disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or Wild Adapter, which I've based a few ideas on.
summary: I picked up a stray dog today. He barked before he bit me. —Sasuke/Kiba
dedication: For Les, completely and totally.
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"It's cold again, tonight, isn't it?"
"…yeah."
"Just once, I'd like to feel warmth—just once."
"I know."
"Kiba—"
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"I think I've forgotten what the sun feels like."
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MAD DOGS
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a stray dog turns to the moon
with his fangs bared
he
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Outside, a dog howled.
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ZERO
part i—
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Cigarette smoke curled out of the open window and into an empty sky, mingling with the heavy smell of blood and gunsmoke; he tasted blood on his lips—on his fingertips—in the air. He sighed, then, gazing out at a black sky which spoke of sin and death; or, in retrospect, he supposed that could have been the room behind him, bodies strewn across the floor, broken and battered. He tapped the end of his cigarette against the windowsill; a thin layer of ash dusted across the cracked paint, and then he paused, breathing in.
It would be a long night.
He figured it would probably be a long night tomorrow, too.
With his crimson-stained fingertips, Sasuke flicked his cigarette onto the ground below and watched it glow amber in the night.
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Five minutes later, he straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets.
A hand clutched at his leg.
He glanced down.
"What—who the fuck," the man said—two bullets to the stomach, a broken leg; probably injured it when he fell, Sasuke thought; and blood pooling at the corners of his lips, making his speech sound wet and choked, as if he were talking underwater—and then let out a rattling cough, hand flying to his stomach.
He turned away.
In the room opposite, he heard gunshots, shouts, a scream of pain—his lips twitched into something akin to a smile. He crossed the room, stooping next to a body—he had to have been at least eighteen, Sasuke thought, but he was very dead now, so what did it matter? He prised the boy's gun from his fingers, weighing it in his hands; it was heavy, beetle-black and unfamiliar, but when he swung it to face the wall opposite, it seemed to scream beneath his fingertips. He felt its laughter, its joy; and then he tilted his head, pointed the gun at the man from before—the one who just refused to die, and was currently sobbing into his hands, begging and pleading and—
He pulled the trigger.
A man died.
"Ouch," Sasuke winced, and flinched at the recoil—this new gun packed a punch. He looked at the man with the bullet-hole in his forehead and thought it packed more than that; but then there was no time for thinking, as the door swung open and another gang member took one look at all the blood, all the bodies, littered like confetti and glitter, and started shooting.
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And then Sasuke started shooting too.
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For three and a half minutes, there was chaos.
He was a black hole, swallowing all those who approached him, he was alive; and, as he pulled the trigger once, twice, three times—and then four times, five times, six, seven, eight, nine—he rejoiced. Hand in hand with mayhem and madness, Sasuke ripped and destroyed and shot and killed.
He painted the night red to the sound of screaming and gunshots.
And then there was silence.
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"Oi—"
He watched, eyebrows raised, as the man he was talking to—silver-haired, with frightened eyes, a bullet-hole through his side and a broken arm—scrambled away from him as best he could, sweating and whimpering softly the whole time. Sasuke tilted his head, peering at him; and then he moved with him, crouching in front of the guy and speaking again, this time slightly louder, "What's your name?"
"…Sakon."
"Got a light?"
The man—Sakon—looked bemused.
"A light," Sasuke repeated, and gestured with his hands, "A match, a lighter—whatever."
"I, uh—"
"Check your pockets."
Sakon did so hastily, hands shaking as he shoved them in his trouser pockets. They came back empty, but he patted down his jacket pockets, mumbling something about how he swore he had them somewhere—and then, dipping his hand into the right pocket, he pulled out a box of matches. They were blood-stained and half of them would probably be unusable; they rattled when he handed them over, his fingers trembling.
"Thanks," Sasuke replied, and lit his cigarette.
"Uh—no problem."
He sucked in cigarette smoke.
"…know where I can find any petrol?"
"Wh—what?"
"You heard me."
"You—petrol?"
