Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day Dazai Osamu’s carefully constructed world began to fall apart began like many other days he had lived in the past. He woke up, showered, and arrived to work an hour late only to slack off for another three. Kunikida would scold him and Atsushi would look at him with exasperation. Fukuzawa would come through and tell everyone good morning. Maybe there would be a case to come through the door, but nothing too exciting.

All according to plan.

Except when the receptionist came through and said there was someone to see the agency, it wasn’t some citizen or god forbid a cop looking for help. The man who walked in wore a suit, one far more expensive than anyone on a normal paycheck could afford. Pressed and fitted with a satin blue tie that perfectly matched the subtle needlework across the jacket.

Dazai had only seen clothes so expensive on Mafia higher-ups or the members of the Guild.

So instantly Dazai was intrigued, because this wasn’t one of the Port’s men, Dazai would know if someone new worked that high up. That meant that this was either a random rich man that had come to get help from the agency, or this was someone who worked for a different organization that had come to do… something. Dazai was leaning more towards the second option, judging by the scar on the man's face and the way he held himself like he was the most dangerous person in the room.

“Hello! I’m here to deliver something to your president!” His voice was young and chipper, completely contrasting the air around him. If Dazai were dumber than he was, he might even mistake the man for being kind. (No one in the agency was that stupid, though. Everyone eyed the man with a level of suspicion, some hiding it better than others.)

Kunikida, as expected, took the lead. “I’m sorry but our president doesn’t usually greet visitors he doesn’t expect. I’d be happy to pass along your message.”

“Ahh, unfortunately, I can’t really do that. I have orders, you see. I’m sure he’d make an exception!” The man’s cheerful demeanor almost masked his thinly laid threat. His smile was wide and genuine, but so were his words.

Kunikida’s eyes narrowed and it was clear he’d picked up the message as well. But before he could continue, Ranpo spoke up.

“What’s your name? I'll tell him you’re here, then he can decide if he wants to talk to you.”

Kunikida looked startled, but didn’t protest. It was odd for Ranpo to speak up and take the lead unless he was solving some case, so for him to decide it was worth getting the director involved, he clearly knew something the rest didn’t.

“Yamamoto Takeshi. I’m sure this won’t take too long.”

Ranpo threw Dazai a glance that meant to watch the man closely, which he definitely planned on. The name sounded distantly familiar to Dazai, and that was reason enough to be suspicious, beyond what was visibly obvious. Dazai didn’t recognize civilian names.

It was brief, Ranpo’s visit into Fukuzawa’s office. In fact, if Dazai had to guess, he’d say only about a sentence could have been spoken between the two before Fukuzawa came rushing out of his office. (To anyone that didn’t know him, his walk would seem calm and collected as always, but Dazai knew him enough to see the quickness in his step and the pinch in his eyebrows.)

The short silence between Yamamoto and Fukuzawa was tense, as if sizing each other up with a glance and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And yet it wasn’t Yamamoto who broke the silence, like Dazai would have expected. Rather it was Fukuzawa, with a respectful bow of his head. “You’re Tsuyoshi’s boy.”

Yamamoto returned the bow with a smile and a laugh. “I am. I guess you don’t know him from his amazing sushi, right?”

“We worked together a few times, when the need arose. It was a shock when he retired to be a family man.” Fukuzawa’s head tilted slightly. “Though I see his sentiment didn’t hold, if appearances are to be believed.”

Yamamoto laughed again, genuine. “No, it didn’t. He wasn’t happy when he realized. You know, you should visit him sometime, I’m sure he’d treat you to some sushi, and he’s opened up about his past a lot more now that he’s realized I don’t plan on giving this all up.”

Fukuzawa hummed in agreement, sizing Yamamoto up for a second time. “But you are not here on a social call, I assume.”

And again Yamamoto’s demeanor shifted. Not aggressive, but no longer friendly.

“I come representing the Vongola Decimo.”

Fukuzawa straightened and the Agency, those that recognized the name at least, tensed.

Vongola.

Dazai lived life by a few rules. Try and fulfill Oda’s dying wish. Keep the people he cared about safe. Avoid the groups on the Do Not Fuck With list he had made back as a mafia executive. And the Vongola was right at the top.

“I wasn’t aware that Nono had retired. You are young, for a Guardian.”

Yamamoto’s grin was razor sharp. “It’s not official yet, but Nono has been considered… unfit to lead currently. The official announcement will be later on this year. And skill speaks louder than age, don’t you think?”

Fukuzawa relented with a nod.

Yamamoto held out the manilla envelope he had been holding. “An invitation, for yourself and one of your men.”

“A summons?”

“You, Decimo, and leaders of the Port and the local government are to attend.”

“Can I ask why?”

“No.”

Dazai wanted to roll his eyes. Of course not. It’s not only worth it to give Fukuzawa a summons he can’t refuse. They also had to make sure he had no idea why any of them were there.

Fukuzawa simply nodded and put the letter back in its envelope.

Few more pleasantries were exchanged before Yamamoto took his leave. He was likely only there for close to twenty minutes, but it was enough to shake Dazai’s foundations if only slightly. He supposes it only made sense; Yokohama had stood through things that should have leveled the city. When they brought down the Guild, the underground was abuzz for months. Yokohama had gone from being known as a mafia town to being a dangerous mafia town overnight. And after the Agency’s stand against Fyodor and his men, it's not surprising that their name got out internationally.

He just didn’t think they had gotten to the level of renown that they had even gotten on the Italian's radar, much less the Vongola’s.

Fukuzawa gave a long and drawn-out sigh before sitting atop the closest table. Dazai had never seen him look so exhausted.

“So. Vongola?” Dazai couldn’t help but poke the bear. He wanted answers, and this was where he would start getting them.

“Yes. One of the higher-ups at that. I had been… expecting some kind of visit from them for a long while, but this… I don’t know if this is even related.”

“It isn’t. Not completely. There's no way the don would invite the government if it just had to do with you or Mori. They wouldn’t let you bring a plus one either.” Ranpo’s face was fixed with a frown, and that alone would be enough to tell Dazai they were in for a shit-storm, even without knowing who the Vongola were.

“Von…gola?” Atsushi’s confused voice finally spoke. Of course he wouldn’t know the name, the boy had hardly recognized the name of the Port Mafia when they brought him on. He didn’t seem to be the only one confused, though. Kenji and Tanizaki had a slight tilt to their head, like they were trying to place the name and failing.

Kunikida sighed, placing his pen on the desk and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The Vongola are mafia. Like the Port, except ten times older and maybe a hundred times more powerful.”

Atsushi took a step back and Dazai watched as Kunikida’s words washed over him. Confusion replaced by shock. Shock replaced by fear. Fear being once again overtaken by confusion.

“If they’re more powerful than the Port, how come I hadn’t heard about them until now?”

“They’re Italian, and the Italian mafia is thankfully pretty self contained. Even their inter-family feuds make our fights look like play-time.”

Whatever chord Kunikida’s words struck had the entire agency tensing up and eyeing the door Yamamoto just left through. It spoke to all they had been through as an organization and as people, that none of them were anything beyond alarmed. When life was a series of surprising and dangerous events, of more and more dangerous opponents, it only made sense that the novelty began to wear off.

And yet Dazai was still reeling. More than he probably should have been at that point. Because the deep sense of dread had somehow wedged its way further into Dazai’s chest in the time since asking his question and listening to Kunikida explain who the Vongola were. And on some deep level, he knew it had nothing to do with the idea they had made an enemy of the Vongola, and more to do with the strange warmth he still felt radiating from the ball of orange flames still hovering above the little wax seal.

