Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter Summary:

He would save his shitty boss - all of Varia, hell all of Vongola (because no matter what, the Varia is - was - loyal, loyal to their Famiglia, their family, those that earned their respect… that naive brat, Tsunayoshi…)-

For nothing can stop the requiem rain, crying for its fallen fellows and slaughtering the enemy, crashing over them and pulling them down into the inky blue depths…

With his dying will, he'd save his world...

Voi.

Chapter One: Requiem Rain, Part One

AN: Warning for gore, angst, language, and character death. Help. What have I just written?

He was too late.

He had sent Dino ahead with Tsunayoshi and Hibari, staying behind to stand against Kikyo and Zakuro himself. Kikyo had vanished near the start of the battle, likely off to follow Byakuran's orders like the lapdogs the Funeral Wreaths were (albeit violent, skilled lapdogs…), leaving the Storm Wreath to face Squalo by himself. Squalo had nearly been defeated in an instant, almost losing his prosthetic sword hand to the other's skill and raging, redredred storm flames.

However, he wasn't the Varia and resistance's strategic commander for nothing. While working with the naive brat, they had developed a new style, a perfect mix of the Shigure Soen Ryu and Squalo styles. The crimson haired storm had been surprised, off balance for just half a second -

and that's all Squalo had needed.

The inverted rain had moved, seeming to vanish and reappear in a flash in front of the other, his flames so unlike the relaxed, calming aura of the typical rain, instead broiling and crashing with promises of tsunamis and tragedy, of drowning and death, as his sword lit up in bright, brilliant blue and doused the flames of the storm for good.

But none of it mattered because-

He.

Was.

Too.

Late.

The grass was stained red.

Corpses littered the forest floor, forever faceless soldiers of both the Millefiore and Vongola, covering every inch of earth like bizarre plants, mangled limbs sticking out at odd angles, begging for the healing light of a sun that would never reach them. Lifeblood, still warm and blindingly, brilliantly red, seeped into the grass, killing the actual plants and dying their remains in crimson and, in time, a copper brown not dissimilar to the ground into which the precious liquid seeped. Those few plants that survived would forever have traces of red in their trunks and leaves, eternal living reminders of the bodies which nourished them and the lives that were lost.

A glorious feast for the scavengers that circled above, their squawks and shrill cries eerily reminiscent of the tragedy that had happened just an hour or so before.

Squalo stumbled through the carnage, his mind numb as he walked, ignorant and uncaring of the bodies he trampled over and tripped on in his single-minded determination.

"VOOOIIIIIIIII! Where the hell are you, you shitty boss? Bel? Luss? Hell, Levi? I swear to God, if you're dead, I'm going to kill-" Squalo stopped, unable to move as he heard something crunch beneath his boots, not the snapping of bones, but the shatter of glass that he had heard only a couple times before. Looking down, Squalo moved slowly, staring at the black rims and tinted, shattered lenses that lied beneath his boot.

Lussuria's sunglasses.

The Rain tore through the bodies littering the field as thunder crashed in the distance, not stopping until he caught sight of that familiar, electric green hair near the edge of the clearing. Squalo kneeled next to his fallen teammate, hearing his heart hammering in his chest as he took in the blood stains trailing down the Sun's mouth, the red that stained his precious clothes in various places, and the bullet holes that had caused them. The Sun's expression was annoyed, pained - an expression the other wore only when he was frustrated with his own failure at something.

The silverette, quiet for once, wiped the crimson liquid from his brother in all but blood's face as best he could, lifting the other's body gently (as gently as someone like him, could) as he continued onward, searching for the rest of his broken family - because they were more than that, more than just a Famiglia - his eyes seemingly blank, if one ignored the roaring waves that crashed just behind them.

"Don't think I'm doing this because I want to, Voi! I bet you'd come back just to haunt me if I left you there, Luss, because it wasn't fabulous enough to your liking, am I right?" the loudest member of the mafia rambled as he trudged through the forest-turned-graveyard, black boots squelching in the coppery red mud and slipping slightly in the somehow also sticky blood.

Finally, he reached the main clearing, and Squalo's world ended.

There, in the center, lied Tsunayoshi, seemingly embracing Byakuran in a cruel stroke of irony, each with their fist through the other's heart.

Squalo could see - hell, he could practically smell - the Vongola brat's tears from here. He always had been too soft (too soft for this life, for the mafia, those beautiful, vast Sky flames forever extinguished by the cruelness ever-present in the dregs of humanity, in the Underworld that was never meant to touch the sky).

