus asked Luss, poking him.

“Doctor’s orders; that man has migraines so he’s not allowed to work too much while we’re here,” Luss replied, yawning. “Thank goodness for that! I don’t think I could’ve sat through a minute more of his rambling.”

Weak trash, was Xanxus’s reflexive first thought, then realised that there were not enough hours in a day for Ottavio to do all the crap that he claimed he did, and concluded that the man just probably never slept. No wonder he had headaches.

“He’s been cooperative? Useful?” he asked Luss. Not that Ottavio looked like the type who had the balls to usurp power, and he’d helped, however reluctantly, from what Luss had said.

“Mostly,” said Luss. “The only time he acted without prior approval was the whole Estraneo thing, and even then you could argue he had the authority to do so, considering he was the acting-captain on paper. I think he would have preferred to retire, actually, but now with the kids in the Varia he might have other plans.”

“Basilio, and the other one,” said Xanxus. “Mammon’s apprentice.”

“Mirco,” Luss supplied. “And Hayato, but that one is Lempo’s. Supposedly. You’d never get Bel to admit it, but he loves having them around. Mirco is a bit of a handful, but the other two are practically angels.”

“Hn.” Companions for Bel aside, Ottavio was connected to Tyr, and had eyes in the CEDEF through Rue. Xanxus would pay his salary and tolerate his brats, if he continued to be useful and stayed in line.

After another couple of rounds of discussion with Squalo and the others by phone, Xanxus had a plan of action.

Or the basics of a plan of action.

As much as Xanxus was eager to go home to the Varia, he’d recuperate in place for now. He hated to admit it, but he was weakened after being broken out of the ice. Libitina told Xanxus he had youth on his side and would recover quickly, but if he pushed himself too hard too fast he’d probably end up with chronic issues (and what were the chances that Vongola HQ let him recover in peace?). He needed to be strong, so the Varia could be strong, and Xanxus planned to be in the game for a long, long time.

The people here with him would carry out missions in the region, so there was at least some sort of reason for their continued presence as Rue recovered (Luss had explained how they’d used Ottavio’s reaction to Rue’s nearly fatal injury to move Xanxus and necessary personnel here, and how the CEDEF didn’t seem to be buying their excuse completely).

Xanxus’s X-guns also needed to be repaired, as he didn’t particularly like the idea of returning to Sicily without a functional weapon. Getting it fixed by the weapons tuners at R&D wasn’t an option at the moment, so Luss was seeing if they could get anything done locally.

As for what they would do after they returned to Sicily … Xanxus would have to review his options and take it one step at a time.

He’d have his revenge one way or another.

In the meantime, Xanxus was allowed to roam almost anywhere he pleased, as long as he didn’t disturb anyone working, scare the children or animals, or cause property destruction. Tyr had made it very clear that violating the rules would get all the Varia (Ottavio excepted) kicked out, and they would not be welcome back.

That was acceptable to Xanxus. When he wasn’t getting poked and prodded by his medical team, he was supervising the Varia’s daily exercises (they were very glad to see him and eager to show off to their boss), or doing physiotherapy of his own to recover the muscle shrinkage he’d experienced while being frozen.

The rest of his time, he spent walking the perimeter of the estate, getting his strength back and clearing his thoughts.

Nobody here, outside Tyr’s set, Rue, or Xanxus’s Varia agents, knew or cared that Xanxus was (at least nominally) a Vongola scion, which was refreshing. They greeted him as ‘Sandro’ (his cover identity here), and treated him like they would any other teenager, with stern but friendly advice to shape up and stop giving his ‘uncle’ grief.

Xanxus was highly tempted to feed the Biscione some (fabricated) ‘family secrets’ about his ‘uncle’.

Wherever he went, if he was outdoors and the geese had been let out to graze, he would be tailed by the damned birds, which were obsessed with him, for some reason.

“Aww, you’re one of them,” Luss had teased him. “Must be all the time you spent together.”

That was when Xanxus learnt that Tyr had stashed Xanxus’s frozen form in the goose shed until he had the time to deal with him.

“It was a pretty good hiding place,” admitted Luss, though Xanxus could see he was trying to suppress a laugh. “No one would think– or dare– to look there! Don’t worry, we washed off all the straw and bird shit before Tyr thawed you out.”

Xanxus felt like he should feel insulted, but it was honestly probably better than the dark damp corner Mammon and his disciple had found Xanxus in.

(Xanxus couldn’t help the disbelief, disappointment, and grief at being hidden away like something inconvenient, something shameful, by the man he’d believed was his father.)

The geese were better company than most humans, Xanxus thought. They were noisy and shat everywhere, but they didn’t talk, they didn’t judge, and they didn’t fuss.

Sometimes, Xanxus let the birds lead instead, just to see what sorts of things geese got up to (his only real experience with animals was with the Iron Fort’s half-feral cats and the boa constrictor that Enrico had kept as a pet for a couple of years). Mostly, he observed, they liked to forage for grass and weeds, or splash around in a big trough that the Biscione kept clean and topped up for them.

One afternoon, after their customary splashing and preening, the geese waddled off towards the back of the main house, where there was something that looked like an outdoor kitchen, with a grill, wood-fired oven and washing area. They were probably looking for vegetable scraps, thought Xanxus.

There was an old woman gutting a fish at the sink behind a low wall, and as Xanxus rounded the corner with the geese, he was surprised to see Ottavio there as well. The man was seated on a step, dressed more casually than Xanxus had ever seen him, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, shelling peas. They both looked up as Xanxus and his feathered entourage approached.

“Ah!” exclaimed the woman. “Here come the little brigands!”

The geese had spotted Ottavio’s peas and were getting very excited.

“Oh dear,” said Ottavio. He quickly stood and stuffed a fistful of peas and pea pods in Xanxus’s hands. “Here, toss these somewhere a bit further away so they don’t all come into the kitchen area.” He quickly escaped with the rest of his peas back inside the house.

Xanxus did not expect to be suddenly clutching a handful of vegetables, and dropped a few of them. The geese immediately swarmed the scraps, devouring them in seconds, then started greedily eyeing Xanxus’s hands. After some jostling with the feathered beasts, Xanxus finally tossed the rest onto a grassy patch some distance away, and the geese immediately fell on the treats with great enthusiasm.

“Come in, if you want,” the old woman called to him. She’d washed her hands and was drying them on her apron. “We’re going to take a little coffee break.”

Xanxus was curious, and actually hadn’t yet set foot into the villa, so he followed the woman in.

He was hit by a blast of warm air as he stepped through the door. It was a busy kitchen– the oven appeared to be on, a pot was bubbling on the stove, and Ottavio was making coffee in a moka pot on a spare burner.

“Take a seat, the coffee will be done in a minute,” said Ottavio, nodding towards the kitchen table. It was tiny, and maybe could only seat four at best, in very cosy proximity. He pulled out a chair and sat, just as the woman set down a plate of biscotti.

“You must be Xanxus,” said the old woman, sitting down opposite him. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well! You can call me Auntie.”

The woman who had made his meals the first couple of days Xanxus was recovering. Luss said she was Tyr’s Mist, but was she also the cook or something?

“Auntie runs the cleanup service ‘Auntie’s Cleaning Company’, which you might have heard of,” Ottavio added, joining them. He put a cup of coffee in front of Auntie first, then Xanxus, before serving himself. “She’s taking some time off, though.”

“Well, I never get to spend time with Tavo anymore!” said Auntie. “So I thought I’d make the most of him being here.” Ottavio smiled at her, eyes crinkling.

Not the cook, then.

Xanxus had heard of the organisation. Vongola had its own screens and cleanup crew, but famiglie with fewer resources had to outsource. Auntie’s Cleaning Company had a near-monopoly on this type of service in Sicily, and it looked like they were going to be expanding north, if this ‘Auntie’ was here. He had no idea this group was linked to Tyr.

“Luss said you made food for me,” Xanxus said to Auntie politely. Someone didn’t get to her age in the mafia without being extremely competent or lucky, and Xanxus doubted she’d gotten this far just by relying on Tyr. “Thanks.”

Auntie beamed. “You are very welcome,” she said. “There’s nothing worse than eating completely bland food on top of feeling unwell.”

Xanxus completely agreed, even if he hadn’t particularly enjoyed the sick people food Auntie had given him, either. The biscotti in front of him were good, though, as was the coffee.

It was not as much of a chore as expected to listen to the two talk.

Ottavio wasn’t as irritating outside of work, and didn’t have that fucking annoying fake smile plastered on his face (Xanxus had begun to think it was permanently stuck there). Auntie, at least superficially, appeared to be the ‘sweet old lady’ Luss had described.

Auntie had been around long enough to accrue some interesting stories, it seemed. Xanxus was surprised to hear she’d known the Eighth, even before Tyr had started working for her.

“What a woman!” she reminisced. “She was so fierce and independent. She didn’t like too many people, but I think she would have liked you, Xanxus.”

Xanxus had never met Daniela of the Vongola – she’d passed away about a decade prior to Xanxus’s arrival. His bro— Enrico and the others had spoken of her a few times, but hadn’t seemed all that close to her. The Eighth hadn’t given up the mantle of leadership to the Ninth until the latter was well into his forties, and Federico had once called her ‘a controlling old bat’.

“I’ve heard the Eighth was very… driven,” said Xanxus neutrally.

“She worked hard, she worked everyone else hard, and could be harsh about it,” said Auntie. “But those days were tough, and a firmer hand was warranted.”

Auntie went on to describe the violence and chaos of the 1930s and 40s, something that Xanxus had learned as part of his education on the history of the Vongola, but not in so much detail, and obviously without a first person account like Auntie’s.

“Wasn’t the Ninth born during that time?” asked Xanxus, after doing some calculations in his head.

“Yes,” Auntie replied. “It was not a good time to have a child, and Daniela was very young and could honestly have waited, but people believed she felt the need to secure the line of succession.”

“What do you believe?” asked Xanxus. Strangely, he’d never heard about the Eighth’s husband. But nobody talked about the Ninth’s wife, either, and Xanxus didn’t know much about her other than the fact that she’d died when Federico was a teen, so it might just be par for the course.

Auntie just smiled. “Oh, I’m sure I can’t comment,” she said lightly. “I was just an ignorant child back then.”

Right.

Ottavio cleared his throat then, eyes on his watch. “Auntie, we should get on with dinner, or it’ll be late,” he said.

“Oh, that’s right, I promised Tyr his favourite meal!” said Auntie.

“Don’t let me keep you,” said Xanxus, getting the hint and standing up.

“You should join us for breakfast sometime!” suggested Auntie. She bundled up the remaining biscotti into a clean tea towel and stuffed the parcel into Xanxus’s hands. “Bring Lussuria!”

“It’s at seven, in the dining room of the main house,” added Ottavio, who had gone back to preparing vegetables.

Despite his hatred for early starts, Xanxus had been going to bed early, as there was fuck-all to do out here in the middle of nowhere at night, and waking up early as a consequence (his tutors would weep to see him now), so he did show up the next morning, and he did drag Luss along.

Breakfast seemed to be a buffet-style affair, with people coming to grab stuff off the sideboards to take to their posts. There was a large dining table in the centre of the room as well, which looked like it could comfortably seat twelve. Tyr was there, reading the newspaper, accompanied by his three Guardians. Libitina was there as well, chatting to Lugh. Rue back in their male guise, was present with Basilio, the both of them looking very sleepy. Shamal, deep in an argument with Ottavio, had also turned up.

Tyr eyed them over his paper and grunted a greeting, while Auntie waved them over. “Go get what you like and sit down,” she said.

Luss got them cornetti (called brioche in this region) and black coffee, with some fruit for himself. Xanxus ate and mostly remained silent, listening to the chatter around them.

Noisy.

But tolerable, with pastry. The butter seemed a bit different from what Xanxus was used to back home.

“You should see the mountains while you’re here,” said Ottavio during a brief pause in his squabble with Shamal. “I grew up in this region, and there are some fantastic views. We’re going for a walk later, if you’d like to come.”

“Don’t do it,” groaned Shamal, looking like he was reliving some horrible memory. “It’s never just a walk with them.”

“Don’t be lazy, Shamal, of course you’re coming with us,” said Ottavio. “Exercise is good for your lungs and your horrible stamina.”

“Hell no, there’s fucking snow up there still!” protested Shamal.

“There’s a glacier, of course there’s some snow and ice,” said Ottavio. “Stop being a baby.”

Xanxus had only seen the Grotto del Gelo on Mt. Etna, and not any of the alpine glaciers in northern Italy, so he tagged along, after some nagging from Luss.

Luss had to excuse himself, as he was scheduled to lead a mission, and also had an appointment with the weaponsmith he’d finally found through Auntie’s contacts. Auntie stayed home, and so did Lugh and Libitina (there was something going on there, Xanxus suspected). In the end, in addition to Xanxus, their party consisted of Ottavio, Rue, Basilio, a very reluctant Shamal, and Tyr.

They passed a dinky-looking village that was apparently Ottavio’s hometown, then drove halfway up a mountain on dirt roads before proceeding on foot. The pace was slow, to account for Basilio’s short legs and Shamal and Rue’s inexperience with hiking, and they stuck to an easier path with only a gentle incline.

Ottavio managed to lead them to a spot where they could see the glacier in all its majesty, and the cerulean blue lake in its midst starting to pool with the spring thaw.

Framed by the rugged mountains and the wide expanse of sky above, with the cold air in his lungs and whipping through his hair, Xanxus could feel the tension in his shoulders unwind, just a little.

“It’s pretty, I wish I could show the others,” said Basilio to Ottavio and Rue.

“Well, we can take a picture to show them,” said Ottavio, producing a camera.

Shamal snatched it from Ottavio immediately. “We all know your aim is shit, I’ll help Basilio with that!”

As the quartet busied themselves with the camera, Tyr came up to Xanxus.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” he asked.

Xanxus remained silent.

Tyr didn’t seem bothered by the lack of a reply. “Whatever your plans are,” he said, “Do not expect me to help you. I cannot compete with, interfere with the operations of, or cause harm to the Vongola. This is something I swore to Daniela, so I hope you’ll understand.”

“I can handle things on my own,” said Xanxus. “And you let me out,” he pointed out, “Wasn’t that interfering? Breaking your promise?”

Tyr rolled his eyes. “You’re Daniela’s grandson,” he said. “Was I supposed to let you rot in there forever?”

“I’m not–” Xanxus started. Not blood-related. Just trash from the slums, after all.

“Boy,” said Tyr. He was looking at Basilio, who was chattering excitedly at Ottavio and Rue. “It was wrong of Timoteo not to tell you the truth about your bloodline, make no mistake, but an adopted son still counts as a son. As I said to you earlier, in the eyes of literally everyone else, even were the truth to be widely known, you are still a son of the Vongola. Daniela would definitely have counted you among her grandchildren. And whipped your ass if you misbehaved.”

He turned his gaze back to Xanxus. “Or is this about the inheritance?”

Xanxus scowled. “If family doesn’t mean you have to share blood, then why the fuck is blood so important?” he demanded. “It’s completely fucking contradictory!”

“Why in heaven’s name do I have to be the one explaining this to you, is what I want to know,” grumbled Tyr, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s the Rings, boy, the Sky Ring has bits of former Vongola bosses in it or something ridiculous like that. You can’t wield it unless you are part of the bloodline. And you can’t be the Vongola boss without the Vongola Rings.”

“Why? Just tradition?” Xanxus thought it was all fucking stupid. It was just a fucking weapon!

“I don’t know, what I’ve pieced together starts to become some sort of mystical-sounding story at that point,” said Tyr. “Bloodline of kings, world peace, and whatnot. But I would not dismiss it lightly. There’s something else to it, but I never really bothered to find out. Don’t know why you’re hung up about it, seems like a mess I wouldn’t want to deal with.”

Why? Because Xanxus was proud to be Vongola. He could see the start of the Vongola’s decline that everyone else was pretending not to see, and he damned well knew he could do something about it if given the chance. He believed he could be given this chance if he worked for it, only to find it was all a lie, and he was fucking powerless!

“Try not to melt the glacier,” Tyr interrupted, tone dry as a bone. “It would cause an avalanche and be very inconvenient.”

The others had also felt Xanxus’s outburst and had all turned to stare at him. Basilio looked alarmed and startled, hiding behind a wide-eyed Rue and gaping Shamal. Ottavio, who was holding the camera, having wrested control of it from Shamal, had an eyebrow raised in mild concern.

Fucking humiliating. Xanxus took a deep breath and tried to centre himself.

“Well,” said Ottavio, breaking the awkward silence. “I must admit I am also feeling a bit peckish and cranky. Shall we go for lunch?”

As they trundled back to the minivan, Basilio carefully shuffled over, tapped Xanxus’s hand, and gave him another piece of candy.

Chapter Text

Teo ‘Tyr’ Thomassen, 22, Vongola enforcer

Teo nervously eyed their fuel gauge. They’d just finished chasing their target all over northern Italy, trying to get to him before he crossed the border into Switzerland. Well, he was now dead, but their car now looked like it might be headed the same way. Going up and down winding mountain roads, this sports car they’d jacked had been guzzling petrol like it was going out of style. According to the map, they should be back in civilization by now, but all Teo had seen were decaying, barely populated villages, and the odd, lonely shack perched precariously on an outcropping, the last bastions of humanity against the fierce majesty of the mountains.

“I think we’re lost,” commented Max, who was too practical to ever wax poetic about anything.

“I told you we should’ve stopped to ask for directions!” said Cecilia from the back seat. Teo didn’t have to look to know she was probably rolling her eyes.

“Like there’s anyone to ask directions from,” grumbled Max. “There’s nothing here!”

“I think I see a town or something in the valley below,” said Teo, spotting the gleam of roofs in the distance. “Maybe they have a petrol station.” Now if only they’d be able to figure out how to get there before their fuel ran out.

They did not, in fact, get there before their fuel ran out.

Teo had turned off onto a road that looked like it was going down into the valley (and indeed bore a sign stating something like ‘X Valley 15 km’), but after a while went up instead, and eventually just turned from asphalt to a poorly-maintained, gravel road.

With their car sputtering and running on fumes by this point, Teo decided they needed to not be on an incline, at the very least, so he swung the vehicle off the road into the nearest levelled patch of ground (probably somebody’s yard, by the looks of it, from the house sitting behind some nearby trees), startling a flock of chickens into clumsy flight. He’d just managed to get the car somewhere where it wouldn’t roll down the slope, right before the engine died completely.

A blond-haired, hazel-eyed child, somewhere around seven to ten years old, came running from what looked like the back garden of the house. His nose scrunched up in dismay as he spotted them getting out of the car, but he squared his shoulders and started off on a long tirade.

Teo was sure they deserved whatever names he was calling them, but there was a bit of a problem, which was that they could maybe understand five words out of ten of what the boy was saying, due to none of them being fluent in Lombard (Teo would fix this, if he ever intended to come up here again), or specifically, the particular dialect of it that was used here.

“Er, sorry?” said Max, echoing his thoughts.

The boy blinked, then said again, slowly, in deeply accented ‘standard’ Italian, “This is private property. Please move your vehicle.”

Teo had to hold back a smile at that serious, official-sounding tone coming from such a young child.

…There was also…something… about him that piqued his interest a little, but Teo decided he needed to focus on their current problem.

“Our apologies,” he said to the child, “but we got lost and ran out of fuel and didn’t want to block the road. Do you have petrol or something we can buy off you?” He doubted it, but perhaps they had a generator or some kind of farm implement that used petrol.

As expected, the boy shook his head. “You can try Mr. Fabbri’s house, he has a motorcycle,” he said. “It’s the blue house there.” He led them to the edge of the slope, and pointed to a house quite some distance downhill.

“Ugh, that’s so far!” Max grumbled, disgusted, but volunteered to go anyway.

That left Teo and Cecilia with their reluctant host, who sighed, then proceeded to ignore them in favour of corralling the chickens into a fenced area — clearly, he didn’t trust them around his precious poultry.

The boy looked borderline underfed, and wore ill-fitting clothes and shoes. His coat looked like it was meant for an adult, with the hem coming down almost to his calves and the sleeves rolled up multiple times to his elbows. He was also squinting, like he couldn’t see very well.

Cecilia elbowed Teo.

Do you see that, her eyes seemed to say.

Teo nodded. A shame, but it wasn’t really any of their business.

They watched the boy run around busily, until a shrill voice from the house called him inside.

“So there is an adult around,” said Cecilia, sounding offended. “But they’re letting the boy deal with everything? We could be kidnappers!”

“Maybe they’re indisposed,” suggested Teo, leaning against the car and settling in to wait.

Luckily, it was cool up here in the mountains, despite being in the middle of summer, so it wasn’t a terrible wait. As always, Cecilia couldn’t sit still, though, so she snuck round the back to snoop around, muffling her movements with Rain Flames.

“Well?” asked Teo, when Cecilia returned after a short while – the house must not be very large.

“Kid lives with his grandmother or something,” said Cecilia. “Just the two of them. Old lady seems to sell eggs and pickles for a living, from what I could see.”

“No wonder the kid was so upset about us scaring the chickens,” said Teo with a laugh. “His pocket money probably depends on them.”

“The kid’s doing most of the work, though,” said Cecilia. “I don’t like it.”

Teo shook his head. “Not our business, Cecilia.”

Cecilia sniffed and turned away.

Max returned soon after, covered in sweat from the exertion of climbing down and up a hill. Sadly, he did not have good news.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I did get directions to the nearest petrol station, but it’s ten kilometres out. Dammit, do we have to push the car all the way?! On these roads?”

“Can we pay that Mr. Fabbri to go fetch a jerry can of fuel back for us?” suggested Cecilia.

“I suppose we can try,” groaned Max. “I bet he’ll either refuse or charge us an arm and a leg. He wasn’t very friendly.”

As his Guardians discussed the situation, Teo was, however, distracted.

The blond boy had emerged again, and seemed to have overheard their conversation. Believing they were busy with their discussion, he snuck up to the car, pretending to admire it. The clever little thing circled round to the fuel door, looking around to make sure no one noticed (Teo was pretending to keep his full attention on the others, but keeping watch out of the corner of his eye). He then slid a thin card into the edge, wiggling it to open the latch. With the fuel door open, the boy carefully unscrewed the fuel cap and laid a hand over it.

Teo’s eyes widened.

They were clumsy, but those were Cloud Flames he was sensing, evident by the brief violet glow in the boy’s eyes and the tangible Flame under his fingers.

The tiny little Cloud (so much raw power, out here, in the middle of nowhere, what a find!) then quickly screwed the cap back on and closed the door before quickly stepping away and resuming his ‘admiration’ of the vehicle.

“Teo?” Cecilia poked his arm, and Teo realised his Guardians had noticed his inattention, and that something had happened, even if they couldn’t quite tell what.

“Ah, yes, I don’t know,” said Teo vaguely, while making the sign for ‘person of interest’ close to his chest (where the boy couldn’t see, not that he seemed to be able to see much of anything), and slightly tilted his head towards the boy.

Max and Cecilia frowned at him, stealing glances at the completely ordinary-looking child. They might be sceptical now, but Teo knew they’d trust his judgement.

“Maybe you should check the fuel gauge again, mister,” the boy suggested casually, after completing his circuit around the car. He wasn’t doing a very good job at playing an innocent child, in Teo’s opinion. “People from the city complain about it sometimes – the tank looks empty, but isn’t really, when you’re going uphill.”

“Oh, really!” said Teo cheerily. “I didn’t know that! I suppose it couldn’t hurt!”

Despite Max and Cecilia staring at him like he’d grown an extra head, Teo got in the car and started the engine. Lo and behold! They now had about an eighth of a tank full. Teo supposed the boy thought it would be too much to fill their tank completely, though Teo would certainly have appreciated it. It should be enough to get them to the petrol station, at least.

“It looks like you were right,” Teo told the boy, who looked relieved at the thought of them leaving soon. He then turned to Cecilia. “Cecilia, knock him out, we’re taking him with us.”

Some judicious application of Rain Flames, a kidnapping, and a speedy refuel later, Teo drove everyone to the safehouse just outside of Milan, where they were supposed to arrive, oh, hours ago, before their detour.

“Did you really have to kidnap him like that?” asked Cecilia, for what was probably the fifth time. Teo had informed them of the boy’s talents during the drive, and had been scolded for his impulsivity, of course.

“I thought you were upset about him being used as child labour by his own grandmother,” Teo joked. He carefully carried the boy, still tranquillised by Rain Flames, into the house, and gently deposited him on the sofa.

“Yes, but…” Cecilia frowned.

“Maybe I didn’t think this through enough,” Teo admitted, “but we can’t just leave this sort of talent there! And…you know, I think he’ll be a good fit.”

It had just been a strange urge back there, that Teo couldn’t quite identify, but now he had the time to think about it, Teo was certain that he had to have this interesting boy as his Cloud, and no other would do.

“Teo?!” Max and Cecilia both gaped at him.

“What?” said Teo. “I’m sure you both saw this coming. I’m pretty sure I was like this with the both of you.” He thought about it for a moment. “Right?”

“Well, you acted like a weird stalker for weeks,” said Cecilia, making a face. “I was convinced you were going to murder me in a back alley!”

“I thought you were recruiting me for a cult,” added Max dryly.

“See!” said Cecilia. “You have to control yourself, Teo. Look what you’ve done now, you’ve gone and kidnapped a child!”

“And he’s so… small,” said Max. “Will he even understand any of this?”

“It seems like exploitation, somehow,” agreed Cecilia. “And shouldn’t we get Auntie’s opinion?”

“It’ll be fine,” said Teo.

It was not fine, because the little Cloud was very upset upon waking up, demanded to be returned to his home, and immediately accused them of being human traffickers.

“We might be criminals, but we’re not that kind of scum!” Teo reassured him (the boy did not look reassured). “We don’t do drug trafficking, human trafficking, weapons trafficking – that’s just not right.”

Just murder, larceny, extortion, that sort of thing.

It took a while, but they managed to calm him down enough so they could at least introduce themselves and start to explain things.

“You have a special ability,” said Teo, gathering his own Flame in the palm of his flesh hand. The boy, whose name was Ottavio, unconsciously leaned closer to get a better look, eyes wide with surprise and recognition. “I saw what you did, with the car. But yours are a different type. You multiplied the amount of fuel left in the tank, didn’t you?”

What followed was an explanation of Flames, their workings, and why everyone with that power had to follow mafia rules.

“Try again,” said Ottavio, clearly sceptical. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

No, actually, Teo thought, Ottavio sounded like an adult. He had never met a child Ottavio's age who had his level of composure and maturity. Teo had a feeling Ottavio was more than capable of understanding all of this new information, despite his young age. That was why he was trying to be careful, not to talk down to him like he was a baby, and it seemed that his Guardians were also picking up on Tyr’s attitude towards the boy.

“Unfortunately, it is what it is,” said Max. “You can use Flames yourself, but you don’t believe in them?”

“I think it’s the consequences for breaking Omerta and the mafia thing he doesn’t get,” suggested Cecilia.

“No, I understand that, I don’t understand why you couldn’t have explained things, without kidnapping me!” exclaimed Ottavio. “I’m very busy! I have work to do!”

Max rolled his eyes. “Sure, how old are you, six?”

“Eight!” said the boy. “I think. Probably. Around there. If I promise not to tell anyone about my abilities and to not use them in the presence of other people, will you return me home now? I’ve never even told Granny!”

“About that,” said Teo, solicitously. “You are something of a commodity.”

They explained to Ottavio that mafia families were always looking to gather people with Flame abilities, and competing for talent could get ugly very quickly.

“I could… I could just go into the mountains, or something,” said Ottavio. “No one would find me.”

“We found you,” said Max. “Sooner or later, you’d slip, or maybe your grandmother would notice and say something, and there would be all sorts after you.”