"Right," Sasuke said, eyebrows shooting upwards—he tilted his head, tapped ash onto the floor, and then rested a hand on Sakon's (broken) arm. It would have been a tender gesture had his grip not been so tight. "Look around you, idiot; I just killed a lot of people. I'd quite like to burn the place to the ground, y'know—get rid of the evidence and shit. Besides, you planned on doing the exact same thing; that's why you came in shooting the people next door, right. For reasons unknown to me—which I also don't give a flying shit about—you were killing people and tying up loose ends, and that's what I want to do. Now, where the hell is that petrol?"
He paused.
"Stupid fucking question, really. You didn't bring it in with you, so it's probably still next door."
"No, wait—"
"Hold that thought," Sasuke said, straightening—and then, lifting a hand to silence Sakon's next plea and stomping his cigarette out on the floor, he headed out the door.
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When he returned, the petrol can was heavy in his hands and Sakon began to wail again. He unscrewed the cap and hefted it up into his hands, holding it so that he'd be able to get a better swing and maintain more control over where the petrol went—and then he began to walk around the room, coating the corpses with petrol. He spread papers across the desk, across the floor, and splashed a small amount on them. He flung some at the raggedy curtains. He walked in a full circle around the room—out the door, even—until he came to stand in front of Sakon, who had gone incredibly pale and very, very quiet.
"Have you ever wondered what it'd be like to burn alive?"
He emptied the last of the liquid onto the other.
Sakon's screeches were something incredible, then—loud and violent, and he swung his arms as clawed for survival, as if he weren't already broken.
Sasuke tilted his head.
"I'd imagine it'd hurt—very much—but I bet you feel alive right now."
"Fuck—fuck you," Sakon hissed, and that hissed turned into a desperate, wailing chant. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—"
"Shut up."
Immediately, he fell quiet.
Sasuke crouched then, again, as he'd done before—Sakon's bleeding had quickened as he'd thrashed, and his blood mingled with the petrol, slick on the ground below him. His chest was heaving, though, rising rapidly and falling just as quickly, and his eyes were angry—they burnt with hatred and fury, this incredible rage. He wondered if that was how he'd looked, when his brother had pointed the gun at him—if his voice had been that desperate when he'd dared his brother to do it if you fucking can. He closed his eyes, heaved a sigh, and then jerked his thumb at the door.
"Get the fuck out or burn."
For a moment, there was no movement.
It was as if the other were frozen.
"Now—"
Like that, Sakon was gone.
Sasuke watched him leave, eyebrows raised, and wondered if that was how he'd looked when he'd run from his brother, too—and then he scowled, suddenly furious, and straightened. He walked out the door, tracing the petrol tracks he'd left to the exit. When he was a slight distance away, he struck his match and tossed it towards the liquid, wet on the ground—and then the fumes caught alight and Sasuke backed away somewhat hurriedly.
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Another ten minutes, and the warehouse was burning.
He sat outside on an old fence, shoulders hunched against the cold night, resting his chin on his knee as he watched flames creep into the sky—like red ink seeping into black, he thought, staining the whole world crimson. He shifted into a more comfortable position, maintaining his balance, and pressed his hand into his pocket. A beam inside the warehouse collapsed, and he pressed his cigarette to his lips; glass shattered, and someone let out a hoarse, strangled scream—and then the entire warehouse seemed to fall in on itself beneath the burning embers, flickering amber and crimson in the night.
Sasuke shifted again.
It was getting colder.
He exhaled, breathing out cigarette smoke, as the flames spat embers at him, sparks glowing brightly, fading quickly, in the night. Smoke from the warehouse grew darker as it became thicker, and soon the stench of blood—and death—was replaced with the smell of burnt wood and, sickly sweet beneath it all, the odour of burning flesh. He must have sat there for half an hour, watching the warehouse burn, listening to the occasional cry for help or groan of pain, smoking cigarettes, flicking the butts to the ground below; he waited until the flames had died down to wisps, ghosts of themselves—until there was nothing left but ash. Then he slipped off the fence, flicked his final cigarette to the ground, shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.