Nearer, and even more heartbreaking, was his Sky, Xanxus's lips twisted in that oh so common, furious, pained snarl that screamed, roared, of loss, of pain and power and that burning, searing determination that had made him follow his shitty boss in the first place, the best damn Sky he could ever ask for -

Empty, now. The once glaring eyes staring blankly at the broiling, storming, wrathful sky that they had emulated so well.

Squalo fell to his knees, hardly conscious of gently laying down Lussuria, his once beaming and now dull Sun next to his Sky that could only ever be calm in death. The mud squelched and stuck to his knees as the Varia Rain rested his hand over the hole in Xanxus' chest, as though he could seal it closed himself, as if he was a Sun that could heal and bring back the dead, rather than the Rain that washed away the aftermath. He didn't close the dim, crimson eyes, instead leaving them frozen up at the sky, staring defiantly to the very end. It would be a disservice to the memory of his boss to close them, as though the other had shut his eyes in fear, in acceptance, of the end.

Hours later, after the cold rain had seeped into his aching bones and the saturated ground finally stained his pants a light, coppery red from the mixture of blood and clear water that washed the crimson from the corpses, Squalo stood up, heading back into the battlefield. He found Levi next, near to his boss even in death. The silverette lifted the much taller man with ease, lying the Thunder guardian at the feet of his Sky, where he belonged - no matter how much the entire Varia had sneered and needled him for it.

Mammon was long dead, killed by Byakuran for the power of the Tri-Ni-Sette and the power the Arcobaleno wielded. That left their youngest members, Belphegor and Fran, still just a child in comparison to the rest of them.

They were farthest from the rest, having fallen sooner despite their genius and ferociousness and the sheer fearlessness that made them Varia Quality. Fran was curled up at the base of a tree, his face painted in unfamiliar grief. Bel was in front, obviously having fallen trying to protect his "Frog," his little Varia brother. In the distance, Squalo spied the unmistakable indigo trail of Mukuro's hair. The mist had likely gotten distracted trying to save his apprentice and ally, and been struck down in that instant.

Two more bodies joined Xanxus's as Squalo laid down his quiet, still Storm and faded Mist.

He hesitated.

Turning to the center of the field, Squalo trudged forward again, gently, oh so carefully, lifting the innocent young Sky off of the corrupted ocean that had stolen the life and love from his eyes. Several yards from Xanxus, Squalo lied down Tsunayoshi, letting the last generation of Vongola rest together. He went out, finding each of Tsuna's guardians and lying them down, next to their fallen sky.

Mukuro, who had fallen trying to save one of his so-called "pawns," his friend and apprentice.

Chrome, her sole eye wide and empty, staring forever into empty space as she lay with her fingers curled tight around her trident, the last thing that had connected her to her twin Mist before her life, too, was cruelly cut short.

The naive brat, Takeshi, his swords littering the ground around him, almost as plentiful as the Millefiore bodies surrounding him. A single bullet hole in his forehead. Damn snipers.

Ryohei, too loud and too kind and too brave and too, too bright, dead in a protective embrace, covering the body of Tsunayoshi's lightning guardian, the small child soaked in a red that should never have touched his black-and-white cow ensemble, as well as the Chinese girl, Fon's apprentice, better suited to the bright and lucky shades of crimson than the copper of blood.

Hibari, the seemingly undefeatable cloud, lied on his back, killed by a lucky scratch from a poisoned blade. Bianchi and Dino (his oldest friend, his confidante, his childhood brother in arms that had stuck with him through everything-) were both nearby, having fought to the death to protect the fallen Skylark. He brought all three of them back.

Gokudera - or what was left of him. It had taken Squalo the longest to find the Storm guardian, likely because of how little was left to be found. It was evident that by the time Gokudera had died, Tsuna already had or was well on his way, because the bomber had shown no restraint, blowing himself up and taking out more than 40 of the Millefiore with him in that one move.

Sapped of what little strength he'd had to begin with, Squalo collapsed next to the cold body of his boss, feeling his eyes slip closed and bone-deep exhaustion settle in, his breath shuddering in his chest as he hacked and shivered, teeth clacking from the cold of night and the liquid that had soaked through his clothes. He was tired, so tired, his family dead, his Famiglia gone, and-

Squalo's eyes snapped open.

If a machine could bring people forward in time, why couldn't it send him back?

Squalo wasn't a mechanics prodigy like Spanner or Shoichi. Hell, he wasn't even a genius like Gokudera or Belphegor.

But still.

He was Squalo Superbia. Sword Emperor, Varia Rain, boss candidate, tactical commander for both the Varia and, after Tsunayoshi's death, the Vongola and allied forces in their entireties. He grinned as a whirring sound staggered into being, lights flickering and smoke billowing as time ripped apart and permitted him entry.

He was the Requiem Rain, and with his dying will, he would save his world.

AN: Thoughts?