“Better us than what, those Milanese dons!” added Cecilia, scoffing. Before she’d wandered south and met Teo, they’d tried to recruit her. Ha! The chaos she’d left in her wake. “They’d waste no time turning you into a soldier for one of their endless turf wars!”

“Isn't that what your clam spaghetti mafia boss wants from me?” said Ottavio. “It doesn’t seem any different.”

“Oh no, the Eighth doesn’t command my Guardians, and I wouldn’t make you do anything you wouldn’t want to do,” said Teo, while trying not to laugh. Clam spaghetti!

“...Excuse me, what is a Guardian?” interjected Ottavio.

There was a brief diversion back to the ‘weather superpower’ discussion, and to Skies in particular. Max and Cecilia explained that they were Teo’s Guardians, and Teo added the fact that Auntie was a noncombatant, and not part of the Vongola at all.

“And so you want me to join your particular,” Ottavio paused, casting around for the right term.

“Set,” supplied Teo. “It’s called a set, and the individual components are called elements, like in mathematics.”

“Set,” said Ottavio, sounding doubtful. “To do…what? Why me?”

“Sky-Guardian relationships are different for each set,” said Teo. “For Sky Bosses, their Guardians are often bodyguards, and expected to die for their Sky if need be. I think that’s where the term came from.”

“Not like we wouldn’t die for Teo,” said Max. “But if he needed us to do that we’d have bigger problems.”

“He’s the Sword Emperor!” explained Cecilia with a laugh. “He’s supposed to be the biggest and baddest out of all of us.”

“I see,” said Ottavio politely, though Teo rather thought he didn’t see, and probably thought the title sounded really tacky.

“For me, I don’t particularly care about how powerful my Guardians are or what they can do,” said Teo, slightly anxious to make a good impression. “I want loyalty and companionship from my Guardians. I lost my family when I was young, so my Guardians are my family now.”

“None of us really have any real family left,” said Cecilia, smiling at Teo in that way that always made his insides feel warm and fuzzy. “So it’s nice to have each other. I like it!”

“I’ve met other Clouds, but it didn't feel right,” Teo continued, making eye contact with Ottavio. “It’s hard to put into words, but I just think you’d mesh well with the rest of us. That’s why I would like you to be my Guardian.”

Ottavio thought for a bit, then sighed.

“I don’t know why, but I feel…an affinity? With you,” he said to Teo. “Are you doing this to me with your…Flames, was it?”

“It just means we are compatible,” said Teo. “I swear I’m not doing anything on purpose! But I really do think we would be suited. I hope you can give us a chance.”

“It sounds so… inappropriate, somehow, when you put it that way,” Ottavio muttered. He shook his head and squinted at Teo. “I don’t feel like I have much choice.”

“You always have a choice,” said Teo. “I promise to always give you a choice, if possible.”

They decided to stay put for the moment, delaying their return to Sicily until Ottavio had made a decision.

Teo wasn’t sure Ottavio had been able to think with any degree of clarity, though, as he was obviously fretting about his grandmother, and all the chores he had left unfinished back home.

“I can’t just leave Granny alone,” said Ottavio the next morning, clearly not having slept at all. “She has a bad back, and some days she can’t get out of bed. I think you’d better find someone else.”

“The burden of care shouldn’t be on you!” Max exclaimed. “You’re just a kid!”

“I–” Ottavio seemed like he was about to say something else, but hesitated a moment before continuing. “There’s no one else. At least, I’ve not seen anyone else.” He heaved a great sigh, sounding like one of those middle-aged men bemoaning ‘the economy’. “It is what it is.”

“Are both of your parents gone?” asked Cecilia gently.

Not like any of them had parents anyway!

“I don’t know who my father is,” said the boy matter-of-factly. “Granny is my maternal grandmother. My mother apparently left me with her, and vanished. She promised to send money, but hasn’t, according to Granny, so I don’t know if she’s still around. Granny’s other children all died a long time ago, and our other relatives all moved away to find work.”

A sad story, but variations on this were all too common throughout the mafia.

“Well, Flames aside, you can’t continue as you are,” Teo pointed out reasonably. “You’re barely surviving as it is – were you planning on just toughing it out until you were old enough to work in the city? You don’t look like you’re going to school – with no education, you’d just be doing menial labour, or end up joining a gang anyway.”

Ottavio’s silence was telling.

“At your age, you’d most likely be a foster, if you joined the Vongola like I did,” said Teo. “You’d be educated, trained. When you are able to work – when depends on your type of talent – you’ll have a salary. You have the option of borrowing for immediate needs, if that suits you, that’s quite common. As for your grandmother… you can hire a caretaker, if that’s what you want, or take her south with us. If you don’t want to join the Vongola, that’s fine, too – Auntie is starting her own business, and she could use the help.”

“I’m going to need to see some numbers,” said the tiny Cloud, very seriously. “What’s the cost of living like in Sicily? And how does the Guardian thing play into this, financially? I need a piece of paper and a pen, please …”

It took a long time, a great deal of negotiation, and the combined efforts of himself, Max and Cecilia, but finally, at long last, Teo had earned himself a Cloud.

Teo’s head was pounding by the end of it, and Cecilia swore she’d never help him net a Guardian ever again.

“Where’d you even learn any of that?” Max asked Ottavio wearily.

“...the radio,” said Ottavio, unconvincingly.

EXTRA:

Teo, of course, had to show off his shiny new Cloud to Daniela, who was deeply unimpressed.

“Of all the strange habits you could have inherited from Tijs,” she clucked her tongue at him. “Robbing the cradle!” She beckoned to Ottavio. “Child, what has this rascal been telling you? Do you understand what it is he does?”

Ottavio stayed exactly where he was, pushing up his new glasses before folding his arms behind his back. He stood straight, with his shoulders purposefully relaxed (no one had taught him that!) but Teo could see that the boy had withdrawn into himself again, wielding that polite smile like a shield.

“I am told we are all criminals, madam,” he said seriously, speaking very slowly due to his unfamiliarity with Sicilian (he’d picked it up fairly quickly, all things considered). Teo could hear Cecilia stifling a laugh behind him. He was too cute! “I am working on understanding the details.”

“Well, good luck,” said Daniela, amused. To Teo, she added, “and perhaps ask if Nephele can spare some time for him. He needs Cloud training, yes?”

Daniela was less amused when it turned out that Ottavio could outpower her own Cloud without breaking a sweat.

Teo was just so proud.

Chapter Text

Asano Chiyo, 12, student, formerly Anita Choudhary, 19, student

Anita spent an uneasy couple of weeks after Possible-Vongola-Agent Ikemiya’s visit, wondering if anything would happen. Somehow things didn’t feel quite right, though Anita couldn’t put a finger on it.

Still, nothing happened, for a long time, at least.

The monotone of daily life trundled on: getting Tsuna ready for school in the morning, helping with chores in the afternoon, then either helping Nana with cooking dinner or walking Tsuna home from school. On weekends the routine was broken up with a little family excursion (nothing too exciting as Chiyo was ‘still healing’) to the mall or park, or sometimes they’d stay home and Chiyo would play with Tsuna or help with his homework to give Nana a moment or two to herself.

It was just so… boring. Anita missed the chaos of her noisy family back home, and even her messy college dormmates with their endless relationship drama.

(But thinking about them too much was…too much. Anita couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear the thought that they were gone forever, so she tried not to do it too often.)

“Maybe I should go back to school?” Anita pondered aloud one day. She’d gotten her books and things from her boarding school, finally, and had been looking through the material. It was pretty easy stuff, for math and science at least, which was expected for middle school. Anita would have to work a little on Japanese language, literature and history (gosh, she had so little clue). Even with the addition of self-study to her daily calendar, however, Anita still felt like she was at loose ends.

“Ah, Chiyo-chan must be so bored at home,” commiserated Nana, leaning her cheek into her hand in consternation. “You seem a lot better, but I couldn’t let you go back to Tokyo on your own, especially when your memory hasn’t come back! I would be so worried!”

Anita didn’t want to go back to Chiyo’s boarding school, either, when the only two people she knew in this universe were here.

“Hmm, maybe you can transfer to one of the middle schools here,” suggested Nana, after thinking for a while. “Nee-chan’s supposed to call this weekend, so let’s ask her! We should ask your parents what they think about Nao-san’s suggestions for doctors, too.”

Ah. Anita had forgotten about that.

What if Ikemiya really recommended a Vongola doctor, and they could… detect that she had Sky Flames, or something? Anita didn’t think they would harm her, exactly, but maybe they’d take her somewhere else for training, or…

… or whatever else they did with female Skies?

Anita wasn’t sure it was going to be 100% like the fics where Skies were venerated and adored. Maybe she’d become a pawn to be married off to someone eventually, like what people postulated in female!Tsuna fics …but… being Nana’s niece, that had to count for something, right?

Even though she knew it was stupid to worry, and that she couldn’t control anything, Anita ended up working herself up into so much anxiety she couldn’t sleep, and even Nana and baby Tsuna noticed.

“I’m just worried I’ll never remember anything, even with the doctors,” Anita said as an excuse, after Nana concernedly asked her about it.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” said Nana, distressed (Anita felt so bad for lying). “Ah, my poor Chiyo-chan!”

Tsuna even gave her a hug (Anita almost cried, he was too cute).

The burden of guilt weighed even more heavily on her when Chiyo’s parents called, and Anita had to admit to the couple that she still couldn’t recall a thing about them. They were such nice people, and didn’t deserve this! Anita hoped that wherever the real Chiyo was right now, she was at peace. She’d … try her best to be a good daughter, in her place.

(Except, all this was reminding Anita of her own family and friends who she’d left behind and before she could get a hold of herself she was spiralling, and then she really did cry… Anita thought she was over this!)

Chiyo’s parents were super nice and consoled her (which just made Anita cry more, embarrassingly– she was blaming Chiyo’s twelve-year old body for this), but eventually Nana had to take over talking to them.

Chiyo’s parents agreed to Nana’s suggestion to switch doctors, but decided it was too early for Chiyo to go back to school, unless Chiyo really wanted to. The couple would be back in Japan sometime in June, after the Antarctic research season was over, and they could decide again then.

Nana went to look for the card Ikemiya had left with them and made the necessary calls. Then one morning after Tsuna had gone to school, Nana and Anita went together to the address the clinic’s receptionist had provided.

The clinic looked like any ordinary clinic, except Anita could smell the fresh coat of paint, and all the furnishings and posters looked suspiciously new. It was dead quiet, with no other patients Anita could see. She’d bet good money that this ‘clinic’ had popped up only after Nana had asked.

The receptionist, who introduced herself as Sato, seemed nervous and overly eager to please, for whatever reason, and it was making Anita nervous, too.

Nana, of course, didn’t notice a thing.

“Asano Chiyo-san?” said the receptionist. “I see your appointment on our calendar. Dr. Fujita will see you in Examination Room 1.”

Anita had half-expected Dr. Shamal or something, and was just relieved it wasn’t him. She was even more relieved when Dr. Fujita turned out to be a calm-looking older woman, maybe in her late 60s to early 70s (it was hard to tell, as older Japanese people just seemed…very well preserved).

Dr. Fujita just asked some pretty standard questions and checked her reflexes, then put her through a scan using what looked like really expensive equipment that should belong in a major regional hospital and not a tiny clinic in downtown Namimori.

“The good news is, there is no detectable brain damage, but the bad news is that Asano-san’s memories may or may not come back on their own,” Dr. Fujita told them afterwards, which was in line with what the doctors at the hospital had said. “Only time will tell.” Nana was disappointed, but soon cheered herself up with the knowledge that there was still a possibility Chiyo would recover.

Dr. Fujita didn’t prescribe any medication other than some supplements for Chiyo’s mild anaemia (possibly what caused her accident in the first place), and taught Anita some pretty useful-sounding mental exercises to enhance memory. Dr. Fujita also said they could do her physiotherapy sessions here instead of the hospital, if they wanted (which sounded … too convenient for Anita, especially since it was closer to the Sawadas’ home and they got a discount thanks to Ikemiya’s recommendation).

When Nana left to make payment and schedule Anita’s follow-up appointments, Dr. Fujita turned to Anita.

“There are some other peculiarities about you,” she said, sounding very composed, like this was all very routine. “But it’s nothing to worry about. It’s a natural phenomenon that happens to a subset of the population.”

…Was it her Flames? Did they find out somehow during the scan, as Anita suspected they might? She was talking about Flames, right?

“I… don’t know what you mean,” said Anita, uneasily.

“Don’t worry about it if you’re not aware; as I said, it’s natural,” said Dr. Fujita. She seemed completely unconcerned and was writing some notes in what Anita assumed was Chiyo’s chart. “If you are… well, we can discuss it at your next appointment, if you like.”

That was so unhelpful!

Anita fell silent, unsure how to respond. Should she just… come clean? How would a twelve year old with no knowledge of Flames or the mafia react?

Dr. Fujita didn’t seem to care, and carried on with whatever she was doing while Anita was busy panicking.

“Hm?” Nana walked in again after a while, looking slightly perplexed at the changed atmosphere.

Dr. Fujita just smiled serenely. “Everything in order, Sawada-san? As I said earlier, try not to put pressure on Asano-san to remember things, and avoid stress. I’ll see you at the follow-up.”

Anita didn’t know how she could avoid stress after that.

To make matters worse, Tsuna seemed to have run into some sort of issue at school, and Anita had noticed several times that he looked like he was trying to decide if he should say something, but always stopped himself.

“What’s wrong?” asked Anita eventually, when Tsuna was being extra wriggly and unsettled. She was brushing Tsuna’s hair in the living room, getting him ready for school, while Nana was in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast. “You know you can ask nee-chan anything!”

Addressing herself as ‘nee-chan’ still felt a bit embarrassing, somehow, but Anita would do it! For Tsuna!

“Really?” Tsuna looked up at her.

“Yeah!” said Anita, trying to look encouraging.

“Then, nee-chan, will you come get me from school today?” asked Tsuna shyly.

“Oh of course!” said Anita (who could refuse that face?). She wondered if he was having problems with bullies. She’d– not punch them in the face, but maybe she’d try to gently talk sense into them or rat them out to a teacher. “Did...did something happen?”

“It’s like the weird nee-chan from last time,” said Tsuna, wrinkling his nose. “But there are more of them? They keep trying to talk to me and I don’t like it. Shinji-kun doesn’t want to walk home with me any more because of them. Our teacher says we mustn't walk home alone because of these strangers. But no one will walk with me if Shinji-kun doesn’t!”

Shinji was Tsuna’s classmate and sort-of friend. He lived in the same neighbourhood, and every now and again Tsuna would go over to his house to play. Kids being kids, though, they had disagreements pretty often, but then made up again soon enough.

Tsuna wasn’t really very helpful with details when Anita pressed, but Anita still didn’t like the sound of multiple people like that ‘weird nee-chan’. Tsuna had told her about an older girl who used to go up to him and say strange things. That girl eventually went away, but it seemed like the problem had cropped up again. Was it mafia related, like a kidnapping thing, maybe?

Anita couldn’t let that happen, and resolved to check out the situation herself.

When Anita arrived later that afternoon, there were a bunch of men in suits standing around outside the gates of Tsuna’s school, which was a bit ominous. They looked to be on alert for something, alternately checking the people coming to get their children and encouraging the children leaving on their own to go in groups.

Anita very cautiously approached, which caused the men to eye her with some suspicion, but they then seemed to decide she wasn’t a threat and let her pass. She spotted Tsuna standing just inside the school gates, fiddling anxiously with his hands. He brightened the moment he spotted Anita, and waved.

“Hey, Tsuna,” greeted Anita. “Did you wait long?”

Tsuna shook his head and grinned. “It was my turn to clean the blackboard today. I only just got done. I got it extra clean!”

“Good job!” praised Anita as they headed out. Tsuna beamed at her.

One of the suited men approached as they walked towards the main road. Anita instinctively pushed Tsuna slightly behind her.

“You’re the girl staying with the Sawadas?” said the man. “There have been a handful of strange people approaching children recently, so be careful. Don’t let your cousin wander off on his own for now, and don’t tell people where you live if they talk to you.”

“Um, thanks for the warning,” said Anita cautiously, wondering how the man knew who she was and how she was related to Tsuna. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m just … a concerned citizen,” said the man vaguely. “Got to make sure our kids stay safe, you know?”

“Right.” Anita was still suspicious (concerned citizen her foot!), but she didn’t sense any ill-will from him. Maybe the suits were Hibari or something, if there was something like the discipline committee in place at this point in time. “We’ll…just be going…”

Anita did turn back when they’d walked partway down the street, just in time to see the suits escort a dark-haired boy into a waiting car.

“That’s Hibari-senpai,” said Tsuna. “I didn’t know he was rich!”

Picked up by a car equalled rich, in Tsuna’s eyes, huh. Well, he probably wasn’t wrong, in this context.

More importantly, Hibari! Anita hadn’t managed to get a good look at the boy, but it made sense that the men in suits were there for him, if there was some kind of threat. Even if he could probably beat any offenders up on his own, he was still … eight? Nine?

“Do you know this Hibari-kun well?” she asked Tsuna out of curiosity.

Tsuna shook his head furiously. “No!” he said, sounding a little intimidated. “But everybody knows Hibari-senpai. He’s scary! Even the teachers are afraid of him!”

Well. That checked out.

The fuss about the possible kidnappers/perverts died down soon enough, but Anita was paranoid, and would come get Tsuna any time she could. Tsuna seemed fine with it, though sometimes he looked embarrassed and impatient when he wanted to go play at Shinji’s house and Anita insisted on walking them. Shinji made fun of Tsuna at first, but Anita sweetened the deal with an occasional pitstop to get a snack, and Shinji now thought Anita was “cool, even for a girl”.

Kids. Luckily Anita was used to them.

One afternoon, Anita took the boys to get ice cream, as a treat for Tsuna finally passing his English spelling quiz. They sat down on a bench at a nearby park, Anita enjoying her strawberry soft-serve while watching Tsuna argue with Shinji over the superiority of chocolate vs. vanilla.

She was about halfway through the sweet treat when a very pretty, foreign-looking girl in a school uniform came up to her.

“Um, sorry,” said the girl in perfect Japanese. “That soft serve looks really good, could I ask where you got that?”

“Oh, just over there?” Anita pointed in the direction of the shop, mildly dazed by the stranger’s beauty (she’d always been a bit useless around pretty girls).

“Thanks,” said the girl, and headed there.

She returned shortly with her own cone, also strawberry.

“Thanks again,” said the foreign girl. “I only just moved here not long ago, so I don’t know where the best stuff is, yet.”

“Oh, welcome to Namimori!” said Anita. She was a bit suspicious, but she really shouldn’t be discriminatory, right? Surely not all foreigners were mafia! (Then again, this was Namimori. And the antagonists often wore school uniforms…)

“I’m Amalia Di Bello,” said the girl. “Just call me Amalia. I go to Yumei Private. Are those your siblings?”

Amalia. It was a pretty name, but that family name…sounded Italian to Anita. Coincidence?

…And, was Anita imagining things, or was Amalia staring at Tsuna in particular?

“...Nice to meet you,” said Anita. If she was wrong, she was being so rude by not introducing herself and Amalia was going to think Japanese people here hated foreigners or something and Anita would miss out on making a friend and Amalia was so pretty… but … Tsuna came first. “Um, no. Sorry, but we have to get going. Boys, let’s go!”

“Eh, I want to catch grasshoppers!” protested Shinji. “I saw a really big one!”

Tsuna looked torn between the fear he had of the stranger and the temptation of catching bugs. He looked at Anita, seemingly picking up on her unease, then reluctantly tugged at Shinji’s sleeve. “You were going to show me your new toy!”

Thankfully, Shinji was successfully distracted, and Anita was able to herd the boys home. She tried to take a few detours, pretending they were playing a ‘game’, but eventually lost against the short attention span and limited patience of two energetic boys. It didn’t seem like they were being followed, at least (though Anita probably couldn’t really tell if a professional was doing it), so she deposited Tsuna at Shinji’s house with a huge sigh of relief.

How had Tsuna even survived canon if stuff like this happened all the time?!

Anita hadn’t seen any sign of Vongola guards around the house, but hopefully Ikemiya’s presence meant they were there. Somewhere.

Anita avoided the park for a while, and didn’t see Amalia for a long time.

She’d almost started to feel guilty, thinking she’d snubbed an innocent person.

Then one day, while she was out grocery shopping with Tsuna and Nana, she returned from retrieving an item from a different section of the store only to see Amalia chatting to Nana in the dairy aisle. Tsuna was staring at Amalia with huge eyes, clutching at Nana’s shirt.

All the panic came rushing back, and all Anita could think about was how to get Nana and Tsuna away.

“Ah, Chiyo-chan!” said Nana. “This is Amalia-chan! She was just telling me about Italian cheese!”

“Oh, we’ve met,” said Amalia. “So you’re called Chiyo-chan!”

“Oh, that’s so nice that you know each other!” said Nana, clapping her hands. “Let me go pay for all of this, when why don’t we –”

“Um, auntie, we have to go,” interjected Anita, who had the sinking feeling that Nana had been about to invite Amalia home. “I think I left the oven on.”

“Yeah!” agreed Tsuna, who clearly also wanted out.

“Call me Nana, dear, I’ve told you!” said Nana, smiling and looking a little puzzled. “Oh, then, maybe another time?”

“We have to go now,” insisted Anita. “What if the house burns down!”

“The groceries!” protested Nana, but Tsuna was doing a great job at pulling her towards the exit.

Unfortunately, Amalia followed. “Wait!” she said, when they’d finally squeezed past the weekend shopping crowd and made it outside. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding!”

Oh no, thought Anita, how was she going to avoid leading Amalia home with Nana and Tsuna in tow?!

“Signorina Bellini,” interrupted the voice of their salvation.

Ikemiya stepped out of nowhere, putting himself between Amalia and the rest of them.

“Oh, Nao-san!” said Nana.

“It’s you!” exclaimed Amalia at the same time. Was Anita imagining things, or did she look excited?! What on earth was going on?

Ikemiya inclined his head politely to them. “Nana-san, please excuse me, and go on ahead with the children,” he said. He turned back to Amalia, and suddenly Anita could feel the cold fury saturating the air around them. “I have unfinished business with this young lady.”

Chapter Text

Amaranth, 17, of the Bellini Famiglia, formerly Katie Lee, 16, student

Katie’s current life was kind of like those video games where you had to balance school and social life with dungeon crawling and saving the world.

Well minus the saving the world part, at the moment. She really was very busy catching up to the alien Japanese school curriculum, keeping her spot as the school’s new idol and otherwise continuing to settle into her new environment.

But Katie also had a (self-assigned) mission … Which wasn’t going too well at the moment.

She was still trying to figure out where Tsuna and the others were. Katie didn’t like kids at all, so she wouldn’t try and make friends or whatever until they were older, but she still wanted to keep an eye on them.

Katie had found Takesushi early on, sure, and gone back a couple of times, but never saw Yamamoto Takeshi. Or his mom, for that matter! The older Yamamoto (Katie still didn’t remember his name) was either super careful and protective, or Katie just had bad luck.

At least the sushi was good.

She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Tsuna yet, or even Hibari. Ryohei she didn’t care too much about, but she hadn’t seen him, or Kyoko either. And Nagi wasn’t in this city to begin with, right?

It was frustrating. And because she was putting in so much time and effort into searching, she wasn’t hanging out with her new classmates as much, and was developing a reputation for being ‘stuck-up’, now that the novelty of her presence had worn off.

Not like these civilians really understood anything anyway. It made Katie feel so lonely sometimes, and she missed Italy. Especially Don Bellini and the Bellini estate.

Don Bellini had been strangely difficult to get hold of recently. At first, he’d called two or three times a week, then once a week, then once or twice a month, and now Katie hadn’t talked to him for the longest time. Don Bellini hadn’t even called for Amaranth’s birthday (which Katie had set on the same date as her own real life one so it was doubly important)! He’d sent a present, but still, it wasn’t the same!

All Sante and Marina would say was that Don Bellini was very busy, and had a few big business deals he was trying to close. He wasn’t home much, and anyway the Bellini were moving headquarters, which was why no one picked up the phone.

Katie wondered, a little worriedly, if those assassins were still bothering him.

She should really go back and take a look, maybe during the summer holidays. That should be enough time for the fuss to die down, right?

But when Katie floated the idea to Sante and Marina, they just looked uneasy and suggested it wasn’t a good time.

Something just wasn’t right about the whole thing, but no one would tell her anything and it sucked.

Katie didn’t want to keep pressing her caretakers, though, as they seemed to be going through their own problems.

Their little group were newcomers to the local underground, so there was a bit of harassment (by the...Momo-something yakuza group, or whatever). Katie didn’t understand how the local thugs even knew they were mafia in the first place. Weren’t they supposed to be playing civilian?

They had to pay protection money to the Hibari to keep the peace, which was something Sante said they’d expected, as it was Hibari territory. It was fine, they had money, or so Katie thought, but then she realised Sante and Jacopo were taking jobs on the side.

“It’s for our reputation, miss,” Jacopo reassured her. “And I don’t want to get rusty, either!”

Katie wasn’t sure she believed that.

Then Sante inevitably found out that there was also a low-key, but substantial Vongola presence in town, and almost flipped out.

“It’s bad enough there are Vongola in a small place like this,” said Sante to Katie. “Hopefully the Hibari can keep them in check, but princess, please, keep your head down!”

“I am!” said Katie, not quite able to look Sante in the eye. “They’re not going to bother with us anyway.”

“Even though the Vongola said Federico died of an illness, a significant number of them believe you were involved,” reminded Sante. “If there are any of his old supporters here, there might be trouble.”

“It’s fine!” said Katie, even though she knew Nashi was here. He was nice and wouldn’t harm Katie, or he’d have done so already. He wasn’t like Federico’s other Guardians.

Sante gave her a pleading look. “Princess, I swore to Boss Bosco I’d take care of you. If anything happened to you…”

“I know, I know,” Katie hurriedly reassured him. “I’ll be careful.”

Katie did try, but any sense of caution went out the window when Katie kept running into Nashi, and realised with excitement and joy that he was going to be in Namimori for the foreseeable future. After their first encounter near the train station, Katie had seen him again from a distance, near the downtown area. Then again near the old shopping street. Then at a residential area on the edge of town.

Like, this was fate, right?

Nashi really wasn’t Katie’s type, per se – he was sorta androgynous in appearance, and Katie preferred the manlier or more boyish types like Xanxus and Dino. But he was undoubtedly very good-looking, and just so cool! He was like, super calm. And competent. And clearly much more capable than Federico’s other Guardians! He had a katana, too, like a samurai. Katie bet he was all ‘warrior’s honour’ and ‘bushido’ and all that. So different from all those gross high school boys trying to ask Katie out.

Katie also thought he’d be a lot nicer to interact with than Xanxus (well, she liked Xanxus as a character at least in part because he was a little assholey and it was hot, but it didn’t feel good when the assholeyness was directed at her), or at least less volatile. And he’d been kind to her.

She just wanted to go up to Nashi and say hi, thank him for helping her out that time at the villa, maybe see if she could figure out what he was doing in Namimori, or get some news about the Varia, since she’d helped pass on a message and all. But Katie could never catch up with him no matter how she tried.

After a few encounters, Katie figured Nashi was obviously avoiding her, for some reason. Maybe, like she’d thought at first, he was doing something secret for the Vongola, or maybe he was also trying to pretend he’d not seen Katie, to protect her? She was supposed to be in hiding…

If only she could just talk to him!

A couple of weeks after her last encounter with Nashi, Katie finally made some progress in her personal mission.

There had been a bunch of guys in suits gathered outside Namimori Elementary, which just screamed ‘syndicate’ to her. Katie bet they were Hibari! They didn’t wear the red armbands of Hibari Kyoya’s disciplinary committee, but they all wore the same tie pin, so they were probably all from the same group.

