Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn or any other recognizable enterprises. Nor do I make money off them. Pity.

Warnings: For some reason, this story idea has been drawing out my penchant for cussing. Also, while this is an AU, MAJOR SPOILER in Chapter One for manga chapter 218! Other spoilers will be more sporadic. There will be more than a few hints of 1827 and All27, but this story is not a romance. To be fair, I like Yaoi, Yuri, and Het, so I will warn for all three as they have a high probability to show up.

I may be rating this fic high but it fits the given definition of "M" and what I have planned-adult themes, violence, cussing, alcohol, mafia-the rating seems to fit.

Before the Bullet

Chapter One: Back Again

Tsuna stared up at the giant metallic door. Blood coated his gloves, inside and out, from pounding uselessly on the metal separating him from Yamamoto and Gokudera. More blood covered his shirt and pants. Irie was pretty sure most of the blood did not belong to Tsunayoshi—no, the child Tsuna. Not the man he knew. Never again the man he knew; their meddling in time saw to that. No sound penetrated the steel walls. "Why did you save just me? Why didn't you keep the door open for them?"

Irie checked one of the many camera angles of the room and frowned at Tsuna's image. His hand wavered over the button to switch to the outside cameras. He shook his head. Alive or dead, the two Guardians were more useful out there. "They can buy us time." Irie winced. Talking hurt more than standing. If only he had more time...

Tsuna sunk to his knees and rested his hands on the doors. "What more can we do? We're the last."

"Don't think that way." He typed in several passwords, praying this once flight of fancy had never been found by Byakuran. The bastard, no matter what he liked to make others think, could not know everything.

"There's nothing beyond those walls to fight for, Irie." Tsuna said in complete monotone, as if calm.

The tone carried a familiarity Irie hated. Damn…Thought Tsunayoshi only got like this when drunk. "There still is a way."

There has to be. I promised you that years ago. Tsunayoshi had been drunk then, too. Irie had run into him for the first time in since the Decimo had left Japan completely by accident in an American bar. Tsunayoshi had escaped his Guardians after meeting Byakuran for the first time—before the bastard was important—and Irie had been working for a boring tech company he hated. Damn. I miss those simple days.

He wished Tsunayoshi was here. He wanted to shake the man. Tsunayoshi had known Byakuran was trouble the minute the bastard first smiled at him. He wanted to know why the idiot didn't just kill Byakuran then. I thought you were maudlin and crazy when you told me he's a demon who would kill the world. Did you have to be a prophetic drunk, Tsunayoshi?

The main computer beeped and the shifting of gears drew his attention to a corner of the room. Irie had to actually turn around; he had not dared to place a camera on that area. "Come on, Sawada."

"There's no point in running."

"We are not running." At least, I'm not.

Tsuna was not moving. Irie sighed. He limped over to the boy and jerked him up. "We had one last plan—crazy, like all of your plans—and you will go through this one, you ungrateful brat."

Tsuna blinked and Irie could see the hurt in his eyes. He sighed again. His Tsunayoshi would have teased back and demonstrated he had spent far too much time with his Mist Guardian. "You love me anyways, don't you Irie-kun?"

Irie pulled Tsuna along the empty lab. Why did I make this room so damn big? His body felt heavy and he could feel blood dripping down his neck.

Once he got to the little door he had opened, Irie pushed Tsuna inside.

"What—"

A clang against the door interrupted the question.

"Tsuna, this machine, you came up with the idea. You called it Past Possession or something. It will take you back to the past." Another clang. "Fix this so I don't have to die in the next few minutes. We don't have anymore contingency plans. This is it."

He attacked the side panel with a series of commands. The door slid shut before Tsuna could protest. The room shook. Tsuna was gone. The lights went out as the last bit of power was consumed and Irie let himself drop to the floor.

Tsuna's safe. He refused to think about any other possibility.

The large metal doors finally creaked open.

"Tsuna-kun, where are you?" Byakuran's playful voice echoed in the dark room. "Are you hiding with Irie-kun?"

"He's gone." Irie felt smug even as his head pounded. "So is the Sky Ring."

