Inhale. Exhale.

Every step in the cool shade of the forest feels like growing roots and breaking them apart, living and dying all at once. Lambo walks to his death on a sunny spring day, not certain of his destination but knowing he will utter his last words there, entrust the last remnant of his damned soul to burden an unfortunate bystander. Will they care for them? Will they be seared into their neurons in the manner that lightning marks a tree? Will it fade quickly, making a single flash then disappearing forever? He could be angry, or grieving, or happy that it's finally over. Strong emotions have always come easy to him, quick to come yet always changing and leaving lingering after-tastes. Instead, in a way that he has so rarely felt even before everything turned to hell, he feels contentment. He will die, yes, but he has made his air pocket in a cave of collapsing boulders. He knows how, when, and where he will die. Sunk deep in the well of his thoughts, he hears echoes of self-preservation, some innate human trait that prevents him from throwing his life away recklessly.

On his way to his gallows, he thinks of never seeing a sunrise, never hearing drops of rain against his window, never running his fingers over the inexpert stitches of Yamamoto's clumsy attempt to fix his coat. He also thinks of never seeing the faces of people he will never know again in his dreams, the bitter cold of a house that knows little of him and trusts him even less, never wondering if it would be worth it to just finish himself off and be done with it. Sorrowful joy cloys at the back of his throat until it takes the place of his words, and he wonders idly of how he will fulfill his last promise to the too-old eyes of the girl in the graveyard.

He doubts his last words will arrange themselves in a way that will deeply impact their lives and beliefs, but he has no doubt that he will live at least an imprint of the strange, tragic prisoner who fluctuated between helpful and hindering, between trustworthy and treasonous. He knows, wryly, that the time traveling bit will stick with them for a while.

Then Lambo clears the walls of bark and wilderness, and the noose hangs loosely around his neck.

OoO

Knuckle frowned into his tea, thinking of his early morning conversation with Lambo. He probably couldn't have stopped him, based on his reaction to the conversation starter, but he'd like to think that he could've at least found out where the escape artist had gone off to this time. He should've noticed that something was wrong. His life seemed to cycle through should haves.

However, never one to let them drag him down, he abandoned the cooling beverage and stood to find someone who could explain the current situation. Giotto had told him that they had no need to bother with the runaway any longer; all the Guardians were beholden to duties beyond one man. Lambo had proven well enough that he would never use the information against Vongola, so logistically he could be set free. Frankly, most of the famiglia was of the tacit agreement that he wasn't worth the hassle of tracking down.

But Knuckle was as tenacious as his namesake when his curiosity was roused, even against his better judgment. He couldn't help but want to hunt Lambo down and shake some answers from that old, grim gaze. The desire sat under his skin like an invisible itch, taunting him when his attention wavered. It had caught him in its trap, and he knew he would never be free of it.

…just as he knew he had a duty imposed by his own choice to remain here and tend to the wellbeing of the others should they come to harm. But this mystery had hindered him at every turn and mocked him even now, and the only cure to its bone deep bruise was solving it.

His resolve clicked into place, dust motes fading in strong sunlight, and plans formed in his mind. No one would expect him to set out to find Lambo, even if he had nothing scheduled today. Never before had he been so thankful for bed rest.

With that in mind, he went to his bedroom, passing servants and guards on the way with bare nods of acknowledgement. He discarded the loafers he preferred to wear with his ecclesiastical robes and pulled on pair of sturdier shoes. He debated whether to change out of the garments altogether, but reasoned that it would be far more conspicuous and he would be gone for no more than an hour and a half, which surely wasn't enough time to begin to regret his clothing choices.

Satisfied with his preparations, he set out down countless corridors, taking care to avoid patrol routes and areas he knew would be in use at this time. However, as soon as he entered the garden, he found his efforts were for naught; most of the others had already gathered by the exit to the western forest. In fact, everyone was there except Alaude.

"When I first got here, Giotto was already waiting," Lampo explained sheepishly, apparently the first to get caught.

"I don't know what you expected," the don chided with a hint of amusement. "Did you expect my Hyper Intuition to just… switch off?"

The Guardians averted their eyes in varying degrees of embarrassment. Their boss's ability seemed to slip their minds at the most inconvenient of times. "So… uh. When are we leaving?" the Lightning Guardian hedged, undeterred.

Giotto sighed and looked away, uncomfortable. "We, ah, aren't leaving. I mean, if you wish it, you may leave to search for him, but I would recommend that we wait here."

"For what?" Knuckle asked, but he already knew that the Sky didn't have an answer. The boss gave a helpless shrug, and the Guardians settled in to wait. They arranged themselves comfortably across the garden, which had bloomed spectacularly against the backdrop of their impatience and anxiety.