She had scoped out the place a couple of times before, wondering if Tsuna attended the school, but the elementary school let out earlier than Katie’s high school, and with extracurriculars and other activities, and the distance between the two places, she’d never managed to make it before everyone was gone.

Katie was glad she had decided to skip the last two periods of class that day.

The Hibari(?) people seemed to be watching for something, so Katie couldn’t get close. Maybe there had been some kind of incident, and they needed to protect Hibari Kyoya or something. At least she knew where to look now! And surely where Hibari was, Tsuna couldn’t be far.

Buoyed by this minor success and tiny step in the right direction, Katie decided to head to the shop by the train station to treat herself to some cake, taking a shortcut through a park.

And who did she see but baby Tsuna!!

Katie really had hit the jackpot today.

Tsuna hadn’t spotted her, busy enjoying an ice-cream cone. There was another boy about his age next to him devouring his own cone, and an older girl watching over them from a bench nearby. Katie’s eyes were drawn to her immediately.

The girl looked like a doll, with silky, reddish-blonde hair done up in ribbons, and huge amber eyes. From her height and childlike face, Katie thought she was maybe at most in middle school or something. Was she Tsuna and the other kid’s babysitter?

Or… Katie thought back on how crazy and weird things had been for her. This stupid AU thing that screwed up all her plans, that Sparrow had pointed out to her. Maybe… maybe the girl was a sibling? And the other boy too? They didn’t look much alike, but in a universe where people could have green hair and magenta eyes (like Nashi), maybe that was normal. It wasn’t like Katie had any kind of frame of reference, not really knowing any real siblings in this universe.

More interestingly, Katie thought she could feel Sky Flames coming from the girl. Nothing like Xanxus’s or that creep Federico’s (ugh she was not going to think about it). Small, sparkly-pretty, harmless and refreshing, like a sunshower.

She just wanted to find out more about the Sky-girl and her relation to the kids, so she tried her best to be friendly and strike up a conversation, using the ice cream the trio were enjoying as an excuse to talk to them.

Sky-girl seemed friendly at first, and told her where to get the soft-serve they were having. But the moment Katie started asking other questions, the girl seemed to get scared, and quickly took the boys and left.

Katie didn’t know what she did wrong!

She’d heard that some Japanese people didn’t like foreigners and tried to avoid them but this was her first time encountering someone like that.

Oh, wait, hang on, was this because of the recent rumours of attempted kidnappings of elementary schoolers or something? Katie had heard her classmates talking about it at school but hadn’t paid too much attention. Something about how high school delinquents were involved or something. Then it would make sense for the Sky-girl to be paranoid.

Katie was now super curious about Tsuna’s family! The girl had said “no” when Katie had asked if they were siblings, but Katie didn’t know if she was telling the truth. If Tsuna really had extra siblings now, hopefully it wouldn’t throw off the plot too much. She should find out more about them.

Thankfully, she now knew they probably lived somewhere near the park. The girl wasn’t friendly, but maybe if she could meet Nana? She was friendly. Maybe a bit too friendly (Katie wasn’t too great with people like that), but it was worth a try.

After a few more futile attempts at trying to catch Tsuna at his school (there were so many Hibari outside Katie didn’t dare to get near), Katie got lucky one weekend and encountered Nana, at the one supermarket which carried the expensive imported cheese Katie just couldn’t live without. She had Tsuna with her, but Katie didn’t see the other girl or boy. Maybe they weren’t siblings after all?

Tsuna seemed shy and wouldn’t talk to her, but Nana was exactly as friendly and trusting as Katie had imagined. Katie really only had to mention that she had recently moved from Italy and didn’t know how to choose miso or something, and that was enough for Nana to immediately take her under her wing and introduce her to all kinds of local products. Katie showed her her favourite Italian cheese in return, which Nana was delighted by, and they were well on the way to becoming friends when the Sky-girl showed up again.

Her name was Chiyo, according to Nana, and she was not pleased to see Katie. Chiyo seemed afraid, like last time, and quickly made up some obviously fake excuse to get Nana and Tsuna out of there.

“Wait!” said Katie, trying to follow after them. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding!” She didn’t mean any harm and wasn’t a child kidnapper!

Of course Chiyo didn’t listen (ugh), and Katie had barely caught up to them when Nashi(!) showed up, putting himself between Katie and the family.

“It’s you!” Katie exclaimed. She hadn’t seen him in ages!

And wait, Nana had called him ‘Nao-san’! Katie hadn’t known that Tsuna’s family knew him! Was ‘Nao’ Nashi’s real name?

Katie thought she would be glad they were finally speaking face to face, but when Nashi fixed his glare on her, she suddenly felt only terror.

Nashi had not drawn a weapon, and was only standing there with empty hands resting by his sides, but there was what could only be described as … killing intent in the air, directed at Katie, and oh god she was going to die.

(Smokin’ hot, said a small voice in her head.)

“The Bellini haven’t learnt their lesson?” asked Nashi, somewhat ominously.

Vaguely, Katie realised they were alone. Chiyo and Nana and Tsuna were gone, and there wasn’t a single soul around. No witnesses.

…. Wasn’t this supposed to be a busy shopping area? On a weekend?

“It’s got nothing to do with the Bellini,” said Katie, holding her hands up to show she didn’t mean any harm. “This is a misunderstanding!”

“You’ve been following me,” said Nashi. “Incessantly. And now you are harassing a family under my protection. I don’t see how this is a misunderstanding.”

“I was just, I just wanted to thank you!” said Katie. “For that time in Tropea. And to ask if you knew…. If you knew anything about what happened to Xanxus.”

“Xanxus?” repeated Nashi. His brows furrowed into a frown, but the terrifying aura around him lessened a little. Katie’s knees were still shaking, though. “And you thought following me around was the best way to do it?”

Katie flushed. “Well, I don’t know anyone else who might know!”

Nashi didn’t look like he believed any of what Katie was saying.

“You need to learn to take a hint,” he said. “And what did you want with my associates?”

Katie realised Nashi was carefully avoiding any names and identities. He was avoiding telling her any information at all. She’d better not let it slip that she knew who Tsuna and Nana were, or this could get hairy.

“Um…” Think, Katie, think!! “Um…the girl…” Was ‘she wanted to be friends’ a good excuse? Not like she actually wanted to be friends with a kid…

“No,” Nashi cut in sharply. “Out of the question.”

“Huh?” What was out of the question? Katie hadn’t even said anything. She was confused now.

“You will not approach anyone in that household again,” said Nashi. “You will not approach me. Should I decide you are a threat, I will not hesitate to remove you and what remains of your family.”

What? That was so unfair! Katie opened her mouth to say something, but Nashi had already left.

The noise and bustle of the weekend crowd was back, too. Had that been a Mist illusion? Wasn’t Nashi a Cloud like her?

…And wait, what had Nashi meant by ‘what remained’ of her family?!

Chapter Text

Mirco, 8, of the Biscione Famiglia

After Mirco had helped find and rescue his maestro’s frozen Sky (Mirco was very curious about the man in the forever-ice, but no one would tell him anything, not even Bel, or Ottavio!), the Varia had somehow become more… accepting of Mirco. They’d mostly left him alone before, because he was Mammon’s student, but Mirco knew from listening through his mouse spies that they thought he was just a brat (sometimes he heard “creepy brat”, or “monster”) Ottavio had brought home. Now they would sometimes greet him, and the nicer ones would give him candy, or tell him where his friends were if he was looking for them. Sometimes, Mirco overheard them calling Mirco Il Diavolino, when they thought Mirco couldn’t hear.

“Nicknames are an indicator of notoriety, in the mafia,” Ottavio had told him, when Mirco brought it up. “You know what they call me, I suspect.”

The Fly, was what people called Ottavio sometimes. Mirco didn’t know what about Ottavio reminded people of a fly. Maybe his glasses? Flies had weird eyes. Mirco decided he liked Little Devil better. Maybe not the ‘little’ part.

After a while, Mirco even felt a little bit proud that he had a nickname, until Mammon put him through a training session that was so horrible Mirco couldn’t even twitch his fingers afterwards.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” his maestro warned him before leaving.

Ottavio had to carry Mirco back to his room like he was a baby. Bel saw and teased him for days afterwards, until Mirco had a mouse poop in his bed. Then Bel chased him all over the castle and they got in trouble when one of Bel’s knives went through a window (Mirco didn’t understand why it was also his fault when it was Bel who broke it).

Other than Mammon being a wet blanket, and Bel being annoying, Mirco felt tentatively satisfied with life.

Until one day, Ottavio left him behind again.

He ran into the room he shared with Hayato and Basilio late at night and woke all of them up, saying he and Basilio had to leave, as Rue had been badly hurt.

He was not taking Mirco.

Ottavio was Mirco’s adult, just like Lempo was Hayato’s, Rue was Basilio’s, and Bel had Mammon and his Sky and Squalo and Lussuria. So he understood that Basilio had to go when his adult was badly hurt, but if Ottavio had to go too, wasn’t it fair that Mirco came along?

But Ottavio said no, and wouldn’t listen when Mirco tried to reason or bargain.

Hayato wanted to come along, and Bel had for some reason turned up and said he wanted to go as well, but didn’t protest (much) when Ottavio refused them too.

“Mayhaps the CEDEF Mist is dying,” said Bel, looking thoughtful.

“Ottavio looks really worried,” Hayato agreed reluctantly. “I think Basilio should see Rue. Rue rescued him, after all.”

Mirco still didn’t like it, so he had a rat follow them in Ottavio’s suitcase. He wasn’t sure he could control it over such a distance, but it died really quickly anyway, and Mirco got in trouble.

Ottavio sounded really tired and upset on the phone, and for once, Mirco actually felt bad.

Luckily, Rue didn’t die (Mirco didn’t feel … particularly concerned about Rue, since Ottavio paid less attention to him when Rue was around, but Rue had been nice to him so he supposed he was supposed to be worried), but Ottavio and Basilio stayed instead of coming back. Mirco was outraged, as this was again, unfair. Ottavio called every day, but it wasn’t the same.

He started having dreams of that life, of being small and cold and helpless, of an old woman grabbing him by the neck. Hayato had to shake him awake because Mirco started making illusions in his sleep, and they were frightening his friend.

Mirco eventually just let himself into Ottavio’s room and slept there, which helped. Hayato gave him weird looks about it, but said nothing, and Mirco didn’t explain.

While he wasn’t around, Ottavio had asked Miss Sparrow (who used to be Ottavio’s subordinate but worked for Squalo now; Mirco didn’t know why adults made things so complicated) take care of Mirco and Hayato while he was away. Mirco didn’t need to be looked after, but Hayato seemed to like having Miss Sparrow around, so Mirco decided he was fine with it too.

Mostly, she checked on Mirco and Hayato every day to make sure they had eaten, bathed, and done their homework. Sometimes she would take Hayato and Bel out for treats (Mirco was not allowed to go, “per his punishment”, as Ottavio said). On those times her boyfriend would watch Mirco, and tell him stories about other people in the Varia. (Mirco listened and remembered everything.)

Miss Sparrow had already been teaching Hayato about poisons, to make sure he would know when somebody (like Hayato’s evil sister) was trying to poison him, and so he knew what to do when someone did manage to poison him. She always seemed to be having some sort of tummy ache, so Mirco supposed she was the best person to teach Hayato about his own tummy aches.

Occasionally, Mirco joined in on their lessons, when he had nothing else to do. Sometimes he’d summon some rats so Miss Sparrow didn’t have to catch her own for them to test things on.

Hayato found the rats disgusting, which Mirco didn’t really understand. Rats and mice and dogs and cats and snakes were all the same. Beasts. Birds were a bit special, though, maybe because Mirco remembered being a chicken (and Ottavio liked birds). But only a little bit.

The lessons were fine, in general. Hayato liked the ‘science’ behind the lessons, while Mirco found that part a bit boring. They did get to practice poisoning Miss Sparrow’s colleague Marchosias, which was fun.

One afternoon, his maestro actually cancelled training. It had never happened before. The Intelligence staff member who had come to tell him wasn’t able to tell him why, so Mirco went to look for Bel. He couldn’t find Bel either, so he sent out a few rats, but his maestro had clearly wised up to his tricks and Mirco couldn’t figure out a thing.

Mirco knew something had definitely happened, after he waited and waited and waited and finally spotted Bel careening down the corridor cackling in glee, slashing wildly at the wallpaper and vases and whoever was unlucky enough to stumble into his path.

This would be quite normal for Bel, except Mirco could tell he was being, as Hayato put it, “extra crazy”.

Mirco materialised an invisible wall right in the middle of Bel’s path. Bel crashed into the barrier head-first and fell over with a shout.

“No running in the corridors,” Mirco told Bel primly, ignoring that he broke that rule all the time.

Bel wiped the blood from his nose and stared at his bloody hand.

“Ushishishi!” crowed Bel, sounding extra extra crazy now. There was a Storm-red glow from where his eyes would be, under his hair. “The prince’s royal blood has been spilt!”

Then he started chasing after Mirco.

Squalo had to come and separate them, shouting noisily all the while. After someone fixed Bel’s nose and Mirco’s cuts, he made them face the wall on opposite sides of a room and think about their wrongdoings for an hour, assigning a nervous-looking grunt to watch and make sure they didn’t cheat or run off.

“What are you so happy about, anyway,” Mirco complained. Bel hadn’t stopped giggling to himself the whole time.

“He’s free!” gloated Bel, trailing off into another series of cackles.

Mirco didn’t really get it, but if both Bel and Mammon were involved, then maybe it was about their Sky.

It didn’t matter. Ottavio still hadn’t come back.

Days and days after that, Mirco was working on his homework with Hayato in their room (why did they have to learn history when it was about stuff that had already happened and didn’t matter anymore? Some of it hadn’t even happened in Italy!) when there was a soft knock on their door, then after a polite pause, another one.

Mirco sat up. Only Ottavio knocked like that. But they’d talked over the phone the previous night, and Ottavio hadn’t said anything about coming home. Tentatively, Mirco reached out with the tendrils of his power, and felt that familiar aura reaching back.

“Um, come in?” said Hayato, craning his neck.

The door opened.

“Hi,” said Ottavio. He smiled when he saw Mirco.

Mirco blinked at him, barely aware of Hayato greeting Ottavio and asking if everyone was back.

“No, it’s just me, I managed to take my leave early,” said Ottavio. “Don’t worry, Lempo and the others will follow in a few days. They’re just tying up some loose ends.”

He made his way to Mirco, then crouched down and drew Mirco into a hug. “It’s good to see you, Mirco.”

Mirco suddenly felt like crying, which was stupid. And he was angry at Ottavio for leaving him behind and showing up again like nothing happened, and he didn’t like that he was feeling uncomfortable things about it.

So he grabbed Ottavio’s hand and bit down. Hard.

“Ow,” said Ottavio, wincing, but he sounded more resigned than angry. “Please don’t do that.”

Hayato was watching them in horror. “I stopped biting when I was three,” he said judgmentally.

So? Ottavio deserved it, thought Mirco mulishly.

“Where’s Basilio?” he asked, sniffing and changing the subject, pretending he wasn’t a little embarrassed.

“Rue took him to steal some documents and things from his former orphanage,” said Ottavio, shaking out his hand. Mirco could see the marks his teeth made in the skin. And the gap where he’d lost a tooth. “Rue wanted to go on vacation after that, so we’ll join them then. I came to pick you up.”

He smiled at Mirco again. “It’ll just be us two for a few days, though, if that’s all right.”

“Just me?” said Mirco, eyes widening. He’d never really spent long periods of time with Ottavio alone, in this life. There were always Ottavio’s underlings, or the rest of his set, or the other children. He hoped Bel and Hayato wouldn’t come, and he would get Ottavio all to himself. At least for that bit of time.

“Just you,” Ottavio confirmed. He turned to Hayato with an apologetic look. “Unfortunately, the Anderloni are still looking for Hayato, and he might be recognised where we are going.”

“Oh,” said Hayato, looking disappointed.

“We’ll all go together, when Lempo has finally earned his vacation time and stops getting his leave and benefits cut,” Ottavio promised. “That’ll be enough adults around to keep an eye on everyone. I’m not sure if Bel would ever join us, though.”

“That’ll be forever,” muttered Hayato in dismay.

“Besides, Lempo is scheduled to have a talk with Hayato,” added Ottavio. “A proper talk.”

Hayato made a face.

“Will he?” wondered Mirco doubtfully. Lempo didn’t seem to like talking to Hayato much. Hayato claimed he didn’t want to talk to Lempo either, but Mirco knew he was a bit sad and angry about it.

“He’d better,” said Ottavio, in that tone of voice that Mirco associated with HR disciplinary action and no sweets after dinner.

“What about Bel?” persisted Mirco.

“Belphegor will be preoccupied,” said Ottavio, and didn’t elaborate.

“We’ll stay the night near Palermo,” he told Mirco. “Pack for warm weather, and take your bathing suit.”

“Where are we going?” asked Mirco, who had almost completely forgotten he was supposed to be angry with Ottavio by now.

“Mafia Land,” Ottavio replied.

Mirco frowned. A land full of mafia didn’t sound like a nice place for a vacation.

“Oh, I’ve been there,” said Hayato. He still looked a little upset at being left out, but seemed to feel better when he heard that they were going somewhere he’d been before. “My father took us, once. It’s like a resort island for the mafia.”

“There’s an amusement park, and a beach,” Ottavio added. “I know you haven’t been to either, Mirco, so I thought I’d take you.”

Mirco vaguely knew what an amusement park was, but he had no clue why anyone would find going up and down on rides fun. He definitely had seen a beach, near the tunnel that he’d gone in with Mammon, and read about children building sandcastles, but that didn’t seem interesting to him either, when he could make illusions. Maybe there would be barnacles.

He packed with the help of Hayato, who told him about what he remembered of Mafia Land, and what people actually did at the beach and amusement park. It sounded a bit better than what Mirco had been imagining, so he was looking forward to it now.

Ottavio drove them to what he said was Auntie’s house, outside of Palermo. They were going to stay overnight and take a plane in the morning, then a ferry. Mafia Island was hidden away from most of the world, so it took a bit of effort to get there. They stopped to get dinner along the way, and Ottavio let Mirco pick what he wanted. Mirco daringly chose sweets for dinner, and Ottavio didn’t say anything, even when the lady at the restaurant made a disapproving noise.

Auntie’s house was a two-storey building that felt very cosy and safe. Mirco could feel faint traces of her Mist Flame around the place. Ottavio had a room there just for him, which he said he and Mirco were allowed to use anytime.

“Auntie missed you, you know,” Ottavio said as he was tucking Mirco in later. “Teo and Max asked after you, too.”

Mirco still didn’t really like Teo or Max, but Auntie had been one of the first people to treat him with kindness.

“I miss Auntie too,” he decided, then looked accusingly at Ottavio. “She wouldn’t have to miss me if you’d let me go with you. You’re not allowed to leave me behind again.”

Ottavio sighed and adjusted his glasses.

“There will always be times we will have to be apart, because of my work and your apprenticeship,” he said seriously. “But I promise that I will make every effort to talk to you about it, and see if we can’t find some way for you to come with me, or for me to go with you. If it wasn’t for the suddenness of what happened, and the uncertainty of the situation, I’d have been more open to you coming along, if your maestro agreed.”

Mirco sulked and turned his face into the blankets.

“Besides,” Ottavio added wryly. “Soon enough, you’ll be at the age where you’ll be wanting adventures on your own, without me getting in the way.”

Mirco didn’t think that would ever happen.

The next morning over breakfast, Ottavio gave Mirco the choice between a medical eyepatch, or disguising his eye with an illusion. Mirco tried on the eyepatch, but found it messed with what Ottavio called ‘depth perception’, and was hard to get used to, so he just illusioned both his eyes hazel, like Ottavio’s. And changed his hair to look blond.

Ottavio smiled until his eyes crinkled. “That’s a fun idea, but for the airport you have to look like this,” he said, showing Mirco his passport. It had his picture on it (when had Ottavio taken a picture?), with two blue eyes, and a name and date of birth (not the one Ottavio had told him he’d retrieved from Estraneo records), with some other numbers.

“Is that my cover identity?” asked Mirco. He’d picked up things here and there living in the Varia.

“One of many,” said Ottavio. “We are to be traveling as father and son, and we are going to visit your aunt. You haven’t seen her since you were a baby. Your mother couldn’t get time off work to come along.”

Mirco thought remembering that story was a bit troublesome, but he supposed you had to have details like that to properly fool people. Mirco liked fooling people.

“Do I have a real identity?” As far as Mirco was concerned, he’d always just been a serial number before Ottavio found him and gave him a name. Ottavio had always told him he was Mirco of the Biscione, which just meant he belonged to the Biscione Family, and he really hadn’t thought about what he would be called other than that (and the new nickname the Varia had given him).

“As much as any of us in the mafia have a ‘real’ identity,” said Ottavio. “Officially, you are named Mirco Landolfi.”

“My last name is Landolfi, too?” asked Mirco. Somehow, he was surprised.

“I would have asked your opinion, but I had very little time to get your documents done, at the time,” said Ottavio, looking hesitant. “I do have records from the Estraneo regarding your parentage. If you have a preference…”

“No, I want it to be Landolfi,” decided Mirco. Why would it be anything else, now that he thought about it? What had his blood family ever done for him, when Mirco was suffering at the scientists’ hands? Only Ottavio had ever cared.

“Oh,” said Ottavio, looking relieved. “Okay.”

Adults were so strange, sometimes.

As they drove to the airport, Ottavio said they would do this the ‘normal people’ way a couple of times, until Mirco was familiar with the security procedures there. Then, as a Mist, Mirco could just use his illusions instead of forged documents. Maybe Mirco could even take other people through, and Ottavio would have to rely on Mirco then.

That sounded quite appealing to Mirco.

The airport, unfortunately, was full of people. Mirco hadn’t been anywhere with this many people and he didn’t like it. Ottavio seemed to know and pulled him close, holding on to his hand so he wouldn’t get lost. There was a lot of lining up and waiting, and next time Mirco would just use illusions.

“Bit unusual to see children out and about at this time of day,” said the lady checking their documents. “Shouldn’t he be in school?”

Mirco, tired and bored, thought the lady should really mind her own business.

Before he could do anything (he was only going to try a little trick, maybe find some roaches), Ottavio put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“He’s homeschooled,” said Ottavio with one of his fake smiles. “Say goodbye to the nice lady.”

Mirco said goodbye to the nosy lady.

The plane ride itself was awful, where Mirco had to sit for hours and hours in an uncomfortable chair where his feet didn’t touch the floor and it was noisy and his ears hurt. He was distracted at first by the view of the city growing tiny beneath them, and then the view of the endless expanse of clouds, and the movie they started playing on the screens, but lost interest after a while. The plane lady (or “air stewardess” as Ottavio said) gave Mirco a colouring book and a toy, but Mirco thought he was too old for colouring, or toys. Maybe he would keep them for Basilio.

Probably tired of Mirco’s fidgeting, Ottavio pushed up the armrest so Mirco could lean against him and tuck his legs in, draping his jacket over Mirco’s head. It was like being in the coat pocket again, warm and dark and quiet, and he fell quickly asleep.

Mirco was groggy and irritable when the plane landed. They got a taxi to the port, where Mirco grudgingly ate the unfamiliar food Ottavio fed him, scaring all the greedy gulls away with his illusions. There were barnacles on the rocks and piers and some of the boats, which cheered Mirco up a bit.

Mirco quickly decided he didn’t like being on boats, the moment he stepped on the ferry. He didn’t like how the boat bobbed up and down, especially when they were boarding. He’d done enough agility and balance training that he didn’t stumble, at least.

Ottavio showed Mirco their private cabin, then let him loose to run around and stretch his legs.

“I know how to find you, and you know how to find me, right?” he said, smiling encouragingly.

Mirco nodded. Around the same time as he’d started helping his maestro with his lost Sky, Ottavio had started teaching Mirco something that he said worked a bit like a ‘radar’. He could use it to figure out if Teo or Max or Auntie were nearby, and he said he’d learned to find Mirco too. It was why Ottavio never really worried about losing Mirco when he brought Mirco and his friends out for excursions and they ran off somewhere. Ottavio was quite sure Mirco could use it, even if he was a Mist, as it had been Auntie who had taught him. He’d just modified it a bit for his Cloud Flames.

“You’re a lot more sensitive to Flames than I am, so it should be easy,” Ottavio had said. “It took me years to learn, and I have to use Propagation to make up for it. Aside from you, I can only sense my set, and sometimes Rue, when he’s not actively pretending to be someone else. You’ve seen your maestro use Thoughtography, right? This is a very, very crude and extremely limited version of it as far as I can tell, but I’m not an expert on these things…”

Ottavio supposedly wasn’t an expert on a lot of things, but he seemed to know them anyway.

Mirco also didn’t really see the point, as he could use his Beast Path to find people, like he’d already done. But this had been the first time Ottavio had taught him anything Flame-related, so it was special, and Mirco applied himself to learning it.

Ottavio was right, Mirco had picked up the trick in no time at all, though he was mostly only motivated enough to find Ottavio. In a contained space like the ferry, that was no problem at all.

“This is a chartered vessel that services Mafia Land, so mafia rules apply,” added Ottavio. “They know who I am, and they know you’ve come with me, so no one who values their life will bother you. If there is trouble, I’m sure your maestro has taught you how to deal with annoyances. Just make sure you come back in time for dinner, yes?”

Mirco nodded again and slipped away.

It was interesting looking around the ferry. Not everybody seemed to have cabins, and most of the people were in a big seating area with their things everywhere. There were a few arguments and fist fights that Mirco watched avidly before moving on. He briefly investigated the deck (windy and wet and not very nice), then found a lounge with snacks (not poisoned, as far as Mirco could determine), where he helped himself to a juice box.

Like Ottavio said, no one bothered Mirco, other than giving him a few curious glances. There were other children on board, too, but they didn’t look very clever or interesting. As Mirco explored the ferry, though, he became aware that someone was following him, and doing a poor job of pretending not to.

Mirco decided that the person could go for a swim.

He returned to the cabin in triumph, ate a big dinner with Ottavio (he was only allowed one dessert, this time), washed up, and went to bed.

Mirco woke up again when it was time to disembark. It was still dark outside. As he stepped off the boat, still feeling like he was swaying, Ottavio gently tapped him on the shoulder and pointed.

Two figures, one smaller than the other, waved at them from a distance from behind a fence. It was Rue, and Basilio, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

Ottavio brought them through the arrival area, the people in charge quickly letting them through when Ottavio flashed his Varia pin, and they were reunited with Basilio and Rue on the other side.

Basilio immediately tackled Mirco in a hug.

“It’s good to see you, Mirco,” said Rue, smiling at him.

Mirco glanced at Ottavio, who looked very happy. “I’m glad you didn’t die,” he said to Rue, and meant it.

Chapter Text

Ikemiya Naoshi, 31, vice-chief, Vongola East Asia Office, formerly Nashi, Cloud Guardian to Federico of the Vongola, formerly Lynn Ko, 26, teacher

Lynn was blaming Iemitsu for everything.

After returning to Tokyo from the Hibari retreat (and meeting Naoshi’s very violent distant cousin), they’d had to contend with Alceu’s snide remarks and insinuations that they were accepting favours from the Hibari. It didn’t help that those subordinates who had gone with Lynn had been somehow impressed or intimidated by Lynn’s performance there (though Lynn had barely done anything), and were now noticeably more respectful and deferential towards Lynn, which annoyed Alceu even more.

Lynn never had much patience for office politics, so they decided to ignore this new development instead of losing sleep over it. They would just have to keep one eye open in case Alceu tried something funny. There were more important things that required Lynn’s attention.

First, Lynn had decided that since Iemitsu was avoiding them like a coward and still hadn’t given any instructions regarding his niece, they were just going to do things Lynn’s way, and Iemitsu could go suck an egg.

Lynn wanted to protect the children’s smiles for as long as they could, as corny as that sounded.

