And None Shall Mourn Thee:

In Either Life or Death

A Hayate the Combat Butler Oneshot

By

EvilFuzzy9

A/N: Oh, God... This... This is probably the darkest, most depressing thing I have ever written. Seriously, if you want happy endings, DO NOT LOOK HERE. I won't spoil things, but this story does NOT have a happy ending. This is not I Don't Have Any Friends. It starts bad, and ends worse.

But, all the same... After rereading chapter 178 of the manga... Well... it had to be done.

So here it is: And None Shall Mourn Thee.

History is a series of paths not taken, a series of things that might have happened. For every decision made, there are a dozen more that could have been made.

And according to some theories, for every divergence -for every possible occurrence right down to the subatomic level- there exists an alternate Universe.

Now, many of you who find yourselves reading this are no doubt familiar with one particular iteration of existence: a reality where a young lad by the name of Hayate Ayasaki is sold to the Yakuza by his parents in order to cover their own debt, only to end up -via a string of circumstances- becoming the butler for one Nagi Sanzen'in, and along the way unintentionally charming a great many lads and lasses with his honest and innocent demeanor – where he eventually finds something akin to happiness.

But for every Universe like that, where he finds some semblance of a happy life, there are a hundred more where things do not go so well. Where everything that could go wrong would go wrong, where misfortune and malice conspire to break him.

This is one such Universe.

It started at school, at the local kindergarten. The students were in the process of getting their lunch money, retrieving it from pockets or bags or backpacks. It was peaceful, after a fashion, as the children chatted with one another and joked and teased and played as well.

But this peace was not destined to last very much longer.

"Huh!-?" one child exclaimed, their voice rising above the voices of their peers "That's weird!"

Hayate Ayasaki, age seven, who was standing off to the side all by his lonesome, glanced over to where the other students were rummaging through their bags, curiously looked over to where the others were.

"My lunch money is gone!-!" one boy exclaimed.

"Ah, mine too!-!" cried out another boy.

"So is mine!-!" said a girl.

Drawn to this commotion, the teacher came over. Her name was unimportant, as was everything else about her.

To Hayate, the people around him all seemed the same. He was separate from them, and they from him. They were just faceless, nameless archetypes to him. They were titles, and nothing more.

He watched curiously as the teacher walked right past him, like he was not even there. Not that that surprised him, of course. He had long been inured to the apathy and disdain of those around him, so it did not faze him one iota.

He simply kept his distance and watched, curious as to the strange rituals of these odd social animals. '... ... ...'

"Listen, teacher!" one boy exclaimed, tugging on her dress as she placed a hand on his head, "The lunch money mama gave me for today is gone!"

"So is mine!" said a girl, mirroring the boy's actions.

"Eh?" said the teacher, "Did you check for it carefully?" she inquired in that sort of pseudo-parental tone that only one who was skilled in dealing with young children could affect.

"Yeah!-!" the kids declared. "It must have been Hayate-kun!-! Hayate-kun has to be the one who stole it!-!"

They pointed at Hayate, who stared at them uncomprehendingly. He blinked. "!-?" Then he recoiled slightly, leaning back from their pointed fingers as he tried to process what was happening. "... ... ... Eh?"

His eyes widened as it finally hit him – as he finally realized what was happening.

"That's right! It has to be him!" said one.

"Hayate-kun is definitely the one who stole it!-!" concurred another.

Hayate took another step back. He felt himself shrinking into the corner under their accusing eyes. He whimpered. "N-no!-!" he choked out with tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. "It wasn't me!-! I wouldn't do something bad like that!-!" he insisted.

"Eh!-? But mama said your parents are bad people!-!"

"My papa said the same thing!-!"

"No!-! No!-!" Hayate shouted, trying to drown out these accusations, to quiet the doubting voices within his own mind. "I wouldn't do something horrible like that!-! I... I..."

He tried to defend himself, but they would have none of it. They were certain that he was the culprit, and nothing could convince them otherwise. It was always this way.

"Now, now," said the teacher placatingly, "I'll speak with Hayate-kun later, so don't say things like that."

"Eh?" said one of the kids.

"I..." Hayate murmured. It wasn't me! I would never do something like that! That was what he wanted to say, but he knew they would not listen. They never listened. All that anyone cared was that he was a convenient scapegoat. The only time he was noticed by others was when they needed someone to blame when something bad happened.