Getting an audience with the boss of the Port Mafia was much more difficult than it was to see the President of the Agency. In fact, it was near impossible unless the boss himself called for you.

Except, Yamamoto Takeshi was not just anyone, and he had a mission.

At least, this is what Mori discovered when he looked up from his desk and saw a man standing in his office, with no clear indication of how long he’d even been there.

He knew immediately that the man standing before him was a powerful Rain. Mori had prided himself on his ability to identify Flames, especially when it was the reason people would call on his Sun rather than another Mafia affiliated doctor, back in the day. Despite his predecessor’s disdain for Flames, or anything else associated with the Italian Mafia for that matter, it was still the recognition that came from his expertise that had him called upon, rather than any other doctor the boss might have wanted.

So to have such a powerful user sneak up, one that wasn’t a Mist at that, meant that Mori knew instantly that he was in the presence of an Italian, and that if this was supposed to be a hit, Mori would have already been dead.

“Hello.” Mori greets, and other than a slow blink, he does not react to the sudden presence. Weakness, in this moment, was death. Now or later.

The man smiles brightly, and Mori forces himself to breathe through the oppressive Rain Flames, washing over him in waves. A silent threat – don’t call for help, don’t do anything stupid. You won’t win.

“Hello! I’m Yamamoto Takeshi. I’m here on behalf of the Vongola Decimo.”

Any nerves that Mori felt about the sudden meeting tripled with the admission.

“Ah. And what have I done to earn the attention of our dear Decimo?”

The man – boy really, if Mori were only to account for his age – held out an envelope, sealed by Sky Flames and made with heavy paper.

“A summons, for you and one of your men. Leaders of the local government and the Armed Detective’s Agency will also be in attendance. The details are in the envelope.”

Mori’s fingers buzzed where he held the paper. Something that had even the local government involved? It wouldn’t be a declaration of war, then. That wasn’t the Vongola’s style. Though, Mori couldn’t say he knew anything about this Vongola Decimo. The Vongola were eccentric, and an heir that called a formal meeting to declare his intent to wipe them off the map wouldn’t be the strangest things in their recent history.

For once he regretted upholding the previous Boss’s rule of no Flames, as it kept the Port firmly out of the loop in regards to the inner happenings of the international underground. It kept his city more manageable – abilities were a much more concentrated and therefor controllable evolution of Flames, after all – but it ensured that runaways with active Flames would start their search for refuge elsewhere.

“Is there anything else?”

“No. Thank you for your cooperation! I can see myself out.”

And with that, the man turned his back to Mori, and made his way back to the door. Mori wondered if the guards outside had been knocked out or rendered immobile, or if they had simply been unable to spot someone trained by the Vongola when they had decided to be stealthy. (Either way, Mori was doubling his security and the training they had to go through. There hadn’t even been an audible scuffle outside his office door.)

So Mori opened the envelope, and pulled out his phone, already putting in the number he had memorized years ago.

There was an envelope on Santōka’s desk. He assumed it was from one of his subordinates, but for it to be so purposefully placed in the center of his desk, it was probably important. So Santōka sat down, and he opened the envelope.

Three hours later, there was one of the longest meetings in the Special Division for Unusual Powers since the Shibusawa incident.

Yokohama felt like a bomb. Not one ready to blow, nor like one hidden from sight until someone made the decision to push the button. No, Yokohama was a bomb, large, blinking, one that everyone knew had the power to level a building. And yet, without someone to arm it, the bomb would remain. Imposing, driving fear into all who looked on it, and yet ultimately harmless.

Tsuna wondered if his arrival would be the thing to start the clock.

“Relax, Tsuna!”

Takeshi grinned from across the car and Tsuna forced his shoulders to drop. They were driving through the heart of Yokohama heading towards the hotel they had booked for the next few weeks.

“Sorry, Takeshi. This city just has me on edge. It feels like it’s… waiting for something.”

Takeshi hummed in acknowledgment. “Do you think we need to call in more people? Hayato was antsy when we left, I’m sure he’d be happy to join us.”

“Not yet. I don’t want to come across like I’m threatening them. After what happened with the Guild and the House of Dead, a heavy-handed approach is just asking for trouble.”

Takeshi laughed at that, shooting Tsuna a wry smile and a raised eyebrow. “Tsuna, anything the Vongola is involved in is heavy-handed. You should have seen the Port’s boss when he finally noticed me!”

Takeshi launched into a (dramatized) retelling of his adventure to the top floor of the Port Mafia’s base, very obviously trying to distract Tsuna from his nerves. Despite the obvious ploy, Tsuna couldn’t help but let Takeshi’s words and calming aura draw him into a sense of peace.

Something was coming, something important, but Tsuna wouldn’t be alone for it.

Chapter Text

Neutral ground was something hard to come by in the great city of Yokohama. While the three factions that ran the city weren’t constantly at war with each other like they might have been once, they were hardly friendly enough that it wouldn’t be considered an insult at best and a declaration of war at worst if the meeting with the Vongola was on only one of their turfs.

Thus, the meeting that had been plaguing their minds was decided to take place on a boat off the shore. Far enough that if anyone decided to take the opportunity to attack the four leaders, it would be visible long before it reached them.

The leaders and their plus-ones would arrive separately by whatever mode of transportation they wished, though it was very explicitly stated that any more than the two approved faction members would be considered an act of violence against the Vongola Boss directly.

Dazai would have been impressed by how thoroughly planned everything seemed to be, had it been anyone other than the Vongola calling the mysterious meeting.

Dazai was… well, scared wasn’t the right word, nor was worried. Wary, perhaps, described the feeling of anticipation in the pit of Dazai’s stomach. Nothing about the meeting seemed like the Vongola were expecting violence, but there were enough unknown variables to make even Ranpo fidget.

Dazai had spent the last few days researching what he could about the Vongola, especially the Decimo and his men. And yet, even after calling in favors from deep in the web of the Mafia, the best he could produce were rumors. One source claimed the Vongola Don was so kind he was weak-willed, nothing like the iron-fisted leaders who came before him. And yet, the next whispered in horror about an old Famiglia that had been wiped off the map so thoroughly the only remnants were the cornerstones of their base and a warning.

The most consistent thing Dazai heard was that the Boss and his closest men, Guardians apparently, were all young, something supported by the youth of the Yamamoto fellow. The rumors on exactly how young they were varied from source to source, some absolutely convinced that a 7-year-old was actually running everything behind the scenes for whatever reason.

All that to say, Dazai knew jack shit about the Vongola Decimo and the time it would take to get a solid lead would put them way behind schedule considering the meeting was 4 days away.

While Dazai had been pulling at threads in the Mafia, the rest of the Agency scrambled to make plans where they could. Who should go with the Director? Should they reach out to the Port and coordinate? Should they prepare for an attack?

Throughout it all the Director had been silent. He would disappear into his office for hours on end and take walks through the town, as per usual, but since the initial moment he confirmed they were dealing with the Vongola, he had barely even taken the time to say good morning, too caught up in whatever was flashing through his mind.

With all of that build-up, however, it wasn’t very surprising when Fukuzawa called a meeting, sitting at the head of the conference room with the flaming letter on the table in front of him.

Dazai was not above admitting that he was eager to hear what the Director had to say. At least to himself. He wanted, needed, more information than what he had.

