A/N Before you read, a few notes from me.
This story is sad. Get a tissue. (Or not…)
WARNING: Mild spoilers for the more recent chapters...mostly concerning the 4th Hokage...don't read if you don't wanna know.
If it seems too long for a one-shot, let me know and I may split it into chapters.
Naruto and friends © Masashi Kishimoto.
(This is my first fic not concerning the Akatsuki, so I'm sorry if anyone is out of character. Many of charas these are a first for me.)
-----
The funeral was tomorrow.
Three people met again in the same place as always, his room, where they had met for the last two days since his death.
They were the same three people every time.
Haruno Sakura, his long-time teammate and friend, and the crush whom had never been able to fully return his affections.
Hatake Kakashi, the ever cool, calm, and collected sensei, whom had guided him through his first awkward milestones as a ninja. If Kakashi had ever been an inspiration to him, then he was double that to Kakashi.
Finally, Hyuuga Hinata, the shy one whom had watched him from the shadows, who had always had something to say to him, but had lacked the courage. Now she could never say it. Now he could never love her. He was gone.
When these three met, there was tearful discussion about his life, his death, what was, what could have been, what never would be.
There were confessions, Sakura's admittance that she could have been a better friend, Kakashi's that he should have spent more time with him, Hinata's that she had loved him, something that she had done her best to hide from everyone. Now it didn't matter.
And there was crying, always. Sakura and Hinata cried openly, but Kakashi turned away to shed his tears. Sakura was sure that he would launch some petty excuse their way, maybe say he had allergies or dust was in his eye, but he didn't. He only stood silently with his back to the kunoichi, his gently shaking shoulders the only indication of his tears.
On this day, which they knew would not be the last of their meetings, Sakura spoke first. The tearstains on her cheeks stood out from her pale face as she remembered her teammate.
"Y-you know, looking…looking back now, I don't understand why he liked me so much," Sakura said, chuckling a little as she remembered the many times that he had asked her on a date, and her many rejections. "I was a world-class bitch back then."
Hinata patted Sakura's hand a bit, her sympathy showing on her face. Looking at her, Sakura wondered if it was hard for her to hear how he had liked Sakura rather than Hinata, but neither girl said anything on the matter.
The bantered around a bit, trying to remember the fun times and trying not to cry. The tears came anyway, first for Sakura; then Hinata, seeing Sakura's tears, followed suit.
Kakashi just sat awkwardly, watching the girls sob. He only stopped himself from joining them by deciding there would be plenty of time for that when he was alone, with no one to watch him break down, no one to take pain from his own.
For now, he would just sit and endure the girls' crying, maybe reach a hand out to pat Sakura's head, touch Hinata's hand reassuringly—then reconsider, leaving them alone with their tears.
Eventually, it all died down. There was no less pain, but the sobbing receded, and they were able to talk once more.
There was more talk of his past, the day he became Sakura's teammate and Kakashi's student, the day he beat Neji in a spectacular Chuunin exam battle, the day he had beaten Gaara and saved his friends, the day he returned from his two-year training with Jiraiya, older, taller, different. The only day not mentioned was his last one on Earth.
Hinata didn't say much during this, and eventually, Kakashi and Sakura quieted down and looked at her.
She was sitting on his bed with her clenched fists in her lap, looking at her feet.
"Hinata?" Sakura asked worriedly.
Hinata didn't look up.
Kakashi was looking at Hinata too. "What's wrong?" he asked. Besides the obvious, he added mentally.
"I…looking back…I…I don't know…if I…"
"If you what?" Sakura urged her gently.
"If I ever…really…loved him."
Sakura put her hand on Hinata's back. She didn't even know what to say.
"I thought…I thought that I did…I know I admired him, I wanted to be like him. And…I…I wished that he saw me…the way he saw you," Hinata said, motioning to Sakura. "I cared so much about him," she continued, "I hated to see him hurt, and I wanted to help him…but I don't know if it was just…" She trailed off.
Sakura smiled. "You said it yourself, Hinata. You did love him. After all, what is love but caring about another person so much that you can't stand to see them in pain, you notice their strengths, and accept their weaknesses, and you—at least, some part of you—want to be like them."
Hinata closed her eyes and smiled. "Thank you, Sakura-san."
Sakura nodded and looked out the window.
Kakashi sighed. "Each of us, in some way, loved that boy. That's—that's proven by…by the fact that we're all sitting here and talking about him…remembering him…"
He turned away from the girls. "We loved him. We all loved him."
