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Proof of Life	By : Midnight_Run Category: +G to L > Katekyo Hitman Reborn Views: 1096 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn and make absolutely no money writing about it. Huzzah.

Chapter List
- 1-Proof of Life
- 1
“A boy is a dangerous animal.”

― Lionel Shriver, We Need to Talk About Kevin
+++

THEN
CACCIATORE

NORTHERN ITALY

1998
The Cacciatore Family was known as one of the most fierce of the new Famiglia in Northern Italy. They rose to become one of the greater powers in the region during the years following the collapse of the Esterneo Famiglia and, though they were relatively new, they grew quickly in influence and notoriety due to the guidance of Matteo Salvatore. They weren't anywhere near the same level as Vongola or even Giglio Nero, but Matteo's boys worked hard and they were gaining ground every day. Northern Italy was a competitive area, always had been, so it was no surprise that Famiglia rose and fell in status rapidly and often with little warning. But the Cacciatore Family had been fortunate in many ways. Their land was uncontested, they'd become allies with several neighboring Famiglia and they had several extraordinary fighters which helped keep enemies from their door.
If asked, Matteo attributed his family's rise in power and position to his policy of bringing fresh blood into the family whenever the opportunity presented itself. He'd been a orphan himself, after all, so he knew that talent and potential came from the strangest places. He watched the little urchins who ran their errands and did odd jobs for them, always on the look out for unusually bright children that he could bring into their family. He'd never gotten around to having children of his own, so instead he adopted them. Gave homes to the best and brightest of the orphans that populated the streets of the cities he visited. Over the years he'd adopted over forty children into the family and it was the addition of these smart, strong, lively kids that had made his family great. Something he was incredibly proud to be a part of and he had no doubt that by the time he groomed the strongest and the best of them to take his place, the family would only continue to flourish and grow under his guidance.
Of all his children, Lancia had been his favorite ever since the day they met on the streets of Lucca. Matteo had been in town that day to meet with Girolamo, the new head of the Volpe family, to discuss the problems special bullet technology were causing their respective families. Their families had never been close allies, but they were neighbors of a sort and neither had ever bothered to branch out into tech development when it so much simpler to rely upon their own skills and more traditional weapons. As the world changed though and the use of will and flames became more and more prevalent in battle, they'd each begun adopting the use of rings to focus their will and flames in recent years. Of course, that was before Vongola started created and began using bullets to further augment and enhance themselves. Many families, always hungry for greater power and a larger slice of the pie, had immediately began acquiring specialists to reverse engineer Vongola's success or to develop their own versions of the technology. Most failed and their families collapsed after pouring too much money and effort into such foolhardy endeavors. Some few, however, seemed to be seeing at least some degree of success in recent months and that was... terrifying. It had been bad enough when that development had been limited to will enhancement such as the Vongola used, but there had been rumors running rampant through their information network that Esterneo, the most powerful family in the North to enter into this small-scale arms race, had begun successful production of their own bullets. Bullets that, rather than enhancing a man's will or augmenting his skills, could steal another man's will, his powers, his body and soul. The very thought of the existence of such a weapon chilled Matteo to the bone. Particularly if that weapon were in the hands of the Esterneo Famiglia, who had always been a dangerous and unforgiving enemy to have even in the very best of circumstances.
Girolamo, who had been a young Boss with an impressive mustache and an even more impressive waistline, had scoffed at the very idea of the existence of such a weapon. He sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair, balancing it dangerously on two legs, as he he took another long pull from the cigarillo in his hand. "You can not honestly tell me you believe such things, Matteo. These stories that paint Esterneo as bogeymen come to steal souls in the night? This is the sort of tale I'd expect to hear from superstitious old women or from my children, who would find such monster stories enthralling, the bloodthirsty little bastards. Certainly not from a man of reason such as yourself, Matteo. These are nothing more than rumors, meant to intimidate and cover the failures of those fools who don't want to admit they've failed just like all the rest. They have always been a proud Famiglia and one who would not admit fault of failure easily. I do not find it surprising that they would go to such ridiculous lengths to conceal their weakness from the world."