Why had Fukuzawa been expecting a visit? Why did Ranpo think it was unrelated to whatever Fukuzawa expected? Should they prepare for war? Actually, no, war against the Vongola was worse than a death sentence. Preparing to run and hide is actually more accurate. Preparing their obituaries maybe? Dazai had one ready for death by his own hands but some things would have to be reworded if it was death by Vongola goon. (Wouldn’t that be something? Living this long after trying to kill himself repeatedly only to be offed by an Italian subordinate that might not even know or care who they’re killing. At least with the Guild and the Rats they had seen the Agency as an obstacle worth taking care of. The Vongola could probably erase Yokohama itself from existence well enough that people forgot it existed in the first place.)

“Dazai,” Fukuzawa’s voice cut through Dazai’s thoughts, and immediately he wished they hadn’t. “Will come with me as my plus-one. I’ve spoken with Mori, and we believe if things were to go… poorly… it would be best if you and Nakahara are present.”

Dazai didn’t try and stop the scowl that placed itself upon his face. It made sense, unfortunately. Out of all combinations of people they could bring, Dazai and Chuuya not only knew their way around the Mafia and meetings with powerful people, but if it did end up being a trap for whatever reason, both of them being there would raise everyone's chances of survival.

Or maybe, more accurately, it raised the chances of taking the Vongola boss down with them.

Didn’t mean he was excited to be sat in a meeting with Chuuya again.

“We’re just going along with all this then? Not even going to attempt to do more? I mean, c’mon, let me come too, I’ll use an illusion and hide! If they’re really this strong we can’t just-”

“No.”

Dazai had thought Tanizaki’s idea probably wasn’t great as it was, but it was something that could be worked into something possible with time. But Fukuzawa’s voice was low and dangerous, palms flat on the table and staring Tanizaki down so hard the boy might piss himself.

“Abilities, one like yours especially, will mean nothing to the Vongola. They don’t operate on the same scale as us.”

“What like- visually? Are they all blind or something?”

“No.”

Awkward silence filled the room as Fukuzawa shut down their inquiries.

It wasn’t like Fukuzawa to doubt the abilities of his men. If anything, he often could see the potential that no one else could.

Now, Dazai was not an idiot. The majority of his time had been spent looking into anything he could find about the Vongola Decimo. But he also looked into the Italian Mafia and the Vongola as a whole.

It was well known that the Italian mafia was somewhat insane, in all meanings of the word, but apparently very few people knew why. They had some sort of secret power, not abilities, though they often utilized those as well, that no one even dared spread rumors about.

“Does it have to do with the fire on the envelope? Because it feels like it’s staring at me even though I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have eyes.”

Atsushi perfectly put words to the feeling Dazai got from the fire, as well as drawing the same conclusion he had. He was training Atsushi so well, Kunikida’s opinion be damned.

But rather than the begrudging consideration of Atsushi’s words that Dazai expected, Kunikida raised an eyebrow and frowned. (Fukuzawa, however, seemed to be completely reconsidering his entire plan for this meeting.)

“What are you talking about, Atsushi? What fire? This isn’t time for-”

“What fire- What do you mean what fire? The little ball of fire, right there!” Atsushi pointed at the flickering orange mass.

“I have to agree with Atsushi on this one, Kunikida. There is definitely fire there and it’s definitely watching us.”

There were calls of agreement and protest around the table, but enough people agreed about the fire that at least it was unlikely to be a mass hallucination. It was odd that Dazai could see it, if it was an ability, but he knew that in his experience, the answer was always more complicated than that.

“How many of you can see the Flames?” There was authority in how Fukuzawa spoke about them, maybe a reverence. Dazai could hear the capitalization of the word.

Dazai and Atsushi could, as well as Yosano and Kyouka. Ranpo said nothing, but Dazai watched as he focused his eyes where the fire was, trying to get whatever they were seeing to come into focus. Or maybe he could see it, and he was reconsidering it now with the knowledge that not everyone else could.

Fukuzawa sighed, and did not pretend like they were wrong to see it, only that he was sad that they could. “These are Sky Flames.” He explains, sliding the envelope to the center of the table. Every inch closer to Dazai is another degree warmer that it heats him. Sinks below his skin. Dazai wonders if he’s imagining the feeling of warmth snaking around the very heart in his chest.

“They’re not from an Ability. They’re far older.”

Kunikida’s face twists further as he realizes this is not some elaborate and inappropriately timed joke.

“The ability to see Flames without specialized training is predisposed at birth, and it is usually attributed to genetics and chance. Spending an extended periods of your life around Flames can also cause you to gain the ability to see them.” Fukuzawa pulls the envelope back to himself, taking the heat with it. Dazai can’t decide if he wants it back or not. “The ability has also been attributed to living through major traumas.”

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the table as the other agents came to the unspoken conclusion of just how the other three gained their ability. They didn’t look at them with pity, they wouldn’t do that, but instead like they were remembering exactly what their lives were like before the Agency.

Dazai didn’t appreciate the reminder.

“And that’s why the Vongola would see through my illusions? Because of the… Flames?”

Fukuzawa nodded, but offered no more explanation. All he had really done was give them more questions, but it seemed even he held the truth of the fire close to his chest. Whether from fear of retaliation or habit or something else entirely, Dazai wasn’t sure.

“Does this change who’s coming with you?”

Fukuzawa considered for a moment, looking across his men, eyes lingering on Dazai and Atsushi and Yosano.

“No, I don’t think it should. It would be best to have someone that can see the Flames come with me if it were an option, and as Dazai is both the most practical choice and is able to see the Flames… My decision is final.”

Dazai groaned louder than was strictly necessary at that, but was grateful that he had avoided Atsushi taking his place. Yosano would have been a great choice, if Dazai couldn’t go. She was smart and could keep a cool head, and her ability was one of the strongest they had access to. But she still wasn’t aware of the social expectations that came from a meeting between Mafia bosses, and they absolutely could not risk being seen as rude to the fucking Vongola.

He couldn’t let Kunikida know this, and the way the man’s eye twitched as he watched Dazai flop out of his chair and sulk made the theatrics worth it.

Tsuna thumbed through the files in front of him, struggling to pay attention yet desperate to find something to do. He and Takeshi weren’t going to risk wandering the city before the meeting, and it was two days away. He’d already finished the small stack of paperwork he’d been forced to bring with him, (Out of the around seventy papers he’d brought, fifty were requests from other Famiglia and government officials for funding to rebuild whatever Hibari and Gokudera had broken in the last two weeks. Ten were recon reports from the groups keeping up with the Vongola’s known enemies, and the rest were mission briefings that were high enough priority Tsuna himself had to approve them.)

He'd tried watching TV to pass the time, but Reborn had done his job a bit too well, and in the few years since he had shown up at Tsuna’s door he’d instilled a need to be at least somewhat productive before the day was over or else he’d risk being shot in the foot. While Reborn was not with him, there was always the very real chance that he was watching Tsuna from a rooftop two blocks over with his sniper trained, just waiting for a reason.

Thus, Tsuna was looking at the profiles that had been pulled from the Vongola’s archives about the Port Mafia and the Agency, wondering who each boss would bring, and wondering how confident they would feel walking onto the boat.

They had reasons to be confident, of course. They had stood against outside forces before, strong ones, and come out on top. There wasn’t a single person on their lists that would be a truly poor choice, and that meant they would be able to plan the meeting down to every last step that they took.

