Masquerade Chapter 3: deux: scream, if you want to go faster, a naruto fanfic

project: masquerade
disclaimer: i do not own naruto, or the characters in it, or wonderland.
summary: she will follow the white rabbit. she will fall in love with the mad hatter. she will kill the queen of hearts. but fairytales don't always have a happily ever after and she doesn't believe in once upon a times.
pairings: sasusaku
notes: ooh, ffffuuu—this chapter just kept getting longer and longer, the beast. but fuck, i love kiba. and i killed off cannon fodder, because action needed to happen sometime soon.
chapter: deux: scream, if you want to go faster

Wonderland is a recurring nightmare, which most will never escape from. Even when it is all over—even when the Queen of Hearts has finally been defeated—there is still the distant memory. It is faded and it haunts them. They can never quite remember but, inside, they always know. They can never remember, but they believe.

Wonderland haunts them.

wonderland will come to her

08:37:49

Uzumaki Naruto stood outside the battered apartment, studying the rusted lock on the door quietly. Then, without a second thought, he swung his leg up and kicked as hard as he could, eyes narrowed with concentration.

The door held firm.

A curse of disbelief, followed by a second kick. And then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth—

The door seemed to wheeze, bending inwards and, after a final kick, it gave up entirely. It swung open, the rusted old lock clattering to the floor at his feet, and Naruto gave an obnoxiously loud shout of triumph.

Within seconds, he was laying on the floor, winded, arms wrapped around his stomach. He glanced up, scowling, ready to give that bastard a piece of his mind.

Red eyes swirled back into black. An uneasy hand ran through messy, bedraggled hair.

"Idiot. I thought you were… one of them."

Naruto was outraged, "Hey, how could I ever be one of them? What made you think something as stupid as that?"

The other man picked up his broken lock pointedly.

Naruto grinned sheepishly.

"I can fix that."

"Sure," the Mad Hatter rolled his eyes, pocketing the lock and inspecting his door. He pushed it once, twice, and went as though to close the door on the other.

The White Rabbit grinned.

"What'd you think you're doing? You've got school, remember?"

08:45:52

Sakura was tired. She moved slowly through the throng of teenagers in uniform, pushing lazily through the crowd and yawning blearily; she shifted her schoolbag so that it hung more comfortably on her shoulder, making her way towards her locker. That Sunday night, she had stayed awake until past midnight, unable to sleep—as interesting as it had been, she did not want to see a beautiful blonde boy, as white as snow, beckoning to her and telling her that she was late—part of her had missed the dream; it had been particularly detailed, as well; that was the childish, romantic part of her. That was her heart whispering to her.

Her mind, however, had kept her awake all night. Do not sleep, it had murmured, because who knows what could happen if you do? That dream… it could not be real. There was no way. Sakura refused to believe it; and, still, she had stayed awake all night, eyes wide, refusing to sleep, because she knew that that place was dangerous. It was nothing but a dream—a nightmare—but it was a deadly, terrifying nightmare, which she might never wake up from.

She sidestepped around a freckled, spotty adolescent, skidded past a tall, blonde cheerleader—who sniffed at her, peering down her nose and rolling her eyes. "Pink hair? So tacky. Baggy jumpers? Puh—lease."—and slowed to a halt outside her locker. The one with the K & S written on it, in thick black marker pen. The same K & S that she had spent a week trying to scrub off, after K vanished from the formula.

She traced the K with her index finger, feeling the cool metal underneath her skin, and then sighed slightly, shaking her head. Highschool crushes weren't for her. They were for cheerleaders and pretty girls—not for freaks, with huge foreheads and ugly pink hair and glass eyes. She tugged open her locker, sorting through the junk inside for her textbooks—AP Calculus and Literature, first up.

Lucky her.

She sighed, almost wistfully. Then again, if that place had been real—and, no, she could not bring herself to say its name, because that would be accepting—there would be much more excitement in her life.

(too much excitement)

She shoved her books into her bag, turned around, and then walked straight into K.

Her eyes widened.

"Kiba…"

Warm, dark eyes peered down at her, through a shaggy mess of hair. Her fingers reached up, absently, touching the scars on his tanned cheeks—the scars he had tattooed over, to hide forever—the scars only she knew were there. His lips curled into a smug smirk, the tips of his canines poking over his bottom lip.

(behind him, she saw a boy, a boy with a hat, the hat so huge and so magnificent, it reminded her of HIM, but then Kiba spoke and the hat disappeared, the boy vanishing with it)

"Yo! You didn't think I was just going to let you forget about me, did you?"

