Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Warning: This is a predominately yaoi fic (romance later) with cursing, drug use, mentions of rape, sexual abuse, general violence, and a lot of other things (like the stuff in this chapter) because I am quasi-fucked up... and I still call this a story about family. Let it suffice to say that this is not a story you should read to your five-year-old.
ENJOY!
"They say it's what you make; I say it's up to fate.
It's woven in my soul—I need to let you go.
Your eyes, they shine so bright;
I wanna save that light.
I can't escape this now—unless you show me how!
When you feel my heat, look into my eyes!
It's where my demons hide; it's where my demons hide!
Don't get too close; it's dark inside.
It's where my demons hide; it's where my demons hide!"
It was with some irony that Fugaku noted that in all his many years as a detective—both private and for the police—he had never before driven as fast as he did tonight.
He hardly remembered the damned-near flight he'd taken as he sprinted out of his house to get to his car, he couldn't recall whether or not he'd locked the front door on his way out and he barely could recollect putting on some sort of footwear before leaving. Though, when it came down to it, it hardly mattered to the man, a fact that anyone with even a singular IQ point could tell as he blatantly ran past lights, flipping the pedestrians who dared to curse at him the bird as he came inches away from running up their ankles with the truck. He didn't care about them, and for once in his life didn't even care about the law, because in this moment not a one of them mattered. In this moment, not even he mattered.
No, all that mattered to him right now was his son.
All that mattered right now was Sasuke.
Ever since Sasuke ran out of the house all those nights ago, Fugaku, instead of focusing on his usual duties, had been holed up in the house, staring endlessly at the phone, phasing in and out of dreamless, restless sleep throughout the entire time as he waited, with clear and present desperation, for some hint about the status of his youngest. He got up only to use the bathroom or to get something small to eat—which wasn't enough; because he had lost about six pounds in the days Sasuke had been gone, but he had little care for his own health. All he could think about was the idea that Sasuke would end up dead, in some horrific way; the same way a lot of runaways ended up. And the worst part about all those thoughts; the absolute killer within them all was the fact that they probably wouldn't even be bothered to identify the body. The world was cold and uncaring in that way, and he'd learned that from all his years in law enforcement. Sasuke could be hurt. Raped. Murdered.
And he'd never know the difference.
It was with a lack of attachment that he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, his mind circling completely around the idea that some harm had been brought to his child. Though his teenaged (young adult?) son had been intent on fucking up his life and people's view of him, Fugaku still couldn't look at him and not see the little boy that used to hide behind his big brother's leg whenever he was faced with something scary or daunting, the same little boy who, when Itachi was sick or not home, would climb into the bed he and his wife shared in the dead of night and squeeze in between his two parents without garnering permission or even bothering to wake them up first, though Fugaku would always know because Sasuke would always press into his arm once he fell back asleep. Though the Sasuke that existed now was a stark contrast to the innocent little one of his memories, he knew that they were still one in the same person, and despite his son's best efforts the love he felt for him, the same one he gave to the younger version, had not faltered in the least. True, it was stressed, but it was still present and strong.
He walked through the hospital giving off more confidence and pride than he truly had, done only by a force of habit in order to keep people from worrying over him, though they all honestly had all the reason in the world to. After all, this was Fugaku Uchiha, big-shot detective… and he felt that if his son was anything less than okay he was going to keel over and die from the depression that had been pulling at the edges of his soul since his own wife's death.
From a force of habit gathered from his multitude of visitations to Itachi in his last months, he'd gone into the front entrance of the hospital, though he knew from the call he'd gotten that Sasuke was in the emergency wing, which, in adherence to standard safety protocols and general common sense, had its main entrance on the main road a block away, meaning he had to walk across the sprawling campus of the hospital to get to the wing in which his son was. Though usually he would've cursed in frustration with himself at making such a stupid mistake, he seemed to hardly notice as he rushed across the campus, the shoes he'd chosen to wear—steel-toed combat boots that were the only shoes he'd grabbed that were still easy to find together—making loud, thudding noises on the linoleum floor of the hallways, easily scaring off a large summation of people with the pissed-off look he was harboring, all the while ignorant to the calls of the hospital security desk he'd bypassed on his way in.
So many different thoughts were running through his mind, some chaotic, most depressing, all about Sasuke. What if his son was in surgery? What if he was in the midst of an overdose? What if he had taken a knife through the chest? The lady who called him told him absolutely nothing; just that Sasuke was at the hospital, and he figured the only reason he'd been told that much was simply because he was the immediate next of kin and they were legally obligated to tell him that he was there, if nothing else. They didn't have to tell him exactly what happened. That wasn't their jobs, and as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't be really mad at them for doing it, even if it was the bare minimum. The fact remained that they still called. He had more hope from them than he had been given in days.
It didn't take him very long at all to find the emergency center; though sprawling the hospital's layout was actually quite basic and labeled to high hell, making it therefore impossible for him to get lost, even if he was only giving the world around him the barest of his attention and most of that was utilized so he could avoid bumping into people on his way. It wouldn't do to barrel a granny to the ground just because he couldn't focus on not damaging people. Besides, it wasn't like these people did anything to him, personally. They didn't put Sasuke in the hospital, in the emergency room. None of that was their responsibility. It wasn't even their problem.
The emergency room was more of a mess than he'd ever seen it before, his eyes widening as he beheld the sight of RN's running frantically about the floor, the phones ringing almost off of their respective hooks; ignored as well as possible as the employees focused their attentions upon the mass of what Fugaku quickly realized to be kids. About thirty or so in number, the kids were all of varying ages, heights and ethnicities, the only similarity between any one of them were the obvious damage they'd all seemed to survive, each one covered with bruises, grime and caked-on sweat. Their eyes, which usually would've been filled with the innocence of childhood, were for the most part all hooded, all closing in their emotions; cold to the average onlooker.
"Again! Again!"
The cheer of laughter from another corner of the floor was all that stopped this coldness from being the factor amongst all the children in the room. Some of the children sat on the ground rather in the seats and gurneys the rest sat in, cheery looks on their small, round and grime-covered faces and in their big round eyes as they clapped their tiny, dirty hands, attentions not on the franticness of the room nor the obvious sadness of some of their peers, but on the foolishness before them. A man—no, a teenager; a teenage boy stood before them, brown eyes wide as saucers as he ballooned his fang-tattooed cheeks, pursing his lips and putting his hands on his hips, face going red as he began to hold his breath in the most amusing way possible to these children, whom were howling with laughter. When he finally released his breath—after about thirty seconds or so—he made a big show out of it, taking in long, overplayed and dramatic breaths as he theatrically grabbed at his chest, playing at near suffocation, which the children just ate up with hoots of excitement and joy.
"You guys really enjoy seeing me do that, huh? You would just love it if I just dropped dead!" he crowed at them when he finally quit it with the dramatics, shaking his finger at the lot of them as he flashed them a megawatt smile. Fugaku arched an eyebrow at the sight, finding himself drawn to the act the kid was putting on. He looked familiar—so familiar—but for the life of him Fugaku just couldn't place him. In the end, he decided, it didn't matter. What mattered was the draw he had. He was making what seemed to be the worst night of many people's lives—judging by the sadness of the nurses and the damage of the children, and his own worry for his son—suddenly fade away. The boy's head was wrapped up lengthwise, and from the wobbly tone he spoke in he could tell he was hopped up on what he hoped was pain medication for whatever injury had his head wrapped up; his bottom lip stitched back together down the middle and bruising covering the right side of his face. He looked worse for wear, and yet he was smiling, laughing, and infecting these children with his happiness.
