A/N: There is never enough time for me to concentrate. There is a sequel for this in progress.
Summary: When someone is born, we cry. When we are in love, we cry. When someone deceives us, we cry. When we hate someone, we cry. When we lose someone, we cry. When we don't understand, we cry. Will we go through it all for sweet love[Multiple couplings
Disclaimer:Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto
Pairings: NaruSasu, GaaLee, ShikaTema, KakaIru,
Friendboats: YashaSister, NaruSai, KakaObi, SakuIno,
Warnings: Strong language, angst, death, self-inflicted harm.
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When someone is born, we cry.
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Yashamaru looked in horror at the bundle shoved into his arms.
This monster.
This born murderer.
This little thing had taken his sister away from him. And she hadn't even been allowed to leave this realm in peace. Seventeen hours of terror until he had finally ripped his sister's life in exchange for his own. Already this child was infested with greed and ferocity.
The sand danced around harmlessly in the corners, climbing up the walls only to fall down and try again. The child must be the one doing it, unconsciously.
Yashamaru blinked.
The child in his arms was in a way… very beautiful. The name his sister had given it was still something left to decorate the village, a banner for her everlasting hatred, her curse, because she was forced into this fate. Gaara. To love no one but himself. The infant would, too. It would not be loved by anyone, and it would live a life in the shadow. Yashamaru could not however muster up enough justice inside his to feel even a fraction of sadness for the child's childhood and life.
His sister had been stolen from him.
Life was set out only to be torn down.
It, Gaara, was tucked into a brown blanket and was dead silent. He had – daring to even try to be alike with other humans – when being born screamed loudly, sound chilling bone just because of the mere knowledge that this scream is that of a demon's. The tiny little hands were clasped securely under the blanket and he had his eyelids draped to hide his eyes. The eyes of a monster that would surely kill whatever came in range.
Yashamaru could not have cared less that there was a Sand spirit demon inside that petite body. There could have been two, three, four, ten, a dozen, it made no difference. However unwilling Yashamaru was to admit it, the thing had nothing to do with the demon inside him and could have done nothing to stop the experiment done to him.
Neither could it, Gaara, help the fact that his mother had died giving birth to him.
And he would not be able to change the fact that he would bring forth nothing but hatred from other people towards him.
It wasn't Gaara's fault.
A human with a pure heart and a specific quality that very few people actually possess; something golden and shining that gave the person the ability to overlook the result and see the process would be able to care for Gaara in Yashamaru's situation. The unique person would have, in this case, overlooked the fact that the baby had a demon inside its mind and body, and that the infant had been the reason of his loved sister's death (God, she's gone. She's gone! She's GONE! She's not alive! SHE IS NOT ALIVE ANYMORE, YASHAMARU!) and would instead waited for her funeral to mourn for her. The person would be happy, because he had become an uncle to the child of his beloved sister.
That is what a pure human would have done.
Yashamaru was not a pure human.
He felt the rage towards this horrid excuse for a baby boiling up inside him, heating his intestines and pouring hot fire into his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. This child was nothing and everything. Nothing worth keeping alive. Everything that made life bittersweet and black. Yashamaru swung between running and screaming out his internal pain.
The baby hiccupped and opened his aquamarine eyes slowly. He would in any other situation be an excellent example of how a new born baby should be. His skin was pale, not pink and wrinkly. His gaze was clear and curious. The small fingers had slipped out of the warm blanket and reached for something to hold onto, trembling as a beginner should.
Yashamaru couldn't help but think of his sister's face. Her dying gaze, the bloody deliverers that was clothed in armor to defend them for whatever monstrosity that would come out of that woman's body. How helpless he had stood there outside the panorama window. He had wanted to go in there. But what would he have done? No soothing words would have extracted the unimaginable pain coursing through his sister's veins.
The young man cried silently over the birth of this demon child while slowly swinging the newborn back and forth.
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When we are in love, we cry.
---
Gaara sat in a tree in the outskirts of Konoha. He was crying.
The sand armor that clothed him twenty-four hours a day was dripping off, building small clumps in the grass beneath him. All focus was lost, and he had no strength left to allow himself the pleasure of being encased in security.
