Train Heartnet stood silently in the downpour of rain so thick it was almost sleet; the weather was ironic in a city mourning like this one. He, Sven and the Princess had arrived early the other day for the bounty of a man who had killed several people, was tormenting the civilians and was too strong for the police to handle. They'd get him, Train was confident, but the suffering of lives lost had already reached its peak.

Marco Conti liked children, he liked to play with them, he liked to touch them and after all that, he loved to drain them of life and leave their small bodies for the parents to find. Train knew his sort quite well, understood them from his time as a Number though targets back then were geared more to the political scene; to the influence scum rather than the everyday kind of trash that hurt lives instead of the system.

Train had been on his way to meet his partners when he had gotten held up by a person in the otherwise abandoned playground. The children's playground was just a throw away from the school, both of which had been empty since the body count hit double digits and the city's authority had to acknowledge to the populace, that a predator was on the loose.

Train had stopped on seeing a lone man on the swings, shoulders bowed and posture defeated. He had stayed for the eyes - bright, ember eyes that had looked up through a curtain of black eyelashes and were…so very sad. Eyes weren't always the easiest thing to read in a trained assassin - anything could lie with the right deceptions in place, but they were often times more honest than not and Train had turned out to be very bad at ignoring someone.

He was soaked through now, his clothes moulding to his body and that, with the chill in his core was enough for Train to decide to enter the playground - enough standing around, they couldn't afford him ill - after mentally apologising to Sven and the Princess. His being late though was routine now, and routines were healthy enough.

Train jumped the metal gate with his right hand and ignored how the ice from the metal chewed through skin, and walked through the graveyard of looming apparatuses. The bone structures - empty but positioned and left in the dark reminded Train of what was left of Bon, just eight with two little brothers and Mary, five, who had wanted to be a police office. His brain liked to do that though; remember. Train was good at refocusing after all this time as he watched the man he was approaching.

The stranger could be family of a victim, he certainly wasn't Marco Conti and he didn't react all that much to Train's advancing presence other than the bunching of small but developed shoulders. The rain could be a good revealer and with how little was covering the man's body (a simple button-up shirt and slacks,) made the muscles easy to pick out from the short statue and the thin frame.

A fighter, perhaps. He didn't smell much like one now but maybe that was just the wet or the storm hiding around the corner.

Train sat himself down in the next swing over from the man and tried not to shudder at the cold, that crawled through his trousers and into his skin. He started to rock leisurely back and forth instead, ignoring the groaning of the bolts above them as he did.

Ember eyes darted back to Train's but after a minute where Train almost thought the stranger would say something, the man's head dropped down again with his dripping fringe obscuring his eyes.

'Pretty wet out, buddy.' Train finally says as he holds onto the frigid metal chain that suspended his seat, watching the brunet quietly. 'You meeting someone?' He asks because it's less insensitive than asking the man if he's mourning.

The silence stretches out and the chasm between them gaps back at Train for attempting to close it, when there is a response. 'Kami-sama - I hope not.' It was a quiet mutter Train almost didn't catch, voice muffled like the brunet didn't have the energy to project. There was a soft quality to it - almost hoarse, that could have been from the cold or lack of use, but regardless the sound had Train thinking back to Carl, and his band of gentle.

By looks of it, though, the man didn't want to be found and the accent made it obvious that he was far from home. 'Yeah? Then why are you out here?' Train questioned lightly as he continued to swing in small movements back and forth. 'Haven't you heard that it's dangerous out here?'

Conti didn't bother playing with adults but he didn't mind killing a few if he saw one out alone, and he was in the right mood. That didn't seem to perturb the stranger either as he gave a small, tired shrug that barely lifted his shoulders.

'No more dangerous than anywhere else I've been to.' The brunet refutes impassively with a flat intonation.

Train wondered idly if the man was prevaricating, not that it would matter much, this sweeper was good at obdurating conversation. 'You're travelling, then?'

The man slants to one side, leans up against the support bar for the swings as if Train has taken the last dredges of his strength. 'A bit like you, I suppose.'

'Me?' Train tilts his head, stomach suddenly very unsettled even as his ears perk.

The man glances at Train again with an exhausted expression, dull lambent eyes flickering from Train's dripping hair and face to his collarbone and back again in a telling display of knowledge, few people had. 'Nice to meet you, Thirteen.'

Ah. Well, then.

'Train Heartnet,' Train introduced himself as he leant forward, skidding the swing to a stop. 'The Black Cat has been dead for…some time now.'

'…you - you don't say.' The stranger dazedly replies, blinking water from his eyes in a way that Train can't tell if it is merely from the rain. 'Cats never do like answering to commands, even when they have a master.' He says with faux amusement.

Train hums. 'And your name, mister?'

The stranger stares. 'I…I'm really not sure anymore.' He responds weakly, reticent but somehow sincere. 'I don't know if I've ever… Running from my own commands now, I figure; I'm no one but that.'

