Imaginary
A Naruto fanfic by Imafish
Summary: Those who are dead never truly leave our world. Pain/Konan with character death.
Disclaimer: In a perfect world, I would own Naruto, Pain would declare his love for Konan, then team up with Naruto and Sasuke to kick's Madara's ass. Following Madara's defeat, Pain would marry Konan and adopt Naruto, Sasuke and Gaara. Sakura would then resurrect Sasori and marry him.
Amegakure died with Nagato.
It is the only real thought that Konan has had in the days following his death.
The gray, barren streets, washed clean by the pounding rain, are tainted by him. The whole miserable village is covered with a dark stain that sinks down into the lowest gutter, absorbed by the desolate rock walls that form dreary buildings. It is the faint remnants of his presence, something that was once there, and now no longer is.
Amegakure was Nagato.
The dank, gloomy ghost town cried for him when he had no tears, bled for him when he felt his heart was breaking, and died with him when he met his match in the Kyuubi's jinchuriki.
Those who die never truly leave our world.
Now Nagato is everywhere. Konan feels the wind's icy caress upon her cheek, like a frigid human touch, and spins, searching for him, only to find herself alone. She sees a flash of red, swaying like the flames of his hair, and runs to it, only to find a tattered scrap of crimson fabric buffeted by the howling winds. In her lonely, imprisoning chambers, she reaches out with her eyes closed and feels a smooth, warm face.
Her eyes open eagerly, only to find that she is touching her gilded mirror, heated by the candles that sit beneath it. She hisses like a cat with frustration, and suddenly one of her gaunt, white hands lashes out at the mirror.
With an ear-splitting crash, it shatters. The diamond-like pieces fly from the wooden frame like water from a fountain. They fall to the floor, and as the empty frame falls from the wall, it tips over a candle. The flames begin to spread.
Konan never notices. She has already turned to the window, heedless of the inferno that tangos it's way across the floor behind her.
From somewhere beyond the sea of gray clouds, the sun begins to rise. She feels like it has betrayed her. Why should the sun rise? What right does time have to keep moving forwards, now that Nagato is gone?
Who gave the world permission to keep living, breathing, laughing now that the most important person to ever live is dead? Icy eyes glare at the rest of the world, because they don't realize that humanity has no more reason to survive, that the world is shattered like the mirror lying on the (burning) run behind her.
She feels the heat of the blaze behind her, but it is a tantamount to her contempt for life that she does not care.
A spark crackles onto the rug alongside her and suddenly Pain's deep voice creeps into her thoughts.
"Stay away from the fire, Konan," he tells her, the weak voice of her memories so unlike her usual deep, vibrant baritone. "It'll interfere with your jutsu."
Konan spins, long, un-kept blue hair flying around her thin shoulders. A hailstorm of sheets of paper burst from her arms and form large, angelic wings on the back of her black cloak as she prepares to flee the burning building.
She takes one last look at the flames and her heart stops as a silhouette forms inside the raging fire.
Spiky hair crowns an aristocratic face like a halo of fire. Finely chiseled features are covered with porcelain skin, so flawless that it might have belonged to an angel. Along his nose, beneath his lower lip and throughout his ears reside an abundance of cold, black piercings. Dominating his striking face are his eyes. They resemble twin pools of molten charcoal, with a series of rings starting from the middle like ripples on a pond.
He wears the infamous black and red cloak, known worldwide as a symbol of fear.
As she stares, one of his hands comes up and he holds it out for her to take.
Then she runs to him and is swept up into his fiery arms and she is laughing for the first time since she was sixteen years old. And then there are more burning arms around her and she screams their names.
" Jiraya-sensei! Yahiko!"
Her soft voice barely carries over the roaring fire. Outside, the rain comes down harder than ever on the burning building and she dimly realizes that even in death, Nagato will try to save her.
Many hours later, when the flames have long been extinguished by the torrents of rain outside, several shinobi tentatively enter the burnt room. On the wall, in meticulous handwriting that was smudged and faded by the fire, is a message, the last message that the God of Amegakure ever gave his Angel to be delivered to his people.
Exactly one month after the Angel of Amegakure joined God in his heaven, the grieving people engrave that final message over the gate to Amegakure.
He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.