"Nooo~! Don't die!" howled one kid, though the giggle in the young voice clearly displayed his knowledge that the boy wasn't just going to stop entertaining them. "We don't want you to die! You're too funny to die!"
"You're really silly, mister!" called out a little girl.
"Yeah! You're silly!"
"Really silly!"
"A silly-willy!"
"Hmm? Silly-willy? Who's a silly-willy? Not me!" exclaimed the teenager, eyes going wide in mock shock before he feigned a serious look, an arm crossing over his chest and a hand raising to his chin, rubbing an imaginary beard as he arched an eyebrow. "No, I'm Captain Serious of the notorious ship the U.S.S Grown-Up, navigating the seas of Boring and Business, and you're all my privates."
"You could never be my captain!" crowed a kid, the same boy who had yelled at him not to die, the back of his dark brown head shaking rapidly, dislodging the hair for a moment before it fluttered back into its messy array.
He looked down at the little boy. "And why not?" he challenged.
"Because my captain would be lotsa fun! Not boring! And we'd go on fun adventures and we'd have giant pirate-ninja robots that can karate-chop boat in two! And we'd also be pirates!" responded the boy.
"Yeah! We're pirates!" other children agreed.
"That makes sense," agreed the teenaged boy, "But I imagine that my giant pirate-ninja robots that can karate-chop the boat in two would be rocket powered and be able to make hot fudge sundaes."
"Can they make nachos too?" asked another child.
"They can make anything!" laughed the teenaged boy, stretching out his arms, "Anything and everything we want! But no alcohol."
"And no drugs!" said another kid.
"No pervert-things!" agreed another.
"And our mommies and daddies can come with so we don't have to be away from them anymore!" one called out.
"Yeah! And we can go anywhere!"
"Be anything!"
"Money won't ever be an issue!"
"And we'd learn to fight so no one could ever hurt us!"
"We'd protect each other, like a family!"
"Yeah, like a family!"
"I like that!" said the teenaged boy, clapping his hands with happiness, his smile spanning across his tattooed cheeks—nearly disguising the pain he held in the depths of his chocolate brown eyes. "And I, Captain Serious—"
"Nooooo!" they all complained.
He stopped immediately, arching a brow again. "Why not!"
"It's stupid!"
"Really stupid!"
"But I like being Captain Serious! And plus it'd be a joke!"
"How?!" questioned a kid immediately.
"Because I'd never be serious, of course! I'd always be silly for my crew!"
"Really?"
"Of course. The world always needs some silliness," he said, still smiling before continuing, "And I, Captain Serious of the Grown-Up—"
"Not that either!"
"But why?"
"Too boring!"
"Hmm…" said the boy, feigning to be in thought, "I can't find a reason to argue with that. It is quite boring, isn't it?" The kids all nodded their heads, and Fugaku couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the sight. "Okay, so gone with the U.S.S Grown-Up! The vessel lived a long life but she had to be retired! A new maiden is in order! A beautiful one—a big one, with even more giant rocket-powered food-making pirate-ninja robots!" The kids all cheered at that. "And what would we name the ship, hmm? Any thoughts?"
The kids went quiet for a moment as they considered it, and before anyone could speak—not any one of those children—another voice interrupted it.
"Maybe you should call it the Escort." The teenager looked up from the crowd of children, his attention, as well as his said crowd (including Fugaku) to the young woman who stood across from him, in front of the patient inspection area, a girl whom seemed to be shaking with fury, and, based upon the way the doctors flicked her worried and confused glances, was not supposed to be there. "Or maybe you could call it the Harlot. Maybe even Lady of the Evening would work. It all means the same anyways, so why does it matter?"
The boy gulped, all happiness these kids could possibly have given him sucked away quickly. "I—"
"It's all your fault! Why the hell do you exist?!" she screeched at him, scaring a good sum of the children, even those with the cold eyes. The teenager didn't even flinch, though he clearly showed that he felt the pain of the blows. Fugaku frowned deeply now, irritation growing with the way this young woman was treating the boy, who honestly just wanted to keep the children happy—the same children who were now beginning to cry.
"You're upsetting the kids," the boy said, not even answering her question as he bent over, rubbing the top of the most talkative boy's dark brown head, whose large brown eyes attempted to burn holes into the young lady that now absorbed his attention, tears threatening to drip from his eyes.
"Oh, who gives a shit about some kids?" the young woman barked at him.
"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You're making a scene," a doctor finally approached her saying, placing a hand on her arm.
She wrenched it away, looking absolutely disgusted. She pointed her finger straight at the teenager consoling the kids, either ignorant or uncaring all the while to the disturbance she was causing in the already hectic room by causing this scene. "Are you all okay with this whore touching these kids? He's probably giving them a shit ton of STDs right now just by putting his hand on their heads—"
She was interrupted quickly by the grabbing at her wrist, her body being jerked and her words being cut off. Fugaku, along with the rest of the people watching this girl's dramatics, found themselves surprised that none of them had noticed anyone new coming up, though it was understandable, as the distraction se was causing kept their attentions occupied sufficiently. The newcomer's gauze-wrapped hands had blood clearly seeping through on the knuckles, but the power behind them was unquestionable, based on the pain the girl displayed in the features of her face.
"Haven't you done enough to him today?" hissed a voice Fugaku knew all too well, his breath nearly stopping in his chest as he finally tore his eyes away from the bloodied hands, looking up at the face that could only belong to his son. Onyx eyes, both surrounded by deep purple bruising and very clearly bloodshot, narrowed in obvious hatred at the girl, his jaw tight and teeth obviously grinding with barely hidden anger, his icy demeanor immediately sobering up the crowd and making those kids stop crying for fear that the male would get further irritated. "Leave him alone."
"But I—" the girl began.
"Maybe I should rephrase it into simpler terminology just for you, as you're obviously too stupid to understand me," Sasuke growled lowly, threateningly as he leaned in closer to her, his grip tightening even more, if the increase of seeping blood was any notification, accompanied with her cry of pain, hissing at her coldly and calmly, "Leave him alone, or I will end you."
Fugaku didn't know what was freakier for him to hear, the coldness of Sasuke's tone, the obvious non-joke that the threat was, or that Sasuke—the Sasuke that had been pushing people away for over a year—was showing care for a boy that his own father wasn't even aware he knew. For the girl, none of them even seemed to matter when faced with the fearsomeness that was Sasuke's threat to her life; the only option left for her was to smother her yelp of fear and pain as Sasuke released her, backing up with shaking steps as she put distance between herself and the Uchiha, only turning to run once she her back hit the glass doors of the emergency wing's street entrance, running into the black night.
Sasuke didn't give the girl another glance after she left, attention turning immediately to the teenager surrounded by the kids. "Why are you still here? Where's your brother?"
