Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
A/N: An angsty Squalo drabble. That's basically it.
Sometimes, as he was deep in the midst of battle, Superbia Squalo would remember. He would remember his past.
He would remember his mother. He would remember her delicious home-cooked meals and how she supported him through all of his endeavors.
He would remember his father. He would remember the subtle ways he showed his satisfaction, and how he had been completely against Squalo's decision to become an assassin.
He would remember his darling little sister. He would remember how she always looked up to him and how she talked about becoming a doctor when she grows up.
He would remember the overwhelming combination of guilt and fury that followed when he suddenly learned his only family members had been murdered, shot point-blank in the face, all three of them. They had been murdered because he was an assassin. In a way, as his psychiatrist so plainly told him, he was generally the one responsible for their untimely deaths.
He would remember how he avenged them on that cool Summer night, clutching the head of their killer close to his chest, letting the warm blood seep into his clothes. It was the only time he had never found any joy in killing, because he knew he would never see his family again. It was the last time he ever cried.
He would remember his beloved little Shiba Inu dog, Mikey, who had been gutted and left to rot on the front door step. It was a warning by some big-time organization, threatening they would kill more of his loved ones if he did not obey them. That organization was completely decimated two days after, all of them violently mutilated by a single man wielding a blood-stained katana.
He would remember the cold, unforgiving stares. He would remember the names, the insults, the taunts. He would remember the words of hatred and despair thrown in his direction. And, he would remember silencing those words with his own bare hands. Those were his favorite killings.
He would remember how he fought with every ounce of his being, never putting less than a 100% of his power into every swing. He was cold, cruel and devoid of any strategy, but he got the job done without a hitch. That was all his benefactors were looking for. They paid well.
He would remember the intense pain he felt flowing through every nerve in his body as he stared at his dismembered hand, lying uselessly on the floor. Everyone around him just stared, unable to comprehend what had just taken place. Squalo remembered thinking to himself that his blood was red, just as he had suspected. He was human after all. Not a monster, like so many victims had cried before their lives were taken. He was human.
He would remember the fated day he made that promise to Xanxus, that he wouldn't cut his hair until the Varia took complete control over the Vongola family. He would remember how Xanxus had put on the slightest of grins, and say how he doubted Squalo would live long enough to actually see the day. It had been almost ten years now, and yet they were still no closer to achieving this dream they shared. Even after the battle against Tsunayoshi, and being rejected by the ring, Xanxus was still as stubborn as ever. He was his one true friend in a cruel, cruel world.
He would remember all of these things, but by the time his opponent had fallen to the ground, the blackish-red blood seeping into the Earth, Squalo had forgotten it all once again. The mixture of feelings he felt at those times were now foreign to him. He didn't have time to dwell on the past, he would tell himself over and over.
He was just a shell, whose only reason of existence was to kill, not to feel. He did not need such painful memories residing within him.