Left Behind

SPOILER ALERT!: Spoilers for Ch. 328! You have been warned!

Summary: One Shot: "War doesn't determine who is right and who is wrong, only who is left behind."

Genre: Drama

Rating: K

Author Notes: So I'm jumping on the bandwagon, I couldn't help it! Asuma's my second favourite character, I had to write this story.

I still can't believe what happened in Ch. 328. HOW DARE THEY DO THAT/sob/

Disclaimer: Me not own Naruto, please don't sue.

Please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors…blah…blah…blah.

Please R&R…Thanks!

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Part of The Kakashi Chronicles, that currently include (in chronological order):
Fade to Black
Black Day
Self-Sustained Hell
Left Behind
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The rain pours heavily. I hear every audible pop as each drop of water breaks apart upon the muddy ground and the stone in front of me.

Over a thousand names heave been carved into this stone before me. Hundreds of these names are there because of my decisions; my mistakes. Names of friends and comrades who gave their life for this village, gave their life for their final mission.

Another name was added yesterday. Another death because of me.

I kneel down on the hard stone and touch the newly carved name. So much sharper than the other names. So much rawer than the other memories. Time hasn't had its chance to dull the carving, nor the memory.

Another name to join the others. Another name that I will never be able to forget. A friend I've failed, that I couldn't protect. Over time his memory will become a dull ache at the back of my mind; never forgotten but not quite remembered. I can't let myself remember. If I let myself remember than I won't be able to trudge on along my own path of life.

"It was suppose to be me," I inform the man behind me, "I refused the mission because I had to train Naruto," my voice is breaking but it doesn't bother me.

This man has seen me cry before.

"It was the first mission I've ever refused," the rain hides my tears; keeps my dignity intact.

"No one could've predicted this," the man replies in an attempt to comfort me.

"It should be my name," I whisper as a flash of lightening causes strange shadows to dance across the stone.

My hand still rests on that name. It shouldn't be him, it should be me. It always should be me.

"This isn't right, this has never been right," I choke out between my sobs.

"War doesn't determine who is right and who is wrong, only who is left behind," the man's voice reaches my ears.

The rain and wind distorts the sound, causes his voice to rise and fall in pitch at random intervals.

We fall into silence. Broken only by the sound of the rain and the thunder that crashes overhead. Even Obito's Sharingan couldn't see that this was coming, couldn't foresee his death.

I hear the man's footsteps fade away as he leaves.

"Jiraiya-senpai," I whisper. The footsteps stop.

I lean my head against the cold, wet, unforgiving stone and squeeze my eyes shut. My hand still covers the name that shouldn't be there.

"Take care of Naruto," I mutter, "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid...and keep an eye on Sakura too."

"You better not go and do anything stupid yourself," Jiraiya's rough voice floats through the wind, "He wouldn't want you to give up now. Not after all he gave up to save you."

I listen as his footsteps fade out of hearing range.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to the cold stone.

I know he can't hear me. No one I talk to here can actually hear me. Yet somehow I still find comfort in speaking to these friends I can no longer see. Does that make me insane? Probably. Do I care? Not particularly.

The rain starts to lessen, the thunder and lightening fade into the distance. The storm is no longer here to hide the sobs I can't stop nor the torrent of tears that flow freely from my closed eyes. I don't know how long I stay here; leaning against the Memorial Stone.

Eventually my tears run dry, my throat becomes too raw to cry anymore and my eyes feel as if they're full of sand. I don't mind though, I don't mind crying for him. He deserves my tears, my broken mask and shattered emotions. He deserves to see them, even if he is dead.

Dead. Such a final word: such a harsh word. You don't come back from death. There's no return from the other side.

I open my eyes, blinking back the last remaining tears. My hand still covers his mocking name. My fingertips are raw and bleeding, but from what? I faintly remember scratching at his name. Or maybe it was more of a clawing action, I can't quite remember. I tend to lose control of myself during the rare times that I let my emotions overrun me.

I lift my hand off the stone and stare at that name. Blood from my torn fingertips has pooled inside the letters. This name has been carved near the bottom where it's protected from the weather a little more than some of the other names.

"Your name will take a lot longer to wear down and fade then some of the other names have taken," my hoarse voice whispers into the wind.

I always thought that if you were only my 'almost-friend' then I wouldn't be the cause of your death. I was wrong.

The steady stream of murders began with Uchiha Obito, all those years ago.

This time around it starts with you, Sarutobi Asuma, my friend.

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Author's Notes: When Jiraiya says, "War doesn't determine who is right and who is wrong, only who is left behind," it is a play on the Bertrand Russell quote, "War does not determine who is right – only who is left."

I may continue this story, exploring how other characters deal/react with this death, but I may not. It's kind of up to you, the reader, to tell me if I should continue this in a review. So, should I or shouldn't I continue?