'Tis the very, very end! Are you glad? If you've read all the way to here, I shall bow down and worship at your feet for suffering through it! -bows repeatedly- DOMO ARIGATO GOZAIMASU!
--
"There's too much that we don't know."
"They're only Genin."
"That's why they'll never be suspected."
"They're not even our most talented Genin!"
"They'll have to deal with not being the best for the rest of their lives."
"They're rookies!"
"They need experience."
"Don't we get a say in this?" Tianmaru finally broke in. "Any choice at all?"
"I'm not sure," said Sabuka in a bored voice, "that I particularly want to. Seems like Sensei's trying to send us in with such a wonderful vote of confidence, doesn't it?"
"That's exactly why," said Mitsumaru – the quiet one – softly, "I think we should. Even though he says we'll never be the best, he's still trying to send us in. He thinks we can handle it."
"Little Sabuka, ever the pessimist," smirked Tianmaru.
"Little Tianmaru, ever the pest," riposted Sabuka, rolling her eyes.
Sabuka jolted awake. I don't want to remember this again.
For several minutes more, she stared at the ceiling. Then she stood up unsteadily and left.
--
Just but looking at its remains, Sabuka knew that Ora had understated the size. The blood hadn't been a puddle so much as a lake: It covered the entire area, splattering against the nearby buildings, coating them, hiding their original hue.
Idly, Sabuka wondered if the stains would ever fade.
" 'They'll never be suspected', eh?" Sabuka said sarcastically. "Because we're Genin, I thought."
Enemy shinobi surrounded them in an angry circle obviously upset at the infiltration of their home. They weren't saying anything, but they were preparing for battle; there was no mercy, not even for the young.
"Sabuka," said Mitsumaru calmly, "shut up.
"Make me," she retorted, fear reducing her words to childishness.
"Concentrate," ordered their sensei, an older man with long silver hair, his hitai-ate hanging from an ebony sash.
"Sensei – " began Tianmaru, but then the other shinobi moved at a blinding speed.
"Akakekkai!" Sabuka cried instinctively, but she wasn't quick enough to save the other three.
The kunoichi's hands bristled with shuriken, but the enemies held her team in place with chakra and kunai placed at their throats.
"Surrender," snarled one shinobi, "or they die."
"You'll kill them anyway," returned Sabuka, trying to sound bored, trying not to sound terrified. She did not want to be tortured for what she knew. But how could she abandon her team?
The kunai pressed against Mitsumaru's skin, drawing blood. Sabuka inhaled sharply, then let a few shuriken fall to the ground.
Concentrate.
Breathing deeply, the kunoichi began to release the flow of chakra as slowly as possible, so it appeared as if the barrier were fading. But she never had been good at manipulation when it was important, and in the end, she shield simply vanished, shattering her plans.
Shinobi were on her in a flash. Sabuka stiffened, fear clouding her vision.
In front of her, the man holding Mitsumaru grinned maliciously. "You made your choice," he hissed gleefully, and the blade bit greedily into Mitsumaru's throat.
Sabuka and Tianmaru cried out; their sensei closed his eyes and turned his head away. The enemy ninja released the boy's body and let it fall to the ground, a broken doll.
"Mitsumaru!" Sabuka screamed, but she still had one shuriken left in her hand.
The kunoichi swung the steely star in an arc that ended with its point buried in her scar. An invisible hand forced the shinobi off her, and then blood burst from her arm.
Sabuka lurched to her feet, almost falling. She needed to get out of this place, and do it soon. She was going to go insane.
That was when she saw the trail of bloody footsteps leading into the shadows of an alley.
--
Sabuka followed them, certain she knew whose they were. She kept one hand always on the wall for support.
Dread and anticipation lingered in her heart, feeling like someone had clenched and hand around it and was squeezing. It made it rather difficult to breathe, the anxiety; would it be a body or a living boy – one who would be very angry – at the trail's end?
The trail ended. Sabuka stopped, then called hesitantly, "Gaara?"
