Lateness explained in author's note.
Warning: This chapter is an example of why this story is rated M. Mature themes (not sexual)
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Naruto. Thank god for them.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Just make sure he can't scream."
Two thin senbon needles cut into the ten year old boy's neck, as his muscles tightened, straining to escape the attack. Ripping through tanned skin, the sharp metal penetrated the delicate cartilage folds of the child's larynx. And, a muted whimper was all that the blonde could manage in response.
Silent, efficient, the slim hitman moved to retrieve his weapons, before peering with annoyance at the fine mist of burgundy and pain now covering his forearms. The young man proceeded to wipe his hands clean on the blonde's orange ski jacket, sighing as he merely succeeded in smearing more of the struggling child's blood onto his skin. But, after a moment, the hitman found a clear spot and, placidly, finished removing the remnants of his latest job.
Turning to leave, a spill of black hair fell from the front of his dark hooded trench coat. And, the young man paused, unable to resist turning his head for a final glance at the victim.
Gasping for a voice, the blonde's mouth gaped open, letting in drops of a rain that fell like bullets out of a light morning sky. Trails of what might have been tears led down the boy's cheeks from dark blue eyes. Eyes that darted back and forth while they dimmed, hopelessly searching for a way to end their pain.
For a moment, the small figure hesitated, one hand curling around a hidden knife.
He could end the boy's torment.
"Haku!" A guttural voice called from the shadows, 'Let's go."
"Hai, Zabuza," the slim hitman responded quietly, before slipping his weapon back into its sheath, unused.
Before giving the dying boy privacy for those last painful moments.
But, the child didn't want to die.
"Aghh, gurgle, ack!"
He tried to scream.
Blood came rushing into his throat and the boy nearly choked, as he struggled to find any air in the thick fluid. One tiny terrified hand curled itself around his mouth, attempting to keep any more red liquid from spilling forth, while another clutched at his broken mid-section. Bright blue eyes seemed to take up the boy's entire face, as they widened with competing pain and fear.
Fear won.
The child's thin chest rose and fell in panicked breaths, as he desperately tried to breath through his nose, ignoring the suffocating weight on his chest and filling his mouth.
Until, suddenly, the blonde boy felt a sick new sensation on his stomach, a slick movement that caused pain to, once again, come to the fore.
Something was moving against him, touching him.
It was going to hurt him more.
The child dug at his stomach with torn fingernails trying to defend himself. But, the agony only continued, as he realized that the wet movement against his hand was that of his own insides, beginning to spill from the stomach wounds left by his dead father's enemies.
Panic left quickly, as the boy's body began to shake in an attempt at sobs that neither his throat nor his chest could muster. His two thin legs kicked at the ground, trying to curl into the fetal position, catching on broken beer bottles, kicking up old, mildewed newspapers. A thick syrup puddled around the broken child, coating the underside of his limbs and disguising the new cuts.
Hours passed.
And, the blonde lay shivering, trying to cry, while his feelings of agony and distress slowly began to fade and be replaced by cold and fatigue. A chilling faintness began to enter the boy's bones, while eyes that were once wide and fearful could barely open enough to watch as the streetlights turned off.
The day had dawned. Day meant people. People meant that he might not die.
Someone could save him. Someone could stop the pain. Someone could hold him and tell him that everything was going to be okay.
But, no one had ever done anything like that before.
And, as early-risers began to pass the entrance to his dark alleyway, hurrying to finish their jobs and lives, it did not appear as though that was going to change.
So, the blonde lay almost calmly but for the occasional whimper. His breath slowly bubbling out of his mouth, his left arm occasionally moving off a glass shard to settle back onto the asphalt, wet with blood, rain, and oily grime. Every few minutes, the boy's blue eyes would close, only to futilely, flutter open once again.
The day quickly bustled by the child, ignoring the dim alleyway with its dangerously shadowed corners and rancid aroma of uncollected trash.
Night began to fall.
It became harder for the boy to stay alert. His hand had long ago grown limp around his stomach wounds, barely managing to slow the now faint trickle of blood. Even whimpers were gone, replaced by the bubble and gurgle of the child's breath.
