Author's Note: This is part two. I guess you can tell who are focused on here. Well, anyway, I thought it would be better for them to be together. Review please!
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, enough said.
Thanks to the ff who reviewed:
sasukefaves: haha! here's my update! thanks for reviewing! oh yeah, if you have the time, I have other fics you can read, all you gotta do is click my username at the upper-right hand corner! hahaha! thanks again!
Heartless Ghost: Yes, I updated at the target date. Thanks for your great comments, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
akire 11: Uhm... I don't think Sakura has this other self or this other past. She's just magical in her own right. Well, I think she would have done anything to stop her team's hurting or whatever. But thanks for reviewing!
Of Feathers
To them, it wasn't a wonder why she excelled in the healing arts. It wasn't a wonder why she would be cranky and moody one minute and be kind and concerned in another. It wasn't even a surprise why they loved her too much, wanting to stake everything they own to protect her yet let her make her own mistakes and hurt herself. They just knew, deep inside, she was created that way, with those gifts.
They watched her every night that they could, when they were free from their demanding life as shinobi. The surrogate father and brother, taking their respective places in the branches of a colossal willow tree planted right by her window. He with his fox-like grin and he with his mask. They would watch her cry, her tears seeming to them a million spears piercing through their flesh. But they let her be, it was her cruel destiny.
She was to cry yet make things better, this was what her dear brother argued, having wisdom beyond his years at certain times. He would stretch and yawn in a very catlike manner, taking care to keep stealthy, but it was hard on him, knowing someone he truly cared about was in pain. He wanted to go in and comfort her, but deep in his mind he knew that the only thing he could do was to reminisce and remember that it was her job, it was her destiny as he found out so many years ago.
In his dreams, as a child, he would see rain falling, the tears of a saddened and twisted angel he told himself. He would cry with that angel, feeling his and her hurt but his hurt would wash away as hers grew bigger. This angel in his dreams would always wipe his tears away as hers continued to flow. And for once, even though it was just in his dreams, with that angel, he felt safe.
Everyday, he learned to keep his happy façade on, never once letting other people catch a glint of all that he was feeling inside. But when he gets home, a loneliness would eat him away. It was hard, for a six year old boy, it was something he knew he couldn't get used to.
He would sit in the rain, trying to figure out why the world was against him and his dreams. Why would they rob something so precious from a child that had not yet begun to live? His tears mixing with the rain drops, he reached out his hand, trying to grasp something invisible yet felt, like the wind blowing on his cheeks. Maybe, he decided, all he needed was someone, his angel. Maybe all he needed to do was to find her, to tell her that he'd cry with her, that he'd protect her as she had subtly but surely comforted him. And then, they would stay together and he would never feel alone again.
With a resolve stronger than a child's, he ran through the dark streets, not minding the glares and the sneers thrown at him, his mind set on one particular goal. He stumbled and fell until he reached the abandoned park, his once favorite place. He climbed the monkey bars, searched under the slide, he hid under a tree and slid down to the wet ground, tears ready to fall, sobs scratching their way out of his tiny throat.
Pulling his knees closer, he buried his face, fearful of anyone who might see him in that state and taunt him to the brink of madness. For once, his bright blonde hair was dulled in the darkness and for once, his eyes portrayed the betrayal and hurt living deep inside his soul. The huge tree did not, could not, provide enough shelter for his weeping heart. He heard the calls, ghastly and morbid, of people who detested his very being. He covered his ears, trying to block all the noise that was making him go through so much mental pain.
But all of a sudden, everything came to a halt. He looked up, confused, bewildered, azure eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. The world, his world, was silent for once. He could not hear the people's shouts of anger, the children's cries of disgust, and the deep, raspy voice that often echoed fathomless within the deep recesses of his mind. Something shiny caught his eye, something was floating directly above him. With his inborn curiosity, he reached out his tiny hand to grasp it and his little fist closed in on something soft. Eyes filled with wonder, he pulled his fist close to his tear-stained face as he slowly opened his hand.
The glow reflected on his face and he felt happiness and sadness at the same time. In his childish palm lay a bloody yet glowing feather. His curiosity grew as he scrutinized the object wondering why it was here and where it came from. Suddenly, he heard the voices again. His eyes widened in fright and he clutched the feather, trying to hide it as if they would take his beautiful plaything away too. He looked through the darkness, trying to see who would want to hurt him yet again. It was silent and the voices slowly faded away with each passing second.