"He got called to work, but he's gonna come back for me once I'm cleared to go," responded the boy carefully, eyes still wide as he continued to smooth down the little kid's bed of hair. "And Sui was around for a while I think, but he had to take Kari home. Shino went back to my house to attempt to clean the mess from the floor."
"You should be resting," Sasuke said callously, though Fugaku could plainly hear the care his words were spoken with, "And you should definitely not be speaking. You have a broken jaw."
"Isn't there some sort of doctor-slash-patient confidentiality clause that you seem to be ignorant to at this very moment? How would you know something like that?" the teenager asked, arching a brow and—somehow—making some of the kids giggle, even though he was not intentionally being funny at that very moment.
"Because I was there when you got it, remember?" Sasuke asked, arching a brow. "You sure are smart, hmm?"
The teenager turned red. "Ah—h-hey! I'm not stupid! Stop being a sarcastic a—erm, butthole!"
"I'm a butthole now?" asked Sasuke, clearly amused, "That's probably the nicest insult I've gotten all night. Possibly the most amusing too." Some of the children staring at Sasuke covered their mouths, smothering their laughs at Sasuke's sarcasm.
"I—ah—God!" the teenager complained, groaning and making more of the kids—whom only moments before were crying—laugh a little. He shot them a mild glare, which only amused the children further. "This isn't funny! He's being really mean to me right now!" he complained at them, making the children laugh more at him. He groaned and put his hands on his hips, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, he gets to insult me and all you guys do is laugh? What kind of crew are you?"
"Crew? What are you, a team of break-dancers from the nineties? Who says crew anymore?" Sasuke asked smoothly.
The teenager grinned at him now. "They're my pirate crew, actually."
"Yeah! And he's Captain Serious!" said the child the teenager had been comforting, attracting Sasuke's attention for the moment.
"And we're looking for a ship name!" said another.
Sasuke flicked a look up at the tattooed kid. "Pirate ship? Really?"
"Yup!" he said cheerfully, any anger he had disappeared.
Sasuke sighed, rolling his eyes. "This is stupid."
"Is not! And don't judge! I don't see you coming up with any ideas!" He crossed his arms over his chest in a huff. "Honestly, you act like such a wet blanket."
"These terms you use are really too old for you. It's like you get your vocabulary from a bad eighties movie," Sasuke sighed, closing his eyes. "What about Hakkenden?"
The boy blinked. "Huh?"
Sasuke sighed. "Your name, your last name at least, it's from a story from the nineteenth century about dog samurai. The name of the story is Nansō Satomi Hakkenden—"
"Tale of Eight Dogs," the teenager interrupted, eyes wide, "That's the name I know it under. But why?"
Sasuke shrugged. "It's your ship, isn't it? So why not name it after the story that gave you your name?"
"I like that idea!" crowed the most talkative child, getting to his feet and looking up at the teenager. "Capt! Let's name our boat hack and den!"
"Hakkenden. One word," Sasuke said, holding up one finger and sighing. Fugaku couldn't help but crack a grin at the tire Sasuke was displaying towards the kids, though based purely upon the fact that he was even still talking to them, Sasuke was enjoying the conversation more than he let on.
The boy turned sheepish. "Sorry. Hackandden?"
"And now you're mispronouncing it," said Sasuke, "But it'll do for now."
A little girl giggled. "You're funny."
"And pretty!"
"Capt, who's your pretty friend?"
A vein pulsed visibly in Sasuke's temple. "I'm not pretty. Pretty is a term used for women and dogs. Not men. I'm not pretty."
"You're very pretty! And so is your hair!"
Sasuke glared at the kids. "I'm going to murder you."
"Sasuke! Shutthefuckup!" hissed the teenager quickly, trying to slip the cursing past the lot of them. "You don't issue death threats to children!"
"Fine," Sasuke allowed, turning his glare up to the teenager, "I'm going to murder you."
The teenager blinked before allowing a slow smirk to gather on his face, making his way slowly over to Sasuke, carefully avoiding stepping on the children that had amassed. Once close to the Uchiha, he crossed his arms confidently, eyes mischievous. "You wouldn't do that," he drawled slowly, his voice having a light sing-song touch to it.
Sasuke continued glaring. "And why would you believe that?"
"'Cause you looooove me," he continued to drawl, causing the twitch of Sasuke's lower eyelid and the light snicker from Fugaku, "And you'd do aaanythin' for me."
"You're making a very dangerous assumption now, brat," Sasuke said.
"You know it's true, deep down in that black thing that pumps blood through your veins you love me," crowed the boy.
"You're walking a fine line. You're making me regret what I did somewhat," Sasuke growled lowly.
He sobered a little at that, turning quite serious very quickly. "Ah… sorry. I—"
"Lighten up, moron," Sasuke interrupted with a shake of his head and a tilt in the upwards direction that Fugaku knew from all his years of knowing his son that it was the closest Sasuke would ever go to a smile in public, something that only happened on occasions that seemed to mandate it, and almost never happened unless he wanted it to and clearly thought about it beforehand. No thought seemed to go into this half-assed smile, none that Fugaku could see anyways—and that was possibly the most shocking thing of the night. "I'm just messing with you. Helping you out was probably the best thing I've done in over a year. Probably stupid, but worth it. I don't regret a damned thing."
"I put you in here!" the teenager blurted, eyes wide.
"No, technically, the face of the guy who's responsible for putting you in here put me in here," said Sasuke smoothly, "And I took care of him. And I'm fine. Split and broken knuckles aside, I'm fine. And you're fine, if you forget the broken jaw. And that's what matters in the grand scheme of things, isn't it? So don't bother worrying about me, Kiba, because good deed aside, I really am not worthy of worrying about."
"You really need to stop saying that!"
Fugaku didn't know what compelled him to interrupt the moment, but once his bark was out he couldn't bring it back in. Surprised, Sasuke flinched—barely noticeable, but enough for his father to see—immediately looking for the source of the voice, taking him only milliseconds to find the face of his father, shock filling his usually emotionless onyx eyes.
"Why are you—?"
"I don't know where you got the idea that you're not worthy of anyone's concern, but you really need to get rid of it before I beat it out of you!" he interrupted, wasting no time in approaching his son, his own eyes hardened as he beheld the kid. "I don't know what I have to do to make you understand that you're worthy of the concern people give to you, because whatever I think of you're just too ignorant or too stupid to see!"
Sasuke frowned, brows furrowing. "I'm not ignorant, nor am I stupid."
"I know that you're not. But you are my son. I put care into making you, put love into raising you, and I put concern into every act you commit, whether good or bad; because all I want is to see you happy. Do you understand me? I've got no choice but to be worried about you—because you're my child, and I love you more than that word can ever express," he said, completely and totally serious about the words he spoke. He wasn't an expressive man, especially not to those he cared the most about, but sometimes there just wasn't avoiding it at all—especially when there was no one else around to interpret what Fugaku was trying to say without coming out and saying it, leaving Sasuke to attempt to figure it all out on his own. "Look, Sasuke. I know I'm not the best father. I try and try but I'm not the best, and that's fine with me, because for the most part you've come out alright. But it's still my job to make sure you keep on the right track, to make sure that you have some sort of help. We're all each other has anymore now. Your mother and brother, God rest their souls, they're gone, and it's you and me, and all I want is to see you live until my own dying day."