"No," Sakura said suddenly.
"What?" Hinata said, cocking her head at the other girl.
"Hm?" Kakashi was sounded taken aback, and turned around to look at Sakura.
"I…I don't think we loved him," Sakura half-whispered, her voice growing shaky, threatening tears.
Hinata's eyebrows drew together. "But…you just said…"
"I don't think we loved him, Hinata." The tears spilled over Sakura's cheeks as she turned away from the window and fixed Hinata's pale eyes with her own.
"I think…we love him."
---
The funeral was tomorrow.
Konohamaru stood on the outlook on the Hokage Mountain, scanning the village far below, wondering if his was the only dry face in Konoha.
Konohamaru knew that he would hate it if Konohamaru cried over him. The day he had died, it was raining, but as soon as word of his death reached the village, the weather cleared up and the sun shined. Even now, two days later, as it set, it was shining brightly.
"He's laughing at us," Konohamaru heard from his right. He turned and saw his former sensei, Iruka.
"Ir-Iruka-sensei!" he cried, all but running toward him.
Iruka gave Konhamaru a hesitant hug. "How have you been, Konohamaru?" Holding the boy at arm's length, he studied his face.
"I haven't been crying, if that's what you're asking," Konohamaru looked away from Iruka, back out at the village.
"Well, I don't know…you took your grandfather's death pretty hard back then—"
"I've grown, sensei," Konohamaru interrupted.
Iruka was surprised. "Certainly you have, but even so—"
"Even so what?" Konohamaru said sharply, pulling away from Iruka. "Grampa was fine with me crying, I know he was. But…but he…he wouldn't want me to!" Konohamaru kicked at the ground.
"He…he wouldn't want you to…but he would understand." Iruka closed his eyes and tried to speak in an even, unshaken voice. "Don't you think if it were you, he would cry?"
"He…he would never…ever…he wouldn't cry like some baby..." Konohamaru sniffed, then anger gripped him.
"He…he—HE WAS GONNA BE THE SIXTH HOKAGE, DAMMIT!" Konohamaru yelled, banging his fist on the railing in anger. "HE HAD IT ALL GOING FOR HIM! HE COULD HAVE LIVED! HE CHOSE—WHY DID HE?! Why…why did he…have to go and die…?"
"Konohamaru!" Iruka said. "Don't you remember when he asked me the same thing about your grandfather?"
Konohamaru nodded. He was too close to tears to trust himself to speak.
"Do you remember what I told him?"
Silence.
"Konohamaru, he died to protect us, and his team, his friends, his village. We were important to him, important enough for him to die for us. I can't answer a 'why,' exactly. As I told him years ago; sacrificing yourself for those you love—it is beyond reason."
Konohamaru was hardly aware of the tears that formed in the corners of his eyes.
"I didn't completely know him, Konohamaru. Not as well as I could have. But I knew him well enough to know that he died so that you and so many others could live your lives to the fullest. He would want to heal and move on. Holding in your emotions will never heal you. Letting others know how you feel—and more importantly, admitting it to yourself—I believe that is the best way to heal. You may even end up better than you began, with a better understanding of yourself and a feeling that you are not—that you are never—alone."
Konohamaru continued to look out on the village. Iruka walked over and put his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Iruka-sensei," Konohamaru began. Iruka noticed the tears shining on his face "I—I think he's crying, too."
Iruka looked up and felt a drop of moisture his nose, then another almost hit his eye. Sure enough, it had begun to rain.
Looking back at Konohamaru, Iruka saw that the boy was smiling.
"He doesn't want me to be alone."
----
The funeral was tomorrow.
The three sand ninja sat apart, each to their own corner of their rented room. They were all remembering, whether it was Temari's bits and pieces concerning an overly active but admirably confident ninja, Kankurou's amusing fragments of the boy who had never seemed to show an ounce of fear, or Gaara's memories of the first and only person to sympathize with and care about him.
Not one of them shed a tear. Temari and Kankurou might have if they tried to, but they just couldn't feel the emotional connection to his death as well as those who were closer to him.
In Gaara's case, he might have been crying steadily if not for his emotionless persona, so unused to showing anything but mild feelings and brutal rage.
Angry and pained thoughts swirled through his mind, however, where his emotions were expressed in full. He never even achieved his dream…he never did any of the things I was able to do…
"And I was only able to do it all because of him!" Gaara yelled out loud, unable to contain his anger any longer.
