Careful What You Wish For – Chapter 02



Chapter 02

You hardly expected to feel anything strange, but it did.  It was as though the muscles aren’t accustomed to the movement, and they strain, and before long the smirk you had falls off your face, like a wet splatter off paper.  The exhaustion is starting to creep up, and you can’t help but sigh, despite your usual self-restraint.

Storm is still glaring, glaring down at you, but you are too preoccupied with what just happened to care.  It doesn’t matter what he thinks.  It never has.  All that had mattered was that he looked after the Sky, his precious Sky, their precious Sky, but the Sky had flown away on wings of flame faster than anyone could follow.  That meant that Storm was not to blame.

Doesn’t change the fact that he blames himself, and quite honestly, you blame him though you know you know better than that.

“I asked you already, you bastard, what are you doing in his body?!”

The voice was raised, and you wince, resisting the urge to knock on your ears to see if they’re functioning.  That may have been something Sky would have done (actually, no, he would have been too polite), but definitely not something becoming of Mist.

“Kufufu, wouldn’t you like to know?”

It felt strange, using his mouth, speaking with his voice, but forming your words, your tone.  So unnatural, and you can see Storm thinks so too as first his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise, an unguarded expression, before – faster than a lightning flash – the expression is wiped from his face and a scowl, the customary expression for him, takes its place.

“I’m serious, you asshole.  What did you do?  You couldn’t have chosen a better time to go traitor on us, could you?”

The words hurt more than you expect, but you are too accustomed to that feeling.  You don’t show it on your face, though you do show your expression of disdain at his poor deduction skills.  After all these years, he should know…

But it is of no matter.  What he thinks of you doesn’t matter.  You carefully neutralize your expression, a cold glare, before you raise your hand and shove the hand that’s still on your collar away.  You paste on your very best smile.

“This would all make a very interesting conversation topic someday, but protecting me should be your topmost priority right now.”

“What?!  Why the hell should I protect you, you rotten, fuc-”

“Should you be speaking to your boss that way, Gokudera-kun?”  A sweet smile for good measure.  That too is unnatural – an action the body is accustomed to, but one you are not.

An open glare from the man.  A roll of the eyes from you.

You sigh.  Should you bother to explain to him?  Enemy’s suspicions, and all that.  No, you’re sure he understands.  Impetuous and brash, Storm may be, but stupid he is not.  You turn away from him and start running down the alley.

“What?  Hey, wait!  Bastard, get back here!!”  You hear footsteps follow you.  His are the only ones.  Good.

Your body is shorter than you’re used to.  Limbs not reaching as far as they should.  You can’t help but stumble a few times, but you don’t bother checking back to see if the gray-haired man noticed or is holding back a snicker.  There are other priorities.

You keep telling yourself that, and it is true.  Priorities, such as getting him out safely, relatively unharmed, priorities such as not letting the others find out what had happened.

“Over here, this way!”

You skid, realizing that his voice was down another branch than the one you chose.  You linger, your age-old suspicion rising to the surface for a second before you drown it again.  Stupid they may be, but the Guardians would be able to protect the Sky, even if they weren’t willing to house the Mist.

Following, you realize that you’re starting to slow again.  Feet dragging, vision getting hazy.  Your limits are your body’s limits, and those have been passed long ago, back when you and him were lying under the debris.

You fall to your knees, and then palms hit the ground.  Again, the regular gasping.  You concentrate too much on keeping away the black curtains of unconsciousness to care that hands are helping you up and pulling you away.  Just step, step, step, step.  Your head is kept down, lolling almost completely side to side as you are magically pulled along.

The light brightens, then recedes, and the refreshing smell of something not gunpowder- or dust-related hits your nostrils and you almost shake the hands off to just stand there and revel.

But you know better.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Is he OK?”

“Tsuna, speak to me!”

“Tsuna!!”

You don’t answer.  You can’t.  You aren’t him.  And besides, you couldn’t even if you wanted to.

Thankfully, the Storm whirls through them all before finally coming to a stop and all the noise behind stops.  A click.  A waft of leather and warmth.

You don’t wait for his words before you climb in to the car.  After some more chatter to the crowd, a shift tells you he climbed in after you.  You couldn’t care less.  There would be silence with or without him.

Sitting forward, you are suddenly thrown back against the seat when the engine revs and the vehicle speeds off.  You don’t bother getting up.  You lean your head back, shuffle a bit to get into a comfortable position, and then leave yourself to the mercy of black.





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