Some had resorted to pointedly glancing at their pocket watches by the time they heard the slow, dragging footsteps of someone arriving. Instantly, the timekeepers were snapped closed as the Vongola stood to attention. Alaude, who had joined them ten minutes ago, glared irritably at the source of the sound, resenting the curiosity that had dragged him here and more than willing to take it out on someone else.

Finally, Lambo staggered into sight, looking wan and dismal. His eye, which had begun to lose its sharp focus, took a moment to sharpen on the crowd of Flame users. Dull surprise colored his features.

"…didn't expect to see all of you here," he said awkwardly. The words fell with a thud in the tense silence, but no one made an effort to pierce through the heavy veil. He stood stock still by the entrance of the garden, gaze skimming them until they landed on Lampo, who was somewhat crouched into himself in an effort to seem smaller.

Fed up at last, Alaude growled and pushed himself off of the tree he was leaning on with a quick movement. He stalked towards Lambo and grabbed a fist full of cloth, halting his flinch backwards. "I have had enough of these idiots dancing around their questions. You're coming with me, and you're going to answer them."

Cowed or perhaps too tired to care, the time traveler let himself be dragged through the vibrant grass, into the mansion, up a flight of stairs, and past four doors. Then the Cloud unceremoniously shoved him into the meeting room.

The Guardians crowded into the room, having followed the pair throughout the journey. However, Alaude left with a huff of disgust; not even his curiosity would make him tolerate a second more of this farce. He would get his answers later.

The Vongola, unsurprised, barely spared him a glance as he left the room, instead opting to watch the limp Lightning where he been deposited. He had been unusually silent during his impromptu trek. Giotto, unwilling to let the power dynamic shift towards Lambo and his evasive answers again, started speaking.

"You came back," he stated bluntly. As far as opening statements went, it was vague to an outsider, but they could read between the lines. You run, and you return. You clearly have no burning desire to be here, and yet you stay. Why?

Lambo glared tiredly at him. "Put that vague bullshit away. I didn't come back to deal with that." G bristled indignantly, but Asari put a calming hand on his arm. The Storm shook it off quickly, but stayed his ire. Unprompted and unexpectedly, he finished with, "I came to say goodbye."

The boss frowned and softened with his confusion. However, he was struck with realization and a sadness almost immediately. "You're dying," he whispered. Everyone in the room stood straighter. Mafia veterans or not, they still managed to afford compassion for death, even the death of a strange acquaintance.

Knuckle looked over Lambo with an assessing eye from the side of the crowd. Despite his extensive knowledge of medicine, he couldn't find a logical solution. Pallid complexion, shivering, unfocused vision, vertigo, lack of response to stimuli. The First Generation chanced a glance at him, but he shook his head. The illnesses that included these factors also needed other symptoms to be diagnosable. If it was cold, or he was coughing, it would be a different story.

"I… maybe didn't explain everything to you. Well. I didn't know some of it at the time, so I can be excused. Anyways, I found out stuff from the thing in my head that Knuckle met. They told me that I was going to die, so I left to get some peace. I may have just wanted fresh air." His listeners shared puzzled glances at the rambling man's unusually discursive wordiness. "I met these two girls," he continued, "who told me I should tell you I would be dead soon. Along with a few other things.

"I may not have been the best guest. I barely know any of you. You barely know me. Despite that, I want to say a few parting words." He paused for breath and stared steadily at them. "As your famiglia progresses, you will learn and you will forget. There is one thing that you must always keep in mind.

"A famiglia is built and bonded by blood. Do not forget that, any of you. You have each other, and you should be eternally grateful, but you may have to wash your hands in the filth of the mafia to keep it that way. If you give up the blood, you may have to give up each other. If you give up the blood, you give up the foundation. Do you trust yourselves to build a new one before everything crumbles?" He stared them dead in the eye with as much fervor as he could muster.

Then, in a slightly warmer tone, he addressed Lampo. "You are the shield of the Guardians, diverting damage. If you feel subpar, if you feel so useless that there's no point in trying, you are wrong. Do not shield yourself with your background so you are safe from rejection. Train, even when they laugh. You must learn to protect yourself on the same level as the shield protects your family." For a moment, the dying man looked unsure if his words were cohesive enough to fully make his point, but it was gone in a minute. He had done all he could.

OoO

Lambo gently shut the door to the meeting room behind him, leaving the First Generation to their stunned silence. As he ghosted past servants and guards, it grew harder to walk without a sound, anticipating when the attentions of other were lowest. When he stumbled into a wall, he knew there was no more use in delaying; Flame deprivation would force him to meet his end at its own terms, he supposed.

