Sparks of the Stars
Author: Jusrecht

Pairing: Dino/fem!Hibari

Warning(s): Character death. YES BE WARNED.

Notes: Written for D18 Fic/Art Exchange. The prompt was: Hibari dies because of Dino (will be awesome if it's fem!Hibari because I really want to read more about her, but it isn't strictly necessary).

—

5.

Edoardo was twenty-five when he assumed his role as a dutiful son and carried his mother's weight on his shoulder. His sister bore the other corner of the casket, her lips set into a fierce line, her spine unbowed under the unfamiliar weight. His little brother, Cesare, stooped slightly behind her to accommodate his height, matching her steps with the same deference he had always shown his eldest.

His father stood in stony silence before the wooden platform, watching the funeral procession's slow progress. Vongola had sent their Sun and Rain to join the ranks of pallbearers, both as blank-faced as statues as they shared the burden. Behind them all, Kusakabe-san brought the rear, red-eyed and grief-torn.

At the end of the war, they had won, their alliance triumphant against seemingly overwhelming odds. But even with his Mafia-oriented upbringing, his rough childhood as Hibari Kyouya's son, Edo still considered this victory a loss. When he lowered the casket from his shoulder, the pricking ache easing into a dull throb, he wanted to shout and rage and spill blood for revenge.

Except the men who had murdered his mother were dead. Like her.

The sky did not weep, but it remained a shade of grey—the colour of her eyes. There were no more than twenty people present; even in death, his mother would not tolerate crowding, and Edo had to smile although she could no longer return the private gesture. They had always guarded their smiles closely, unlike his father and sister and brother, who were all suns in their own right. She had understood his silences, his need of them, best and shared his love for the unspoken. He drew a sharp intake of breath at the mist which had suddenly blurred his vision, but did not look away from her beautiful face.

The ceremony began. A slow, monotone chanting filled the air, the dragging cadence and formless lilt both eerie and soothing to his inexperienced ears. He stood vigil at her side, knowing it would be his last. Nina had taken her place rightly at their father's right, taking his hand in hers. He had his eyes closed, either lost in prayer or memory of the city they had first met. Edo had never seen a man loved a woman more; he could not imagine how it felt.

After the prayer, everyone came forward to pay their respect. No one gave her anything, no flower, no trinket—she disliked those things, although would condescend to accept them from one person from time to time. Edo remained near the head of the casket until his father stepped up to kiss her cold, painted lips and whisper his last 'ti amo', his last of hundreds of thousands. The tears on his face were by now a familiar sight, once closely guarded by the image of a strong, affectionate father and powerful Don.

The end came at last. Guided by duty and a written procedure stashed somewhere in his pockets, his numb hands reached up to lower the lid. Edo had to grit his teeth as another urge to scream swept over him at the sound, at the blackness of shadows which gradually swallowed her features.

And then she was gone.

—

4.5

"I should be the one going."

He heard the anxious note in his father's voice and spared a sidelong glance from the expense report, just barely under dark eyelashes. The library was darkened with dusk, only the light from the hallway and a little lamp on his desk offered any sort of refuge. It was still enough for him to see the glint of her mother's tonfa, steady within her grip.

"You stay here and deal with the alliance," she answered, clipped and clinical as her wont. "Sawada won't be able to do it alone. Make sure it doesn't crumble before I return."

"Kyouya–"

"Are you doubting me?" She turned around, now facing him, icy with challenge. Edo suddenly wished that he was anywhere else but here to witness his parents' quarrel, however unwittingly. Nina, sitting not far from him, obviously harboured the same wish.

"My fear is utterly irrational," his father said, his voice plaintive. "Love is irrational."

He had never ceased to be a romantic, even at his age. Edo rolled his eyes and exchanged looks with his sister, who was biting her lips to prevent a grin; she never succeeded.

"You are never rational to begin with."

"In that case, I'll make my first rational decision and go with you. Two is better than one."

"You know your place."

Her matter-of-fact tone cut deep. He could clearly see his father's expression despite not looking at him. He guarded it loosely nowadays, among them, and she hated it. Self-discipline recognised neither time nor place, neither adversity nor friend. Edo knew it too well, had accepted the rule as a bible truth since he had been but a child looking up at his mother's well-polished mask.

When he grew up, he realised that it was mostly self-preservation. He had lost count at the number of times she had taken up the role of a sword for his father's sake, planned or not. His mother's excuse was always her recurrent desire to make people bleed; no one believed her, but she said it anyway.

"Then promise me not to overexert yourself." Clearly Father was still mired in doubt and conflicting unease. "You aren't as young as you used to be."

There was a long pause as she looked at him, for once without reproach at his weakness. In the flood of light from the hall, she wore a pensive expression that suddenly made Edo's heart ache. "So it matters to you, doesn't it?" she spoke slowly, only a trace of accusation in the undercurrent.