So that meant easing Asano into the mafia life as gently as Lynn could manage.

The priority was, of course, Asano’s health.

Lynn immediately thought of the doctor who’d served at the East Asia Office during Ercole’s tenure.

That particular doctor might not be as talented as Trident Shamal was purported to be, but she was the most experienced medical professional Lynn knew, and far less traumatising for a young lady to encounter (Lynn was not letting Shamal within ten feet of Asano, if he ever showed up).

The only issue was that Dr. Fujita could be a bit…strange.

After some more consideration, Lynn decided it was worth it, and following several days of very patient negotiations, pried the doctor out of her very cosy retirement, and moved her and her ten cats to Namimori.

Then Lynn found an unused Vongola-owned shopfront in downtown Namimori, and had it converted into a doctor’s office with all the required equipment.

Now the issue was staffing. Lynn didn’t want to tap on the limited manpower watching the Sawada household, and most of the people at the East Asia office had their own duties.

Except one person in particular.

Lynn looked thoughtfully at Sato (who was once again trying and failing to look busy) from their desk. They had little use for a secretary or personal assistant, so Sato was completely useless in her current position. Alceu seemed to think so too, especially since she had failed miserably at her initial task of seducing Lynn (who generally did not experience attraction to anything or anyone), and didn’t seem to make a very good spy, either. Sato seemed aware of her plight, and looked more and more miserable by the day.

Lynn sensed that Sato didn’t particularly want to be doing what she was doing either, which meant that she was doing it for money or some other favour, or Alceu had some kind of hold over her.

Upon Lynn’s request, Matsumoto had made some inquiries into Sato’s background.

The young woman was a former hostess at a Vongola-owned nightclub, presumably where Alceu had found her. She had dropped out of university to become the sole breadwinner of her household, was deeply into debt thanks to her deadbeat gambling addict father, and had a small horde of younger siblings to feed and put through school.

(If there was anything Lynn had learned, it was that K-drama type plots seemed to be the norm in this universe.)

Alceu must have found out about Sato’s predicament and taken advantage.

Sato seemed to feel Lynn looking at her, and eyed Lynn nervously, obviously confused by the attention.

“What did Alceu promise you?” asked Lynn abruptly.

Sato startled and almost knocked her computer mouse off the desk. “What?”

“You know what I’m talking about, and you know it’s not working,” said Lynn. “Surely Alceu must be getting impatient.”

Sato actually looked frightened. “I don’t understand,” she tried.

“Then tell me again when you do,” said Lynn coolly, and proceeded to ignore her as usual.

It took a week before Sato approached Lynn, on a day when Alceu wasn’t in the office.

“He told me he could get the loansharks off my back,” said Sato, looking nervous but determined.

That didn’t mean Alceu would pay her debts, but if Sato had been desperate enough…

“Vongola can buy out your debt, and you can work to pay it off like everyone else,” Lynn decided. This type of arrangement was quite standard, back on Vongola’s home ground in Italy, at least, so they felt comfortable offering this. “Interest can be adjusted, based on performance.”

“Alceu…” Sato looked doubtful.

“He has less authority than he thinks,” said Lynn. Sato didn’t look surprised at that statement, which meant she’d long realised she was on the wrong side. “You can ignore any objections he might have.”

Sato bit her bottom lip. “I want a promise that my family will be protected,” she said.

“That depends on what you’re willing to do,” said Lynn.

It was a bit amusing to see Sato’s disbelief when she realised all Lynn wanted was a loyal and focused administrative assistant/receptionist for a doctor’s clinic. If Sato proved reliable, Lynn thought she could also form part of Asano’s staff in the future, but it was too soon to think about that.

“There are other tasks that I may assign you to, once you prove yourself trustworthy,” Lynn told Sato. They’d need her to coordinate between Dr. Fujita, Matsumoto, and Lynn, at the very least, but in the meantime, Lynn would have Dr. Fujita observe Sato and deal with her if necessary. “Nothing unsavoury, this I promise.”

Alceu noticed Sato’s absence two days later.

“Where is Miss Sato?” Alceu asked Lynn.

“I dismissed her, because I did not find her useful in her current capacity,” said Lynn with complete truthfulness.

Alceu’s face clouded over. “I am the boss here, the last I checked,” he said with some heat. “Personnel changes go through me.”

Lynn did not budge. They did not answer to Alceu, after all.

“As vice-chief, I am allowed to make adjustments to low-level staff, the last I checked,” they replied. “Or was I mistaken?”

Alceu exhaled through his nose, visibly reining in his anger. “This is how it’s going to be, hmm? Disappointing.”

Lynn ignored him and walked away, aware of the various eyes watching their confrontation and likely coming to their own conclusions regarding the consequences. Alceu would just have to live with it. If he tried anything, Lynn would be ready.

Dr. Fujita had her first evaluation of Asano soon after that, which was a welcome distraction from the tension at the office.

“Her bones are healed perfectly, not even a sign of the abnormal ossification that can happen with Sun healing,” Dr. Fujita commented, sounding admiring. She was a Lightning-Sun split herself, but refrained from using Flames “for every little old thing”, as she used to tell Lynn and Iemitsu, due to the possible side-effects, particularly from unskilled users. “Everything as it should be, in harmony. It’s a shame that Skies aren’t more common…” She sighed, lost briefly in some kind of healer’s fantasy, before she eyed Lynn and continued, clearing her throat,”I’m unsure why her memory hasn’t returned– it might be a self-imposed block, to protect against something unpleasant.”

That sounded worrying, but Dr. Fujita said it was fine for now, and besides, there wasn’t much to be done, so Lynn could only leave it be.

“You will assist in Miss Asano’s assimilation?” More importantly, Lynn wanted to confirm that Dr. Fujita was willing to explain things to Asano. The doctor was an old hand at drawing civilians into the mafia, with a softer touch than most. People tended to trust medical professionals more than random criminals, even if the medical professionals were also actual criminals.

“Yes, yes, we’ll let it happen organically,” said Dr. Fujita, waving Lynn away. “I don’t remember you being such a fusspot when you were a boy!”

Lynn wished they didn’t have to fuss, but the stakes were different now. They had so much more responsibility, whether they wanted it or not.

(Iemitsu’s fault, as always.)

But… perhaps, with Dr. Fujita in town, Lynn could eventually get her to cover old Mrs. Sawada’s healthcare as well, and even take a discreet look at Tsuna’s seal…

Sadly, those long-term plans had to be put on hold, as Lynn had more immediate concerns.

Matsumoto contacted Lynn, informing them of a concerning development involving Tsuna and requesting further instructions.

It turned out that a few young people, of high school age or slightly older, had been loitering around schools in Namimori. They’d started with Namimori Middle, then moved on to Namimori Elementary, perhaps unsure of the age of the child they were targeting.

While Tsuna had been approached, he hadn’t been the only one, so Matsumoto and the others didn’t think the incidents were directed towards Tsuna or the Vongola.

Lynn didn’t have enough information to figure out what these people were after. A kidnapping ring? Scammers? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t hurt to be more careful.

The Hibari had certainly noticed, and were stepping up security around schools and other areas where children were known to frequent. Teachers were encouraging children to travel in groups, and Asano had started walking Tsuna home from school.

Perhaps there wasn’t any immediate danger, but Lynn didn’t like it, all the same.

Preoccupied by their thoughts as they made their way towards Matsumoto’s newspaper kiosk, Lynn was mildly annoyed when they were waylaid by some Hibari underlings, informing him that Kyosei had requested a private meeting.

It wasn’t the first time Kyosei had invited (summoned, rather) Lynn to one of these meetings (which Lynn suspected were flimsy excuses for more fights), and they had rejected every single one, having better things to do than to be at a Hibari’s beck and call.

The grunts were clearly aware of this, and looked nervous when Lynn reflexively declined.

“Begging your pardon, Naoshi-sama, but Kyosei-sama said it was to do with some recent security concerns you might have an interest in,” said one of them, which gave Lynn pause.

“Fine,” said Lynn, deciding to trust Kyosei this once, and gestured for the relieved Hibari underlings to lead on, sending a text to Matsumoto to tell him they would be delayed.

Kyosei was waiting for them in a sprawling, traditional estate on the edge of town that Lynn believed was at least as old as the Sawadas’ ancestral residence. As a servant opened the door, Lynn saw that had a young boy with him, who looked to be about nine or ten. While the two shared only a slight physical resemblance, they bore identical looks of boredom, which melted away as Lynn entered the room.

Lynn noted the boy’s dark eyes and hair, and familiar-looking face, but rounded with baby fat… Was this?

“Ah, there he is,” said Kyosei, delighted. “Kyoya, come greet your uncle Naoshi. Cousin, this is my son, Kyoya.”

Kyoya stared at Lynn for a long time, as if trying to take Lynn’s measure.

“Oi,” tsked Kyosei. “Manners.”

Scowling, Kyoya eventually ducked his head in a reluctant bow and grunted something that might have passed for a greeting.

Lynn inclined their head in reply, feeling a bit overwhelmed. Baby Kyoya was so cute! Those chubby cheeks!

Kyosei eyed Lynn a little hopefully as they sat down.

Lynn looked steadily back and pointedly flicked their eyes towards their wristwatch. Things to do, places to be.

“Tch,” scoffed Kyosei, disappointed, and called for refreshments to be sent in.

“Kyoya attends the same school as your Sawada’s kid,” said Kyosei, after Lynn had taken their first sip of tea. He seemed to be ignoring his son’s fidgeting and blatant staring at Lynn. “You’re probably aware of the incidents involving strangers following the children around.”

Lynn nodded, slightly distracted by observing Kyoya. “Yes. Thank you for your vigilance. We watch young Tsunayoshi, but not around school…”

“Because the Hibari are there, I get it,” said Kyosei dismissively. “As far as we can tell, it was not random; they were approaching children of underworld members.”

That was new information to Lynn.

“Explain,” they urged.

“Three children were preferentially targeted.” Kyosei started ticking off on his fingers. “The Sawada spawn. Our Kyoya here –”

“I bit them to death,” interjected Kyoya, his little face like a thundercloud. “They were noisy.”

… Of course.

“ – and the son of a retired assassin,” continued Kyosei without skipping a beat. “That was the pattern we put together.”

Was the last one Yamamoto Takeshi? Or someone else? Kyosei had not offered a name, probably for a reason, so Lynn would not ask, and could only guess. What was this all about? There had been no such event in canon. Maybe it was related to Yamamoto’s mother’s death?

“Namimori Elementary is under our purview, so it’s been taken care of,” said Kyosei. “It’s not the first time something like this has happened.”

Not the first time? Lynn frowned. What did these people want? “Were they attempting a kidnapping?” they pressed. “Do you know which group is behind this?”

“Who knows, but if it’s like the last time, I doubt we’ll learn much.” Kyosei shrugged. “That time… their backgrounds were clean. Too clean, if you get what I mean, and they didn’t seem to know each other. None of them had anything useful to say, so I just got rid of them. We’re questioning the ones we caught now.”

That was strange. And troubling.

“The men spotted your little stalker, too,” Kyosei added casually. “But she is your business, so we left her alone.”

Lynn was mortified. Of course they had seen the Bellini girl chasing Lynn around … wait. Could she be involved?

They needed to look into this on their own.

Kyosei seemed content to leave Lynn some space to think, sipping his own tea and continuing to disregard Kyoya’s increasingly annoyed expression.

Kyoya, however, had apparently reached the end of his patience. “You said he was going to fight you,” he accused his father. “If you’re not going to fight, I want to leave.” Two adults talking about adult matters was understandably not very interesting for a child.

Kyosei sighed. “I only said he might!” He waved Kyoya off. “Go, go! Rude child.”

Well, it wasn’t as if Kyoya had the best role model.

“Another time,” Lynn found themselves promising, and was rewarded by Kyoya’s eyes lighting up briefly as the boy left the room.

“I never know what to do with that boy,” sighed Kyosei, once the door closed. “This parenting thing isn’t for me.”

Then why even have a child, thought Lynn exasperatedly. At this point, Lynn was pretty much convinced that mafia men just made terrible parents.

“I’m not sure why you are telling me this when this is literally the second time we’ve met, so I’ll pretend I never heard that,” Lynn said, standing up. They had a lot to do and didn’t feel like hanging around to listen to Kyosei’s complaints. “Thank you for the valuable information. I must go make the appropriate arrangements.”

Kyosei leaned back on his hands and smirked at Lynn as they opened the screen door to leave.

“You owe me, cousin,” he said, with a calculating look at Lynn. “And don’t forget what you promised Kyoya.”

Lynn shut the door behind them with a little more force than necessary.

Once out of the Hibari estate, Lynn immediately headed to Matsumoto’s to update the team on what they had learned.

“I want eyes on Tsunayoshi-kun whenever he’s not in school or at home,” Lynn instructed. “And let me know if the Bellini approach any members of the household. If you are able, make some inquiries on their recent movements.”

It was a lot of work for a small team that had to remain unnoticed by the people they were protecting. Lynn resolved to spend more time in Namimori, to try and take the pressure off Matsumoto and the others.

With the fuss the Hibari were making of the situation, hopefully anyone planning nefarious deeds would rethink their actions before there was a bloodbath.

Unfortunately, Lynn was soon notified that Asano, Tsuna, together with a classmate of Tsuna’s, had met the Bellini girl at a park, and whatever transpired had alarmed Asano enough that she’d immediately dragged Tsuna and his classmate all the way home.

Asano had good instincts, if anything. That was a relief, considering the trusting nature of Nana and the helplessness of the too-young Tsuna.

Lynn just didn’t understand why the Bellini girl (Amaranth, was her unusual, very un-Italian name) was behaving like this, considering the state of her famiglia. They had kept an ear out for news regarding the Bellini after their first encounter with the girl, and what they found out just confused them even more.

Even back when the Bellini had just been given the cold shoulder by the Ninth after their possible involvement with Federico’s death, the girl hadn’t had the sense to lay low, and was already following Lynn, a known Vongola agent, and making herself known.

As time went on, the fortunes of the Bellini Family swiftly declined. They struggled at rock bottom for a while, until as a last resort, the famiglia made overtures to the Gesso, planning to defect.

That name had come as a shock to Lynn, who suddenly remembered that it was Byakuran’s Family. The precursor to the Millefiore.

The Vongola did not take the betrayal well, and Lynn had heard they’d sent the Varia, which had once trained Amaranth, to ‘make a statement’.

It wasn’t hard to guess that Amaranth had been hidden away to keep her safe from Vongola retaliation, the Bellini likely unaware that the Vongola had interests in a small place like Namimori until they’d actually put down roots and realised their mistake.

But even after the dramatic collapse of the Bellini, Amaranth hadn’t changed her behaviour in the slightest. Was she just that dense?

Or were the Bellini planning something? Were the Gesso backing them? Was it really a coincidence that the Bellini girl was here?

Lynn was … confused.

Whenever the girl had followed them, they’d never sensed any malice. Just … misguided obsession. And it was only Amaranth causing trouble – the other members of the Bellini that lived in Namimori were two mafiosi and one non-combatant, who all kept their heads down, paid their dues to the Hibari, and worked proper contracts. That made Lynn stay their hand, instead of pre-emptively eliminating them.

Then Matsumoto called to say that Amaranth had showed up again, and Lynn wondered if they’d made the right choice.

“Bellini has made contact with Mrs. Sawada,” said Matsumoto. “They’re at the supermarket on the main shopping street.”

What was that girl up to now? Lynn frowned. They definitely couldn’t let this go on.

“On my way,” he told Matsumoto. “Tell Rino to hold his position, delay Bellini if needed, and prepare to set up a screen.”

“Acknowledged,” Matsumoto replied.

When Lynn arrived, it was to the sight of a panicked Asano hauling a frightened-looking Tsuna and confused Nana out of a supermarket, Bellini hot on their heels.

The genuine fear in Asano’s eyes spurred Lynn into action.

Rino was ready with the screen, so Lynn had Asano go on ahead with Tsuna and Nana, while they intercepted Amaranth and tried not to lose their temper.

The girl was either a very good actor, or had genuinely no clue what was going on, because she was excited to see Lynn. Despite the lack of ill will or hostility they sensed from Amaranth, Lynn couldn’t help the flare of irritation they felt, and pressed on the foolish child with the killing intent they usually reserved for enemies.

This was a serious matter of life and death, and the girl needed to wake up and see that.

Lynn’s efforts were wasted.

Amaranth still didn’t seem to understand why Lynn was angry, and instead had the gall to ask about Xanxus. Surely she couldn’t be this dense; Xanxus had been a taboo subject for months, and what sane person would directly ask the Vongola about him? Much less follow a Vongola agent around hoping to ask about him.

Lynn found it very hard to believe. They supposed that the girl’s obvious crush on them might explain her behaviour in part, but that didn’t explain her approaching the Sawada family. There must be something else.

“You need to learn to take a hint,” they said, after failing to come to a conclusion. “And what did you want with my associates?”

“Um,” said Amaranth, looking hesitant, “...the girl..”

Asano! Of course…Lynn couldn’t believe they’d missed that angle. Amaranth was a Cloud, purportedly. And Asano was a newly awakened Sky. An opportunity. That explained everything.

Absolutely not, thought Lynn. Amaranth was the absolute worst choice for Asano, who was, at any rate, not ready for Guardians.

“You will not approach anyone in that household again,” they said sternly, trying to put as much weight into the warning as they could. “You will not approach me. Should I decide you are a threat, I will not hesitate to remove you and what remains of your family.”

Hopefully it would be enough. If it wasn’t, Lynn would persuade the Bellini to move. And if that still wasn’t enough… Lynn was deeply resistant to harming children, but if Amaranth continued to be a problem, they would have no mercy.

They had a duty to Iemitsu’s family.

Chapter Text

Sparrow, 19, Rank B, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly Locusta of Malta, formerly Lili Ortiz, 22, student.

Lili was going to lose all her hair (and stomach lining) from stress at this point.

First there had been Squalo’s emotional turmoil during the entire process of locating Xanxus and his subsequent retrieval (he lost a bunch of hair, too, and Lili had to get his office vacuumed at frequent intervals so he wouldn’t notice and spiral even more). Then there was whatever happened to Rue that sent Ottavio into a panic, where Lili had to help organise Squalo and Lussuria’s devious scheme to shove Xanxus at Tyr, while worrying about what had happened to Rue the whole time. With Ottavio (and Basilio) gone, someone then had to keep an eye on Mirco and Hayato, and Ottavio had turned to Lili.

Lili would have really liked to refuse, but Ottavio had looked so stressed. And Lili was already sort of tutoring Hayato (who was a sweet and studious, if occasionally moody, kid), so it wouldn’t be that hard, right? Right?!

(Lili couldn’t even lie to herself.)

Well, Mirco was sulky that he’d been left behind, kept picking fights with Bel (which got Lili reprimanded for ‘not watching him’ – could anyone actually watch baby Mukuro?!), and had done something to Ottavio that got him grounded, which made him even grumpier. On Hayato’s end, he was pretending he wasn’t glum about Shamal not being around, but he was rather endearingly concerned about Mirco, even coming to tell Lili that Mirco was having nightmares. Lili didn’t really know what to do with that information, other than to make sure the kids were otherwise eating well and looking passably healthy.

And then, as if Lili didn’t have enough to worry about, a request came down from Vongola HQ to ‘make an example of’ the Bellini, the famiglia Amaranth came from. Allegedly it was because they were defecting or something, according to what Jet could find out.

Squalo’s face had been completely impassive as he signed off on the paperwork, and he went on the assignment himself.

Lili asked some of the lower ranks on the mission team if they’d seen their former Varia trainee, and they all shook their heads. She could only pray that Amaranth had somehow gotten away, and would have the sense to keep hidden for a while. Lili couldn’t help her now.

The one saving grace was Jet, who showed up regularly with antacids and a warm drink, or took over babysitting for a little bit once in a while, and on her birthday, came by with a box of chocolates. Considering the amount of effort Jet was putting in, Lili felt a bit guilty for neglecting her boyfriend, but in the Varia, work always came first, and it wasn’t like Jet wasn’t busy with his own duties.

To Lili’s embarrassment, her colleagues had gotten wind of her relationship with Jet (not that they were actually hiding it or anything). Berith would tease her sometimes, and Marchosias, expectedly, made snide remarks now and then that Lili ignored or retaliated by poisoning his tea (Mirco and Hayato helped).

One day, Squalo received a phone call, and gathered Mammon and Bel into his office. After they re-emerged, Lili couldn’t see Mammon’s expression under their hood, but Bel and Squalo seemed more alive than they had been in months, despite their red-rimmed eyes. That was when Lili knew in her gut that Xanxus was out.

Despite her fretting and wondering, nothing happened for almost a month, until Ottavio showed up out of the blue, alone.

He was back to “arrange a few things” (did this mean Xanxus was coming back soon?!) and pick up Mirco before he went on vacation. (Lili was extremely jealous.)

Unexpectedly, Lili got a present as thanks for helping to look after the kids – a couple of bottles of wine Ottavio said were from his vineyard back home. That was nice of him.

Lili felt a bit bad for Hayato being left behind, but she supposed he really wasn’t Ottavio’s kid the way Mirco was. Damn Shamal for not stepping up! But in the meantime, the kid had Lili, who was determined that Hayato would get a happy and fulfilling childhood somehow.

Xanxus himself returned quietly with the rest of the Varia in the middle of the night a few days later. Lili knew almost exactly when he arrived, because an excited Bluebird crept up to her room and started scratching at the door like a cat.

(Luckily, her roommate Amber didn’t mind too much, because she found Bluebird extremely entertaining.)

The next morning, Xanxus was walking around the place like he’d never left, followed everywhere by three adorable little goslings (a ‘gesture of goodwill’ from Tyr and the Biscione, apparently). The goslings left a trail of goose shit in their wake, but thankfully by the end of the day someone had knitted them little goose diapers.

In the following days, Lili almost couldn’t believe her own two eyes as she witnessed Levi-a-Than solemnly and carefully taking the goslings out for walks and splashes in the castle’s garden pond, having apparently been assigned the role of Chief Goose Minder.

Did that mean Levi-a-Than was officially Xanxus’s Guardian now? Jet was immediately interested by the idea, and said he would listen around for news. A betting pool had even been set up. Lili bet on ‘yes’.

Meanwhile, Bluebird stealthily met up with Lili and updated her on everything that he hadn’t been able to say with her roommate around, including Xanxus’s defrosting and bonding with the Biscione’s guard geese (Lili couldn’t believe Tyr had just stored Xanxus in their goose shed!), and what exactly happened to Rue.

“Rue couldn’t say much with so many people around, but he was injured fighting Demon Spade,” was the shocking news that came out of Bluebird’s mouth.

“Oh shit,” Lili gaped, remembering what they’d discussed with Rue the last time they all met. “But he’s okay now, yeah?” He must be, since Ottavio had happily gone on vacation, presumably with Rue.

“Oh yeah!” said Bluebird. “Totally fine. He gave me the number to his burner phone. He said to call and we can arrange a meet up and stuff after he and Ottavio get back from their holiday. Can you believe they get to go on vacation! That’s not fair! I want to go on vacation too!”

Lili tuned out Bluebird’s whining for a moment, lost in thought. If Rue had defeated(?) Demon Spade… and Xanxus was out early… and then add to that to all the other stuff that was now different from canon…what was going to happen next? Lili had no clue, and it made her uneasy. She could only observe and adapt, like she’d always done.

The Varia as a whole were very glad to have Xanxus back, though everyone not in the know had their own conspiracy theories on where Xanxus had been and what meant for their relationship with Vongola HQ. Xanxus and his Guardians were suspiciously quiet on that front, until Ottavio returned from his vacation, looking well-rested and mildly sunburned (Lili was, once again, very jealous; she’d never been on vacation ever since she transmigrated!).

An all-hands meeting was called in the main hall of the castle, and Lili and her colleagues were roped into organising and making sure it didn’t get too rowdy. The air was buzzing with anticipation, with people quietly (or not so quietly) murmuring speculations to each other. Lili could spot Bluebird in the crowd, practically vibrating out of his skin with excitement.
Everyone immediately fell silent when Xanxus descended the grand staircase, accompanied by his Guardians. (Lili was somehow reminded of a princess making her debut at a ball.) Someone had even arranged for dramatic lighting (Lili suspected Luss).

(And Levi-a-Than was up there with the rest of them! Congratulations to him, Lili supposed, and planned to get some extra snacks with her winnings.)

Xanxus did not mention where or how he had been held prisoner, how he’d escaped, or where he had been. Instead, he started off by commending the Varia on their resilience in the face of “disruptive influence” from HQ.

“Now that I have returned,” said Xanxus, “I have no intention of leaving again.”

Everyone cheered.

Xanxus promised that now that he was back, he would ensure that HQ and the Alliance gave the Varia their due respect, and that they would seek opportunities to operate more independently. He did emphasise, though, that the Varia’s foremost loyalty was to the Vongola, and that would never change.

Whether on purpose or not, Xanxus made no mention of the Ninth.

There were also some leadership changes announced– since Xanxus was back, Ottavio was obviously resigning from his position as acting leader of the Varia, but would remain on the executive committee. He was even turning over his HR head position to Shrike, to Lili’s shock. Instead, Ottavio would be focusing on training (of all kinds, which Lili prayed didn’t include staff seminars) and recruiting. Lili didn’t think Ottavio was falling out of favour (on the contrary Xanxus and his Guardians seemed more grudgingly respectful of him, if anything), and maybe was just slowly preparing to retire. It’d been a long time coming.

After everything settled down for a bit, Lili and Bluebird put their heads together, sorted out their rest days, and called Rue, who was happily available on the proposed date and provided them with a meeting location.

“I thought Ottavio would’ve bought Rue a fancy house somewhere,” commented Bluebird. The address Rue had given them was in a busy but not particularly desirable area. “With an ocean view and hot tub and everything.”

“Rue can buy his own fancy house,” said Lili, rolling her eyes. Rue seemed more of an apartment person, in her opinion, especially as he didn’t stay in one place for long and was always traveling around for work or… staying with Ottavio.

On the day they were going to see Rue, Lili met up with Bluebird at the basement garage.

Lili had saved up over the years to purchase a sensible, steel grey moped second hand. She used it to get around town, or make day trips to Palermo. She hadn’t ridden it in a while, what with her busy schedule and all, but Jet borrowed it for errands sometimes, and kept the moped clean and the tank topped up, so Lili didn’t have to worry about it.

“Sorry, it’ll be a bit cramped,” said Lili, passing Bluebird a helmet. “And slow– this thing doesn’t have much horsepower.”

“Are you kidding?” Bluebird exclaimed. He happily hopped on behind Lili and buckled the helmet on. “This is so much better than Ottavio’s fugly scooter. You’ve seen it, right?”

“Don’t let Ottavio hear you say that, he loves that thing.” Lili had indeed seen Ottavio’s greatest treasure, his infamous pink Vespa. “It’s custom or something.”

“Yeah, it goes way too fast for a Vespa with a sidecar,” said Bluebird, sounding like he was recalling something traumatic.

Bluebird was so overly dramatic sometimes (most times).

They went via the backroads, as Lili was terrified of taking her tiny moped on the highway. Halfway through, she stopped at a random village to change (Lili was habitually paranoid, as her bounty from Malta was still active) and made Bluebird put on a wig and dress.

“Why?!” wailed Bluebird. “I get that you still have that bounty on you from ages ago but nobody knows who I am!”

“Oh suck it up, you should be used to it by now,” said Lili, putting on a pair of glasses and stuffing her pink curls into a cap. With her flat chest and small stature, she could pass for a prepubescent boy, at a glance. “And that’s not true, don’t you remember how many people tried to kill you when you were out recruiting with Ottavio? Your hair is too distinctive! You can see that blue stripe from a mile away!”

That was the disadvantage of being an SI-OC with such a …unique design.

