Never a Game
Another chapter in my KHR Vignettes series. I don't really know where this came from... Whatever. I blame University.
Chapter rating: T for I don't even know anymore. c:
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Never a Game
The day Yamamoto Takeshi realized that no, everything that had happened in the last few years wasn't a game was the moment one Gokudera Hayato got shot.
The mission had started off just fine. Find the Marticellio family and observe their facilities. A simple mission to see if this new family would be a threat. Quiet, and with a pair of souped up binoculars (courtesy of Gianini), easy. Right? No. Very much no.
Somehow, they had been spotted. All Yamamoto knew of that few terse minutes between lying prone on the cool grass of the hilltop and the flight for their lives, was Gokudera's sudden hiss. After that was a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, for himself? Gokudera?; frustration, why couldn't they move faster??; anger, how had they seen them anyway?.
It all went too fast.
When it had happened, when Gokudera was hit, it wasn't like anything Yamamoto was expecting. There was no 'horrible sound that echoed within the walls of his soul', no 'heart stopping feeling that froze him in his tracks'. Nothing like that. Gokudera was running beside him, then he wasn't. Simple as that. This wasn't a game. This was never a game. Not at all.
A flash of Shigure Kintoki being whipped out of the sheath. A bright spray. A choked gasp. Was that really what happened? Did Yamamoto do what he just thought he did?
It couldn't have been. That had to be someone else that killed these people. He doesn't remember taking the lives of those who took down his friend. He doesn't remember anything between being found out, turning to see the feisty Italian fall, and scooping him up to run faster than he had ever thought possible.
One thing he'll never be able to wipe from his mind is the feeling of liquid warmth over his arms. A chilled form clutched desperately to his chest. Tsuna's horrified face as he beckons them into his home. The feeling of Gokudera's blood on his hands.
Then it was over.
His heart rate fell back to normal, and a logical thought process went back into place. Yamamoto Takeshi started to act human again. The adrenalin wore off, and the battle sense faded. He was back to good old baseball idiot again.
Except that Gokudera hadn't woken up yet.
It wasn't a bad wound. He managed to swing his body around at the right time to avoid hitting anything fatal. He took it in the right side of his abdomen. A slightly cracked rib from impact, but nothing vital was harmed.
It was more shock and blood loss than anything. That's what they told him. Gokudera would be fine, he just needed to get his blood volume back up.
That didn't stop him from waiting. Worrying. For two days he sat by the silverettes bed, leaving only because of his body's requirements. Tsuna brought him food. Good trustworthy Tsuna. The Vongola Decimo was concerned about his friend as well. Both his friends. But he couldn't leave to sit with them as long as he desperately wished he could. There were loose ends to tie up, and apparently according to Reborn, only Tsuna could do that. So he helped in any way he could. Yamamoto found himself grateful for it.
When Gokudera woke up, it was like breathing again after being submerged in water for Primo knows how long. To think, all it took to remove Yamamoto from his rather zombie-like state was the sliver of a green eyed gaze, and a croaked 'Baseball Idiot?'.
Yamamoto just smiled widely and helped his friend sit up. No. It wasn't a game. But does that mean you couldn't have fun in life anyway?
----
Wrote in about 20 minutes after 3 hours grinding down a wood block for a project, and about 2 days of sleep deprivation. It's crap. I'm going to bed. :)
Chapter rating: T for I don't even know anymore. c:
---
Never a Game
The day Yamamoto Takeshi realized that no, everything that had happened in the last few years wasn't a game was the moment one Gokudera Hayato got shot.
The mission had started off just fine. Find the Marticellio family and observe their facilities. A simple mission to see if this new family would be a threat. Quiet, and with a pair of souped up binoculars (courtesy of Gianini), easy. Right? No. Very much no.
Somehow, they had been spotted. All Yamamoto knew of that few terse minutes between lying prone on the cool grass of the hilltop and the flight for their lives, was Gokudera's sudden hiss. After that was a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, for himself? Gokudera?; frustration, why couldn't they move faster??; anger, how had they seen them anyway?.
It all went too fast.
When it had happened, when Gokudera was hit, it wasn't like anything Yamamoto was expecting. There was no 'horrible sound that echoed within the walls of his soul', no 'heart stopping feeling that froze him in his tracks'. Nothing like that. Gokudera was running beside him, then he wasn't. Simple as that. This wasn't a game. This was never a game. Not at all.
A flash of Shigure Kintoki being whipped out of the sheath. A bright spray. A choked gasp. Was that really what happened? Did Yamamoto do what he just thought he did?
It couldn't have been. That had to be someone else that killed these people. He doesn't remember taking the lives of those who took down his friend. He doesn't remember anything between being found out, turning to see the feisty Italian fall, and scooping him up to run faster than he had ever thought possible.
One thing he'll never be able to wipe from his mind is the feeling of liquid warmth over his arms. A chilled form clutched desperately to his chest. Tsuna's horrified face as he beckons them into his home. The feeling of Gokudera's blood on his hands.
Then it was over.
His heart rate fell back to normal, and a logical thought process went back into place. Yamamoto Takeshi started to act human again. The adrenalin wore off, and the battle sense faded. He was back to good old baseball idiot again.
Except that Gokudera hadn't woken up yet.
It wasn't a bad wound. He managed to swing his body around at the right time to avoid hitting anything fatal. He took it in the right side of his abdomen. A slightly cracked rib from impact, but nothing vital was harmed.
It was more shock and blood loss than anything. That's what they told him. Gokudera would be fine, he just needed to get his blood volume back up.
That didn't stop him from waiting. Worrying. For two days he sat by the silverettes bed, leaving only because of his body's requirements. Tsuna brought him food. Good trustworthy Tsuna. The Vongola Decimo was concerned about his friend as well. Both his friends. But he couldn't leave to sit with them as long as he desperately wished he could. There were loose ends to tie up, and apparently according to Reborn, only Tsuna could do that. So he helped in any way he could. Yamamoto found himself grateful for it.
When Gokudera woke up, it was like breathing again after being submerged in water for Primo knows how long. To think, all it took to remove Yamamoto from his rather zombie-like state was the sliver of a green eyed gaze, and a croaked 'Baseball Idiot?'.
Yamamoto just smiled widely and helped his friend sit up. No. It wasn't a game. But does that mean you couldn't have fun in life anyway?
----
Wrote in about 20 minutes after 3 hours grinding down a wood block for a project, and about 2 days of sleep deprivation. It's crap. I'm going to bed. :)