To them, that was all he was. A scapegoat. Someone to blame for every misfortune and mishap. He was bad luck, and a bad influence. So they avoided him when things were fine, and only sought him out when they needed a proverbial witch to burn.

No matter how many times this happened to him, it still hurt. He was only human. He was only a child. Being shunned like an outcast, like an untouchable... well, that was his Hell.

And this was his life.

It was a weeping, moping Hayate who left kindergarten that day. He was sad. He was alone. He needed a shoulder to lean on, someone to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be okay; that he might be an ugly duckling now, but would one day grow up to be a beautiful swan. He needed love and understanding and compassion.

So, as would any child his age, he sought out his parents. He looked for his mother. He looked for his father. Everyone else might scorn him, everyone else might shun him, but his parents would always be there for him. They would always be there to comfort him with soft words and sweet treats. In this young boy's turbulent life, his parents were the one constant – they were the only absolute, they were his rock.

In his young, innocent worldview, his parents could do no wrong. They were like giants or gods. They were not fallible humans, not to him. No, they were an ideal, the only thing he could believe good in this cruel world.

They were his parents.

And so he wandered the streets aimlessly, alone, searching for them. He knew not how much time passed as he morosely meandered from place to place, save that it felt to him like an age. But at last, after what seemed like hours, he heard it.

"Hayate-kun."

His heart jumped up into his throat. He almost did not dare to turn around, for fear that he was hearing things, for fear that once he turned around he would find himself all alone. But this trepidation was not absolute, and his happiness trumped it completely.

"... Dad," he said, turning around to see his father standing before him.

"What's wrong, Hayate-kun?" Shun Ayasaki asked his son, smiling like he always did. "Why are you crying like that?"

Hayate sniffled, not daring to look his father in the eye. Some part of him felt ashamed of what had happened, fearful of what his father might think of him. "Ummm... well..." he murmured hesitantly, afraid and reluctant to recount the day's happenings.

"Hmm? Did something sad happen?" But his father saw right through him. "Then have a piece of candy," he said, holding out a treat in his hand, "It's sweet and delicious."

"... ... ..." said Hayate as he took the proffered sweet and ate it, tears still in his eyes and nose still runny. He was still sad, but the taste of the candy warmed him somewhat with an artificial, sugar-induced euphoria.

He felt a little better.

"Well? What happened?"

Hayate, still not looking his father in the eye for fear that might find disapproval there, spoke. He began recounting the day's occurrences. "Today... Everyone's lunch money went missing at kindergarten."

Shun perked up at this. "Their lunch money?" he parroted questioningly.

Hayate nodded before continuing. "And even though I didn't do anything... Everyone said that I stole it." He was trembling, and tears began flowing anew from his eyes. "I... did my best to deny it. I said it wasn't me. But... no one believed me..." Here it became difficult for him to speak, as sobbing wracked his body and hiccups interrupted his words. "So I... I..."

He was quieted by the feeling of a hand, warm and lightly calloused, coming to rest atop his head, ruffling his hair. His tears were stemmed.

"Your father believes you. I don't think you stole it."

Those words meant so much to Hayate. Hearing that, hearing his father tell him that he believed him was a greater aliment for the young boy's spirit than anything else, and those treasonous whispers in the back of his mind which had been telling him that maybe everyone was right, maybe he was to blame, were silenced.

But this alone was not enough to soothe him. Not completely. There was still a part of him that feared, however irrationally, that his father was lying, only saying that to comfort him. He still feared that his father did not trust him. He still had some doubt.

And this doubt, slight though it may have been, niggled at the back of his mind. It was like a crack in a cornerstone – a slight flaw in a sword, a small chink in a piece of armor. It seemed minor, but if left unattended -if not dealt with as soon as possible- it could drive him mad. If he did not do something to assuage this doubt, it would eat at him like a black, pestilent rot.

And he could not let that happen. He could not leave this matter be without receiving closure. He had to know the truth.

"... Really?"

"Really," Shun said with a smile, "You didn't steal it!-!"

Hayate's eyes widened as tears began to stream down his cheeks again, further moistening the already quite soggy bandage on his left cheek. But these were tears of happiness, tears of relief. His doubt was assuaged, and his fears were invalidated. He was so happy, so relieved, that he felt like he could have laughed.

