You can blame my Wife for this. Just like I started Under Wing, she started this, and we then picked up each other's works and went sprinting into the sunset with them like panty thieves from anime. Check out her 'Dusk to Dawn' fic, it's a more tragic twin-fic to Burning Brightly where Harry is reborn as Tsuna.

I do not own KHR, or Harry Potter.

WARNING: Angst, slash (graphic in places, no sex scenes), mature themes, canon-derailment – a little.

000

Chapter One

000

The Titanic was not the classiest of bars Reborn had ever found himself in. It was nice, it took its namesake and really brought it into the décor, but it wasn't his usual watering hole, for picking up evening company, or just for getting shitfaced. But it was nice all the same. Secreted away down a small side-alley, it was full of handsome wood-furnishings, playing classical music and the occasional smooth jazz number for flavour. The seats were black leather with brass coloured detailing. The floor was handsome hardwood. Leather booths lined the walls with a few round tables with comfortable wooden chairs clustered around them, themed oil-lamps and candles in brass holders set in the centre of each table along with the classic wooden salt and pepper grinders. There was even a small, currently unused, stage behind him and judging by the velvet drapes that framed it, there was a small backstage area for the musicians to store their things and wait before coming on for their performances. Just around the corner from the bar, towards the toilets, there was a pair of payphones with the numbers of various local taxi-companies sellotaped beside them.

Reborn didn't tend to find himself in such places, they were quiet, slow paced, but every now and again, he found himself craving a little peace and solitude in a place where he wouldn't be bothered and could enjoy a moment to just be. It didn't hurt that England was very good for just such moments in his life. It was a place where if he kept himself to himself, he was exceptionally unlikely to be bothered unless by some idiot punk with balls bigger than brains. Even the ladies were unlikely to do much more than look admiringly – and he used the term lady only for those young women who were brought up with a concept of manners, he had encountered the other kind before, and didn't wish to spend any length of time in their contemptible presence. There was a little thing called class. And he wasn't willing to give up on that simply to, ah, how did the British put it? 'Get his end away'?

It didn't hurt that Shamal was in the area getting his Doctorate in Infectious Diseases, his Nursing Degree, and also working himself towards a degree in Entomology – though which branch Reborn didn't quite catch, he tuned out after the first twenty minutes of his young friend chattering about his insects. Mosquitoes. He hated mosquitoes. The number of times he had nearly caught something nasty while on a job was incalculable due to those nasty little blood suckers.

He grumbled slightly, brooding over his glass of twenty-five year old Aged Scotch, Reborn was perhaps only peripherally aware of the clearly underage kid stepping into the bar. Those were some lovely green eyes, he decided almost absently as he watched the kid in the mirror behind the bar, sipping at his drink and relishing the slow burn that crawled its way up from his stomach.

He looked around briefly before approaching the bar, "Excuse me, could I exchange this for a few coins to use the payphone?" he asked, his voice clearly carrying a British Accent with the faintest of Scottish brogues. It was a curiously pleasant tone. The bartender (twenty three, student, working for extra money, girlfriend – isn't working out, one cat, living locally under a private landlord, alcohol problem – had already started drinking despite being on the job) grudgingly exchanged the ten pound note for a handful of coins and silvers that the boy took to the phone.

With an outfit like that, expensive and brand-new from the look of it, Reborn was surprised he didn't have one of those new mobile phones. Even he had one, though he had it restricted solely to work related calls (number tracing was still too far in its infancy to be of a problem to him).

"Don't pick up the phone, Piers! Please."

Reborn paused, glass half raised to his lips as the kid's voice floated over to his ears. It was a quiet bar, and the music could only muffle so much. Listening in on the following conversation was not so much intentional, so much as unavoidable.

"I... I - able to say... what I need - someone there. - don't have a forwarding address - pass this message - I don't really have much longer left. - guys who killed Mum and Dad - caused a lot of damage, but - safe now - come home." There was a pause while Reborn sipped his drink contemplatively. A lot of the conversation was lost simply because he was trying not to pay attention but a few words had caught his ears none the less. The kid was speaking quietly on the other side of the bar, around the corner and the music had shifted into quite a jaunty jazz number. Still. What he heard sounded interesting. He didn't know of any local Mafia Families in the area. England was considered neutral ground. Any Mafia family who thought to try and move in, or rise up, got taken out by the Ghost. Not killed. But robbed so completely stark blind, they didn't even have a penny to their name, and were often found in an empty room in nothing but their underwear – not even the bed they had been sleeping on left.

"- sorry Dudley, - doesn't look - trying to be family. - I got hurt. Badly. - longer left. A day. Maybe two. - can FEEL it. - wanted to - goodbyes while I - thank you for trying in the end. - actually looking forward to trying - won't be possible. I set a little - money - my bank, - your children, or grandchildren, - school. Hopefully - better for them - finished rebuilding it. - never gotten along. - mutual loathing would - under your roof. - managed to give me ten years - toughening me up. - might not have lasted - wish things - us, properly. - call you family, but - things are out of reach now. - Mum's Will, - jewellery so, - worry, she's just - like mum, - parents went missing - that's it for me. - of Piers' answer machine memory. Thank - goodbye Piers. - you've been up to, or what - manage it. - good man. - little shit I grew - forget, Good - You have a killer - Use it - spend all those years - practice -... Goodbye."

Completely incomprehensible. He didn't hear enough to make much sense of it beyond a bunch of bad things had apparently happened. Oh well. It wasn't his business he decided as he sipped his drink, lazily rolling the amber liquid around the tumbler – glass, not crystal, this wasn't that highclass of an establishment.

His arm tensed a little when the kid slid onto the barstool beside him, propping his elbows up even as he took those awful glasses off to rub at his face. It didn't take a hitman to see how pale he was, or how his hand trembled ever so slightly. The kid didn't look very well. He didn't even seem to realise he had broken one of the British cardinal rules – sitting beside a stranger in an empty establishment, be it train, bus, or bar. And when he put his glasses on and did realise, he didn't even attempt to move. Merely offered him an apologetic smile that looked so heavy with fatigue that the slight paranoid simmer of Flame dissipated in his veins. The kid was no threat to a paper bag, never mind him.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked, his voice disinterested, he wasn't even looking too closely at the kid – that or he just didn't care about serving underage patrons.

The kid looked startled, as if he hadn't expected to be addressed. Reborn hid a smirk as he sipped his drink, gently swishing the scotch in his mouth, tasting it fully before swallowing.