"You only love me now because you don't have Itachi to love about anymore," Sasuke muttered almost inaudibly, but loud enough for Fugaku to hear.
Fugaku's eyes widened. "Sasuke, do you really think that you mean so little to me? That I would only choose you if your older brother left us?" He shook his head. "Sasuke, Itachi dying was a tragedy, and I do believe he deserved to live longer than he did, but you are not him, and you will never be. I know that when you were younger I used to say that you were like your brother, and in some facets you are, but I would think the sun shined outta your ass even if you were nothing like him, because you're my son. I don't have favorites. I love you both equally, no more, no less, and with everything I can give."
"You shouldn't care about me. I…" Sasuke bit his lip, looking away now. "I'm no good. Itachi was good, and I… am not. I… am not good. I'm not what you would want in a son."
"True, you've made mistakes as of recent," Fugaku said with a shrug, "But you are the same boy that saved Naruto from his bullies. You are the same kid who offered up his lunch to Chōji when other kids would take his. You are the same brat who used to follow Kakashi around the station begging him to take you on as his apprentice relentlessly until he finally gave in. You are the same child who used to shove himself between myself and your mother in the dead of night and hold me as tightly as possible as you slept. These mistakes are a part of you, but these others are just as much. I'm not just going to throw all that to the side because of the missteps you've taken."
"I'M NOT THAT CHILD!" Sasuke barked finally, nostrils flaring with a fury that took Fugaku off guard. "I haven't been that child for years! Years! He's gone, and what's left is a worthless piece of shit!"
"Would a worthless piece of shit have saved me tonight?"
Both Uchiha flinched, turning to the tattooed boy that both had forgotten was still standing there. A serious look in those brown depths, the slightly-murky eyes looked between both men, the boy's lips set into a tight frown.
"Would a worthless piece of shit have saved me tonight?" he asked again, just as serious as the first time, but unlike the first he gave not a moment for any reply before continuing, "No, they wouldn't. They would've turned their back and let Zaku… let Zaku take advantage of me. They wouldn't have even been there for me. You, however… you were. You left, but you came back, and you saved me. I can't overlook that, no matter what bad things you proclaim to have committed and what horrid things people say of you, because I am so thankful for those acts that led you to be there when I needed you the most. You overlook your own value, Sasuke." His eyes softened a touch. "You saved me from it. You can't overlook something like that. You just can't. And you can't say you're a bad guy—because a bad guy wouldn't have beaten Zaku. You are good."
"I—" Sasuke began.
"He was going to rape me, Sasuke," the boy said point-blank, making Fugaku blink in surprise, "And honestly, it wouldn't have been the first time." Now it was Sasuke's turn to blink. "I was panicking at the mere thought of having to go through another one, for the umpteenth time. It doesn't stop hurting. It never does. The memory fades, but the pain doesn't. It would've been another pain, and you saved me from it. For the first time… someone saved me from that pain. Asuma and Kurenai may have adopted me, but I live in fear that the security will be ripped away. They can't always be there. But you… you brought me the security they could never deal me. You brought me a hope that the part of me that has gone through just too much can finally be laid to rest. And maybe… maybe I can grow." He smiled. "And that makes you not only a good person, like your father is saying… but a hero."
"Come home, Sasuke," Fugaku said softly, drawing his son's attention back, "Please, just come home. I've been so worried… so scared… I just want you home, in your bed. Please, Sasuke… please come home."
Sasuke stared at him for a moment, taking the time to give his father a good look up and down before saying in the softest and most uncertain voice he'd ever heard his son speak in, "Do we have tomatoes?"
Fugaku almost began laughing hysterically.
"Yes, Sasuke," he said, "We have tomatoes."
There weren't many people who knew where Danzō Shimura lived.
An infamous soul in the city, Danzō and his gang, Root, were responsible for a good eighty-five percent of crime in the entire city. That meant that for every ten robberies, approximately seven of them were Danzō's doing. That meant for every three missing peoples cases, two of them were his doing. The entire crime scene of the city had Danzō's mark permanently scribed into its face, making him the most notorious gangster in the city's history.
And how did the man get away with it all?
There were two golden reasons. One, the main one, was that there was never, ever, ever any legitimate sort of proof towards his hand in it. There was no official proof that Root existed rather than just public knowledge, as there was no marking or formal jump-in or anything of the sort. If anything, Root was simply a cult of Danzō's followers rather than his gang-bangers, only worse because these people were very good at hiding their involvement in Root. Root was like a whisper in the wind, and while police knew they existed and knew they had a hand in the crimes of their city: they could not prove it. There was never the necessary proof. The second reason is also important, but it also very simplistic in that Danzō himself was a leaf on the wind. The man had no officially listed address, and while the police station had him on record, and he himself had gone to them multiple times, they just could not find him. His whereabouts were never known to the police—just to a select few that Danzō trusted the most.
Heels clacking against the ground, Kin moved confidently through the shadowy hallways, eyes keeping forwards and ears blocking out the screams coming from the whore rooms, having grown all too used to the sounds from her years visiting with her adoptive father. There was a time when she'd felt some sort of pity for these… things, but she quickly grew used to the idea of what they were: sub-humans. They were less than herself, and as less than herself they were worthy of none of her time. They actually deserved the pain dealt to them on a regular, in her mind, and sometimes she felt that it was necessary that they got more—just so they knew that they were not worthy of being human.
Kiba's attempt at such a thing made her sneer in anger, her step being fueled more so as she stalked fearsomely down the hall. She knew full well what he was. The Boy didn't remember her, but she remembered him. She remembered all the trouble the Boy caused Danzō when he decided that he wanted to equal to her when he'd been born inferior to her. If it hadn't been for the swift thought on his part on the bribery of local stations, the Boy's story would've been aired. Evidence would've been found. And Kin didn't want that for him. She didn't want him to go to jail when he was just keeping the natural order, especially over some sub-human slave ingrate.
She growled to himself. In what world did that little whore think that he deserved to be happy? It wasn't right. It just wasn't right. It was disgusting and wrong and she wanted to slit his throat every time she passed him in the damned halls of that school she was forced to attend, but she kept that part pushed down well enough with just the reminder that it wouldn't provide the satisfaction, the satisfaction that would come from putting the Boy back in his place. In his subservient, sub-human place.
"Boss," Kin said with a deep bow, bending at the waist in front of the large bed of Danzō Shimura, who sat in the middle calmly, awaiting what Kin had called asking to speak about, one of his newer whores—a naked skinny little eight-year-old with green eyes who Kin knew wouldn't match up to expectations left behind by the original Boy (despite her hatred for the brat; he was apparently Danzō's best whore and therefore she couldn't badmouth him that much, at least not in front of Danzō himself) and probably wouldn't even make the week.
"Ms. Tsuchi," Danzō said after moments of silence, rubbing the pierced cock of the boy, who flinched but hid his fear well enough otherwise, "Rise please. Green here needs to go through his training."
Kin rose appreciatively, getting Danzō's message easily enough and going straight into it. "It appears Kiba Inu—err, your Boy has become close with Fugaku Uchiha's son."
