Part 3

.

"This is humiliating."

Mukuro's black words hang over them like a thunderous cloud but all Fon can do is smile. Smile and gaze wondrously at the young woman that is trudging on in front. The pacifier around his neck no longer seems like a choke-chain, stewing deep in a solution of Mist Flames, Sky Flames and magic, of all things. It is what gives him a temporary adult body now, allows him to follow so seamlessly after a Sky without a Storm, dazed and undeniably a little flame drunk. Hariel Potter had announced she'd be capable of reversing the curse with pure brute force if they stopped for a moment.

Yet, because he has given her the location of the one she seeks, they have not stopped for a minute. Consequently, he is now carrying her young Mist in a comfortable piggyback, for the teen had stumbled upon the ruined roads and sprained his ankle. That close contact with the teen ensures he remains in his temporary adult body has… well, everything to do with Fon's willingness to carry young Mukuro.

"Don't whine, Mukuro, you're better than that."

Young Mukuro huffs in reply to his Sky's chiding, the sharp edge of his chin now digging into Fon's shoulder. The World's Greatest Martial Artist doesn't care in the slightest. It's invigorating, to have multiple cobbles beneath his feet instead of having to calculate his steps in accordance to tiny feet. The wind ruffles his hair but offers no threat of knocking him over, the sun warms the crown of his head, a lover's kiss welcoming home. He had forgotten just what it had meant, to not be trapped within an infant's body.

"How long until we arrive in Namimori?"

Hariel Potter is a strange Sky. Unbothered by the need to gain other elements, focused wholly upon recovering Reborn. There had been a phonecall long ago, Fon recalls, in which Reborn had promised him a meeting with a Sky in exchange for body guarding services. He is one of the lucky few to know the actual man behind the alias of 'World's Greatest Hitman'. He is one of the few to have heard of the Solar Flare Massacre and know just what it had all meant. It seems Reborn's Sky is just as preternatural as the Sun himself.

"By all accounts, it should take only three hours on foot, even though I understand your impatience."

At that, Hariel Potter twists around to stare at him. She never stills, walking backward on sure feet.

"Do you? Renato is my Sun. For most of my life, he was my only element. He was my everything." Her eyes, incandescent in the sunlight, gleam with a fever that most would find discomforting. Fon simply tilts his head, silently requesting she proceeds with her train of thought. "I've spent years chasing him, chasing the wraith of the ghost he left behind."

Mukuro presses a finger into the tender spot between Fon's lower rib and hipbone; the Storm merely shifts the teen slightly higher on his back and keeps pace.

"It's admirable, your love for each other. Reborn refused to so much as entertain the very idea of bonding with Luce. In the end, he was the only one of us who didn't."

"And now you're hurting because of it," Hariel trails off, pivoting back around but slowing her steps until they are side by side.

"And now I hurt because of it."

Silence persists between them for a while, Mukuro having nodded off at some point. For all he puts on a marvelous show, the boy is only fifteen. Still a child desperately trying to keep up with a fully grown Sky despite his own immature flames. It'll be another year or so until they settle; there's a raw power to the boy that'll ensure he's one of the stronger Mists to develop in this decade. Perhaps the strongest.

Fon shies away from that thought, achingly aware of just what became of the previous strongest seven.

"I only have a Sun and a Mist, if you want to consider that."

"Of that, I am acutely aware. While your curse-breaking abilities are my primary concern, it is far from my only one."

.

.

"And just what do you two idiots think you are doing."

Tsuna, Tsuna's everything hurts. He can, however, stand on his own two feet. Much unlike Hibari who has gone down. Hard. He would not want to be the prefect in the morning. Nor would he want to be anyone else the demon runs into within the next few… weeks. Maybe months. Shuddering at the thought, Tsuna turns his attention to the newcomer who has so effortlessly collared Ken and Chisuka. It had taken everything Tsuna had to put down all the criminals the duo had come with, nevertheless he's still not sure why the two teenagers have agreed to work alongside them. He's even less sure of the newcomer.

The boy, perhaps a year or two Tsuna's senior, has released his hold on the duo's collars, having effortlessly forced their heads into a painful collision. He dusts one hand off on the lapels of his jacket, the other flexing and suddenly there's a trident in his hand. What the actual hell?

"Be on guard, Dame-Tsuna. He's a Mist." A mist. Right. What was a 'mist' again?

As if sensing his incompetency, Reborn clocks him around the head with Leon-gun, eyes still trained on the unknown. The teenager's hair is strange, a dark blue and the style vaguely resembling a pineapple. He gets the feeling pointing such a thing out would be a remarkably stupid idea; Tsuna's mouth wisely remains shut.

"Wha- Mukuro! What are you doing here?"

Determinedly ignoring the spluttering criminal, the newly identified Mukuro casts his gaze upon them. There must be some kind of hidden relation to Reborn; he's only ever had a gaze that cool, that analytical, sent his way by the demon-baby.