"Um... I'll have... what he's having," the teenager said, pointing to him. Clearly without even the faintest idea of just what he was drinking. Oh this was going to be hilarious, he decided, greenhorns with strong alcohol was always worth a watch. And he didn't think this kid was much of a drinker.

He toasted the kid, tapping his glass against the one the bartender set in front of the boy, "Aged scotch. Not a bad choice," he said, biting back his humour as he watched the boy take the glass and blink up at him with tired green eyes.

"...Thanks?" he asked and then swallowed a solid mouthful with the Hitman watching mirthfully, his drink set carefully to one side so he wouldn't knock it in his amusement.

Green eyes widened, practically dominating his face as he slammed the glass down and very nearly broke it, coughing and spluttering as he reached for the napkins the bartender had left for him. Reborn cackled outright as the boy fixed him with an accusing watery stare, mopping his face.

"You... are a... b-bas... tard," he coughed out painfully.

Oh to be young and stupid again.

"Puppy," he retorted, casually appropriating the unappreciated glass from the kid and taking a very pointed sip in front of that accusing green glare. "Drinks like this are meant to be savoured, not knocked back like water." It was the mark of an uncultured man to do so. How were you to taste it if you were choking it back so completely it missed your tongue entirely. He smirked as the bartender presented the kid with a no doubt much appreciated glass of water as he began to get control of his coughing. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if the boy hadn't attempted to breathe in halfway through swallowing his drink and thus actually choking on it.

"S-savour away," the Pup wheezed, glowering and gesturing at him to keep it when he oh so thoughtfully tried to return it. "I'll try something with a little less... punch."

Mmm, perhaps not as puppyish as he first thought.

"Suit yourself," he declared magnanimously as he pulled the glass back.

"God that was awful," the boy complained as he wiped away the last traces of scotch from his face and clothes, "Why would you even drink something like that?" he demanded in disgust.

Oh to be young, naïve, and uncaring over what swill you were willing to choke down.

"Because I'm not a cultureless brat?" he retorted sarcastically, "Try picking from the children's menu, their drinks aren't likely to kill you," he suggested sardonically, the smirk on his lips widening as a small glint of challenge appeared in those tired green eyes. The boy reached over and plucked his drink from his hands and took a smaller, decidedly more cautious sip, only wincing slightly. Well, the Puppy could be taught.

"A drink isn't going to kill me when I'm already dying," the boy coughed as he looked up at him, green eyes meeting black dead on without flinching, quite a feat given how he was the first one in a great many years to be able to do so. "Might as well try it while I still can."

He couldn't help but study the boy, his body language, the ever so fine tremor that racked his thin body as he turned away and took another cautious sip. Seventeen, he would hazard a guess, poor upbringing, potentially abusive, been under a great deal of stress, sleepless nights, starvation, skin and hair showed signs of consistent and long term malnutrition, scars on the back of his hand (self-harm? Too neat and well cut, curious, looked like handwriting, can't achieve handwriting scars with any manner of blade, not possible), constant shivering and fatigue – there was no lie in his body language, and everything he was seeing only added credence to the boy's words. He really was sat next to a Dead Man Walking.

"...Dying?" he confirmed softly.

The boy stared into his drink without looking up, "I'm... sick. Terminal and I don't have very long left," he admitted slowly and, though he didn't have the faintest of ideas why, the tense line of the boy's shoulders actually relaxed at this admission. He even smiled, almost relieved, as he took another sip of his drink. Mio Dio, he was so young and he was accepting the idea of his death with more grace than any Mafioso thrice his age that he had been forced to deal with.

"...And have you kissed anyone yet?" he asked because, this kid was young and he was dying. He had to have at least experienced a little of life's enjoyments before he left the mortal coil, it would feel... wrong if he hadn't!

The boy choked on his drink, inhaling it.

He had to laugh as the boy went into another coughing fit, not his intended reaction, but it opened the avenue of a more interesting topic of conversation as the boy gagged and spluttered.

"I would have asked if you were still a virgin but the answer to that question is painfully clear," he continued, smirking as the boy slumped over the bar wheezing and coughing, fixing him with a watery glower. The kid sat up and tried to cobble together what remained of his dignity as he once again took some napkins and tried to mop himself up as nonchalantly as possible.

"Yeah," he agreed with as much blasé lightness as he could, "They weren't that good though. But I'll chalk that up to the first using me for rebound on her dead boyfriend, and the other as my best mate's kid sister."

The sister? He'd had more than enough experience with sisters, especially of the younger variety, to know that going for your best friend's younger sister often took more balls than brains – typically because the male in question was too busy thinking with said balls instead of his brains.

"Oh? A little sister? How brave of you," he drawled, tone indicating that he thought it was anything but and his childish attempts to brag were both adorable and embarrassingly hilarious. But the challenge remained in those pretty green eyes as he glanced at him almost casually with the drink raised to his lips.

"...She also had six brothers."

Seven children. Their poor mother. Six of them boys. Their poor, poor mother.

He snorted, well, six brothers in the wings, and a little sister on the go, "And no plans to spend your last night with that young lady in question?" he asked. He would have. He'd have taken her in every sense of the word, in every position, in every style, since he didn't have to worry about the six elder brothers planning to lynch him in the following morning.

The boy pulled a face, "Not really. I don't think I could do that to her," he admitted. Oh. So it had been a little more serious than just teenage-lust, he had actually cared about her in a girlfriend-sense. Well, he could respect that. However depressing it was.

"So you'll die a virgin, how sad."

The boy cut a dry look his way, "...Smooth. Remind the dying kid what he's going to be missing out. Great stuff. I can see you're all sunshine and gumdrops. Must be real popular with the ladies," he retorted dryly and it took some considerable effort on Reborn's part not to laugh in the boy's face. He had forgotten how delightful dry British sarcasm could be.

Instead, he leaned forward, right into the boy's personal space, knocking his hat off as he did so, "I could help you with that," he purred salaciously, he would consider it his civic duty, nay, his gentlemanly duty to deflower the lad before he saw the end of his life. It would be no hardship to be honest, to see those eyes darken with lust. Hell, he would have probably tried to take him home regardless of his health problems and age if they'd met before now.

The boy caught his hat before it fell too far and casually shoved it into his face, carefully pushing him back into his seat. "Nah. You're alright mate. I'll have to pass on that," he declared, again with that dry humour the hitman was coming to enjoy as his hand shifted and pushed his hat onto the Italian's head as his face practically glowed traffic light red. "However would you deal with my corpse in the morning?" he asked sarcastically as Reborn idly flipped said hat from his head and eyed it, it was a nice hat, very nice, Italian as well with a very pleasant Sky-Orange silk band. He set it back onto his head, making sure to tilt it at a rakish angle for maximum seduction benefits.

