"KUROGANE"

By Yayoi Reito

Forking Paths Series Fic #1

A/N: I started this fanfic a long time ago, and left it on hiatus for a while cause of schoolwork. Ended it just recently, and I don't think this is the way I had initially intended it to turn out. *sigh* Anyway, the first of the YamaGoku Forking Path Fics, a series of AU fics starring everyone's fave baseball nut and pyromaniac. Haha. And an additional note. The term "dying will" used here is not the same as in the KHR universe (aka flames and all that).

Disclaimer: If KHR was mine, it would have been a yaoi show, ok?

============KUROGANE============
============KUROGANE============
============KUROGANE============
============KUROGANE============
============KUROGANE============

Yamamoto first met Hayato when the fair-haired boy was only six.

At that time, Yamamoto was still a low-ranking shinigami working under the Vongola sect headed by his friend, Sawada Tsunayoshi. He and a few colleagues—Hibari Kyoya, Rokudo Mukuro, Sasagawa Ryohei—had been sent to fetch a number of departed souls. Usually, it took only one shinigami to fetch souls, but apparently, there was a large scale murder of some sort, and so four of them were deployed.

He did not know the actual details, but he did know that there had been a battle between two families and that resulted in a mass murder. The place they were sent to was a large mansion, the majesty of which was ruined by the large number of corpses strewn all over the place. It was not difficult to tell that there had been an ugly struggle, with various weapons—guns, swords, daggers—scattered among the bodies. Yamamoto was initially mortified at the sight; it was the first time he had seen so much bloodshed, even as a shinigami. He and Ryohei actually suffered from a wave of nausea and took a few minutes to rest before they could begin their job.

Yamamoto found Hayato covered by bodies of dead women. He was planning to extract the soul of one of the women who had long, silvery hair and was wearing a beautiful gown which, he imagined, would have looked so magnificent before it was stained by so much blood. When he was about to perform the extraction, a small shaking hand reached up and grabbed his wrist. That was when the shinigami discovered the gray-haired boy, his clothes tainted with the blood of the women as well as with the blood coming from a wound on his chest. Despite his weakened state, he boldly warned Yamamoto to stay away from his mother—the woman in the white dress—or the boy would, according to his own words, "beat him up." He was obviously not going to survive the gunshot wound he had, even with immediate medical attention. It would have taken only a few more minutes for him to eventually stop breathing, and for Yamamoto to extract his soul as well. However, the shinigami felt an unusual urge to save the boy. An urge he could not explain. Before he knew it, he was looking into the boy's misty green eyes.

"I'll grant you one wish," he told the boy, who stared back at him. "For now, I'll let you live, and I'll help you fulfill whatever you wish for."

"Whatever I wish for?" The boy's grip tightened slightly. "A-anything?" The shinigami watched the large green eyes sparkle with determination. Perhaps, he thought, it was the boy's dying will that enticed him. A dying will so strong that it managed to attract and coax a pacifist shinigami such as Yamamoto to create a contract. With a child, nonetheless.

Yamamoto was well aware of what that would entail for the boy. A contract with a shinigami would mean the mortal bound by it would become an eternal slave in the Afterlife, stripped of any control over him- or herself. The dark-haired shinigami tried to get a hold on himself, but he felt so lightheaded. The boy's dying will was like a dose of heroin to a death god. He tried his best to explain the consequences, but nevertheless, the child still accepted the deal, sealing it by mingling his blood with Yamamoto's and bearing the mark of bondage (an inverted cross at the center of a pentagram) on the back of his neck.

His wish? "Help me kill my father."

From then on, Yamamoto found himself bound to Gokudera Hayato, the illegitimate son of an Italian mafia boss and a famous Japanese pianist. Thecause of the battle that brought about the death of all those people was the discovery of Hayato's existence. His father's mafia family did not approve of members with illegitimate children, and so, for fear of losing his position, Hayato's father ordered the assassination of his own son, which his mother attempted to stop.

As promised, the shinigami became bound to Hayato and his wish. He left the Vongola shinigami sect to devote himself to his part of the deal. Yamamoto took on the guise of a human and became the boy's bodyguard, still wielding the sword he used as a death god, but keeping his powers hidden unless necessary.