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His flat was small—constricting and messy, a tangle of game controllers and wires in one corner and an unkempt, makeshift bed in the other; his kitchen was in dire need of a clean, and his shower sprayed water from a leak in the wall. It wasn't anything pretty, but he didn't give a fuck—it was his. It was what Sasuke called home, and he didn't need any sort of approval from anyone; it was home, sweet home, and he slipped off his shoes as he entered the room, wiping his blood-stained hands on his trousers.
There was a click of metal.
Eyebrows raised in slight surprise, he found himself looking down the barrel of a gun.
"Welcome home, Sasuke-kun," a voice said, mockingly polite—deadly, almost—and the gun tapped against his forehead once. "I believe we really ought to talk."
Sasuke tilted his head, peering around the gun; he took in long, dark hair, pale skin, and eyes like a snake, quick and sharp and deadly—and then the gun was thrust back into his face again, and he scowled, before raising his hands in surrender. He let himself be escorted to a seat—where the hell the guy had managed to find a seat in his shithole of a flat, Sasuke had no idea—and sat down, keeping his hands on his lap so as to show that he wasn't about to try anything. He watched as the guy studied his features almost intently, eyes narrowed momentarily before widening; he kept nodding to himself, murmuring little comments that Sasuke couldn't quite catch, and then his gaze fell to Sasuke's hands.
He looked almost pleased.
"My, my, Sasuke-kun—you have been busy," he murmured, before swiping his tongue across his bottom lip, tilting his head; he seemed almost fascinated for a moment, gazed fixed on those crimson-stained hands—and then, just as quickly, the spell was broken. His stare snapped back to Sasuke, and he asked, "Would you like to play a game?"
"…I hate games."
"You'll like this one, Sasuke-kun."
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He found himself face to face with Sakon for the second time that night when they arrived at Orochimaru's headquarters—the guy was pale, withdrawn, sweating and shivering; his shirt was ripped and dirty, messy with blood, and his hair clung to his forehead. His arms were tied behind his back. He must have run from the warehouse, Sasuke thought, only to be caught a short distance away by a couple of Orochimaru's lackeys. He swept his gaze across the rest of the room, then; it was small, but neat—there were a couple of chairs behind him, and, on one of them, a man with hair like water and hungry, furious eyes glowered at Sasuke. He sat with his legs apart, sprawled across his chair, and his lips tugged into a smirk when he caught Sasuke's eye—there was a moment where they simply looked at one another. The stranger looked away first. Sasuke felt something like a smile tug at his lips, and then he too turned away. He stared at Sakon for a moment again, before tearing his gaze away and meeting Orochimaru's eye. While his expression was blank, the confusion must have been evident in his eyes, because Orochimaru chuckled, drumming his fingers together and leaning forwards at his desk.
"You've already met Sakon, I'm sure," Orochimaru explained, pressing his fingertips together. "It's rather unlike you to let one get away, but I caught him again for you, Sasuke-kun—and now you're going to do me a favour and dispose of him. He's a spy, I'm afraid—he's been offering Suna information in exchange for frivolities—drugs and women, could you believe—for months now. It's rather appalling."
"…I'm not doing your dirty work for you."
"Oh, but you're not."
He didn't reply.
Orochimaru reached into a drawer, then, taking out a gun—black and heavy, much like the one Sasuke had taken off one of the fallen yakuza members earlier—and placing it on the desk. Then, reaching into the second drawer, he pulled out an identical gun and placed that on the desk, too. Once he was done, he leant back, satisfied, lips stretching into a thin smile. "This is the game, Sasuke-kun; it's a test of luck. One of these guns is rigged to explode when you pull the trigger, and the other—well, the other will get rid of a nuisance for us both. If you pick the right gun and survive—which I'm sure you will—then you'll have a place by my side; you'll be in charge of running the youth group, seeing that they don't go astray; and you'll be working with Suigetsu over there."
The white-haired guy waved.
Sasuke frowned.
Orochimaru spread his arms wide.
A pink tongue flicked out across white, dead lips.
"Take your pick, Sasuke-kun."
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His fingers slipped around the gun on the left.
It was cool in his hands.
"Hn."