"Sawada Tsunayoshi… I have some… grievances on how the Vongola is being run. I do hope you will take the time to listen… in the future." It isn't until the eyes slide from him and instead settle on Reborn that Tsuna clicks just what is wrong. The boy has one red eye and one blue. It's… startling. Startling and creepy. "The World's Greatest Hitman. I have a Sky that wishes to speak with you."

"Not interested." The hidden 'fuck off' in Reborn's tone is so strong Tsuna feels as if it's punched him in the gut, and it's not even directed at him. Mukuro seems utterly unfazed, cocking his weight to one side to half lean on his trident.

"A shame. Hariel will be disappointed."

.

.

"Well, my life just flashed before my eyes." Quite frankly, the little bastard's life should still be flashing before his eyes. Worn shirt grasped in his tiny fist, Reborn pulls the fucker up to eye-level, standing on his chest and wholly incapable of listening to Tsuna's screeching right now.

"How do you know that name." He's shot people for far less than this. No one was supposed to know, no one was supposed to link that name to Reborn. Her memory was supposed to remain untouched, untainted by all the mistakes he makes as Reborn. Hariel Potter belongs to Renato Sinclair in a way she never could to Reborn. The purest thing he'd ever touched; how does this fucker know about her?

"Left pocket. Put it on."

Real gun pressing into a pale cheek, Reborn has Leon wiggle free to investigate.

He returns with a charm, a little drop of sunshine carved from an amber droplet. The taste of the flames upon it is the hardest hit he's taken in decades.

"Where did you get this."

"She gave it to me about twenty minutes ago. Something about not believing a word out of my mouth without evidence."

"Then why is she not here." He's lying. He's a lying bastard and Reborn will pepper him with holes the second he stops running his mouth.

"She's dealing with some fool in an iron hat."

Reborn's heart stops.

.

Mist teleportation is the only thing that saves 'Mukuro' from being shot on the spot. Reborn abandons everything; all thought has left his head barring the single shard of hope he clenches in his palm. The Sky Flames (familiar and loving and home) curl from the amber, brushing up against his own in greeting, everything Reborn has once had and lost. A part of him (the part that never stops, that's thinking even when all else has gone offline) registers that Tsuna's exhausted form has come along for the ride. The rest stalls.

The room is bathed in those flames, an endless stretch of Sky. It houses a Mist now, is tentatively cradling a Storm too.

But there is a black hole cut from the cloth, the perfect fit and shape for his Sun.

"I'll be in touch."

Reborn doesn't react in time to corner (shoot, the bastard deserves to be shot) the Man with the Iron Hat. He doesn't care.

The hair is darker; the skin has lost that lovingly given Italian tan. But he knows that stance, knows those straight shoulders and lean legs.

He moves before it's even registered in his mind, moves before he has control of his limbs as the pendant wrapped around his wrist glows.

All Reborn cares for is the Sky he now clutches to his chest, all shaking sobs hurled into his jacket and watery kisses pressed to his cheeks. All he cares about is that Hariel is here in his arms. His Sky. Alive and younger than before but so unquestionably her.

"Ren. My Ren, my Sun." She's smiling, smiling up at him and he doesn't even question it. The height difference, the way she suddenly fits oh so perfectly into arms that shouldn't be capable of holding her. It's exactly as he remembers it; the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body, the taste of her skin as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

"Innamorata," he breathes it like a prayer, with a holy reverence and he's a sinner who should never utter such a sacred word. He's a mere mortal exposed to a miracle and he cannot comprehend how. Only offer his gratitude, his every orison to the origin as he whispers it again, "Innamorata."

.

He's not overly sure how they end up on the floor, Hariel half curled into his chest with her head is tucked beneath his chin, nose against a clavicle and hands scrunching his shirt. He doesn't care. His hat is... somewhere, his own face appears to have gained two wet streaks (no one will ever breathe a word of it; otherwise they'll become a wet streak across the earth), but his Sky is in his arms. At last. Impossibly. He doesn't care for the logistics. Not anymore. Probably never again.

But then, something scrapes at the back of his mind, a dreadful reminder of why he'd been so fraught with fear.

"The Man with the Iron Hat-"

"Four decades and that's what you want to talk about," Hariel whispers, peeling her face back from his shirt. He's never seen her cry, there's never been any reason for her to do so before. It's not a pretty sight; red-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks, runny nose.

It's the most beautiful thing Reborn has seen in years.

"Ren. Ren, I've missed you."

.

.

When Hayato wakes, it's to a startling lack of pain and the clear ceiling of the Tenth's guest bedroom. For a moment he lays there in the bed, body still and mind racing. Then he's up, shooting to the door and yanking it open. He can hear the Tenth's high, nervous voice, can practically taste his Sky's confusion and hesitance and that is all Hayato needs to know before he's barrelling down the stairs.