He tried not to scoff, what a question, "I'm sure I could manage, I am the world's greatest hitman after all," he declared (bragged), while lazily buffing his nails on his shirt with a playful smirk.

The boy froze, mid-sip, and had to choke down his mouthful as he stared at him with large green eyes.

What...?

"You... aren't joking," he stated, too shocked to be horrified.

Reborn felt his eyebrow jump upward as he leaned back in his seat, well now... "Interesting. The first person not in the Mafia to actually believe me," he mused, studying the boy up and down. The question now begged, was this boy just gullible, or did he have some kind of sense for when people were right or wrong? Abuse victims often had higher than average perception, and a higher chance of activating whatever manner of Dying Will Flame they possessed. If he were a betting man, he would have laid money on the fact this kid likely had a Flame, but probably had not learned to activate it – otherwise he would not be living in England. Flame Users just did not live in this country. They were always recruited and moved out. All but the Ghost.

The boy's eyes went wider still at the mention of the Mafia before he sighed through his nose and coughed slightly, relaxing once again in his stool. "Couldn't you have waited till after I'd finished swallowing to drop that on me?" he whined plaintively as he rubbed his sore throat.

Oh, he had just handed that one over.

"So you swallow. Even more interesting," he quipped with a smirk, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

The boy fixed him with the most unimpressed stare he could muster, even as the red rose up his neck to his cheeks and set the tips of his ears burning. "You're going there? Really?" he asked flatly. Reborn grinned in satisfaction, eyeing the red that crawled across the boy's face. A blush looked very fetching on his face, the Italian decided as he idly wondered how to prompt that reaction again.

"I'm not used to being turned down, humour me," he beseeched playfully.

The boy snorted, "Well if it's any consolation, I just don't do one night stands. And since I've only got one night – you're getting nothing," he stated blandly as their eyes met once more, a silence stretching between the two of them. Only the one night? He seemed so absolutely certain that he only had a night. Surely if it were that bad he would be tucked up in a hospital. What of his friends and family? Perhaps there were none. Which meant that he was here, trying to enjoy his last night, or what he was melodramatically calling his last night. How like an assassin, he decided breaking out into a laugh right alongside the kid in question.

"Oh my god," the boy giggled, "If any of my friends saw me right now they'd die. I'm in a bar, drinking, and getting hit on by a professional killer," he lamented through his wheezing guffaws.

He sniffed in offended mirth. He was hardly so pedestrian. "Not just a professional killer," he corrected, smirking down at the kid, "I'm the World's Greatest Hitman," he reiterated, in case he missed it the first time.

The boy facepalmed, the slap of skin on skin echoing satisfyingly in the quiet bar as Reborn sipped his drink proudly.

"There's a cop sitting just across the room," he pointed out as if he couldn't believe this situation was even happening and how could Reborn have missed her. Reborn set his drink down and rolled his head in the direction the boy had indicated as if he hadn't even noticed the young woman in her fluorescent officer's uniform, walkie-talkie on her shoulder, her bottle blonde hair pulled back with a pink hair scrunchy and a multitude of bobby-pins, empty lunch plate in front of her, glass of lemonade, fashion magazine in (a pink nailed) hand and using it to very ineffectually hide her thoroughly appreciatively eyeballing of the dark haired hitman. Hardly the most professional of behaviour but being on Lunch break it didn't much matter. Reborn eyed her disbelievingly before turning to the boy, if she was in any way a legitimate police officer, he was a member of the Bovino Famiglia.

The boy's expression darkened a little at the condescension in his expression.

He sniffed and returned to his drink, "Someone as high-class as myself will never have to worry over such small things," he declared loftily to set the boy's concerns to rest. Even if such a... unique example of the police force were to realise whom they were dealing with, twenty minutes of conversation and he would have her against the nearest bathroom stall, balls deep between her legs and leave without ever having to be concerned about any kind of arrest in his future. As it was, he didn't wish to deal with her right now. This young man was much more interesting.

Humour and disbelief gleamed in tired green eyes, "And if I went over there and told her that you told me you were a hitman?" he asked, visibly biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. Reborn smirked, tracking the movement briefly before rearranging his face into an expression of utmost innocence.

"Well I was just trying to score myself a hot date, wasn't I?" he asked lightly, "I had no idea you'd actually believe my little joke!"

The boy snorted helplessly, "Unbelievable. So, what if I added that I was underage? You could get arrested for trying to 'get lucky' with a minor."

He smirked victoriously, the boy had more sense than that, "You wouldn't be that stupid, would you? Why would you be admitting to underage drinking! To a police officer! You'd spend the last night you have on earth stuck in a jail cell, what a tragic end!"

That got a burst of shocked laughter out of the boy. "I think I might be starting to see how you earned your title..." he mused once his hilarity died down.

He couldn't help but preen in satisfaction at that, it wasn't often someone genuinely offered him admiration without the constant undertone of fear and slimy grubbing up for favours. The kid just accepted him as he was and expected nothing, absolutely nothing. It was actually quite refreshing for a change. Maybe he should make some serious efforts to this seduction, he wondered as he sketched out a theatric bow to the boy, prompting further chuckling out of him as he doffed the stolen fedora to him.

"It's always good to hear appreciation, especially from such a lovely audience."

"You never stop do you?" the boy asked with a snort of amusement.

Time to test the waters, so to speak.

"It's in my nature," he said with as much fake apology as he could, "I'm very... Active," he purred, leaning forward again.

The boy didn't react, only smirking as he leaned away , "There's an innuendo in there I'm too polite to point out," he retorted with a grin as he reached out to shove him away.

Reborn chuckled, "Don't hold back on my account," he said before he realised those eyes had slid out of focus, the kid swayed, panting briefly before his eyes rolled back and his whole body tilted falling to the side.

Fuck!

Alarm shot through him as he quickly caught the boy with one arm, around his back and to his waist. He was cold and almost bird boned in his arm. Just how tiny was this kid under those clothes? He shifted the boy back onto his seat, just in time for him to come to, a shuddering breath brushing against the side of Reborn's neck before he drew away slightly.

He swallowed against the hard lump of realisation in his throat, "I knew you weren't lying but I didn't think you were being so completely honest about your estimated end of the line," he remarked steadily as he got to his feet, the boy swaying in his stool slightly, leaning against him, pupils visibly trying to come into focus.