His eyes were so tired. And, for awhile, they did not flutter open. They did not open, at all.
Until, a noise reached the child's ears.
The rain had stopped and its belated drip-dropping had become familiar. This sound was new. A noise not unlike the lapping of water, as its poured into a bowl. A sound that could mean rescue.
Struggling, the blonde peered from between sleep-heavy eyelids; his hands trembling as he tried to signal his potential savior. But, the flicker of hope stoked in his chest was quickly replaced by an influx of choking fear when the boy saw the three thick-bodied rats, licking at the edge of a red puddle collected beneath him.
The child's twitching legs struggled to move him, get him as far away from the feeding vermin, as possible. But, the blonde only succeeded in pumping the blood more quickly out of his body, slicing deeper through the soft skin of his legs as they caught on part of a broken wooden crate.
Now, the boy did not close his eyes out of fatigue but out of the childish notion that maybe, just maybe, if you close your eyes and wish hard enough, the nightmares will go away.
"Naruto?"
He was dreaming.
He was dead.
He was not hearing his name.
He couldn't be.
The rats, the pain...he must be dead.
"Oh God. Is that-is that really...?"
Ten year old Uzumaki Naruto opened his eyes, certain that everything that had ever been good was a hallucination and the reality was that he was about to be slowly consumed by rats until he died from injury or pain.
Then, everything changed.
Sasuke stood frozen in the alleyway's entrance, black eyes staring with disbelief at...
The pale boy's stomach lurched as his mind tried to focus on the image in front of him. But, neither his brain nor his eyes were able to reconcile the bubbling mass of blood and blonde and blue eyes with the Naruto he'd known all his life.
"N-Naruto?" stammered Sasuke.
At the sound of his name, the broken child made a noise not unlike the mewl of a kitten as he twitched away from a pile of black garbage growing wet and heavy at the edge of his bloody puddle. Surprised by the blonde's sudden movement, Sasuke started, tripping over himself, falling to the ground. Rough pavement scratched the top layer of skin off his palms, and the young Uchiha's breath came nearly as hard and short as Naruto's.
This can't be happening. What do I do?
It moved again.
I'm just a boy.
No, Naruto. Naruto moved again.
I can't do this. This can't be expected of me. I'm just..., Sasuke's pale face had drained further, turning the ash white of utter hysteria. And in a tiny voice, the child protested, "I-I'm just a boy."
Unfortunately, Sasuke was right. And in another time, in another world, there was another boy who gave this same protest.
Who ran to get help that was too late coming.
Who went to find a telephone, to dial 911, to send for an ambulance that would never get there in time.
Who walked away with his head down, went home and never ever looked back.
But, luckily for Naruto, this Sasuke did not do any of those things. Instead, he rose to trembling feet and began to move towards the other boy. A sheen of cold sweat covering his body, dark eyes looking anywhere but at their destination.
The hospital's too far. And, so is a phone..But, two blocks away...the police station.
Please let me be able to make it two blocks.
The closer Sasuke drew to the blonde, the more Naruto struggled to get away. His blue eyes were wide and unseeing, staring over the pale Uchiha boy's shoulder in utter terror.
Please let him be able to make it two blocks.
Slowly, the dark-haired child attempted to gather the broken boy into his arms. Small hands slipped on the boy's wet limbs, and Sasuke struggled to keep from dropping him. This was made more difficult by Naruto, who had completely changed his attitude towards the other boy and was frantically trying to grip onto the Uchiha with his one useable arm. And, Sasuke nearly fell back again, when a tan hand seizured across his face, leaving behind a dark trail of blood and a taste like pennies.
However, less than a minute went by before the pale boy had resisted the urge to vomit and become steady on his feet, cradling the smaller Naruto. Made even tinier by his recent blood loss and panic attack.
It's like he weighs nothing at all.
Carefully, the pale child began to make his way out of hell, unable to see his feet or a clear path in front of him. Each step brought a small whimper from the blonde, a cringe from Sasuke. Scarlet footprints breaking apart the little innocence he had left.