He pulled the trigger.
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Outside, a dog howled.
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"Dude, you should have seen him! He just pulled the trigger, cool as fuckin' anythin', an' then walked out—an' you should have seen Orochimaru's face, fuck me, it was beautiful, like someone had just pissed in his cornflakes. An' then—he didn't even flinch," Suigetsu flapped his hands frantically, speaking around a mouthful of noodles—sauce splattered the table. "It was so fuckin' awesome."
"Sounds to me like you've got a crush," Juugo replied, dabbing spit off his arm with a tablecloth, smile wavering as he did so. "How adorable."
"Oh, fuck you," he waved the idea away. "He was a douchebag, anyway."
"Really?"
"Yeah—like, major dickhead."
"Pray tell."
"Okay—"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Sarcasm duly noted, an' I still don't give a fuck."
"You're an ass."
"Yeah, yeah—so you frequently say. Anyway, I'm tryin' to congratulate this douche, cuz, y'know, now he's the boss of a gang an' that usually takes years of crawlin' up the ladder, but he makes it in minutes—so I'm tryin' to say well done, an' he just looks at me."
"He looks at you."
"Yeah. Like I'm dirt."
"Kind of like how he's looking at you right now, then," Juugo noted.
Suigetsu twisted in his seat.
"Where?"
"Next to the doors."
"Don't point, asshole," Suigetsu snapped, before sinking down into his seat, an embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks. "Stop wavin'! I fuckin' hate you so much right now. Oh, now look what you've done—an' now he's comin' over, like we're fuckin' friends or somethin', an' you are such a dick, Juugo."
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They weren't yakuza.
They couldn't be yakuza.
Sasuke had never seen two more conspicuous men in his life.
(That was excluding Naruto, though, but everything was excluding Naruto.)
He recognised one of them from the other night—Suigetsu, he remembered his name was, and he watched with raised eyebrows as he slumped down into his seat until his nose was almost level with the table. The other—he didn't recognise that one—was a big guy, with ginger hair and a brilliant smile; and he was waving at Sasuke. Big, over-the-top waves—the kind you couldn't ignore, and the kind that probably wouldn't stop until you acknowledged them. Almost hesitantly, he raised his hand in return. He was rewarded with this frantic gesturing, and it was obvious it wouldn't stop until he walked over.
Heaving a sigh, he picked his coffee up and walked over.
This was the last thing he wanted to do.
He came to a stop in front of their table.
"Oh, Sasuke-kun—Suigetsu was just telling me all about you!"
Sasuke blinked.
"…okay…?"
"He was very impressed with you," the ginger guy said, grinning broadly—practically beaming—before holding out his hand. "I'm Juugo, by the way. I babysit this guy, pretty much, and I'm very much looking forward to working with you, Sasuke."
He was fairly surprised at how big Juugo's hand was, when he shook it—no, he was more surprised at how gentle the guy was. He'd expected some bullshit macho show of strength, but—but Juugo's hands were soft. They were girly. He decided that, once again, there was no way this guy could be a member of Orochimaru's gang, despite his ridiculous size. He shook his hand gingerly. "Uchiha Sasuke," he murmured, and then pinned his gaze on Suigetsu. "You were talking about me?"
Suigetsu looked queasy.
Juugo nodded, still smiling.
"It was all good, Sasuke-kun."
He paused, re-thinking.
"Well, there was maybe a little bit of constructive criticism…"
Suigetsu let out a little moan.
"You're really enjoyin' this, ain't you?"
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."
"You're evil."
"Thank you."
"Bastard."
"Please, Sasuke-kun," Juugo said, then, turning back to Sasuke—who was steadily beginning to feel more and more bemused. "Sit down. The next coffee is on Suigetsu."
"Hn," Sasuke replied.
He sat.
Suigetsu let his head hit the table as he moaned again.