Convinced that no one was there, he held out his hand again, still amazed at the glowing object in his palm. He held another hand over it and peeped through his fingers. He gave a little smile. Even though it was tainted red with blood, it was still emanating that soft and comforting light. It was beautiful, a sight to behold for a young boy like him. He continued to play with it, getting more amused and feeling his spirit lift up a little, when another hand, just a bit smaller than his, covered both of his.
"It's alright, you don't have to cry anymore."
He glanced up, confusion imminent in his eyes. He wondered why this child, roughly the same age as he, was in the park at such late hours. He saw tear-filled green. He knew that look and he knew the emotion behind those eyes, he knew that pain. In one look, she had said to him that it was okay even when tears were pouring down her cheeks. In one look, she had provided the comfort and relief his tired soul needed. She gave him a little smile and the glow slipped through their fingers, reflecting on both their faces. He looked directly at her, memorizing her unique features, and then, that's when he saw them.
Her bleeding and fading wings.
He had found his saddened angel.
The masked man watched the brother ponder. He knew the thoughts running in the boy's head, he knew the dreams and the memories, he could read it in the way his clear blue eyes looked. He shook his head, running a gloved hand through his wayward gray hair.
He sighed and looked up at the open window, hearing sobs resound through the darkened room. He winced as he saw the pained expression on the blonde's face. It hurt him too but there was nothing they could do to ease the pain. The physical was there for them to wander and protect her but the emotional and spiritual was restricted only to her. The only thing he could do was to remember and remember…
He was a teenager, practically a genius, and the shinobi prodigy of his time. He was ANBU and he was practically one of the best. Nothing stopped him from completing every mission that came his way, whether he came out unscathed or near death in the end. He couldn't care much about social behavior or public gatherings. It even hurt his head too much just to stay with his team, which consisted of an annoying and dumb male team mate, a doting kunoichi, and a speedy, ramen- loving man for a teacher.
He had learned from his father's experience that his mission was to be completed no matter what cost, be it a limb or a life. He had sworn never to experience anything close to what his father had. And hence, he decided to be silent, brooding and aloof, donning a mask that will truly hide what he feels. He was determined to keep away from other people, so that he would never love and therefore never lose a loved one again. It was the only logical way to be successful as shinobi.
But it was impossible to do. No one in the world could keep away, no one could stop from having precious people. And now, that's why, half his eyes are not his own. He lay there, pondering, the white sheets once again drawn to his chin. Everything had happened so fast. And now, years have passed. As he stared at the all too familiar ceiling, he could not help but feel all human emotions he had kept inside start pouring out. He grunted. He always felt this way whenever he made a trip to the hospital.
No, he had to pull himself together, to keep up the reputation he had worked so hard to build. No one should ever see him like this. He sat up and stared out the open window. The full moon shone brightly, illuminating the white room. He ran a bandaged hand through his natural gray hair. His entire body, wrapped in gauze yet aching, was shaking with the mental torture he was going through. Images of his teammates, blaming him, shouting at him, flashed through his mind, making him want to grab his head with both hands. But he didn't. He could not scream or yell, the horrible and morbid mental pictures danced around him. He felt like he was under genjutsu but he knew it was just all the guilt eating away his sanity.
With each blink of his eyes, he could still see their faces. He didn't know what to do, what to think at this point. The foreign object inserted in his left eye socket throbbed with pain, not wanting to make its foster owner forget that it was alive. He held a hand over it, feeling guilt wash over him once again. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the morbid thoughts flashing in his mind. He, once more, started to think about the possible alternate endings in that significant mission. If only he had listened. If only he hadn't been such a stuck-up and arrogant jerk. If only he had, for once, forsaken his stickler nature and let out the human hiding in him.