"... ... ... Dad..." he murmured softly, sniffling as tears gushed from his eyes.

"After all..." Shun continued as he held up a handful of lottery tickets, cheerfully oblivious to the lood-de-loops his son's stomach was doing, "I stole it."

And with those three frankly spoken words, Hayate Ayasaki's carefully constructed reality came crumbling down around him. With those three words, Shun Ayasaki destroyed his son's fantasy and forced him to realize the ugly truth.

Hayate stared ahead, unable -unwilling- to believe what he had just heard. It was incomprehensible, inconceivable, absolutely irrefutably absurd. Why, the very suggestion of such a thing -the thought that any this could actually be real- was unimaginable to him. He could not believe it. He did not want to believe it. He refused to believe it.

... ...

... ... ... ... and yet...

And yet, he could not deny what he was seeing; he could not ignore what he had heard. The evidence was right there in front of him. The suspect was happily confessing their guilt... nay, their culpability. Could he really continue to deny the reality of the situation in the face of mounting evidence?

No, he could not. No more; no longer. Not after this – not after all that he had just seen and heard. The truth... Alas, but it was a thing more painful and more terrible than he ever could have imagined!

Yes, he could delude himself no longer. No more could he shelter himself within the cocoon of ignorance. For in that moment, he suddenly understood so much. He understood why people treated him the way they did, and why they spoke such hurtful things of his parents. It was a black epiphany, a grim revelation, but he now understood.

His mother... His father... They were crooks. They were thieves. They were no-good, rotten, cheating blackguards. All those things that people muttered and whispered with such venom and bile whenever they thought he could not hear them (and sometimes even when they knew he could hear them) were true.

But what about himself? If his parents, whom he had always defended, whom he had always adored, could in fact be such terrible people, then what was he? As the son of crooks, was he a crook himself? Was he also a terrible person? Could he be held culpable for the sins of his forbears? Was he just as guilty as they? Had he been damned to Hell simply for being born to the his parents?

All these questions -and many more besides- raced through his mind, though perhaps with less eloquence.

And it pained him. Everything he had ever held as true had just been so suddenly disproven by the words and actions of one of the very people whom he had trusted the most in this world. All that he had once held -in his childish folly- as absolute and immutable was now cast into the darkness of doubt, and he had no light with which to discern the truth.

There was no one for him to go to, no one to guide him. His family was all he had ever had. But his parents... he could no longer bring himself to trust them. Because of them and their actions, he was alienated from his peers and mistrusted by those who should have nurtured him. So how could he now trust them? And his brother... He had not seen Ikusa in so long.

And even if he had seen Ikusa, Hayate was not certain that he would have been able to trust him, either. After all, had not he gone off and abandoned them – abandoned him?

No, there was nobody for him to confide in, nobody to comfort him, because the people who should have done that were in fact the source of his woes. He was all alone.

All alone.

And in that moment, Hayate realized that there truly were terrible things in this world.

Hayate trembled, his eyes shadowed beneath his bangs.

Shun, still as ignorant as ever regarding the suffering of his youngest son, continued to speak, casually commenting, "They really are terrible people, Hayate-kun. If they had just transferred money from their bank accounts for the lunch money, no one could have stolen it."

If Hayate had understood the concept of irony, he likely might have thought about how it was so ironic -in all the worst ways- for those words to be coming from the mouth of Shun Ayasaki at this of all times. And if he had known what a sociopath was, he may have marked those words as those of one and thus gained a greater -if arguably unnerving- insight into his father's actions. But as it was, he was only a child. He did not understand any of those things.

All he knew was that this was not right. His father, after everything he had done, had NO RIGHT to criticize anyone on their parenting skills. All Hayate knew was that if there were truly any justice in the world, then his father would have been struck dead on the spot in an act of divine retribution.

So, of course, Shun was left untouched.

'... ... ...'

Hayate was silent in both word and thought. He simply stood there, motionless save for the trembling of his frame as a violent maelstrom of powerful, barely-restrained emotions fought with all the ferocity of an avenging army to loose themselves upon the world in general and his parents in particular. Hayate was angry. Yes, he was angry, and many other things as well! Bitter, indignant, horrified, furious, victimized, depressed, and more; to simply say that he was emotional would be like saying that a hurricane was 'a little windy' or that molten lava was 'kind of warm'.