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After a while, Sasuke began to feel slightly more comfortable. There was something about the two—something both overbearing and, yet, strangely endearing. He didn't say much, as he peered over the rim of his coffee cup, watching absently as Juugo smacked Suigetsu across the head, after the other had said something particularly crude—and probably offensive—about a passing waitress. Every now and then, Suigetsu would lift his arm or make a particularly exaggerated movement, and he'd reveal the edge of his gun, safety clicked off; and, at one point, Juugo rolled up his sleeves, saying something about how hot it was, revealing mottled purple and black bruises dotted up and down his thumb. They looked and dressed like yakuza, Sasuke thought, but—
Suigetsu flung a chip at him.
It hit his nose, before dropping into his lap.
Judging from the look on the other's face, it had probably been aimed at Juugo.
"Oh, shit—sorry, that was definitely my bad," Suigetsu said quickly.
Juugo was trying really hard not to laugh.
Sasuke pinched the bridge of his nose.
They were idiots.
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"Oi, Juugo—you goin' to see her again tonight?"
Juugo turned a deep red.
He fidgeted nervously with his fingers.
"…Karin-chan is expecting me, yes."
"I knew it!" Suigetsu slapped him on the back, grinning. "You sly dog. Oi, oi—take him with you."
Juugo glanced across at Sasuke.
Sasuke frowned back.
"I don't think he wants to go."
"…I don't."
"You don't even know who Karin is," Suigetsu argued, before grinning again. "She's goin' to fuckin' love you."
"After she's eaten you alive," Juugo added, nodding sagely.
"Yeah, after that."
Sasuke wondered, absently, if this was what being the boss of part of a yakuza organisation was like. He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose—instead, he closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, those two imbeciles were still there. Reluctantly, he gave in—in response, Suigetsu thumped him on the back with a small cheer and Juugo bought him a third coffee, smiling gently. He decided he'd have a sugar in this one, just maybe. He drank his coffee, listened to their irritating chatter, and then allowed himself to be tugged to his feet—it would be a long day, he thought, but his days had always been long, and so he supposed there was nothing new about that.
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Karin was a hooker. He'd had an idea, really, but he still hadn't particularly expected it—not after seeing the tender look in Juugo's eyes when he'd talked about her. She was tall—only slightly shorter than him without heels on—with brilliant hair and scarlet eyes framed by black-rimmed glasses. She moved like a snake, swift and quick, sashaying over when her name was called; she'd unzipped her jacket, showing pale skin and nothing else underneath, but when she caught sight of Suigetsu, she rolled her eyes and zipped it back up. She stopped swinging her hips, too, and came to a halt in front of them with her hands folded over her chest.
"Yo."
"Hello, Karin-chan."
"What do you want?"
She addressed her question to Suigetsu, he noted.
"Don't mind us," Suigetsu said, and flapped a hand, grinning airily. "We're just givin' the boss the guided tour."
Karin's eyes flicked to Sasuke.
She looked at him.
And then she really looked at him.
Her gaze returned to Suigetsu as she jerked her thumb at Sasuke, asking incredulously, "Who? This guy?"
"Yup."
"You're kidding."
"Nope, 'fraid I'm not—this is Uchiha Sasuke."
"The Uchiha Sasuke?"
"One an' only."
"No way—he's too pretty!"
Orochimaru was playing a cruel trick on him, Sasuke decided, as Suigetsu and Juugo began to laugh—he really wanted a cigarette.
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The next morning, he woke to the sound of gunfire.
His eyes snapped open, unfocused, the world foggy—and his hand slipped beneath his pillow, quick and fast, tugging out the gun that lay there. He rolled off his mattress, feet and knees hitting the cold floor too quickly, and then he pointed his gun, flicked the safety off and fired, almost out of instinct. There was a yelp, a crash, and then the world cleared and Sasuke found himself gazing at Suigetsu, who looked rather appalled. He was lying on his back, breathing heavily, game controller still frozen in his hand—and a few seconds later, Juugo popped his head around the door, peering in from the kitchen, and asked, "Is everything alright?"
"He shot me!"
"I missed," Sasuke said, and then frowned.
He never missed.
The world was blurry again.
He ran his hand over his face, rubbed his forehead, and then asked, "How did you get in?"
"Through the window," Juugo replied cheerfully. "It was Suigetsu's idea. Would you like some tea?"
