A/N: Hi guys, this is the au story I said I was writing. Just a warning, it will be a little darker than the main story (probably) and it wont be updated as often I'm afraid.

Anyone waiting for the next chapter of Sending Out Flares, that should be up tomorrow, and I'm sorry for the delay.

I hope you enjoy!

Go to any society on the planet and you would find stories of the supernatural. Whether it was ghosts, demons or even just humans with supernatural powers, there was always something. For the Mafia, a world where extraordinary abilities were par for the course, it was no different. Just look at the Vongola and the supposed curse of Deamon Spade over the decades and you'd get a good idea.

For the Arcobaleno… well, some would say that they were the ghost story of the Mafia.

On Reborn's part, he preferred to believe that there was no life after this one. Given his profession, it was the only way he was able to truly sleep at night. No one wanted to believe that there was an entire host of pissed off former victims waiting for them after death.

That wasn't to say that he didn't enjoy a good ghost story however. One of the more sedate hobbies of the Arcobaleno was to gather around a fire with plenty of good alcohol and attempt to terrify the others with the horror stories they had picked up on their travels. With the lackey involved, it was always an interesting experience, either from the former civilian's overblown reactions or the fact that he was a surprisingly good story teller. As such, the Hitman was rather well versed in the stories of the underworld, even those of the Mafia's more obscure societies such as Britain.

The most interesting of the English stories was that of a cursed house in the middle of what would normally be classed as suburban hell. Normally, the little town in Surry would never have even registered on the radar of the Mafia had it not been for an unreasonably large bounty placed on the head of one Vernon Dursley, a middle aged money launderer working for an off shoot of the Estraneo Famiglia. After those creeps had been dealt with, there had been a mad scrabble to collect the floating assets by several interested parties and apparently this button pusher had managed to piss off someone high up in the food chain.

All of that was fairly simple as those things went so no one had paid it any notice, until the hitman sent after the man failed. And then the next one. And the next. Not only did they fail to kill the civilian, but they all came away with substantial injuries to their Flames and next to no memory of what exactly had happened to them after they entered the city. The most information that any of the failed assassins had been able to provide had been that she had heard the crying of a child just before everything went blank. There was nothing else.

The job had become something like an urban legend amongst contract killers and, after each failed attempt, the price rose. And that was why he was here now, standing in the rain and attempting to ignore the way that Leon was trying to bury beneath his skin for any trace of warmth. God he hated the English weather. He wasn't feeling too generous towards a certain Miser at the moment either.

To be fair, it wasn't entirely due to Viper's greed that he had taken this job, there was just something about an impossible mark that appealed to his pride as the world's greatest Hitman. Though the blackmail certainly helped.

As it was, he was now using the gloom provided by the ever present cloud cover to slip down the mundane street, sticking to the shadows in order to avoid any concerned onlookers. There were many issues caused by their cursed bodies and, while having the appearance of a toddler could be a great asset while attempting to slip away after a hit, he would always despise the way that people saw him and immediately assumed incompetence. He had worked damned hard for his title, clawing his way up from the very pits of the underworld to the pinnacle of respect, all for it to have been stolen by the bastard in the iron hat. Although he would never say as much out loud, there was always one bullet tucked away in the pocket closest to his heart, on his darkest nights, even he couldn't be sure just who it was intended for.

Off in the distance, a dog started howling and the Hitman froze.

For such a fabled job, his journey so far had been nothing beyond ordinary. In fact, the whole thing was starting to set his teeth on edge at just how easy it was. By now he had already passed the boundaries of where the reports ended and the lack of resistance was concerning. There was no wonder that he was jumping at even the slightest of noises.

The spate of good luck lasted him to the fence behind number 4 before it shattered. Spectacularly.

If it wasn't for the fact that he never felt the cold, Reborn might have missed the sudden chill that seemed to permeate the area. It was raining after all, and England was not particularly known for its warm Novembers. Instead, the first shivers that began to spread through his hands were novel enough that he stopped. His curiosity may have led him into more messes than he cared to count, but he still couldn't bring himself to tame the habit. What was life without a little chaos?