The meeting had ended shortly thereafter with Girolamo still chuckling like an hyperactive hyena at the idea of what he had decided to call 'oogey boogie' bullets. Matteo didn't entirely blame him for his skepticism, after all, he himself thought that there was probably little chance that it was true. Still... he had lived a long life and he could remember a time when rings such as the Boss ring he wore on the third finger of his right hand had seemed just as unlikely.
It was when he was leaving this disappointing and fruitless meeting that he met Lancia, when the grubby little thief tried to steal his wallet with the damn sloppiest lift he'd ever seen in his life. So sloppy was it that he'd had plenty of time, as the boy attempted his escape, to reach out and snag the kid by the collar of his shirt, hauling him back and shoving him against the alley wall. He raised an eyebrow at the kid's almost comedic look of utter surprise and held out his hand with a sigh, "Give it back, kid."
He'd expected a flat denial or false anger or a round of inventive cursing or maybe even a fight, but what he got instead was a lopsided, gap-toothed grin and his wallet slapped down good-naturedly into his palm. "Sorry, I just wanted to know if I'd be any good at it."
He'd snorted, tucking the wallet away and dropping the kid back to the pavement, "Don't worry, kid, you're not. Maybe you should find another line of work."
That grin had just widened further as the kid scrubbed a hand through his mess of dark hair, "Then maybe you should give me a job, yeah?"
It had been ten years since he had decided to adopt that child into his family. Many things had happened since that day, many things had changed in his life and the life of his Famiglia, mostly for the better. The Esterneo Famiglia was long gone, just another victim of their own hubris. They'd faded into obscurity, marshaled there by the collective disdain of the mafia for their underhanded tactics. In the years since their terrifying possession bullet had been banned, Esterneo had shut their doors and presumably left Italy for less hostile climes. The Volpe Famiglia was gone as well, having wiped themselves and most of the smaller neighboring Famiglia out in a fit of paranoia months ago. Matteo and his Famiglia had been far more fortunate than most. His family had grown and flourished in the years since that day, nearly tripling in both size and influence simply by working hard and steering clear of the more problematic and volatile Famiglia. Of course, it also didn't hurt that they had the advantage of having the strongest man in Northern Italy as a bodyguard.
Cheerful, good-natured Lancia had grown fierce and strong in the years since that day they met on the streets of Lucca. From almost the first moment he'd brought him home, Lancia had been enthusiastic and driven to learn everything he could to protect and strengthen the family that had taken him in. He had worked harder than any of Matteo's other boys and, though he still bore the scars a childhood spent on the streets, he'd become a man who could laugh easily through those old pains. A man who knew great sorrow and great joy, but chose to focus on the present and the joy his family gave him. It made him strong, stronger than anyone. People who threatened their family called him fearsome, which was understandable as Lancia was an absolute terror in battle when he was fighting for the family he loved, but Matteo still thought of Lancia as the most gentle child in the family. He was exceptionally proud of all his boys, but Lancia... Lancia was special.
Whenever his business took him to Lucca, he always made a point of stopping to have lunch at the café he'd been leaving when they first met. It wasn’t that he expected lightening to strike twice exactly. He adopted plenty of children before Lancia and plenty since and he was fond of them all, but he still found himself gong back to that café repeatedly over the years. Whatever the reason, though his schedule and the requirements of his work changed often over the years, this was the one habit he never managed to break. It was the sort of habit most people might not have even noticed, for he only visited Lucca on o few times a year and never on any sort of set schedule. However, it still made him predictable in a way and that was a dangerous thing to be when you were a boss.
Matteo met his doom in that little café in the walled city of Lucca on a sunny day the year Lancia turned nineteen.
The boy was small, whip-thin and had the same lean hungry look so many boys who survived in the cracks of life did. His clothes were too large for him and clearly second-hand, but his dark hair was neat and tidy, a memorable contradiction. He came up to their table in that café and he seemed nervous, his eyes darting around the place like he was searching for something even though his destination was clear. That alone was enough to put his bodyguards on edge. But he’d seen boys like this before and he knew well enough that there was much to be gained from giving such a child a chance. “What is it, boy? You look like someone with something to say.”
