Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.


Bathing in Blood

10. Requisite Equivalent

Seeing the sleeping beast, staring as it

Yawned and stretched, not wanting to wake it,

Terror-struck, he turned and ran for his life,

Taking the jeweled cup.

-Beowulf

"What...?"

Naruto's voice was almost a whisper, fearfully hoarse, so close to silence that it reverberated throughout the crowded classroom. Eyes of many colors immediately focused as one in the direction of the three newcomers, writing them off as rookies just as quickly.

"Pink hair?"

"Stupid punks."

"Midgets."

A few genin grumbled under their breath. These children were nothing compared to themselves, obviously. Nothing. A hundred minds constructed mental Venn diagrams, making sure to add generous servings of pluses for themselves to drown out the few minuses that skipped carelessly through their calculations. Their results didn't lie.

This was one team that they could beat with ease.


Naruto didn't like this feeling. So much attention, and he hadn't done a thing. It wasn't right.

But it was too late now. What was done, was done.

...Or was it?

Without hesitation, without skipping too noticeable a beat, the blonde-haired boy opened his mouth to yell a declaration of... and what was I going to say? What could he say, anyway?

The pink-haired girl was already heading to a seat, like normal, wordless and expressionless —and what was this? Since when had he reclassified what was 'normal' for his Sakura-chan? Since when had he abandoned the Sakura he once knew? The girl with the big smile to match her big forehead; cheerful, lively, smart, superficial—

And did he really say 'superficial'?

While his mind spun in an endless spiral of confusion, his body followed the winking flash of cherry-blossom step by step through the muttering herd of genin. Failing to notice the others that came in behind him.


Ino roughly scrubbed the newly-formed tears from her eyes. She knew without looking into her compact (buried by now in the depths of the purse banging against her hip) that her complexion had turned an unattractive shade of red, like that of a pouting child. That couldn't really be helped, the trend-spotter in her head remarked absently, while the rest of her mind doggedly searched the throng for—

and there she was, calm and cool as could be, eyes practically closed as she navigated effortlessly through the mass of gesticulating, noise-making bodies. Acting as if she hadn't just insulted the Yamanaka Ino.

Because, technically, she hadn't. This was the logical corner of herself speaking now, and goddamn it, she was right.

No! Damn you, Sakura! Damn you

Feeling the tears clustering ever-eager in the corners of her vision, the blonde girl blinked in desperation. She cast a quick glance at her teammates to see if they'd seen. And the answer was no, of course.

Chouji stared at the bright design on the cellophane bag he cradled in his arms, feeding crisps conveyor-belt-style into a mouth ringed with flaked fried potato. Shikamaru's gaze was centered on the decaying ceiling, eyes tracing an incomprehensible map of cracks with nothing better to do. They wouldn't have noticed if she'd screamed.

Typical behavior for both of them. Why, then, did it make her so mad?

Ino was inundated with a sudden torrent of anger, childish frustrations flung like bricks into an open mind. Nobody noticed her. Nobody knew she existed. Nobody cared.

Damn them all!

And what if she did scream? Even the annoyed glares and rude asides would be better than this oblivion. Was this how Naruto felt? She could sense her very humanity slipping out of her grasp, rolling like a lost coin on the floor beside feet and under benches, to be lost forever in the cracks between the voices.

Then what would she do?

The moist blue eyes narrowed, pupils contracting to wicked little dots in a sea of pale sky. This was all Sakura's fault. All of it. It had to be. Brows drew stormily together; the painted mouth morphed an irate snarl.

Yes. Sakura's fault.

...because everyone needs someone to blame...

...because everyone needs someone to bear their burden...

It's nothing personal, just because...

Clenching her fists, Yamanaka Ino stomped determinedly to an empty bench. Let her good-for-nothing teammates find their own seats. They all hated her, every last one of them. What could she do but return the favor?

"Forehead girl..." she mumbled to herself, knowing no better insult than the grade-school taunt.

"...you are dead. So, so dead..."