"Did you think I was joking about leaving you with a corpse to deal with in the morning when you offered to 'help' me earlier?" the boy asked, his voice faint and shaking slightly as he gasped for air. Reborn saw the police officer sitting up to attention in the far corner, her eyes sharp as she looked between them. He waved her off as he shifted his grip on the boy's waist.

"I'm taking you to a doctor," he declared as he easily lifted the boy from his seat. He was lighter than Reborn feared. And clearly a lot weaker than he should have been judging by the energy-less attempts to push him off and wriggle free as Reborn pulled him flush to his side and guided him outside, the police officer even jumping to her feet to open the door for him – having heard him say he would take him to the hospital.

"I told you, there's nothing they can do. They had me on bed rest before I checked myself out this morning." Stubborn, shouldn't have left without authorisation! "I want to actually DO something on my last night on earth. Not sit in a bed and listen to my bestfriends tell me everything will be okay, that I'll be fine and soon we'll be able to move on with our lives and all that sort of bollo-" Reborn winced in concern as the boy went limp against him, unconscious, he easily swung the boy's legs up and over his other arm, carrying his tiny (worryingly cold) form to his car parked just around the corner.

He got the kid sat in his passenger seat, buckling him in carefully and checking both his pulse and his temperature, pulse was weak, fluttery, slightly erratic, and he was cold, too cold. Reborn pressed his lips together as he closed and locked the passenger side door and climbed into the driver's side. Shamal was doing his degrees at a local General hospital near-by, he dug his mobile phone out as he buckled himself in and keyed the ignition.

It took a few minutes to get through the hospital switchboard before Shamal came onto the line.

"Reborn, what's wrong, you never call during work hours," he heard his young friend ask as he came on, no greeting, no pleasantries, he knew something was up.

"I need you to prepare for a patient. I need this kept quiet though. Young, late teens, severe malnutrition, claims to be terminal, he just blacked out on me twice mid-conversation, cold to the touch, unsteady, weak heartbeat. I would place money on him being Flame Active but unaware," he listed flatly as he lazily swerved in and out of the London traffic, cutting through a number of smaller back-allies he technically shouldn't have as they were no access and one way streets.

There was a breath of silence on the end of the line. Reborn knew Shamal, he would likely be wondering why he cared enough to help this youngster, but thankfully he knew better than to ask. There was also the added fact that Reborn didn't know. It just... felt like something he had to do. He wasn't a kind man by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn't a heartless one either. Even a dying kid could tug on what little heartstrings he had left, especially one as seemingly bright and playful as this one.

"I'll get it sorted. What's your ETA?" he asked.

"Ten minutes."

"I'll have a chair and a room available by then," he declared, "Pull into the C-block carpark and head towards the Fanshawe Wing doors, Minor Injuries unit. They're the only place that have available private rooms right now," he explained before hanging up.

Reborn stowed his phone again and continued for another minute through traffic – running three red lights and almost hitting six pedestrians before he heard the slow inhale of his passenger as tired green eyes slitted open and glared weakly at him, his eyes out of focus without those horrible glasses (they had accidentally been left behind at the bar).

"Should I start trying to climb out the window screaming about abduction?" he asked slowly, words slurring ever so slightly as he shifted.

Reborn shot him a glare, he shouldn't be moving, or questioning him. "I doubt you could muster the strength," he sneered (So lie back down and get some rest you stubborn brat), "Sit down, shut up, and accept my help. I don't usually offer it beyond a bullet." He flicked his attention back to the road as they came to a round-about.

The boy wheezed, "Sounds lovely. Give me one of those, beats being dragged into a ruddy hospital again," he ground out roughly, gasping for breath. Reborn pressed his lips together tightly at the sound of the kid fighting to drag in every lungful of air and pressed down harder on the accelerator. The kid was out again, still struggling for every breath as Reborn pulled into the Hospital carpark and served to the entrance of the Fanshawe Wing, parking haphazardly in the delivery bay and jumping out. He gave a quick burst of Sun Flame that he knew Shamal would sense as he rounded the bonnet and unlocked the door.

Barely a moment later he saw his young friend rushing out of the doors with the wheelchair as Reborn unbuckled his young passenger and lifted him up carefully.

"Okay. Name, age, any information you can give me, Reborn," Shamal demanded as they set the boy down in the chair, his head rolling to one side as his eyes slid shut once more, blinking slowly before he passed out again. They rushed him into the building, Reborn not even bothering to close the car-door or lock it behind him as they shouldered open the doors and into one of the lifts.

"No name. Seventeen I believe, definitely a minor. Been shaking since I met him, extreme fatigue, cold to the touch, irregular and weakened heartbeat, has signs of scarring and extensive long term malnutrition. Likely as not an abusive upbringing. Claims he'll die within the night," Reborn explained as shortly as he could as the lift finally expelled them onto the floor they wanted, Shamal wheeling the kid out and down a further two corridors to a small wing set aside from all the others where the door was unlocked and pushed open.

Together they quickly got him lifted onto the bed as the brunet began to examine the boy carefully, his face going ashen white.

"Reborn... You said Flame Active, right?" he asked as his hands began to speed up in his checking.

"Yes. But he isn't aware of them I don't think. None of my verbal prompts gained so much as a flicker of recognition," he explained watching as the doctor turned to him.

"He's a Sky."

Reborn stared at him incomprehensibly for a moment. A Sky. Who was a Sky? The kid? The kid was a Sky?

He turned back to the boy, Shamal's hands steaming with indigo flame as he ran it across the boy's chest, frowning.

"A strong one. A really strong one. I've never felt Sky Purity this high-before. But the injuries... This shouldn't be possible. He's actually haemorrhaging Sky Flames, losing them too quickly for his body to replace. But not active, or we'd be able to see it from half a city block away" He was right, that shouldn't be possible, at all. Nothing had ever been recorded to drain someone of their flame so strongly that their bodies couldn't reproduce it. Once you hit empty, you hit empty and that was it, no more flame, back to average joe human. The fact that even his life force was bleeding out with his flame was... it had never been recorded before. Now that Reborn knew it, he could feel the kid's flame filling the air, as if he were stood in a warm bath or in the summer sun.