The gourd leaning on the thick tree lost its balance and fell to the ground with a nearly inaudible noise. It led Gaara to think of this one saying he had heard somewhere. If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, will it still make a noise? He felt it symbolized the way he felt right now. Useless and thrown aside.
Lee.
The last piece of the sand skin armor fell to the ground.
He was defenseless and vulnerable.
He realized he must have been unshielded for a while now. Something inside his chest ached for something he couldn't have. The Kazekage who still was a child hid his face into his hands. He wanted the closeness of a person he already had closeness with. But he wanted more. This want, this addictive need rushed through his system and each breath felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped over his lungs, constricting his movements and thoughts.
How was he to get closer to Lee?
When he was already as close as Lee probably would ever let it go?
Don't turn away from me.
Gaara would escape the Suna desert to the doldrums of Konoha's breezy landscapes as often as he could, but this time the aching need inside him only grew. The ache sat somewhere between his ribcage and navel, deep inside his flesh. It perpetually pounded lightly when the nightly hours was draped across the day, but during daylight it'd get stronger.
Gaara choked on a hiccup and swallowed a sob with great difficulty.
This ache… It hurt him, wounded him.
It burned and seared at his body.
It tore him apart, ripping his sanity one fraction a time.
But none of it even compared to the pain whenever he was with Lee. When Lee was close, but didn't look at him, the indescribable pain made Gaara want to just lie down on the ground and scream in agony and never get up.
This obsessive need to never leave Lee made him tired and weak. Gaara would sit outside his window and observe the beauty sleeping, wishing he could just open the window and climb in, like a guest or a lover. He often though about actually doing it but never did. The distance between them would only widen.
This distance was alive, and was fighting to continue staying alive. Distance wanted them to be apart. Ache wanted to glue Lee to his skin so they would never be separated. A Yin and a Yang. However, Yin and Yang combined were supposed to bring balance to the whole carousel. It didn't.
Rather it fed on Gaara's power and spirit. Sometimes they fought so much, Gaara's battery didn't even allow him to take a hundred meter stroll. Gaara would always feel neglected when no one came to see why he never left his room, which sometimes caused the sand nins inner turmoil to rage on further. The outcomes of that left Gaara in a delirious state where a new world opened up to Gaara.
He hated that world.
It was an endless desert with one single person to keep him company.
Gaara and another Gaara.
This Gaara always smiled at him when they sat cross-legged in front of each others.
It bothered Gaara. He had nothing to smile about. He would cry to ease the extra waves of pain that washed over him when he saw the other Gaara smile, the Gaara he could have been if not for many different factors piling up, building a mountain. The smiling Gaara would drape his arms across his shoulders, whispering endearing words in his ear, telling him it was okay to cry.
The redhead almost never denied himself anything.
So when the tears clouded his vision, he disposed of them. Easy and painless. The tears made him feel better.
So Gaara curled up in his tree, ache lying currently dormant inside his belly, and he knew he would never leave Lee. Even if the utter agony he felt each time Lee was near and turned away increased tenfold. He couldn't.
This… ache… was what other people called love.
Someone had told him love was different for everyone.
A girl told him love was like spinning, spinning, spinning, until a wave of pleasuring dizziness would bring them back to earth.
A brother once told him that love was like dancing in fire, where getting burnt was part of the game, while the adrenaline set your heart in delicious flames.
A blonde, precious friend had told him that love sent you soaring above the highest mountain peaks, touching the sky and the clouds would pour down rain, drenching you in sweet, sweet ecstasy.
Gaara would wait for this ache to turn into soft waves of security, sweeping you deeper into a sea of something other than pain.
But meanwhile, he would dispose of his clouded vision.
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When someone deceives us, we cry.
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Naruto stared in rage at the grave.
The decorative painting swirled around the tombstone looked much better when pained as the original; in ink. Carved into stone is made it seem… fake and forced. It had none of the flowing grace that is was painted with.
How could Sai leave him like this?
How could his friend lie to him like that?
What kind of friend would leave him behind like this? What kind of human would allow himself to be dragged into Hell without even a hint to his comrades that he needed help? What kind of fuck would be that sick?!
That promise he had made.
Those words.
Those lips telling him that he would come back home alive and well.
The promise he had made, an oath sworn upon his male and ninja pride.