Sasuke stole his eyes away from the ground, and forced himself to look straight ahead, forced himself to keep walking. Don't look down. Don't look at him. Just keep walking.
No one making their way down the street that night stopped the gore-soaked pair.
Just keep walking.
No one even noticed them, at all.
Just keep..., " Thank you."Sasuke wanted to cry with relief, as his right hand bumped into the cool metal handle of the police station entrance. Clenching onto his broken package despite its protests, the pale Uchiha boy clumsily pushed open the door, made his way down the dim, fluorescent-lit hallway, and turned the corner to find...
Normal.
Two rows of desks lined the gray walls. A young woman in her early twenties leaned against the back of one of the bar-lined windowsills, sipping on coffee and laughing with another prettier, female officer. A deeply scarred man sighed as he took down the reports for a few of this evening's early drunk and disorderlies. A man in thick, dark sunglasses leaned back in his chair, napping in between calls. An obviously new recruit nervously waited for the coffee to brew, while placing two dozen donuts on two dozen different napkins.
And, not a single one of them noticed Sasuke and Naruto.
Fighting to keep hold of the whimpering blonde as the adrenaline began to rush out of his muscles, Sasuke barely had the energy to croak.
"Someone-!"
Everything stopped.
A coffee cup dropped, spilling over the floor. All eyes turned towards the two boys, dripping in the police station doorway
"Someone- Please...help!"
Action.
Sasuke felt as Naruto's broken body was lifted out of his arms, the blonde's lack of response to the movement causing his heart to beat faster. For a brief moment, the pale Uchiha wanted to reach out and grab him back, a tiny part of him certain that he and only he could protect the other boy. But, this insanity soon passed, gone before Naruto's blood had finished cooling on Sasuke's skin.
Despite being the person farthest away from the pair, the police captain had been the first to respond to the boys' cry for help. And with immense capability, he took complete control of the situation, fighting off temporary shock as he recognized the boy he now held.
"Yugao, Rin!" The two female officers stood with focused attention, waiting for their orders, laughter long forgotten, "It doesn't take a genius to realize that this boy isn't going to make it all the way to the hospital. Take him to the infirmary, at once. Tell Shizune to drop everything else. Rin, you will assist. Now, get moving!"
"Hai, Morino-sama," the women said with clipped competence, Rin carefully cradling the blonde boy, as they hurried out of the room. It was at about this time that Sasuke's arms began to tremble, ever so slightly.
"Aoba!" Morino Ibiki demanded with authority.
"Sir?" responded the man with the dark glasses, no longer lounging at his desk but poised for any necessary action.
"Call Jiraiya, and tell him..." the police captain's scar-seamed face sagged a little with the weight of bad news and responsibility, "Tell him to get his ass down here. The kid's hurt."
An anxious look on his face, Aoba questioned, "But, sir, Jiraiya-san's on assignment. He's been working on this undercover position for weeks and-"
"Was I asking for your opinion, boy, or did I not just tell you to call Jiraiya? I don't care what he's doing or how long he's been working on it. That's our Yondai-...that's his foster son in there, and I will be damned if I let him die before that old pervert gets another chance to see him. Now, get on the goddamned phone!" Ibiki barked, his normally cool temper failing to keep the heat out of his words.
"H-hai, Ibiki, I mean, Morino-sama, sir," the man began to frantically press the buttons of his desk phone, nerves making it into a game of hide and seek.
Whipping around with frustration and anger at this situation he was always forced into, this same painful drama that life liked to replay, Ibiki practically shouted at his newest recruit, who had done nothing during the crisis but watch with blank horror as he saw his first attempted murder victim, "Iruka! Those ladies are going to need something to keep them up, if that boy's going to make it through the night. Shit, Shizune has been here since dawn."
