Title: And Then
Rated: PG-15
Pairings: …well, it was supposed to be 8059 but it could just as easily be taken as platonic and 5927 >_>;;;
Summary: Of victory in the absence of defeat.

–

“You’re a fucking mess.”

It was the honest truth and like hell Gokudera was going to pander to the idiot by pretending otherwise. Across the room, Yamamoto lay wrapped so thoroughly in bandages that, if not for the grin visible through the gauze, he’d have been unrecognizable.

“Sorry you have to see me like this.” He sounded genuinely so. Gokudera thought about the Tenth’s soft-spoken apology, and the full body cast was the only thing holding Gokudera back from clobbering Yamamoto into unconsciousness.

After all was said and done, Tsuna had lowered his head and asked them for forgiveness—asked them for forgiveness. And Gokudera had exploded, had taken those narrow shoulders in his hands and declared himself unfit as the right hand man, that Tsuna hadn’t failed them, that Tsuna had been their saving grace in Melone base, that Tsuna had been the one standing before Irie Shouichi as Gokudera and the others watched from behind a clear prison. He had thrown himself at the Tenth’s feet as Tsuna rattled off excuses—’I-I couldn’t have done it without Spanner, actually’ and ‘We’re lucky Irie-san turned out to be an ally’ and ‘I would have given him the ring, Gokudera-kun. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

Instead of physical violence, which they’d all had enough of for the time being, Gokudera shifted against his crutch and scoffed. “Don’t talk, moron. They should have taped your mouth shut while they were at it.”

The lights had been dimmed to encourage resting, as if Yamamoto would even notice the courtesy. Those eyes—always light-hearted, always searching—were bound behind thick bandages and Gokudera was glad for it. As if seeing the baseball idiot spread out, immobilized, in the infirmary wasn’t evidence enough of how they’d failed as guardians.

His feet were silent against the tiles, Yamamoto’s steady and infuriating smile filling the space between them. He propped the crutch against the bed and lowered himself to the pressed sheets, eyes averted.

“Tsuna told me everyone else is okay. I’m glad—”

“Why are you still talking?” Gokudera passed a hand over his face, his stomach churning. He hated moments like this, moments charged with so much expectation, the air sweltered with it. He was shit at being profound and, at any other time, he would have said to hell with it. But Tsuna’s bowed head, the crease between his brows carved deep enough to leave an ache in Gokudera’s chest, kept him rooted, hands fisting around the bed sheets. “Christ, just shut up and let me think.”

“Heh, sorry.”

“Geez. Look. I—” His lips stumbled, tongue tripping over the words as cold fingers brushed the back of his hand. He jerked away from the touch, surprised that Yamamoto could even move that much.

“Gokudera, it’s okay,” he whispered.

Gokudera shook his head, pressed his palms to his eyes in frustration. It wasn’t okay—Gokudera and the others getting captured wasn’t okay, Tsuna believing he’d failed them wasn’t okay, surviving the base at the mercy and convenience of Irie Shouichi being an ally was not okay.

Except, really, that wasn’t right. Gokudera would be the first to admit he was a cynical bastard and, for the most part, he had a right to it. But now they had a chance, a good chance, of winning this war and returning to the past, of fixing things. It was the most hope Gokudera had seen on everyone’s faces since first appearing in this time and Gokudera would suffer every adversity to keep from failing the Tenth again, from seeing him laid out in a solitary coffin, his faith in everything that was good in the world embodied in one, timid little boy.

Somehow, Yamamoto’s hand found his again, and Gokudera swallowed down the urge to rip his hand away. He didn’t need any consolation, much less from a moron with more broken bones than he’d ever seen on a person still breathing. But the slide of dry fingers against his clammy skin seemed a sufficient substitute for the things he didn’t know how to say. The acknowledgment that yes, they failed, but no, they weren’t giving up. The promise that there was a better future out there, some day, if they made things right.

Gokudera turned his hand, Yamamoto’s fingers curling against his palm, and stayed that way until Bianchi returned to check her patient.