Temari jumped. "What?"
"If—if it wasn't for him…I wouldn't be anything right now! I'd be dead, or worse!"
Kankurou stood up and walked over to his brother. "Oi, Gaara, calm down. There's nothing you can do."
"I'm sure that's what they told him when I was taken! But he—he never stopped trying…" Gaara clenched his teeth and shut his eyes. He hadn't felt this—this helpless—in years. "He brought me back! Can't I…can't I…bring him back?"
Kankurou looked over at Temari. She only nodded at him.
"Gaara, only Elder Chiyo…" he began lamely. No, that wouldn't help at all.
Being a brother to Gaara had never been easy, and Kankurou did not consider himself suited for the job, at least not now. He was not the sort of person who always knew just what to say, at just the right time. More like the opposite.
"There's so much I would give…just to bring him back," Gaara murmured.
Kankurou uncomfortably put his hand on Gaara's bowed head. If he couldn't think of something to say, and fast, he would never forgive himself.
"Gaara, listen…there's only so much people can do for others. He did as much as he could, and he did it for those he cared about most. I'm sure that you would willingly give yourself to bring him back—am I right?" Kankurou asked uneasily, shifting his eyes onto Gaara.
Gaara nodded mutely.
"You know that, I know that—and, wherever he may be right now, I'm absolutely sure that he knows that.
"But," Kankurou continued, "The fact is, even you can't bring him back, at least not in the literal sense. And he certainly wouldn't want you to give your life in vain, or spend it cursing yourself for not being able to do something that no one alive can do."
Gaara took a deep, shuddering breath but said nothing.
"But you can bring him back, in some way—by continuing to live your life the way he lived his—always reaching for your goals, never losing sight of your dreams, and taking care of your family. It's the least you can do for him, who so valiantly died to save so many others, including me, and you."
It was, perhaps, the most sickly, sentimental thing that Kankurou had ever said, and he could hardly believe that it had come from him. When he tried to look at what he had said from an objective point of view, he decided that Gaara must think him a fool.
So he was surprised when his brother looked at him and said, "Thank you."
Kankurou was even more surprised when he saw a tear trail down Gaara's face. His expression did not change, but that tear conveyed more emotion than a thousand words ever could.
Awkwardly, Kankurou pulled Gaara into a hug, the first that the brothers had ever shared.
Close to Kankurou's ear, presumably to the sky, not to Kankurou, but to him, he heard Gaara whisper, "I will never, ever forget you."
-----
The funeral was tomorrow.
A bottle of sake that was less than half-full stood on the disorganized Hokage's desk. Several empty bottles lay on the floor, and twice as many lay across the room, cracked and shattered victims of grief-driven fits of anger.
Tsunade, the fifth Hokage herself, was dozing with her head resting on a pile of books. It was only through sleep that she could forget the pain that had come with the death of her would-be successor.
A knock on the wooden door to her office returned Tsunade to the painful world that had been waiting for her to wake up.
"Come in," she muttered groggily, not completely awake yet.
A familiar white-haired man entered, taking a seat in the chair across from her.
"Jiraiya," she spat.
"Glad to see I'm so welcome," he said sarcastically.
"Just go away," Tsunade moaned, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples, wishing that her headache would go away as well. Wishing her heartache would go away.
Jiraiya didn't move. "I'm sure that you're not half as affected as I am by his death, and you have no excuse to act like this," he said angrily.
Tsunade laughed. "Oh, you're sure, are you? Don't try to pretend, Jiraiya. I know that to you it's just another student gone. Well, three, but since two were corrupt, same to you, isn't it? I didn't see you sobbing over Minato, and it's the same with this. The village mourns, but old Jiraiya scoffs and goes scouting for another kid to damage."
Jiraiya slammed his hand down hard on Tsunade's desk. "You rotten bitch! That's not true at all!" he yelled. "What the hell do you know about this?"
"Plenty!" Tsunade shouted back. "Considering I've lost three people close to me now and each one meant more to me that all the people in the world, including Minato, including him, meant to you!"
She didn't try to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks. "There's—there's only so much I can take," she whispered.
Jiraiya looked away from Tsunade. "Just because you can't see my tears, my pain—doesn't mean that they don't exist, don't push at me from the inside every waking moment. I would never, I could never, expect you to understand. It seems that you're too busy licking your own wounds to realize that you're not the only one who can be hurt, and your way of expressing your feelings, of dealing with pain, is not the only one!"
