Disclaimer: not mine
PG-13 for swearing
One More Time
It is the end of all things, and he is ten. But that doesn't matter, because when he twists his kunai just so, when he hides in the debris, when he buried his little sister in earth still smouldering, his eyes are old.
Sometimes being ten is not so bad, when sensei has the time to cook dinner, or takes him into the forest away from dead concrete and keening glass to watch a mother fox nurse her cubs, and he can be comforted that here at least, there is life.
He is ten, and he knows what destruction is, but annihilation is absolute, because you cannot pick up the pieces when there are no pieces left. And when two forces collide with so much rage and pain that it engulfs and tears apart and leaves room for nothing else, it is the end of all things. So though his grip slips in the blood and sensei is heavy against him, and he will have nothing or no one left, he does not fear it.
He shuts his eyes in the aftermath and swallows the dust in his throat. He listens for the minute, the second he will die, and he wonders why his heartbeat is so hollow in his veins. But he hears only dirt falling in scattered patterns, so when he opens his eyes, he tenses sharply, painfully, and wonders how he can miss power so close and so dark.
It curls in lazy ribbons around the man watching him not more than two or three arm spans away. For the longest moment everything is loudly silent and still. He does not dare move because he will not leave his sensei behind. So it is the enemy who walks first through the wisping smoke and sifting dust, bringing with him the musky scent of steel and enmity, and he recalls the muttered tales in the marketplace and food stalls: the Missing-nin, the Betrayer, the Last.
He is young enough to appreciate the awe and fascination the stories inspire, but he never hears enough because sensei draws him away with dark eyes and stiff shoulders, and he thinks now that he understands a bit better. The Betrayer is all and more that the rumours say, but the things about his sensei that no one talks about are also true. He is ten and even if he does not die, he knows he will never again see what he has seen.
He will remember tasting two kinds of chakra on the air, one a dark hiss that goes down his spine with cold fingers, the other an intense glow that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand with its unfamiliar frenzy. He will remember the jutsus, fast and clever, and vicious and bright when they smash into each other and into stone and wood, ripping and splintering and crumbling. And he will remember his sensei getting up again and again, broken and battered and screaming in defiance of a pattern that glows red on his skin through his torn uniform.
He is curiously grateful to have seen it all, and he is fiercely proud that in the end his sensei can have no regrets. So he doesn't shrink away when the Betrayer limps to a halt and kneels unsteadily before him, near enough for him to wonder at the markings like licks of black flame stark against the pale skin, and the red that smears them. Darkest red of all are the eyes that he meet when he lifts his head not in challenge but in acceptance, colour so deep he almost misses the black whorls in them.
He begins to wonder when the enemy does nothing more than hold his gaze, impassive and secretive. The Betrayer is not unscathed, but his chakra still seethes, restless yet in the wake of the most terrible of fights. He swallows, remembering the power that lashed out in nine whips of fire around his sensei, and it is difficult to believe that it wasn't enough.
"Urk, the ribs, the ribs…" He leans back with some surprise as sensei groans and shifts gingerly in the cradle of his arms. And he wants to tighten his hold when he looks back up to see something flash sharp and quick across the Betrayer's face before it goes blank and cool again. And sensei knows the enemy is there; his shoulders go stiff, before he tilts his head to squint through the one eye not covered by blood. He wonders what happens now, when there is nothing but inevitable passing.
"You stupid bastard," sensei finally mutters. "You're no better off than I am." And to his disbelief, the enemy's lips curl into a smirk that is not so much feral as it is smug before he settles carefully on the ground cross-legged, hands linked loosely in front of him. "No I'm not."
"Bastard. Asshole. Jackass." Sensei curses feelingly even as his body relaxes and he closes his good eye wearily.
"Shut up moron, I'm not the one who's going to die." And it feels wrong when sensei abruptly snaps his teeth together and the Betrayer does not look at them. When the latter speaks again, his words are still cold but strangely heated. "You knew, when you used so much of Kyu-bi's chakra."
"Fuck you," sensei snarls, "I'm better than you are any fucking day." He makes to jerk up, and growls some more at his useless limbs. But the enemy moves first, and he is as stunned as his sensei when one hand brushes at dirty, tangled blonde hair and wipes at the blood over one eye.
"Yes, you are." And it is so grave, so melancholy that he understands why his sensei teaches him to laugh and weep even as they train with so much ambition and determination. There are so many ways to mourn, and his sensei has never been conventional.
Sensei watches the hand fall away with narrowed eyes. "You know nothing," and he has never heard so much bitterness and frustration from his sensei before. "So what now?" The red eyes flick back up to him, and he thinks with a detached amusement that sensei is going to hate seeing him die first.
But sensei only sighs tiredly. "She'll haunt you, you know." His smile is mocking. "If she doesn't already."
"Shut up." The enemy's tone is sharp and lethal again, but sensei's grin only widens. He swallows hard when sensei suddenly looks up at him, and he remembers his first introduction and lesson before the war. "She's always here, you know." Sensei's eyes are sober again when he turns back to the enemy. "You promised her."
Hesitation, and then, "I know," the Betrayer breathes, but there is something in his voice that his sensei must not like, when he tenses again, and with good reason.
It happens so fast. Chakra flares and something pulls at him, and suddenly he is standing with the enemy across from where his sensei falls with a yelp to hit the ground hard. "What the fuck? You bastard, you promised her!" Sensei curls where the shock has jarred his ribs, but a tight hand on his shoulder warns him from going forward to help.
"I did." More cussing on sensei's part, then "Are you going to die?" It is very dark and cold again, but something of the odd exchange before is still in the enemy's voice.
Something just as feral smoulders in sensei's expression. "Not before I kill you first."
The Betrayer smirks and lifts him by the waist. "Come for him then." And he turns to walk away, sensei still screaming profanities to his back.
He is strangely undisturbed, perhaps a little miffed that he is being carried like a sack of grain. Perhaps some of the encounter has rubbed off on him – nothing feels truly real. When the Betrayer puts him down shortly after, he is not thinking of escape when he asks with the puzzlement of a ten-year-old, "Why can't you kill me?" The Betrayer is already moving again, and he follows without thought.
"You have your mother's eyes."
He makes a small sound of disgust. "No one else in the class has green eyes." And the enemy laughs low under his breath.
End