What's Your Name?, a naruto fanfic

Warning: Character death. Dark fic.

A/N: First off, this isn't my kind of fic. I've seldom, if ever dealt in this genre. My style is more of badly written humor and romance. But then I'm in a pretty angst-y and depressed mood.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto and any of its characters.

~.*~.*~.*~.*~.*~.*~.*~.*~

Orochimaru is dead.

When the news hit, most of Konoha celebrates, small parties held in most households, invitations sent out to friends and relatives. An impromptu festival was held. Commoners heaved sighs of relive and ninjas scratched another name off the Bingo book. One less person to fear.

Anko told herself that she won't be bothered by it. Kept telling herself that this changes nothing for her. She would feel nothing. Would not affected by it.

And nothing did change for Anko. She continues to rise at 7am everyday. Continues to have her meals as usual. Continues to report for the occasional desk work during her allocated slot.

Days, maybe weeks pass, and life still continues. There was nothing different.

Except for the headache, the deep pounding at the back of her head. She didn't know when it started, wasn't aware. But it didn't, won't fade away. A constant throbbing in her head that she was getting used to.

A sharp spike of pain flared and Anko's hand clenched at the rim of the sink. She steeled herself against the onslaught, the running shower left forgotten.

Throb.

Throb.

Sometimes, she felt like clawing her brains out.

…

It was a few days later when she noticed him. Long silky midnight-black hair. Purple eye markings. Yellow...no, Golden mesmerizing irises. High cheekbones. Pale, pale, pale skin.

But he wasn't Him. There was something different.

And it felt as if he had always been there, near her.

She sat at her table, penning down a report for her previous mission, an infiltration into Iwagakure, the Village Hidden in the Rocks.

Her pen paused. "Who are you?"

A rustle, as he neatly folded the newspaper he'd been reading. "Why don't you guess my name?" Voice so soft and velvety like silk.

Silence filled the room as Anko looked over her shoulders at him sitting on her couch. Sincere mellow eyes, a small upturn of his lips, elbow on his knee and chin resting on his palm, waiting for her.

She turned back and continued her report, the scratching of her pen against paper filling in the silence once again.

Anko felt comfortable with him.

…

Occasionally, he would be with her. Today, he trailed behind her as she headed to the hospital, the people around them ignoring him, ignoring her. As she walked into the hospital's infirmary to finish an errand for Tsunade, he entered with her and she saw him twirling a scalpel in his hand, the surgical tool catching the florescent lighting in the room.

Death, he looked like Death, clad in black yukata, standing in the middle of the pristine white room of the infirmary. But that smile...

She thought that he looked more like an angel.

He looked over to her, a grin on his lips. Then he pocketed the scalpel.

Later, she asked him what did he want the tool for.

He shrugged. "Because I can. Because it is fun."

…

Anko dreams frequently now. It came together with the headache, she suppose. Sometimes she remember them. Sometimes she don't.

"Anko, what do you think of this?" On the tip of Orochimaru's finger was a butterfly. Blue wings edged in black, intricate designs seemingly carved into it. An azure sky enveloped in dark thoughts.

"It is beautiful." Anko said, her words hardly above a whisper.

"It is, isn't it."

Then he tore off its wings.

The fallen butterfly writhed on the ground. Anko squatted down to look at it.

Torn. Wingless. Fallen.

She looked up at him. "Why?"

A single word. A single question.

He pressed the wings -so beautiful- into her palm, his golden piercing eyes locked with hers.

"Because I can. Because I can take away its freedom, because I can give it to you." He extended his hand to her. "You understand, don't you?"

There was no need to think, no need to consider. Reaching up, she grasped his pale hand in her small one, letting him pull her up. Her fist closed around the wings. Her wings.

She understood.

…

There was a murder, and she was sent to investigate. She grimaced as she ran towards the crime scene, the headache particularly vicious that day.

Throb.

When she arrived, she stepped under the police tape that enclosed the house, barring non-personnel people from approaching or entering.

The house was very proper. No overturned furniture. Nothing broken. Everything seemed to be intact. Anko walk around the living room and checked the bathroom. Nothing out of place.

Throb.

She entered the last bedroom, and stopped in her approach.

A girl was lying face down on the bed, a blanket covering her mid-section to her legs, leaving her back exposed.

Wings, Anko noted with morbid fascination and disgusted amusement.

The girl had wings. Like butterfly wings.

Carved carefully onto her back, the red lines twisting, writhing, forming delicate patterns on her skin. The wings were angled, as if preparing for take-off at any instant.

throb.

Throb.

THROB.

A spike of pain made Anko clutch at her head, snapping her eyes shut and trying to will the pounding away. Her vision swirled, and the girl in her sight spun.

For a moment, Anko expected the girl to fly away.

…

Anko tapped her pen impatiently against the table. "You still haven't told me your name."

He smiled, a serene smile. "And you still haven't guessed it."

"... Maybe you aren't real. Maybe I am dreaming."

"Maybe you are. But then again, maybe you are not."

"How would I know? What separates dreams from reality?"

