So I have been away as I was busy and I thought of an idea as I was being busy and hence I typed this down. (It's just a subversion of the Babysitting fic I wrote) That said, do enjoy. And this was not as supposedly as depressing as I made to be, it was meant to be humorous, but I went all out on the funeral scene...
It ended too quietly.
Perhaps, this was the leading reason to the roaring defiance within them. Denial, disbelief, impossibility and that all of it was just a bad, bad dream.
Maybe an enemy sought to play with their minds and this was a conjuring of mist flames illusions, even if Mukuro and Chrome had yet to detect them.
It should be. It should be the case. It was always the case for the last ten years.
Even so, they would occasionally snap back to reality, as repulsive as it was.
The scent of lilies was disgustingly nauseating. The Storm would think, as he gazed upon the white chrysanthemum. Jyuudaime would never wear so many lilies on him. Jyuudaime would never leave like everyone else he knew; like everything he had known. Did you not accept me? Why would you just go? He asked, but it was only echoed back to his own self.
The air was too cold for comfort. The Rain would think, as he watched the small droplets of water sliding off the umbrellas. When was the last time a downpour reflected such chilliness? Before he decided to jump off the school building? He thought as the bouquet of hydrangeas shook in his hand. Indeed, that was when.
There was too much black. The Sun would think, as he looked upon the scenery. Black did not suit on Kyoko and Haru. Black did not suit the sky. Black did not suit him. It made his rays looked too bleak. He tugged on the pink carnation in his right pocket as he pushed back the thought that he would not shine as brightly again.
The hymns sounded the least bit soothing. The Lightning would think as he listened. They were too slow and too soft. His big brother always knew that he liked being loud. Being loud covered up everything. Being loud made him known. Being loud was what big brother had always done, to convince enemies and protect his family. He gripped the orchid in his trembling hands. Yet it was the same big brother who left without a sound. Impossible. He shuffled his feet.
There were too many people. The Cloud would think as he kept backing in the shadows. This was too big a crowd, it made him feel like biting them all to death. Yet, for what reason? There would be no more carnivore to come up and challenge him properly, to talk to him normally and equally. He looked at his hand, he had pulled out part of hyacinth from a bouquet in his blinded rage. Hibird never sang. It just rested awkwardly on his head, chirping something forlorn and missing its other favourite spot.
There were too much tears. The Mist would think, as he watched hunched bags, red eyes and crouching figures. Was parting of such sorrow? He never cried, not even when he was tortured, exploited and betrayed. Not even when his body suffered and his soul torn. He never did. So why was one side of his face slightly wet and his nose stinging? He must be sensitive to the lily he picked up earlier. It had to be it.
The heart felt so lonely. The other Mist would think, as she clutched her chest and twisted the dark red rose she held in her hand. Loneliness was painful, but the loneliness after the experience of love became deeply trenched grief. Now what else could fill that hole up? Nothing, a voice said, but that single dark red rose in your hand. She refused to acknowledge that.
It was reality, some sad and hushed mumbles from the older members would say. No, it was not. They would protest silently in return.
Because those old men did not know that somehow or another, he was always there through the difficulties, the perils, leading them so bravely onward. The sky that encompassed everything and always shined on, never giving an indication that he would ever leave.
They had sworn to protect.
But whatever happened to that?
"It's not your fault." Sharmal said. "You cannot fight against something intangible."
And so they watched, disguising their pain, as he struggled haplessly, thinning, waning, weakening. And they continued watching, until he died.
It was such tragic comedy of a brutal irony. To them and to everyone else.
He pulled his fedora, shadowing his features even more. His other hand held a peace lily, slightly wilting from his tight grip. Everyone was required to put a flower into the coffin; Vongola's tradition as a symbol of parting. He could count them. Lilies, carnations, roses, gladioli, tulips, orchids, hyacinth, hydrangea, anemone, chrysanthemum, so on and so forth.
"Momento Mori" was a part of Mafia sayings.
Bullshit, he thought.
"Nascentus Morimur", someone else had said.
