A/N: I'm so sorry for the really...long wait! This year has not been kind to me and if I were to explain everything here, the explanation would be longer than the chapter itself. I should've written something here sooner, just to justify my lack of updates, but my problems and lack of inspiration prevented me of doing so. Again, I'm so sorry!
This is not really a chapter, more like a mini chapter so that you could more or less enter Gokudera's mind when he found himself in the past. Initially I had planned it to be a full, and longer, chapter but as I wrote the last paragraph it came to me that if I wrote any more than that it would somehow hinder my performance for the next chapter. And I think it ended well.
Anyway, I didn't write the next chapter yet but know beforehand that it'll take time. Given the things I'm having to go through now, I don't know if chapter 10 will come this or next month but hopefully, soon. Also, this chapter is not proofread so if there is some grammar or spelling discrepancy please do tell me that I'll try to fix it right away. Thanks!
Without further ado, here's the chapter.
Chapter 9.5: The Smell of Dust in a Piano
It was one of those situations where no matter how hard one think, there's no definite answer. It could be a trick of fate; how the city looked so similar to the one he was brought up. Perhaps it was a dream, a long dream where he kept running and running but not finding his way out. Nevertheless, Gokudera thought of it as being a twisted joke of sorts. Because there was no way he was in the same city, and he knew of it, but rushed memories came back and all he could do was slow his pace and then suddenly come to a stop.
The memory of the beautiful lady who would occasionally see him and encourage him to play the piano and all those years living in that fancy mansion came back to him as he lay there, panting against a wall in a dark hallway.
He was back to his shorter and fragile self, wearing a tailored black suit too uncomfortable to a child his age.
Mother, the beautiful lady was his mother. He didn't know who she was when she was still alive, but the comforting warm that she gave to him was one billion times better than the person he had to call 'mother'. Why though? Why would an unknown lady be so kind to him? Who was she, really? It wasn't like he wasn't curious, because he was, but he simply didn't pry on it.
His young self became accustomed to counting the days, or even months, so that beautiful lady would appear to his side and taught him that he should stand erect when he played the piano, otherwise his back would be hurt later. Taught him that he should behave well with his father, mother and sister because they're his family. And family was meant to be united. She would taught what little she knew about flowers and he would listen to her music every time she played Opus 1 No. 12 by Vivaldi and said how much that sonata reminded her of Veneza. And she would laugh because she never have been in Venezia before.
He would complain to her that his hands were too small to the piano's keys and his petite arms would not be able to cover the whole keyboard. Of course, the beautiful lady would laugh at him and say how silly of him. His arms were not meant to cover the whole keyboard and that given time, and practice, he would grow accustomed to using an instrument that big. It had been that way for just a couple of years, on irregular visits, but what he had grown accustomed to was to her presence at his side like a mother figure.
Young Gokudera thought the lady would visit him in his third birthday, as she had in the previous years but she didn't came. Or the next day. Or the next month. And finally, not in the next years.
At young age he came to understand that he couldn't depend on anyone but himself. He couldn't depend on his sister, his tutors, his maids and not even his father or mother. He was always surrounded by people but at the same time he was always alone, so that's why when he came to Japan it was a bless – he didn't have people surrounding him, but not watching really.
He was alone but after some time he came to be surrounded by people who really cared for him as no-one other did before. He eventually forgot, or tried to, of the painful times that he had after he left the mansion. Of how many days, years, he had to defend for himself and do things that no child should ever have to do, but he had, so that he could survive in that city that was so harsh to people like him. Of how many cold nights he remembered of the kind and beautiful lady that visited him when he was younger. His mother, he would correct himself.
Gokudera was relieved when he finally found a place that he could call "home". That city and country where he had been born to wasn't his home and that's exactly why coming back to Italy wasn't pleasant.
He sniffed the air around him and looked around, at the constructions surrounding him. He definitely was back in Italy. The man down the street was yelling in italian, so was the woman who thrown a ball of clothes at him. The kids playing not so far from him were also speaking italian. The bakery across the street, which had now a huge queue of people waiting for fresh bread, he could tell for the delicious smell, had a sign in large letters with its name in italian. Panificio Pietro. As was the sign posted outside of it with the types of bread and their prices. The odd thing, though, was the clothing the people in the streets were using.