He had four piles already going, two for each organization, one pile for definite possibilities, and one for a list of notable members that didn’t have a high chance of showing up. Ranpo Edogawa, for example. Incredible detective, with a brain that could do things Tsuna’s intuition could do without the ability. But he didn’t have an ability, and in a city so thoroughly against Flames, he wasn’t walking into the meeting with any extra firepower sitting under his skin. Certainly formidable, but not worth risking. Miyazawa Kenji and Kyouka Izumi were also placed in the pile rather quickly, because Fukuzawa may have no problem with employing children, he would not risk them in a meeting with the Vongola. Whether because of the unpredictability that comes with youth or the desire to keep them safe, it was almost guaranteed they wouldn’t show. Tanizaki Junichiro would likely be left out because his ability was practically useless in the face of the Vongola’s intuition, and his paperwork described him as quite impulsive.

That left four people in the pile that had a good chance of showing up.

The Port Mafia’s stacks were a bit more… hefty, unfortunately.

While the Agency had its President and its Agents, the Port was broken into leadership positions and task forces, just like the Vongola was. There were the two active Executives, Nakahara Chuuya and Ozaki Kouyou, that easily had the highest chance of being there, the Port’s version of the Varia – the Black Lizard – had a respected leader in the form of Hirotsu Ryuro. There were two commanding officers that seemed to appear in most dire situations – Akutagawa and Higuchi – and then every other powerful task force leader that the Port had was also added to Tsuna’s pile to sort through, even if they were easy to rule out.

In the end, he had four potential Agency Members and four potential Port members, and sixteen combinations to comb through.

Tsuna yawned.

To comb through tomorrow. And maybe with Takeshi’s help.

Tsuna pushed his chair away from his desk with a force meant to show any potential Reborn shaped snipers in the vicinity that his decision was final.

Paperwork normally made Tsuna’s stomach churn – it was paperwork after all – but this stack had his fingers twitching as he combed through. He felt like he was missing something from it, and if he kept digging tonight he knew he’d find it sooner than he wanted to.

And, most likely because the universe realized that Tsuna wanted to be done with the night and order some dinner from room service, his eyes naturally fell on a folder, sticking out from the bottom of the Agency Possible Attendees pile.

Intuition fucking sucked sometimes.

Because the file had been one of the first Tsuna had looked at, so he didn’t know what to expect, but looking at it now… the file was far too thin. It looked like it held only one or two pieces of paper, where even the lowest of Port members had at least six. The Agency averaged about twelve per folder.

So why was that one so thin?

Tsuna twisted his eyes closed again. He didn’t want to know. He wanted to order a sandwich or two, and he wanted to lay down and call his family. He didn’t want to sit back down and figure out whatever bullshit was keeping that file so thin, damn his intuition.

“You good, Tsuna?”

Takeshi’s voice startled Tsuna’s eyes open, and he looks at his friend across the common room of the two room suite. He hadn’t noticed him come in.

“I, uh, I think I really want dinner.”

Takeshi smiled like he didn’t believe him, but because he was a good friend, he just laughed and agreed to call room service.

Tsuna resolutely ignored the rolling of his stomach and the inexplicable draw back to his desk, and decided to deal with it in the morning.

Tsuna should not have waited for the morning.

“There’s more information about this Dazai guy in Nakahara’s file than in his own! Who the hell wrote this?”

Takeshi pressed his chin onto Tsuna’s shoulder, glancing at the file laid offensively on the desk.

There wasn’t a photo, there wasn’t medical history, there was barely even a description of the guy. His height, his hair color, and his eye color were listed, (181 cm. Brown hair, wavy. Brown eyes.) along with the fact he used to be a Port Executive before he defected to the Agency (Spent two years underground before resurfacing with the Agency)  and then they listed a few people he was known to have a close connection with. (Oda Sakunosuke, Deceased. Ango Sakaguchi, double agent, government affiliated. Nakahara Chuuya, Partners, See Soukoku. And on and on.)

It was pitiful, and it was purposeful. This wasn’t a case of someone being unimportant, barely a footnote to someone else’s file. This was someone who should have had a file as long as Bianchi’s. He was intelligent enough to be a Port Executive before he’d left his teens, and his partnership with Nakahara was one drenched in blood, if the other’s file was to be believed. How much blood did he have on his hands that wasn’t listed? How much did he have a hand in planning the Port’s actions of the time? They called him a Demon but wouldn’t even mention why?

Tsuna was all for taking shortcuts in paperwork, but this-

“Calm down, Tsuna.”

“It’s blatant sabotage, Takeshi! The only reason he has a file to begin with is to make sure that no one else decides to write one!”

Takeshi laughed, and Tsuna shook under it. “Yeah, but we can figure it out! I’ll call Chrome, get her to start looking into it. And if he’s the one that comes to the meeting, so what? They’re not going to risk all out war with us no matter who comes.”

Tsuna knew that Takeshi was right, of course.

He also knew, however, that with his luck, this Dazai guy would be the President’s plus one, and whatever connection he had with the Vongola that would warrant a ghost file would be the button that armed the bomb.

But Takeshi was already calling Chrome, already asking her to try and write a file on one Dazai Osamu from scratch before the meeting, and to launch an internal investigation on who, exactly, wrote the original file.

So Tsuna took a breath, dropped his shoulders, and trusted that his Guardians would handle things. They’d survived bombs before, they’d survive this one now.

Chapter Text

The file that was sent to Tsuna’s phone wasn’t a finished file, but it was a sight better than the one he had originally. Once he’d printed it, it was close to twenty-five pages. Chrome had compiled every file about the man that the Japanese government and any Families within their influence would hand over, and had sorted through to differentiate the fact from the fiction.

They rightfully called the man a mafia prodigy, the Demon Prodigy, and the files backed up the idea that he had taken to the underworld like a fish to water. From the very beginning he was leading his men to victory and seemed indifferent to the destruction he left behind him – reveled in it, according to a few of their sources. He was the perfect mafioso, and then one day, he vanished. There were only a couple of records of him during the two year hiatus – you couldn’t expect miracles from government files, after all – but one day he popped back up, joining the Detective’s Agency and remaining relatively visible since.

He was one of the main influencers of the peace between the Agency and the Port, it seemed, and kept in contact with his old partner, though the sources varied on how amicable that relationship was.

That was, at least, a good sign that the Agency would at least consider Tsuna’s offer. They couldn’t claim to never work with the Mafia, not when they seemed to be their closest allies.

Every photo of the man that was in the file was grainy, washed out, or incomplete. Or sometimes all three, so Tsuna still wasn’t completely sure what the man looked like, but that wasn’t as important as understanding where he would stand on the issue of the Vongola.

“I hope this guy comes!” Takeshi says, waving around the photo of Nakahara Chuuya. “Red hair and controls gravity, he could be Enma’s long lost brother or something!”

Tsuna grimaced.

“I think he might. He’s one of Mori’s executives, and probably the strongest in regards to raw power. If they think the meeting might end in a fight, or with running, Mori would want him there.”

“So the shady guy would probably be the Agency’s plus one, right?”

Tsuna looked down to the photo of a news cutting of a building that was once an forty story office building, now nothing but rubble after a single encounter with Nakahara and Dazai.

“I’d be shocked if he wasn’t. If we were to fight them, we might actually have some trouble. It’d be stupid for Mori and Fukuzawa to pick anyone else.”

Takeshi let the file drop onto the bed he sat on, Port Mafia files scattered around him.

“Think you’re up to fighting black holes again?”

“Hopefully I won’t have to find out.”

There still wasn’t word on who had written the original file, but Chrome said she’d keep looking. Tsuna wouldn’t be surprised if she had to fly out to Italy and question people in person. No one goes to the trouble of writing a ghost file without covering up their tracks. 