“Pardon my intrusion, but there are men outside with guns,” the boy murmured, his eyes on the window now, wide and terrified. “That’s them.”
His men leapt into action immediately, in motion even before the crash of glass and the deafening explosion of gunfire that came with it. He was pinned to the floor behind his overturned table in moments and he could here one of his guards leaping into the fray with the sword he carried held out before him. A glance to the side revealed the boy huddled down on the floor, blood running down his cheek from where something, probably some flying glass, had cut him.
Soon enough the action was over the men who had attacked them were dead and his guards were busy apologizing and handing out cash to the café’s owners for the trouble. Matteo sat up and found that the boy was already stumbling to his feet as well. His pale thin face stained with the blood that was still dripping slowly from the cut on his cheek. He glanced at Matteo and gave him a thin smile before scrambling away towards the door. He paused on his way out by the body of a man who’d died during the first burst of gunfire and frisked him quickly, pocketing the man’s wallet. The boy was good-hearted, clearly, to have taken the time to warn them, but he wasn't a saint.
+++
He ran into the boy again a few days later quite by accident. In a market near the edge of town, he’d stopped to pick up a new packet of cigarettes and found the boy looking surly as the store owner threatened to call the authorities over a few nearly stolen apples. Matteo stopped the owner with a glance and dropped several coins on the counter, more than enough to pay for the boy's apples. The owner grumbled, but he shoved the apples into a bag and practically threw them at the boy with a warning that he’d better not see the him in his store again.
"Why did you help me?" The boy asked, clutching his bag as they stepped out into the road together. His shoulders were tight, his expression caught somewhere between angry and confused.
"Just returning a favor," Matteo replied, ripping the paper and tapping a cigarette out of the pack. “For your trouble the other day. I always pay my debts."
The boy nodded, he might not have accepted kindness, but he could easily accept the idea of a debt repaid. Matteo smiled sadly. The boy reminded him so much of himself when he was young. Of Lancia and all the rest of the children he’d known over the years. "How would you like to do a job for me, boy? I need someone smart who doesn't ask questions. It pays well. Well enough that you’ll be able to buy your food for a while instead of stealing it."
The boy hesitated, his eyes darting furtively around as if looking for a sign that this was some sort of trick. Eventually his gaze settled back on Matteo's face, "What kind of job?"
"Pick up and delivery. Someone will give you an address, you'll go there and pick up a package and then deliver it somewhere else."
"I don't see why that would take someone smart. Anyone could do that much."
The boy was so much like him that he ached to see it, "Yes, but this package is very important and some people might want to take it from you. You'll need to be clever if you mean to evade them and avoid attracting the notice of the authorities."
"I guess. It pays up front?"
"Half up front, half upon completion."
"All right," the boy replied, rolling his shoulders and standing a little straighter. "You want me to go somewhere now?"
"No. Take this," Matteo handed the boy a cheap mobile phone. It was his own, but the kid would be impossible to find again if they didn’t have a way to contact him. "Someone will call you soon. Don't lose that. Don't sell it."
The boy took the mobile phone gingerly, putting the bag of apples under his arm so he could hold the phone carefully as if it were far more valuable than it actually was. As if it were something special. Matteo smiled, reaching out to pat the boy’s hair on a whim. He noticed for the first time that the boy's hair was long, pulled back in a chipped and worn clip, the ends splayed out behind his head. His mother had worn her hair in a similar fashion, as least he thought she had. She had died when it was very young, so he remembered very little about her. He’d seen pictures of her though and sometimes he dreamed of her standing over him with her hair swept back and a kind smile on her face. He patted the boy's head again, absently, before turning back towards where his car and his boys were waiting. "Don't forget to answer the phone, boy."