"No sugar," he replied. "How did you find me?"
"Again, that was Suigetsu too. He followed you last night."
Sasuke tilted his head.
"Why?"
"I think he just wanted to see where the infamous Uchiha Sasuke lived. It's a very nice flat."
"It's a shitheap."
"I was being polite," Juugo smiled, and then disappeared back into the kitchen.
He watched him go, frowning slightly, and then he straightened, clicking the safety back on the gun and replacing it below his pillow. He crossed the room, picking a path through a mess of junk, clothes and old takeaway boxes, before sitting down next to Suigetsu, with his legs crossed. The other was still lying on his back, breathing returning to normal, staring up at the ceiling—he wiped his arm across his face, let out a shaky breath and said, "Holy fuck, I think I just had a heart attack."
"Hn," Sasuke said, and picked up a controller.
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A month and a half later, at 3AM in the morning, Sasuke's phone rang. He'd fallen asleep in his jeans, the window open, chest bare, and it took him a little while to blink away sleep—his eyes blurred, cleared, blurred again, and then he was stumbling around his room, searching for the irritating beeping sound. His phone was lying in the midst of a pile of clothes—probably clean, he thought—and he picked it up, peered at the name, and then scowled. He flicked it open, and snapped, "What."
"Oi, bastard—no need to be so rude—"
"I was asleep."
"It's not that late—"
"It is three o' clock. Hurry the fuck up, or shut the fuck up."
There was a pause.
"Think you can get down to 32nd Street? Kakashi-sensei thinks you need to see this."
"I'll walk."
"But that'll take ages—!"
"Shut up, Naruto," he cut across, before hanging up. Then, flinging his phone back down where he'd found it, he picked up a t-shirt he thought—hoped—was clean, and then swung his jacket over his shoulders. He was out the door in moments.
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"Yo, Sasuke—long time no see," Kakashi slung an arm around his neck, lips crinkling into a thin smile behind the neck of his jumper; he leant forwards, silver hair brushing Sasuke's cheek, as he murmured, "I've heard the rumours, kid—you've been a busy boy, it would seem."
He didn't reply.
"I never thought you'd be one to join Orochimaru—guy gives me the creeps," Kakashi continued, and shivered theatrically; but then his voice darkened, turning serious and low, and he lowered it almost to a whisper. "You'd better watch your back, though. You don't hear good things about that guy, Sasuke—regardless of whether or not he's a yakuza boss, because I suppose you don't hear good things about any criminal mastermind; but the point still stands, regardless. He's a real bad guy. If he found you, like I heard, then you'd definitely better look out for yourself."
Sasuke frowned, and shrugged Kakashi's arm off his shoulders.
He didn't need to talk about this now.
Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and asked, "What the hell is this all about, Kakashi?"
"I need your expertise," Kakashi said, and then took Sasuke's arm, steering him towards the building surrounded in police cars and criss-crossed crime scene tape. "There's something I need you to look at."
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There was blood—lots and lots of blood—and not much else, Sasuke thought, as he looked around the crime scene; no, he took that back. There were bits in the blood—chunks of flesh and brain and bone—surrounding what could have been a body, lying in the centre of the floor, had it not been so small. It was covered with a sheet. Sasuke looked at it for a moment, intrigued, and then his feet were crossing the room before he could really stop himself; he pulled the sheet away and his eyes widened, just briefly. He straightened.
It wasn't a body.
No—
Spine torn out; irregular patches of fur; a clawed, mangled hand; and an expression of intense agony.
There was no lower half.
It only had one arm.
It wasn't human.
"It's the sixth body we've found in a month," Kakashi said from the entrance, hands tucked in his pockets—his voice was muffled, unclear, as if he was talking from behind something thick and heavy, and Sasuke just couldn't tear his gaze away from the wreck in front of him. He barely noticed when Kakashi came to stand next to him, a hand on his shoulder. "So far, they've all had criminal records—petty thieves, drug addicts, one high-ranking yakuza member—and, upon finding their body, they were all found with a certain drug in their system. We don't have a definite name for it yet, but rumours have it that a new drug called BEAST has entered the game."