Tsuna tried not to wince at the thought of the mess that investigation would cause. Not only would there be the initial investigation, but they would have to go backwards through every single piece of paperwork the person had submitted, ensuring that they hadn’t been planting ghost files their entire time there. Depending on the severity of their actions… Well, Tsuna probably wouldn’t want to kill them, but reassigning them to Giannini and Spanner’s testing crew until the end of time would at least keep them away from valuable information. A few explosions never hurt anyone.

Despite having fixed the file somewhat, Tsuna’s skin crawled.

He looked at the clock. Two hours until the meeting. That was enough time for a coffee.

He put the file down, ignored the twist in his stomach, and headed to get ready. It didn’t matter, anymore. He’d roll with the punches as they came.

They don’t all arrive at the same time, and Dazai knows that Fukuzawa and Mori planned that ahead of time. The government official, Santōka, and his plus one had already arrived, and Mori and Chuuya took one of the Port’s many transport boats. Dazai was pretty sure that the boat he and Fukuzawa took was one of the Port’s as well.

(It was important to keep as many exits available to them as possible, so having three boats docked to the side was about as good as they could get in regards to escape plans.)

It’s a yacht that they eventually climb aboard, two stories and a flat deck on the top, where Dazai could just see a flash of the rest of them, waiting for the Agency to arrive. It looks pristine, like the boat just came off of the assembly line. He supposed, with the Vongola’s resources, it might have.

The ocean air makes Dazai’s coat whip around, and the constant tapping against his legs has him wishing he had actually dressed up even a little for the occasion. Fukuzawa climbed the stairs in front of him and Dazai took the moment to take in the scenery. The land was easily six or seven miles out, looking hazy in its distance, and there were no boats other than the three they had taken around. That meant the Decimo was likely already on the boat, but Dazai hadn’t even seen a hint of another person. So the Decimo and that Yamamoto guy had taken the boat out on their own.

What an interesting skill for the Vongola don to have.

When Dazai finally reaches the top of the stairs, he’s faced with a group he wouldn’t have put together unless the fall of Yokohama was imminent. Hopefully it wasn’t.

Chuuya had a scowl on his face when he finally made eye contact with Dazai, but it was restrained enough that he clearly understood the weight of what was going on. That was good, it wouldn’t do for Mori to keep someone in the dark over this.

Though…

Dazai let his eyes wander over Santōka, Ango, and Chuuya. Did any of them know about the Flames? Did Mori explain the ball of fire that hovered over the envelope, or did Chuuya even see it?

Dazai was certain that the government had no idea about them, or else they would have found some way to stick a label on it and make it illegal without some fancy slip of paper.

But Mori, there was no doubt Mori knew about the Sky Flames, if Fukuzawa did. Why had he never brought them up before?

The table before them is glass and metal, obviously handcrafted. Circular. There are seven seats around it. No seat stood out as the head of the table, no one given more power than the next. Not even the seats for the subordinates stood out amongst them.

Dazai had the feeling this Vongola Decimo guy was an odd one.

No one spoke to each other as they sat down, all too aware of the fact the Vongola may be listening in. They left the seat closest to the stairs open, though Dazai wasn’t sure if it was a sign of respect or if they wanted the man to have his back to the only exit.

There was sound below deck, and the swooping in Dazai’s gut had little to do with the rock of the boat and more to do with the warmth that was once again spreading over his skin, like it had with the envelope.

He assumed that was the effect of the Decimo and his Flames, though Dazai didn’t see goosebumps erupting across anyone else’s skin, and didn’t see a furrow in anyone’s brow that could be reacting to anything other than the knowledge that the meeting would start shortly.

The first one up the stairs was the same man that had walked into the office five days ago, starting this whole mess. Yamamoto Takeshi. Tsuyoshi’s boy. The name that Dazai still hasn’t placed.

And then the Decimo stepped onto the deck, and the warmth turned into almost unbearable heat, like Dazai had stepped from a nice day on the beach to the middle of the desert.

And Dazai looked and –

Well, he would be almost ashamed to admit, later on, that he did not recognize Sawada Tsunayoshi at first. It wasn’t like the boy had actually changed all that much in the last eleven years. His hair was still brown and unruly, like it would hold its volume even sopping wet. His eyes were still a brown so bright it bordered on orange. (Orange like the Flames, Orange like his shirt, Orange like a sunset Dazai hadn’t seen since he was innocent.)

But your brain will sometimes refuse to see things, if it doesn’t think something is possible. He had been aware his brother was alive, of course, even if Tsunayoshi hadn’t had that same courtesy. He knew there was always a possibility, as long as he stayed in Japan, that he would one day just run into his little brother on the street. Maybe he’d be on vacation in Yokohama, or visiting a friend, and they would spot each other across the street. Dazai had always thought, that if that happened, he would run. Disappear into the crowd and let Tsuna think that he had imagined seeing his brother.

But he had never once imagined – consciously, subconsciously, or even in his wildest nightmares – that his brother would walk into his life with the Mafia already at his back. Certainly not the Vongola, weighed down with a ceremonial mantle and jewels to designate his importance.

So Dazai did not recognize him at first, instead standing with Fukuzawa in a respectful greeting. He watched as Santōka introduced himself and one of his men. As Mori greeted the Vongola Decimo, said ‘My executive, Nakahara Chuuya.’

And then the Decimo’s eyes shifted, found Dazai’s, and recognition must have crashed into the both of them at the same time.

Dazai’s mind was floating in the realization that he was looking at his little brother – that his brother was Vongola, The Vongola – from the warmth that was still pressing into his flesh from all sides – and he was unable to stop the hiss of surprise that left him.

Tsunayoshi wasn’t any better, at least. His smile fell and his eyes got as wide as they were when he was seven. Full of shock and a bit of horror now, instead of the delight and innocence that Dazai had last seen them full of.

Dazai heard Santōka, distantly, as he asked if there was a problem. He was probably terrified that whatever silent moment of realization that Tsunayoshi and Dazai had just shared would have ruined whatever this meeting was meant to be.

It was seeing his brother snap back into reality, all remnants of realization gone in an instant and the air of friendly professionalism back up like it had never left, that had Dazai regaining the ability to look away from Tsunayoshi. Santōka had already moved on, seemingly giving no more thought to the incident, but the eyes of Fukuzawa, Mori, Chuuya and Yamamoto lingered, interest and concerned and confused.

“What have you called this meeting for, Decimo?” Santōka asked, clasping his hands in front of him, and the meeting was back on track, any lingering worries about Dazai and Tsunayoshi pushed to the side in the face of incredible potential. (Potential for good, potential for bad, and with Tsunayoshi holding the pendulum. How strange.)

Instead of answering right away, Tsunayoshi took his seat, Yamamoto standing vigilant at his side. Yamamoto placed a single file on the table in front of him, and the rest of the men at the table took this as their queue to sit as well. A show of respect, no one daring to risk the Vongola’s ire over something so simple.

“Yokohama is in danger.” Tsunayoshi says, short and to the point.

“From you?”

Tsunayoshi tilts his head, and he smiles. Dazai can tell it’s genuine, slightly amused, and he knows everyone else at the table will see it as a threat.

“No.”

“Who, then?” Fukuzawa askes, shifting in his seat. Dazai would like to know as well, because it isn’t often an attack comes as a complete surprise to him.

Then again, almost everything about this meeting was a complete surprise to him. The appearance of the Vongola, the appearance of his brother. If, perhaps, the ground were to open up and the world-eater itself were to give Dazai a peck on the lips, it would have been a slightly less surprising day. What was a building attack on Yokohama compared to Tsunayoshi.