Standing up, Jiraiya turned to leave.
"Wait!" Tsunade cried.
He stopped.
Tsunade took a breath. "This is not the way I want to remember his death. I'm—I'm sorry," her voice shook. "I just want—no, I need—to talk about him, to talk about the person he was. I don't want to forget. I don't want to forget Dan, or Nawaki, and I never…I never, ever want to forget him."
Jiraiya walked over to the desk, reached out, and took Tsunade's hand.
"You won't, and I wont," he said, looking at her teary face. "We will never forget, and no one else will, either. That, Tsunade, I promise you."
-------
The funeral was tomorrow.
Shikamaru lay on the hill, but for once he was not looking at the clouds. He was looking at the mountain in the distance, with the five Hokages' faces craved into it. He thought of the sixth face that should have been there, but never would.
Shikamaru had spoken with a few people about the ordeal; Chouji, his father, Kurenai. He had very little to say, he mostly listened.
A burned-out cigarette lay beside him, reminding him of his other great loss, the one Shikamaru had just begun to heal from when he went and died.
I wonder if he met Asuma-sensei up there… Shikamaru thought, trying to smile. Sensei's probably wishing he stayed down here.
There was so much to think about, but Shikamaru would rather keep his mind blank. There had been enough crying, he'd probably want to see a few smiles from the friends he'd left behind. Wouldn't he?
And what better way to smile than to clear your mind and admire the pinkish clouds that remained in the darkening sky?
But Shikamaru couldn't kid himself for long. It was better to remember the person he had been, both the old, "un-slick" one who had led several revolts against the Academy's attendance policy, which Shikamaru had eagerly joined, and the one he had become over time, the strong, confident ninja who had shown incredible skill and strength.
Shikamaru remembered their mission to retrieve Sasuke, so long ago—or had it only been a few years? Shikamaru's first mission as a leader, and his first huge failure.
Everyone on that five-man team had learned so much, especially Shikamaru. Though he had learned plenty about himself, he had also learned much about the people he had led, Chouji, Kiba, Neji, and him. Shikamaru had learned so much about him. He had gotten a glimpse, a little taste, of what he was willing to do to save Sasuke, to bring his friend back.
Would I go that far to save my friends? Shikamaru wondered. He hoped that the answer was yes.
Clouds gathered, blocking out the beautiful dark blue color of the sky and replacing it with a gloomy, hopeless gray.
"Damn," Shikamaru said out loud, standing up as the first raindrop fell.
He put his hands in his pockets and headed home as the rain began to fall in earnest.
As he walked, Shikamaru allowed himself to be drowned in memories, of Asuma, and of him, but no matter what memory he recalled, he somehow kept circling back to that long-ago, failed mission to retrieve Sasuke.
He cared so much for that damn Sasuke, Shikamaru thought. No matter what Sasuke did to him, he kept trying to bring him back.
The rain intensified.
Shikamaru didn't usually believe that the recently deceased controlled the weather. Just because it was raining did not mean that someone was crying in heaven.
But in this case, Shikamaru was sure that it wasn't rain, it was tears.
Are you crying because you remember? Are you crying because you couldn't save Sasuke? Because we may never save him?
When he reached his house, Shikamaru stood at the door for a minute before pulling it open, looking at the sky.
Hey, you're pretty amazing, you know? He thought before entering his house. For an un-slick guy, that is.
--------
It was the day of the funeral.
The whole village of Konoha was filled with a sense of hopelessness, though the skies were clear and birds twittered. He was laughing again.
The whole affair was much like the Sandaime's funeral, only held in the training grounds where his first trials as a ninja had taken place.
Half the crowd was crying, half was trying to stay strong for the others.
Sakura, Hinata, and Kakashi stood together, their odd trio not completely split by team, although Kurenai, Kiba, and Shino stood with them. Hinata was crying, Kiba holding her awkwardly in his arms. Kiba was still in shock at his sudden death, though he was standing there, at his funeral.
Sakura stood tall, tears streaming silently. Kakashi was as expressionless as he could be.
Konohamaru was crying, but he tried to smile as he looked at the pictures that sat on the black, velvet-covered table at the front of the crowd. There were three, the one on his ninja file, with him painted all red and white, truly the #1 hyperactive ninja, the team picture with him, Kakashi, Sakura, and Sasuke, and finally, a more recent picture, just his face, caught in laughter, frozen in joy forever. Three photos to represent a short, but full, lifetime.