“Can’t I just wear a hat like you?” whined Bluebird. “And why a dress?!”

Why? Maybe because Lili was a bit envious of Bluebird’s free-spirited adventures gallivanting around northern Italy, while she had been stuck with paperwork and Marchosias the chauvinist pig every single day. And she needed a bit of stress relief.

And maybe because all the stress and stomachaches was making Lili a bit sadistic, according to Jet (who swore he didn’t mind).

“Because you’ve pretended to be a girl before, and you weren’t too bad at it?” said Lili, trying to sound like a wise senpai. Discounting his stint conning first Shamal and then the Estraneo, Bluebird had been pressed into cross-dressing… again, for his latest Varia assignment. He was going to get a reputation for it sooner or later, at this rate. “Don’t fix what ain’t broke, as they say.”

Bluebird squinted suspiciously at Lili and pouted a little, but gave in eventually.

Glad kids these days still had some respect for their elders.

Rue’s address led them to a notoriously chaotic local market, and Lili worried a bit if they’d be able to find each other. Bluebird was immediately distracted by the sides and sounds, and Lili turned away for one second to secure her moped and he had already vanished.

“Goddammit,” Lili exclaimed, looking around in mild panic. Bluebird was probably fine, but Lili knew he was a magnet for trouble.

She searched around the stalls, figuring Bluebird must have gone to buy a snack or something, and caught sight of his frilly dress disappearing into a crowded side street packed with merchants and shoppers.

Lili elbowed her way through a horde of grannies haggling over artichokes just in time to hear a shriek and crash. Somehow feeling in her gut that Bluebird was absolutely involved, she rushed to the scene. A cart of oranges and limes had tipped over, and the culprit was a familiar-looking blond teenager, who had obviously tripped, taking most of the nearby fruit stall down with him as he fell.

And obviously, the half-squashed person under him was the missing Bluebird!

Lili absolutely recognised the blond teen as well – she’d finally seen him once, when Squalo had gotten a rare visitor. Bernadino (lol) ‘Dino’ Cavallone, the fourteen-year old, baby-faced walking disaster who had tripped a dozen times on the way to Squalo’s office, breaking at least one vase and getting blood all over the carpet (Lili had finally, finally met her favourite character in real life and then discovered within five minutes why people said to never meet your heroes).

“I’m sorry, miss! I’m sorry!” said the disaster on legs. He tried to get up, but slipped on a crushed orange, falling back down and sending an elbow into the groaning Bluebird’s face. “I am so sorry!!”

Lili could see frantic-looking men in suits approaching out of the corner of her eye, so she pushed forward and hauled Bluebird out from under the still-flailing Dino, pulling him to his feet.

“Come on, we’re late,” she said, hustling him out of there.

“Ow ow ow,” said Bluebird, holding his nose. “Is he ok? Shouldn’t we help him?” The blond teenager was still flailing on the ground while mumbling apologies to the irate stall owner. “Wait, isn’t he–?”

“He’ll be fine, his minions are coming,” said Lili. For now, Lili just wanted to be out of the way before Reborn showed up. Reborn was scary. “Why were you even there? Come on, let’s go.”

“I saw someone selling arancini and I wanted one,” said Bluebird sheepishly. “Then that guy came out of nowhere, tripped and pushed me into a cart.” His eyes sparkled with excitement. “That was totally Dino Cavallone, right?! I knew he looked familiar!”

“Later,” said Lili, steering Bluebird away. “Hurry up!”

It took them a little while more to find the exact spot they were meant to meet Rue. Lili really missed having a smartphone and Google Maps – her sense of direction wasn’t the greatest, though Varia training had helped a lot.

At first, it looked like there was no one there, but Lili suddenly noticed Rue on the balcony above, smoking a cigarette and looking down at them in amusement. Probably some sort of Mist trick, thought Lili. Rue, who was wearing his male guise, gestured for them to come upstairs, so they went up the narrow staircase. It led to two apartments on the second floor, and Rue was waiting at the door of the one on the left.

“You both look cute today,” noted Rue with a laugh. Bluebird flushed, looking embarrassed, while Lili just grinned. “Come on in!” He stepped aside so they could enter.

Lili looked around curiously as she walked in. It was a very tiny, cramped studio, with dust covers over everything, and completely devoid of any decorations. It wasn’t somewhere Lili could envision Rue living, considering he seemed like a person who enjoyed nice things and little luxuries.

“Woah, do you live here?” asked Bluebird, echoing Lili’s thoughts. “I guess you’re not here all that much?”

“Nope, I technically live in a CEDEF-sponsored apartment near the CEDEF offices, but obviously we shouldn’t meet there,” Rue replied, digging through the fridge for drinks. He set down some bottles of sparkling water and beer, then grabbed a bag of potato chips from a cupboard. “Usually, I rent this place out, but the previous tenant … expired, and then I was too busy to find another renter... Help yourselves, by the way. I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping, so it isn’t much.”

“Thanks for having us,” said Lili, sitting down on the cloth-covered sofa and smacking Bluebird’s hand when he tried to sneakily reach for a beer. “Bluebird very literally ran into Dino Cavallone on the way here, by the way. I thought this was a Vongola-controlled area?”

“He ran into me!” corrected Bluebird, cradling his smacked hand. He obediently opened a bottle of water with a put-upon sigh.

“It is mostly Vongola around here, but various Alliance members have pockets of influence here and there,” said Rue, looking interested. “The Cavallone own a gambling den somewhere in the area. It’s pretty famous for being the only gambling house in existence that actually loses money. What happened? Was Reborn there, too?”

Lili didn’t even know gambling dens could lose money. That explained the dire financial straits the Cavallone were in, at this point in the timeline.

“I didn’t see Reborn,” said Lili, and launched into a retelling of their encounter, Bluebird chiming in at regular intervals. Rue didn’t seem surprised or alarmed at Dino (or even the possibility of Reborn being around), so Lili subconsciously relaxed, too. What was she even worrying about, anyway!

Bluebird then eagerly asked about Rue’s vacation. Rue and Ottavio had apparently gone to Mafia Land! Lili had never been.

“I thought Ottavio and Mirco were going to burn like crazy,” Rue recalled. “Luckily, they only got a little bit sunburnt. I thought you ended up there at first, Bluebird? You probably know it like the back of your hand.”

“I did, but I don’t think I saw all that much of it,” said Bluebird with a shrug. “I mostly stuck to the back streets. Didn’t have money for all the fun stuff!”

Ah, right, Lili remembered. When Bluebird got dumped into Mafia Land when he first transmigrated, he was homeless and penniless, like how Lili had found herself suddenly in Malta with nothing except the clothes on her OC’s back. Rue had also started out on the streets, according to what he’d told them. The only transmigrator Lili knew off who got off to a lucky start was Amaranth, but who knew how she was doing now…

After Bluebird was done asking increasingly nosy questions about Rue’s wholesome family holiday (nothing particularly juicy turned up, though Lili noted Rue smiled a lot), they filled Rue in on the major goings-on in the Varia that he’d missed (Lili regretted not preparing an agenda, but some things just should not be written down, just in case). Rue had gleaned from Ottavio a few hints to Xanxus’s rescue and transportation to the Biscione, but there were a few details he didn’t know about. And of course, he’d just split with Ottavio after their totally platonic vacation and hadn’t yet heard that Xanxus had returned to the Varia, or that Levi-a-Than had finally joined Xanxus’s set.

“Now you gotta tell us about your epic fight with Demon Spade!” pleaded Bluebird.

Whilst at the Biscione, Rue had only managed to tell Bluebird the barest details– that yes, he’d faced off with Demon Spade, and had obviously lived to tell the tale.

“Ah. I should, shouldn’t I?” Rue sighed, a look of dread coming into his eyes. He lit another cigarette (he’d politely put the first one out when they’d come in) and sighed again.

“I hope you’ll never experience the feeling of being completely outmatched,” he said. “The best I could do was stall for time.”

Even Bluebird seemed to catch the gravity in Rue’s tone of voice, and stayed quiet as they listened to Rue’s recount of how he investigated Kozato, slowly figured out Kozato wasn’t the culprit, and then started suspecting his CEDEF colleague Sage instead.

But by that time, it was too late, and Rue was shot point-blank by Demon-as-Sage, and only pulled through due to his own Mist Flames. Then Rue had clawed his way back to the hotel where the CEDEF were staying, and confronted Demon Spade without any certainty of victory.

Lili thought Rue was seriously a badass, and she could tell from the awe and hero-worship on Bluebird’s face that he thought the same.

Thanks to their brainstorming the last time they’d all met at the Varia castle, and thanks to Ottavio’s generosity in arming Rue with everything he could think of that could help, Rue managed to purge the malicious supernatural phenomenon with the power of (unethical) science.

(Lili might be rethinking the lack of romantic involvement in Rue and Ottavio’s relationship– at the very least, Ottavio seemed very devoted to Rue’s well-being.)

Rue said he didn’t know what happened after that, as he passed out. He heard from Ottavio that Tyr’s Mist’s people had seen Rue walking injured through the city and alerted her, drawing Tyr and Lugh to Rue’s location. Lugh’s medical aid managed to save Rue in the nick of time, and the rest was history.

“I’m honestly not sure how I’m still alive,” Rue concluded, scratching lightly at his brow. “If Tyr’s set hadn’t been in the area… well, you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

Rue could have actually died! Lili definitely knew of possible-transmigrators who had probably (or definitely) died, but she hadn’t known any of them personally. Rue was her friend, though (or at least, Lili considered him one of her few friends, along with Bluebird, or at the very least a valued collaborator in this whole transmigrator thing), and Lili didn’t know how she would deal if something happened. Sure, it wasn’t like being a Varia assassin was all sunshine and daisies (on the contrary, it was quite dangerous, and Lili spent a lot of time worrying), but Varia work was always in teams, and neither herself (after escaping from Malta) or Bluebird had really really been in immediately life-threatening situations, with no one around to help (Lili was discounting Rue’s useless colleagues).

Her stomach was starting to hurt again.

“He’s not completely gone,” concluded Rue glumly. “He’ll come for me eventually, I’m sure. Hopefully Tsuna can grow up to be an overpowered teenager and defeat him before then…How’d he do it, again?”

“Roasted him, I think?” said Bluebird, wrinkling his nose in thought.

Lili couldn’t remember all the details either, and she sometimes mixed up stuff from the anime and manga. It looked like this universe was more … manga and light novel based, maybe, considering Ottavio, the Simon etc.

“Power of friendship? Something like that, with Tsuna and Enma– that’s the Simon Family’s 10th head– joining forces, and then something about an Oath Flame,” said Lili, wishing she’d paid more attention during that arc. She’d been mostly into the fanfiction part of the fandom by that time, and Tsuna’s insane power inflation by the end had been getting a bit boring for Lili, though it was really par for the course with shonen manga. She’d read KHR for the characters and setting, not the plot!

Rue was holding his head in his hands. “I don’t suppose any old Sky Flame and…Earth? Flame will do… not that it would be easy to get hold of either or both.”

“I think you need main character energy,” said Bluebird. “And plot armour.” He’d fidgeted and tugged at his hair so much that his wig was nearly all the way off. Staring at the crooked blonde hairpiece, Lili wondered if they could get Bluebird to cosplay Elena or something ... what did Elena even look like, other than blonde?

Wait, Elena.

“Rue, did Sage have a pocket watch on him?” Lili asked. “An antique one. There should be an old photograph inside.”

Rue sat up straight. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, “but Sage’s belongings should have been confiscated by CEDEF. They would probably be in storage after investigation. Why?”

“Oh, oh, I remember that!” exclaimed Bluebird. “Wasn’t it a drop after Tsuna defeated Demon? It had a picture with the first gen plus Demon’s girlfriend in it.”

“I don’t know if it has anything to do with Demon possessing people,” said Lili. How did ghosts even work in this universe? “It wasn’t really covered how he did, and probably Mist Flames do play a huge part, but maybe the pocket watch is a … medium? Anchor?”

“So maybe destroying it will get rid of Demon!” Bluebird speculated excitedly.

“Or just make him absolutely hopping mad,” sighed Rue. “I suppose it’s worth a try.”

Chapter Text

Superbia Squalo, 15, 14th Sword Emperor, Vice-Captain, Varia Independent Assassination Squads

Hearing Xanxus’s voice over the phone was the best birthday present Squalo had ever received.

Squalo wanted nothing more than to rush to northern Italy right away to see Xanxus in the flesh and make sure he was all right, and he could tell that Bel and Mammon felt the same. But he had a duty to Xanxus to keep the Varia running in his absence, and now he had to ensure everything was in place for Xanxus’s return.

That didn’t stop Squalo from generally being in a buoyant mood in the following days, despite Bel getting into a fight with Ottavio’s demon child (again), and Levi-a-Than hounding him for news about Xanxus (again).

A request from HQ to assassinate Bosco Bellini (that fake oracle’s father), did put a slight damper on his mood. Squalo didn’t really particularly care that the Bellini’s whole mess was essentially caused by Amaranth’s singular talent for fucking things up, but she’d at least done them the favour of getting rid of Federico (despite Xanxus not wanting his adoptive brothers dead, Squalo thought a slimy fratricidal bastard like Federico was better off in the ground). So Squalo made it quick and painless, and had a Varia sniper put a bullet through Don Bellini’s brain just as he was sitting down to a meeting with the Gesso. Enough to ‘make a statement’, as requested.

They got rid of most of the Bellini leadership in a similar fashion, but there was no explicit instruction to off Amaranth (though it was implied), and besides, they didn’t see her (and the fee had not included locating targets), so Squalo left it alone. HQ seemed satisfied, so it was no longer any of Squalo’s business.

Then, unexpectedly, Dino came to visit.

Mammon immediately vanished, even though Reborn hadn’t appeared to have come along (Squalo suspected he might be sneaking around somewhere, but didn’t quite care, as the most important things were hidden in Squalo’s office anyway, and if they were lucky maybe one of Mirco’s beasties would bite him), and the rest of Dino’s entourage stayed in the receiving room.

Squalo watched in amusement as Dino tripped all the way to his office.

“Well,” he noted. “Good to see you haven’t changed.”

Then Squalo almost immediately saw he was wrong.

Dino had changed.

Squalo had last seen Dino, very briefly, at Federico’s funeral, where they hadn’t spoken, and before that, at Enrico’s. He’d gotten progressively taller (so had Squalo), but also grew proportionally more tired-looking, so his new tutor must really be putting him through the wringer. On closer scrutiny, Dino now looked a little more settled, confident, and …hopeful?

Considering how Dino had looked like it was the end of the world when he was forced to inherit by brute force (Reborn), it was a significant change.

Dino gave him a wry smile.

“Can’t say the same for you, Squalo,” he said. “Back in school you would never have the patience for–” Dino gestured helplessly at the paperwork piled up on Squalo’s desk. “I remember you could hardly sit still! The opposite of a Rain, was what they called you.”

Squalo still remembered the dated bullshit the mafia school fed them about Flame users. Even there, Flame-capable students were the minority, and yet there’d been two Skies. The teachers had been convinced there would be bloody fights for dominance or some shit, but Xanxus didn’t give a fuck, while Dino had honestly just been too mired in his family drama to even remember he was a Sky most days. Squalo couldn’t figure out if the school staff were more relieved or disappointed at the lack of violence.

Xanxus was in the year above them, and Squalo almost never saw him at school, so the first Sky Squalo had ever properly met was Dino, who he’d known ever since he started school. Squalo had his definitive Flame-triggering near-death experience at the tender age of six, but it took Dino several narrow escapes from assassination attempts before people were even sure he was a Sky. Then it took even longer for him to figure out the stereotypical Sky shit.

Right before Squalo started thinking about challenging Tyr had been when Dino had started making awkward, half-hearted overtures to Squalo and a couple other Flame-active schoolmates.

It wasn’t as if Squalo had been completely oblivious, but he had been laser-focused on the goal of becoming the best swordsman in the world, and being tied down to a Sky, particularly a Sky fettered by the weight of a whole famiglia, just didn’t appeal to Squalo.

(Then he met Xanxus, who wholeheartedly supported his ambition.)

Plus, Dino himself had been a mess, torn between wanting nothing to do with the mantle of leadership so he could escape the bloody power struggles at home, and being unable to abandon his friends (who were all mafia spawn) and Family.

Squalo had no patience for people who didn’t know what they wanted.

That felt like a lifetime ago, though it had really only been a year and change.

“Shit happened,” concluded Squalo.

That got a nervous laugh out of Dino. “Sure did.”

Squalo eyed Dino for a bit, then sat back in his chair. “So, what can I do for you, Cavallone?” he said. “Finally decided to do something about those shit-stirring fucks back home?”

The Cavallone situation was… a mess. Like the Vongola, the upper echelon consisted of a network of old farts with varying degrees of relatedness to the boss. Unlike the Vongola, there was no requirement for the boss to be a Sky (though it was preferred, as everybody in the mafia wanted to emulate the Vongola), so any worthless piece of shit could have delusions of becoming boss. Yes, the boss title was usually passed from father to son, but every other generation an uncle would supplant a nephew, or the direct line of inheritance would mysteriously die out, and some third cousin no one had heard of would take over. That was why they were into their tenth leader now, counting Dino, despite existing for barely a third of the time the Vongola had been around.

No wonder the Cavallone Ninth had all but bankrupted the Cavallone (not like it had been doing particularly well before that) to hire Reborn. Dino wouldn’t have lasted five minutes once the infighting started in earnest.

Dino waffled around for a bit, but eventually took a steadying breath, a look of determination coming onto his face.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “I want to do something about those shit-stirring fucks. Before they harm even more people.”

Sounded like there was more to the story, if Dino, with his bleeding heart and general hatred for violence, was actually considering professional homicide, but who was Squalo to refuse?

They discussed particulars for a while, Squalo helping Dino with the forms because he was a first-timer client, and because Squalo was feeling a bit nostalgic about his school days and the times he yelled at Dino for being a shiftless coward.

“You sure you can pay?” said Squalo, once they’d gotten the main contract drafted. “We don’t do credit or installments here. And I’m not giving you a discount.”

“Yes!” Dino insisted, sounding insulted. “I made a little money with some investments, I can pay!”

Squalo raised an eyebrow, but Dino paid the deposit up front, so he didn’t really care.

As Dino stood up to leave, he retrieved a small box from inside his jacket and handed it to Squalo. From the rattling, Squalo could tell there was a metallic tin in there. Squalo bet it was metal polish. Dino always gave him polish because he could never think of anything else Squalo would like.

“Happy belated birthday,” said Dino, scratching the back of his neck. “I wish…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

He fell all the way down the stairs on the way out.

Soon after that, Squalo was busy again, preparing for his Sky’s return (fucking finally!).

When Xanxus had … they’d kept his room as it was when he left it. Now that he knew Xanxus was alive and well and returning soon, he had to get his Sky’s room cleaned out, didn’t he? Fuck knew how much dust had accumulated in there by now.

Then he needed to clear out as much of his backlog as possible, because Squalo was planning on setting aside a couple of days to spend with Xanxus and deal with any unexpected situations that might crop up.

The Fly arrived a couple of days early, not to help Squalo, but to fuck off on holiday somewhere with his brat. Xanxus had promised Ottavio semi-retirement, and it looked like he was taking advantage of his new free time the first chance he got.
And then, finally, Xanxus came home.

Before Squalo could get to him, Levi immediately threw himself at Xanxus’s feet. “Boss!!! You’re back!” he wailed, loud enough to wake the entire castle. “I—ack!”

Levi’s caterwauling was cut off by an outraged Bel flinging what had to be his entire arsenal at him. Levi rolled out of the way, but still took several knives to the behind. Squalo kicked him for good measure, then joined the others in the mawkish group huddle.

Mammon had perched on Xanxus’s shoulder, while Bel was clinging onto his hip for dear life, bawling like a baby. Squalo tried to peel the kid off before Xanxus could lose his patience, but he latched back on immediately the moment Squalo let go. He gave up.

“It’s good to see you,” said Squalo, trying to sound like he wasn’t choking up. He would’ve pulled Xanxus into a quick hug, but he was carrying a large basket, for some reason, so he settled for an awkward side embrace.

“Yeah,” said Xanxus. He seemed to be studying every one of them closely (save Luss, who was hanging back and making disgusting “aww” sounds while watching the reunion), as if trying to assess any changes in his Guardians. He shifted the basket into one arm, roughly tousled Bel’s hair, and grasped Squalo’s shoulder.

“Meet in my quarters,” said Xanxus. It was a good idea; they were still in the entrance hallway. “Get some food sent up.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Squalo. He’d already had the night cooks prepare something in advance, and the Varia always kept enough wine in their cellar to drown a herd of elephants.

Xanxus then eyed Levi, who looked heartbroken and was giving Xanxus the most horrifying puppy eyes. “Luss, fix him, then bring him up,” he decided.

“What?!” screeched Bel and Squalo at the same time. Even Mammon’s mouth turned down even further.

“If you say so, Boss,” said Luss doubtfully.

Levi looked euphoric. “I swear I won’t let you down, Boss!!” he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.

“Ugh,” muttered Squalo, and resigned himself to enduring Levi’s presence for the rest of his life.

Nevermind Levi as a fellow Guardian; if Xanxus wanted him to roll in pig shit right now, Squalo would probably do it (and then stab him later). Fucking Skies.

As he headed off to make a call to the kitchens, Xanxus stopped him and shoved the basket he was holding at Squalo.

“Present from the Biscione.”

Squalo took it out of reflex. It was warm, slightly smelly, and from the gaps in the weave, he could see something fuzzy and grey moving inside. Frowning, Squalo lifted the lid to reveal three very angry goslings.

The little feathered bastards hissed at him.

Squalo put the lid back on, turned around and dumped the basket on Levi.

“Look, if you’re sticking around, you gotta show you’re useful,” he said. “Aren’t you from a farm somewhere? They’re better off in your hands.”

Levi wanted to protest, but Xanxus spoke up again.

“I want these to be the meanest, fattest goddamn geese in Sicily,” he said, and Levi immediately sprang to attention.

“Yes Boss! I won’t let you down!” he cried, and ran off with the goslings somewhere, uncaring of the knives still stuck in his behind.

God. This clown show was going to be his life now.

In the following days, an outdoor shelter was swiftly built for the new Varia geese, they were added to the payroll (god, what was Squalo’s life), and someone from Medical even knitted them little diapers so they didn’t shit all over the place when they wanted to follow Xanxus around the castle (they were transported daily between the gardens and Xanxus’s office by a feverishly dedicated Levi).

Luss claimed Xanxus had bonded with the Biscione’s guard geese (probably because Tyr had stored Xanxus in his fucking goose shed), so Tyr had sent him home with the latest batch of hatchlings.

“They calm him down, actually,” Luss confided. “And I can’t wait for them to grow up and chase CEDEF around the next time they’re here.”

That sounded like a spectacle Squalo didn’t want to miss.

Xanxus was, indeed, a lot calmer than Squalo had expected him to be. Still, Squalo could sense that he was angry and hurt and disappointed, and the others had more or less picked up on it as well. Xanxus wasn’t one to talk about his feelings (none of them were), so Squalo and his fellow Guardians simply offered their support through companionship.

They’d never really had the habit of eating together before Xanxus had been imprisoned in Zero-Point. Xanxus usually ate in his rooms whenever he felt like it, Squalo ate in his office or in the mess hall, and everyone else did their own thing. Now that Xanxus was back, though, none of them liked having him out of their sight for long. In the daytime they had their own duties, but once the workday was over, everyone gravitated to Xanxus, who was surprisingly tolerant of it.

Xanxus didn’t usually talk (that was mostly Luss and Bel, and now Levi), other than to tell them to shut up while flinging a glass at them for being noisy, but one night he set down his knife and fork and spoke.

“Vongola leadership has to change,” said Xanxus.

Obviously, thought Squalo. No one else had any objections.

Squalo, however, noted that Xanxus said that leadership had to change, not that he had to be said leadership. What did he have in mind?

“Sure Boss,” said Luss cheerily. “How do you want to do it?”

Xanxus drained his wineglass and poured himself another. “I want to know two things. One: the identities of all possible Vongola heirs. All. Two: everything there is to know about the Vongola Rings.”

Squalo frowned. He could understand the first, but the second…

“Tyr said that the Vongola Sky Ring is locked to Vongola blood,” Xanxus continued. “And that the Rings are needed to rule the Vongola. Find out if that’s true.”

Mammon shifted a little, seemingly discomfited. “The Vongola Rings are part of the Tri-ni-Sette, along with the arcobaleno pacifiers and the Mare Rings,” they said. “The Mare Rings are passed down through a matrilineal line, so it is possible the Vongola Rings work similarly.”

Mammon didn’t like to talk about the arcobaleno thing at all if they could help it, even if there was good money to be had, so it was Squalo’s first time hearing about this. For most in the mafia, all they knew about the arcobaleno was that they were not the infants they looked to be, mysteriously long-lived, and were the most powerful of their Flame type. That they were guarding some kind of secret was widely assumed, though no one had the balls to go up to one and ask.

“Tri-ni-Sette?” Luss queried, clearly unfamiliar with the term as well.

They all listened with increasing disbelief as Mammon explained. Fucking aliens. Or not, they’d been around longer than ordinary humans, and were ‘True Earthlings’, as Mammon claimed they called themselves (so were they human or not?!). Magic stones and the fate of the world. The true, horrifying extent of what had been done to Mammon to trap them in an unchanging body, to be used as a battery until they were completely drained. What the everloving fuck.

Xanxus’s face was impassive. “And you didn’t think to tell me this earlier?” he said.

“It … did not seem relevant at the time,” Mammon replied, voice tight. Xanxus allowed them their secrets, as long as it didn’t compromise the Varia or Xanxus’s goals. Mammon, being as old as they were, had a lot of secrets, and had shared almost none.

As penance, Mammon took charge of the investigations. Without compensation.

It wasn’t as if everyone else was just going to be twiddling their thumbs, either. Well, other than Bel, who couldn’t be expected to help much, and the new and confused Levi. The rest of them had their own assignments. Squalo was going to see if Rue could get any information out of the CEDEF (which meant dealing with The Fly, ugh), and Luss had access to the medical archives at HQ, so he would see if there might be any clues relating to bloodline.

After Ottavio returned, Xanxus addressed the Varia. Everyone knew he was back by now, but it was important for morale that they saw him in person. It worked, and the mood now was jubilant and energetic, everyone eager to show Xanxus their worth.

As they expected, word got out eventually that Xanxus had reappeared. There was some roundabout probing from HQ, CEDEF, and other interested parties, but because no one had the balls to ask properly, Squalo ignored them.

The next time the Varia had a visiting client, Xanxus parked himself in the meeting room, so the next little two-bit famiglia that had come to order a hit could go running to Vongola HQ regarding their ‘confirmed sighting’.

A summons came shortly after. For The Fly, because 1) HQ seemed to be hoping against all odds that he was still in charge, and 2) the Ninth clearly didn’t have the balls to talk to his own adopted son.

(Well that, and the fact that Xanxus would probably have ignored any summons.)

Surprisingly, Ottavio suggested Squalo come along.

“The more experience you have in dealing with HQ’s upper echelon, the better,” he said. “Eventually, I think it would be beneficial for you to present yourself as the ‘reasonable’ one, in comparison to Xanxus.”

“Like ‘good cop, bad cop’?” It wasn’t a bad idea, and Squalo could see why Ottavio had suggested it. Considering the rest of Xanxus’s set, Squalo was the best choice. The prigs at HQ didn’t like Luss, Mammon couldn’t be bothered, and the rest… yup. Squalo realised with dawning horror that he was the only choice. Fuck.

Squalo’s thoughts must have shown on his face, as Ottavio was clearly amused. “Something like that,” he agreed.

Squalo let it go, because he’d accepted that they all owed Tyr and his set, and anyways Ottavio was firmly in their corner by now. He promptly regretted it on the car ride over, as Ottavio wouldn’t stop nagging about the need for ‘managing HQ’ so they wouldn’t bother Xanxus too much.