Danzō appeared immediately interested, leaning forwards and removing his hand from Green's flaccid member, much to the eight-year-old's not-so-well concealed relief, which thankfully for him Danzō had no notice of. Waving his hand to one of his Root members, they moved forwards, throwing a thin pair of dirty pants at the boy for him to quickly tug on before they led him out of the room, giving his boss privacy between himself and his most prized informant.
"Romantic?" Danzō asked once they were completely alone.
"On the Uchiha's part it appears to be so far. Your Boy's feelings are unclear, but it is definitely more than a simple friendship," Kin said, wasting none of Danzō's time.
"That will not do," Danzō said, "That will not do at all. The Uchiha needs to be erased from the equation, but killing him is a luxury even I cannot afford. The Boy is someone I could use should I bend him the right way, and I would have a furious force after me should I try to erase him."
Kin smiled. "I've already thought of how to get him away from tour Boy, sir," she said gleefully.
Danzō arched a brow. "Hmm?"
"He's assaulted my puppet, sir. Zaku. The Uchiha brat has had enough brushes against the law that we could easily get him into jail for assault. We could even make it into a public display, if you wish—I can make an immediate call to Sai," Kin responded.
Now Danzō was gleeful, or as close to gleeful as a man like him could get. "Oh, yes," Danzō said with an eager nod, "Oh, yes, do. I want my Boy to know that he cannot simply get away. He needs to be reminded who he belongs to."
Kin grinned fully now. "I will make the call immediately. I will have Sai call you back within the hour if a case is feasible."
"Good," Danzō said, "You are dismissed."
"Yes, sir."
Kakashi didn't often like going home.
Calling it even a home was a bit of a stretch for him. Sure, it was technically his name signed on the lease for his flat, but it had never felt like it. Homes were supposed to be filled with your precious ones, who waited for you to get home, who cared about whether or not you even came back. His flat—his overly sterile, cold and lonely flat—was not home. It never felt like it, and he'd never been able to ascertain how to actually do it. But then again, he wasn't sure if he'd ever really been at home anywhere. The last time he'd felt at home, he'd been living with his father—and that was where the problem was rooted.
There was a certain fear he'd never been able to shake, ever since his father's suicide, that he'd encounter something that he truly did not want to see. Memories of his father's dead carcass dripping his lifeblood onto the pale cream carpet of his boyhood home had stuck with him more than he'd care to admit, and had definitely affected his will to come home himself, even if, other than his dog, he lived by himself. In fact, it was only for his dog that he would come home at all, because the poor bugger would either be starved or bored to death if left by himself.
Said dog pounced on him the moment it had the door open, having heard the keys tumbling in the lock. It never ceased to surprise Kakashi the amount of power the little pug could get behind its hind legs, but he chose to smother the feeling in exchange for actually catching the dog before it fell—because while it could get up there with no apparent difficulty or problem, he didn't see it going over very well should it hit the ground. The dog pulled at the bottom of Kakashi's mask with its teeth, letting out a low whine as it expressed its wants and desires for him.
"Yeah, yeah, one minute, Pakkun," he sighed with a slow smile tugging at the edges of his lips—while he didn't want to be here, seeing his little rescue pet was still pleasant nonetheless. The dog gave him a withering glance with its lazy-seeming eyes, its command over Kakashi showing almost instantaneously. Rolling his eyes, he pulled down his mask without any argument before crouching down, releasing the pug safely to the ground before turning back around, quick to grab the Bed, Bath & Beyond bag he'd put down in order to open the door and slipped inside, shutting and locking the door with an efficiency that went unrivaled by the average man. Pakkun barked at him, eyes glued upon the unfamiliar bag that did not look like any sort of grocery bag.
Kakashi sighed, running his fingers through his silver locks as he looked down at his pug. Pakkun had been adopted by him a little over three years ago; having found the then-puppy on the streets, sickly and malnourished. Though it had taken some time, Pakkun adored him, but again, it had taken him a while to warm up to him. Pakkun didn't just immediately adore any person, especially when suddenly just meeting them, so he knew full well that bringing Hinata here on such short notice would lead to some difficulties on Pakkun's part.
Pakkun sniffed at the bag before allowing it to be dismissed, turning around and trotting towards his bowl at the edge of Kakashi's open kitchen, tongue immediately lapping at the water in the bowl, which Kakashi could only assume Minato did when he dropped off the bounty of groceries he said he was going to purchase. Curious, Kakashi did a quick survey of his entire kitchen before sighing. Minato had spared no expense. He'd stocked him full of vegetables, fruits, bread, canned soup, herbs and spices; all of which were organic—a stark contrast to the formerly empty kitchen he'd left behind. He'd even restocked Pakkun's dog food, albeit not to the brand he knew Pakkun really liked, but it was the thought that counted about it.
"Sometimes, Minato is too good a guy," Kakashi sighed, "Because I'm pretty sure I can't repay him for any of this." Pakkun gave a little bark, though he was partially sure that the dog wasn't even paying any attention to Kakashi's feelings of guilt. He sighed, closing his cabinet and retreating from his kitchen, deciding staring at the bounty of the food he could never pay his boss back for was not something he was particularly interested in doing that night. Instead, he grabbed up the Bed, Bath & Beyond bag, taking it with him to the small hallway that led to the bathroom and the two bedrooms, heading towards the empty second bedroom. Why he'd let Rin talk him into getting a two-bedroom apartment, he had no idea, but it worked for him now. At least he didn't have to force the girl to the couch, since Rin had also forced him into buying a twin-sized bed frame, mattress and dresser for the room, as if they were going to have anyone staying with them—which, technically, now he did.
Putting the bag down on the un-blanketed mattress, he pulled the twin-sized white-colored bed set from its contents, placing it at the edge of the bed, placed next to a pillow that Minato had pulled out from the top of his linen closet as per his own instruction, as well as the dark blue comforter that sat, neatly folded, underneath the pillow. Nodding in approval, he pulled the hangers he'd bought next from the bag, placing the box on top of the bare dresser, which sat next to the moderately sized closet. For a moment, he wondered if she'd adjust well to the size of the bedroom—as they went, this one was on the smaller side, at least compared to his own it was. It definitely had to be smaller than the one she had at her home.
He desperately wanted her to be comfortable. If she was going to be stuck with him for God knows how long, he wanted her to be as comfortable as possible. He didn't want her sad or anything of the sort. He wanted her to be as happy as humanly possible to be, and he wanted to see her smile at him and start healing and…
Oh, God.
This wasn't just some crush, was it?
Kakashi's eyes went wide, mismatched orbs staring at the box of hangers he hadn't let go of yet, shock having frozen him there.
He'd thought all this time he could just get over her. Slowly, carefully, and with a lot of effort. He'd thought that truly nothing would come of this all, because it was just some crush and he didn't have to let anything come of it. But that wasn't the case, was it? No, of course not. It could never be that simple, because of course he'd just let himself go out and fall in—
"Bark! Bark!"
Blinking rapidly, Kakashi snapped out of his daze, looking over the small creature standing in the doorway, eyes lit with a fire that told Kakashi that Pakkun smelled something was up. Using that as the catalyst he needed to let go of the box of hangers, making his way over to the tiny, yet fearsome pug, who barked again at him, as if ordering him to crouch down. Abiding by what the dog wanted, he did so, one hand pressing atop his head, pushing it down just the slightest and making him yip.