"Where did you find him, Reborn?" Shamal demanded, distressed as his flame flickered out. "By all rights he'd be on every radar in the underworld, but he's a complete unknown." With a Sky Flame that powerful, he'd have Famiglias from France to China to Australia, America, and Pakistan, trying to recruit him. Never mind what he'd managed to feel out just then. Reborn just fixed him with a stony glare, Shamal shook his head and returned his attention to the kid. "His organs are in the middle of failing due to massive flame-depletion, he has full-on heart arrhythmia – he's physically having a heart attack because he doesn't have enough energy to keep his heartbeat to a steady rhythm. Even his brain is shutting down! Goddamn. I... I couldn't do anything even if I wanted to! He would need an ocean of Sky Flames just to keep him out of ICU long enough for a ridiculously powerful Sun Flame to heal the damage. And I'm talking RIDICULOUSLY strong. Stronger than you!" he added, looking at Reborn in horror. The Unattached Sun was a Flame beast. No Sky had ever been strong enough to Harmonize with him, not even the Vongola Heirs – and they had tried. Even the Lady Octavia had attempted in her younger years to seduce the Unattached Sun, and when she failed, she sent her son to attempt it too, only to fail as well. Not even the Cavallone Famiglia had managed it, not to speak of the other famiglias who had attempted Harmony as well. Reborn was The strongest Sun. And not even his Flame would be enough to patch the haemorrhage to this little Sky's soul if they didn't know what was causing the drain. But they weren't going to be able to find the drain because he was running out of flame too fast for them to even look. Just trying to introduce a different Flame type to his system could put him into massive shock and just completely cut his entire system off. Instant death from Flame Shock.

Reborn must have read some of his thoughts because there was something very dark and frightening in his facial expression, "How long does he have?"

Shamal shook his head, "Not even an hour. The kid is burnt out, running on fumes. By all rights," he said looking down at the tiny form on the bed, "he should have died long before you brought him in with the level of flame energy he has. I've seen squirrels with stronger wills to live than him right now." And how strong did his Will to Live have to be to still fight on, to still have his heart beating with so little energy? He must have really been something at full strength. "I honestly don't know what to say, Reborn, I've never seen anything like it. It shouldn't even be possible to haemorrhage your Flame like that."

"I shouldn't..." the two jumped almost out of their skin at the rough whisper from the bed, green eyes half-lidded and staring at them, "have lived this long in the first place," he muttered head rolling on the pillow a little. "People aren't supposed to survive what I did, I'm on borrowed time anyway, always have been," he rasped quietly in the room, unaware of just how his words were affecting the two Mafioso in front of him, "It's not a big deal," he said softly, "You can stop freaking out... I'm just going to the Next Adventure is all..."

Reborn felt something in him break at that as he turned to the boy, a hand snapping out to latch onto his shoulder. Like hell this kid was just going to trot off to his death without a fight! What kind of attitude was that?

"There is no Next Adventure. Just Death," he snapped, glaring down at those tired (disgustingly accepting) green eyes, "Are you really so weak willed that you're just going to give up?" he snarled quietly, but no less forcefully as his hand tightened almost painfully on the boy's bony shoulder.

The boy huffed a breath, trying to push Reborn's hand away, his fingers icy cold against the heat of his inner wrist, "And you would know what happens when people die, wouldn't you?" he asked rhetorically, "As for giving up, this isn't me giving up. This is me accepting that what will be, will be and I will meet whatever comes afterwards with my head held high," he rasped, ignorant to the fine tremor that threatened to give away Reborn's helpless anger and confusion over his... not resignation, but acceptance of death. "I'm not going to be dragged down kicking and screaming like some ungrateful coward. Death is just another part of life after all, and I will greet him with a smile," the boy explained, his smirk twisting bitterly on his face, as if at some private joke only he knew the punchline to.

It was almost graceful, that acceptance. Reborn had certainly never seen such simple acceptance of death before in his life. It was almost like looking at an old man who was looking forward to resting his aged bones for the last time.

It was wrong to see it on a face so young. To see it on that face in specific.

Oh.

Oh.

It felt like he'd just been shot in the gut. How could he have missed -

He'd Harmonized with the kid.

He'd Harmonized himself to a Dying Sky.

And he hadn't even realised it. At all. Until now. Until now when he realised just how important this kid suddenly was to him. This kid whose name he didn't even know! Just when had it happened? Usually it took months, if not years for a Harmony to be achieved and here he was, barely two hours after the boy walked into the same bar as him with a full Harmonization singing in the back of his head! He should have known immediately. It was a feeling so unlike anything else now that he was aware of it. Like... coming home. As if his whole world was suddenly grounded and opened, almost as if there was suddenly a centre to his universe and everything that he was, could be, had been, was being welcomed by it, embraced and pulled close without judgement or fear or expectation.

This was Harmony.

This was what a Sky was.

And he had finally found one powerful enough to draw him in. One who didn't care about his title as the Greatest Hitman, didn't care about the lives he had stolen, or the power he had hidden away, or the prestige that his presence would bring. One who didn't even know about Flames, or care.

A Sky who would laugh and shove a hat in his face while blushing to the tips of his ears over a little harmless flirting, and choke on scotch he didn't like the taste of just to scrape what little teenage dignity he had left.

A Sky who was not going to die if he had anything to say about it!

Sun Flame scorched through his body, held back only by iron determination as he carefully fed it through the palm of his hand into the kid, unwilling to send him into Flame Shock by overburning his system. Having a Harmony with him meant that he could flood his system with less risk, but it didn't mean there was no risk. And he was taking absolutely no chances.

Cold fingers slid away from his wrist, "...Didn't the doctor just finish saying that you wouldn't be able to help me?" he asked gently, as if Reborn needed comforting instead of himself as he stubbornly pushed his hand away. "How crazy do you have to be to go so far for a complete stranger?"

Not a stranger. Not for much longer.

"You know what I was - "

He smiled tiredly at him, "You're warm. Like I used to be. Didn't take much to figure out," he admitted before shifting, shaking hand going to his lapel pocket, "If you want to help... there is one thing you can do for me," he managed to get out as his fingers fumbled. Too shaky and weak to get a grasp of what he wanted.

"Here, let me," Shamal murmured, gently easing the boy's hand away from the pocket and slipping his fingers in. Reborn watched him like a hawk, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck bristling defensively until he suddenly yelped and yanked his hand back, making a large ugly ring tumble across the bedsheets.

"Feels horrible, doesn't it?" the kid asked lowly as his shaking hand caught it before it got away, fingers curling around the tarnished gold.

"What is that thing?" Shamal sneered, rubbing his hand against his scrubs as if it were covered with something dirty and revolting.