The experience of losing his mother at an early age and exposure to such brutality turned Hayato into a bitter child. He frowned most of the time, and if he was not frowning his face was just blank. There was always a cold glare in his green eyes, and so Yamamoto could only imagine how beautiful those eyes would be if Hayato would only smile.

Another thing that made Hayato different from other children was that at an early age, he was already calculating and clever, though he may be brash at times. The boy was able to make use of Yamamoto's skills to their fullest extent. The shinigami never thought someone so young could scheme so flawlessly and intricately. In the span of a few years, Hayato, with Yamamoto by his side, managed to become the leader of his own mafia group—at the age of twelve.

The boy that one lay half-dead underneath his mother's bloody corpse grew into a feared young man, untouchable thanks to the swordsman that always stayed at his side and successfully protected him from any danger and eradicated his enemies.

As for Yamamoto, being by his young master's side gave him an unusual feeling of devotion and protectiveness. He catered to every whim, even though some proved to be childish (such as having the shinigami as the one who woke him up every morning and bring him breakfast even though Hayato already had maids to do so). He made sure any threat or potential harm was stopped even before it could have the boy within its range.

It was more of a game at first, for Yamamoto. He was a knight designated to protect the prince(ss) from all evil lords and wizards out to get him. He enjoyed living in the human world, training himself in the process. Before he knew it, he was a far cry from that low-ranking death god that made a contract with a dying boy. His view regarding the contract also changed. It was no longer despicable or intolerable. He actually came to accept the eventual end of the deal with Hayato: that he would have to take his life and take him as a slave in the Afterlife. Yamamoto did not feel appalled at the idea of having the boy tied to him forever, but there was still that nagging sense of guilt and discomfort that he could not brush away. After all, he thought, Hayato was still a kid.

All that changed, though, on Hayato's fourteenth birthday. Yamamoto realized he had been gone from the shinigami world for eight years. He missed Tsuna and everyone else, yes, and he always felt glad when he encountered any of them in the mortal world (such as when he saw Hibari in the company of a blonde mortal).

What really reminded him of the time he spent, though, was Hayato. He grew into a beautiful young man, adored by women and men alike. It felt like it was only then that Yamamoto was able to look at his master: soft ash-colored hair, smooth and pale skin, alluring green eyes, supple pink lips.

He never felt so attracted before. And it did not help that Hayato made it a point to always have the shinigami by his side. Whenever the older (since Yamamoto looked like a mortal in his early twenties) of the two would leave Hayato, the latter would immediately look for him, seize him by the collar, glare at him, and growl through his teeth before unleashing a barrage of obscenities that the death god had gotten used to over time.

Hayato's teeth, Yamamoto always noticed, still remained pearly white despite the young man's tendency to chain smoke (which began when he was twelve).

Sonewhere along the way, Yamamoto realized the pesky little brat had metamorphosed into a presence that inexplicably suffocated him. Hayato's slightest movements affected him in the oddest of ways. When their shoulders brushed together, Yamamoto felt something akin to an electric shock, which would often result to him jumping away from his confused master. Whenever he would listen to Hayato speak, he would find himself getting lost in a trance that would only be broken when the young man would call out his name in irritation. There was also that feeling of warmth that would spread throughout his face should Hayato be "too close for comfort."

Yamamoto knew very well that his young master already noticed the change in the way the interacted. The swordsman always managed to avoid unwanted interrogations, but he could clearly tell that Hayato was suspicious through the way he glanced at him time and again. But how was he supposed to explain his actions when he could not even understand it himself?

He never considered it to be love. He cared for his young master, of course, but he never took it romantically. He was a shinigami and Hayato was human. Once the latter's wish was fulfilled, Yamamoto was going to kill him and have him as his slave. By then, Hayato would be a mindless specter, who can think only of accepting and obeying orders from him and would be utterly devoid of emotion or expression.

The way his body involuntarily shuddered at such an image told Yamamoto that he had not yet entirely accepted the would-be end of the deal, unlike his earlier thoughts on the matter. Oddly enough, he found himself hoping that the contract with Hayato would go on forever.