Fuck, The Fly was worse than his ma.

…Squalo had been of the opinion that Ottavio didn’t really like Xanxus. Or himself, really. Maybe he was just reminded of his Sky’s own troubles with HQ.

When they arrived, the Ninth’s cronies looked surprised to see Squalo with Ottavio.

“...You’re looking well,” commented Coyote to The Fly, squinting suspiciously at Squalo. “I see you’re still stuck babysitting.”

“Proper guidance for the youth is important,” Ottavio replied pleasantly. “Sometimes we forget that, no?”

Coyote frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Ottavio just smiled his ‘I am talking to idiots’ smile. “Have a good day, Mr. Nougat,” he said, and pushed forward.

The Ninth was, once again, waiting for them in the same meeting room, accompanied by Visconti and Croquant Bouche this time.

Squalo had initially worried about being unable to disguise his anger at the Ninth, but seeing how old and tired the Ninth looked, he felt nothing but calm. And absolute certainty that the Ninth’s days as the ruler of the Vongola were numbered.

They got the whole hand kissing thing over and done with, then stood aside to see what the Ninth had in store for them.

“I was not expecting young Squalo,” the Ninth commented, observing Squalo with a critical eye..

“Superbia will be taking over as the main liaison with the Iron Fort,” said Ottavio. “He is still a little green, but I believe he will do well. Please direct any future inquiries to Superbia henceforth.”

“That’s unusual,” said the Ninth. He gave Ottavio a piercing look, as if trying to see what he was hiding. “Has there been a …situation?”

“Oh no, I’ve decided to step down because of my health,” said Ottavio. ”Best to leave the work to those with more youthful energy.”

There was a short pause as the Ninth, Croquant Bouche and Visconti took in Ottavio’s relaxed shoulders and sun-kissed glow.

“I … see,” said the Ninth eventually. “That is unfortunate.”

The Ninth then tried to ask about Xanxus in an ambiguous way, which Ottavio answered in an equally roundabout manner, until Visconti lost his patience.

“Is Xanxus back or not?!” he snapped. The Ninth placed a soothing hand on Visconti’s arm, but gazed at Ottavio in anticipation.

“Oh, of course,” said Ottavio, adjusting his glasses and smiling. “We’re very pleased to have him back. Now my duties as interim head are concluded.”

“When was this?” asked the Ninth quietly.

“He returned sometime while I was away on holiday, apparently, maybe a few weeks ago,” said Ottavio. “ Please rest assured that Xanxus is already hard at work. The Varia is in good hands.”

“How convenient,” muttered Visconti.

It was obvious the Ninth wanted to know how Xanxus had gotten out, and who had broken him out, but couldn’t quite ask, because that would mean admitting to putting his own child, adopted or not, in a block of ice. And hiding him in a tunnel to be forgotten, for what might as well have been forever, until an archaeologist found him two centuries later or something.

Squalo wondered what the other Vongola elders would think of it. Surely there would be some sympathetic to Xanxus…

As it were, the only sort of things the Ninth could ask were “Do you know where Xanxus has been?” or “What company has Xanxus been keeping?”, to which Squalo replied in all honesty that he hadn’t seen Xanxus in the flesh for months until he’d returned to the Varia.

Thwarted, the Ninth eventually veered the conversation back to Ottavio’s semi-retirement.

“It seems such a waste of your talent and abilities,” said the Ninth. “Are you certain you wish to step down? Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

It sounded like he was willing to support Ottavio’s leadership of the Varia, if necessary. The Ninth would rather have Ottavio, than his own son, lead a critical part of the Vongola. Like Xanxus was a dangerously loose cannon.

“Oh no, my health really has taken a turn for the worse,” demurred Ottavio. “And I have children now, Don; I’m sure you know what it’s like. I will still be doing some light work, but it’s quite nice to be able to focus on other matters.” His smile was as gentle and pleasant as ever, and the disgusting thing was that he sounded so sincere.

“After all, family is the most important thing, isn’t it?” Ottavio added, twisting the knife. “As per Vongola values.”

Visconti and Croquant Bouche both frowned, and Squalo spotted the Ninth’s fingers tightening around the arm of his chair for the briefest moment.

“Yes, you’re quite right,” said the Ninth, sounding a bit forced. “I’m glad.”

Squalo had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

Chapter Text

Rue, ??, CEDEF Agent, formerly Andrew Ginting, 35, sales manager

“This is so nice,” sighed Rue, stretching out on his beach chair. The sun was warm on his face as a lovely salt breeze caressed his face, he had an ice cold glass of sparkling wine in his hand, and Ottavio was hand feeding him strawberries dressed in nothing but a tiny pair of swim shorts (Varia issue).

“You deserve the break,” said Rue’s greatest enabler, and popped another fruit into Rue’s mouth.

Damned right did Rue deserve this.

The whole near-death experience thing had left Rue pretty weak, and recovery had been slow, even with Shamal and Lugh and Libitina’s (mostly Lugh, after Xanxus defrosted) efforts. Sun Flames couldn’t fix everything, and Flame exhaustion could only be recovered through rest.

Luckily, Rue hadn’t been bored during his convalescence at the Biscione headquarters.

Rue was good at getting people to like him, and once the Varia were all more relaxed after Xanxus got defrosted, immediately wasted no time in getting familiar with them (it was also an excuse to talk to Bluebird). In particular, Rue got along with Libitina like a house on fire.

An opinionated, independent lady who knew exactly what she wanted, Libitina had apparently been in the Varia for a long time, and had a lot of stories to tell about teenage Ottavio, back when he first joined the Varia alongside Tyr.

“He was lanky, like a string bean, and looked like the type of boy who’d get bullied in school,” recalled Libitina once, laughing. “There was this fellow, who’d thought himself the most powerful Cloud in the Varia until Ottavio came along. Kept posturing and making a nuisance of himself, until one day Ottavio had had enough and just grabbed him by the arm. He dropped dead in seconds.”

…Okay then.

“I did the autopsy,” Libitina continued, as if savouring the memory. “His heart had popped like a squeezed grape. Beautiful.”

…Rue was beginning to understand why even Xanxus was never rude to Libitina.

And then the conversation often took an odd turn after that.

“I don’t think Ottavio’s so much as looked at anyone else since you came along,” Libitina mused. “Any tips? Max is so shy…I think he’s still hung up on the fact that he used to be my superior, which is so silly…”

Rue was absolutely not prepared for ‘girl talk’ with Libitina, or having to explain (again) that he was not in a relationship with Ottavio, so he usually just said something vaguely motivating and surreptitiously steered the subject in a different direction.

The other Varia and Biscione members were also friendly enough, other than Xanxus (who was glum, moody, and often walled in by a small army of geese). Lussuria was especially fun to talk to when he wasn’t hovering around Xanxus, and Bluebird introduced him to his fellow Varia grunts and his ‘best buddy’ Lancia (Lancia!), who was extremely fun to tease.

Rue was a little more awkward around Tyr, Auntie and Lugh, acutely aware that he owed them too much, and didn’t really have any real way to repay them. Auntie was very kind to him, and everyone was pleasant enough, but Rue got the feeling that Tyr, and especially Lugh, did not particularly approve of his association with Ottavio (this probably had to do with how he and Ottavio met, and Rue wasn’t sure how to fix it).

Ottavio, whom he owed even more, told him not to worry about it.

It didn’t stop Rue from feeling guilty.

Rue thought Ottavio would go back to his extreme workaholic habits once his migraines had passed, but he stuck to his 3-hour workday, with no signs of doing more than a few cursory tasks outside of that, or at most supervising the Varia contingent’s training exercises.

“I am reducing my duties and stepping down into a less…involved role,” Ottavio told Rue, when he asked about it. They were alone in their room, as Basilio had been bundled off for weapons training with Tyr (good luck to the poor boy, thought Rue). “I’d like to put in a bit more effort in properly raising the children, especially Mirco– he requires a bit more attention, I think.”

Ah, the path to rehabilitating a potential mass murderer was a long and arduous one.

Ottavio then gave Rue a sly, boyish smile. “And the annoying meddling adult has to be out of the way for the rebellious teenagers to have any fun.”

“Well, I think it’s good, your work schedule was crazy,” Rue commented, thinking. Did Ottavio mean…that Xanxus and his Guardians were planning something? “And I suppose that makes you not responsible for any rash decisions certain hotblooded youths might make?”

“Perhaps,” was Ottavio’s noncommittal answer. He put his hand over Rue’s, brushing his thumb over his knuckles. “I’ll have more time to spend with you, too.”

Oh. Okay.

Rue didn’t… dislike that.

In his previous life, Rue had been an exclusively heterosexual male who’d had at least five different girlfriends (and a few…encounters… that didn’t quite count). Despite having to seduce men in his current capacity as CEDEF’s go-to honeypot agent, no Rue still thought of himself as still being primarily attracted to women, and getting seriously involved with another man was…maybe not what Rue had in mind?

Though, Rue had barely had time (or the interest) to date. Ottavio, as target-turned-collaborator-turned-friend-turned-whatever they were… he’d gotten used to, as the one person in this alien universe he even came remotely close to completely trusting.

Ottavio was there and more importantly, safe and Rue was weak and needed some non-judgemental company sometimes after all the shit he’d seen, and while he was peripherally aware that Ottavio would be happier with something a little more tangible, the man was always very, very careful never to press, and Rue had been all too happy to pretend nothing was happening.

(In all actuality, Rue didn’t really know why he had so much resistance to the idea, but his previous girlfriends had always accused him of being allergic to commitment.)

“You’re a strange man,” he told Ottavio, poking him. Of all the hills to die on…he’d picked Rue, who didn’t deserve it.

“What’s this now?” asked Ottavio, perplexed.

“It’s nothing,” said Rue, and quickly distracted him with more pleasant activities.

Maybe, Rue remembered thinking in the sleepy afterglow, he should just let things happen, and see where it led.

Rue wasn’t one to dwell on troublesome thoughts for too long, and swiftly abandoned his introspection in favour of advancing his holiday plans. He was set on somewhere sunny, with a beach, and since it was still not quite warm enough in most of Europe, Rue suggested Mafia Land, for convenience.

Ottavio was immediately on board, as long as he could bring Basilio and Mirco (Rue was all for it, and was puzzled why Hayato wasn’t included until Ottavio explained).

“Myself and the rest of our set have a shared property in Mafia Land, if we’re going there,” suggested Ottavio. “It’s a condo, not quite beachfront, but near enough. We could stay there.”

Since Ottavio had accommodation settled, Rue volunteered to take care of everything else.

They started making arrangements, and Ottavio had to go get Mirco. The plan was for Rue and Basilio to wait somewhere in Palermo while he detoured to the Varia castle, but Rue suddenly remembered something he had to do.

“Actually, didn’t you mention we were missing Basilio’s health records?” said Rue. “Why don’t I take him to get those, and anything else he might need. It’s also probably for the best that we follow up on what happened after… you know. We can meet up in Mafia Land.”

Rue had meant to filch Basilio’s documents, at some point, but with everything else that had happened it’d slipped his mind, and anyway he really had had no time. He’d also meant to follow up on the aftermath of that pervert Russo’s death and Basilio’s ‘disappearance’, but again, things happened.

As far as Rue knew, there had been no attempts to search for Basilio after Rue had sprung him from Russo’s hotel room, or at least, there had been no mention of it in the local media, so the orphanage must have covered it up somehow. A quick investigation determined that Russo’s official cause of death was reported as an accidental head injury, due to a sudden bout of lightheadedness from fatigue.

Well, close enough, decided Rue.

Basilio was very excited to be going on an adventure with Rue. Despite being a little hesitant when he heard where they were going, the boy valiantly offered to lead the way when they got to the orphanage.

Rue ruffled Basilio’s hair. “Brave boy,” he praised, and smiled when Basilio beamed up at him.

It was easy enough to sneak the both of them in using Mist Flames. Basilio did very well, in spite of his nervousness, and everything went off without a hitch, Rue absconding with copies of Basilio’s birth certificate and health records.

The shady business practices of the orphanage hadn’t ceased, it seemed. To cover up Basilio’s disappearance, they seemed to have (shoddily) faked his adoption to an overseas couple. It wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny at all, but perhaps they had greased some palms, or banked on the fact that no one cared enough to check.

“How are you feeling?” Rue had asked Basilio quietly, after they’d left. “Hope that didn’t bring up any bad memories.” The boy hadn’t indicated a desire to see any friends at all – Rue couldn’t imagine him not having any, but didn’t ask.

“It wasn’t bad,” Basilio said. “Everyone said we were lucky to have food and clothes and toys. And we could go to school.” He looked at Rue with his clear, guileless eyes. “But living with Mirco and Hayato and Bel at the castle is better. And I get to see you!”

He wasn’t old enough to clearly explain how he found it better, but Rue understood.

“Good kid,” he sniffed, his nose prickling, and gave the confused little boy a hug.

“I liked sneaking around?” Basilio added bashfully. “It was fun.”

Rue squeezed him harder. He was too cute!

“I’ll teach you properly,” he’d promised.

After that, they’d finally set off on their well-deserved vacation.

Ottavio dangled another strawberry in front of Rue, distracting him from his recollections. Rue opened his mouth to eat it, washing the fruit down with a sip of wine.

Ahh, la dolce vita.

The children came running up shortly after, dripping seawater everywhere.

“I want a snack, too,” said Mirco, with a side glance at Rue.

Rue just smiled at him, amused by Mirco’s slight animosity towards him. “Well, you boys must be hungry after playing.”

Ottavio obligingly dropped strawberries into the boys’ waiting mouths, like an industrious mother bird feeding her hungry chicks.

The children had had a minor obsession with building sandcastles from day one, the moment they set foot on the beach.

Mirco had conjured a grand palace of sand using his illusions almost immediately, but Basilio managed to convince him that building a sandcastle with his own hands was the whole point of being on a beach. Mirco was sceptical at first, but Rue observed that he seemed to enjoy the sensation of wet sand under his fingers (something something stimulation, according to Rue’s cursory scan through Ottavio’s parenting book).

The boys seemed slightly regretful that their grand architectural plans were stymied by their lack of engineering knowhow, as their castle towers kept toppling over.

“Hayato would know how to make it stay upright!” said Basilio, pouting slightly.

“We’ll all go to the beach in the summer,” promised Ottavio, looking over at Rue. “Hayato can help you figure it out then.”

“Sounds good,” Rue agreed. As long as CEDEF let him take the time off…

Rue didn’t always join them at the beach, as Ottavio preferred to take the children there in the mornings, when the sun wasn’t too glaring, and Rue was decidedly a night owl. If he managed to wake up before they got back, Rue would make lunch (his culinary talents were sadly limited to sandwiches and microwaved meals, but neither Ottavio nor the kids seemed to mind). Otherwise, Ottavio would cook something, or get takeout on the way back.

The kids would then take a siesta during the hottest part of the day, while Ottavio and Rue lounged around reading, or engaged in more adult activities. Then when it was cooler, they’d explore the island, or take the kids to the amusement park. Rue discovered that Ottavio was actually afraid of going on rollercoasters (it was unexpected, and kind of …cute), in stark contrast to Mirco and Basilio, who couldn’t get enough of the thrill and had the time of their lives (height requirements did not exist on Mafia Land rides). After dinner at an overpriced restaurant, they’d then take a slow walk back to the condo to turn in for the night.

Rue had a pretty good time, and was as reluctant as the children when it came time to leave. Ottavio had to return to the Varia, though, and both Mirco and Basilio had neglected their studies enough. Rue himself needed to get back to work at some point, though he was admittedly dragging his heels.

Basilio didn’t cry this time, when Rue left.

Being all by himself again after so long was kind of strange, and lonely.

Thankfully, Bluebird and Sparrow contacted Rue for a meeting, so he had a bit of a distraction. Rue was nice and didn’t even tease Bluebird (much) about his very cute disguise!

They exchanged information, and Rue could no longer ignore the elephant in the room– the continued existence of his would-be murderer, one Demon Spade, who Rue was convinced would come to finish the job once he had a new body. He wasn’t sure he could hold out until Tsuna grew up enough to finish the job (should he even be relying on a future teenager in the first place?!).

Demon would kill him, and if Ottavio happened to be around and intervened… he would probably kill Ottavio, too. Rue didn’t even think Tyr’s entire existing set could take Demon on, and at any rate he couldn’t put them in danger, after all that they’d already done for Rue.

But there was a glimmer of hope, which Rue clung to. Who knew if Sparrow’s hunch about the pocket watch was true, but it was all Rue had to go on. It was something.

He left for CEDEF HQ later that afternoon. It was close to the end of the work day by the time Rue got there, but many of the staff were still around.

“Hey, Rue, congratulations on your promotion,” Bay greeted a little awkwardly as Rue walked in. “Good to see you’re doing okay.”

“All healed up, thanks to Lugh,” Rue replied. “And thank you.”

“I’m glad,” said Bay. “It was ….rough.”

“What he means is it was very traumatic to watch you bleeding out,” offered Mint, rolling his chair out from a nearby cubicle. “I don’t think Hyssop is over it. And also that everybody is now a little scared of you after you yelled at us.”

“It’s Tyr I’m scared of,” Bay corrected. “Boy, his face when he walked in… The guys who went with Boss to check up on you had a rough time too, I heard.” He shuddered, then shook his head.

“Anyway….we owe you one,” he said to Rue, scratching the back of his head. “We could’ve … ended up like the others.”

“We had no clue what was going on,” added Mint. “We’re just support staff, and not field agents or fighters like … like the people in the elevator, but there’s no telling if we would have been killed too if you hadn’t stepped up.”

“Oh.” Rue blinked in surprise. “It was… just my job,” he insisted, waving his hands. “I had instructions from Miss Lal.” And he did know that they would all have been killed, so he had to do it, for the sake of his conscience.

There were already too many Rue hadn’t been able to save.

“Still, you risked your life for us,” said Bay sincerely. “So, thanks.”

“We’re going for drinks later, if you want to come,” added Mint. “Our treat!”

Rue couldn’t remember the last time people in the CEDEF were so friendly with each other. Nothing like a little shared trauma to bring everyone together, it seemed! He agreed to join Mint and the others if he had time, and made his way to the CEDEF’s equivalent of the C-suite offices.

Rue looked for Iemitsu first, as he was supposed to report on the Varia presence in and around the Biscione headquarters (minus Xanxus, because Rue wasn’t an ingrate). As usual, Iemitsu’s office was empty and he was nowhere to be seen (though he was supposedly on site that day), so Rue went to look for Lal Mirch instead.

Fortunately, she happened to be available.

“I’m glad you are recovered,” said Lal Mirch. “You did well.”

Rue wasn’t expecting Lal Mirch to express any regret or apologies for his near death experience, and true enough she made no mention of it. It was all part of the job, whether Rue liked it or not, and their Miss Lal, being ex-military, expected everyone to be unflinchingly devoted to their duty.

Not for the first time, Rue wondered if Ottavio could really help him quit… but what would he do with his life after that? The Varia was different, due to its independent status, but HQ and the CEDEF had rules. ‘Retirement’ meant reassignment to ‘easier’, more administrative positions with reduced pay and less workload, or getting married, for women. Besides, Rue didn’t really know how to be anything other than a CEDEF agent…

“...ready for a new assignment?” asked Lal Mirch.

Belatedly realising he’d been spacing out, Rue immediately stopped his mind from wandering further and sat up.

“Actually,” he said. “Miss Lal, could I… follow up on Sage’s condition?” At Lal Mirch’s frown, he quickly added, “if only because I’ve been going over what happened in my head. I’d like to see if I can develop a way to detect Mist-possession. We don’t know who could be next.”

“It is true that that is a pressing concern at the moment,” mused Lal Mirch. “The boss is already looking into it, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have you work on it as well. Very well.”

Sage was apparently still in isolation, though the brass were considering releasing him under watch. He had a gap of several months in his memory, and had no idea what Demon had been up to in his body, or how he even got possessed. Even if he was now ‘safe’, Rue doubted the CEDEF would ever trust Sage fully again.

“I’d also like to go over his things too, see if I can pick up any Mist Flame residue,” said Rue hopefully.

Lal Mirch raised an eyebrow at that, but agreed, providing Rue with a memo providing him with the proper clearance so he could retrieve Sage’s belongings from their ‘property room’, a secured storage area for confiscated, looted, or stolen items.

Rue got the keys and a copy of the report on Sage from a very busy-looking Oregano, then headed towards the property room. He glanced through the report, which mostly reiterated what Miss Lal had told him. Rue was especially glad to see that there was an inventory of Sage’s belongings (and Rue was lucky, there was an ‘antique pocket watch’ listed!), and quickened his pace, eager to lay eyes on the fabled timepiece itself.

Once there, Rue quickly found the box labeled with the corresponding case number, and dumped all the items on a nearby table. He started sorting through the various objects, checking them against the inventory in the report.

Stationery. Fake IDs. A comb, some clothing, and a wallet with cash. Sage’s CEDEF pin and pager. The folding hunting knives that the original Sage was known to use. An antique gun, probably the one Demon!Sage had used to shoot Rue, and into the residences of Alliance members late last year. Sage’s battered metal wristwatch.

But no pocket watch, Rue noted, heart sinking.

Rue checked the list again. Only the pocket watch was missing, so it was not likely to be a case of petty theft.

“It’s not here,” Rue muttered to himself uneasily. Was he too late already? Had the next person been possessed?

“What’s not here?” asked Sawada Iemitsu, suddenly appearing behind him.

Chapter Text

Amaranth, 17, of the Bellini Famiglia, formerly Katie Lee, 16, student

Katie was done with this whole self-insert transmigration thing.

It was fun at first, but things hadn’t been going the way she’d anticipated for a very long time now. First the Varia, then that awful thing with Federico, and when she thought things were finally looking up (she’d finally found Tsuna!), she’d been labeled as a terrorist or something and now she couldn’t go near the interesting people at all!

She’d just wanted to talk to them…

Nashi was hot, and Katie thought he’d be nice, but she sensed he was all out of patience with her, which was a bummer. If only she could explain… but she wasn’t sure she should try her luck again.

…Though, what had he meant about “what remained of her family”? Everyone was fine… right?

Katie suddenly felt the urge to check up on Don Bellini.

The Bellini should be done moving headquarters by now, right?

Katie tried asking Sante for the new HQ’s number or even address, but he just said there had been some delays and they hadn’t managed to connect the new line yet.

Katie wasn’t stupid.

After school the next day, she went out and bought a phone card, then found one of those pay phones that could make international calls. She tried her old house again, just in case. Nothing. Then she tried Don Bellini’s personal cell phone number, for emergencies only.

It wasn’t even connected!

Katie tried a few more times just to be sure, and dialled all the numbers she could remember – her former driver, Pietro, the Bellini’s second-in-command, Ruggerio … but … nothing.

What on earth was going on?!

Katie walked back to her Namimori home in a daze, her mind whirring with thoughts spinning in a thousand different directions.

What if… there’d been, like, an earthquake or something, so the lines were disrupted. Katie didn’t remember hearing about one, but she didn’t really read the news. Maybe she could go to an internet cafe and see if she could find anything (urgh, not having a smartphone sucked). But why wouldn’t Sante want to tell her, in that case?

Or maybe, worst case scenario, something had happened to Don Bellini and Ruggerio, like they’d gotten in a car accident, or it was those assassins, and they had to go to hospital? Then it would make sense that their phones were off… but then why would the main house not be contactable?

Katie just didn’t get it.

As she opened the gate to the house, Sante and Jacopo looked up from where they were taking off their shoes at the front door. It looked like they’d just gotten home from whatever jobs they’d been doing.

That was another suspicious thing, the jobs. Katie wasn’t sure she bought their excuses about ‘reputation’ and stuff. Were they actually… hard up for money?

“Oh, miss! Welcome home!” Jacopo noticed her first.

“Princess,” Sante greeted her as well.

“Hey,” said Katie. “I tried to call home–” she noticed that both men stiffened at that, “– and I couldn’t reach Papa, or Ruggerio, or anyone else. What’s going on?”

“They must still be in the middle of moving…” Sante started.

“I don’t believe that!” said Katie. “You keep saying that! It makes no sense! What’s happened to everybody?”

Sante shook his head uneasily. “Princess,” he said, but didn’t continue.

Jacopo looked conflicted. “Maybe we should tell her,” he said hesitantly, glancing between Katie and Sante.

Sante gave him a warning look, and Jacopo immediately fell silent.

“I can’t believe this,” said Katie, staring at the people she thought were supposed to work for her. She dragged a hand down her face and took a breath.

“You think I can’t find out on my own?” she demanded. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll figure it out myself!”

She went upstairs, rummaged through her things for a small card hidden in the bottom of one of her bags, then ran out of the house, passing the kitchen and a confused Marina along the way.

“Princess, where are you going?” Marina called after her. “It’s almost dinnertime!”

Katie didn’t reply, running back to the pay phone to dial the number on the card, something she’d saved for emergencies. It was a bad idea, probably. But she didn’t know anybody else.

“You have reached. Liistro. Castle,” came the robotic, automated operator. Liistro Castle was the ‘real’ name of the Varia estate, Katie had learned that on the first day of orientation. “For. More enquiries, press 1…”

“Transfer me to…” Katie paused. Something-Li or Li-something liked her, so he would help, but Katie didn’t actually remember his name. Ottavio was evil and Squalo was mean. Bluebird was kind of dumb, so the only person left Katie knew was Sparrow, even if she did work for Ottavio. Unfortunately, Katie didn’t remember any of the extension numbers. “Sparrow in HR,” she tried.

There was a short pause.

“Sorry,” came the robotic voice again. “We are. Unable. To process. Your request. For. More enquiries, press..”

Katie wanted to scream in frustration. She knew it was tricky on purpose but this was so annoying! What was the point of having a phone number if you couldn’t get to whoever you wanted to talk to?!

“I’m Amaranth! I used to be a trainee!” she all but shouted into the phone. “Please, I just want to talk to Sparrow!”

There were some clicking noises; maybe the line was being transferred or something, then someone finally picked up.

“... Are you for serious?” said the voice on the other side of the line. It was a man’s voice, not Sparrow’s, but it sounded familiar.

“Yes?!” Katie didn’t know why this was even a question.

“State your former trainee ID number,” prompted the voice.

Katie panicked a little, but eventually remembered it after a while, and quickly reported it.

The man asked a few more questions, perhaps trying to confirm whether she really was who she said she was, then sighed. “Good lord, you’re really Amaranth,” he said. “You’re lucky I’m the one in charge today. I’ll transfer you, but keep it short. She’s very busy.”

There were more phone noises, until finally Sparrow answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Sparrow,” said Katie, clutching the handset of the payphone to her ear and anxiously playing with the cord with her other free hand. “It’s Amaranth, I need to–”

“Amaranth?!” the voice on the other end of the line sounded dismayed. “How– why are you calling. Are you crazy?”

Why couldn’t she call? She’d spent so long in the Varia, she was allowed to contact people there!

“I just wanted to ask you something,” said Katie. “I’m–”

“Do NOT tell me where you are, oh my god,” Sparrow interrupted with a hiss. “Look, I hope you’re at least on a secure line or something but either way you should not be calling, are you stupid? I’m hanging up before someone decides to put a trace on this or something. You’d better get out of there, and keep your head down. Good luck.”

And then she just hung up! Katie couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t even managed to ask Sparrow anything!

Frustrated, Katie went home, where everyone was already at the dinner table, waiting for her.

“Oh, you’re back!” greeted Marina brightly. “Shall we eat?”

Katie sank into her seat at the table and poked at her food. Sante and Jacopo looked uneasy, but slowly started eating when Katie did.

She didn’t really have an appetite, though, and put down her fork and knife after a while. There’d been a weird, heavy feeling in her chest after that call with the Varia, and Katie finally realised it was dread.

