Disclaimer: insert witty I don't own Naruto disclaimer here
Rating: PG-13 or T because of a grief induced case of potty mouth.
Characters/Pairings: I'll let you figure that out on you own. ;P
Genre: Definate angst and all around gloom.
The Grieving Process:
Stage One-Denial
Denial- a psycological defense mechanism in which a person is faced with a fact that is too painful to accept and rejects it instead, insisting that it is not true despite overwhelming evidence that says otherwise.
It, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be him lying there so damn still on the cold floor, it couldn't be. Her hands were shaking, damn it be still! She inwardly curses. He is not dead, he is hurt, and she can't heal him when her hands are trembling so badly.
Shaky fingers check for a pulse anyway. None. There is no comforting ba-bump beneath her fingertips. No, only cooling flesh, nothing more. The girl is numb, her mind no longer processing the battle around her, only his too pale, serene looking face. Someone is calling her name, and a kunai lands a little too close to her for comfort, but she doesn't care. She stupidly sits back and waits for his eyes to open. You're too late whispers a cruel voice in her head. No…
She only sees him and him alone. There is no blood. No outward evidence of his death. He appears to be sleeping. Like he just lay down without a care for a nap. But she knows, and is pained, to realize his death wasn't that. It was drawn out and painful, there was no care for his wellbeing, no concern, only a single minded goal. The image of him twisting on the ground in agony, phantom screams, his screams, echo in her ears. Tears slide unbidden down her face.
He is dead.
No…
He's dead.
No!
DEAD!
NO!
Accepting is impossible. Her resolve set in stone and her gloves cast aside, she works. What have you spent the last three years doing? Was your training for nothing? Did you learn nothing? I am not weak, I've become stronger! I can fix this. I can. I CAN! I must! Wake up damn it! Wake up! Her hands glow with healing charka, and she works feverishly, trying to find the problem, trying to fix whatever the hell is wrong, and restore life. His life. She's putting all her energy and heart and soul into saving this boy (man).
She won't (can't) give up. She can't let him die. She can't not ever see those deep eyes of his, or hear his voice ever again. She can't go on without him. He is unstoppable, he is determination, he is resolve, he is…her friend? Teammate? Strength? Love? She knows they have a bond, one that has strengthened over time. Death won't separate this one (whatever it is). He can't die, the thought is laughable.
There is an explosion near by, followed by a guttural cry of agony and she is pleased to hear it is the enemy that has fallen and not one of her own. Beads of sweat are rolling off her. Her hair clings to the sides of her face in damp sticky strands. Her arms are beginning to quiver under the strain. Her reserves are getting low, all her energy going into the figure in her lap. But she won't quit, not until she feels the ba-bump of his strong and steady heart under her palms. I can save him, I can save him, I can save him, I can save him, I can save him is a running mantra through her muddle head, egging her to not give up. She does doesn't realize the battle is over until a strong hand grasps her shoulder, startling her and making her loose her concentration. The glow dies out.
"Sakura." Her name is said firmly, though the underlying tremble is noticeable. "Stop Sakura, it's, it's too late." She whirls around to glare, wrenching her shoulder out of the grasp. Tear-filled jade angrily bore into the speaker's empty ones.
"Don't say that. I can fix this," she says tersely, refusing to listen to those acidic words. The challenging gaze hardens.
"Look Sakura, I'm, I'm sorry it has to be this way but-" If it wasn't for the body in her lap she would have punched the bastard in the face so hard nothing could have knit the bones back together.
"You have no right to say that! Where the fuck were you huh? WHERE?" She's screaming now. Her tears mix with her sweat, leaving her face streaked and blotchy. This can't be happening…Her world is shattering, breaking into thousands of tiny pieces that would be impossible to fit back together, but her rage is not spent yet. "Sorry?! The fuck you're sorry Sasuke! All you're fuckin sorry about is that Itachi escaped! You and your fucking revenge! You can't, he's not…damn it! Just shut the fuck up because HE IS NOT DEAD!" Now she is bawling.
Weak, you're so pathetic.
God she's a mess. She was angry at Sasuke, Sasuke of all people. She knew he was hurting too, even if he wouldn't show it. If she wasn't so upset she would be surprised he hadn't bolted off after his brother yet. I know I care about you, but I didn't realize just how much you meant to me.
He didn't say anything, from the shock of her outburst or his comrade's death she was unsure. It didn't matter. Nothing did except for the figure in her lap and the running mantra of nonononononononoNO! in her head. She didn't know what to do, didn't know where to go at this point. She didn't want to accept it, couldn't face the facts. Acceptance is facing reality, a very painful one. Denial is all she has besides a flickering hope that has been doused. So she screams, pouring all her despair, sorrow, rage, and pure devastation into one heart-wrenching cry,
"NARUTO!!!!!!"
AN: So how many of you thought it was Sasuke at first? Come on! Admit it you SasuSaku fans! Anyways, I've been dying to do a Naruto fic, so this idea was a god-send for me. Health class may be a boring freshman-seminar repeat, but it's also inspirational (tell me, when you think of Health class does coping with loss come to mind?). Yeah, that's what I thought too. But this is great. I have another Naruto story to do but the plot is very so-so right now and I can't start another super-epic-story on top of Dragon Heart. So enjoy this awhile, and of course, please review! I seriously wanna know how many of you thought Sasuke was the dead guy.