Unfortunately, the moment he came into Hayato's office that day with those green eyes bearing the look he had not seen for eight years, he knew it was time.

Hayato scheduled the assault at midnight, and only had a select few come with him and Yamamoto. It was obvious that their number would not be enough to ensure a win, but Hayato insisted to have "as less casualties as possible." With the tone of his voice, the shinigami knew that the gray-haired youth was aware that whether his group won or lost, he would no longer return alive.

Throughout the whole operation, Yamamoto could not nstop the rapid beating in his chest. If he had been a mortal, it would have been like his heart was racing, so to speak, but a shinigami does not have a mortal heart, only an immortal spirit.

His hazy mind could barely register the number of men he fought. It was like his body was on autopilot, and his actual self was locked someplace else where he can only watch his body swing his blade in that familiar and calculated manner. He tried to focus, he really did, but that goddamn beating refused to die down, and it sounded so much—so much–like that ticking of a clock.

Like the ticking of a countdown.

Hayato did not seem to be affected at all. For a person who used dynamites as weapons, his attacks were very precise and well-controlled. Making their way through the mansion was a fairly easy job, and soon Yamamoto stood in front of the door that separated Hayato from the man who had ordered his assassination eight years ago.

At that moment, the shinigami once again sensed that addicting dying will. Before he can even get his hand on the door handle, Hayato swiftly walked past him, kicking the door open and sending a stick of his specialized dynamite into the room before any of the occupants had time to react. The blast shattered the large windows and covered everything in a blanket of thick gray smoke. Yamamoto held his arms in front of him to shield himself from the flying pieces of rock and wood that came from the explosion. Hayato, however, stood undaunted in front of him.

The gray-haired young man did not wait for the smoke to disappear before entering the destroyed room. A number of bodies were strewn all over the floor along with the debris. Hayato did not even stop to examine the result of his handiwork, but walked straight on toward the far end of the room, where an unconscious man was caught underneath a large piece of the wall that had fallen off. Yamamoto did not have to recognize the man's face to know that he was the reason for the aura of anger emanating from his young master.

"Sword," Hayato thrust his open hand toward the shinigami. Yamamoto blinked. "Takeshi, I said 'sword.'"

"You don't have to dirty your hands. I can do it. It's my job, anyway."

"It's mine. Your job is to kill someone else."

Yamamoto was unable to reply, and reluctantly handed over his sword. He watched in silence as his master, shaking, lifted the blade above his head, eyes full of anger staring down at the unmoving body before him.

All those years waiting and working, and everything just for that moment when Yamamoto's sword is thrust into the body of the man who was the cause of it all. There was no dramatic spill of blood or any battle to the death, ironically. Just one swift thrust. That was all.

Yamamoto was quick to catch his master when he fell back, shaking uncontrollably and with tears flowing from his green eyes. Hayato did not say anything and clung to the other male's shirt, burying his face into his chest. The shinigami let him cry, arms wrapped around the shaking shoulders and his nose nuzzling the soft gray locks.

The taller of the two expected the boy to weep until he fell asleep, but Hayato suddenly grabbed his wrist (those delicate hands were still shaking) and said, "Here…kill me here…"

Yamamoto stiffened. Unconsciously, he was expecting that after the encounter, he would simply carry a sleeping Hayato home, exhausted by all the physical, mental, and emotional stress that drained his young body. Now, it was his time to face the end of those years of waiting.

He could not move his hand. Nor any part of his body, for that matter. It was Hayato who retrieved the sword from his father's body and who put it in the shinigami's limp hand. It was Hayato who guided Yamamoto's unmoving limb and pressed the edge of the weapon against his pale neck. "Takeshi…" His voice, normally so determined and strong, was submissive and—dare Yamamoto say it?—content. He closed his eyes. "We had a deal."

Yamamoto never thought that there would come a time when he would detest keeping his word. The voices debating in his head were enough to drive him mad. What's more, the sight of Hayato's face so close, eyes shut in an act of surrender to his fate, the blade that would seal it held against his neck, made his emotions run wild again.

There was no running away now, he finally realized. What he had been denying all that time struck him back in the face: He was in love with Hayato, but he was the one who will kill him.