Tsunayoshi pushed the file forwards, and Mori was the first to grab it. Dazai watched as his eyebrows raised minutely.

“The Triads are currently preparing to gain leverage in Japan. They have their eyes on Yokohama.” Tsunayoshi delivers the news with all the cadence of a discussion of weather, but his eyes hold a fury behind them that Dazai had never seen as a child.

Mori was openly frowning now, and he passed the file to Fukuzawa. 

Dazai could see a few words and pictures from where he sat, diagrams and assessments of what the Triads were apparently planning.

It wasn’t full scale, from what he could see. Not for what the Triads could surely do, with age and sheer numbers on their side.

“A port town that, if they controlled, would make sure they had easy access to both coasts of Japan.”

Fukuzawa passed the file to Santōka, who’s frown was the most severe of them.

“Yes.” Tsunayoshi leaned forwards, mirroring Santōka’s own pose. “Which is why I want Yokohama to look away while the Vongola take care of the problem.”

Dazai blinked.

That was Tsunayoshi’s plan? Call a meeting and ask the three leaders of Yokohama to step back while he took care of it?

Santōka scoffed. “Oh, is that all?”

Mori and Fukuzawa exchanged glances. “I must agree,” Mori said, leaning back. “I don’t see why we should step back and let ourselves be indebted to an Italian.”

“The Vongola certainly aren’t known for their one direction generosity. What would you have to gain from taking care of our problems by yourself?”

“I’d be maintaining the status quo, for one. Yokohama’s position as a hub for the Mafia and for the Gifted of Japan means that I don’t have to worry about it. Italy is hard enough to manage as it is, if I had to worry about Japan, my paperwork would probably triple.” Tsunayoshi seems genuinely miffed by even the idea, like paperwork was plenty of reason to go to war with the Triads.

“It would also mean that you would be able to avoid provoking them yourselves. I’m sure you’d like to avoid the full extent of their wrath.”

“You’re trying to tell us you’re willing to take on that wrath yourself? For something like paperwork?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I want Yokohama’s leadership to stay the same. I benefit from the fact you keep disorganized crime rates low, and I know for a fact the rest of Japan feels more comfortable now that the Port’s previous boss is out of the picture. If my own interference keeps it that way, then I  interfere.”

“You’re acting like Yokohama is the face of crime in Japan.”

Tsunayoshi raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Aren’t you?”

He didn’t voice the last reason, that Dazai knew and no one else at the table did.

Namimori was in Japan.

Their mother was in Namimori.

As things were, Sawada Nana was safe.

Dazai didn’t fight his grin

How selfish of a reason.

Chapter Text

Tsuna had presented three more files when the leaders of Yokohama refused to budge on their wish to keep the Vongola uninvolved. They were examples of the increasing power that the Triads had at their disposal, and while Tsuna was still pretty certain Yokohama could win between the Port and the Agency, the amount of people and citizens that would be lost while pushing the attackers back was… unfortunate.

Judging by the severity of Fukuzawa’s frown, he was coming to the same conclusion.

He had come into the meeting knowing that they wouldn’t want him to just handle everything himself, of course. He’d wanted them to know all of their options, because he trusted them to make the best choice for their city should they know every path before them. In the end, they would accept his offer, and Tsuna would walk away with a new ally and the knowledge that Namimori was still safe.

Osamu glanced at the files over his Boss’s shoulder, and Tsuna forced himself not to watch him.

(It’s all he wanted to do, really. Screw the meeting, he wanted to reach across the table and take Osamu’s jacket in his hand, confirm that this wasn’t a cruel Mist’s illusion and that his dead brother was sitting with him.

But that could come later. Right now he was securing his plan for Yokohama. Reborn had taught him to compartmentalize, and someone had clearly taught Osamu.)

“Don’t the Triads already have ties to Japan?”

Osamu’s voice had Tsuna jolting in his seat, and the wave of excitement-anger-sorrow that followed makes him dizzy. It wasn’t a direct acknowledgement of the past, of Osamu’s life in Namimori, but it was enough to confirm beyond a shadow of a doubt that Osamu knew who Tsuna was.

Because the Triads did have ties to Japan already. Ties directly to Namimori, in fact. It wasn’t completely unknown that the Hibari family came from organized crime.

It wasn’t known enough that it should have come up in this meeting, however. Not unless someone had looked into Namimori already.

It did, unfortunately, shift the conversation somewhere Tsuna hadn’t expected it to go. At least not this early.

Straight to Namimori.

Tsuna took a breath before answering, trying to get his emotions under control.

(His brother was alive! - How dare he bring attention to Namimori, to Tsuna’s family, in front of men he didn’t trust? - Osamu recognized him almost immediately! - How could he live less than five hours away for years and never show up at their door?)

“While the Hibari family may have ties to the Triads, they’ve made it clear to them that their loyalties have shifted.”

Osamu’s brow twitched and Tsuna could imagine the smile that he was keeping down – Wished he could see it again, despite the fact they were in the middle of a meeting.

“Oh? I hadn’t heard about that.”

It was a silent admission – he had kept an eye on Namimori, at least somewhat, in the eleven years that he’d been gone. Not well enough to hear about the Vongola’s slow integration into the town, but that wasn’t something that traveled beyond their borders.

But-

“I really thought the news that Hibari Kyouya was the Vongola’s Cloud would have been pretty widely known at this point.”

Osamu blinked. “You’d be surprised how little people are willing to talk about the Vongola outside of their own circles of trust.”

Tsuna didn’t bother to hide his slight wince at the words. That would certainly explain why all three of Yokohama’s leaders seemed so surprised by everything they were learning. No self respecting mafioso would spread information to the people of Yokohama – what with their anti-Flame attitude and the remaining wariness from the last Port boss.

It hardly occurred to Tsuna that it wasn’t quite normal for a subordinate to take forward in a high profile meeting like this one, and Takeshi could at least tell there was something beyond the expected happening, but he didn’t act concerned.

Yet there were odd looks being thrown around the table, at Osamu especially. They were hardly surprised looks, which Tsuna filed away for later, but it still reminded Tsuna that this meeting was meant to be about Yokohama and not trying to figure out how much his newly-found brother knew.

So Tsuna forced himself to focus again.

“All that means is that Yokohama is the biggest target in Japan, and that they are desperate to regain some sort of control here.”

“And yet it seems we’re at an impasse.” Mori says, and Tsuna can tell he’s starting to get more interested in whatever was going on with Osamu that he was with the actual goal of the meeting. “We don’t want to hand Yokohama over to you or to the Triads.”

The impasse was exactly what Tsuna was hoping for, though.

“I may have a solution, then. Something that everyone will be happy with.”

No one at the table seemed thrilled to hear what Tsuna had to say, but no one told him to stop, far too wary of the incoming danger to not hear him out.

“If either the Port Mafia or the Armed Detective Agency were to join the Vongola Alliance, we would be able to lend aid without any conflict of interest.”

There were sharp inhales across the table as the words sunk in.

“The Agency isn’t mafia.”

It was, of course, the hang up that Tsuna expected with this plan. The only place where there could be a moral hangup.

“If we were anywhere else in the world, you would be.”

It was true enough. Multiple of the Agency’s employees had criminal pasts, and they may fight the local mafia famiglia but they allied with them just as easily if it meant protecting what they cared about.

Tsuna respected that.

He was sure the respect wasn’t mutual, however.

“So you get to sleep well at night knowing Japan stays safe, and we get to sleep well at night knowing that we can ask for help from the Vongola whenever we need it?”