"My curse." Reborn tensed, hard enough to make his limbs ache as the boy tugged a silk handkerchief free from the breast pocket of his jacket, "Toss it into the next volcano you happen to pass?" he asked mirthfully as he tied the awful ring into it. From what little glimpses he got, British design, medieval, heavy gold, little adorning, and a black stone he didn't get a good look at. "Chop up the ring, grind the stone down to dust, drop it in molten lead or whatever. Just destroy it. I would have done it myself but... well, here I am. In a hospital. Again," he sighed huffily as he shifted and tried to push himself upright, off the bed.

But his strength failed him as he held the wrapped ring up. Reborn caught his hand, gently lifting the handkerchief away and moving closer, letting the young Sky land against his shoulder, face half-buried in his neck. His hands were colder than before and Reborn could feel something inside of himself breaking out of sheer terror. He was dying. Right now.

"It's... the last... thing I meant to do..." the kid whispered, wheezing softly. "The number... of people... who died over this thing... I meant... to be the last and let... the Peverell Fate... die with me. Don't let anyone... else... get their hands... on it. Destroy it... as soon as you can," he gasped, breath cold and dry against his ear. Not good, not good, not good!

His insides twisted, hard, and he poured Flame into the kid.

"No! Reborn!" Shamal yelled in shock, of course the kid would realise what he was doing. "What are you doing? Do you know the consequences of Harmonizing with a dying Sky? That's going to shatter you! You're ruining yourself, Reborn! Stop before you go too far!" he panicked, reaching out to try and drag him away – drag him away from his Sky!

He lashed out, polished italian leather dress shoe hitting the teenager in the stomach hard enough to send him roughly into the wall with a pained grunt for his stupidity.

"It's a little too late for that," he snarled, fighting the urge to pull the kid physically into his lap so he could get more surface area to feed flame into. He ignored the sharp breath the Bratling Hitman sucked in as his Sky laughed weakly against his ear.

"So stubborn," he breathed, shaking hand hooking into his breast pocket as he learned his full weight against him. "Thank you... for trying but..." NO BUTS! "my time... is finished. You need... to let me go." Not happening! "Sorry, I guess I'm going... to be leaving... you to deal with that... corpse after all. You... didn't even manage to get... anything out of me..."

He got to know what it was like, just for a moment, to be accepted wholesale and completely.

He got to experience a Harmony.

He got to spend an hour chatting and laughing with the most important person in his life.

He got to meet His Sky.

"...I got your hat. I'm keeping it," he managed, his voice rough.

The boy laughed softly, "Looks better on you... than it ever did... on me." Not true. Not true at all.

His eyes squeezed shut involuntarily, "...Any last requests beyond destroying the ring?" he ground out, a bitter twist to his lips that could have been mistaken for a smile crossing his face, "That kiss offer is still on the table."

He laughed again, "Open... the window? I just... wanted to... see the sky... one last time."

He twitched, glaring at the near-by window, he couldn't reach it without letting his Sky go, and he was not willing to do that, not right now, not when he was... he was on his last breaths. He drew the boy closer, feeling the chill of his skin and fed more Flame into him, face twisting in angry distress as Shamal shifted warily around them. He dug into his jacket pocket withdrew a channelling ring for his Mist Flame, Reborn ignored him, desperately trying to imprint as much as he could about his Sky into his memory. The curve of his nose. The scar above his right eyebrow, a lightning bolt shaped cut, still angry and red looking, almost glittering at the centre.

Indigo flame washed through the room, blurring away the hospital and replacing it with an endless expanse of wide open sky, a sky set aflame with golden orange light, a phantom breeze kissing their skin and tugging at clothes and hair. A sunset.

Reborn swallowed hard as green eyes glowed orange in the false sunlight, he tightened his grip on the boy, pushing more flame into him, just a little more, maybe – maybe whatever was wrong – just a little more – just a little more might put it to rights...

"...Warm..." the young Sky whispered, his breath slowing as he leaned into him. Hand slipping from where it was hooked in his pocket.

Reborn felt his heart wedge itself in his throat, no, no, No, NO!

He slammed his flame into the kid. Everything he had.

It hit him like a train.

Green eyes flew open as his mouth opened in a silent scream, voice trapped in his throat as his whole body went rigid against the Hitman who roughly dragged him into his lap.

Shamal suddenly jumped forward, "More flame! MORE FLAME! HIS FOREHEAD! THAT SCAR! HEAL THE SCAR!" he was suddenly shouting as his hands went for the little Sky's shirt collar, wrestling with the buttons as Reborn looked down at the pale, pained face of his Sky and saw the flickers of indigo, shimmering yellow, and fading orange dribbling from the narrow lightning bolt shaped cut.

He clamped a hand over the wound, feeling the combination of flames tickling his palm before he burned it with Sun Flame.

His Sky began to thrash. Or as close to thrash as his exhausted body could manage as Reborn sent his cells into overdrive, pushed them to split and split again and again and again, dragging the ragged edges of the wound shut, knitting the cells together from the inside out. It was an ugly patch job. But it worked.

"His chest now," Shamal ordered, revealing a second lightning bolt shaped scar, this time on his chest, over his heart. Reborn felt a chill through his body as he saw the sheer amount of Flame pouring out of the angry red scar.

He pressed his hand over the wound, burning his Sun Flame against the edges of it but – fuck! The bleed was too strong, the cells he forced to split and tried to knit together were just split and burnt apart by the haemorrhaging Flame from within the kid, and he was running out fast.

He didn't hear the door open, nor the rapid footsteps towards him, so focused as he was on trying to keep his Sky alive.

He did notice when a pair of small, dainty warm hands covered his own and Sky Flame exploded off them, syphoning into the kid.

"I'm not too late, am I?" she asked, staring up at him with sapphire blue eyes and an expression of mixed anxiousness and hope. She had a young face, dark hair, and a small golden flower tattooed beneath her left sapphire eye. A loose white maternity dress dropping down to her knees from the small bump of her abdomen.

A Sky.

A pregnant Sky.

A... A Giglio Nero.

The Giglio Nero Sky.

"...No," he said before turning his attention back to his Sky, not willing to look a Gift Horse, a miracle, in the mouth at this juncture.

Skies were curious beings when it came to other Skies.

They either tried to help them, or kill them.

As long as this woman was helping, that was good enough for him.

She fed her flames into his Sky, replenishing him and consolidating her power almost like a plug beneath the wound as Reborn returned to patching it as tightly as he could. He didn't know how long he stood there, hands pressed against the feverishly hot skin of the teenager's chest, sweat rolling down his temples as he knitted his flesh back together as quickly as possible. Another ugly patch job. Not once did the Giglio Nero's Sky Flame falter. Steady, warm, constant. She held back his own Sky's bleeding flame and kept him warm, cycling her power through his body with what little of his Flame remained. A soft flame.