Hayato felt himself abruptly pulled into a tight one-armed embrace, lips crashing onto his own. The kiss was utterly unexpected, but Hayato was soon responding fervently, revealing to the shinigami the extent of his own affections, and somehow also telling him he was fine with this.

A feeling of heaviness in his chest and unspoken words flowing through their locked lips, the shinigami raised his sword and pushed it in through the body that he strove to protect—to cherish—for so long.

"I love you." Whether it was Hayato or the shinigami who spoke, the words rang in Yamamoto's ears as he brought the lifeless form closer to him, bathing the pale face with kisses he was not able to give before.

==========EPILOGUE==========
==========EPILOGUE==========
==========EPILOGUE==========
==========EPILOGUE==========
==========EPILOGUE==========

"Could it be? Yamamoto?"

Yamamoto turned around and saw Tsuna and Mukuro, dressed in black suits that made them appear like a pair of young dashing businessmen. "Oi, Tsuna! How've you been?"

The spiky-haired young man smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "Pretty good. Things in the Vongola sect are running smoothly, though of course everyone misses your company. It's been fourteen years, huh?"

"Yeah." Yamamoto flashed a grin and swung his backpack over his shoulder. Tsuna raised his hand and compared their heights. "Wow! Even at fourteen, you're already so tall!"

"It's because of the exercise." He showed the two young men his bag, which had a handle of a baseball bat poking out from it. "Playing baseball is fun and it helps me keep in shape too. You should try some sports, Tsuna."

Tsuna just chuckled. "You know I'm not really good at sports. You were always the athletic one." His face suddenly saddened and he placed a hand on the teen's shoulder. "You look really happy, Yamamoto."

"Yeah. Mortal life actually isn't that hard as expected."

Mukuro came up from behind Tsuna and put his arm around the sect leader, making him blush profusely. "I'm glad we ran into you, Yamamoto, but Tsunayoshi and I still have some business to attend to. We have some souls to fetch."

"It's okay. It was really nice to see shinigami again. Say hi to the others for me."

Mukuro steered Tsuna away, but the smaller male managed to look back and say, "I'd like to meet him some time—that Gokudera Hayato. I never did get a glimpse of him ever since you asked to be incarnated. I'd like to see the new him."

"Next time, boss!" Yamamoto waved goodbye, feeling nostalgic at how he called Tsuna "boss." He was no longer a shinigami after all.

"Oi! Takeshi!" Yamamoto turned to his left just in time to see Hayato running toward him, the shirt of his high school uniform unbuttoned and a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. "You bastard! You said your baseball practice ends at four! I went back to school but Shinohara said you already left."

"Ah, sorry about that. We finished early and I was about to send you a message when I ran into some friends."

"Those two guys in the suits, you mean?" Hayato started rummaging in his pockets for something. "They looked like they were twenty or something. Can't believe you knew people like them and never told me." He pulled out a lighter and lit his cigarette. "Are they your dad's business partners?"

Yamamoto smiled and snatched the cigarette from the green-eyed boy's mouth. He dropped it onto the ground and put it out with his shoe, much to Hayato's astonishment. "I told you to quit smoking so much. You already had two sticks today. And no, they aren't dad's colleagues. Just friends I knew from a long way back."

"You sound like you're so old. You're just fourteen, you know." Hayato tch-ed and stared at his feet, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "You looked really glad to see them too," he mumbled, almost too low for Yamamoto to hear.

The taller male smiled and embraced him. "You're so cute when you're jealous, Hayato!"

"W-what! Let go, you perverted baseball freak!" Hayato pushed him away and walked off, but he went slowly enough for the other to catch up. Yamamoto smiled and ran to his side, clasping Hayato's hand tightly in his own.

"I won't let you go this time, you know."

===========END===========
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A/N: *cries* Damn, the ending looks so rushed again, and I really do think that ending did not come out as initially planned. Yeah, but I actually get the urge to do a sequel for this. After I finish the other Forking Paths fics. =_= Which would probably take some time since school is just around the corner. Good news though. The books we're supposed to read this term may give me much inspiration (after all, FP are AU fics), so well, yeah. Here's the "pilot episode," if you may. Constructive criticism is always welcome.