But as he continued to stare at the circle in the sky, as he pondered over things he knew he couldn't change, a death, a mismatched pair of eyes, he told himself that he was only a teenager. But his conscience would not let him rest and was filled with the darkness of someone who had killed purposelessly. Being a young teenager was no excuse, it was his job…
He was completely confused. He couldn't stay in ANBU now, they wouldn't let him. His other eye was acting up and it wouldn't stop. But he argued that he was too young to retire, too young to just sit around and do nothing. Everything seemed so mixed up now and he was frustrated that a prodigy like him could not figure out what to do next. All he knew was that the nurse told him that his hospital trips have frequented… he was half-conscious most of the time, how would he know?
He gazed around the room once more and his eyes, both good and in pain, caught the glow of a seemingly distant object. He had to squint, trying to be rational and logical, knowing that no thing could float and glow at the same time. He shook his head. No, he was a shinobi, and he had seen so many stranger things than this glowing object. But for all the techniques he had copied, he had never seen one such as this.
Maybe it was time to retire. He had gone completely insane, he told himself apathetically, imagining floating, glowing, objects appear out of nowhere. Heh… He blinked and the object came nearer. His eyes widened in realization as it flew closer and closer, chilling his aching body. He never felt so chilled in his entire life. It was a feather. Of all things, it was a feather… And it dripped blood.
In silence, he watched as it dropped to his lap. Staring at it, as if it would eat him alive, he dared not touch it. It moved with the gentle sway of the breeze. In an instant, he could feel all the guilt fade away as he gazed upon this little object. It was not logical for guilt to just suddenly disappear but as he stared at the feather, he couldn't care any less. It was as if this feather had the power to absorb all negative emotions. Curiosity getting the better of him, he plucked the feather from his lap and started to twirl it around. There was no smell of blood on it, he wondered why.
It continued to glow as he observed it, making him feel lighter, maybe even happier. It was amusing, this feather. It must be a gift of some supernatural being, he told himself. He shook his head, knowing he was not one to believe in angels and demons. But maybe just this once, he'd let it slip. Shaking all the stupid thoughts from his head, he let out a smile underneath his mask, one that he knew no one could ever see.
"You should smile more often."
He heard a small voice tell him. He immediately glanced up, clutching the feather, hiding it. He saw a child, probably of the age of six. A little girl stood beside his bed, wide eyes regarding him with who knows what, maybe love and concern. He raised an eyebrow at her, he could not tell if she was sarcastic or telling the truth. Children these days were not as adorable or as stupid as before.
"What are you doing here? It's late."
She did not answer but continued to stare up at him. He could not but feel the sadness she radiated, but it did not cling to him. What he felt, however, was his guilt fading and comfort. He considered this little girl to be strange. He then noticed her tears, flowing one by one. But she smiled as she put a tiny hand upon his, where he had clutched the feather…
"It wasn't your fault, you know."
He sat amazed at the child's words. She held wisdom for someone as young as she. With those words, he felt as if he could live again. He watched her, suddenly wondering what it was like to teach little children the ways of the ninja. Would they appreciate what he could teach them from his experience? Maybe he wanted to share what he learned, the lessons in life forced onto him. He glanced down at the floor and he saw blood.
He sharply looked back up and he saw where all the blood came from…
Wings so white yet drip blood…
fading…
He had found another path in life.
Hearing a huge rush of wind, both males looked back up at the window, snapping out of their dreamy stupor. She had just taken off. The blonde glanced back up at the masked man, knowing their job was done, for now. With a few stretch of muscles, they were on the ground, walking together, leaving her to do her work. She would come back, they knew it was sure. She wouldn't leave, it would be stupid of her…
They didn't know what she was going to do. She was probably searching for another lost and hurting soul to cure. But what they did know was that with each soul she healed, her wounds would grow bigger, with each spirit she raised, her wings would bleed more. There was nothing more they could do for her. All was left was to follow her trail of tears and make sure that, when the human in her awakened and when the angel fell asleep for the day, they would protect her.
So, they walked, in silence, in thoughts full of pondering. They walked, together in this dark path illuminated only by the light of the street lamps. The surrogate father and brother, he with his fox-like grin and he with his mask. He with his hand tinkering with something under his white and wide collar and he with his finger pointed at a certain line in his orange book…
A necklace, in between earth beads, was a bleeding feather…
A book, with a glowing feather as a bookmark…
And tears twinkled down on them,
The tears of their angel, sad and twisted…
Target Update: Two Weeks
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