“Exactly.”

Osamu was back to watching Tsuna with a considering gaze, no more input but clearly with a lot on his mind. Tsuna wondered if he approved of Tsuna’s plan, or if he was planning on advising his boss against it.

Tsuna wondered if Osamu would risk his city to maintain the distance he’d put between them.

“What would the government’s role be in that arrangement, exactly?”

“The same that it would be if the Port and Agency decide not to take me up on my offer. You work with them to protect your city. They would just happen to have a few extra resources at their disposal.”

Tsuna watches as the leaders consider his offer, and he’s preparing to answer the questions they would inevitably have.

What would they be expected to do for the Vongola? What about the fact that they fight each other occasionally? Would we have to change anything about our organizations?

It’s Fukuzawa that says “I find it hard to believe that this is entirely to avoid paperwork.”

So Tsuna, knowing that the Agency would be the ones to convince, and knowing that his intuition wasn’t pinging any signs of danger for following the train of conversation, answers truthfully.

“I do have an interest in Japan beyond something professional.”

Osamu’s head tilted to the side, like he was a bit surprised that Tsuna was the one to bring it up.

“I grew up in Namimori. I lived there officially until I was sixteen, and even after moving to Italy, I spend as much time as I can with my family. Japan is my home.” Tsuna looks Fukuzawa in the eyes. He does not look at Osamu, even if he wants the man to hear the words just as much. “The triads know this. It’s one of the main reasons they want a foothold in Japan. They also know that if I were to attack them simply for coming to Japan, they would be able to turn people against me for attacking without reason. I will, of course, ensure that Namimori contunes to be safe for my family to live and grow up no matter what happens today, but I would prefer to do that with as little death as possible.”

“And if there were to be an attack on a city you happened to be allied with…”

“Then there would be no backlash when the Vongola stepped up to push back enemy efforts. If anything, people would tell the attackers they should have been expecting it.”

Tsuna watched as the men at the table considered his words. They had to be fully aware the level of trust he was giving them, telling them exactly where his family was at all times. They also had to be aware of the truth he had laid out. The reality where the Vongola wanted to aid them with, not because of kindness but because Tsuna would do anything for the people he cared about.

Tsuna wondered if the existence of Osamu meant that Yokohama was on that list anyway.

“You’ll have to give us time to think on it and discuss with our other members.” Fukuzawa says, and it’s a promising outcome. Mori asks to look over any official information that Tsuna could provide him, and it was the answer that Tsuna had bet his entire plan on.

The government official simply makes sure that this new arrangement won’t change anything in Yokohama.

It won’t, Tsuna is sure, and with the nod of his head, the meeting came to a close.

Osamu didn’t give Tsuna any special attention as he left – he didn’t have to shake Tsuna’s hand like Fukuzawa, Mori, and Santōka did, and he didn’t say goodbye out loud like they did. Just a shadow following his boss around.

Tsuna listens as the boats that were docked nearby started their engines and began to leave. He closes his eyes and draws up the image of Osamu, sitting across from him. He wonders if Reborn knew about this already.

“Well I’d say that went pretty well, don’t you think?”

And Tsuna, in a move that surprised Takeshi enough he didn’t catch him on time, crumpled to the ground and began to sob, letting the realization of who he had spoken to, for the first time in eleven years, wash over him like a tidal wave.

Dazai was silent as he and Fukuzawa took the boat back to the city. He nodded when Fukuzawa asked him to be present for the Agency’s meeting early the next morning. He didn’t refuse when Fukuzawa told him to be ready with whatever information he’d had on the Vongola by then, with a raised eyebrow that heavily implied he was talking about the Namimori things that Osamu had let slip while talking to Tsunayoshi, and that he wasn’t going to forget about it.

Dazai hadn’t expected him to.

The second Fukuzawa took his eyes off of him though, Dazai let himself slink away, content on avoiding the office until absolutely necessary, and hopefully avoiding somewhere that Tsunayoshi could easily find him. (Dazai knew, logically, that Tsunayoshi was Vongola, and therefor could definitely find him no matter where he was. Dazai let himself pretend that wasn’t the case.)

So he wondered the city like he often did when he found himself thinking about one of his old lives.

Normally, that old life that he was reminiscing on was that of a mafioso. It wasn’t a hard life to be reminded of, considering he still lived in Yokohama and was in somewhat regular contact with the people that used to be his colleagues.

Namimori, however, was a life he only allowed himself to think on a few days out of the year. He thought about it on his mother’s birthday, watching the clock tick to midnight so he could force himself to sober up before work in the morning.

He thought about it on Tsunayoshi’s birthday, when he would go grab a cheap dinner and wonder if his brother still liked Salisbury steak like he begged their mother for every night of the week.

And he thought about it on the anniversary of his kidnapping – the day he became Dazai Osamu.

Every other day of the year, Dazai had any thought of his blood-family locked away, gathering dust in the corners of his mind so that he didn’t make every decision wondering if his mother would be proud of who he’d become, or if his brother would find out what he’d done and look at him in horror.

Dazai was not expecting for that door to be yanked open, and to suddenly have an answer to at least one of those questions.

He stopped on a bridge, content to watch as the sun set and the stars came out.

He wondered, this time, if something like the Mafia can run in your blood.

Chapter Text

It took Tsuna a while to finally explain to Takeshi exactly why he was crying after a meeting that went, arguably, extremely well. His friend was thankfully one of the slightly more level headed of Tsuna’s Guardians – if it had been Mukuro or God forbid Hayato that was witnessing his breakdown, then the boats carrying the local leaders would have already been underwater.

It also helped that Takeshi was one of Tsuna’s few guardians who knew Osamu by his name – had lived in Namimori when the kidnapping happened and had experienced the quiet changes that came to the town when Tsuna’s brother was announced to be dead. So when Tsuna wiped his tears and choked out “It’s Osamu.” Takeshi only went stiff where he held Tsuna and said oh.

It wasn’t as if his other friends didn’t know he had a dead -not dead- brother. They knew that Tsuna and his mother spent two days a year in the local graveyard, leaving flowers and enjoying the silence of nature. They knew that there was a small shrine on the fireplace mantle for a boy that looked like Nana, smiling at the camera like he knew it would be the picture they would choose to remember him by.

They never asked his name, though. Caring too much to risk making Nana or Tsuna sad. And no one that knew the name dared whisper it, like the name itself was a curse to their little town.

Oh, he had said, because what else is there to say when a little bit of your best friend’s world crumbles beneath them. Because there was no way to take his sword or his disarming smiles and make everything right again. But Tsuna appreciated the shoulder to cry on nonetheless, and let himself drift along with the rocking of the boat.

He had so many questions… he had so many possibilities before him… Did he tell his mother? Why hadn’t he ever come home? Did he leave because he wanted to? He obviously hadn’t known about Tsuna’s association with the Vongola, he’d been way too surprised to see him. That ruled out the possibility of staying away because of the Vongola. Besides that, he had been kidnapped when Tsuna was seven, six entire years before Reborn made himself known and with him the Vongola.

Tsuna forced himself to stand and breathe in the salty ocean air.

Out of the many steps and hurdles that had just placed themselves in Tsuna’s path, two suddenly became far more important than any others.

“Takeshi, call Chrome and have her make the ghost file her top priority. I don’t care what resources she has to use, I need to know who was hiding Osamu from the rest of the Vongola.”

Takeshi smiled and pulled out his phone, already typing up his text.