"Who knows? Perhaps they are one and the same. One person's reality may just be another man's dreams."

"So there is a possibility that you aren't real."

He sighed. Walking towards her, he cupped her face in his hands. "Do I feel real to you?"

Anko's breath hitched. His hand, so cool against her skin. She nodded. "Yes."

"Then I am."

She looked back at the black-covered notebook in front of her as several names ran through her mind. She wanted to write down a few guesses, but none of them seem to fit him.

She went to sleep, and the notebook remained empty.

"But, Anko dear, dreams always feels like reality. And sometimes, you never want to wake up from it."

…

"What is wrong, Anko?" A hint of displeasure in his voice as he walked towards her. "It is not like you to stumble during training."

Sitting on the floor, She pointed to her leg where there was an ugly purple bruise forming. "I think I bumped into something earlier on."

Orochimaru simply looked at her. Then he reached down towards her ankle-

Snap!

-and broke it. Just like that.

"You will forget about that bruise. Just focus on the pain." The pain that I gave you. Because Anko, if you need to be distracted, broken, scarred, it would be done by my hands. Because you are mine. Orochimaru's eyes bore into her, the unspoken words clear as day.

"Shall we proceed on with our training?" He extended his hand to her.

Reaching up, she grasped his pale hand in hers, letting him pull her up.

…

There was another murder. A serial killer was out on the loose. And this was the second kill.

Anko arrived at the scene. Other ninjas parted the way, allowing her to see the victim.

A young boy lying on the ground, his white, white, white shirt a stark contrast to the floor of the dirty alley.

Throb.

Anko grit her teeth. She wasn't hurting. Her head wasn't going to split open.

"Anko-san," A chūnin greeted her. "He bled to death from the place where both his feet were cut off from ankle down. We've asked the medics, and they think that this murder took place last night. His name and nearest of kin is..."

Anko didn't hear anything he spoke. She could only stare at the pool of blood on the floor, the thousand shades of red somehow coolly logical, speaking of blood and death. And more.

…

"How do you feel about his death?"

Anko paused, placing her tea down. "Whose?"

"Orochimaru. You've heard of it, I'm sure." Kakashi answered, as he idly poked the sashimi on his plate. All talking at the table ceased. Kurenai shot him a frown.

"Yes, I have. There is nothing I feel about it, it doesn't affect me in any way."

"Is that what you tell yourself? Some people keep telling themselves that, but it simply make them think of the matter more, don't you think? And while this make them feel, their mind would reject it. Because they don't want to feel anything, don't want to be affected in any way at all. And, in order to forget that feeling, people can do many things..."

She met Kakashi's gaze. "It isn't what I tell myself. It is what is."

Kakashi looked at her for a while before nodding. "Well, in that case, I'm glad for you."

From a corner, he smiled to her. He nodded his head and pointed towards her house.

Excusing herself from her friends, Anko exited the tea-house and went home with him.

She still have to think of his name.

…

She couldn't breath. Anko couldn't breath. She was going to suffocate to death.

Struggling, her hands clawed at the pale one at her neck that was cutting off her air supply.

"Anko, stop. Look at me." Orochimaru voice was one of command. And she couldn't disobey.

Forcing her body to be still, she opened her eyes, only to drown in the depths of golden.

"Do you trust me?"

He is a great Sannin. One of the best ninja the world ever knew. And also one of the most ruthless. And he had his hand around her neck.

She chocked a little, but her answer still came out. "Y- Yes."

Orochimaru released her, and she fell onto the floor, gasping for air.

"That is right, Anko. All you need to do is trust in me." He extended his hand to her.

Reaching up, she grasped his pale hand in hers, letting him pull her up.

…

Anko snapped awake. She felt warm. Oh-so-warm. Blood covered the front of her shirt, and her shorts was splattered with a few crimson droplets. Her hand held a knife, and she was standing in front of her house sink. A few fish lay in a bowl, some of them already brutally gutted.

Throb.

The headache was back.

A rushed knocking sounded on her door, before Asuma burst in, eyes wide with worry.

"Anko! There have been another mur- What the hell are you doing?"

Anko looked around. Aside from the basin, her clothes and hands, the rest of the place was untouched by blood.

"I'm...gutting fish? Just felt like having some sashimi for a late night snack."

Asuma gave her a weird look. "Whatever. There have been another murder, and this time, the blood seem fresh. It couldn't have been more than an hour ago. ...and next time, I'm not letting you do any cooking in my house that involves raw meat."

Excusing herself to change into more appropriate clothes, Anko retreated to her bedroom, hastily undressing and pulling on a new shirt. She couldn't remember what she had done before she awoke. But that wasn't as pressing a matter as the case, and Anko brushed it out of her mind.

As she exit, she noticed that he wasn't with her.

…

Anko felt unnerved by the opened-eyed gaze of the corpse.

Like it was accusing her.

"She died of suffocation. The murderer -whoever this sick bastard is- pressed too hard on this girl's throat. She died chocking on her own blood." Asuma's distaste was evident in his tone.

Blaming.

Damning.