She staggered into the village, alone. Mitsumaru, dead. The enemy shinobi, dead. Tianmaru, Sensei, dead.
Willing hands caught her, their owners unaware, only worried. They cared for her, those days were just a blur.
And the minute she could walk, she went back.
Because she had not been coherent enough to tell their exact location, the bodies had not been moved. They lay where they had fallen. Carrion birds feasted on their flesh; Sabuka chased them away.
The enemy shinobi, Tianmaru, Sensei. Dead by her own hand.
Dazed, the kunoichi reached out. The blood that had seeped into and stained the dusty ground began to wriggled and leach out of it. Crimson rose to her fingers, then coated her arm and began to diffuse through her skin.
"Damn it, I want you to leave me alone," Sabuka growled, scrubbing at her eyes with one arm.
"Then why did you follow me?" demanded a cold voice.
--
Gaara was suddenly before her, and though she hadn't sensed him before, Sabuka guessed he had been on the roof, watching her. The kunoichi peered up into his hard stare, then dropped her eyes.
"Please," she said wearily, not bothering to correct his misconception that she wanted him to go away. "I'm sorry for what happened." Although she could see no wound, no evidence of the attack, Sabuka knew it was there. He was hiding it from her, and she wished she knew how bad it was.
"I'm sorry for what I did," she went on. "I had no control. But as much as I maybe deserve to die, I'm not particularly in the mood for it today."
Oddly enough, no sand waltzed around her. Puzzled, Sabuka slowly raised her gaze to meet Gaara's. He said nothing, only looking coldly back at her.
Inside Suna's confines, worried hands once more reached out for her. But this time, whispers of questions punctuated the concern.
It only took three words. Three names. They set her off.
"…Mitsumaru..."
"…Tianmaru…"
"…Furuganshi-Sensei..."
She cried out as her blood boiled. Though she wrapped her arms around herself, she couldn't stop it. Many around her died instantly. The others drew back, first in surprise, then fear, then panic. A clearing formed around her as people fled her despair.
But one person remained in her path. He was a year younger than her, not even technically qualified as a shinobi yet, but far stronger than she. The sand did not flinched beneath the blood, but instead hungrily soaked it up.
And through it all, he continued standing there impassively, coldly looking on.
Now on her knees, Sabuka gazed up at Gaara through her bangs. "I remember," she whispered. "Do you?"
But he only turned and walked away.
--
The kunoichi staggered back to Ora's house, exhaustion weighing her limbs down. She skirted around the remains of the scarlet storm, trying to avert her gaze, but the blood was all-encompassing, and her eyes inevitably slid to it as she walked through.
"She doesn't remember what she did."
"…has to be locked away."
"…not a demon. You can't just seal it up."
"…have to bind it somehow."
"…doesn't remember…"
"…danger… too dangerous…"
"…can't stay here."
"…Gaara…able to stop her."
"…demon, too. A monster, unpredictable, uncontrollable…"
"…look so alike…"
"…can't trust either of them…"
They didn't know that she could hear them, a hundred voices clamoring to be heeded. Sabuka sat, huddled against a wall, and wondered what it was she had done. Though she asked, she met only stares, forced blank and uncomprehending. But she wasn't stupid. She could see that the ignorance was a mask.
The room was opening, the council crowding out. Sabuka didn't bother to veil her presence at all, and they enclosed her in a half-circle that trapped her against the wall.
"Kazekage-sama," said Sabuka wearily, "where are Tianmaru, Mitsumaru, and Sensei?"
"On a mission," he said, not particularly kindly. It was the same evasive answer she'd been given a thousand times at least.
"And why," the kunoichi went on, "aren't I with them?"
"Because you weren't feeling well," he said shortly.
"Then why didn't another team go?"
A council elder knelt down beside her, probably the only one to not fear her. Sabuka thought he was the one who had defended her in the meeting.
"Because they were needed for this one. Please, come, child. We'll make you well so that next time you can go."
