Disclaimer: Masashi Kishimoto is the rightful owner of Kaguya Kimimaro, as well as the entirety of the animanga series Naruto.
Summary: You know that you are numb when you cannot even feel the pain of your own bones ripping themselves free of your flesh. [There will be no pain as long as everything else has also disappeared.] [KimimaroCentric.]
Author's Note: This is, in some ways, a repost. I've moved my account, you see. So if you recognize the fic, but not the name, know that this is indeed my story; I've just relocated it. ^^
Warning: Slight implications of drug addiction and suicidal thought. Nothing horrible, just… you have been warned. ^_^
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Anesthesia
By Karasu
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"I've become so numb
I can't feel you there
Become so tired
so much more aware
I'm becoming this
all I want to do
Is be more like me
and be less like you."
---- Linkin Park
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
It didn't hurt.
The bones, that is, when they sprouted from his skin, like thorns, or knives. When they pierced through his own flesh, in order to pierce that of others, graceful and deadly. When he drew them back, sheathing his bones, watching them retreat back under his skin and wait patiently until they were called upon once again.
No, the Shikotsumyaku didn't hurt.
Of course, it probably doesn't seem that way, in the eyes of others… Kimimaro, the bone-wielder himself, mused one night, lying on the roof under the night sky of Oto, staring at the stars with the numbing feeling of uncaring nothingness. It was how he felt all the time, now that he was no longer of use to Orochimaru-sama. Numb, useless, and oh, so tired. So tired, he could just close his eyes and leave them that way forever…
His eye snapped open, slightly disoriented; he hadn't realized he'd been drifting off. But he supposed… it was nearly midnight.
He made no move to get up. There was no point. No point in getting up, no point in his pitiful existence, no point in going on…
His eyes drooped again, the numbness taking over his mind like a drug. Like a sweet, sweet dose of anesthesia…
Maybe that was why it didn't hurt. The Shikotsumyaku. Maybe it did hurt, but he was just too numb to feel it.
Not even the presence of Orochimaru-sama could alleviate his numbness anymore. Not like it had when he was younger, more naïve and so fragile, that any amount of human contact, no matter how small nor who from, could bring him back to life.
No. Not anymore.
There was nothing left anymore. Not of body, mind, or soul.
He was only a shell, a husk, who silently fed upon the syringes of beautiful, beckoning anesthetic hidden away in the underground labs. But apart from them, those glossy, glass tubes and those gleaming, silvery needles, Kimimaro rarely ate anymore. He had no appetite for food.
Only for numbness.
And, in that sense, he feasted under the stars.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
It was early morning, and Kimimaro was not awake.
He was in bed, locked within the opulent, private living quarters that would soon cease to belong to him. These quarters were reserved only for the special ones. The ones who were perfect and lovely and strong and… and…
And not useless.
However, these thoughts did not cloud the bonedancer's dreams. At least, not right now. There had been many a night prior to the present when the twisted tendrils of hatred and jealousy would indeed wind their way into his mind as he slept.
But now it was morning and Kimimaro's dreams were not tainted by the darkness.
As it could have always been. As it should have always been.
But alas, it had not always been.
And would never be.
Kimimaro slept on, swathed in silken sheets and candlelight, not knowing that the worst had yet to come. Peace, no matter how small of an amount, was to be valued above all
things.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
When it was midmorning, and Kimimaro had just dragged himself away from the warmth of his bed and the comfort of his room, Orochimaru-sama asked to have an audience with him.
Of course, not directly. Not in person. Kimimaro was not important enough for that anymore.
It was Kabuto, with that vicious smile and those creepy glasses of his, who stopped the bone-wielder just as he began making his way towards the sparring area, wanting nothing more at the moment to just practice a few good kicks and running exercises.
"Ah! Kimimaro-kun, I have an important message for you."
"Orochimaru-sama wishes to speak to you."
"It seemed rather urgent, so I would recommend you hurry."
And then Kabuto was gone.
It annoyed Kimimaro. How his senses were so dull, and his body so sluggish. A shinobi who could not even detect the presence of another being who had not even been trying to hide themselves was nothing but trash.
He was nothing but trash.
Ah. How ironic the situation was becoming. How the one who normally disposed of those who became unworthy had become unworthy himself. Ah.
A laugh broke from his lips. A drawn, humorless wheeze of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
Truly, there was nothing funny about it. Why was he laughing? He didn't know. He didn't care. He simply stood in the middle of the dark hallway, and laughed that dreadful, wheezing laugh.
He became slightly disoriented. Laughing was hard on his lungs, and the last thing Kimimaro wanted was to faint in he middle of the hallway, or even worse; have an attack in the middle of the hallway.
Orochimaru-sama was waiting.
But Kimimaro had no willpower to drag himself away from where he stood, shaking, wheezing, and wincing at the soreness of his ailing body.
Orochimaru-sama was waiting, and Kimimaro only laughed.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
At noon, Kimimaro had an attack. Another nightmare, another painful bout of the killing disease that slowly engulfed his dwindling life-force, bit by bit, attack by attack.
His lungs burst into flame, his vision blurred into a chaotic cornucopia of light and dark, his knees buckled, and his entire body screamed in silent, writhing agony.
Thankfully, he was alone. The shame would be too great if it were any other way.
A hot, frothy mixture of blood, saliva, and liquid death burst up though his throat, dribbling from his lips as he retched, shamefully, painfully, hopelessly, into the darkness of the hallway.
His arms were too weak to lift a hand up to cover his mouth. The cold, damp floors of the Sound stung his palms as he desperately, dizzily, scrabbled to right himself. He had his pride, and not even in his greatest moments vulnerability and disgrace, disgusting and excruciating as they were, would he simply allow his failing body to lay pitifully in the dirt like a dead animal.