"I haven't heard of it."
"I wasn't asking."
"Then why—?"
"Besides, Sasuke-kun—I know you. That kind of stuff doesn't interest you. No, no; that's not what I wanted you to know; and, frankly, there wasn't really anything I wanted from you—or, at least, not right now. I'll keep you updated, though, and in return, I need to know about anything you find. And if you come across that drug—if you so happen to stumble across it—just walk away, okay? Just walk away."
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When they were stood outside the crime scene, Sasuke leant against the wall, tipped his head back, and breathed in the air—practically gulped it in, desperately. His fingers were trembling. His lips stretched into a reluctant smile at that; all the people he'd killed, all the things he'd done, and this was what it took to reduce him to his quaking fourteen year old self—a beast-like body, mangled and destroyed. This, he supposed, or his brother. He ran a hand across his face.
Next to him, Naruto sat down, back against the wall.
They stayed like that, for a moment.
Then—
"You still smoke?"
Sasuke cracked open an eye.
"You smoke," he said, voice incredulous, and looked down at Naruto.
Blue eyes crinkled into a grin.
"Yeah, I guess it's weird—I always gave you so much shit to stop, and now look at me," he said, laughing, before pressing a cigarette between his lips; he sat like that for a second, quietening and staring off at something Sasuke couldn't see. Then he flicked open his lighter, pressed the tip of the cigarette against the flame, and sucked in a deep breath. "And it's still a shitty habit, by the way—it just gets hard to keep moving forwards. This helps."
"I know."
"Want one?"
He offered up the crumpled packet.
Sasuke looked at it.
He took one.
He let Naruto stand—let him flick the lighter—and looked into blue eyes as a flame was pressed against the end of his cigarette. He placed it against his lips, breathed in, and then blew out smoke; and Naruto grinned, flapping a hand in front of his face, mock-spluttering. Sasuke rolled his eyes, and thought that maybe some things shouldn't change—and then he blinked as Naruto exhaled cigarette smoke right back at him and thought that maybe some things change anyway, regardless of whether or not he wanted them to.
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Five minutes later, Naruto broke the silence. He pushed away from the wall and peered at Sasuke, his face a picture of concern—Sasuke was half expecting an interrogation as to whether he was eating properly, but instead Naruto asked, "Are you planning on walking home now, too? It's gone past four."
Sasuke raised an eyebrow. "I walked here, Naruto."
"I wasn't happy about it then, either!"
"I can walk back too, moron."
"Get someone to pick you up!"
"I prefer walking."
"Then get someone to walk with you, asshat," Naruto rolled his eyes, before glancing at his watch. "I'd go with you, but I guess I'm still on duty—I've got a shitload of paperwork to write, and I bet Kakashi's going to make me stay overtime. Guy's a drill sergeant and a jerk—I won't even get paid extra. I mean, I guess I could always call Sakura-chan to pick you up—she's always at the office, and you two haven't spoken in such a long time; I'm sure she'd be really happy to have the time to see what you've been up to and stuff—"
"Shut up," Sasuke hissed, and hit him.
It was a good punch too.
Naruto let out a little yelp.
"I get it already—I'll fucking call someone, so shut up."
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He hadn't meant to call Suigetsu, but he knew how Naruto would have reacted if he'd admitted the truth. Ever since leaving them, he'd kept very much to himself, entirely alone, without anyone else to rely on; and had Sasuke admitted to the fact that his mobile only had three numbers on it—Naruto's, because he'd put it there; Suigetsu's, because he'd also put it there; and then a number with no name, that he couldn't quite bring himself to delete—Naruto would have been appalled. He'd probably have insisted on walking Sasuke home, or something equally ridiculous, and Sasuke wasn't that person anymore—he didn't need them. He didn't need Naruto or Sakura or Kakashi, just like how he didn't need Suigetsu or Juugo, but—
"Yo."
Suigetsu lifted his hand in a wave.
Behind him, Juugo smiled cheerily.
But, Sasuke thought, regardless of whether he needed them or not, they were there anyway.