+++

The boy was as good as he had hoped. He was resourceful, clever and quick. He was prickly and prone to mood swings, but he was sharp and he got the job done. Apparently, he even had a wicked sense of humor once he let down his guard a bit. Marco and Bruce, in particular, had really taken a shine to the kid and begun showing him some rudimentary self-defense and teaching him how to dismantle and shoot the guns they carried with them. He was bright and eager to learn anything that they would teach him and it wasn’t long before he became a favorite and whenever there was a call for a runner he was typically the one to get the call. And, for a while, everything was good.
Then, in late April about two months after he started, the boy was late for work and when he finally did show up for his pick-up it was with a limp and busted lip. He played it off and the men laughed with him and he got the job done and no one would have thought another thing about it. Life on the streets of Lucca weren’t a picnic, after all, so it wasn’t strange for a kid to get in a scuffle or two. Soon enough his injuries healed and everything went back to normal.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last such incident. Every few weeks, that boy would show up for work with a new injury and when Marco or Bruce or one of the others asked him about it he'd always had some story at the ready. The stories seemed always to straddle the line between possible and unrealistic as all real stories often do. So, for a little while, they'd been a little concerned that he might be a bit more of a troublemaker than they'd realized, but they'd believed him. The kid was an excellent liar, after all, most of the kids that haunted Lucca’s streets were for good or ill, but even the best liar couldn't maintain the lie forever. Eventually, Marco got worried enough that he followed the kid home one day after his drop-off.
As it turned out, the boy was not the orphan Matteo had originally assumed. Though he might have been better off if he was. The place he called home wasn't anything close to clean or safe. The mother was strung out and seemed to spend the majority of her time passed out on the couch or out searching for a fix. The father was a red-faced mountain of a man who worked hard all day and drank too much at night and had little patience for his son. Marco had seen the boy backhanded when he walked into the house a few nights later and that's all he'd needed to see. They didn’t stand for that bullshit, after all, not in the Cacciatore Famiglia. So, Marco did as he’d been told to do if the situation escalated and called the main house immediately. Matteo had decided to go and have a look at the boy's situation himself the next time he was in town.
As it happened, he had arrived at the boy’s home two nights later to find the boy bruised, bloody, his arms hanging limp at his sides. It was difficult to tell how much of the blood that covered him was from his own wounds and how much was from the wounds of his father. His mother was standing at the edge of the room screaming at the boy, incoherent words of rage that didn't seem to touch him as he knelt in his father's blood. Just ‘look what you’ve done’ over and over again. The boy’s father was missing half his head courtesy, Matteo assumed, of the shotgun lying beside the boy. Matteo stepped carefully into the house, deciding then and there that this boy would join their family. That he would bring this boy to the home. Where he would have a true family that would look out for him and keep him safe from casual monsters like these people. "Come with me now, boy." He encouraged, guiding the boy to his feet and leading him out of the house. "Guy, please see that this is taken care of."
Guy nodded resolutely, already pulling on his gloves and stepping towards the house and the screaming woman inside. He'd seen the boy's bruises and he had no sympathy to spare for any dirtbag who let shit like that happen to little kids. None of them did.
Matteo guided the boy into the car, pressing him down into the seat. "We'll have you home and safe soon, Mukuro. Just sit tight."
Mukuro nodded vaguely like he wasn't really hearing anything Matteo said. He seemed a mere shadow of the gutsy kid he’d met in the café all those months ago. His dark gaze was unfocused and lost and Matteo wondered how long it would take the boy to recover from this night.
+++

Matteo had seen and done plenty of things in his life, ugly and terrible things, but few enough of those things had prepared him for caring for a hostile, traumatized child he barely knew. The other kids who had been brought in and brought up in the family had been easy by comparison for he’d met them either before or well after the most traumatic moments of their lives. He wanted to help the kid, but he simply wasn’t sure how to manage it. So, when the kid asked to be left to alone, Matteo made sure everyone got the message and gave the kid some space. The boy had been through a lot, it seemed only fair to give him some space and time to come to terms with what he’d done and all the changes in his life.
So, Mukuro kept to himself during those early days. He appeared only briefly from time to time and at odd hours to steal food from the pantry. Food that he squirreled away who the hell knew where because he was pretty sure the kid wasn't eating most of it. He'd take the strangest things too. Tomatoes and peppermints, onions and dry pasta noodles (what the hell did the kid even think he was going to do with those?), bottles of water, cans of soda and handfuls of chocolate all disappeared from the pantry at an alarming rate.