“....why are we in trouble with the Varia?” she asked very quietly, finally voicing the question she’d had all evening.

There was a loud clatter as Sante dropped his fork.

“Princess, what did you do?!” he exclaimed, horrified.

What had Katie done?!

“Why are you accusing me?” cried Katie, feeling wronged. “You won’t tell me anything! How would I even know what I’m not supposed to do?!”

Belatedly, she realised she was already crying. She rubbed her face with her hand.

“Oh, no, don’t cry!” Marina sounded distraught, and got up to put an arm around Katie.

“I know something bad happened to Papa,” she said to Sante. “He’d never go this long without talking to me. It’s been more than two months!”

“Please…” her voice was breaking up now and she couldn’t stop it. She looked at Marina, who looked away, then at Sante, who looked conflicted. “Just tell me. I can’t stand not knowing…”

“Sante, we should tell her,” said Jacopo, clawing at his hair in agitation. “I was against this from the start.”

“I promised the boss,” started Sante.

“We can’t keep it a secret forever!” Jacopo argued. “How can we keep her safe if she doesn’t know anything?”

Marina usually agreed with Sante on everything, but this time even she seemed unsure.

“Our princess is the boss’s daughter,” she said, gently squeezing Katie’s arm. “Maybe…she’s stronger than you think.”

Katie turned her eyes back on Sante, pleading.

Sante ran a hand down his face. “All right,” he said softly, resigned. “All right. Princess, please understand that Boss only wished for the best for you.”

Haltingly, he told Katie everything.

She’d already been preparing herself for the worst– how could she not, after seeing how everyone was acting? – but it was so, so hard to hear it directly from Sante’s mouth.

“No…” Katie covered her mouth with her hands. Don Bellini, dead at the hands of the Varia.

No, there wasn’t even a Bellini Family any more, was there?

“I am sorry,” said Sante.

Sorry didn’t even cut it.

Alongside Katie’s overwhelming feelings of grief was boiling rage.

“How could you keep this from me?!” she screamed. Everybody knew! Except Katie, who’d just been stupidly walking around like nothing had happened. She felt like an idiot!

“Princess, please,” said Sante. He sounded old and very tired. Katie always thought of him as an energetic man in his prime, but now he just looked… sad and defeated. “I was only following the boss’s wishes.”

Katie got up, shrugging off Marina’s anxious concern, and ran out of the house.

She didn’t know where she’d wandered to, some park or something, but at least there wasn’t anyone around so she could just sit on a bench and cry.

Her SI-OC life was supposed to be FUN.

People weren’t supposed to die. Especially not the people she cared about!

There was supposed to be a happy ending! What was the whole point if there wasn’t!

She’d…messed it all up.

Part of Katie still wanted to blame the Varia, or the Vongola for… everything. But it was Katie’s fault, wasn’t it? If she hadn’t insisted on going to the Varia … she’d still be with the Bellini, Federico would get killed by somebody else, and everything would be fine.

And Don Bellini … the man who Katie had regarded as just another NPC, at first, but who loved her with all his heart despite Katie not really being his daughter… he’d still be alive.

Katie stifled a scream into her hands. He was gone! And it was all her fault.

Why’d she have to get transported here anyway?! Why couldn’t she just go back?

She didn’t know how long she sat there, crying until she was dehydrated and about to throw up. Through the blur of tears she was vaguely aware of the odd jogger or dog-walker giving her a wide berth, and they were all probably judging her, but Katie couldn’t make herself care.

Nothing felt important anymore.

Some lady walked by, carrying grocery bags. She passed Katie, and Katie thought she was going to continue by, but she stopped, hesitated, and doubled back.

Katie looked up and blinked. The lady’s bags were full of nothing but spring onions.

“Are you… all right?” asked the woman. She looked to be in her late twenties or something and was quite ordinary looking, with coarse dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail.

Katie wished she would just leave her alone, but she probably shouldn’t just snap at some random lady.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, scrubbing at her face. She probably looked like a mess.

A handkerchief suddenly appeared in front of her, held out by the spring onion lady.

“It’s quite safe in this town, but don’t stay out too late on your own,” she said.

Katie numbly accepted the floral print handkerchief with an automatic “thank you”, and watched the woman walk away.

She looked down at the handkerchief. Katie couldn’t remember the last time a stranger was kind to her for no reason, and it just made her want to cry again.

Sante eventually found her and made her go home, but she couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning and sobbing to herself under the covers.

The next morning, the tears had all dried up, but Katie didn’t have the will to get out of bed.

Marina called in sick for her and left her a breakfast tray outside her door, but Katie didn’t want to eat anything. She lay in bed with the sheets pulled up over her head, not moving. She could hear Sante and Jacopo getting ready for work, and the front door opening and closing.

Marina took the untouched breakfast tray and replaced it with lunch. She called out to Katie, trying to ask if she was all right, but Katie didn’t answer or get up.

She couldn’t bring herself to face the looks on everyone’s faces (how could they even talk to her when it was her fault?!).

Marina called in sick for her the next day, too. She could hear her and Sante talking outside her door. They were trying to be quiet, but the walls in his house weren’t soundproof in the least.

“... not eating,” said Marina, sounding worried.

“She’ll come around,” reassured Sante. “I’ll talk to her…”

Katie didn’t want to talk to them. The air suddenly felt unbearably stifling, and she needed to get out.

She waited until Sante and Jacopo left the house, and Marina was busy with the laundry, then pulled on a hoodie and some sweatpants before quietly slipping out of the house unnoticed.

At least Varia training was good for something, she thought.

Katie wandered around aimlessly for a bit.

She wasn’t sure if there were truant officers or stuff like that in Japan, but she could probably deal with them, so whatever. Katie found a quiet, out of the way park that was pretty much just a tiny playground and a few big trees that blocked most of it from the view of the street.

She climbed on top of the big climbing…thing (Katie’s vocabulary for playgrounds was limited to ‘slide’ and ‘swing’) and sat down, dangling her legs through the bars. There was a slight breeze, and it felt nice on her hot, swollen eyelids.

She stared out into the distance, wondering what she was supposed to do now. Going back to school just felt so meaningless. And then after that? There was no Bellini Famiglia waiting for her. No Don Bellini. And the whole thing with Nashi’s ultimatum … so she was going to just… be a normal person now?

Her ‘fresh start’ in Namimori felt like a joke.

“Ah!”

The exclamation was soft, but Katie had good hearing and turned in its direction immediately.

It was the spring onion lady again, with no spring onions this time. Did she live nearby?

“Um, hi,” said Katie awkwardly, after a brief pause. The lady had been nice after all, if maybe a bit nosy.

Thankfully, she didn’t ask why Katie wasn’t in school, or about what happened the last time they met.

“I just walked my son to school, so I’m headed back home now,” said Spring Onion Lady, smiling. “It’s supposed to rain later, so you might want to find shelter.”

“Son?” Katie blinked, surprised. “You look really young to be a mom.” Then again, Nana looked really young, too.

“Haha, thank you,” laughed the woman. It was a very demure, girlish laugh, but it didn’t sound pretentious like some of her classmates at school. “That makes me happy to hear!”

Katie found herself smiling back, just a little.

“Thanks for the warning,” she said, then realised she didn’t remember where she’d put Spring Onion Lady’s handkerchief. Hopefully she hadn’t dropped it somewhere, and maybe it was in the laundry or something. “Um, sorry, your handkerchief…”

The woman laughed again. “It’s all right, keep it.” She nodded to Katie. “I’ll be going now, so take care.”

She really was very nice.

And it really did start raining, but Katie felt a tiny bit better.

Katie went back to school the next day, even though she didn’t want to. Her classmates were all whispering about her behind her back, as if she couldn’t hear. Probably because her hair was a mess and she hadn’t done her makeup.

Though, the nerdy bespectacled girl seated in front of her (who Katie had barely said two sentences to, ever) turned around and asked if she was okay, and offered to catch her up on schoolwork.

There were nice people out there, who cared.

Marina and Sante and Jacopo cared, too, but had Katie ever cared back?

That evening, she finally joined the others at the table for dinner again, instead of hiding in her room, and it made everyone so relieved and happy Katie felt like a jerk.

Maybe she should ask about … stuff. Katie still felt like a lot of information was missing, now that she’d calmed down enough to think about it. Like why had Papa decided to defect to the Gesso, specifically (she’d finally remembered that that famiglia had something to do with Byakuran, and that was scary). And what happened to everyone else – were they all killed? They couldn’t have killed everybody, right? And were they going to have to hide from the Varia forever? But Nashi knew she was here and hadn’t done anything?

It took her a few days to feel mentally prepared enough to actually ask.

Sante seemed to have decided that Katie was ready to understand all the politicking and money stuff (she wasn’t – Katie really hated that sort of thing and found it boring), and started to explain everything he knew to Katie.

She didn’t really get it, but the gist of it was that the Vongola had put pressure on the Bellini by influencing their business partners. The Vongola leadership had also turned a blind eye to Federico’s former Guardians and associates harassing them with hired assassins, which spooked Don Bellini more than the business losses. Eventually, Don Bellini felt they had nowhere left to turn, and accepted the overtures of the Gesso, which had been trying to aggressively grow their famiglia by absorbing smaller ones. The Vongola saw that as challenging their authority, since the Bellini were an Alliance vassal family, and ordered the Varia to take care of things.

Katie had to take a break to take some deep breaths and try not to cry again.

It was just so.. Unfair!

The Vongola were always portrayed as the good guys in canon, but they were just big bullies in charge of smaller bullies.

She voiced this to Sante, who gave her a weird look and said, “Princess, we’re all criminals.”

Katie had never really felt like a criminal despite being in the mafia, but supposed he was right.

Other than whatever Sante and Marina had taken with them to Japan, the rest of the Bellini’s fortunes were now all completely inaccessible, swallowed up by the Vongola or other parties.

Don Bellini had given them enough for Katie to live comfortably for a long time, but that was for Katie’s use only. Sante and Marina and Jacopo had sworn not to touch that money. They had their own, as repayment for taking care of Katie and to get them settled, but Sante said they’d given most of it away to support the wives and children of those Bellini members who had died with Don Bellini, which explained why they were working so hard.

The one silver lining was that the Varia seemed to be satisfied with taking out just Don Bellini and the leadership. They didn’t know if Katie was still a target, but considering the Vongola probably knew they were here and hadn’t done anything, probably not. It still didn’t hurt to lay low and try to fly under the radar for a bit.

Sante also said there were still some core members of the Bellini famiglia left, loyal ones who hadn’t scattered when the Varia had assassinated Papa and the leadership. They’d been the ones who’d taken care of the bodies and laid them to rest, and were keeping a low profile, waiting and hoping for Katie to revive the Bellini and take over Don Bellini’s work.

This was what it really meant to be an heiress, wasn’t it.

Katie didn’t want this responsibility. She really didn’t. ‘Heiress’ was just some title that made her OC seem more special!

But she’d forgotten that all heirs had to inherit, someday.

“Princess,” said Sante gently, seeming to understand her concerns. “You don’t have to do anything. The boss just wanted you to live peacefully.”

Could she live peacefully, knowing all this?

Katie thought about it for a long time. She really didn’t think she was suited to be a mafia boss. It seemed really stressful and difficult.

But maybe she could make Sante and the others’ lives easier? And help the other Bellini members still in Italy? Maybe if it got too hard for them there they could come here?

“Hey,” she said awkwardly to Marina one day. “You don’t have to give me pocket money anymore, okay? I’m going to get a part-time job.”

“Princess!” Marina looked shocked. “You don’t have to, we’re not that hard up…”

“I want to,” Katie interrupted. “I need to do something. Let’s keep the money Papa left me for investments, or something.”

“But,” Marina started, then stopped as Sante placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Our princess is growing up,” said Sante encouragingly, though he looked a little sad. “Thank you.”

(…Shouldn’t they have said something like she should focus on her studies, though?)

It was easier said than done, to find a job.

Katie didn’t think it was a big deal at first, even if she had no working experience– just how hard could it be?

She didn’t want to be some random sales girl, or a clerk at a konbini, so she thought about being an English tutor or something, maybe to middle schoolers, because small kids were annoying.

But she didn’t have references or people to recommend her or even a school transcript yet, and anyway people didn’t think she could tutor English, for the lame reason that her current identity was Italian in nationality and not British or American.

Katie felt insulted. She could speak and write perfect English!

She eventually had to settle for two part-time jobs, because neither of them paid enough on their own for Katie’s preferred lifestyle.

One was a gig restocking shelves and handing out samples at the same grocery she’d met Nana in. It carried a lot of imported foods and Katie obviously knew what they were and how to eat them, so she was able to explain and recommend them to customers, or so her supervisors reasoned (she had no clue how to cook them, and often had to ask Marina just so she wouldn’t be put on the spot later).

It was exhausting work that Katie did not enjoy in the least, and sometimes there were creeps who stared at her too long and hovered around outside waiting for her shift to end, but Katie stuck it out, partially in the hopes of at least catching sight of Nana and Tsuna from afar if they shopped there again.

It didn’t count as ‘approaching’ the Sawadas if she was just doing her job in a public place, right?

Sadly, it seemed that Nana either did her shopping earlier in the day while Katie was at school, or on weekends when Katie was at her other job.

Katie found that she was… okay with that, surprising even herself. She was too busy to think about anything else, and she had goals and stuff to do now, so Tsuna and the plot and all that just had to wait. She was still interested, but she had time to kill until all the canon stuff happened anyway.

Besides … she didn’t want to make the same mistakes again.

Sante, Marina, Jacopo… these people were the only ‘family’ she had left. Katie didn’t know what she would do if they were gone, too.

Katie’s other job was at a florist’s, which needed extra hands on weekends to handle the heavier customer load. People always wrote about flower shop AUs and coffee shop AUs, and Katie thought it might be nice and relaxing to work at places like that. Katie didn’t drink coffee or like the smell, so flower shop it was.

After starting work, Katie didn’t really see what was romantic about flower shops, actually. The chaotic mix of floral and green scents wasn’t pleasant to her, and there were always leaves and soggy plant bits everywhere that she had to clean up. The arrangements were pretty, but the shop owner didn’t let her do any for now. So Katie just cut ribbons, manned the till, dealt with customers, and swept the floor. Nothing exciting, but it wasn’t as tiring as the supermarket job.

Katie soon found out it was full of surprises.

One weekend, Katie was startled when Nashi, of all people, came into the shop. He’d apparently spotted her, too, and had paused on the way in, with one hand still on the door and his brows knit together in a frown. Katie’s boss had already called out a greeting, so maybe Nashi didn’t want to be rude or anything, because he nodded and walked up to the counter.

He pretended not to know Katie, and just asked for a low-pollen, brightly coloured bouquet, paid, and quickly left.

Katie wondered if it was for his girlfriend or something, watching wistfully as Nashi’s ponytail swished behind him as he walked off. He was still really hot.

And the weekend after that, Spring Onion Lady showed up! Katie had almost forgotten about her.

She had a little boy with her, maybe elementary school age? He looked like the mischievous sort, and Katie hoped he wouldn’t break any vases or something.

He also looked kind of familiar, but Katie couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Welcome…. Mrs…?” Katie tried.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” said Spring Onion Lady, smiling. “Please, call me Ruriko. This is my son, Takeshi. Say hello to the nee-san, Takeshi.”

Takeshi?!

“Hello!” said the little boy, Takeshi.

“I’m… Amalia,” said Katie, a little distracted. “It’s… nice? To see you again? How can I help you?”

The owner came out the back then, and spotted Spring Onion Lady–Ruriko. “Ah, Mrs. Yamamoto! Here for your usual order? Amalia-chan, it’s under the name Yamamoto.”

Yamamoto! It was a common surname, so Katie hadn’t thought anything of it…

Katie dazedly found the order and started packing it up for Ruriko–Mrs. Yamamoto.

“My husband owns a sushi restaurant, Take-sushi,” Ruriko explained. “The fresh flowers are for the table decor.”

“We greatly appreciate your continued business!” chimed in the owner.

“Yeah,” said Katie faintly. “I’ve eaten there, it’s delicious…”

“I’m so glad to hear that!” said Ruriko, paying in cash. Katie counted out her change and handed her the bags, completely on autopilot. “Well then, thank you very much.”

Katie bowed woodenly in sync with the owner as Ruriko exited the shop, Yamamoto Takeshi waving bye to her.

Katie thought the universe must be playing some kind of cosmic joke on her.

She’d spent so much effort running around just trying to get a glimpse of Nashi or one of the canon characters.

Now that Katie wasn’t even trying, they were just popping up left right and centre. And she didn’t even have the energy to be excited about it!

…and she couldn’t forget that it was her stubbornness about trying to meet Xanxus that had … started everything.

(Katie still couldn’t help the sharp, painful twinge of guilt and grief everytime she thought about it.)

Wait.

Ruriko was Yamamoto’s mom.

Who never appeared in canon.

That meant she would die, right?

Chapter Text

Asano Chiyo, 12, student, formerly Anita Choudhary, 19, student

This mafia business was already getting a bit too exciting for Anita, even though she knew it was only just the beginning.

The whole Amalia saga had been very stressful for Anita, especially since she didn’t know what the other girl wanted, or what she was capable of.

Luckily, the Vongola people around were on the ball, and took care of things. Anita was just glad they weren’t leaving Nana and Tsuna to fend for themselves. Anita found Ikemiya, the man who she believed was assigned to their household, to be very mysterious, though.

After Ikemiya had intercepted Amalia at the grocery store and told Nana to go on ahead, Anita remembered how she’d turned back, only to find that both Ikemiya and Amalia seemed to have vanished from sight. Maybe one or the other of them had Mist Flames?! …Anita was betting on Ikemiya. It… didn’t quite fit, but Anita thought Amalia seemed even less like a Mist Flame user compared to the Vongola agent.

“I wonder what that was all about,” mused Nana as they walked away. “Amalia-chan seemed like a nice girl!”

Anita and Tsuna shared a look and hurried Nana home, Anita slipping Tsuna a lollipop as a reward for his cooperation.

Obviously, there was no oven left on, or any other emergency back at home, so Anita just apologised for the scare and promised to help Nana with another grocery run soon. Tsuna was the happiest of them, running blissfully back into the sweet embrace of his robot toys and stuffed animals.

Ikemiya showed up at the house sometime later, apologising for the disruption and claiming that there had been a ‘misunderstanding’.

Nana didn’t seem to understand, but smiled anyway. “I see!” she said, even though she evidently didn’t. “Do you know Amalia-chan, then, Nao-san?”

“Her family are…business associates,” was all Ikemiya said.

Business associates? To Anita, that was essentially confirmation that Amalia was involved in the mafia. Anita felt slightly justified for her wariness of the other girl, and extremely relieved that Amalia would hopefully not be bothering Anita and the Sawadas for the foreseeable future.

She had a foreboding feeling that that wasn’t the last they’d be hearing of Amalia, though.

One source of stress more or less settled, Anita’s primary troubles were now caused by her followup checkups and physiotherapy sessions at the very obviously Vongola-owned clinic Ikemiya had recommended. Specifically, the frustratingly cryptic comments from her doctor, the enigmatic, eccentric, and just all around weird Dr. Fujita and the psychological strain it was causing Anita (probably on purpose).

Sensing that Things were going to happen around the clinic, and that she would at the very least be told about Flames, Anita thought the best course of action would be to show up without Nana in tow (Nana was immediately fine with it, once Anita reassured her she remembered the way. Anita found her relaxed attitude a bit concerning, because her own mother would have never let any of her children go to the doctor by themselves).

At the clinic, she was greeted by the same overenthusiastic receptionist, and the same elderly doctor.

To Anita’s confusion and mild consternation, Dr. Fujita did not bring up the subject of Anita’s "peculiarities" regarding her “natural phenomenon” at all during her first followup. Anita had been tense with anticipation during the entire appointment, wondering if she would mention it –but nope.

Anita was tempted to say something, but didn’t really know how to bring it up.

At least Dr. Fujita seemed very professional and competent, and was very thorough in her examination. She always told Anita what she was about to do, and never touched Anita without informing her and making sure she was fine with it, which Anita appreciated.

At the end of the session, Dr. Fujita also asked if Anita was experiencing any stress, as that could be hindering the recovery of her memory.

….Anita was indeed very stressed, but it wasn’t as if she could tell Dr. Fujita?! Especially since Dr. Fujita was responsible for half of it!

“...a little,” was what she settled on saying.

“That’s not ideal,” said Dr. Fujita. “Try to keep an open mind.”

… Again, that was not remotely helpful.

It took another three sessions before Dr. Fujita asked if Anita had experienced any ‘unusual physiological manifestations’ lately.

…How was Anita supposed to answer that extremely vague question?!

“Um, no?” she replied hesitantly.

“I see,” said Dr. Fujita, sounding unperturbed. “Don’t worry if you do. As I said before, your particular peculiarities are completely natural. They’re a bit rare, to be sure, but I have sufficient reference material to help you, once you are ready.”

…Ready for what? Embracing the truth of her Sky Flames? A normal person would probably think Dr. Fujita was some kind of unhinged conspiracy theorist!

Why couldn’t Dr. Fujita just… say things outright? Maybe it was the whole Omertà thing? Anita thought that might be the only plausible explanation.

Or perhaps Dr. Fujita was trying to make sure Anita felt safe and comfortable around her before broaching a topic that might have Anita screaming and running for the hills.

Either way, the anticipation was bad for her anxiety.

Anita did feel a bit uncomfortable about the whole mafia thing, but she didn’t really see a way around it. Tsuna would be involved, eventually, and she’d grown attached enough to the kid to want to help, even if it was in the background or something (Anita hated violence and exercise, really, really disliked pain, and did not think she would be remotely useful as a frontline combatant). Besides, was any of this really within Anita’s control?

Anita was regretting ever trying to use her Flames.

It took two more ‘physiotherapy’ sessions before Dr. Fujita finally said something. Though at this point Anita would almost rather she stayed cryptic.

“You know, when untrained people go about healing bones or wounds through unconventional means, something nearly always goes wrong,” Dr. Fujita remarked casually as she supervised Anita’s stretches. “Out on the field it can make the difference between life and death, but once back in proper medical care, sometimes the bone has to be rebroken and set properly, or a wound must be reopened and scraped to remove fibrotic tissue.”

What in the– hearing all of that made Anita’s hair stand on end. What did Dr. Fujita mean?! Anita felt fine, but it was true that she had had very little clue what she was doing when she tried to heal herself. Had she screwed something up and now her leg wasn’t healing properly?

Dr. Fujita noticed Anita’s frozen expression and waved her hand dismissively.

“You’re fine,” she reassured Anita. “Your scans came back perfect.”

… Anita got the feeling the doctor might be enjoying this a little too much.

“From your reaction, though, you did try something, on purpose,” concluded the doctor with a smile.

Oh, crap.

“I…” Anita was at a loss how to respond. Admit to it? She knew this was coming, but she still wasn’t ready!

Unexpectedly, Dr. Fujita’s expression gentled. “First and foremost, I am your doctor, and your welfare comes first,” she told Anita seriously. “We will only discuss it when you feel ready.”

Anita was a bit touched, but now she wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready!

Dr. Fujita didn’t bring up the topic again for the rest of the session, and sent Anita home more stressed than ever.

It was almost a relief when, at her next followup, Dr. Fujita summoned a fistful of crackling electricity (what happened to waiting until Anita was ready?!).

Lightning Flame!

It was Anita’s first time seeing visible Dying Will Flames in real life, and she was mesmerised.

“A subset of the population can do this, to varying extents,” said Dr. Fujita. “They are called Dying Will Flames, and come in several …flavours, if you like.” She closed her palm, extinguishing the green Flames, and reopened it to reveal a different coloured flame– this time a warm yellow, like sunshine. Sun Flames!

Anita was very impressed. The ability to use multiple Flame types was a staple of OCs in self-insert stories, so she’d ‘seen’ (read about) plenty of them, but she really had needed the reminder that there were likely lots of talented native occupants of this universe and she shouldn’t get complacent and underestimate them.

“Your turn,” prompted Dr. Fujita.

“I…” Anita was finding it very awkward and kind of embarrassing to admit her ability to another person. “Mine doesn’t work like that,” she said lamely. It was true, Anita hadn’t tried physically manifesting her Sky Flames yet. “I can’t do that.”

“Oh?” Dr. Fujita raised an eyebrow, then produced a scalpel from seemingly nowhere and drew a gash across her palm.

Anita couldn’t help the shocked gasp that escaped from her mouth. “You–”

“You needn’t worry, the scalpel is sterile,” said Dr. Fujita dismissively, even as blood dripped onto the ground, the bright red liquid in stark contrast with the cream vinyl flooring. “However, I’m sure you have a solution.”

In this case, wasn’t the most obvious solution to bandage and apply pressure to the wound?! Dr. Fujita was just talking about how even healing Flames could screw up, too…

But the doctor was looking calmly at Anita with an expectant look on her face, so Anita decided to suck it up … and sing Baa Baa Black Sheep.

… Anita was never going to live this down, she thought, dying inside.

To Dr. Fujita’s credit, she didn’t seem to care, and kept a straight face as Anita sang, haltingly at first, then with greater confidence as she saw the wound visibly closing up, until there was only a smear of blood left on the surface of the skin.

“Excellent. No scarring.” Dr. Fujita wiped off the blood and showed her hand to Anita. “There are a few different phases of wound healing, but whatever you did doesn’t seem to follow the stages. As far as I can tell, it’s something else completely. I don’t know how to describe it.”

Despite being slightly grossed out, Anita was fascinated. When she’d fixed her leg, she couldn’t see any physical indication that she was using Flames, or that her effort was paying off at all, just felt it.

“Skies,” concluded Dr. Fujita, “are just cheats.”

Dr. Fujita then started explaining Dying Will Flames to Anita. It wasn’t anything new to Anita, but she listened, spellbound, with her mouth hanging half-open. It was just…it was really real! Not that she hadn’t thought all this stuff was real after transmigrating here, but.. It was just different to hear it all firsthand.

Then came the most important part – the mafia reveal, and Omertà.

“As you can imagine,” said Dr. Fujita. “Having this subset of people, however minor, with rainbow superpowers, run around freely in the general populace might cause…problems. Hence, people with Dying Will Flames are bound by rules, and a vow of silence, enforced by the mafia.

“Everyone who has Dying Will Flames is inducted, and the mafia is extremely pervasive in many communities worldwide, just under the radar,” Dr. Fujita continued. “It might be hard to accept, but I’m mafia. Ikemiya-san is mafia. Your aunt’s husband is mafia. I’m sure you’ll discover a lot of people are mafia, actually, now that you actually know what’s going on.”

“Oh,” was all Anita could think of to say. It was hard to pretend to be shocked when she knew all this already.

“You don’t seem very surprised,” noted Dr. Fujita shrewdly. “I thought you’d have a bigger reaction to this.”

“!!!” Anita internally panicked. “I…I thought something was strange,” she said. Gosh, she was so bad at lying, she had to be careful… “I mean, this whole town, with the Hibari. I don’t remember where I lived before, but I’m sure it’s not like this, with them looking like they run the place and… I’ve never even seen a police officer around! Then there was that weird girl who kept asking about Tsuna…and I think someone’s watching the house?”

“You’re a smart girl,” said Dr. Fujita. She raised an eyebrow, looking amused, but otherwise did not seem suspicious of Anita.. “That’ll keep you alive.”

“...Thanks?” said Anita with an internal sigh of relief.

Dr. Fujita added to a few explanations here and there (she hadn’t touched on the whole Guardian thing yet, interestingly), briefly introducing the Hibari and Vongola families and the main underground players in town, and clarifying the Sawada family’s affiliation to the Vongola. She also made sure Anita absolutely understood that she was to keep her Flames and mafia thing secret, especially from Nana, then very casually welcomed her to the Vongola.

“So…I don’t get a choice?” asked Anita, though she already knew the answer.