"As you've probably surmised by now, it's not going to be just the two of us pretty soon," Kakashi admitted to the small creature with a long sigh, trying to push away the thoughts of her, although it was obviously harder since he was actually talking about her this time around. "She's a young woman that I'm trying to help. I need you to help me make sure that she feels welcome. Are you okay with that?" The dog stared at him, seemingly understanding, before it let out a short bark in apparent agreement. Smirking, he rubbed Pakkun behind his little ears, making his little tail begin to wag as excitedly as it could.
Still smirking, he nearly missed the sound of the door bell ringing, but definitely did not miss the sound of someone banging the shit out of his door with their fist. Head snapping up, he jumped to his feet, he and Pakkun both rushing to the door with worry, irritation, and (in Pakkun's case) a complete readiness to kill the attempted intruder. Said intruder kept knocking as hard as they could on Kakashi's front door, much to Kakashi's mounting annoyance, which lead to him grabbing the Beretta from his waist band, taking the safety off quickly before opening the door swiftly, giving the person on the other side no warning before the door practically flew open, his gun immediately pointed in their face.
"Hiya, KakaOH FUCK WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU POINTING AT ME?!"
Kakashi blinked, mind catching up with his eyes, , brow creasing at the sight before him.
"Obito?" he asked with a frown.
Obito Uchiha was possibly the only person he could ever call his best friend. Two years older than himself, Obito had been orphaned as an infant when a drunk driver hit the side of his parent's car and killed both his mother and father, and split him up from his twin brother, Tobi. The accident had left Obito scarred intensely on his entire right side, which meant the whole right side of his face was layered with intense scarring. It'd been a miracle Obito had survived the ordeal at all, in fact, but not only did he survive, he thrived.
Obito was practically Kakashi's opposite in everything—he was excitable, pleasant, eager-to-please, giving, sweet—that, however, did not make him a pushover of any sort, which was why it was so easy for Kakashi to become friends with the boy; he didn't just bow away or run away in fear of him, and in fact stood up to Kakashi. Because of his toughness when the circumstances demanded it, it made him an excellent student in law school, especially when paired with his stubbornness when it came to the idea of being beaten, and made him a lawyer to be reckoned with.
"Uh-huh," Obito said worriedly before saying, "Gun, face, move it please, now, thank you." Kakashi blinked again, finally remembering that he'd shoved the handgun in his face for banging as hard as he could on the door. Suddenly and understandably embarrassed, he removed the gun from his friend's face, sliding the safety back into place and turning around as to hide his embarrassment, simultaneously inviting the guy in. He heard Pakkun bark a couple of times at the Uchiha, but he felt no worry rise. Pakkun actually really liked Obito, and Obito liked Pakkun. So did Tobi… speaking of which…
"You usually don't come by without Tobi," Kakashi said, turning around.
Obito looked up from Pakkun, whom he was crouched in front of as he gave the dog the affection he desired, onyx eyes almost unreadable. "Uh… well… you see… um…"
Kakashi's eyes narrowed. "Why do I get the feeling I will not like what you're going to prose to me?" he asked irritably.
And just when things were already looking complicated… their complications got expanded just a little bit further, because it would be just too easy for Kakashi to have one main problem. Nope, it just wasn't a possibility. It wasn't allowed, simply because he was Kakashi Hatake and apparently his middle name was 'fucking complicated'.
Name: Shikamaru Nara (Patient #2344-72)
Date: Some Wintertime Month and Day…
Attending Doctor: Hashirama Senju
Entry #2:
There's a certain peace that comes with being on the pitch. Although lazy, I do adore it immensely, as since childhood I'd been playing the game with my friends. I get a peace there that I just don't get anywhere else, not even watching the clouds.
Today's no different, I remind myself as I feel the ref's eyes on me, waiting for my signal for readiness. I'm worried. Petrified, even. But I can't let it get to me. I absolutely cannot. There's too may people watching. There's too much riding on me. I can't mess up. If I do, then… I don't even want to think about it.
I look up, still trying to catch my breath as look towards the crowd, the largest crowd we've ever received to one of our matches, but it's to be expected I figure. We're the top two teams in the city, both of us undefeated in the tournament, and now we're here, at the last minutes of the season. It only makes sense that we get a huge turnout. Football's a big sport, and we've both got players that make news articles.
It's daunting.
To say the very least about it.
Not even seeing my parents in the stand is any sort of relief. They smile reassuringly at me, both of their looks making it clear that they won't care if this is where I mess up, but I hardly pay it heed. They won't care, but I know the rest will. Everyone will. Either the other side will cheer for my mistake and taunt me for it and my own team will glare at me for picking today, of all days, to mess up, or… or it'll be the other way around, I know it.
I nearly look back at my feet before my eyes find a pair of magenta eyes. I can't stop the surprise. I hadn't expected him, honestly. He was blocked from attending most of my matches, so I honestly couldn't have expected him to come to this one. How he got past the security manning the entrances to the stands, I don't know, but if anyone can it's him. He smirks at me, arms crossed over that broad chest of his, extruding confidence. An idiot would think it was self-confidence.
I know better.
It's confidence towards me.
"Number seven?"
I tear my eyes away from those powerful magenta eyes towards the ref.
"Are you ready?"
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I nod, my brows furrowing.
The ball sails through the air, in such a perfect arch that it's almost a pity I've gotta stop it. However, I do my best to ignore the sheer beauty of the shot as I break into a dead sprint, intent on covering the twenty-four feet that is my goal line with the skill I'd been keeping it for the entirety of our season, refusing to think with my brain and instead thinking with my body. It's something that most goalkeepers forget to do when it comes to penalties—to detach themselves from their thoughts. They forget that thinking interferes with the natural human instinct to defend, and they then over-complicate things. However, I have a certain refusal to allow that to happen.
My body moves on its own as the ball comes closer and closer to the goal, time slowing down to a degree I just cannot explain. I'm mindless, thoughtless. I'm merely an observer at this point in time. I'm just watching myself move, watching myself leap for the last five feet, my fist coming out in time to make contact with the ball, forcing it to hit the right post hard enough for it to pop high into the air about twenty feet high before it hit its peak height. Gravity does the rest, the 9.8 meters per second dragging it right back down to the ground a good fifteen feet from my goal.
As my mind comes back to me, I start hearing the cheers from my team as I saved my umpteenth goal, pride surging into my heart at the sound. I don't know why I'm surprised to hear the sound. I shouldn't be. I have the best average of any of the goalkeepers of Konoha Technical High School. I'm legitimately the best goalkeeper they've ever had, but somehow, this never really snaps into place in my mind. My teammates always remind me, but somehow it just never clicks. I don't consider myself that amazing. I'm just incredibly lucky.
The guys hound me, clamoring to grab at me, to rub the top of my head and to slap my cheeks in that joking way my team does. Usually, it's our strikers who get this attention. Once in a while it's a defensive back with a good, hard kick who gets it.
But this time, it's me.