The police captain's temper drained away, as he saw the frightened expression on the young man's face, the thirteen donuts that had made it onto thirteen of the twenty four napkins, and the spilled coffee which had begun to stain the station's white linoleum floor, "Just-just bring them some coffee and try not to get in the way. Got it?" Ibiki's whole body seemed to sag with a deep sigh as Iruka rushed to fulfill the captain's orders, spilling two of the six cups he was trying to carry on the pale, blood-covered boy, who'd been watching the scene unfold in silence.
"G-gomen, I am so-" Iruka desperately tried to mop up the mess he'd made of the boy, only managing to further smear the coffee onto Sasuke's tacky arms.
"Iruka!"
"Hai, Morino-sama!" The new recruit bowed to the young boy in another apology and rushed out of the room, four remaining coffees balanced precariously in his shaking hands. Ibiki's attention, however, had already refocused itself on the pale Uchiha boy, trembling before him.
"Uchiha Sasuke."
It wasn't a question.
"First off, I suppose I should thank and commend you for helping our boy tonight. I'm sure that Jiraiya will want to speak to you to after...well, after this crisis has passed and everything calms down," the police captain did not reach out to shake the young boy's hand at this point, as many others would have. Sasuke correctly assumed that this was due to the fact that Ibiki already knew him too well. Touching led to crying and breakdowns and took away the empty comfort of shock, a comfort that Ibiki knew the boy needed if he was going to make it through this night in one piece.
"But, now, I'm afraid that pleasantries must be put aside in favor of questions that need answering," Sasuke's heart skipped a beat, "I have to admit that my shock at what's happened these past few minutes is almost overtaken by finding you here. I did not think that you were friends with Naruto," Ibiki tried to say this as kindly as possible, but there was a hidden accusation he could not keep from lacing his words. The little blonde boy had practically grown up in the station, causing mischief and endearing himself to more than a few of the officers. Those friends who kept Naruto company in school (or the lack thereof) had not slipped anyone's notice.
The pale Uchiha's cheeks heated as his right hand reached over to grip his left arm in a gesture of defense. Taking a dry swallow and a deep breath, Sasuke explained as well as he could in a breathy mumble, "He wasn't in school today. Nar-," he stopped, the blonde's name bringing his mind too close to reality and a nervous breakdown, "H-He may be an idiot, but he never misses classes. Not for anything. And, well," Sasuke sighed with the confused pain of a child, unable to create a link between his thoughts and his gut, "Everything just... felt...wrong, and I started walking. F-f-found him-"
"Excuse me, sir," Aoba interrupted, uneasily.
"What is it now?" responded Ibiki with annoyance, knowing how disastrous an interruption can be to a story like Sasuke's.
"I just got a hold of Jiraiya-san. He's on his way here. And...-and, the case against the Oto gang in the south quadrant is a bust. Jiraiya-san's cover was blown due to his, um, sudden departure and now-"
"Enough of the details, sergeant. Write it in your nightly report. We have more important things to deal with," Ibiki absorbed and dismissed the other man's weighty news, knowing that his attention was better used in helping the person who needed his skills most at the moment, Uchiha Sasuke.
"But, sir, I-"
"I said, enough, Aoba!" The look that the police captain gave his young sergeant had broken more than a score of men with its poisonous glare and only Ibiki's fatigue kept it from causing the night's first real fatality. So, Aoba began to busy himself with Iruka's forgotten job, placing the remaining eleven donuts onto individual napkins, regardless of the fact that no one was likely to have much of an appetite that night.
"Sasuke," Ibiki returned to the boy, "I believe it would be in our best interest to continue this conversation in my office. So, if you'd like to-" The scarred police chief had begun walking as he spoke, and only stopped when he realized that the pale Uchiha was not following him.
Sasuke stood, picking at the cold, blood-soaked cloth of his blue T-shirt as it tried to wetly cling to his skin. Brown coffee pooled at his feet.
With an understanding nod, Ibiki stated matter-of-factly, "You're right. Cleaning up first might be a good idea. You know where the washroom is?" he paused, waiting for the boy to answer with a bob of his head. Looking down at his own white dress shirt and the garish red smears covering it, "I have an extra button-down that I should probably change into, as well. After you're done, join me in my office. It's still the second door on the right."