A great part of Hayate wanted to scream, to shout, to lash out at his father and curse the man to Hell. And no one would have held it against him if he had. By all accounts, Hayate was practically entitled to hate his father and his mother, and to tell them as much as harshly as possible.

But he could not. No, he could not truly hate them. Not now; not like this. He was too young to truly despise them, and somewhere in his heart of hearts, there was another part of him -smaller, perhaps, than the first part, but also more enduring and more deeply entrenched in his psyche- which still cared for his parents, regardless of how ill or how well they treated him. He was still so young, after all, and thus he was still possessed of a child's unconditional love and affection. Because of this, Hayate could not bring himself to actively hate his parents – his kind, childish heart was not wholly willing to place the blame on them.

So he chose the next best target.

Shun Ayasaki, in a moment of rare insight (perhaps feeling some faint premonition of the emotional turmoil within his son), stopped talking for a second and turned his head ever-so-slightly in the boy's direction. "Hm? What is it, Hayate-kun?"

At those words, something in Hayate snapped. With neither warning nor prelude, a wail of distress burst forth from his lips, and he turned on his heels and ran away with as much haste as his young legs could manage.

The upset lad's father, for his part, immediately went right back to being completely clueless -and useless- as he stood in place and dumbly watched as his son dashed off on his own to parts unknown with evening coming fast. It would take that callous dullard of a man several minutes to realize that his son had just run away. Following that, it took him nearly twice as long to realize that this was Not Good. And, by the time it occurred to him that he should probably do something about this, over an hour had passed since his son's abrupt departure.

So he shrugged and went home, figuring that if Hayate showed up there then everything would be fine, and that if he did not, then... well, he would probably think of something. Eventually.

... probably.

Hayate ran. He did not know where he was going, but that did not matter to him. He did not care – not about that, and not about anything. Not any more. He was disillusioned with everything. Sick of all the bullshit, all the lies. He was sick of anything and everything.

So he ran. He ran with all his might, pushing his young body to the limit. He ran, and he ran, and he ran. His lungs ached and his legs were burning, but still he continued to run. His head was swimming and his vision was blurring, but still he continued to run. Every fiber of his being -both physical and spiritual- cried out in agony and exhaustion for him to stop.

But still he continued to run. And run. And run. In his despair and anger and self-loathing, he thought back on that encounter with Santa...

"But have faith... because the ones who will have the last laugh... will be the earnest and the honest hard-workers."

Out of all the emotions in his stomach, of all the tempestuous passions of his youthful spirit, this recollection stirred naught but anger. Indignant and furious, remembering those words and feeling so lost and betrayed, his turmoil boiled over. "LIAR!-!" he shouted into the evening sky as the sun sank down on the distant horizon past buildings of steel and concrete.

He thought about his parents, who did nothing of value yet continued to live free and happy while the consequences for their actions fell on his head.

'Liar!-! Liar!-! Liar!-! Liar!-! Liar!-!' he thought, 'There's no way that's true!-!-! There's nothing but terrible things here!-! My family is poor, my parents are thieves, I have no friends, and no adults trust me!-! There really is nothing but terrible things here!-!'

See Hayate. See Hayate run. Run, Hayate, run!

On through his second wind, and his third wind, and his fourth wind, he ran. His body no longer had the strength to carry him onward, but still he continued to run, driven forth by the furious, roiling sea of emotions that quickened his heart and churned his gut. He ran with everything he had. He ran at full speed, not caring where he was going. He might have even run out into roads. He did not know. He did not care

His lungs could not match the pace of his breathing, and his diaphragm was spasming uncontrollably as he sobbed. His heart was beating furiously, pumping blood through his system with the force of a fire hose. It felt like it would burst if it continued racing like this, if Hayate maintained this breakneck pace.

'If I keep running like this without paying attention to where I'm going, I might die...'

This thought, or one very much like it, may very well have crossed his mind at some point. For an instant, he may very have realized that nothing good could possibly come of his rash actions... but if he did, then he did not care. For in the cruel clarity of inconsolable grief and absolute despair, he perceived -perhaps mistakenly, perhaps correctly- that if he were to die like that, right there and then, nobody would care.

If a car hit him?

Nobody would care.

If his heart stopped?

Nobody would care.

If he was abducted and murdered?

Nobody would care.