He closed his eyes.
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"It was, uh…good seeing you, I guess," Naruto said, before he left—Juugo and Suigetsu were stood a respectful distance away, although Sasuke felt that that had something to do with the fact that Naruto was a cop and they were both criminals, rather than the fact that they were actually respecting his privacy. In fact, it looked to him like they were trying their very best to eavesdrop nonetheless. He decided he'd ignore them, though—he was already grateful enough that they'd decided to meet him at a crime scene, without asking questions as to why he was there—and so he turned to Naruto, tilting his head. "I'll tell Sakura-chan you said hello."
"Don't. I didn't."
"Then I'll lie, Sasuke."
"Stop it," Sasuke said, and shook his head. "Just stop."
And then he left.
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They walked in near silence—every now and then, Suigetsu would interrupt the peace with some meaningless piece of information and Juugo would reply briefly; and then they'd both look at Sasuke, and that appeared to be enough to shut them up again. He kept thinking of that body—beast-like and deformed—and when he wasn't thinking of broken bits of bone and a face twisted in terror, he was thinking of Naruto and Sakura and leaving them behind. He'd only ever seen Naruto in passing, since leaving, and the kid had—no, that was the entire point, wasn't it? He wasn't that kid anymore—that blue-eyed, blonde-haired dope who Sasuke used to scrap with in the park after school. Then again, he supposed he wasn't that kid anymore either.
They turned a corner, and a dog bared its fangs at them.
It was mangy and thin; a stray, probably, flea-ridden and filthy, with a matted, dirty coat and a penchant for biting first, asking questions later. They'd interrupted it while it was eating—it had been nose-first in a trash can, digging through the rubbish, but it'd heard them—smelt them—and now it was looking at them warily, growling low at the back of its throat. Juugo held his hands up in a placating manner.
"Holy fuck," Suigetsu said, and whistled low in his throat. "Is that blood?"
"We ought to turn around."
"It's kinda sad, ain't it? When things get like that."
"Aren't you poetic?"
"Oh, go fuck yourself," Suigetsu rolled his eyes, before clapping Juugo on the shoulder—the dog growled a little louder, and Suigetsu frowned, muttered, "Yeah, yeah, we get it; we're fuckin' goin' already, piece of shit… Uh, no wait—Sasuke?"
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Those desperate eyes were familiar. It was searching for something—with large, brown eyes and teeth as sharp as knives—too, he thought; it was searching, but it hadn't found. It was searching for death and decay; for an end that would come too quickly, too soon, and he wondered if the eyes of that man—the eyes that had belonged to the corpse he'd seen earlier—had been desperate too, before death. He looked into those eyes and saw madness, but he wasn't scared—wasn't even slightly put off—because earlier he'd seen a body that smelt so wrong, even the vultures wouldn't have picked at it.
The dog bared its fangs.
And Sasuke bared his.
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"…he's not real," Suigetsu decided, as he watched Sasuke crouch and pat the head of a dog that had previously looked like it wanted nothing more than to rip their throats out. "That guy is fuckin' unreal."
"I'm starting to understand what you're talking about," Juugo agreed. "It's a little bit scary, isn't it?"
But they both started to laugh nonetheless.
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Four days later, Juugo disappeared.
He didn't leave a note, but he hadn't packed his bags, either—he'd just upped in the night and left, and when Suigetsu had woken up that morning, the bed in the adjoining room had been neatly made. There was some money left on the table, milk in the fridge, and the backdoor was unlocked—and so Suigetsu waited, almost frantically, not at all patiently, for that familiar face to come back through the door. He sat and he waited. He paced and he waited. He slept and he waited. He called Sasuke, once, his words slurred and tired, and the other told him not to worry—but when he went to go and see Sasuke, the window was locked, the doors were bolted and no one was home. And so, when a week had passed and Juugo still hadn't returned, Suigetsu started to drink as he waited, too.
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Notes:
Is it bad that this is just the first half of the first chapter, and Kiba hasn't even been introduced? Still, this thing may be a monster, but I love it very much and it is so much fun to write.
Please leave a review!