When even the blankets and pillows began to disappear from rooms around the house, Matteo began to suspect the kid had found some secret way out of the house and was actually building himself some sort of damn deluxe disaster shelter somewhere out on the grounds.
It was the better part of a week before he finally managed to coax the kid out of his room long enough to meet the rest of the family. When he did, Mukuro had been quiet and serious beside him. He greeted everyone politely enough, but didn't seem to know what to do with the boisterous acceptance the family gave him in return. All the hugs and back-slapping just seemed to make him uncomfortable and an hour later, Matteo took pity on him and allowed the boy and his brittle smile to escape back to his room.
The only one the boy did seem to know how to deal with was Lancia. When Matteo had arrived at the house with Mukuro that first night, it had been Lancia who was on guard duty. Matteo had been the one to usher Mukuro inside the house, covered in blood and stumbling over his own feet, but it was Lancia who took over from there. He’d taken hold of the kid immediately, steadying him and guiding him into the kitchen where they kept the emergency first aid kit. He set the kid on a stool as Matteo grabbed a couple bottles of water from the fridge. He had cracked one open and handed it to the kid before moving away to watch as Lancia set out the supplies and boiled some water.
When everything was ready, Lancia dipped a towel in the warm water and held it in front of the boy's face. "Look, I ain't gonna hurt you, but this might sting a little. You understand me? I may look scary, but I'd never hurt a kid."
"You don't look scary at all," Mukuro had answered in a soft voice, still a little hollow with shock. "You have kind eyes. I know you won’t hurt me."
Lancia, of course, had adored the boy from that moment forward. He'd spent so many years being known as Fearsome Lancia, who sent his enemies running with a glare, how could he not love someone who saw past his scars and his fierce expression at a glance? Who so easily saw the man within? Lancia had cleaned the kid up and escorted him to a guest room, settling him in and even standing guard at the door when the boy asked in a hesitant voice if he wouldn't mind staying for a little while. Since then, even when the boy had asked for space, Lancia had still trailed after the kid like a particularly overprotective mother hen any time he saw him.
Matteo was privately thrilled when Lancia came to him after Mukuro was introduced to the family and volunteered to take care of the boy's training. Lancia was always at his best when he had someone to look after and Mukuro would need the support in the days and weeks to come. Support Matteo simply didn’t know how to give. Your first kill was never easy, even if the fucker did deserve it, and it would be doubly difficult for Mukuro since the man he'd killed had been family. He given his blessing to the idea and the smile Lancia had given him along with a boisterous hug left him certain that he’d made the right decision.
The pair were inseparable after that, one hardly ever seen out of the company of the other, and Mukuro seemed to flourish under the attention. He was more lively each day, more willing to open up to other members of the family and he even began coming down for family dinners. A few weeks later, Mukuro even came to game and it felt like a huge step, even if he did just sit in the corner and watch with a small, satisfied smile as Lancia trounced them all at poker for the first time ever.
+++
One day, about six months after Mukuro had arrived at their home, Matteo walked out of his office onto the adjoining balcony to the sound of laughter, echoing across the yard. He glanced over the railing to find Lancia setting up targets in the courtyard below. Mukuro was seated on one of the low stone benches nearby and his laughter rang high and loud and Lancia echoed him so that their laughter seemed almost perfectly in synch. It should have been a beautiful sound, but for a moment it was almost a little creepy how in step they were. Then Mukuro’s laugh turned into more of a giggle and Lancia’s into more of a guffaw and the moment passed as if it had never been at all. Still, that moment had caused a chill to roll up his spine as if someone had walked across his grave.
“You boys seem to be having fun,” he called, forcing a smile he didn’t feel.
Mukuro glanced up at him with a bright smile as Lancia finished setting the targets. The boy had gotten taller during his time with them and his hair was longer. He wore it loose and shaggy and Lancia seemed to take great joy in ruffling it and mussing it up as often as possible. “Lancia is teaching me how to shoot!” He called, practically beaming with good cheer.