He never heard Byakuran's response. He wouldn't have cared to. The bastard always said too much in his annoying cheerful voice anyways.

"Tsuna, wake up silly. You're going to be late for school!"

Mom? His eyes flickered open for a moment to see white above. They closed again. Mom's missing. Dad too.

"Tsuna, you have to get out of bed." The voice sounded closer. Tsuna wished it would go away. He had enough nightmares about his friends. He did not need to see his mother in the endless massacre with everyone else.

Something reached for him—a hand?—and he twisted away, opening bleary eyes.

The vision of his mother stood with her hands on her hips and her usual exasperated smile. She shouted, "Tsuna! Get your lazy butt out of bed! You have school."

Tsuna sat up immediately and moved against his wall. The woman looked exactly like his mother, spoke exactly like her—why did the Millifiore have to torture him like this? They won.

"Tsuna?" Her eyes widened and she reached for him again. He flinched as her cool hand touched his forehead. "Did you have a bad dream? Are you okay?"

That's going too far! How dare they play everything that's happened as a dream? Anger burned. Reborn, Nii-san, Kyoko-chan, Mukuro, Chrome, Haru, Lambo, Hibari, the Varia, Gokudera, Yamamoto, and even Irie—wait Irie and his machines! What did he say it was? Past possession?

He stared at his mother with glassy eyes. "Mama?" His throat hurt.

Nana's smile broke and her arms wrapped around him. "It's alright, sweetie. It's alright."

Tsuna cried. Damn you, Byakuran. If this is your work, I'd rather die. She's dead and you killed her. God, let this be Irie's new miracle. Oh, God—Irie!

"Sweetie, how about you stay home today?" Nana untangled herself from his hug, petting his hair down before standing up. "I'm going to call you in sick, okay."

Tsuna nodded, wanting to laugh. The few times she had ever let him stay home, he had been sick enough that he would not notice a fight between Squalo and Gokudera or have the consciousness to get away before he became a casualty.

She left his room with a few glances behind her as she went. Confused and worry drew lines across her face.

Tsuna leaned back and hit his head hard against the wall. His eyes traced the familiar space of his room. Little things were off. His heart sank. Your illusionist sucks, Byakuran. He had fewer manga, a different color backpack, and a different calendar—wait, he recognized that calendar. Tsuna was pretty sure he used a Shonen Jump calendar once.

He slowly got out of bed. For the first time in over a year, Tsuna did not need his caution. His body was clear of bruises and cuts and not a single muscle protested its use. He walked more confidently to the calendar. He looked up at the calendar—was it always that high?—and saw that it was in the month of August. Wasn't it June when we left?

Tsuna reached up to check the calendar to flip it back to June. The calendar came down on him. Tsuna batted it away and it hit the floor shut. The cartoon character cover stared up at him and blared the year of 2002. Oh God.

He ran into the bathroom down the hall. The mirror was too high for him to see more than his hair but a kiddy stool sat next to the sink. Tsuna had a moment's hesitation before standing on the stool—he remembered slipping off that quite often. The mirror confirmed the year—he had definitely grown in the last six years. He scowled at his childish form. Skinny and short. His eyes seemed huge on his face and Tsuna couldn't remember his hair ever being this messy, even on the run. He blushed, realizing he was wearing train pajamas.

Useless in a fight…a fight that doesn't exist yet. Tsuna gripped the edge of the sink. A fight that doesn't have to exist.

He stared at his young reflection, Dying Will Flames crowning his head.

I will protect my Famiglia. I will kill Byakuran before he can touch them.

Flames danced around him, brightening and growing. Tsuna leaned against the sink, his body suddenly weak. Heavy eyes closed and his body fell backwards. Taken down by my own flame—even Gokudera would laugh at me for this one.

Tsuna felt nothing; he lost consciousness in midair.

For readers of What He Had Not Prepared For, in January and February I had a lovely time discovering why iron is important to the body. Anemia plus stress is a lovely combo and life thoroughly sucked. Now that I am basically recovered and caught up, my mind does not want to work with the extremely long outline I have for What He Had Not Prepared For but never fear, while it may take a while, I am to stubborn to give up an anything.

Posted: May 9, 2009