It was strange, Kakashi reflected from his seat in the shade of a spreading oak tree, that wherever unattached males gathered, no matter who they were, the gathering place inevitably became a shithole.

And with Gaara and Naruto in the same place, their small house had become a testament to bachelordom after a mere day of them all living in it. Pots and pans piled high in the kitchen, sand trickling from the doorway of Gaara's room, old clothing flung haphazardly about- all these things made the house a total wreck, unfit for human habitation.

But Kakashi liked it anyway. He looked up from his book at the loud bang, watching a horde of Narutos fling kunai as one. Sand whirled into existence, covering Gaara's slight form. The kunai stuck, quivering, and then 'poof!' They were gone, and more clones were in their place, pounding away at the sand.

The sand withdrew with the clones, and chakra, fierce and terrible, poured from the earth beneath Gaara's feet, melting the earth as Naruto himself sprang from the ground, the nearly infinite amount of chakra that the Kyuubi provided him put to good use as he twisted in the air, blue flames of chakra following his movements. Seals, one after the other flickered in his hands- horse, snake, sheep, dog, rooster, boar, and then, in a terrifying crescendo of sound, dragon.

A dragon, larger then Gamabunta himself, appeared out of nothing, chakra-blue scales gleaming in the sunlight. Kakashi didn't even try to copy the technique- only Naruto, with his never-ending chakra, could give the astral beast the chakra it demanded. Chakra that had been bought for a high price, so dear.

As the dragon roared and dove for the waves of sand that roiled beneath, Kakashi removed himself to a prudent distance. He watched the battle, jealousy of their abilities that he could never hope to match rising, hot and bitter, in his throat, before he crushed it. Sure, he had lived a hard life, but whatever suffering he had experienced was nothing before theirs.

There was an earsplitting roar of noise, sand and spirit locked together, quivering for a moment, the piercing note going on and on and on and on-

It ceased, sand disappearing as Gaara stumbled, staggered, and fell, catching himself on one hand. Naruto landed no more gracefully, falling flat onto his face. Kakashi rolled his eyes. For an ANBU, Naruto didn't have much grace or stealth. No matter. He tucked his book away and strolled over to help them up. He stopped by Gaara, extending a hand.

Gaara sat up then, and just…

Looked at him. It was heartbreaking, the complete and total surprise in his eyes, surprise that anyone, anyone at all, would help, would care. It was the same look in Naruto's eyes when Kakashi had bandaged his hand after the bloody oath in their mission for Tazuna, only magnified a thousand times over, for Gaara had never had an Iruka.

"Come on," Kakashi said, feeling like he was coaxing a toddler to walk. But wasn't that just what Gaara was, a novice, a child to all forms of intimacy or love? Gaara lifted a hand hesitantly and reached up, as if anticipating that Kakashi would snatch his hand away. But he didn't, merely remained still, waiting. A thin, cold hand curled around his, and Kakashi pulled him to his feet, surprised all over again at how short he was, barely 5'6.

'Malnutrition,' a voice inside him whispered. Gaara stared up at him, his thin lips parted.

"Why did you do that?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," Kakashi said. Gaara stared up at him, uncomprehending. His tongue slipped out, moistened dry lips, and the Sand shinobi said, as if testing the words,

"Thank you."

"Any time." He let Gaara's hand go, stuffed down the sudden feeling of emptiness that came up with the lack of contact, and turned to look at Naruto. His sad, painful face lacked whatever peace he had gained during the fight, the only place anymore that he could find such a thing. Naruto, noticing his gaze, blinked and forced his mask into place.

"Hey, Kakashi-sensei! Can we spar later?" The blond bounded up beside him, moving easily, the stitches not bothering him anymore. "Sure, Naruto. I'd be happy to."

"Cool!" Suddenly there were thin, warm arms around his waist, blue eyes gazing up at him from his chest. Kakashi grinned, patting the young man on the head, feeling gold silk trickle through his fingers. "Good dog."

"Hey! I'm not a dog!" Naruto poked him in the chest, face crumpling into a frown. Kakashi was unable to resist the urge to snake his arm around to grasp Naruto by the collar- Naruto could deal with that contact, just not with skin-to-skin- and lift him up, eye curving into a smile.

"Really? You're like a yappy little poodle, if you ask me."

"I'm not a poodle! I'm a mastiff! Big and fierce and-"

"No, you're definitely a poodle." He set him down gently, dodged the feigned punch, and darted towards the house with Naruto chasing after him, squawking his indignation.

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"Here." Sasuke pushed the cup of tea into Sakura's hands, which trembled as she set the cup down on the saucer, making the porcelain clatter against the wooden table. She pushed her hair away from her eyes, looking up and smiling weakly.

"Thanks, Sas-" her voice cracked, the word trailing off into a hoarse, gasping sob. Sasuke swallowed, hesitating as he crouched by her, then reached out and laid a careful hand on her shoulder.