Until finally, Reborn pulled his hands away, breath leaving him in a loud woosh.

"It won't hold for long," he declared, watching as the young woman gently pressed a little more flame into the teenager's unconscious body and withdrew her hands, rubbing them together for warmth before they found a place upon her bump. "But it'll do for now. Until I can get him into Italy," he explained as he observed the woman. She smiled in relief.

"That's good. Oh, I'm so glad I wasn't too late," she breathed, bowing her head to him, "I'm Luce, of the Giglio Nero."

He knew that.

"Reborn. Sun Guardian." Sun Guardian. He liked the sound of that. A great deal more than Greatest Hitman to be honest.

"Tridant Shamal, unaligned. Fuck I need a drink," the eighteen year old cursed as he staggered to one of the cupboards. Luce giggled a little in bewildered amusement as he dragged out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and squinted at it, "Good enough for now," he muttered before cracking it open.

Reborn grimaced before settling back against the pillows of the bed, Sky pulled firmly against his chest, sleeping peacefully. Carefully, so as not to jar him, or wake him, the dark haired man pulled the hospital blankets up and around him, rebuttoning his shirt and jacket for extra warmth before pulling the blankets up beneath his chin. He was no longer cold to the touch, but he still wasn't warm enough for Reborn's peace of mind. In his personal experience, all Skies and Suns always felt hot to the touch from the flame that flickered just beneath their skin. Only Rain and Mist users ever felt noticeably cool under his fingers.

Luce smiled warmly, "I'll leave you two alone then. If you're ever near Valencia, do drop by, you're welcome on Giglio Nero territory," she assured them before turning and slipping out of the room just as readily as she came in.

Shamal shook his head, Reborn hadn't heard a single word, too busy fussing over his Sky. He scoffed around the mouth of his bottle and followed after the very pretty lady. "I don't think he got a single word, miss," he informed the Mafia Don as he closed the door behind him.

She smiled, "Oh I think he was paying more attention than you think," she said mysteriously, a glimmer of something bright in the depths of her eyes.

Shamal hummed doubtfully, "Well, never the less, allow me to escort you, m'lady. Watching him go gooey over a kid is a little unsettling when you've seen him paint a warehouse with blood and viscera."

Blue eyes blinked wide as a dainty hand fluttered to her mouth, "Oh... my... yes, I can see... how it would be a little unusual," she admitted, a little stunned. Shamal nodded, morosely sucking on his bottle of rubbing alcohol, ignoring the look of horror a passing nurse gave him.

"See, people think he's the hard-boiled type of Hitman, pfft, no. On the job, he can be nasty. Ruthless. Violent. If someone asks him to make a statement, it'll be loud, messy, impossible to ignore, and not fit for the eyes of women and children. Off the job? You've met those Mafioso, the old ones, the Gentlemen? Yeah. That's him, but throw in some modern charm and sophistication and brazen flirtation. He is shameless. But he doesn't get close to people. Love 'em and leave 'em. Him making gooey eyes at anyone is creepy," the young assassin complained, knocking back another mouthful, "Eurgh, this stuff tastes like armpit," he complained, before taking another mouthful.

Luce laughed, "Those two will be fine. Though you may have to put up with a little more... ah... Gooey-ness in the future," she admitted with a mirthful giggle.

Shamal sighed, slumping in place, "I was afraid you'd say that."

The woman gave him a look of concern, eyeing the bottle in his hand, "Um, it's my understanding that... rubbing alcohol isn't exactly the... safest of substances to drink..." she trailed off meaningfully, eyeing him with an expression of earnest concern. He tightened his grip on the bottle, unwilling to give it up, pretty Skies giving him large concerned doe eyes be damned.

"It isn't. But I just witnessed the World's Greatest Hitman Harmonize with a dying seventeen year old in my hospital ward. I need it," he declared firmly as he chugged another mouthful.

"It happened earlier," Reborn corrected snootily from behind him, Shamal very stubbornly didn't tense or jump, but he may have peed himself a little. "At the bar," he added rubbing his chin before looking at Luce, ignoring Shamal's yelp of 'Just how long have you known this kid'. "I hope you realise that you're going to be the Godmother of our kids now," he informed the dark haired woman who blinked at him before bursting into a storm of wild giggles as Shamal choked and spluttered – spitting a mouthful of rubbing alcohol against a noticeboard.

"B-but you're both guys! HOW DOES THAT EVEN WORK?!" he shouted, coughing and flapping his arms at his friend, who merely sniffed and flicked a hand at him.

"World's. Greatest."

"BUT - "

Reborn affixed him with a hard, black stare.

"World's. Greatest," he repeated forcefully.

He drained the bottle of rubbing alcohol dry, tossing the bottle over one shoulder, "I need something stronger. Gimme your car keys," he demanded, holding a hand out to the Hitman who casually tossed them to him without argument.

"Be back within two hours. The Helicopter should be here by then," he told the brunet who paused and blinked owlishly at him.

"heli – you know what, I don't care. As long as I'm not flying," he declared before turning to the young woman and taking her hand, bowing low over it to kiss her knuckles, "My lady, it had been a pleasure. Thank you for your help. Now please excuse me while I go and get absolutely rat - "

Eight men jumped on him, flattening him to the ground of the hospital wing corridor with roars of "GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER", "GET AWAY FROM HER", "MY LADY ARE YOU ALRIGHT".

"- arsed... ow."

000

In the hours it took for the Helicopter to get to England, Reborn called up every favour from every Sky and Sun he knew of, even blackmailing a few of the more recalcitrant of his acquaintances in order to get them to the private Hospital of his choice in time for his Sky's arrival. The Sky whose name he was still ignorant of. That would have to be corrected as soon as he was able to be safely awakened. The ugly patch jobs he did on those two curious scars were holding, but he could feel the lingering Sun Flame he had left as a loose 'band-aid' dissolving as the young Sky's flame continued to sizzle at the edges of the wound, slowly eating away at the repairs and leaking away again.