"How can you say that, Kyouya! You know that you have my undying love–"

That was when she made her move and kissed him deeply, her fingers a claw on his back. Edo buried his face deeper into the stack of reports, determined to see and hear nothing. Surely she remembered that her son and daughter were in the room with them. Surely–

"You're also an old herbivore now," she said at last, her voice the mirror of calm—as if she had not just kissed her husband senseless, and no, he definitely was not thinking that.

"Your old herbivore," he corrected her. Nina made a soft sound most unladylike that almost made Edo choke, but neither of their parents seemed to notice. "I love you, Kyouya. My wife, my heart, my soul."

Her smirk was slow, smooth, the edges matching every line on her face, and then she kissed her children goodbye. She did not kiss him again.

Two months later, they heard the news.

—

4.

Edoardo was twenty-three when his sister was voted for the role of Underboss.

There was little to decide on the matter. At twenty-five, Apollonina Cavallone already had all the qualities necessary for a future boss of the Famiglia. This post would give her a taste of what to come, particularly if the whispered rumours of a gathering power against their alliance were true.

Edo saw his sister for what she was: a daughter desperately trying to fill the same footprints left by her father. That the Cavallone Decimo had successfully brought the Family back from the brink destruction had left them enormous footprints to match. He read her anxiety in her efforts to be their father's imitation in every way possible. She had already inherited his appearance, his trademark whip, his tattoos, and now she adopted his speech, his gestures, his way of thinking.

"I don't know if I can do this," she said to him one day. They were alone in the training ground, Cesare away at college and their parents at a business meeting. He read the tension in her shoulders and withdrew his tonfa.

"Of course you can. You're Father's daughter through and through. And Mother's too for that matter."

"I wish I can be more like her," Nina murmured, her voice soft and rueful. "She can easily lead a Family alone."

"You won't be alone," he pointed out. The flash of hope flitting across her face made him ache.

"You will stay?"

"What sort of question is that?"

"Edo." She reached for his arm, her touch tentative, and held his gaze fiercely. "You will stay?"

He noticed it too late; Edo cursed himself silently. Nina was rarely vulnerable, but she needed him at the moment, and he was too late. "Of course," he said quickly. "In fact, if you wish to kick me out, you will find that you can't."

Her smile was strained, designed to humour him instead of herself. "Bernardo is talking about retiring." She played with the handle of her coiled whip, a nervous habit she had picked up from their father, "but if you don't want to be the next Consigliere, there is–"

"Nina," he cut in firmly, taking her hand in return, "I will stay."

She breathed in deeply and nodded.

—

3.5

It was a widely accepted opinion in the Mafia circle: the Cavallone daughter had their parents' charisma, the youngest son their good looks. The one in between were inferior in both regards, but he was the quietest, the hardest to read, and the smartest.

For a very long time, Edo had resented his position. He wished to shine—as his siblings did, as his parents had done and continued to do over the years. Mother said that it was not important, but it was, and all he could think was she did not know how it felt. She was an empress in her own world. She couldn't possibly understand.

He discovered his place on the day her sister almost died. A scathing insult, a jibe in return, a name-calling, and she got into a fight. Her long-time rival, the son of the Varia's leader, was stronger than her, but she had speed and intent to kill. Edo arrived just in time and his effort to separate them was the only reason they still breathed.

It was the first time Mother had ever struck Nina, a trail of her daughter's blood staining her fingertips. He looked away, finding instead his father's tight-lipped anger as a firm hand steered him out of the room. It was not until they were safe in the back terrace that Father turned to him and commended his judgment.

"She could have been killed," Edo said bluntly, locating the strength to be angry now that the wave of shock had passed. (A world without Nina was ridiculous, but it was not impossible.)

"Yes, but that is your sister. Strong-willed, impulsive, proud, reckless. Your presence of mind saved her."

His father was not the most subtle of men. Edo could easily decipher the request he had yet to say, and felt a strange frisson of pride instead of the supposed bite of disappointment. He had known this for the longest time; Father simply confirmed it.

"Nina is the only one who can lead the Family," he said at last, swallowing the heaviness at the back of his throat, "but first, she will have to learn how to control her emotions."

The tight look on his father's face softened. "Don't you want to be a boss?" he asked, once more open, gentle.

To his surprise, the answer came easily, as if his tongue had known it before his mind did. "No," he said honestly; a cold wind responded to his answer, but the iciness only strengthened his resolve. "We are both Skies, but she is wider, brighter. I will be her shadow. By choice."

"I cannot think of anyone better to stand at her side," Father admitted, looking at him in the eye.

"Because there isn't anyone better," Edo replied firmly—and that, he realised, was the truth.

—

3.