“Hey boss! Wanna come help? I’m starting him out with a Beretta. Should be a blast!” Lancia called, chuckling at his own joke as he clapped a hand on Mukuro’s shoulder.
"No, no, Lancia, I have to finish up these balance sheets or Felicia will kill me. You two have a good time!" He called back, feeling his smile falter as he gave them a final wave and turned back towards the house. What was wrong with him? He was jumping at shadows. Matteo sighed heavily as he slipped back into his office, “I must be getting old.”
Mukuro and Lancia watched him go in silence.
+++
Seven months later, as he bled out on the sun-warmed tiles of his otherwise immaculate entryway, Matteo would stare up into Mukuro's peaceful face and his strange red eyes and feel a similar chill. Shock had set in and he knew he was dying. He could feel it in the way the wound no longer throbbed with that terrible gnawing agony, he knew that was a bad sign even if he could no longer articulate why. Blood thick as phlegm pooled in his lungs as he drew in each labored breath. He understood in a vague sort of way that there was something strange, something off about Mukuro’s face as the boy knelt down beside him, but all he could feel was thankful that someone had survived. "…Mu…Mukuro… you have to… run. Something… something is wrong with Lancia. He’s... gone mad."
"That's not a very nice thing to say about a member of your family," Mukuro replied, his voice as flat and cold as a knife as he cut new wounds in Matteo's already tattered heart with each carefully annunciated word. “I'm very good at what I do, but I didn't even have to really try all that hard with Lancia. If any of you had truly known him, truly cared, it wouldn’t have been so easy."
Mukuro's fingers were cool where they traced his cheekbone and Matteo knew in that moment that though it had been Lancia who had crushed his spine, it was Mukuro who had actually killed him. He didn't understand how, couldn't understand how, but he knew it. "…why?" he managed, blood bubbling at his lips.
"You know, I always think that someone is going to ask how I do it, but they just never do. It's always such a disappointment. Why ask why? Does it even matter? Ask anyone and the answer is always different, but always the same too. Why does anyone do anything? Because they can."
"We were… family," he choked out. Had this always been who Mukuro was? Was this what he was from that very first moment? Was this the boy he’d invited into his home or had he changed at some point along the way? Had they done this to him somehow?
Mukuro smiled and, strangely, it was not unkind. "No. We were never that. This was just a house I lived in for a short while. You were just the people in it. This was just a way station on a much longer journey."
"You… you let Lancia go, you hear?" Matteo coughed weakly, finding it more and more difficult to clear his throat well enough to speak. The tiles were so cold and he was so very tired. "I don't know where you think you're going, but you can't take him there. He's a good boy. He doesn't deserve this."
"I imagine someone thought we were all good boys once," Mukuro replied softly. "But no one really is. I like Lancia. He'll stay with us for a while."
Matteo laughed wetly and then coughed hard, turning his head enough to spit blood across the floor. His eyesight seemed blurry and he was thankful for that small favor. He didn’t want to see him anymore, this boy who had betrayed them so profoundly, "You're fucking crazy, kid."
"Mm, that does seem to be the popular opinion, but I do try not to let that bother me." Mukuro replied softly, his boots squeaked as he pushed himself to his feet. "Farewell… boss."
The door shut with a quiet snap behind him and Matteo was left alone with only the sound of his own labored breathing for company during the few moments he had left.
That boy was a monster. For only a monster could have torn the heart from his family with such casual cruelty. He’d heard of such powers, known that many of the more powerful famiglia trafficked in talents and technology that gave their members extraordinary abilities, but he’d believed most of it to be smoke and mirrors. Just incredible exaggerations made larger than life by fear and jealousy, mountains built from molehills. But this… what Mukuro had done to his Lancia… was quite real.
He had been a fool and his family had paid the price of his failures. And his favorite, his fearsome Lancia, would pay most dearly of all.
Tears leaked from his eyes as he stared unseeing at the blood-spattered ceiling high above him.
The floor was very cold.
And he was so very, very tired.
- 1
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Proof of Life