Even as she left, she could still feel it's gaze at the back of her neck.

…

It was when as reached home that she realized something. Her dreams...the murders. They have a link.

They have a link.

Fear gripped her, an icy fist around her heart that just won't go away. He is back. He is back and no one was safe because of her. She shivered violently.

The ache intensified.

Throb.

No, she can't lose her head, not now. She needed to so something, anything.

Throb!

Anko screamed. She screamed and screamed, and screamed. The pain, OhChrist, the pain-

-and just as suddenly, it was gone.

Someone was hugging her, arms locking her into a tight embrace. Whispering reassuring words into her ears. Hands wiped away her tears, smoothed down her messy hair trying to calm her down.

"It's going to be okay. You're fine, you will be fine." Voice, soft like velvet. Golden mellow eyes that she could drown in forever.

But it wasn't going to be fine. Because He is back.

"Don't worry, whatever happens, we'll get through this together."

"N- No, it isn't safe," Anko rasped, finally finding her voice. "He is back, H- He is back! It's not going to be fine!"

"Who are you referring to?"

"My...my ex-Sensei."

"...What's his name?"

"His name is..." Is what? "I- I can't remember..." Her voice trailed off as she wrecked her brain of that one single, familiar name.

She thought harder, pushed herself to rememb-

A sharp spike of pain wrecked through her body, sending it into spasms. Hot white pain sliced through her. Pain, so much pain. Her voice caught in her throat. It hurts bad, so bad she couldn't even scream.

"No, don't think about it anymore. We'll leave. We'll leave here together. He won't find us. No one will find us."

…

"It can't be." Asuma forced out between clenched teeth, his anger rising by the seconds.

Kakashi's eyes hardened. "Just face the truth, Asuma, all edvid-" His head snapped to the side as Asuma's fist connected with his jaw.

"You lie! Anko isn't like this!"

"Asuma, you know as well as I did that Anko was the one who stole the scalpel from the infirmary. And that is the weapon used in the first murder." Kakashi said, clenching his fist in an attempt to keep his voice cool. "You watched the camera footage too. And the blood found on the scalpel is that of the victim's."

"No, No! It could have been someone els-"

"SHE ENTERED THE INFIRMARY ALONE!" Kakashi shouted, landing a punch to Asuma's stomach, far too gone to care about being calm anymore. "THERE WAS NO ONE ELSE WITH HER!"

Anko's room was silent except for the heavy breathing of Kakashi and Asuma, and the soft sobbing of Kurenai.

Kakashi closed his eyes. "That was why we were sent to search her house, Asuma. You know it as well as I do. And our findings..." He looked at the scalpel and several kunais, all crusted with dried blood, all packed neatly in a box they found in the bathroom. "...she is guilty."

Asuma slammed a fist against the wall. "Damn. Damn! That...that night, when we found third victim, I came to alert her. Her hand was covered in blood. And she told me she was gutting fish. Gutting fish! And I believed her!"

A gust of wind blew in, and the pages of a black-covered notebook flipped softly in the breeze.

Kurenai picked it up, rifling through the pages.

The entire notebook was filled, page after page, the same word written in Anko's penmanship, neat cursive writing. Her hands shook as they clenched at the pages hard, so hard that a few of them almost came entirely off the seams.

With a angry cry, Kurenai threw the book on the desk.

…

She was standing at the edge of the cliff. He wasn't with her.

Anko closed her eyes. She is going to be free. Konoha would be safe. No one would harm them.

No one would harm her.

She opened her eyes again, and he was in front of her. Floating.

No, flying.

His wings, blue wings edged in black.

She could hardly breathe. "So beautiful..."

He smiled at her, a tender, warm, heart-breaking smile. He was hovering, a few feet away from her. She wants to touch him, to see if it was real, but she was already at the edge of the cliff.

"I still don't know your name." Her voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Don't you? Maybe you don't. But then again, maybe you do." He flew nearer, wings gently beating the air, leaning close enough to press his lips softly against hers.

Sin. He tastes like sin. But then he is an Angel. Her Angel.

"So which is it?" She missed the feel of his lips almost instantly. He was so close, so close, all she need was one step.

"Does it really matter now?"

Did it? No, it didn't. She shook her head. It never did matter from the start.

"Anko, I can set you free, give you the true freedom that you want. I will make you forget, if that is what you need. But all that I need to know is, do you trust me?" He extended his hand to her.

It was a silly question, really, and Anko gave the only answer she could give.

Reaching up, she grasped his pale hand in hers...

…

A few days later, before the break of dawn, a small funeral was held in Konoha. Only a few ninjas stood underneath the grieving sky, oblivious to the pouring rain.

Asuma held Kurenai to him, her hot tears doing little to warm the ice in his chest. "At least she was smiling."

Somewhere, in a room, a little black-covered notebook lay on a desk, it's pages in many forms of disarray. A gentle wind blew, and one of the pages hanging by a small portion came off, fluttering in the breeze.

A single word, a single name, caught the rays of the sun that was rising to meet a new day, the same word that repeatedly filled the entire book.

Orochimaru.