"I'm not a kid anymore," Sabuka mumbled. "I'm a shinobi." But she stood up to follow him anyway.
Sabuka ground her teeth in frustration to cover her despair and walked through the stained sand and stone with her eyes closed.
--
The circle was about six feet in diameter and made up of alternating shuriken and kunai stuck point first into the ground. At each of the four directions, a lit candle of pale gold stood, flames flickering mildly.
Sabuka sat in the center, head bowed. "Will this really make me better?" she asked dully. She didn't even feel sick at all, besides her lack of memory of the past week or so.
"Assuredly," responded the Kazekage coolly.
"I don't even know what's supposedly wrong with me."
"Please hand over your headband."
Reluctantly, Sabuka undid the knot and pulled it from her forehead. She held it out, and one of the council members reached across the circle to take it.
"One drop of blood," ordered the Kazekage, "on each candle."
Sabuka's eyes drifted open, waking her from the end of the dream. After that, she had awoken on the border of Rain Village without a clue. She remembered being a shinobi, recalled how it worked, and her mother's betrayal was still burned into her mind's eye. But that was all.
For two years, she hadn't had a clue.
--
Ever so idly, Sabuka wondered what would happen now. The story was over, the sequence of memories at an end. Would they start over? Would her next dream be the beginning again, the argument of whether they should go?
She couldn't stand that, over and over again. Each time, she would try to tell herself, her team, what should be done. She would try to do it again every single time, and never would she be able to change it. She would go insane, more insane.
She was afraid to close her eyes, afraid to go back to sleep again. Even though the memories had already shown to her that they could come any time, anywhere, she didn't want to dream. She was terrified, frightened that they would start going into more and more detail, showing her each and every event in the sharpest images. She would be able to see every fact of that time, the tiniest aspect that could have changed the outcome. A slightly faster release of the chakra to form a barrier. A marginally quicker throw of a shuriken. A more controlled manipulation. A word that might have given them away.
And even smaller things, Sabuka knew, would make her wonder, even things that would have no bearing whatsoever. The shirt she wore that day. The placement of shuriken in the holster. The tangles in her hair. They didn't matter in the sequence of events, but her every thought would be a what if. And she couldn't take that.
She couldn't sleep another moment in this place, for fear of dreams, for fear of what ifs. For fear of memory.
It all centered around Suna, the kunoichi knew. It had all happened because of this place, this Village Hidden in the Sand. None of the villages were really hidden. It wouldn't be so easy to find them. So easy to infiltrate. They wouldn't try. They wouldn't send rookies. It never would have happened.
Her thoughts were going in circles, endless repeating circles. This would be how it was for all eternity. Until her death – perhaps beyond, if there was such an existence beyond death. She would always remember, always remember, always cry.
She had to get out of Suna.
--
"Thanks for outfittin' me with this stuff, Ora."
"Are you sure you want to leave?" inquired Ora mildly, raising one eyebrow at Sabuka. "You're no less welcome because you've remembered."
The kunoichi cocked and eyebrow in return and glanced around as if she were looking for something.
"I seem to be missing the 'welcome' part, 'cause the only friendly face I see is you."
"That's no less than at the beginning," Ora put in mildly.
"The medic…?"
"Left."
Damn. She had taken a lot of answers with her, Sabuka thought. Oh well, that was life.
"Doesn't matter. Gaara wouldn't be particularly happy with me if I stayed anyway."
Ora looked skeptical. "And is making Gaara happy your goal in life now?"
"Nope," said Sabuka brightly. "But staying alive definitely is. Besides, I've already been kicked out of this village once."
The kunoichi paused, sobering slightly, then grinned again. "I guess I'm sort of missing the feeling, you know what I mean?"
"No."
Sabuka ignored her and went on, "Give me a few more years to get myself thrown out of another one, and I just might be back."
"Don't cause too much trouble."
The kunoichi waved as she turned away. "Why not?"
Grinning, hiding her prayers that the memories would remain here, Sabuka shouldered her canteen and left both the past and the future behind.
--
THE END!