That was an odd thing to reply with, odder still that Train believed the man. It wouldn't take a genius to conclude that this man belonged to the underworld; he was a fighter, he didn't belong here, wasn't scared of the prospect of bumping into a mass murderer and recognised Train's tattoo; knew who Train's past life was. That he was in such a mess but likened their situations could mean that the stranger wanted out -

Train's mobile rang, piercing the stillness that settled. He fished the vibrating device out of his pocket and answered it without looking away from this man's eyes. 'Sven?' He asks instinctively as any of the few people who had his number, calling now, would be too coincidental. That, and their luck was awful.

'Train!' His partner shouted through the static and blearing background fuss. 'Finally! Where the hell are you?!'

'Sorry, sorry. I got…held up.' Train answers somewhat sheepishly, even as his focus remains on the stranger next to him. 'Need help?'

As if responding, there was a barrel of gunshots that echo eerily over the line but Tsuna knew that if things were out of hand, Sven would have demanded his presence the moment he had picked up the phone. 'Dammit Train! YES.' Sven hisses through his teeth over a loud exclamation. 'Drop whats ever "held" you up - hell, bring it with you - just hurry it up. Conti got cornered by the police and some idiot reporter decided to broadcast the developments live. We've got a shoot out, with civilians. We're trying to hold people back but their out for blood, and I'm as trapped as they are by Eve's shield.'

Train feels his face sharpen; knows the dangers of people losing themselves to revenge. 'Got it, I'm on my way.'

'Good, if you don't speed it up I'm cutting the food budget in half for the next month!'

Rude, Train decides as he raises from the swing. They always did that now; threaten Train with food, or rather to withhold it. Heartless, the pair of them. He's putting away his mobile when a freezing hand curls around Train's wrist.

On instinct Train prepares to lash out. His body was hyper aware but the fight or flight instincts of the assassin he used to be, had also been soothed by Sven's tactile need for reassurance and Eve's passive-aggressive abuse of him. He suspends the chokehold his body wants to preform, and turns to see the stranger stood just two feet away, expression tight but not malicious.

'The - the man on the phone,' the stranger whispered urgently, as Train glances down to the hand holding his wrist only to get distracted with the very prominent ring glinting in a streetlight not far from them. 'He said that Conti -'

Train had spent years as a house cat and he was good at what he did; the best. It would take more than a new life for him to forget that symbol - the symbol of the Vongola resting on this man's hand. His mind travels back to Conti's Wanted poster and suddenly recalls the mention of his being a mafiosi from overseas.

'I'm not the only one trying to escape the bad of my past, huh?' Train interrupts as he turns his wrist to further make visible the ring. The man - the don's expression is sick, ill-looking even as he swallows. 'If you're running why haven't you taken it off?'

The Sky Ring was infamous for those in the know and only one man wore it; only one man could. This stranger was no one else but the Tenth of Vongola who had taken over from Nono, not long after Train had been accepted into Chronos. The don bites his lip with a hangdog expression. 'Why don't you wear a higher collar?' He retaliates as he looks at the stark tattoo glaring out from Train's milky skin, under his collarbone and always - always visible.

Train had never hid his tattoo because while it wasn't what he was anymore, he couldn't turn his back on what he had done. It was his own way of taking responsibility and as a reminder - a reminder to never be that again.

'…The ring must be heavy.' Train acknowledges since he seems to have a predilection towards bad people trying to find their way.

'I'm the only who can carry it.' Decimo responds, before stepping closer. His eyes suddenly not so lifeless. 'Conti - I knew Conti from when I was in Italy, I can help with this.'

Sven was going to kill him, Train foresaw as a grin overtook his face and he began tugging the man out of the playground and towards the fight at a fast pace, which the Decimo seemed to have no troubles keeping up with. 'What's your name?' He asks because calling the guy "Decimo" just wouldn't do.

'…Tsuna.' The man replies quietly, like he was rediscovering it from the tip of his tongue.

'Tsuna.' Train repeats loudly as jumps them from a dumpster onto a roof. He couldn't help but get a thrill when Tsuna follows him without a stumble.

'You fight?' Train asks though it was impossible he didn't.

'Close combat.'

Train hums, thinking of his gun and Sven's eye and out of the three of them how only the Princess really tried hand-to-hand, transformation dependant, of course. Good, this could work. Train feels Tsuna's hand, his callouses, senses the Sky Ring digging into the side of Train's palm and yeah, this could go really well.

Because once upon a time a girl went out of her way to heal a dying assassin, believing anyone could be good when given the opportunity. Train had come a long way since he was bleeding out in that alley, had been given a new lease on life and was now able to pay it forward.

...not to mention that Sven had said on the phone that Train could bring the "hold-up" with him.

'Well then! Sven's gonna be spitting fire, so you better keep up!' He calls to just a few inches behind him where Tsuna was running.

And Tsuna does.

Con/Textual Vomit: found this in my hard drive, I've had this since 2012 and never finished it. I had to do something with it haha it'd be said to let it die.

Originally Uploaded: 13/07/17

OZ