Pinpointing the source of the cold wasn't easy, there was only so much he could do with his Flames before they became a blaring beacon that would give away his position, but he wasn't considered one of the strongest Elements the world over for nothing. After a few moments of cautious searching, never once daring to move further into the garden than his perch on the fence, his eyes landed on the unkempt shed that really should have been more obvious considering the well manicured flowerbeds surrounding it.

It wasn't particularly large, nor was it all that interesting at first glance. With its peeling paintwork that had once been some shade of grey or green and its lone window fogged up with grime, it really wasn't much to look at. In fact, there was something in the back of the Hitman's mind that wanted to just dismiss it, it wasn't worth his attention. Of course, that just made him want to explore it even more.

Three cautious steps forward, making effort not to break any of the stalks nor leave even the faintest hint of a foot print, landed him just to the left of the structure and that was when he heard it. Soft and broken, the quiet, choking sobs of a young child would have been easily recognisable even if he hadn't been listening for it. More than that, the fractured gasps around the cries pulled at his instincts, speaking of infection, injury and God only knows what else.

An illusion?

He would have thought that it was one specifically targeted at Sun's, intended to play on their instincts as nurturers, but the one who reported had been a Cloud, hardly the most friendly of individuals. Unless that meant that there was someone watching in order to tailor the illusion to a specific target?

Either way, Reborn's Flames were all but screaming to him that he needed to investigate the noise, and who was he to tell them no? Mission momentarily tossed to the side, he slowly edged even closer to the door.

Thanks to either age or poor construction, the planks that made up the door had warped in a way that there were gaps wide enough for him to look through without having to open it. Allowing his gun to drop into his waiting palm, he took the chance and peered through.

It was empty.

Lack of lighting had never been a problem for Reborn's senses so it was relatively easy to make out the random assortment of gardening gear that you would expect to find in such a place, but there was nothing else. Nothing to cause the chill that was most definitely radiating from this building. Nothing to cause the crying. Nothing interesting at all.

How curious.

It was a minimal risk to force open the door now that he was here, but even that didn't produce any more explanations. In fact, the only thing it actually accomplished was to douse the hitman in layer of dust and grime that made his nose twitch. Even a quick probe of his Flames gave him nothing more than a half pleased, half furious shudder. So many questions, so few answers.

A slight flex of his fingers broke a panel from the door and sent the shards splintering to the ground. Still nothing… wait.

Movement.

If he hadn't been staring straight at the pile of rags in the back corner, he would have missed the very slight shift. Even when he deliberately tested the specific area, his Flames didn't react. If it wasn't for the weird mix of emotions they were blaring at him it would have been easy to dismiss the movement as a stray animal taking refuge from the storm.

The shed wasn't large enough for him to bother with stealth so he approached the problem head one, waiting a breath before shifting the top of the pile with the barrel of his gun.

Other than a faint stain on the floorboards, there was nothing there, nothing that could have caused the movement or the reaction of his Flames. Still, for now it appeared that he had reach a dead end and the idea of a Mist toying with him was beginning to chew at his pride.

It was time to return to what he was supposed to be doing.

Breaking in the back door of the house was laughably easy, the hardest part had actually been coaxing his grumpy companion out of the warm nest he had managed to create at the back of his neck. Picking the lock was something that Leon could do in his sleep and in the matter of seconds he was in.

Just like the rest of the street, the interior of the house was terrifyingly average. From the floral print wall paper to the pristine carpet of the dining room, it was the spitting image of a Good House Keeping spotlight house. Every single thing was perfectly set into place and, to his heightened senses, the whole place reeked of lemon scented bleach. How civilian. How sickening. He really should just finish this job and get out of here soon, before the Stepford vibe started giving him vibes.

Walking through the kitchen was an effort in impulse control. He didn't know what it was, but something about all the gleaming surfaces made him want to just smash everything around him, but the job mentioned that it had to look like an accident. While home invasion gone wrong could be classed as an accident, it would still bring far too much scrutiny to the house so that was out. Unfortunately.

