Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Bathing in Blood
2. Count Your Blessings
Fall not into degrading weakness,
For this becomes not a man who is a man.
Throw off this ignoble discouragement,
And arise like a fire that burns all before it.
-The Bhagavad Gita
"So...that's about the size of it." Kakashi waved a sheath of papers in a half-hearted attempt at his usual laziness, steeping his voice in synthetic cheer. How he hated himself now, hated the fact that he couldn't be thankful. Couldn't accept reality; couldn't accept that Sasuke had made as full a recovery as could be expected during these three long weeks. So what if he still seemed a little 'out of it'? Nothing wrong with that. Right?
The teacher cursed himself mentally, a thousand times over. Why couldn't he be happy for them? Why couldn't he just take it and run, the fact that Team 7 had made it through their trials unscathed? Why did it have to be so hard?
Why?
Naruto hopped up and down in mechanical eagerness. His erratic movements now bordered on robotic. Kakashi looked away as discreetly as he could, resisting the impulse to shake his head vigorously. Seriously...what was wrong with him these days? Ignoring the inner disgust that welled within him, he lumped an unhealthy helping of ersatz enthusiasm into his words.
"Anyways, here you go," he said, passing out the crisp forms to each student. "Like I told you, the Chuunin Exams are entirely voluntary. You aren't required to take part, but if you want to, fill out these forms and report to Room 301 at the school by 4:00 tomorrow afternoon. That is all."
The silver-haired instructor paled inwardly at his speech, knowing full well how gruesomely preplanned it sounded. His emphasis on their right to choose, non-existent as it was, made him fight the urge to grimace in repulsion. He could feel himself losing his cool all too quickly. Keeping his eyes away from the three Genin, he faded guiltily into a misty haze.
The raven-haired boy turned the piece of paper over and over in trembling hands. He giggled, a burst of incomprehensible noise like a burbling sewer. He hugged the parchment to his chest, squeezing his shoulders with tense, bony fingers, rocking back and forth on his heels. He was happy, oh so happy. Not in the way the emotion should be interpreted, but happy nonetheless.
For the voice was in control now, and he was glad of it. The others had long since fled, lost in some corner of the labyrinth that was his mind. And the pink—she was no more than a ghost, the voice reminded him. You killed her with your amazing shuriken of death, remember? She haunts you, but can do nothing to harm you. You've made it, and that's all that matters, remember? Remember?
Sasuke did not remember, nor did he care. The voice was right. He'd made it, really he had. And now, look at this—his reward for surviving! For being the strongest! And he would have shouted that, too, shouted it to the world, but for some reason the voice told him not to.
His eyes skimmed the cream-colored document. His hands twitched with the impatience to fill the immaculate spaces, to write his name on the thin dotted line with bold black strokes, to violate the impossible orderliness. Nothing on earth had the right to remain so unscarred, so unmarked, so disturbingly peaceful. Nothing.
His hands twitched faster. He needed to write, here and now! A pen, a pencil, charcoal even—anything at all! Here and now! Now and here! Now!
The voice heard him. It always did. Before he could think, not like he needed to anyway, the kunai was in his grasp, slitting the index finger on his right hand. Sasuke marveled at the thin, pretty line of red that streaked down his palm, gazing in rapture until the line dripped off his wrist and splotched the beige of the application. That was his signal.
He filled out the dreadfully blank lines in a matter of seconds, with a quick sequence of swordfighter-strokes. That's right, he cooed to himself, looking fondly at the crimson smears quickly shimmering to a warm orange-brown. I don't need to think anymore. The voice will do it for me. The Uchiha shivered in excitement, laughing with hysterical quietness as he took the road less traveled towards his home.
Naruto stared at the parchment in front of him with the peculiar awe of skepticism. He didn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. But he wanted to believe it, so badly...
He ran his fingers over the smooth print, trying to make sure this wasn't some daydream. He pinched himself, once and then twice, and the paper did not disappear. This was real.
A smile of pure joy broke onto his face as the blonde-haired boy carefully folded the form and slipped it into a pocket. This was really happening. He reached into the pocket with a compulsive thrill, feeling the evenness of the paper, its pointy edges pressing his palms ever so slightly. Reminding him that he was here, it was here. Here.
Without warning, he jumped up into the air and let out a harsh whoop, breaking into a run for a celebratory ramen.