Had that meant nothing to Sai?! Had that traitorous bastard thought nothing more of his vow once he had placed that goddamned ANBU mask on his face? Did it mean when your identity was erased for a moment, your life before was annihilated?
Naruto wanted to crush that marble into a pile of dust with his own bare hands, salvage the immense pleasure and spit on it, roaring with disrespect.
How could Sai leave him like that?
Goddamned piece of fucking shit!
His teammate. His bandage for Sasuke's temporary time away from him. The very thing keeping him believing in everything, because he was Sai. The insults had spurred him to do better. The jeers had kept him at his toes, sharpening him into perfection. The friendship he had given to him to help him regain faith in eternal bonds again.
Sai.
A fucking piece of lying shit, that was what he was. A traitorous good for nothing double crosser. He was better off dead! Fucking liar!
Naruto fell to his knees and banged his head hard against the cold stone, snow soaking trough the light material clothing his knees. A metallic sound emitted each time his headband connected with the gravestone, sending small waves into his face.
All the paintings Sai had drawn. Who would take care of them now? There were still plenty left to name. Were they to be left behind, not to even be honored with the privilege of a name which would undoubtedly lead to the simple truth; they would be forgotten. No, they wouldn't be forgotten. They would never get to exist. No one would acknowledge them or remember them, therefore giving them no reason to exist, thus they would never have existed. Nothing really existed if they had been created without a purpose.
Naruto slumped, falling ungracefully into a puddle of boneless flesh and feelings.
YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! HOW COULD YOU LEAVE US?! WHAT THE HELL IN YOUR FUCKED UP MIND MADE YOU THINK YOU COULD JUST FUCKING BAIL ON US?! WHAT ABOUT US?! YOU COULDN'T THINK ABOUT ANYONE BUT YOUR FUCKING SELF FOR A SECOND, YOU SELFISH BASTARD!
His body began spasm with barely retained anger. Adrenaline pumped through his system. There was nothing left but anger right now. His other life, the life he led before the dead body of Sai returned to the village, was stuffed into a box inside his chest, bolted and nailed shut. His friendship with Sakura. His marriage with Sasuke in a week. The not so subtle hint about him going into Hokage training Tsunade had dropped when giving him a C-rank mission (Goddamned cat).
Why did Sai leave?
Why did he die?
Why was he killed?
Why was he assassinated?
Why would someone do this? Killing a human being whom he held so close to his heart?
Sai would never live again.
And it was someone's fault.
It was Sai's fault.
Naruto's cerulean eyes turned a frightening shade of red and the whiskers on his cheeks grew bolder and wilder. His nails reformed into vile claws and fangs spouted from his mouth, peeking out though his pink lips.
Sai was not to be remembered. Sai was to be forgotten because of his traitorous act towards the Konoha village.
Naruto bit his lip viciously, hindering a scream from bursting forward. Tears stuffed with angry, red, swirling chakra rolled down his cheeks, burning the skin off his face, intermingled with the blood seeping from his swollen bottom lip.
Sai was to blame for his death. And that bastard had fucking deserved it.
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When we hate someone, we cry.
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Kakashi sat in front of a large, polished rock. The sunlight shone on it and if you squinted you could see the water reflection on the heated stone. His hair was messy and his mask was firmly in place.
Why show your face to someone?
It would only make the person attached to him.
That would make him attached to the person.
Kakashi was weak. He would never be strong enough to protect the one's he held above all others. His precious ones never could stay out of trouble, and he was never strong enough. Never smart enough. Never was he enough.
Obito, the text declared. The name was hidden among so many others who had fallen heroically in battle.
Rin, it spoke, her name was down in the far end, and only two names had been written after her. Those two women had died in accidents. Rin had not been an accident.
Kakashi had witnessed her death.
And he was to blame. Because he wasn't able to save her, protect her, drape her in immortality. He had wanted her to stay with him forever, so that he would never have to experience the feeling 'loss' ever again. He never wanted to lose someone ever again.
Kakashi fingered on a blank kunai in his left hand.
He hated himself. Everything about him was wrong and disgusting and weak and repelling. He stank of death and easy prey. The mask to hide himself, shove people away, trick them into believing he wanted nothing to do with them without talking. He could never speak. His language failed him. He became the human inside him when he spoke. Afterwards, he would curse himself.
He was supposed to keep people away.