A one-one match after overtime had led to a penalty shoot-out, which both sides were getting none of until our main striker, number 1, made a goal to the bottom left corner of the opposing goal, having realized the blind spot the goalkeeper had in that direction. The opposition's one chance of making it lead to a possibly lengthened penalty shoot-out or, even worse, a golden goal trial rested on their main striker scoring on me in their last penalty attempt. He'd been the only one to score on me in the entirety of the match with a nice header from the edge of goalie area that I just couldn't stop, though I did try. He had a nasty kick, too, judging by the stories I heard about him, but I sadly did not get to witness until the shoot-out during the three other tries he went at on scoring, which due to a certain fragility with their team work it was more than easy for the defensive backs to steal the ball and lob it back up field, each time leading to him shooting one of his wings a dirty look before looking over at me. I finally got to experience the skill of his shot with the last penalty, and while it was an amazing shot I had managed to deflect it.
Before I realize it, I'm up in the air, being carried by my team. I can't help but laugh in shock. If anything, our striker should be getting cheered, but for the oddest reason it's me, it's me being carried, me being cheered on for my game. Despite my shock, I whoop in happiness, thrusting my arms into the air with cheer and happiness. It's decidedly the best moment of my high school career on the Konoha Flames. Last game of the season and it's because of me that we won. I can't help but feel giddy. I can't help but feel good about myself.
Once placed back down on my feet in the safety of the sidelines, I'm pushed from the middle of the crowd to the forefront, pushed in front of them all—even number 1, though I grab him in a last moment decision as I feel that he deserves it, as I wouldn't even have this moment if it weren't for him. Blue eyes glittering with happiness, he doesn't argue, but jumps on my back, his skinny body light for a boy of his age as far as I notice, which I ignore in favor of going towards where the crowd of a team is pushing me towards—our trophy, our hard-earned trophy, which would go up in our school's sports cabinet with the winning striker's jersey. Putting down the striker, we both approach gleefully, our hands outstretched as we are the first team members to touch the glittering, silvery top of the trophy when it finally clicks, probably in both our minds, that we're the city champs.
We won.
He whoops and pulls off his shirt excitedly, thrusting it as our coach's head as he grabs firmly at the trophy, looking back at me and ordering me to do the exact same thing. I don't pull off my gloves—I don't want the trophy to get grimy with the sweaty hands I have under the thing—but I do as I'm told, hand wrapping around the trophy right underneath my teammate's hand, and I together we thrust it into the air, though I have to accommodate for his short stature. He hardly notices as he yells to the guys 'we won, we won' as a mantra.
Yes, it's decidedly the best moment of my high school career.
"Shikamaru!"
"Shikamaru!"
They all call my name, call for me, and I grin wider than I really thought is possible for me, now getting the full blow of my achievement as arms wrap around me, as hands rub the top of my head and my cheeks are cajolingly smacked by my teammates as Number 1 looks on with pride in his face as he looks at me. I don't scream. I don't shout. I merely let them do it for me, while I grin widely as my eyes make contact with those same magenta eyes. He's got pride in me. He's glad for me. He's proud of me.
"I love you," he mouths at me.
I grin wider.
Winning the game is the best moment of my high school career on the Konoha Flames.
But him telling me that he loves me for the first time is decidedly the best moment of my entire life.
"And this is decidedly stupid," Shikamaru muttered, closing the book and tossing it to the side, uncaring about whether or not it landed on the floor, pulling his knees into his chest. Glaring at the creepily ironed bed sheets, he sighed to himself, putting his chin against his knees, his gaze gradually softening.
He missed it. He missed the feeling of being needed by anyone. It'd been a while since he'd felt that way. It'd been a while since he'd felt… anything positive, actually. He couldn't remember the last time he sincerely grinned; since he really did have a good time. The drugs had washed away any of the good times he could've possibly had, and like an idiot he'd let them. He'd let them erase the person he was, and he wasn't all too sure how he could ever go about getting who he was.
If he even could get back to the person he used to be.
Hidan had taken that person with him.
Shutting his eyes tight, he forced away thoughts of Hidan, hearing the voice whispering into his ear. No. He couldn't think of Hidan. He absolutely couldn't. Every time he did it started talking to him again, telling him exactly what he knew other people felt when they saw him. He didn't want to hear it. It hurt. It all hurt, being told what he knew.
It's not real, it's not real, he tried frantically to remind himself, but it felt real, too real for it not to be, even if he knew it wasn't. It was just too impossible for it to be impossible, and it hurt, it hurt too much and too deep, and he wasn't handling it. He couldn't handle it. He needed medication. He needed his anxiety medication. It'd been pushing back the disorder for years, hadn't it? Wouldn't it help him now? Couldn't it help him now? Why couldn't they just give him some Prozac or something? Anything?
Anything to stop the voice!
"No one will help you," the voice hissed, "You're not worthy of the help."
"I know! Stop reminding me!" Shikamaru whispered, unconscious of the fact that he was dragging his fingernails down the skin of his arm, the force of which was easily ripping into the flesh, drawing rather small, yet scary amounts of blood from the pale, bony arm. "I already know!"
"Do you? Then why do you continue to exist?"
"I don't know! Please leave me alone! Fucking shit, just get outta my head!"
"I'll tell you why you exist," the voice purred, his soft scent wafting onto the skin of his neck whilst something warm and soft pressed against his neck, forcing him to close his eyes and attempt (in vain) to try and get his breathing back under control. "You exist to cause pain for everyone else. You exist to cause misery and disgust, because you are a disgusting excuse for a human being, you heroin whore, and there isn't a person alive who doesn't wish you weren't. Your life is meaningless."
"I know, I know! I know my life is meaningless! I already know that! I already wish I was dead!" he whimpered, still clawing at his arm, not conscious of what he was doing to himself, not conscious of anything at all except for the voice, except for the devil's version of Hidan, of the man he had once believed was his, the version that was tormenting his every waking minute, all the while ignorant to the fact that the being talking to him was nothing more than a being his brain had come up with, because this was Hidan to him, this was the Hidan he believed existed. A Hidan that only wanted him to be tortured.
A Hidan that hated his existence.
"We both know you'll never go through with it. You're too scared to end it all, no matter how much you think about doing it, because you just want to believe no one hates you. Well, Shikamaru… I hate you. I hate you with every fiber of my being. I wish you would just kill yourself. You'd do me a favor—me and the rest of the world. But you're too selfish for that, aren't you? Yes, you are. Too selfish and too scared." He scoffed. "Why did I ever love a weakling like you? Better yet, how does anyone else? How can they even pretend?"
"I don't know," Shikamaru gasped out, scratching at himself faster and faster, "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Sorry fixes nothing. You're still just a stupid little whore."
"I know! I know! Stop! Please, stop, Hidan! I'm begging you to stop! Please, leave me alone! Please!"
Trapped in his own mind, he was completely unaware of the presence that had entered the room. Jūgo's orange eyes were soft as he looked upon the broken Nara he'd decided to room with, his body moving on its own as he sat down on the edge of Shikamaru's bed, peering at the pained expression on the boy's face, his eyes squeezed shut as if to keep out the monsters. In this moment, to Jūgo, he looked decidedly like Kiba, just for a moment; he looked like that six-year-old that Danzō had robbed from his home before he could even begin to remember what home even was, years before Jūgo himself was ripped away from the life he lived. He looked like that little boy who cried in the corner of his cage, body small and malnourished and mind aged before maturity had even taken place, incomprehensive of what was even happening to him, or even why.