With another nod of his head, Sasuke left for the bathroom, wondering if the police captain always kept an extra shirt in his office and whether or not it was due to situations like tonight.
Five minutes later, Sasuke rested his feverish cheeks against the porcelain of the police station's bathroom toilet seat, any questions forgotten in the broil of nausea that had overcome him after opening the restroom door.
It had been his hands. Seeing the pink of scrapped skin covered with dried brownish red blood and turned darker, near black with the stain of coffee, the boy had been unable to control the rising gorge in his throat. Wiping his mouth with the back of one hand and kicking at the metal plunger, Sasuke tried to send his emotions flushing down the toilet along with his half-digested supper.
Try, of course, is always the optimal word in situations like these.
Staggering over to the bathroom sink, the boy turned the tap for hot water on as far as it could go. And, despite the pain it would likely cause and the rising steam that served as a warning, Sasuke shoved his bloody arms beneath the purifying torrent and began to scrub himself clean with the station's generic, pink liquid soap.
I just have to get it off.
Scrub. Scrub, Scrub.
I'll be fine, once it's gone.
As Sasuke washed himself, the water periodically ran a light brown with the removal of cheap, police station coffee, but, unfortunately, it never ran pink or red or maroon or any version of any color that would mean Sasuke had succeeded in removing Naruto's blood.
The pale Uchiha tried harder, using a handful of brown paper towels to scrape at his stained skin. But, even when his arms became nearly as red as the stains, themselves, irritated and heated by the hot water, the blood remained. Choking back frustrated tears, Sasuke's hands gripped onto the edges of the sink, while his back hunched over in panic.
And, much like Naruto's earlier fear, this panic was quickly taken over by sudden, undeserving pain.
"Ag-," the boy choked back a yell, as the red blood on his arms began to burn into his flesh. Hands tightened their hold on the sink, and steam from his arms began to mingle with heat from the still-pouring water.
In horror, Sasuke watched as the stains continued to burn brighter, eating past both layers of skin and etching like acid into his bones. Barely seconds passed, before large black flakes began to crackle up his arm.
The pain kept him from screaming.
The pain kept him from moving.
The pain ate its way up his arm and into his collar bone and, eventually, spread itself across his face. White bone poked through burned skin, and Sasuke couldn't stop himself from tearing away at his forearms, tearing away at his cheeks, tearing away at anything.
Anything to stop the pain.
And, suddenly, just as quickly as it had begun, the burning stopped. Tears came for the first time that night, and the young boy shook as he tried to force himself to look at what he'd become.
Wide, swollen eyes peered up through singed strands of black hair and into the police station mirror.
Itachi?
Sasuke's face was gone, ripped away by fire and his own clawing panic. In its place, the boy could only see his brother's eyes, his brother's hollow wrinkled cheeks, his brother.
Now, finally, the screams came.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Huff...huff...huff..."
The only sound in the dim, moonlit dorm room was that of Uchiha Sasuke, trying to catch his breath. Covered in a cold sweat that soaked his black hair and blue bed sheets, the young man's pale limbs refused to stop their shaking. Even, now, when the nightmare was over and he needed to regain control, they trembled.
It's been years, since I've even thought about that night, his breathing slowly began returning to normal, as Sasuke glared across the room at the sketch he'd gotten from Gaara during the soccer game earlier that day and one of the likely causes for this painful trip down memory lane. The well-drawn scars circling Naruto's stomach and broken-hearted smile were two of that night's consequences. And, if anyone had bothered to ask him, Sasuke would have admitted that the grin was the worse of the two.
"Ano sa, ano sa, Sasuke-teme, did you hear? They're going to let me try walking in a few days?"
"Oi, Sasuke! You shouldn't have bothered coming down this time. I didn't even need stitches."
"Hey, Sasuke...Do you think-um, do you think you could stay here a little longer? That nice cop, Iruka, already left for the night and Jiraiya had to work and...I...I'm scared."