Past that, it was into the long corridor leading up to the front door, most of the space being taken up by a crown moulded stair case. Again, everything was pristine and obsessively ordered. Perhaps he could just fill the master bedroom with bleach fumes? That had to be a valid risk of living in such a sterile environment surely? Well, he would wait until he was closer to decide that, the docket provided on the target was surprisingly thin considering how long this hit had been around.

Now that he was actually inside the building, Reborn was making sure to keep his Flames spread out, ready and waiting for even the slightest fluctuation of energy that would suggest that someone was waking, as such, when the hushed whimpers of a small child started up again, he knew exactly where they were coming from. Considering the where was almost directly next to his left ear, it would have been hard to miss it anyway, though why a child would be locked inside a cleaning cupboard… was the resident Mist just playing with him now?

The cupboard itself was small, even at his diminished height the door was only just tall enough to clear the top of his fedora. This, of course, meant that the tiny air vent in the door was exactly on his eye level but that just made it seem far too convenient. One of the biggest problems that the Arcobaleno faced after The Incident was attempting to survive in adult sized world with an infant's body, so to find something perfectly sized for him was… suspicious.

Still, if someone had gone to such lengths to lay a trap for him, wouldn't it be rude to ignore it?

Releasing the latch on the door was a tense few seconds but they ultimately resulted in nothing and when the door creaked open… more of the same. This Mist was probably going to do him in with the heart strain alone and wouldn't that be something for his rivals to fawn over? Still, he was not here for the cleaning supplies. Moving on.

There was a trick step on the stair, but with the slight weight of his child form it barely made a sound. A split second pause was all it took to assure himself that no one had been alerted, though, given the absolutely grating noise he could hear coming from what he could only assume was the master bedroom, it would take a hell of a lot more than a slight creak to wake these civilians. There were no other signs of security systems either… just how had this mad survived so long?

Surely no lone Mist would be able to protect them from every threat. Well… maybe Viper could but there was no way Dursley would be able to afford that kind of protection.

Reaching the master bedroom was actually so easy that Reborn was beginning to get irritated for the whole job. He had come here expecting a challenge damnit, yet here was something that wouldn't even faze a rookie. Of course, it had to be the second he placed his hand on the door frame that everything had to kick off, with a slight weight sending him crashing to the floor.

Instincts flaring, it took less than a second for the Sun to regain his bearings, gun coming up in a snap movement that even his eyes couldn't follow, pressing straight into the forehead of… an illusion, it had to be.

The child that had tackled him was small, putting them on equal footing, yet the boy's frame spoke more of hunger than the wiry muscle that made up the Hitman. Messy black hair, almost invisible in the dark hallway, obscured bright verdant eyes and Reborn could have sworn that he had seen better colouring on a corpse. Oh, and he was glowing.

It wasn't immediately obvious, but a close look revealed that the figure in front of him wasn't even completely solid. Despite the force he had felt when they had collided, Reborn was able to see the print of the wallpaper through the child's ragged shirt. Any other analysis would have to wait however, the construction was staring at him.

"Where did you come from bambino? Who sent you?"

For a moment, the illusion just watched him seemingly startled to be addressed, but when the boy registered that the Hitman was actually looking at him (or, more accurately, examining him in the hopes of finding a trail to follow back to the caster) his little face lit up like a child on Christmas morning.

"You can see me?"

Something in Reborn's blackened heart twisted at the sheer depth of fearful hope in the boy's… illusion's eyes, but he refused to acknowledge it. If this was how the Mist wanted to play things, then he would be sure to give nothing away.

"Of course I can see you, you did attack me."

Contrition. Fear soon followed, and the boy shot a look back at the still closed door before responding.

"You were going to wake them up!"

Curious, the child seemed more concerned about that then the fact that the Hitman was quite clearly a threat to the inhabitants of the house. Had he stumbled upon another professional instead of the protector he had first assumed? It would certainly make more sense, though something about that pinged in his gut. There was something strange going on here.