The dam broke.

She flung herself off the couch and into him, sending him sprawling onto the floor, her thin arms wrapped around his waist and hot tears soaking his chest, only the sound of incomparable sadness and the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock, one-two-three, the beats of a world that he could never return to trailing off into the darkness of infinity.

He brought a hand up and laid it on her back, staring at the ceiling, tracing the cracks that spiraled out.

Nine cracks.

Nine tails.

His gut slammed downward like a flightless bird, and he opened his mouth halfway, a quiet, half-spoken cry of rage and sorrow stuck, clogged, in his throat, while his hand rested on Sakura's quivering back as she cried into his neck, hot breath fanning across his skin.

He shivered. They lay there for a while in the warmth of the sunlight, a few, unwanted, disgusting tears trailing from his eyes down to disappear into his hair, his throat clogged and sandpapery, arms wrapped around Sakura, who wailed into his ear, shuddering bodily like a piece of paper in the wind, as if he alone could hold her together, fix the shattered pieces of a girl who no longer knew what to believe.

"It's going to be okay," he lied.

Sakura shuddered, her grip tightening with bone-crushing strength, and breathed,

"No, it won't. Nothing will be okay anymore."

Sasuke closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and carefully brought a hand up to stroke through her pink hair, frightened and somehow curious about this intimacy that he had never allowed himself to have.

"Naruto is strong. He'll pull through this. He gets through everything. He won't let himself get pounded down: that's not his way, never has been. It never will be."

She relaxed onto him, tears spent, and took a breath.

"Sasuke, why didn't we know? We're his teammates! We're his family, his siblings and friends and confidantes! Why didn't he tell us!" Her voice was ragged, thick with sorrow and betrayal.

"I don't know, Sakura," he said. His chest hurt. It felt like someone had taken his heart in an iron vice and was slowly squeezing it with every condemning word Sakura spoke, a dull, pervasive pain that spread through his torso like poison. He spoke again, the only answer he had, the only thing he could say to such a warped world, one that had broken apart and reformed together- wrong, all wrong- like a broken bone.

"I don't know. I don't know."

Sakura quaked against him, and her gasps for air were terrifying in their harshness. "I should have known! I should have seen that he was always escaping at night and not sleeping and getting bags around his eyes and-"

"'Should have' isn't going to get us anywhere."

"It's true!" He sighed. "Maybe. But-" the thought came like a punch to the gut, "if either of us should bear the greater blame, it's me."

She snorted.

"Oh, screw your martyr complex, Sasuke."

He bit his tongue in an attempt to keep the acidic words from spilling out.

He didn't succeed.

"Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe you should have known– " shoving her off him, staggering to his feet, raking hands through hair, "But you didn't, and if you had then we wouldn't be in this situation now, would we?" He turned and glared, watching in vindictive triumph as she flinched like he had slapped her.

"That's not fair." Her voice was flat. He sneered, quashing the guilt that bubbled up inside him for treating her this way- she didn't deserve it, none of them did. Especially not Naruto. Fire flickered in her green gaze as she smiled, a harsh baring of teeth.

"You know," her words were sickly-sweet, tainted, serpent's poison hidden behind smiling lips, "you were always competing with him. You- you wanted to be a big man, oh-so-strong and powerful. Making up for inadequacies, perhaps?" she said sweetly. He clenched his fists. She pressed her attack, seeming, for a moment, to be like no one so much as Kabuto.

"Were you trying to make up for failing to kill Itachi? Or maybe," she feigned surprise, tapping a finger on her chin in a grotesque parody, "you wanted to make up for failing your family?" He growled.

Her expression became blank, her voice terribly flat and judging. "You were always competing with him. You always wanted to know that you were better. Well, you weren't. Naruto is kind, Naruto is loyal, Naruto would kill himself to keep his friends safe, and you? You're nothing but a traitorous bastard with a murderer's blood in your veins!" She smiled, a few tears leaking from her eyes, and somehow, it was the saddest thing he had ever seen. The next words fell with the knell of a hammer striking stone.

"It was never a contest. He was always the better man."

The door slammed shut behind her. He stood frozen for a moment, then collapsed in on himself, burying his head in his hands. One deep, shuddering breath, and then, for the first time in over five years, Sasuke Uchiha began to weep.

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Gaara looked around the corner into the darkened living room, manipulating the Third Eye to perch atop a bookcase and look at the strange picture below.

The television flickered, casting blue-white light over the two figures on the couch. Hatake lounged on one side, taking up almost the entire space, with Naruto crowded against the end, huddled inside ridiculously huge leaf-print pajamas. One of Hatake's ungloved hands, the fingers long and slender, almost delicate-looking, carded through Naruto's hair in a comforting gesture.

Gaara closed the Third Eye, clenching his fist. He was… jealous, unreasonably so. Why should he be jealous? This deserved to be meditated upon. Climbing up onto the bed that took up most of the room he had been given, he pressed his hands together and stared at the wood grain in the boards.