Yes, Shikamaru looked like a little Kiba all over again.
And Jūgo felt the same squeeze in his heart to look at person as broken as that boy was.
Moving carefully, Jūgo gently pulled Shikamaru's hand away from his bleeding arm with one large hand, extremely careful as not to bring any harm to the boy. His other hand, shaking just the slightest, reached up for Shikamaru's face, rubbing his cheek gently with his thumb, causing him to flinch ever so slightly, eyes flying quickly almost immediately. Deep chocolate-brown eyes, wide like a doe's, gazed at Jūgo with fear clearly displayed in their depths; such fear that Jūgo, for a moment, wondered if Shikamaru and Kiba were actually one in the same person.
Almost like an echo of the past, Shikamaru whispered, "Help me."
He could almost hear Kiba's little voice begging for it. He'd begged all three of them for it, for them all to rid him of the demons that would attempt to rip at his soul. He could clearly remember the desperation that hung on the pained voice of a boy whom hadn't even experienced what love was before he had experienced rape. He had needed them to cleanse him—needed them to coddle him.
"Help me," Shikamaru repeated, "Make him go away. Force him away."
Jūgo gulped. "But I—"
"Please," Shikamaru said, in a clear whisper of the little boy's voice. Suddenly, Jūgo wasn't Jūgo anymore. No, he was Orange. He was Orange, and the Boy was asking him to chase his demons off in the only way they knew how.
Warning: yaoi. Yaoi. Yaoi. YAOI.
'Nuff said.
Moving based on the habits of Orange alone; he carefully placed his lips against Shikamaru's, giving him the gentlest of kisses in an effort to let him run away. Shikamaru whimpered against his lips, kissing him gently back, making the man touching him know that he wasn't going to—that he needed this. So Jūgo kissed him slightly harder, the sound of their smacking lips ringing out in the quiet of the room, his large hand unconsciously tightening its grip around the Nara's wrist, who was ignorant to the feelings of pain.
"Chase him away," whispered Shikamaru desperately between the increasingly heated kisses.
"I will try," Jūgo responded, pushing Shikamaru to lay on his back, his hand leaving Shikamaru's face in order to push down his sweats, his other hand still wrapped around that wrist for fear of him trying to cause himself more injury. Breathing heavy, Shikamaru squeezed his eyes tight, feeling his cock rise to life in his pants, showing clearly how much of a whore he truly was. Whimpering, he felt the boxers and sweats being pulled completely off, the cold air touching his pain-induced erection.
"What are you doing? Stop!"
Jūgo wrapped his fingers carefully around Shikamaru's erection, oddly intrigued by the piercing on its underside, having not expected Shikamaru to have a piercing there, of all places. It wasn't quite like he hadn't seen one before—Suigetsu and Kiba both had one, given to them by Danzō in one of his pain plays—but other than on the fellow slaves, he really hadn't expected regular people to get their dicks pierced. Feeling curious, he gave Shikamaru's dick a rough tug, making the boy yelp out—yet, he could feel the blood rushing through it even harder, making him go stiffer, if it were even humanly possible.
"So you are a masochist," Jūgo noted, looking up at Shikamaru's face, which was contorted in a mixture of pain and pleasure, "So would you like it if I took you dry?" When Kiba was having his breaks; that was how he wanted to be taken, oddly enough. He didn't want it at all gentle or kind. He wanted to be taken roughly, because—and Kiba did explain this—this pain came from someone who actually cared about him. If it came from someone who cared about him, and who didn't actually want to harm him through their own volition, then it would help him. It would cleanse him.
To this day, it still didn't make sense to Jūgo.
Shikamaru gulped dryly. "I…"
"Don't you dare!"
"Yes," he said quickly, eyes snapping open as he spread his legs, one of them falling off of the side of the bed, the heel of his foot hitting the floor with a dull thump, his breath kicking up in anticipation of the pain. Hidan didn't want the pain. Unusual for him, since he so much liked it. They both did. It was a connecting factor for the two of them, especially when it was paired with both of their likings for causing pain as well. "Please. Yes. Chase him away. Please help me. Help me."
The pain in Shikamaru's eyes made Jūgo nearly lose his resolve, but out of pure will, he pushed himself to get hard, forced himself into arousal, something that had been taught to the slaves in order to make the customers feel less like child rapists, which they technically still were. Biting his lip, he pulled away from Shikamaru, standing up and tugging off his shirt, giving the boy a good look of what he was dealing with.
"If I lose control," he said softly as he bent over, pushing off his sweats, "Then I could hurt you even further than I already will be. Despite my nature, I have a propensity for cruelty. Do you understand what you are giving yourself to, Shikamaru?"
The boy didn't even gulp. "Y-Yes," he whispered; eyes wide as he stared up Jūgo, his look more innocent than Jūgo would like to admit. "Rid me of him."
Jūgo nodded, getting back onto the bed, his hand returning to the Nara's cock as he rubbed him up and down, unafraid to squeeze a little hard or to tug a little too rough, because based on the way that Shikamaru began to dribble precum from his tip, he wanted it roughly and cruelly. Jūgo's fingertips tapped on the tip gently, making him smother a groan at the light tapping to the swollen head. Spitting into his free hand, Jūgo slathered his dick with his saliva, still not completely willing to just thrust dryly into the boy. He already was going to be torn, as preparation was not something the boy seemed to want, and so he decided to go with the rather small amount of lubrication—any was better than none, he'd learned that from experience—and lined himself up with Shikamaru's pucker, giving him another careful look.
"And you're sure?" Hopefully, he could instill a little doubt. Despite the pleasure he was managing to deal to him with the hand job, his unprepared thrust into him was sure to overwhelm that feeling with the pain of it all.
"P-Please. Do it."
Jūgo nodded, closing his eyes, trying to block out the crowing of his own demons as his childhood came back to haunt him afresh—though, that was quickly thrown out the window when, upon his sudden and full thrust into Shikamaru's body, the boy let rip a vicious scream that echoed the screams of his own past.
The song for this chapter was between 3 songs: 'Down' by Blink182, 'Sugar We're Goin Down' by Fall Out Boy, and 'Demons' by Imagine Dragons. Obviously, 'Demons' won, and I'm quite happy about the choice, personally. Give it a listen when reading this, if you can. Just play it on loop as you read it. You'll get what I'm saying.
Sorry for the wait. I was stuck on what I was going to end the chapter on - and obviously, I found it. A little rough around the edges and totally not what I thought I was going to write, but honestly, I like it. It establishes the kind of character Jūgo is, and how broken Shikamaru is.
So anyone in this story you love? Hate? Wish to see change? Review it! I'm curious.
Thanks Ayrmed- I try :) and I hope this fulfilled any expectations you might've had.
Also thanks to the Guest- I think. I can't decide if this means I need to change the title or not... and I've never heard of a porno called The Ripple Effect. Not that I'm, like, an official on porn or something. 'Cause that'd be weird. So totally weird. X)
Well, that's all for now, loves. I hope you enjoyed the chapter (even the semi-rape bit at the end there) and I'll see you all next time.
Again, the song of the chapter is 'Demons' by Imagine Dragons, from the album "Night Visions".