He kept one arm on the wall of the corridor and searched for an empty room, eyes skimming and skipping over doors. His vision, unfocused and uncomprehending, finally settled on a door. It was probably fine. If there were any occupants, he'd just kick them out. He wanted to rest in peace.

Inwardly laughing at his own joke, he lurched forward and fell against the door, fumbling for the doorknob. It turned under his hands and the door opened to two maids who were rapidly falling silent, dirty bedding forgotten. He flapped his hands vaguely towards the door, hoping the message would come through. They quickly moved to obey, gathering the linen into a basket. He must look really bad, for them… A hazy feeling settled in his mind, and he blinked to get rid of it-

And the room was empty. Fuck, he was starting to black out. Grimacing, he pushed himself away from the doorframe, pinching his wrist in hopes for a few more minutes of lucidity. His mind vaguely registered the pain, then continued to seduce him with thoughts of just a few more minutes, it's not like anyone's waiting up…

Shit! He slapped the wall in frustration and gritted his teeth at the building headache. "I need… I need t' meditate… n' Flames n' shit. Die," he reminded himself. Something like that. He fell to the floor and shut his eyes hard, searching for the inner calm that would allow him to go into his mindscape. Grasping, grasping, grasping…

He sat there for a while and descended slowly into stasis. His breathing evened out and his tight grip on his pants loosened. Despite not being able to use the comforting pulse of his Flames, something fell into place.

When he opened his eyes again, he was within the recesses of his mind. What was left of it, anyways. He stared at the cavernous halls grimly. If he had been hesitant about his time constraints, there was no way that he could delude himself into a few more minutes now.

The sharply defined edges of the checkerboard had grown faded and static, melting into soft, sepia shades of grey. Some parts had disappeared altogether like a bad sci-fi movie computer glitch, showing the fate of the remaining patterns.

Lambo didn't try to ignore this. Instead, he faced it head-on and visualized that blank door appearing before him. For a few minutes, he thought it hadn't worked and the strange Mist had left him to die on his own. He stubbornly maintained his concentration, but he was still somewhat surprised when purple light outlined a rectangle in the middle of the hallway and solidified into a door.

He stepped forward and there was no room, no man this time. Only a deep, black void.

"I take it you accept?"

"Yes."

"You certainly took your time. Better a late flicker than a dead spark, I suppose. Anything else?"

"No."

"Very well. May your embers rest in the eternal fire."

Then-

OoO

Lambo stared silently into his eggs, his unfocused young mind registering something amiss. He poked experimentally at his front teeth with his tongue, but the loose one still clung tightly to his gums. Staring at his fingers, he wiggled them experimentally and shook off the feeling of wrongness. It must be the eggs, he decided. The eggs were bad, or something.

"Something wrong, Lambo-chan?" a voice- Mama- asked gently.

"Lambo-sama is fine! The eggs are bad!" he responded vehemently.

She tittered in response but shook her head. "The eggs are fine. I made them myself. But if you aren't hungry, I'll just take your plate." She picked up the offending dish and padded into the kitchen, and Lambo couldn't help an inexplicable feeling of sadness.

The eggs are gone… but something's still wrong! Something… something…

However, the feeling faded just as quickly as they appeared, and the world sharpened suddenly. Everything was fine. He had Mama, and Dame-Tsuna, and everyone else.

Everything was fine.

OoO

A/N

First and foremost: Lambo's parting words. As a mafia kid, born and bred, he likely saw Giotto's decision to disband the military of the Vongola or whatever he did as pretty fucking stupid. This is his way of warning them not to do that or everything will fall apart like it did in canon. I don't know either. Please forgive me if this is a bit poorly written. I really wanted to get this finale out of the way. But in the end, I'm just happy to say…

That's all, folks!

I know I've bitched and moaned all over the author's notes (also thank you for your support on the last chapter), but I want to thank you for staying with this fic as I explored writing and style. This fic and I have had probably the most dramatic relationship of my life, complete with betrayal, twists, and secrets. (It's complicated)

But you, my beautiful, patient readers, have stayed with me and made this fic more than I ever dreamed it would be. From a little spark in a middle schooler's eye, to now, as a 65k monstrosity with a strong reading base, somehow. I can't believe we made it this far!

So, with happiness, exasperation, and regret, I can now confidently say that this fic is finished.

Well, mostly. I still have a poll chapter to write, but I actually have some idea of what I'll do with that. It'll be short and sweet (last words) and probably vague as hell. But I mean, you guys deserve it, after putting up with me for all these years.

Also, if you want, for some reason, to look at what I'm writing next and commit yourself to another disaster, you can now follow me on tumblr as photcwrites.

Au revoir!