AN: This is a short prompt written between me and Panur on our rp session. We didn't really know how it would turn out, so all was rather surprising, but that's one of the reasons why I like it. The pairing is Minato Namikaze (Naruto's father) and The Fourth Kazekage (Gaara's father).

When he had been a child, he had told Minato a story. In the story, Worlds were nothing but thin, frail shells, and in them monsters slowly grew, not at all unlike chickens. Monstrous Eldritch chickens from the fifth dimension, but chickens nonetheless. He had found it a funny concept until he started thinking about it, and what it might mean. He sees it now, and he's not sure it's a dream. The Sun splits itself open spills it's surprisingly soft, frail entrails over the world, raining fire. It's like a curtain, and the sky disappears, stars eaten one by one by now. He breathes in, and the air tastes like fire. Cold now. He wonders if it will be like this forever. 'I hate you.' He's not sure he does, not anymore, but he still feels he should say it. Wants to say it. If he doesn't, he might say something else, and that would be the end of it all.

The redhead on the other side turns his face slightly toward the blonde, quiet and distant. Despite the ashes clinging to his wet from sweat skin and dirty clothes, he doesn't seem to blend into surroundings - at all. The small black pupils thread through him and hold him in a pin.

'That's good. Then I can hate everything that's left to like.' He says, his gaze still and flickering, mirroring the light falling around them in hot rain and holds out the hands 'Now pass the bucket or nothing much will be left.' As mundane it sounds, the conflagration takes first place in his heart now and he doesn't want to be liked. The blonde wants to rip his clothes and rip his skin, wants to see red spongy tissue surrounding what's left of his bones, and he wants to do it with his hands. He feels sick. He is a sick, lost person, and the only compass he ever knew is a pile of dust. The childish part of his mind he isn't sure he will ever outgrow wonder if ash can solidify. The movements would just slow down in something that might not just be exhaustion, and get harder as time passed by. He wonders if one would notice if such a thing happened before it's too late. He looks down at the bucket, the water on it seeming like a wonder brought from some parallel universe. He sits down and doesn't touch it because if he does, he will have to push it to the floor. He looks up at the redhead, hands wrapping around his knees and just *stares* at him in defiance.

'Left of what?' he hisses suddenly, eyes narrowing. 'I'm not- I'm not doing this.'

'You. I'm talking about you.' Says the crippled voice, sounding old and tired but at the same time unwavering and stable. The man looks down at him, looks at his ragged clothes and his thin appearance and he feels pity and shame that doesn't seem to touch Minato's heart, at least not visibly. The light around them strengthens, the heat pressures at his nostrils and lungs. He lowers himself down to the blonde's level. 'Do you really think you can get out of this once you are in?' he says and grabs the man by the neck, taking the bucket, so big in appearance and not so huge in his single hand as he forces the shimmering water down his throat.

'You don't have any choice left.'

And when he gets up, his head hurts even worse and he knows that he should drink it too, but it would be a waste and a problem. Through the flames and light he sees the grey and dust and he knows that once he gets out of his mind, it all will be like before. Unlike Minato, he has an open path leading him out of the burning world. 'I do it for you.' He says as firemen walk in and take him away by his hands and drag him out as he can't walk or even stand up. Later, when he drinks from his own bucket and the brightness quenches, he looks through the fireproof glass with the sadness written in his own eyes. The world Minato lived in was terrifying. He hoped that one day he will also be able to put the fire out and walk away from the mental hospital on his own.