Also bullshit, he thought as he stuffed the flower into his pocket. He then briskly left, unseen by anyone.
The priest now said something about the lid opening for one final time to bid farewell.
They would not lift their heads, to see what was encased in that beautifully carved, black box.
A week passed and the Vongola mansion remained deathly quiet.
Timeteo had taken over for the moment in name, once again as Vongola Nono, just as so to keep things in order. There were protests from his Guardians saying that he should care for his health, however to prevent any form of corruption to the system the Decimo had set up in his reign, Timeteo had insisted he would lead Vongola for the time being.
The load was then divided among Xanxus and Basil. It was surprising on the former's end to some of Vongola's older board members, but everyone who knew the Decimo saw that he had become more diligent upon the failing of the Decimo's health, determined to scrap as much load as possible of his Don's shoulders.
"There's a mission for the Guardians." Basil said one day to Gokudera, who sat in the Decimo's former office, admiring the present his Jyuudaime gave him nine Christmas' ago.
"Why are you telling me?" The Storm then snarled.
"It should be everyone, I told the others to turn up." The now CEDEF leader muttered, rubbing his temple. "In fact, I was hoping you all would keep your act up."
Gokudera shrugged as he held the brooch, having gone hot in his head. "We were only together because of Jyuudaime. It makes sense that everyone is now gone. Reborn is also gone. And I'll also be gone in no time."
Basil felt something flared up within. This, he thought as his anger warmed over, you all are just disrespecting Sawada-dono and Reborn-san.
"You sound like a kicked puppy, Storm. Were your bonds that weak?" He growled. Gokudera then stood up abruptly to grab Basil by the collar.
Basil was barely intimidated. "Where will you go then?"
Silver locks fell over his face, having gone unkempt and dishevelled from the lack of proper care. His grip loosened on Basil's collar as he ran his hand over his hair, muttering something inaudible. He felt his features scrunching up and his heart ached painfully, but no tears would flow out.
"Reborn has called for all the Decimo's Guardians to gather in the HQ located down South Italy." Basil mentioned, as he readjusted his tie.
There was a pregnant pause before the Guardian spoke.
"It will then be the last mission I would do with the title of Jyuudaime's right-hand man." Gokudera mumbled, steeling himself for whatever reason, as he pushed opened the oak doors to exit the room.
He saw everyone gathered the next day, a distant kind of solemn atmosphere greeting him as he entered the main meeting room.
He caught Yamamoto's tired smile. "I tried." The Rain said with a resigned sigh. "I tried to play baseball. I even tried to act as a coach. I just… could not."
Yamamoto's lips failed to articulate rest of what he wanted to say. The only thing that kept me moving was Tsuna, because my life as 'Yamamoto Takeshi alone' had ended on the day I pitched myself beside the railing of the school's rooftop.
He saw Sasagawa slouched figure against the wall. "I found no achievement in boxing to the extreme." He choked. "Kyoko doesn't even cheer as much anymore."
Sawada would not be there to train with me anymore, half the original fun already buried under, was Sasagawa's bitter thought.
He saw Lambo's tear stained face. The Bovino was apparently still in between hiccups and sniffles. Lambo did not say anything to Gokudera-shi, just glanced up at him and back down. "His brother was no longer here", they came like knives into his chest and they hurt, and so as a response, he could only cry.
The other three remained far apart in the room. Hibari at one corner by himself, with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. Mukuro, who was on the other end of the room, diagonally away from Hibari, had a melancholic look set within his eyes, but he would try to look as passive as possible. Chrome was beside Mukuro and she looked as if all life was just robbed off her. The Mist and Cloud never fought nor bickered.
And they all stood still like single Elements on their own, without something to bind them together.
The door then clicked opened.
No doubt it was Reborn, but their eyes trailed to something else, familiar and equally foreign. For in his hands was a mob of brown hair and caramel doe eyes.
"Chaos." The hitman greeted.
Momento Mori: Remember your own mortality
Nascentus Morimur: When we are born, we start to die (loosely translated)
If it is not clear. Tsuna dies from illness.