In that short moment he felt reality sink in and the storm guardian realised. He also had been transported to the past. The past of Vongola Primo.
The people walking down the streets were using clothes he had only seen in historical dramas such as The Lady in Yellow Dress thathe had once watched as there was nothing better on the TV at the hour. He shyly admitted to himself, and himself only, that he quite liked that drama.
Gokudera took a tentative step forward and the street and all its stores and people laughing, talking or yelling, came to full view. It was as if a strong wind came toward him and thrown everything that he knew was true. Sure, he and the other guardians had went to the future and fought Byakuran, but this…this was insane. It was billion times easier to build a machine to go to the future, than to go to the past. People every day went to the future. Every day was a future. But…but the past? Not even in his wildest dreams he could imagine going back in times….
Someone bumped into him and shouted at him to get out of the way, that he was obstructing the path. Gokudera not only understood the dragged italian of the man, but also said that, yes, he would get out of the way. He abstained himself on throwing dynamite on the rude man, since he was older, and therefore an enemy, because he was still so petrified by the situation he was in.
Was it ok if he took some pictures with his smartphone? As he thought of that, automatically his hand went to his pockets and searched the device. Things couldn't go more conveniently, of course, as he couldn't get his iPhone to power on no matter what.
Deciding that it was useless to try any further and that he would have to save this scenery to his memories only, Gokudera looked around him. Mostly at the people. His boss could be anywhere. However, given the state that Tsuna was in when he was transported to the past, Gokudera assumed that he wouldn't be able to move much and that gave him enough time to search for the brunette.
His boss wouldn't be able to move much...his hands trembled with such a thought.
"You can't die yet, Tsuna!" he faintly remembered his desperate plea as he gently shook his boss to continue awake. Tsuna was losing so much blood, so fast. His otherwise vivid honey brown eyes were opaque and with no focus. It pained Gokudera to see his respected and beloved boss in that way.
"This…this is the second time you c-called me 'Tsuna' today, Hayato." Tsuna had said, smiling so gently at him. If they were not in that situation, Gokudera would've rejoiced for being called by his given name.
He remembered that he shook his head several times, in denial, that that horrible thing was happening to his most important person. Tsuna's body was becoming colder as the minutes passed by and his breathing was even more irregular now.
How could he let that happen? He shouted and shouted. Gokudera could feel all the eyes in Tsuna and in him. He faintly remember Chrome sobbing from somewhere at his side. Sasagawa frantic reassurances that he would try his extreme in healing Tsuna. And everything was a mess from then on.
"I…am…happy…" Juudaime had said, still smiling, and all that Gokudera could do was tighten his embrace and continue to shake his head, hoping that something, anything, could be done.
Yamamoto said something to which he paid no attention, and he did the same thing when Sasagawa cursed under his breath. At that moment nothing more mattered, all he wanted was that the brunette would be fine again.
And so he shouted, asking for a doctor immediately. And so he hung close to his boss, proving him warm and at the same time giving himself insurance that his Juudaime was still there. And he remembers colors behind his eyes, people talking but he didn't understand none of it. And he watched with patience as Tsuna slowly raised his hand toward his face and gave his last smile and said his last words.
"...don't get angry, okay?" Gokudera didn't understand. He had no reason to get angry at his Juudaime. He was angry at himself for not being able to protect him from the shots. He was angry for not retreating when he had the chance. More than anything, he was angry for not being strong enough. The way that his unstoppable tears fell on Tsuna's face made it looks like his boss was the one crying. "So...sorry..."
Gokudera noticed that he had closed his eyes at one point during his flashback and that his clenched fists hurt so much. He didn't want to feel desperate again.
Taking a deep breath and unclenching his fists, he looked forward and made a decision. He would look for his boss in every place he could. Gokudera knew that it would not be an easy task, that it would be a long search, but he would do anything to see again those gentle brown eyes. To see that person who welcomed so modestly when he most needed. For that he would face any kind of danger that he may have to face in his path.
For his boss, but mostly, for his friend.