“No,” said Dr. Fujita. “But you have people who are willing to protect you, so you needn’t worry. That includes myself.”

Anita was still unsure and uneasy about her future (she just wished she knew what was going to happen and what plans the Vongola had for her and if she would get any say at all), but admittedly, she did feel reassured by that statement. Despite Dr. Fujita being a bit kooky, and frustrating to talk to, she was competent, and more or less reliable. Anita felt like she could trust her to handle all sorts of situations.

“And what about Tsuna?” asked Anita slowly. “If his dad is…”

“I don’t know,” Dr. Fujita replied truthfully. “I’m not ranked high enough to know.”

“So he’s important,” Anita said.

Dr. Fujita smiled. “As I said, you’re a smart girl.”

This time, Dr. Fujita sent her home with instructions to “think about it and ask me any questions you might have next week” and to “start exercising so you can run away faster”.

Anita had lots of questions, but fretted over whether they might sound too suspiciously informed. She’d have to go over them carefully and choose the ‘safe’ ones, or phrase them correctly.

Reluctantly, Anita also started exercising, taking slow jogs around the neighbourhood every morning after she walked Tsuna to school. She still didn’t like physical exertion, but it helped clear her mind and (temporarily) stop her from worrying too much.

Meanwhile, the universe had a new source of stress in store for her.

One day while Tsuna was at school, Nana got a phone call over the landline. Anita had been upstairs doing self-study, and when Nana came up to talk to her Anita almost dropped her pen in shock at the look on her face. She’d never seen Nana so solemn and serious!

“Chiyo-chan, Tsu-kun’s grandmother, my mother-in-law, is in the hospital,” she said soberly. “I’m going to visit her, so could you stay here and watch the house?”

Tsuna’s …grandmother?!

Well obviously Tsuna would have to have a grandmother, as surely Iemitsu hadn’t sprung fully formed from a rock, but Anita had never given it any thought! Maybe the reason why she wasn’t mentioned at all in the series was because she’d passed away well before canon events.

…but Nana had never mentioned her before, either. Anita also didn’t remember Tsuna ever talking about her.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Anita sympathetically. “What should I tell Tsuna when I pick him up later? Should I get dinner on the way back?”

Nana smiled. “Our Chiyo-chan is so reliable!” she praised, which made Anita feel a bit embarrassed. “Just tell Tsu-kun what I told you! I’ll give you some money so you can buy food for yourselves if I don’t get back in time for dinner!”

Nana left Anita a generous ¥2000, more than enough for food and snacks for herself and Tsuna, and hurriedly ran off to catch the bus.

“Obaa-san is sick?” Tsuna tilted his head when Anita told him the news. Anita could tell from his slightly confused expression that he wasn’t very close to his grandmother, and probably had to think for a while before he recalled who that person was.

Tsuna didn’t seem to understand a whole lot about his grandmother’s situation, but Anita managed to glean from him that he saw her maybe once a year, at New Year’s, even though she didn’t live all that far away. It was mind-boggling to Anita, who’d grown up with her paternal grandparents living together with her family, and had visited her maternal grandparents every week before she left for college.

Now she was wondering about Nana’s side of the family too (i.e. Chiyo’s grandparents). Nana had never mentioned them either, so maybe they’d already passed away?

Nana arrived back at the house just as Anita finished helping Tsuna with his homework. Tsuna had been anxiously looking towards the door every five minutes and couldn’t focus at all, and Anita’s nerves were honestly getting a little frayed trying to be patient.

“Mama!” Tsuna was thrilled at Nana’s return, and immediately ran towards her, tripping over the edge of a rug.

“Oh!” Luckily, Nana was quick enough to catch him before he fell over. “Tsu-kun, don’t run in the house!”

Nana looked tired but happy to be home, and Tsuna was being very clingy, so Anita went to run the bath for Nana and make hot drinks for everyone.

“How is Tsuna’s grandmother doing?” Anita asked later, after Tsuna was put to bed.

Nana was drying her hair, fresh out of the bath. “Ah, she’s in a stable condition now,” she said. “It was a bit of a scare, but I think she will be okay!”

“Oh, that’s good,” said Anita. “I’m glad. Um. Could I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” Nana switched off the hairdryer for a moment so she could hear her.

“I don’t…remember my grandparents?” Anita ventured.

“Oh, Chiyo-chan,” said Nana, drawing Anita into a hug. Anita immediately felt guilty about lying, again. “It’s all right, you can’t help it!”

She smiled comfortingly at Anita. “You’ve never seen your maternal grandparents – my parents died when I was in middle school! Nee-chan, that is, your mother, took care of me until I graduated high school.” She thought for a moment. “Shugo-san’s parents live overseas, I think, so I’m not sure if you’ve met them.”

Oh. Anita couldn’t help feeling relieved. Less people to disappoint by not remembering them.

Belatedly, she digested the information Nana had revealed– Nana lost her parents at such a young age! … Well, that meant no parental authority to disapprove of her relationship with a probably very dodgy-seeming Iemitsu (Nana had given birth to Tsuna super young! Which meant she got married even younger, Anita assumed!). She was really impressed by Chiyo’s mother having raised Nana, too. It couldn’t have been easy. Especially with Nana being… the way she was… Anita bet she was sheltered and very well loved, growing up.

Buoyed by Anita’s evident curiosity, Nana was happy to tell her more stories about her childhood and Chiyo’s mother. Anita was thrilled to bits. This was lore!!! That hadn’t been revealed in the manga or anime or light novels (to Anita’s knowledge).

…So were all these details still part of the creator’s defined universe, just unpublished? Or… was the world she was in an organic existence, that just so happened to be congruent with Anita’s understanding of KHR?

… Anita decided to stop having an existential crisis before she started hyperventilating.

The next day, after Tsuna came home from school, Nana took Tsuna and Anita to visit old Mrs. Sawada. Anita felt a bit awkward about going, since she wasn’t directly related, but maybe Nana just didn’t want to leave her alone at home.

They stopped at a grocer’s along the way, where Nana had Tsuna pick out some fruit to take along as a gift.

To her surprise (actually, perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised at all, considering the Vongola connection), they ran into Dr. Fujita at the hospital.

“Oh, Fujita-sensei!” Nana exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

“Ah, I was invited to consult on something,” said Dr. Fujita, looking over at them. “Are you visiting?”

“Ah yes, visiting a relative,” said Nana, then patted Tsuna’s head. “Ah, this is my son, Tsunayoshi! Tsu-kun, this is Fujita-sensei! She’s your nee-chan’s doctor!”

Tsuna peered shyly at Dr. Fujita from behind Nana and waved hello.

Dr. Fujita smiled without any noticeable further reaction, though she must have known that Tsuna was the son of … her boss? One of her bosses?

“Very nice to meet you, Tsunayoshi-kun,” she said, then nodded to them. “Well, I must get going. I hope your relative recovers well, and I’ll see Asano-san at her next appointment, yes?”

“Ah, yes! Thank you for your hard work,” said Nana, and they all said goodbye to the doctor.

Tsuna’s grandmother was hospitalised in an unusually unpopulated ward in the otherwise bustling hospital. Anita wondered why the Vongola didn’t have their own private hospital in Namimori. They didn’t seem to have one in canon, either, as far as Anita could recall. Maybe because the Hibari probably ran the town?

“Apologies for the disturbance!” Nana knocked lightly on the door before quietly sliding the door open. “It’s Nana with the children!”

The room was very spacious, with only one bed. There was an elderly woman lying on it, awake, and next to her was Ikemiya, who stood up as they came in.

“Nana-san,” he greeted. “Tsunayoshi-kun, Asano-san. Good evening.”

Anita liked that about Ikemiya– he always acknowledged and treated children like Chiyo and Tsuna with respect, unlike many adults.

“Ah, Nao-san! Good evening!” Nana placed the fruits on a nearby table and started bustling around, tidying things up. “Oka-san, I’ve brought Tsu-kun, and my niece, Chiyo!”

Anita politely greeted the old lady, and took the opportunity to study her as Tsuna haltingly followed suit.

Old Mrs. Sawada didn’t look that old, to Anita. Her hair was nearly completely grey, but she seemed younger than Dr. Fujita, and would probably look even younger if she hadn’t been so pale and tired from illness. Anita hadn’t seen Sawada Iemitsu in person before, so she wasn’t sure if he resembled his mother, but Tsuna didn’t particularly look like her.

“You… needn’t have gone to the trouble,” said old Mrs. Sawada. She sounded very weak, and spoke very slowly and carefully, like it was taking a lot of effort to find and pronounce the words. Anita wondered if she’d had a stroke.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Nana insisted, and started asking after old Mrs. Sawada’s well-being, what she ate that day, lively as a sparrow.

Anita noticed that old Mrs. Sawada (she’d really have to figure out a proper way to address her – could she call her baa-san without being rude?) didn’t seem particularly interested in the conversation with Nana, answering politely but distantly in short sentences or monosyllables. Instead, she seemed to be looking quite intently at Tsuna.

Anita gently nudged her in-universe cousin with her elbow. “Why don’t you go chat with your grandmother?”

Tsuna looked up at her a little doubtfully, but these days he did almost everything Anita asked of him, so he hesitantly approached his grandmother’s bed, glancing back at Anita for reassurance. Anita just smiled and nodded, and Tsuna shyly asked if his grandmother was feeling better, earning him a weak pat on the head.

Nana immediately switched the conversation to what Tsuna was up to lately. Anita felt a bit awkward, as a non-family member, so she went to wash and peel the apples they had brought at the sink in the room. She could still eavesdrop, anyway, and she knew from experience with her own family that adults often forgot that children could hear and remember everything they said.

Sure enough, Ikemiya dropped some shocking news soon after.

“Mitsu-san told me he managed to get some time off for a visit,” he said. “He just needs to tie up a few loose ends, and then he’ll be back.”

“Ah, that man,” said Nana, looking delighted. “He should have said something when I called! Tsu-kun, your Papa’s coming home!”

Anita almost cut herself with the fruit knife.

Sawada Iemitsu was coming back?!

Chapter Text

Shamal al-Hakim, 28, ‘Lempo’, Rank A, Varia Independent Assassination Squads, formerly ‘Trident Shamal’, freelance hitman and unlicensed physician

God, Ottavio was such a nag.

With Rue on the mend and their grumpy teenage boss extracted from his crystalline prison with minimal damage to his person (fuck, that would have made the most amazing case study Shamal would never get to write), Ottavio now had an abundance of time to be a persistent thorn in Shamal’s side, telling him to eat more healthily, get more exercise, and call Hayato.

He dragged Shamal out on ‘walks’ (multi-hour hikes over rough terrain) and inspections of his shady winery in his backwater hometown. Usually in the mornings, because Rue was generally not a morning person and thus Shamal was forced to fill in, he supposed. Sometimes Auntie would feed them afterwards. There was a lot of salad and soup involved.

“Don’t you have, I don’t know, paperwork to do?!” Shamal snapped at him once, in the middle of another wet, cold, and disgustingly muddy ‘walk’ through god knew where.

“Max says I’m not allowed to work more than three hours a day,” was Ottavio’s infuriating reply. “Migraines.”

Migraines? Shamal squinted at him suspiciously. Ottavio looked fine. He even looked a little more relaxed around the eyes, now that Rue was recovering. But Lugh didn’t seem like the sort to coddle his friends, so there probably really had been something wrong with Ottavio at some point.

Nevertheless, Shamal couldn’t help feeling jealous. He’d sure like a three-hour workday!

Then he discovered that Ottavio was planning to go on holiday. With his better half. And two out of the three boys.

Shamal was even more jealous, and despaired of ever getting to take a single day off.

“Wait, hang on, why aren’t you taking Hayato?” he demanded, once the logical part of his brain had clawed control of his thoughts from the brief surge of resentment and envy.

“We’re likely going to Mafia Land; the Anderloni are known to vacation there, and likely have contacts keeping an eye out,” said Ottavio. “I’d take him if you were coming along and there was one adult to manage every child, so we could handle any situations that might crop up.”

“Well, I’d be able to if someone didn’t keep taking away my leave!” Shamal griped, though he was slightly touched that Ottavio had thought of him. Only very slightly.

Mafia Land, huh. It was … probably the best option for Ottavio’s little monster. Shamal could not imagine him being set loose in Disneyland.

“It’s your own fault for being a pervert,” Ottavio told him matter-of-factly.

“Ass,” Shamal sniped at him half-heartedly, before sighing, thinking of Hayato. “Kid’s going to feel left out.”

“It’d be good for you to spend time with Hayato, one-on-one,” said Ottavio. “You don’t talk to him enough.”

This was an old, tired point of conversation.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Shamal tried.

“That’s because he can sense your reluctance, idiot,” sighed Ottavio. “Will you ever tell me what is wrong?”

Shamal’s first, reflexive thought was of course not. He’d never told anyone about Hayato’s parentage, or about Lavina, though he supposed it was known to a select view that he had been… associates… with the latter.

“Look,” said Ottavio, pushing up his glasses, “I won’t press, but you need to resolve whatever it is with Hayato. He’s a smart kid, smarter than most, as you well know, and it might blow up in your face later if you don’t deal with it.”

Shamal flipped him off and told him to mind his own business.

Ottavio was relentless, however.

“You don’t want him to end up with … issues … like Xanxus,” said Ottavio a few days later, brazenly unconcerned about speaking ill of their boss, within possible earshot of other employees, who might report what they heard to their boss.

Just a little while ago, they had both watched their angsty teenage boss have a meltdown, whilst they were all on a cosy little hiking trip in the mountains.

Shamal supposed it was inevitable. From what he’d pieced together, the kid had been betrayed in the worst way possible by someone he’d trusted and (presumably) loved as family. Then he’d woken up months later in the middle of nowhere with Ottavio and his lot for company. Would drive anyone mad, really.

Shamal found himself thinking about Xanxus’s outburst, unable to help but wonder if Hayato would see Shamal’s lies by omission to be a betrayal, too, and how horrific the fallout would be if it happened in the boy’s angsty hormonal tween or teen years.

It didn’t help that Ottavio kept sending him knowing glances (god, Shamal wanted to punch him, sometimes) and encouraging nods, clearly believing that Shamal, having been given such an ominous insight into Hayato’s possible future, must clearly have repented his sins and was now one hundred percent dedicated to suffocating Hayato with paternal love for the rest of his life.

Ha! No.

Shamal was a bachelor by choice. And whose fault was Hayato’s situation in the first place? Shamal had never asked for this! Ottavio could do something, if he was that worried.

Though, he did seem to have his hands full.

Whatever Ottavio’s flaws, he definitely could raise healthy kids, considering the physical improvements Shamal had witnessed in all three boys.

Psychologically, though … Basilio was normal enough, at first glance, though a little more observation and you could tell he was obviously traumatised by whatever he’d been through before Rue had gotten to him. He had some sort of hang-up with his Flame that would need a lot of work to get through (Shamal had checked, and concluded it was psychological rather than a Flame issue), and it wasn’t like the mafia had an abundance of shrinks to help. Ottavio was very patient with him, though, and Rue seemed like he was invested.

Mirco… Shamal didn’t even know where to start with Ottavio’s demon spawn. The less said the better. He seemed to have mellowed out over the past few months and didn’t seem like he was a hair trigger away from razing the castle anymore, but Shamal wouldn’t call him stable. No amount of therapy would help that one, not that anyone in the mafia ever got any.

(Ottavio owed him the story behind that mess. While he’d been present for Mirco’s resurrection and retrieval, Shamal was very sure there was something more to Mirco’s … condition… that Ottavio wasn’t telling him.)

Even if he spiraled into insanity eventually, Mirco had Ottavio, and Mammon, his master.

Then there was Hayato.

Thanks to Don Carlo’s blatant and incomprehensible disregard for Hayato’s health, it would be a miracle if Hayato didn’t grow up with daddy issues.

Shamal couldn’t wrap his head around it – he thought Don Carlo had loved Lavina, as much as someone like him could love anybody, and that it extended to the precious child Lavina had eventually killed herself giving life to. Not to mention that Hayato was the son Don Carlo had wanted so badly, that his wife had been unable to give him, not for lack of trying. But he supposed mafia men were, traditionally, scum (Shamal would know, as he was one).

Fuck, maybe Ottavio was right, and Hayato was going to ‘grow up wrong’, if somebody didn’t do something.

Ottavio might try, but only Shamal knew exactly where the problem lay.

But what was he supposed to do about this?

With Shamal’s luck, if Shamal ever came clean and told Hayato about Lavina, it was likely as not that would give Hayato mommy issues to add on top of his daddy issues. If he didn’t already have them, what with Don Carlo’s wife and all.

Great.

Shamal grimaced and wished he had a cigarette.

Ottavio, clearly trying to be helpful, cornered Shamal (again) one day and pressed something into his hand, an envelope.

“I think you’ll like this,” he said.

Shamal raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “I hope this is a raise or a bribe,” he muttered, opening the envelope and shaking its contents out. What looked like two tickets slid into his palm.

“You’re always complaining that I have no culture,” said Ottavio, which was absolutely true, as the man couldn’t tell Puccini from Purcell and probably had never set foot in an art gallery. “So you’d best make sure Hayato doesn’t grow up the same.”

Shamal looked at the tickets with a bit more scrutiny. They were for a chamber music recital in a church, somewhere in Palermo. Ottavio had had them mailed all the way here, rather than have Shamal pick them up when they got back?

Wait, so Ottavio had known when their little party would be back in Sicily, and hadn’t said a word. Bastard.

“I thought we were trying to keep him hidden?” said Shamal, after deciding it was too much effort to fight Ottavio about it. The poor boy hadn’t been anywhere since they brought him to the Varia, after all, and despite being a bit of a brat, didn’t deserve to be cooped up in the castle like a prisoner.

“It’s Alliance turf, relatively safe,” Ottavio pointed out, pushing up his glasses. “Dye Hayato’s hair, disguise yourself, or put some effort into illusions for once.”

“For once?!” Shamal bristled.

“It should be a simple thing, no?” challenged Ottavio.

Ass.

Shamal kept the tickets. They were free, after all.

Eventually, Ottavio fucked off on his little family vacation, and the rest of the Varia at the Biscione headquarters packed up and went home.

They arrived back at the castle in the middle of the night, so Shamal saved the reunion with his ward for the next morning.

Unfortunately, Shamal overslept,and wasn’t particularly up to date with Hayato’s schedule, so he actually had to look for him after he did get up. Fortunately, it didn’t take long – some underlings pointed him in the direction of a pantry and kitchenette repurposed as a small laboratory, where Hayato was receiving instruction from the lovely Sparrow.

Shamal had not been surprised to find the infamous Locusta of Malta hiding in the Varia, but he was surprised to see that she was pushing paper for Superbia instead of poisoning the catering at mafia events, and that Ottavio had managed to get her to tutor Hayato, in the hopes that the boy would never get caught wrongfooted by poisons again.

In Shamal’s opinion, Bianchi’s corrosive culinary efforts were more akin to concentrated hydrochloric acid than conventional poisons, but Shamal supposed he appreciated the effort. Hayato’s little tutor was cute, at least, if jumpy and very pointedly uninterested in Shamal’s flirtations (Ottavio told him to leave her alone, with one of his pointed looks, so to save himself some grief Shamal admittedly had not tried very hard).

Said (former?) poisoner was already alert and aware of him by the time Shamal poked his head through the door, holding up one hand and gesturing at Hayato with the other. Hayato hadn’t noticed him, bent over a small flask with a dropper.

Sparrow waited until Hayato was done before speaking. “Hey, great job,” she told the boy. “We’ll just let it sit and cure for a couple days. That’s all for today, someone’s here for you.”

Hayato looked up in confusion, then glanced at the door, his mouth forming an ‘o’ of surprise. “Doctor Shamal! You’re back!” He made to run towards Shamal, but Sparrow gently held him back by the shoulders.

“Gloves!” she reminded him, “and wash your hands.”

Hayato flushed and went to do as instructed. Shamal snapped off a mock salute to Sparrow.

“Thanks, little miss,” he said with what he believed was a roguishly charming wink. Sparrow predictably rolled her eyes and busied herself with cleanup, ignoring him.

Hayato, having stripped off his gloves (where had they found ones so small?) and washed his hands, walked towards Shamal, glancing to the side and not looking directly at him, like he’d finally remembered he was supposed to be upset at Shamal.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” he said, though Shamal thought he seemed secretly pleased.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, kid,” said Shamal, looking over Hayato with a critical eye.

Shamal had to admit, however grudgingly, that being away from his blood family was good for Hayato.

The boy had filled out, now that his gut lining wasn’t being shredded by Storm Flames, and he could actually absorb nutrients from the food he ate. As a result, Hayato had shot up by more than an inch in height. He’d also lost that awful greenish pallor to his complexion, and some days he was even cherubically rosy-cheeked.

He looked more like Lavina than ever.

Shamal was especially reminded of the early days he’d known her, before she’d met Don Carlo, and before disease had eaten away at her until she was barely a shell of her former self.

He let Hayato prattle on about his friends (apparently the little terrors had been fighting, again; Shamal was just glad Hayato had enough sense to stay out of it), and about Sparrow’s boyfriend (interesting).

“And then Ottavio came back to take Mirco on holiday,” concluded Hayato. His face had fallen a little. “He said we’d go together next time, when you finally have vacation time, but that will be forever. You never get any vacation time because you’re always being punished!”

“Hey!” Shamal was offended, even if it was true.

Hayato made a little hmph of discontent and turned away. Rude little snot.

Good thing Shamal had come prepared with something to hopefully redeem himself in the eyes of his ward.

“We might not be able to travel, but we can go on our own little adventure,” said Shamal tantalisingly. “Something you can tell your friends about.”

Hayato tilted his head at Shamal. “Like, an excursion?”

“No, not like one of Ottavio’s excursions!” Shamal corrected. “That lout just likes traipsing all around the countryside getting mud all over himself. No, we are doing something a bit more sophisticated.”

Ignoring the (faint) inner voice that pointed out even these had been provided by Ottavio, he brandished the tickets in front of Hayato.

“We are going to attend a recital,” he told the boy.

Hayato lit up like a Christmas tree, so eager and excited (“It’s been so long since I’ve listened to other people play,” he said) that he willingly let Shamal dye his hair brown again on the day of the concert.

On Shamal’s end, he slicked back his own hair and tidied himself up, a far cry from his usual preferred stylishly relaxed look. He doubted even his own mother could recognise him.

The disguise was perfect, or so Shamal thought.

Then they ran into Reborn, the world’s greatest hitman, and one of Shamal’s former…clients, which meant any kind of disguise was moot.

“Well, if it isn’t Trident Shamal,” said the small but terrifying arcobaleno. He was perched on his current student’s shoulder, the current heir to (and probably soon-to-be leader of) the Cavallone. The boy greeted them with a nod, but seemed to know better than to interrupt his tutor.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Reborn continued. “I’d heard you were in the Varia, but I didn’t see you the last time I visited the castle.”

The hairs on Shamal’s arm all stood on end at the chilling thought that Reborn had been actively looking for him.

“You know, been busy, and all that,” Shamal replied vaguely. Hayato was looking at Reborn with poorly-disguised interest (not this UMA thing again!), and Shamal hoped he wouldn’t say anything unnecessary.

“Hoh? I see,” Reborn hummed. His needle-sharp gaze, made even more alien and unsettling by the soft, infantile shape he occupied, moved to Hayato. “And this must be the missing Anderloni scion.”

Hayato didn’t have enough control of his reactions yet to suppress a flinch, and Shamal knew, stomach sinking, that Reborn most certainly had noticed.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” said Shamal. “He’s just one of the Varia fosters I’m training.” He cleared his throat. “Now we really must be on our way. Great to see you, etc…”

“You’re as bad of a liar as always,” Reborn said, but let them go.

Shamal breathed a sigh of relief, only for Reborn to add, “Your new masters have made you available for contract, I expect?”

Reborn wanted Shamal for a job? Murder, Reborn could do himself. Medical consultation, then? Shamal looked at the Cavallone heir, who seemed healthy. For the ailing don, perhaps? But Shamal could do nothing for him. No one could, at this point.

“Yes,” he replied cautiously. Per his employment contract, Shamal was still allowed to see his own patients, as long as the Varia had first dibs on his time. “Talk to my handler.”

Shamal would just let Ottavio deal with it.

Reborn tipped his hat in acknowledgement, and they parted ways without further incident.

“Who was that?” Hayato whispered. “Is he like Mammon? Why did he know about–”

“Not here,” Shamal shushed him. “Hurry, or we’ll be late.”

Thankfully, the recital distracted Hayato, who sat enraptured by the music, little head bobbing in time to the beat. Shamal listened with half an ear, absorbed in his own memories.

Ottavio couldn’t have known, as Shamal had never said a word about Lavina, but he’d first met her in a place very much like this – an intimate chamber music performance at a cathedral venue.

There, Lavina had quite literally, fallen into Shamal’s arms.

Shamal’s obsession of the week at that time had been an aspiring soprano at the music conservatory near where he’d been attending medical school. Shamal had followed her to a recital, where she’d been livid that her accompanist was running late. Shamal, eager to please, had gallantly volunteered to go find them and give them an earful, only to run right into Lavina, said accompanist, in a nearby alleyway, and for her to crumple in a dead faint.

Shamal barely caught her before she hit the ground, revived her, and made her functional for the performance using some less than legal pharmaceutical means.

Sadly, the soprano was too self-absorbed to be thankful. Shamal would have just left it at that, written off the loss, and moved on to greener pastures, but Lavina had latched onto him like a drowning man grasping at a straw.

She was so earnestly grateful (and such a talented pianist it would be a waste if she expired) that Shamal found himself compelled to help, briefly overcome by a mixture of guilt and chivalrous fervour.

Lavina had a rare congenital heart disease with no name, much less a cure. According to her, no doctors had ever managed to help her with her disease, which made her too weak to perform every time it flared up. Lavina had lived every day in the fear that she would collapse and never be able to get up again. Shamal’s intervention had been the only time she’d actually felt normal in a long time.

… most reputable doctors would probably not have used controlled substances in the combinations and quantities that Shamal had applied to Lavina, with the intent of the administered dosage being a strictly one-off thing.

Shamal attempted to explain this, but the girl just did not care, as long as it meant she could keep playing the piano.

Stubborn, brilliant, and absolutely crazy.

Still, Shamal stuck around, just so Lavina didn’t try to do anything too extreme.

For a while, things were fine. Shamal kept Lavina’s illness under control without destroying her liver too much. Lavina’s career took off, now that she could reliably last through an entire performance and make it through a concert season. In return, Shamal received the novel experience of being actual, real, friends with someone of the opposite sex. Lavina even taught him how to play the piano (badly).

Then Lavina fell in love with Don Carlo whilst Shamal’s back was turned (he’d only been away for three months!), and became pregnant.

Shamal had been horrified – Lavina was in no physical condition to carry a child – and argued and rationalised and pleaded, to no avail. Lavina did what Lavina wanted, which meant she stopped taking her mildly toxic medication so she could keep the baby.

Between that and the whole Estraneo extermination frenzy shaking up the mafia, Shamal felt like the stress during that period shaved years off his life.

At the end of it all, she had her little bundle of joy, however briefly, but Lavina’s health was never quite the same again, and her career as a pianist was ruined.

Shamal was jolted out of his reverie by the sound of applause and Hayato desperately trying to choke down a sob beside him.

“Kid?” Shamal looked over concernedly, wondering if he was ill.

“I miss Miss Lavina,” said Hayato, burying his face into a startled Shamal’s shoulder.

It’d been so long, and Hayato had been so young when she died, that Shamal had no idea Hayato still remembered her so intensely.

On the raised platform, the pianist was taking a bow with the other musicians, long pale hair spilling over one shoulder. She didn’t look that much like Lavina, but –

Shamal exhaled and let the kid wipe his snot on his coat. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, me too.”