Jealousy. Noun. Etymologically related to 'envy.'

Envy. Noun. A desire for the possessions and qualities of another. He frowned. The definition was singularly unhelpful. He didn't want any of Naruto's possessions, nor any of his qualities.

Unless… were relationships counted as a quality, or physical contact as a possession? He chewed on his lower lip in thought. That was what he wanted, what Naruto and Hatake had, a relationship that had safety and closeness, warmth and friendship. He had never had that until he met Naruto, and he had certainly never had anyone… run their hand through his hair like that.

He was… jealous.

"Hey, Gaara?" He looked up at the heavy, sleep-rough voice. Naruto stood in his doorway in bare feet, rubbing at his eyes. Gaara flushed, looking down. When would he be able to tell Naruto his conclusion about his feelings for him? Certainly not with Hatake right in the house. That was one too many people.

"Yes, Naruto?"

"Want to come watch a movie with me and Kakashi-sensei?" He blinked. "Me?"

"No, the invisible monkey next to you. Of course, you!"

He bit his lip. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, come on! We've just gotten to where the monster attacks the dumb bimbo with a coat hanger." Gaara got up slowly, and followed Naruto down the stairs, twisting the cloth of his shirt all the way. Hatake looked up as they came into the living room, shifting on the couch to make room for him.

Gaara approached, perching on the edge of the couch. Hatake snorted- a not unpleasant sound- and pulled him back to fit snugly between his side and the arm of the couch, draping a long limb around his shoulders. Gaara flinched, breath catching, eyes wide.

"Did I scare you? Sorry."

Gaara swallowed and forced the words out.

"Thank you." Gingerly, he leaned back into Hatake's arm, which curled around him. He looked over at Naruto, who flashed him a thumbs-up and a cheesy grin. Fighting down the urge to flee, he forced himself to relax and watch the television.

Naruto whooped as, using a coat hanger, the odd tree-man hybrid decapitated the bleached blonde woman in a spray of blood that coated the entire room. Gaara frowned, brow wrinkling.

"The amount of blood in the human body is nowhere near that much. No human contains twelve gallons of it."

"It's a bad horror movie, Gaara," Hatake said, ruffling his hair. "Just shut up and enjoy the awfulness." Gaara felt warmth in his chest, expanding with every sweep of Hatake's fingers through his hair. It felt nice, safe, comforting. Yashamaru had never done that: he had always been distant and cool, afraid to touch.

Eyes drooping, he leaned into the touch, making a soft noise of enjoyment. The hand paused, then continued its hypnotic motion, the pressure and novel sensation enjoyable. If Hatake continued this, he was going to fall asleep…

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Kakashi watched the words 'The End' appear on the screen in a very poor attempt to look like they were made of blood, then looked down at the two younger men slumped against him. Naruto's hair stirred with each breath, his mouth half-open and a trail of drool dribbling from one corner.

Gaara, on the other hand, slept restlessly, his brow furrowed into small lines that his hands itched to smooth away, mouth pursed as if contemplating some irritating problem that he found personally insulting.

For a moment he debated waking them up. But no… Naruto would be needed by the Kyuubi soon, anyway so any sleep he got now would be good. Red-hot anger ricocheted through him like a badly-thrown kunai at this undeniable fact, that this beautiful man who inspired hope and faith in others should suffer – He shook off the rage and focused on Naruto once more. Decision made, he lifted Naruto's warm, limp weight and carried him up the stairs, hoping that Naruto wouldn't get any drool on his sweats. Naruto mumbled something that sounded heartbreakingly like 'Stop' and settled, hands curling in his ratty T-shirt. Kakashi nudged open the door to Naruto's empty room and shifted his burden, pulling back the covers and laying Naruto down. Giving into temptation for a moment, he brushed a hand over Naruto's surprisingly soft hair.

He had a hair fetish, it seemed.

Turning away, he went back down to get Gaara. Gaara was a whole other experience. He was light, so light he seemed insubstantial, and terribly thin. Kakashi could feel every ridge of his ribs poking against his chest. As he lifted him up, Gaara curled in against him, hands clenching tightly in his shirt.

Kakashi stopped, feeling unexpected tears sting his eyes. Both of them were so needy, so wanting and broken and unable to express just what it was they needed so badly. He wondered if all vessels were like this, so desperate for any sort of affection or comfort, so totally willing to die for anyone who gave them a scrap of cursory warmth. Steeling himself, he went up the stairs and put Gaara into his bed. As he stepped away, Gaara's hand lashed out and caught him by the wrist, pulling him back to the bed.

Kakashi stared, stupefied. He tugged, trying to liberate himself, but Gaara merely held on tighter. Rolling his eyes heavenward, he settled down by the sleeping redhead and resigned himself to another sleepless night.