It hurt so much. He could no longer feel his upper body, but it hurt nonetheless. Hot, red, blood-spit stained the ground, his clothes, his self-respect. It was splattering, choking, destroying his entire being, and he knew this.
He knew it all too well.
But he fought it all the same, finally drawing himself up into a half-kneeling, half-fetal position on the ground, gasping like a fish out of water. His eyes stung with tears, which crawled down his cheeks like candle wax. He was not ashamed to cry. Not now. Anyone would cry while choking up their own blood.
It went on for what seemed like hours, but Kimimaro knew it was only mere minutes that dragged by. Many times, his mind came to the brink of deathly unconsciousness, but he always managed to drag himself away, knowing that to give in to the darkness would be to make himself even more vulnerable.
His limbs were shaky, but he could feel them again. He could open his eyes, blurry and thick with tears. The attack was ending. So soon? Was it really?
Blood splattered the ground. Kimimaro had not the will to clean it up. He needed to go to his room. Shower. Sleep. Die.
He wanted to die right now. But the attack was over and the burning had diminished to a smoldering in his chest. He could breath again, wet, gasping breaths.
The red froth dribbled down his chin. He spit onto the ground, horrified, as he always was after an attack, of the gruesome mess it made, and the awful, metallic taste it left in his mouth.
The tears dripped down his pale, sallow cheeks, like crystals against pallid sheets.
When will it all be over?
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
At last, it was evening in the land of Sound.
The Sound Five were gathered in the rec room, which was across the hall from the foods room and just around the corner from the sparring area, and were preparing themselves a shogi tournament fit for the gods, courtesy of Kidoumaru.
Or at least, all but one of the Sound Five was preparing themselves for a board-game tournament. The pale-skinned, pale-haired individual sitting statue-like in the corner had his head turned away from the others; a sure warning that he had no desire to participate, and that anyone foolish enough to approach him about it would be spending the evening with Kabuto.
It went like this every evening. He ignored them, they ignored him.
Kimimaro was not as stupid, nor as unobservant as he seemed. He rarely talked, rarely interacted. Thus, the others assumed him to be incapable of such things.
But it was not so.
The bone-wielder saw the disappointed, condescending looks his master gave him when he thought Kimimaro wasn't looking, and heard how he talked; complained, even, to Kabuto of how much of a waste the whole thing was.
"Such a waste, Kabuto, such a waste… he will die, and for nothing! All my hard work, my perfect vessel… nothing but a waste!"
He had felt, for a while, the sharp needles of anger, sadness, and hurt, whenever Kabuto sneered at his worthlessness, taunting him while he was bedridden and unable to retaliate.
"Orochimaru has sent for a new vessel, Kimimaro-kun. One that won't be so weak and susceptible. He has no use for you anymore…"
Whenever Tayuya snickered at him whenever he let slip a cough, blood flecking his palm.
"What's with you, coughin' up all that shit? Heh, bet you wouldn't stand a fuckin' chance against me anymore, would you? Not so fuckin' high and mighty anymore, are you?!"
Whenever Kidoumaru muttered under his breath, nervous and pitying, whenever he passed him in the hallways, averting his eyes and scurrying away like the spider he was.
"Oh… eh, hey… um, gotta run… but damn… uh, just… just… damn…"
Whenever Jiroubou would stare at him, his mouth curling into a cruel smirk as he stuffed his face with whatever food was in reach, splattering his hands and face with a mixture sauce and saliva.
"Hey, Kimimaro… how're you doin'? Want something' to eat? 'Cause really, you look like you could use some. Hospital food isn't all it's cracked up to be, eh?"
Whenever Sakon and Ukon had to hold back while sparring with him, him and his pitiful illness.
"Look, Kimimaro, why don't we… stop for today? Orochimaru-sama… Orochimaru-sama want us to… to not speed… it… up, you know…? We… wanted a quick fight, well, I mean, Ukon wanted a quick fight, but this is a joke! C'mon, and stop shaking like a twig, or we'll all be in some deep shit."
Whenever Orochimaru-sama smiled at him, a smile so fake and so disappointed it made Kimimaro want to hide in a corner and retch until the pain became too much.
"How are you today, Kimimaro-kun? Better, I hope… But Kimimaro-kun, I'm busy right now, why don't you go pester someone else? I must prepare for Sasuke-kun's arrival…"
But now he was numb.
So numb.
So numb that he wasn't able to feel his own bones ripping out of his flesh, sprouting from his body, sheathing themselves like swords in his skin.
And perhaps it was better that way. It was better to turn his head away from his laughing, bantering, snarling, playing teammates, who burst with life and vigor.
It was better to isolate himself from them, because while he had nothing left, at least they had something left. They had something; they had feeling.
He had nothing, and did not feel.
For after all, if there is nothing left in your world, then shouldn't it only be fair that there is nothing left to feel as well?
"There will be no pain as long as everything else has also disappeared."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
When night fell, Kidoumaru walked away the champion of the tournament. Just like he always did.
Kimimaro didn't know why he bothered.
But right now, the needles were calling to him, singing, beckoning, and once again, the stars shone brightly above Otogakure.
The needles were calling to him, from within the stone walls.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
I'm terrible, I know… but I've just got such a Kimimaro fetish right now. And my family is going to go get flu shots next week.
Also, I've noticed the Kimimaro fanfic base is starting to pick up just slightly. I'm in heaven just thinking about it. Earlier today, I was sifting through some of the new entries and was overjoyed at how well written they are. Keep up the good work people! Let the Kimimaro Fanfic Base grow! Let it grow like some sort of mutant Chia! (cackles)
--- K