“And then when we get back to land…” Tsuna paused, debating how he would get where he needed to go. But he didn’t think that Osamu would find himself back at his job or his apartment yet, and the idea of having someone hunt the man down across the city didn’t seem like the best show of trust when multiple parties were deciding to join his alliance. “When we get back, I’m going to go on a walk. You can go back to the hotel. Don’t wait up for me.”

Tsuna could tell his friend wasn’t happy about that. The city was unsafe, even if Tsuna could, reasonably, take out almost anyone that would try and attack him here. He could see the thoughts of but Tsuna’s in a vulnerable state and what if his brother is the one to hurt him? Would Tsuna even defend himself? Flit behind Takeshi’s eyes.

But in the end, Takeshi sighed, smiled, and didn’t argue when Tsuna started down to the bottom deck, turning on the boat and heading back to shore.

There weren’t many points that his friends weren’t afraid to press him on. They had been through far too much to worry about something like offending each other, but Tsuna appreciated that his friend didn’t try for this one. 

Tsuna’s sea legs took him inland as soon as they docked, and he wasn’t sure if his unsteadiness was more related to standing back on land, or the knowledge that he was setting off with the intention of catching back up to his brother. A mission he hadn’t gone on since he was seven and his mom had asked him to find his brother for dinner.

Eleven years since he had let his legs guide him like this.

God, it still didn’t feel real.

The sky is golden when Dazai hears footsteps behind him. They’re not the only footsteps he’d heard on that bridge – not even the only ones at that moment, as civilians started their trek home after a long day at work. But these were the only ones that were approaching Dazai himself, the steps of someone unsure about what they were doing, but fast enough to show they were eager about their destination.

It could have only been Tsunayoshi.

Dazai contemplated jumping off the bridge in that very moment and sparing both himself and his brother the conversations ahead, but the feet shuffle to a stop next to him, and Dazai is pretty sure that Tsunayoshi would grab him before he even got a single foot over the railing.

“Hi.”

Dazai almost laughed at the simple greeting. Eleven years thinking your brother is dead and you walk up and say hi.

Instead Dazai turned to look at the person greeting him, as was only polite.

Tsunayoshi had shed the suit jacket and vest, and the black mantle that made something deep in Dazai’s stomach twist was gone as well. He looked like any other young businessman that had just gotten off work, even if the orange of his button down was slightly more eye catching than the average white or blue.

“Hi.”

Tsunayoshi gave a small smile, still unsure, and his face was more expressive in that small movement than it had been during the entirety of the meeting. His eyes were slightly puffy, but they were bright.

“You were surprised to see me.”

A statement, but a prodding one. It held the questions that Tsunayoshi wasn’t ready to ask just behind it, expertly talked around despite the fact they still hung in the air.

“Everyone calls you the Decimo, or occasionally the Neo Primo. I suppose I never stopped to picture your face when I heard those titles. I would have thought the Decimo would know more about the meeting he was walking into than me.”

Tsunayoshi didn’t answer immediately, running his tongue over his teeth. Interesting. There was a story there.

Dazai turned even farther to face him, intent on hearing whatever this was without a possibility of doubt.

“Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure that the Vongola knew next to nothing about you. About Dazai Osamu, I mean.” Is what he finally settles on saying, refusing to look Dazai in the eyes. “We’re investigating it now. Even if it wasn’t a direct attack against the Sawada family… It’s still someone on the inside. I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever did it was hiding you from us, though.”

Dazai very deliberately didn’t let his breath stutter in his chest. So the Sawada’s and the Vongola had been tied up together for a long while. Close enough that the idea of an enemy deliberately hiding a child from them wasn’t something too unbelievable.

Close enough to kidnap the kid to begin with, Dazai wondered?

“So when you got on that boat…”

“I’d never seen your face. And you don’t see someone with the same given name as your dead brother and automatically assume that they’re the same person.”

Dazai let himself laugh at that, and Tsunayoshi’s face lit up like a firework – like Dazai had bent over cackling than the actual huff that he’d given. It reminded Dazai a bit of Atsushi, with a face that could light up a room and have grandmothers crawling out of their graves to coo.

It was the exact same face that Dazai remembered, if not a little older and a little more weary.

“Would you like to go to dinner?”

Dazai’s eyes flicker to the horizon, where the sun is almost gone. It was about six, there were plenty of food places open.

“Is the boss paying?”

Tsunayoshi doesn’t react one way or another to being called the boss, which tells Dazai that the word is either meaningless or so often said that it might as well be. He does pat his back pocket, though. Checking to make sure he hadn’t forgotten his wallet when he set out to hunt Dazai down.

(Dazai wondered how, exactly, Tsunayoshi had found him. There hadn’t been a tail on him, he was confident enough in that. This wasn’t a bridge he frequented, not even one that would guarantee a quick death if he were to jump off, if someone tipped Tsunayoshi off about that.)

“I can pay, pick anywhere.”

If this were Kunikida or Chuuya offering to pay for Dazai’s dinner, he would have picked the most expensive place on the block without hesitation. Somewhere with steak and shrimp and some sort of fondue. It was to test their patience and get under their skin, and the chance of them offering to pay was rarer than… Well, rarer than Dazai offering to pay.

But this wasn’t Kunikida or Chuuya, and Dazai was confident that Tsunayoshi wouldn’t even blink if Dazai suggested the most expensive place in town. In fact, he was probably used to a lavish lifestyle by this point, given everything that Dazai knew about the Vongola.

So it would probably be far more interesting…

“There’s a ramen place not too far from here. The booths are private enough.”

Tsunayoshi had no reaction to the shoddy establishment that Dazai led them to, and if it wasn’t so nerve wracking, Dazai would be amused with how the boy’s eyes never drifted from him. Like he thought Dazai would vanish the second he was out of sight. 

As tempting as that was, Dazai had a feeling Tsunayoshi would be able to find him.

The ramen shop’s chairs are always a bit grimy, and the food takes a bit longer to come out than Dazai preferred, but it was private and quiet, and the cooks and waiters weren’t paid enough to care about what business was going down in their booths. Despite the luxury that Tsunayoshi was probably used to by this point, he didn't so much as wince as he wiped a grease spot off his chair and crumbs off the table. It was all far less amusing than Dazai had hoped it would be.

They order their food, and despite the slightly awkward silence, Dazai couldn’t stop himself from staring, just like Tsunayoshi was.

Dazai decided that he would be the one to break it.

“So. Mafia boss, huh?”

Immediately Tsunayoshi groaned and sank into his seat. It’s a stark reminder that his brother is only eighteen. Dazai wonders if people ever looked at him and thought the same.

“It’s only been official for a year or so. I’ve been… training for it, I guess, since I was thirteen, though.”

Dazai carefully files away that piece of information, trying not to wince. Dazai had been seventeen, then, when Tsunayoshi got dragged into this. He was somehow even younger than Dazai had been when Mori slashed the old boss’s throat and declared the teenager an accomplice.

He has a hundred more questions already lined up, and as he looks at his little brother hunched over in the booth and avoiding eye contact like he was embarrassed of all things, Dazai resigns himself to the idea that he wouldn’t try to completely avoid the kid while he was in Yokohama. And if he wasn’t going to avoid him, that meant conversing. And conversing meant putting all of his questions into order of importance and deciding which ones wouldn’t ruin the potential alliance between Yokohama and the Vongola before it had the chance to begin.

So running through the list in his mind, Dazai comes up with one question that had to be answered no matter what, even if it did ruin the chances of an alliance, however small that possibility was.

“And why would the Vongola choose you?”