Edoardo was seventeen when he realised that he could leave.

By then, he had known more or less what a Famiglia meant, what it was all about, the security and private schools and hushed conversations. Half of his father's business was illegal and he had more enemies than Edo could be bothered to count. There were more guns hidden in the house than food and drinks combined, and he could shoot one and hit his target with barely a glance.

And then there was the killing.

But they could leave, as his father explained one evening. "I want you all to have a choice," he said, and in the gloom of his office, he looked older than his forty-nine years. "Do what you wish to do. As long as you are happy, your mother and I will be very happy."

Nina would stay. Cosa Nostra was in her flesh and blood and she could no more leave it than cutting the very air she breathed. Cesare was less sure, but when the time came, his decision would tear into any doubt like a storm, certain, intense.

Edo had one foot in each world, the taste of both on his tongue—and still he did not know what to do with his life.

—

2.5.

"It is wrong to kill."

His mother's only reaction was a glance at his direction, no more. Cesare was only twelve, naïve and unsure enough to stop his light performance at the piano, but still far from understanding the magnitude of his brother's question. From her corner, Nina shot him a surprised look which turned into resentment just as quickly. (For all their father's inherited looks, she had their mother's attitude to taking lives—it bothered her very little.)

It was Father who looked at him, long and thoughtful. Then he heaved a deep sigh and said, "It is."

—

2.

Edoardo was eleven when the constraints of being in a Mafia Family began to choke him. There were strict hours and then there were bodyguards, following him everywhere he went: to school, to movies, to study groups. There were also the intensive martial art trainings, and although it was admittedly useful to defend himself against bigger boys in his school, Nina was always better than him. She had found her edge with a whip and their father's smile when he watched her tore a jealous burn inside his heart.

In the end, there was only so much an eleven-year-old boy could take—and tolerate. It was Mother who found him raging at his current guard, shouting words and curses he had only dared to think before. He saw her face darken and her hand when it curled around his wrist was unforgivable. She brought him to her training ground, an eerily silent place he had never stepped into before, and then put a pair of tonfa into his hands. The metal felt cold in his too-tight grips.

"That," she nodded at a human-shaped sack filled with straws. "Hit it with your anger."

Edo could only stare at it for a long time. His first strike, when it came, was uncertain, awkward. The balance of this weapon eluded him, but he made his second try, third, fourth.

His mother's eyes were on him and that was all the encouragement he needed.

—

1.5

"So we fell in love with each other when we met for the first time."

Nina giggled and Edo found himself glaring at the back of her head. Her golden ringlets moved as she shook her head in excitement at Father's story. He supposed she was at that ridiculous age when all girls wanted to know more about love. Really, how could he do his homework if she kept giggling and snickering every few seconds?

"I was twenty-two," Father continued, smiling just as brightly. "Your mother was but a girl of fifteen—a very beautiful one, mind. Back then, Uncle Reborn asked me to help Uncle Tsuna and train her for the Vongola Ring Battle. Naturally I could not refuse, but I didn't regret it. It was love at first sight."

"And the marriage, Papa?"

"Your mother was twenty-three and had rejected my proposals way too many times because she was shy. So one day I got down to my knees–"

"Did you?"

His mother strode into the room, looking far from pleased, and Edo gave up all hopes to do any homework tonight.

—

1.

Edoardo was six when he recognised love for the first time in his life.

He knew what love was, theoretically. His father's open display of affection and frequent declarations of love were a part of their everyday life. His mother was more reserved, but it was simply her way. The warmth of their arms around his small body and the ball of happiness glowing inside him at the sight of their smiles were his abstract concept of love.

It was a rainy day when he and Nina were whisked away from school and brought to a house where their mother and baby-brother were waiting. Her embrace felt different than usual and he wondered why but did not voice the question. Nina, for once, also knew better than to ask. They passed the day in the small house with crayons and printed pictures as men in black suits prowled the perimeter. His sister pouted and fidgeted, restless in the silence; Edo was simply glad that he had his Rubik's cube with him.

Mother stood by the window—sometimes with Cesare in her arms, or with her hand on the top of Edo's head whenever he dared approach—and did not sit down until dinner. It was pasta and some salad; he was halfway through his fettuccini when Father came.

Edo didn't think he had ever seen his father looked so tired, so relieved and anxious at once. Mother—his calm, beautiful mother—was on her feet at once and the expression on her face nearly terrified him with its intensity.

Father smiled at her seething anger, but his knees gave way before he could make his way toward them. She caught him, fluid, effortless, her voice a soft hiss.

"You stupid herbivore."

In her arms, Father's smile only widened, softened; it took a while for Edo to shake himself out of stupor and jump down from his chair to run toward him like his sister.

That picture, that moment stayed with him throughout his life.

End

—