Title: Nightmares of the day.
Rating: T
Warnings: Death of an unnamed child.
Prompt: VII - 44. Tsuna: Insomnia; "Blame it on the nightmares."
Word count: 1,556
Summary: He thought he had escaped them. Too bad they're not ready to give up on haunting him just yet.

...

Blaming it on the nightmares, it was futile to get rid of the guilt.

Slowly losing his sanity, he tries to drift away.

Yet he stays, in the world of the living, afraid of the consequences.

Afraid of the nightmares.

…

Tsuna pushed his head into his hands and groaned for the umpteenth time. He was tired and he had not time to sleep.

That was only an excuse.

Those papers on his desk – they're old documents.

Unneeded, unwanted.

There just to fool others, to think that he has too much work to even think about rest.

With a little bit of tweaking, even his other guardians are fooled.

…

Tsuna stared out into the blue sky, papers stacked on his desk.

"Neh, neh, Tsuna-chan? Why didn't you kill my brother too?"

A young girl with blond pigtails stood next to him, her head spouting blood onto his carpet.

He ignored her.

"I'm lonely you know, my parents don't ever visit me. Won't you get him too?"

He clenched his teeth.

He knew he needed sleep – and badly. His nightmares, they were coming for him during the day.

"Tsuna-chan~?"

He closed his eyes.

Flashes of red, of blood, of people screaming invaded his senses.

It took him all of his might not to scream out loud and just destroy the whole room right then and there.

Face contorted with pain, he set his head down on his desk and laid there with his eyes open, staring into blank space.

His eyes prickled with tears but no, they wouldn't come out. They will just stay in there, his grievances. They would stay in there until he finally broke from the guilt, the pain he felt from killing all those people.

From killing all those people.

The phrase echoed throughout his mind relentlessly, pushing it to insanity.

And no matter how much he tried, he could not convince himself that those murders were justified. That those murders were for the sake of his family or just another accidental murder. And no matter what, he couldn't get rid of all this guilt.

Because surely, the people he killed had family too right?

Like the little girl bothering him now? Who was killed when an untrained assassin had tried to snipe him from the top of a building?

She was asking for her brother.

And her parents, who were killed beforehand when they were serving as his bodyguards.

And this little girl (Caroline- That was her name; He never forgot any of their names), was not the only one who came after him. There was an uncountable number more, each killed by the Vongola indirectly or directly.

A knock sounded at his office's door just as Caroline was beginning to cry.

"I'll get you some friends next time alright Caroline?" He shushed her with a smile. A painful, heartbreaking smile.

Caroline smiled widely, her front teeth missing and bounded away from his vision, the blood she had splattered slowly disappearing along with her.

Gokudera came in, his face puzzled and aware.

"Juudaime, was there someone in here?"

Tsuna looked up and smiled.

"No, there was no one."

Gokudera looked at him dubiously.

"Juudaime, do you need help? We, your guardians are all here to help and protect you."

Tsuna smiled at that. He knew, but he could not tell them of his insanity.

"I know. Thank you."

For, how could they protect him from himself?

…

Lying down in his own bed, he sighs and stares up at the ceiling.

His mind a jumble of thoughts, his eyes glazed over.

The guilt won't leave him, the sleep won't come.

Everyone thinks he's been washed away but no, he's still awake.

…

He was sitting in his car, gazing out the dark tinted windows dazedly.

There she was. The child he had grown to love.

The child he had called his own.

Stepping out of the car, he greets the child with open arms.

The child's mother comes too, smiling.

The child's mother was a widow, one of his closer mafia friends.

One of his connections.

The adults go inside, as the child play inside the car with the driver.

He sits down, only to hear a bone rattling explosion seconds later.

All the adults ran outside, shocked and dismay plastered all over their faces.

The decimo's car had exploded.

It burned, yes it did.

Dark smoke billowed towards the clear blue sky.

Red hot fire dancing in front of him, mocking him. Beckoning him to come and play and burn himself.

A loud wail distracted him.

The child! He was inside!

It was too late though, for the car was nothing more than a heap of burning metal, nothing living inside it anymore.

The child's mother dropped to her knees, creating sounds similar to that of a banshee.

Through her sobs, she managed to scream out words that he would never forget.

"It's all your fault! Your fault! MY CHILD! You bastard! How could you? This will haunt you forever, I curse you!"

…

He was beginning to see things; he blamed it on the insomnia.

He knew his cause of his insomnia, it was the nightmares.

He knew the cause of his nightmares, it was his guilt.

He knew his guilt was ripping him apart, into the deep black hole of insanity.

…

Arm over his eyes, his breathing was unsteady and he was drenched in sweat. He had drifted off for only a few seconds and yet the memory of the first time he had felt the true weight of the guilt plunged him into uneasy rest.

Tsuna strained his ears. The corridors were silent. He knew from the silent corridors that nearly everyone had thought he had gone for some much needed sleep.

Too bad he wasn't. He had, but now he was wide awake, afraid to go back to sleep.

He wasn't brave enough to do it. To face the nightmares which haunted him – even in the living world.

It was always like this. Every morning, he'll appear out of the room, seemingly a bit more refreshed.

Yet he still seems tired. Sometimes even more tired than before. People brush it off as not enough sleep, but some knew better. It was the nightmares. They knew, but they were not sure. He seems so peaceful now. Occasionally they would hear a startled cry, or a figure moving to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk at night but nothing worse. Nothing compared to the first time his nightmares started.

When the nightmares first started, everyone would be tortured by his murderous screams and cries throughout the whole mansion. They would last from morning to night, regardless of whoever tried to wake him up. His nightmares had him in so deep, nothing could unbind him.

They think he's better now, just tired from the pile of 'work'. They think he's better now, more reserved. They think he's finally calmed down from the initial shock, more adapted.

Little did they know, his nightmares had come to haunt him during the day after escaping them at night by not sleeping.

He remembers that one time; someone caught him talking to himself, to a little girl. He said he was practicing for his future child. They looked at him weirdly, and the rumours in the mafia lasted over a month.

He now barely dares to sleep more than 20 minutes. He timed himself. Well, he made Verde time him.

More than 20 minutes into sleeping, he would be trapped in his dreamland until his serving time was up.

He sleeps little intervals between 5 to 15 minutes in his office, not caring if anyone saw him.

Obviously though, his subconscious was not going to let him go that easily.

His dreams were unpredictable. Some started immediately, like the one before. Some started later. But never would he go without a nightmare. A memory.

And now he was haunted.

By the people he killed, coming for him.

"Tsuna."

This time it was Anko, one of his subordinates who had been killed on a personal mission given by him.

"Why don't you sleep?" She purred.

He turned away.

"You… YOU KILLED ME! YOU SENT ME TO MY DEATH! SO DON'T FUCKING IGNORE ME!" She wailed like a banshee.

He covered his ears, a sob threatening to spill out.

A tear rolled out and she disappeared.

And so he lay there, crying, once again trying to escape his personal living and sleeping hell.

And so he dare not sleep, for it was always worse in his dreams.

Yet he was at his limit, going for a week with only a total of at least one hour of sleep was taking its toll on him.

And soon enough, sleep had him in its grasp.

In its unmerciful hand, never letting him go until the sun rose.

…

He thought he had escaped when he didn't sleep.

He thought he was safe.

He was never safe.

And he never will be.

Unless he changes his ways.

I have not slept.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing

And the first motion, all the interim is

Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream.

-Julius Caesar, by William Shakespeare

Reviews are always appreciated. If there is already a story similar to this then I would like to inform you that I did not plagiarise in any way because I don't think this was a very original idea. So just in case. :)