Stumbling the last step into the living room, Hayato's eyes quickly flicker across all the faces present, freezing when he spots the Hibari-bastard sitting up to table, drinking a cup of tea. He's fully prepared to bodily dive in front of the tenth (in the comforts of the Tenth's home or not, they all know Hibari won't hold back for anything or anyone) when the eye-colour registers. Red. The bastard prefect's eyes are silver, not red. Which means, unless the fucker got hit over the head real hard (and somehow grew his hair out a ridiculously amount), this isn't Hibari.

A quick sweep of the room reveals three other faces he doesn't know; Reborn is absent. Instead, someone who looks like he could be the hitman's father is sitting on the couch, one arm thrown over the shoulders of the redhead beside him. He's eyeing the other teen, the one with the pineapple-shaped hair, with thinly veiled suspicion. The expression isn't returned; the boy with two different eyes smiles back as serenely as the Hibari-copy. That in itself is freaky. That expression does not belong on Hibari's face, and this guy is wearing Hibari's face. Or… is Hibari wearing his face? Is it a clone? An UMA? His fingers itch for a pen and paper, but he forces himself to focus. He's the Tenth's man now, and the Tenth needs him in this room of unknowns.

Hayato takes a stance beside his Boss, eying the four. Reborn's dad, Hibari's clone, the Pineapple, and wine-head. She's watching him with green eyes, far too saturated in colour to ever be compared against his own.

"Good morning, Hayato, is it? How are you feeling?" Winehead peels herself away from Reborn's Dad's side (holy shit, is this Reborn's Mum? Step-mum? They share no features; not like the dangerous man she's been leaning against does) and leans forwards to address him. Hayato instantly bristles.

"Listen here yo-" The ringing of a gunshot cuts off any words that Hayato is going to spit out, cheek burning from how precariously close that bullet had come to impacting on him. Reborn's Dad is now glaring at him, one hand wrapped around a green gun (Leon Dad?) as his hat shadows his eyes.

"Watch your words."

"Don't shoot the children!" Winehead jabs Reborn's Dad in the side, scowling as Pineapple chokes out a laugh.

"How else am I supposed to train them, Inamorata? I am contracted to tutor the Tenth boss of the Vongola." Contracted to what... Oh. Oh. This isn't Reborn's Dad at all.

"Tenth… Tenth… Is that… is that Reborn?" Tenth, who has been totally silent and hasn't so much as shuffled from his seat, nods minutely. Hayato drops onto the sofa cushions to sit beside him, his own limbs trembling. Oh. This is… oh. Winehead shuffles and Reborn (motherfucking Reborn who is supposed to be very small but is now very tall) takes the opportunity to pull her into his lap.

Hayato feels very uncomfortable right now.

"It's nice to meet you, Hayato. I was just telling Tsuna-kun that, because Ren's here, I'll be sticking around too. I'm more than happy to help with your flames, Tsuna-kun," she directs this part to Tenth, smiling and abruptly she's terribly pretty with her warm eyes and rosy cheeks, before her attention returns to him. "Fon is my Storm and- wait, Fon, are you sticking around?"

It's the Hibari-clone that answers, having apparently finished inhaling his tea. The cup is empty but Hayato sure as hell didn't see him sipping at it. "I would prefer to remain in the same general vicinity as my Sky while the bond is fresh, Hariel. Aiding young Hayato with his flames would be no hardship."

"Who the hell are you?" Hayato finally grits out, hissing as another bullet streaks across his other cheek.

"G-Gokudera!" Shit, he's upset the Tenth. And Reborn is burning holes in his head. Winehead just huffs, a finger and thumb pinched on Reborn's cheek to gently pull the skin in a silent rebuke.

"It's a valid question, Tsuna-kun. And Ren, once more and I swear to god-"

"I want my shirt back."

"You hate this shirt!" Winehead grumbles, trying to swat Reborn-sama's hand off the sleeve of the shirt she's wearing. Hayato doesn't understand in the slightest; it looks exactly like every other shirt Reborn wears. Just… adult-sized.

"I hated that shirt. Past tense."

"You never change your mind."

"I've never had a Sky be reborn and spend years wearing my shirt. I want it back, Inamorata."

Winehead huffs, tugging the collar of what is evidentially Reborn's shirt. Astonishingly, she ignores Reborn's further attempts to peel the shirt off of her shoulder, one hand settling on his knee. Hayato sees her give the slightest squeeze before he becomes too uncomfortable to keep looking.

"My name is Hariel Potter. I'm Ren's Sky."

I may someday present you with another chapter of how the Varia's trigger-happy ways fucked them over' and a 'how Mammon had to refund Hariel (with interest)', but for now, we're done.

Tsume
xxx