Don Luce of the Giglio Nero would not be able to join them in Italy in time for the Healing, but she pumped half of her flame capacity into the teenager – which was more than she technically should have given how she was pregnant. Her presence in England was for negotiations, approved by Ghost, for a cease-fire with a rival famiglia on neutral ground. Unfortunately she had an allergic reaction to some of the food served in her hotel and ended up needing a check up at the maternity ward just to make sure everything was alright after she had received treatment herself. She didn't say how she knew about Reborn and his Sky needing her help, just smiled and said she was glad she'd made it to them on time before taking her leave, her overprotective famiglia shooting him suspicious glares over their shoulders as she did so.

Shamal had returned in time for the helicopter, with three plastic bags of alcohol which he then proceeded to chug his way through during the flight and the various stop-overs where they refuelled and then carried on.

Everyone was there by the time they landed and wheeled the young Sky out of the helicopter and into his hospital bed. The Vongola, the Cavallone, the Drago, the Seven Storms, even that exotic dancer he had a fling with – her Sun Flame was fairly powerful.

They were all present, looking thoroughly confused until the doors opened and the trolley came in and they felt the outpouring of Sky Flame from the teenager.

Daniela, her son the current Vongola head, Timoteo, his three young children, Enrico, Frederico, Massimo, and his Sun Guardian Brow Nie Jr. Ninth boss of the Cavallone famiglia, Chino, and his Sun, a stunning young woman with golden hair. Anitonio of the Drago famiglia and his Sun Guardian, a young lad with trembling hands. The Seven Storms, who never went anywhere without each other, all in attendance and eyeing the young Sky with fascination and awe. And Juliette who sniffed and swept over, flipping her long curtain of black hair over her shoulder, smelling like faded roses and incense, her golden bracelets jangling as she enfolded him into a tight hug.

"When you said you needed my help, I had not thought it was quite so dire," she declared, her voice a husky timber that he recalled fondly as she drew away and gently reached out to his Sky, not daring to touch, her hand hovering above him with an expression of profound sorrow on her face before she dropped her hand and took a deep breath. "I'm glad you found him. Now. Let us get to work!" she clapped loudly before pointing at Shamal, "Move the bed to the centre of the room!" she commanded.

Shamal spluttered for a moment before doing as he was told and retreating as the dancer immediately began to bark orders. Daniela of the Vongola grinning widely in approval as she joined her 'sister in arms'.

Quick introductions went around and the Seven Storms were banished to stand beside the wall with Shamal, the ones that weren't needed at any rate. The Seven Storms were a unique independent mercenary group. All of them, all of them had a Storm affinity. But they also had affinities with every other flame type as well. Their Sky and their Sun were already being ushered into position by the two bossy women around the bed.

"So... what's going on?" Roberta, the Lightning-Storm, of the SS asked in an undertone, leaning toward him. He tried not to stare but the SS uniforms were very flattering, and she was an attractive woman with rich polished ebony skin and thick curly black hair. The red leather looked mighty fine on her. Mighty fine indeed.

Shamal took a breath, "Reborn Harmonized," he stated flatly, the other SS sucking in surprised breaths at his confession. "What's worse? The kid was dying at the time. So you can imagine how crazy things got."

Understatement.

Roberta winced, "Dying? Fuuuuck. That's rough man. Good thing it didn't come to that."

A Sky's death was tragic. It truly was. Often times, a Guardian did not recover from it. Not well at least. But when the bond was fresh, young. It could destroy them. Tear them to pieces, shatter them in such a profound way that sometimes there was no coming back from that edge. Because they'd had a taste, only to lose it.

Shamal sat down and cracked open his last can of Guinness. "You may as well park it. The head-wound took twenty minutes to patch. Chest over an hour. We're going to be here for a while," he explained to the five Storm Attributes as light exploded off the group in the centre of the room – a trio of excited childrens' voices (Timoteo's sons were not yet ten years old) exclaiming over how cool this was.

The procedure certainly took a long time.

The children ended up dropping out quickly enough. The Rain-Storm quickly ushering them out of the circle and onto a few mattresses that had been dragged into the room (as well as a number of couches from the relatives room that the Mist-Storm had raided), the three of them going to sleep in short order. What followed was the Drago famiglia's Sun Guardian collapsing and getting hustled into an armchair where he trembled muttering about how weird it felt to deplete his flame (numb and covered with pins and needles).

Pretty soon, only the Vongola and Reborn remained standing as the last of the flames died down.

Daniela wiped her forehead as she dropped her flame. She was not a young woman anymore. She should be allowed to relax and enjoy her retirement, spoil her grandbabies something rotten. But here she was, trying to save the Sky of that skirt-chasing toerag Reborn. He was lucky he was cute or she would have set him on fire instead.

"That should do the trick," she declared, feeling her son go to collapse on the sofa with his sons – picking young Enrico up and sitting down, using his son as a blanket, or himself as a mattress for his son. It was hard to tell. "He'll need several more Sky Flame transfusions over the next few weeks, just until his system can reboot itself. He stopped producing his own flame a while ago so it'll take some time before his system gets back into the swing of it," she explained to the exhausted Hitman who nodded, one hand still knotted in his Sky's thick dark hair.

"And Reborn?" she added, causing him to look at her sharply. She flashed him a sharp grin, "Congratulations on finally Harmonizing. Virgin."

A snort of amusement was the only retort she received as she kicked her grandbabies and her son into action, commanding that they take her home because she was tired and wanted to have a nap and she wasn't doing it in a hospital, who did they think she was?

000

And I have to stop here. The wife told me to. XDDD she wants to upload our fics now and its taken me a while to finish this chapter.

The Drago Famiglia are semi-OC, Lancia's famiglia are never named, however the ring he gives Tsuna has a dragon on it so I figured I would give them a name and the Boss who took him in is a badass. Anitonio. And his Sun is one of the stray kids he took in.

Chino Cavallone is Dino's father. And the pretty Sun Guardian IS his mother, as I see it.

Juliette is an OC of mine, I figured Reborn would have at least one amiable ex-lover.

The Seven Storms are a product of much amusement and discussion of Harmonizing and Flames between myself and my Wife. They belong to the both of us, they're an OC group. Please no borrowing without permission.

And yes, Daniela called Reborn a virgin. But not because he never had sex, but because he never Harmonized. He's kind of a Virgin-Guardian right now. /snicker.

This is set thirty years before the canon, so answering machines, mobile phones, etc, well, to you youngsters its a little weird. To fogies like Wifey and I, this is like being children once again. XDDD

The Titanic Pub is a real place, but it isn't in London. I go there every Tuesday night for tabletop roleplay and to drink my troubles away with sweet carbonated diet coke. XDDD

Go read Reighost's Dusk to Dawn if you haven't already. DO IT. I COMMAND THEE.