And, everytime, he opened his goddamn mouth, he'd still be smiling that damned happy smile... God, I hated it, the pale Uchiha leaned against his bed's backboard, trying to keep up the pretense that Naruto's distress was the only reason behind his nightmare. But, this was prevented by the salt of his sweat seeping into the deep set of scratches that now lined his arms.
Huh, scratched myself in my sleep, I suppose. After..., Sasuke was barely able to suppress the small shudder that threatened to rake over his body, Itachi.
Suddenly, the brunette's bed sheets had become uncomfortably sodden and restricting. There was a similar tightness to his throat as he arose, padding his way softly to the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, Sasuke could not resist looking back to check on his sleeping (and snoring) blonde roommate. Still believing that he could somehow keep Naruto safe, if he just knew about the danger in time.
I should have known about the attacks sooner. I've just been so busy, Sasuke avoided the bathroom's large mirror as he turned the shower tap to its coldest setting. Removing his black boxers and soggy white beater, the boy surveyed the damage he'd done to himself but moments ago. Dark red lines cutting beneath the first layer of skin lined his forearms but grew fainter and more sporadic on his biceps and shoulders. Sasuke was fairly certain that there wasn't a single mark on his face.
With that thought, the pale Uchiha's fingers began to twitch like an addict's would after a dry spell, I shouldn't have thrown out that last pack of cigarettes. I didn't think I'd need them, but, God...what I wouldn't give for one now.
Sasuke was not a smoker.
In fact, he disliked tobacco and the overwhelming feeling of nausea and burning that always seemed to come over him, when he used it. Not to mention the racking cough and inability to breathe.
But, it's nothing compared to what others have had to go through, thought Sasuke as images of burning buildings and blackened, unrecognizable corpses filtered through his mind. And, for a moment, he had trouble catching his breath, even without the aid of smoke and matches.
Ten minutes later, the shower was still empty and running, and Sasuke was finally finding the courage to look at himself for the first time in months.
In the cloudy, bathroom mirror, the pale Uchiha saw that his face still held that soft beauty, so offensive to his innate sense of masculinity. There was the determined set to his mouth that he'd grown used to seeing over the years, after his parents' death. His cheekbones seemed higher due to a recent lack of exercise and an overabundance of stress hollowing them out. And, his eyes...
Itachi's eyes.
Staring boredly back at the naked brunette were two dark blue eyes, reddened with nightmares from the past and sleep gone awry. Charcoal-like smudges swept beneath his lower lids like a sketch blurred by time. And, the hint of two lines extended down from the inner corners of each, caused by a lack of rest and piece of mind. They were Itachi's eyes.
But, rather than trembling and breaking down as he had in his dream, this revelation only caused Sasuke's mouth to curl up at the corners and set itself even more firmly. He had grown up from the boy who'd broke down crying in the police station restroom after finding his soon-to-be best friend bleeding to death in an alleyway to a young man who'd learned the value of hard work and determination from that very same blonde idiot.
Stepping into the freezing cold shower, Sasuke felt goosebumps rise over his entire body, even while his fiery thoughts continued to temper his resolve, I won't turn into him. I won't.
Closing his eyes out of discomfort rather than enjoyment, the pale Uchiha let the water course through his hair and down his back, causing a shiver to skip down his spine, But, I have been. Never talking to the few people I care about, holing myself up in this room, refusing to focus on anything but staying in this goddamn school.
A small smile bit at the bottom of Sasuke's lip as he sank down into a cross-legged sitting position on the floor of the bathtub, Dad did always say that I needed to be more focused...like Itachi.
In a very sick and honest way, the memories of his father's unfair treatment and favoritism were comforting. Too often, people choose to remember only the good things about those who've died. But, Sasuke remembered everything; every scrap of memory was another way to hold onto them and he wouldn't have given a single one of them up.
The icy water pounded against the back of the brunette's exposed neck. As he stared down at his hands turning a light reddish-purple with cold, Sasuke remembered how when he was ten years old he'd found someone new to lose. And, this thought, that dream, Jiraiya's warning, Gaara's sketch, his eyes; they all served to remind him that there were worse things in this world than having to scrounge up the money for college.