He couldn't protect them.
They were better off somewhere else, with someone else.
His first miss had been four and a half year ago.
He had taken on a genin team.
He hadn't been able to help himself. They were so much alike to what he had treasured higher than his own existence, which had died without fail.
Sasuke was so much like how he used to be. A genius child, who people thought upon when they pictured their own child who was soon to be born. The same indifference about life and all its living things in general had been the main rule for both sharingan users. The mockery, the air of superiority. The one who was favored. The one people thought they knew, but only saw the shallow surface and would never see the storming insides.
Sakura was alike Rin in every aspect. They had both loved Sasuke and Kakashi for what they thought they knew about them. The love had faded into the strongest form of friendship available when they realized they were not at all how they had though they were. Even material aspects fitted the two kunoichi's. The medical ninjutsu, the determined and never-ending will to help and heal them whenever battle raged.
Naruto… and Obito.
Kakashi slid his finger across the kunai's sharp edge, careful not to break skin.
The two of them were so alike it was ridiculous. They were both incurable idiots. They were loud and obnoxious, disturbing the piece. They were clumsy and could never do anything right even the tenth time around during training. But they had come through when it really mattered, when lives where at stake.
Unlike Kakashi.
Kakashi wanted to hurt himself. But if he did, he only got weaker, and that was not his purpose.
He merely wanted people to leave him alone so that he could hurt himself without worrying for other's lives. Even though Kakashi kept telling himself he wasn't strong enough, the man always appeared by the side of his loved ones. Just this one time, he would at least try, it was always just one time.
"Kakashi." a voice sounded through the open field.
He didn't bother turning around. He knew who that was.
Faster than light he tucked the kunai away from sight..
Iruka hated it when he thought about harming himself.
Kakashi wanted Iruka to go away right now, and he hated himself for it. Iruka loved him and was trying to help him in every way he could. But he wanted to be left alone right now, he wanted an hour to empty his hate for himself so Iruka would not suffer because he had not let off the steam required.
But Iruka plopped down next to him, their clothes making an nearly inaudible noise when they brushed.
He couldn't feel comforted by his lover's presence, even though he wanted.
He wanted to be alone when he was crying.
People were not to see him weak. They would harm his precious people if they knew.
So Kakashi blinked the tears running from right eye away and leaned his head on Iruka's shoulder. He still hated himself. But he would repress it for now.
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When we lose someone, we cry.
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Ino's body shook violently.
Sakura.
Sakura.
Sakura, Sakura, Sakura, Sakura, SAKURA!
Naruto and Sasuke had fallen asleep due to the excessive amount of crying on the hospital chairs, heads bumped together, mingling blonde and brunette hair together. They looked peaceful. Like children.
The barriers inside Ino had not fallen during the entire operation they had held, trying to revive her. Until now. They burst with a vicious power and the tears forced their way through her eyes, and it felt like an army.
It had been her fault! Had not Ino been there, Sakura would still be alive!
The Akatsuki's member replacing one of their lost members. An unique ninja. A Kakashi ninja.
A copy ninja.
The member, Genkou Shin, had stolen her Mind Body Switch jutsu. And of course Sakura hadn't expected the person covering her back to slit her throat.
Of course she hadn't.
The jutsu had worn of the second the cut had been made.
Ino had screamed.
Sakura had not. The pink haired kunoichi had wordlessly fallen to the ground, to her own demise.
Ino fell to the ground, body quivering with fear. How was she supposed to live? Sakura had… Ino had… They had… Ino had cut her throat, no matter which way you looked at it. She was a murderer, a backstabber; she was below the privilege of breathing air. She was nothing. She was… She was…
She was indescribable.
The tears poured down her cheeks. She hated Sakura for not avoiding the killing act. She hated herself for showing the mind transfer juts, and for the fact she allowed herself to get caught in her own jutsu. She hated her family for even developing this goddamned jutsu. She hated her comrades for not being fast enough to stop her. She hated herself for not being able to cast that man out of her mind.
But she didn't hate them or herself.
She was not filled with anger and hate.
She was stuffed with sorrow. Black, wet, cold sorrow, filling her lungs, making it hard to breathe.
