writetomyheart | [TEAM FOUR] You'll be safe here

I'm at work and I actually ran out of time (sort of) because despite having multiple planners and calendars I cannot keep track of the days, so... yeah. I'm back in shiritoriland with another past!installment + present happenings of Sniper!AU (that has grown to epic proportions—so much so that the enabler of this AU does not know what's happening anymore). Anyway I blabber too much, here ya go!

"Please don't go off to find more creative ways of accidentally killing yourself," he said. Yamada cringed—although the statement was said in a calm tone, it was the exact calmness that scared him more than anything.

"I'm sorry," Yamada replied in a quiet voice. He heard a quiet sigh, then a familiar hand against his head, ruffling his hair softly. His back stiffened—from the contact or the surprise, he wasn't sure.

"Next time, stick to the plan. I can't go off and go risk my life and save you from risking your life. There won't be a next time," Toma said, picking up the bags of guns that were already clean and unloaded with a small grunt. "You're carrying the rest back to the van and cleaning the training room as punishment."

"Eh~?" Yamada whined.

"Either that or you die, kid," Toma said over his shoulder.

Yamada watched Toma walk away, a small smile on his lips.

Despite the death threat, he was strangely relieved.

Fear ceased whenever Toma was there. Surely, Toma would always come and rescue him.

Now that Yamada thought about it, the way Yuto carries his gun and shifts it on his shoulder in its nondescript black bag reminded him of Toma.

Yamada tried not to remember his life before Toma; when he does, his brain explodes in a burst of confusing colors and indistinct voices screaming and crying for release, for escape. He didn't want to ask Toma, or even try to recall the memories that his brain has successfully repressed. But when he is alone, in the dark of the night, with nothing but the moon the same pale shade as his hair shining through the gaps of his curtains as company, the nightmares make him remember.

Shuffling to and fro foster families and orphanages and relatives who only want him for his looks and his family's money.
The countless ways they discovered how to torture him without leaving marks on his skin, punches and burns and words that left the worst scars.
No matter how many times he tried to cry out for help, no one came. No matter how many times he tried to hope for safety and freedom, he sees his dignity as a human being reduced to a meaningless pulp in front of him everyday.

Until he met Toma.

His world was far from dark—it had too many colors that he did not know what was real from the hell he had to live through everyday.

But Toma changed that.

He gave all these colors a meaning and a purpose, trained his shaking hands to deadly accuracy and precision. The hands that did not know where to hold on to found solace in the warm leather of fitted knife hilts and the cold metal of guns he was so good at handling, powder and bullets exploding in the air and scattering his helpless paper targets like sorry confetti.

He could use his hands again.

"What are you doing here?" Yamada asked.

"Now what is my favorite student doing? Pointing a knife at his beloved teacher?" he said. "Is this how you do filial piety now?"

Yamada's hands trembled, a miniscule movement nobody else would normally notice.

Nobody but Yuto and Toma.

But Yuto wasn't here right now.

"Your hair's still silver," he mused, darting forward and ruffling his hair in a chillingly comfortable and familiar gesture. "You've grown up to be the kind of man I'd imagined you be."

"Sorry for being such a disappointing human being," Yamada spat out, raising his knife and pointing it at Toma's chest, the point close enough to snag the fabric of Toma's suit jacket.

"Oh no, far from that. You've exceeded all my expectations," Toma said. "I'm proud of you."

Yamada reversed his knife and drove the butt of his knife into Toma's solar plexus, but as per usual Toma was faster than he was. Toma easily sidestepped his attack and wagged a finger at Yamada like he was a misbehaving child.

"Now now Yamada-kun, that's not nice," Toma said with a hollow laugh.

Yamada threw the knife at his direction. This time, he managed to nick his cheek. Toma touched the sliver of blood on his cheek and smiled.

"You used to call me Yama-chan," Yamada said through gritted teeth.

"Still overly sentimental, I see," Toma said.

"What the hell do you want with me, anyway?" Yamada said.

Toma crossed his arms and nodded upwards.

Yamada looked up, his eyes widening at the sight.

Yuto.

Tied-up, hanging from the ceiling, his head wrapped in bandages that were stained a bright, bright red, but still very much Yuto.

A mess of colors exploded in Yamada's vision as Toma talked in the same amused tone he had used on Yamada all those years ago.

"The brat tried to sneak into our base. Almost did it, good boy," Toma said. "I rescued him but had to beat him up so the government bigwigs won't be suspicious."

"Let him down right now!"

There was a blur of movement as Yamada rushed towards Toma, his voice and limbs shaking. Toma knocked away his knife and held his arms behind his back in a painful twist of bone and muscle. His voice, soft and dangerous next to Yamada's ear, came out in a honeycombed whisper.

"We need to talk."

Hi ltgmars, your turn! :D