Iruka stood next to Konohamaru, struggling with his tears.
Konohamaru looked up at Iruka. "Hey, sensei," he whispered.
Iruka looked at him. "Hm?" he managed.
"It's okay to cry."
Iruka nodded, and let go, letting tears fall free.
Gaara, Kankurou, and Temari hovered on the edges of the black-garbed crowd, feeling like they didn't belong.
Gaara wasn't crying, but, for reasons even he himself didn't understand, Kankurou was.
Looking at his stoic brother, Kankurou asked, "G-Gaara? How can you stay so…emotionless?"
Gaara stared at the photographs on the table. "I will never be completely healed. But I do not want them to see my pain. I do not want him to see my pain."
Tsunade and Jiraiya stood together, away from the crowd but still with it. The two Sannin were holding on to each other, both sobbing.
"I'm so sorry…for everything," Tsunade gasped into Jiraiya shoulder.
"I know," he said, his voice not affected by the thickly falling tears. "So am I."
Shikamaru was somewhere in the middle of the crowd, as if he were just another villager, not someone who had known him personally.
It won't be the same without you. It'll never be the same without you, Shikamaru thought, looking at the Hokages' faces again. You should have been on that mountain.
Out of the blue, Shikamaru noticed a small boy, about five, blond-haired, so much like him, run out of the crowd and up to the table. "Wait! Wait!" he gasped, holding up a crumpled white flower. "I forgot!"
Gently laying the flower on the table, the boy said to the photographs of him, "I'm sorry you died. You would have been a great Hokage, mister. I wanna be like you someday, okay?"
He scurried off.
Thinking of the boy, thinking of him, looking at the photographs, pictures of the person that he would never see in the flesh again, at least not in this lifetime, Shikamaru felt his eyes tear up.
You will be on that mountain.
Sakura, Kakashi, Hinata, Konohamaru, Iruka, Temari, Kankurou, Gaara, Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Shikamaru all looked at Hokage Mountain with the five faces carved into it.
And they all thought, You will be on that mountain someday, Uzumaki Naruto.
Naruto…
Naruto.
--------
The funeral was over.
Three people did not leave to go home.
Haruno Sakura.
Hatake Kakashi.
Hyuuga Hinata.
They all stood at the stone where the names of heroes killed in action were carved.
Uchiha Obito.
Namikaze Minato.—
Uzumaki Naruto.
Clearing his throat, Kakashi said, "This—this is where I go, every morning, and during the day as well. You've always wondered why I'm often late, Sakura…" he looked up at the sky. "I'd like to think that Naruto's up there, that he's met Obito…and his father…"
Hinata stared at Naruto's name on the stone, tears in her eyes.
Sakura sighed. "It's very late. We should head home."
Kakashi nodded, and Sakura took Hinata's hand and led her toward the village. She never took her eyes off the stone.
When they had been walking for a short while, they heard a noise from back at the memorial.
Kakashi turned and crouched in the bushes, motioning for Sakura and Hinata to do the same.
They did so, and when they saw the cause of the noise through the leaves, Sakura gasped and said, "It's Sa—"
Kakashi shushed her.
Silently, the three watched.
A raven-haired ninja in a loose, open white shirt and black pants, a long katana strapped to his back, crept out of the darkness toward the memorial stone.
When he reached it, he stood and stared at it for a moment, running his finger down it, searching for a name—
He found what he was looking for, and tapped the stone. Then he pulled out a white flower—even more beautiful and vibrant than the ones that had been placed on the table during the funeral—and laid it down at the foot of the stone.
He reached out and brushed Naruto's name with his hand, his face bearing a look that was almost like sadness, regret—but not quite.
The ninja reached toward his back and pulled out his sword. Holding it parallel to his body, pointing down at the ground, he bowed his head at the stone in a gesture of respect and moved his lips.
"Goodbye."
Sakura, tears appearing on her face again, reached out a hand toward Sasuke. Kakashi pulled it back down. The leaves rustled.
Startled by the sudden noise, Sasuke looked around quickly and bounded away into the night.
Eventually, Sakura, Hinata, and Kakashi went home. All three understood the magnitude of what had happened.
But though the three left, though Sasuke left, though Uzumaki Naruto had left them all forever, the beautiful white flower remained at the memorial, and the stars danced merrily all night long, as if, up in heaven, someone was laughing.