She felt as if she had been attacked, and a part of her body and soul had been ripped from her. Sakura was a part of her. A part of her life, a part of her memories, a part of her body. They had, while they were still kids and young, cut themselves in their thumbs and pressed them together, joining in an eternal bond written in blood.
A few days after that, they had become rivals.
But the blood still circulated in her veins, Sakura's blood.
Maybe there was a way to save her if they…
Ino cried harder, tugging at her hair.
The hair.
It reminded her of Sakura.
She drew a kunai from her leg holster and in a fast move cut it all off. It fell out of her ponytail and the boyish locks danced on her head for a second. She stared at the reflection in the window.
Her face.
It reminded her of Sakura.
She drew long gashes on her cheeks, blood dripping. Her face became paper and the weapon became a pen. She painted joyously and removed any trace of the Ino murdering Sakura. She was to die and a new Ino would be born from the ashes. The old Ino would go with Sakura, and would have to deal with explaining her deed herself.
Ino couldn't care less.
Sakura was not coming back.
That Ino had no purpose and direction.
That Ino was to blame.
That Ino was to be punished.
Ino cowered beneath her own thoughts. She hid her face in her hands, but couldn't bear the metallic tang the blood seeping from her face tasted. It was disgusting.
Ino just watched in fascination how Sakura's blood dripped down her chin, rolled down her next or dripped to stain her clothes. The blood didn't matter. Sakura would not spring to live because her blood was still in someone's body. It would be mocking her memory. So it was better to just let it go.
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When we don't understand, we cry.
---
Shikamaru lay underneath a tree.
The moonlight flickered across his skin, like fingers. He could almost feel Temari's touch dancing over his body, ghosting along his heart. Why wasn't she here with him?
Their second marriage anniversary together.
And Temari was gone. Shikamaru had searched the entire village and searched every spot of the entire woods around Konoha. Twelve hours of searching and she was still gone. This man was not the kind to go out of his way to please others, because it was troublesome.
But he had really tried to find her.
He really had.
But it was as if the earth had swallowed her alive. He would have sent a message to Suna, but she was a free woman. She was allowed to be wherever she wanted whenever she wanted. Shikamaru bit his quivering lip. But she was supposed to want to be with him on their anniversary! They were supposed to be together right now. He wanted her here with him.
A lonely tear rolled down his cheek.
Didn't she love him anymore?
Was she tired of him?
Did he bore her?
The thoughts slithered around in his head like snakes, spreading poison through him. They snaked their way down to his stomach and tied a large knot. This was not how it was supposed to be.
He had everything planned out, just like he always had.
Temari was to come home at the time she usually did. She was to take off her shoes, the left one before the right. She would cast an eye towards the mail, checking if there was something interesting there. The only thing she though was exciting with mail was when large packages with stuff came. Letters she never rushed to open. She would call out in an ironic voice asking if he was there, even though she knew he was.
He was to answer with a 'troublesome' and come to meet her.
They would kiss and then start verbally sparring about something, usually who was to cook dinner. Temari would be aggressive and he would defend himself with strategically tricky escapes. Most times they ended up doing it together, because they were both so lousy at cooking.
Then they had many alternatives what to do. Tonight he had planned they were to go out, and do something romantic.
But Temari had never even gotten home.
Shikamaru had sat there an hour past the usual time, just waiting for her to come home. Couldn't he just have continued napping? No, his cycle had been disturbed. He was worried about her and couldn't relax when the kunoichi had broken their cycle. Was she hurt? Was she in danger? Was she alive?
It roused so many disturbing images of her, and it scared him, creeping around in his toes, biting and clawing at him.
Was she okay?
He had at first asked all their friends if they knew where she was.
After realizing none of them knew anything, he started to really panic. She was no where to be found, and he rushed home to see if they had missed each other.
One thing had changed back home that signaled she had been there. The bathroom. A positive birth control test had been hastily thrown into the bin and that hurt Shikamaru on so many levels.
She must have waited for him to disappear from the house.
She was pregnant, and chose to run away from him instead of telling. (ABORTION, not abortion, Temari, please, woman, don't do that.)
She was running away from him.
He loved so much it hurt.
But she was running from him. Why torture her more by following?
So he just strayed to his favorite tree and fell down, body convulsing with the tears.
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A/N: I'm rather pleased. Review and tell me what you think while I type the sequel.