Even more than that, Sasuke has begun to realize that there are two ways to lose someone. One, if death takes them away, and, two, if you break the bond, yourself. Unwittingly, the pale Uchiha had been working on the latter for the past week and a half by shutting himself away, leaving Naruto to grow and change without him. Isolating himself, perfecting himself,
Just like Itachi always wanted.
The smile was gone; the determination was not.
No, I refuse. I will never be what he wants me to be. I will not lose the only things I still care about. I will not play the game his way. I will win, and I will do it my way.
Unable to control his body's natural reaction any longer, Sasuke began to shiver as he wrapped pale arms around his bent legs. However, despite the cold, despite his weakness, the boy couldn't help but smile again as the knot his stomach had been tied into for the past nine years slowly began to unravel.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Note:
The authoress appears to be sitting in the story's breakroom, stirring a cup of tea and reading a book. Next to her sits Hatake Kakashi, also drinking tea and also reading a book. A single lemon poppyseed muffin sits on a plate between them. Suddenly, the authoress looks up in surprise.
Oh, hello, she closes the book, I suppose, your wondering why this chapter was so late. Well, it's not actually my fault. Not really. But, I will tell you who is responsible. I had forgotten about the release of a certain novel you may be familiar with and became completely captivated by its pretty words and magnificent plotline (and fanfiction).
She slams the large hardcover book down on the table with a thump and it reads "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows".
Don't blame me. Blame J.K. Rowling.
At this point, Kakashi pulls down his mask and begins to chew on part of the muffin, offering a piece to the authoress, whom he then nudges, leans over, and whispers something to. Despite being a little aghast at having seen his true face, she shakes the little pink hearts out of her eyes and continues, Ah yes, and my dear friend, here, says that I should also tell you how bravely I pushed an old woman out of the way of not one, but three large trucks, saving her life and the lives of countless children on a schoolbus that would have crashed into said trucks had they run over the old woman and come to a stop. This and the resulting paperwork left me with little time for writing.
Plus, there was something about getting lost on the road of life, but just know that it won't happen again. In other words, I won't promise without delivering. And, this is a super long interlude chapter, so that should make up for it a little, as it was only supposed to be three pages long and ended up being twelve.
Now chewing on her half of the muffin, the authoress becomes slightly distracted by a dirty giggle from the silver-haired pervert and a few moments pass with them reading his book, munching on bits of muffin, and generally...stalling.
Ok, ok, the real reason that I didn't get this chapter out sooner was the HP book and that I have been working 55 hours a week and due to the fact that it was my birthday on the tenth. But, mostly, because this chapter made me a little sick at heart.
Much like Lee, Kakashi throws a kind arm around her shoulders, comforting. The authoress desperately tries to stop the little pink hearts from fluttering out of her eyes and smacking the man in the face.
Slightly out of breath, she continues, And, because I am working on edits for earlier chapters (I just found out that I can edit old chapters and while I won't do anything major, I will be cleaning things up) while beginning three new stories: a one-shot examining canon Hinata in her mid to late thirties, a 6-7 chapter piece detailing the friendship/rivalry/whatever between Orochimaru and Jiraiya through the years, and my three chapter piece connected to "Painted Dreams" that shows us Shino, Kiba, and Hinata's childhoods. Plus, I am trying to add more drabbles to "Sunlight and Shadows".
Arg, lots to do.
Now, Kakashi begins to point out interesting chapters in his book, as a way for the authoress to take her mind off things. So, for good reason, the last few words of the author's note come out in a rush, muffin long ago consumed.
So, forgive me, please, and review andenjoy the chapter.
Chapter 13: The Sand Sibs Return!
or
Everyone gets more character development, onto the KU Art Show!
P.S. Oh, also, even though it was just Sasuke dreaming, his mind was able to concoct the Naruto beginning through the stories that the blonde foxboy has told him about that night.So, it is factual. More will be explained about Sasuke's connection to Ibiki and his parent's death in later chapters. Any questions, then emails or reviews work wonders. And, I LOVE YOU ALL!