If he was mauled by a feral dog or some wild beast strayed to far into human territory? If he fell ill from exposure or perished to the elements? If he died in any way at all?

Nobody would care.

He felt so bitter and sad and lonely, and this revelation -this conviction- left him so utterly distraught, that the tears flowed from his eyes without stopping. They would not stop, and neither would he.

Living was too painful. It was too unbearable. If this was the life he was doomed to -a life of loneliness and poverty and hardship with neither end nor reprieve- then perhaps it would be better if he just died. At least in Hell he would not be alone.

So he ran and ran and ran. He had no idea how long he ran, or how far, but at last -after what seemed like years- his legs gave out. He collapsed, insensate.

The next thing he was aware of, he was in a field of flowers. They were beautiful, the colors of their petals the most vibrant and brilliant he had ever seen in his young life, and they had a sweet, soothing aroma. He could not place the fragrance, he could not describe it with words, but something about these flowers and this place stirred something deep in his soul – something... almost like hope.

For a moment, he thought that he had died and gone to heaven. In that moment, he dared to believe, however briefly, that he had actually been able to get a happy ending, after all. But then he discarded this notion.

After all, why would he ever go to heaven? Why would any god who hated him so much to curse him with such a terrible life ever suffer him entrance into their domain? No, he was not such a fortunate soul. Clearly he was still alive – though only barely, if the omnipresent, all-consuming pain in every member of his body was anything to go by.

'What a nice smell...' he thought as he breathed in the scent of the flowers. The aroma was soothing, but at the same time it brought up memories of his former life – memories of a false happiness maintained through self-delusion. His mother... His father... His brother... They did not care. Nobody cared.

He had nobody. He had nothing. He was lost and alone, shot through the heart... Yes, his heart was broken. It was broken beyond repair. Nothing would ever be able to mend those scars.

He was hurting so badly, and where others might have been able to pick themselves up and move on, Hayate could not. Because where others might have had something to believe in, something to live for, like a dream or a precious person, Hayate had nothing. He had no hope. No love. No light. Only darkness and despair and loneliness.

His body might not have been wholly broken, his limbs may have yet held some strength within them, but that did not matter. For though his body could eventually recover and mend from this exertion, his spirit could never be healed. And without spirit, without the will to go on, what might have otherwise been survivable could prove yet fatal. And in Hayate's case, the flesh was strong, but the spirit was unwilling.

'That's it...' he thought, 'I've had enough of all this pain...'

He did not want to go back home. He refused to think of Them as his parents, after all, and he had nowhere else to go. He had nothing to live for, no dreams, no precious people. He was exhausted, and he no longer had the energy to stand up.

But, perhaps... Perhaps if he stayed there long enough, if he just stayed where he was, he would at least be able to get to Hell.

"That's right," he sighed, eyes dimming and breath fading, "I might as well just die right here."

Now, in another time and place, in another Universe, this would have been where one Athena Tennōs would speak up and say, "Don't... say such sad things. You cannot bring yourself to stand up because your heart is broken, but it isn't as if your body no longer has the strength to go on. So stand up, now."

In another time and place, in another Universe, Miss Tennōs would have given the young Hayate a second chance at life and renewed his faith in humanity, even if in many iterations of reality this relationship would end up giving him even more issues and eventually come to an end in a most unpleasant manner, further scarring the boy and nearly breaking him a second time. But he would survive. He would continue to persevere in search of happiness for at least a little longer. She would at least save him from dying then and there.

But not here, and not now. In this Universe, and others like it, Athena would never come. Nobody would come. Not soon enough to pick the boy up. Not soon enough to save him from himself.

And to Hayate, such talk of alternate realities and different paths would be meaningless, because THIS, here and now, was HIS reality. And in this reality, nobody came.

And nobody mourned his passing.

A/N: Well, here it is: the single most depressing thing I have ever written – the mother of all Bad Endings, complete with character death and a liberal heaping of angst. Because I am a horrible, horrible person who hates happiness (not really) and hopes to make you cry (really). But it had to be done. Apparently.

Also, as a side note, I recently discovered that Hayate the Combat Butler now has its own Fanfic Recommendations page on TV Tropes. Sure, there are only, like, three fic recs on the page so far, but it's still a pleasant surprise to me, as both a troper and a fanficcer.

Well, TTFN and R&R!