"Don't insult me. They wouldn't even know I was there."

Not until it was too late at any rate. Still, the construct did not seem convinced.

"That's what everyone says, but Aunt 'Tunia always wakes up. Then bad things happen."

Everyone? The others who came before him presumably, but what did that mean for the rest of the boy's statement? The file hadn't said anything about the wife having a nephew, in fact, the only child in the picture was supposed to be the couple's own son, a common street thug who was currently away at an expensive boarding school where it was all but impossible for a student to fail out of class. The boy was certainly trying however. So why would the Mist choose to impersonate such an obviously fake character? And what were the 'bad things' the construct spoke of?

"I'm not everyone bambino. I am Reborn, the world's greatest Hitman."

To say that he didn't enjoy the way those green eyes widened at his statement would be a lie. Ever since being turned into an infant, there were few people who would actually believe his claims so to see those large orbs fill with shock instead of amusement had a fuzzy sort of warmth curling in Reborn's chest like a contented cat.

"You kill people?"

"Yes."

"You're here to kill Aunt 'Tunia and Uncle Vernon?"

"Just the man, but yes."

It was risky, admitting so much about his job to the boy. If his initial assumption was correct and the Mist was here as a bodyguard, then he had just set himself up for an attack, if not… well, hitmen could be incredibly territorial about their bounties, especially ones as high as this. Either option would end in more trouble for him, but there was just something here that made Reborn want to reach out and show a little trust, he just hoped his instincts hadn't failed him here.

Instead of the protective fury or even irritation that he had been expecting, the boy… illusion… boy's eyes took on another hopeful tint as he leaned closer to the hitman's face.

"He'd be gone?"

Curious, though given the signs of abuse that he was beginning to pick up from the boy (and he had to be a boy, if there had been even a wisp of Mist Flames, Reborn would have been able to taste them from this close, though that did raise the question as to just what exactly the boy was) it probably wasn't all that surprising.

"That's generally what 'dead' means bambino."

Now there was the faint slither of amusement he had been expecting earlier, but given the context… no, it couldn't be.

"Now if you'll get off of me, I can finish my job and we can go our separate ways."

There was a great deal of reluctance flooding those green depths now, but eventually the boy rolled to the side, finally allowing the Hitman to rise to his feet. Once up right again, he resumed his path to the door, only to be called back once again.

"Don't wake Aunt 'Tunia."

Ah, yes. The 'bad things'.

"What will happen if I do?"

A glance over his shoulder showed that the boy hadn't followed him, but was instead rooted in place, staring down at his bare feet as he visibly trembled. Reborn was almost sure that the boy would have been crying if he was able. He certainly looked like he wanted to.

"She wakes up and screams. Then something hurts here," the boy fisted a hand directly over his heart, "an' I do bad things. I don' wanna hurt 'nyone but it happens an I can't stop an…"

The boy looked to be close to hyperventilating now, if that was even possible, and long dormant instincts of the Sun began to stir. Although moving closer to the one who had just, inadvertently, admitted to being the reason that all the other assassins had failed this task was probably not the best plan, Reborn soon found himself next to the crying child.

"Okay bambino, I'll make sure not to wake your Aunt."

Those tear filled spheres should not have been able to make his dead heart ache like that but damn, this kid… what was with this kid?

"Promise?"

Oh for… he was the best in his field, he didn't need to be pandering to small, glowing, translucent children, but he found himself reaching for the outstretched finger all the same.

"I promise."

The moment his bare skin came into contact with the surprisingly cold finger of the child, a jolt of pure heat shot through him and the Hitman finally realised what had been upsetting his senses since he had crossed the property lines.

Sky Flames.

Sky Flames that were far stronger and purer than any he had ever felt as they clung to practically every surface in the house.

Sky Flames that he had just harmonised with.

Flames that came from the child in front of him who he was 60% sure was a God damned ghost.

Just what the hell was his life?