Just like that, the trance was broken. She jerked her hand back, as though she'd been burnt, and turned away; she felt her cheeks flush pink. She busied her hands with her bag strap, adjusting, readjusting, and readjusting again, unable to quite look at him. She was all too aware of his eyes scanning her body, watching her, reading her, drinking her up—she'd always hated it when he did that; it made her spin tingle and the hairs on her arms stand on end.

She was curious, she had to admit—she needed to know why he'd come back, why he'd left, why he hadn't told her—but, after taking one look at his cocky, arrogant little grin, she whirled on the balls of her feet and took flight, her bag keeping rhythm with her quick footsteps.

"Hey—no, Sakura—wait up!"

He was following her. She rolled her eyes; of course he'd follow her, had she really expected any less from him? He would follow her, he would grasp her wrist and spin her around, and then work his magical web of lies, explaining why he'd disappeared for the first, second, third, fourth, FIFTH time, without a single word. And she didn't want to hear it. She didn't like big, cliché break-ups, but this time, she just didn't want to hear it.

His fingers curled around her wrist. She spun around to face him. Her chest heaved, up and down, and her eyes narrowed. For a second, they simply stared at each other; then Sakura folded her arms and Kiba shoved his hands in his pockets, and they both looked away.

"…I thought you'd miss me," he said, finally, watching a kid two years younger than him shuffle past, kicking a paper ball along the ground as he walked by. He glanced at her quickly, but saw nothing; her expression was carefully blank, as she gazed in the opposite direction.

"I did miss you."

"We were going to go to Neverland together, remember?" He said hesitantly, smiling his lopsided smile. "We were going to fly with the fairies and swim with the mermaids. We were going to be Lost Boys, right? You and me, forever young."

"I was five, Kiba."

He winced. Her voice was so cold—had it always been that cold? After everything; after all his laughter and his smiles and the memories he'd given her, had her voice stayed so cool and detached? Had it always made the hair on the back of his neck stand up—bring goosebumps up all along his arms?

"People grow up."

Sakura studied him as she spoke, satisfied as her words pierced him like bullets—good, she thought, good, because he deserves every single bit of it; every single bit of hurt he put me through, he deserves thrown back at him, twice as hard, twice as much, twice as bad—he flinched, before looking straight at her.

His eyes were hurt. "You don't mean that."

Her features softened—inside, she melted. "I'm… I'm sorry, Kiba. It's just, you left, again, and it hurts so badly when you do. No word—no goodbye. Just no welcome in the mornings and no umbrella to shield me from the rain—my best friend vanishes, just like that, like a real, proper Lost Boy; like Peter Pan has just stolen you away and left me all behind. It hurts."

As she spoke, she found herself moving closer towards him; suddenly, his arms were wrapped around her thin body, holding her as close to him as he can. They must have looked so odd, she thought to herself—the frumpy, pink-haired freak and the hottest boy in school, hugging like old friends. They must have looked so funny—the tear tracks running down her cheeks, his eyes glistening. They must have looked like a dream come true—like a fairytale ending—that Cinderella with her Prince Charming. She sobbed suddenly, despite herself, the noise a hoarse, bewildered croak.

He hushed her. "I know, Sakura, I know; but I can't tell you, because that bastard… that bastard knows you. And if you don't know where I am, then he can't ask you, and he can't find me and mum and Hana…" He trailed off lamely. "If I just vanish, we're safe."

Sakura knew it pained Kiba to talk about it—to talk about him—and so, she dropped the subject; she stepped backwards and stared at him. "I'm glad you're back, anyway," she flashed him a grin. "When you're around, I feel like I'll never grow up."

(An image flickers in his head:

Rough, calloused fingers.

Touching, grabbing, pulling.

Moaning.

The creaking of a bed.

"Don't you ever grow up, Kiba."

The steady pounding.

The constant, rhythmic pain.

In—

"Don't

Out—

you

In—

ever

Out—

grow

In—

Out—

Kiba.

IN—

NOT

OUT—

EVER."

A staggering climax.

Teeth bite his neck, sharp and strong.

They scream together, pain and pleasure interwoven.

He pulls away, curls up into a ball, wants to die die DIE.

His father smokes beside him.

The next day, at school, he wears a scarf, despite the sunny weather. His parents exchange worried glances. PROBLEM CHILD, he can see the words flashing in their mind. He shifts the scarf so that it sits more comfortably around his neck, hiding the bite marks—hiding the evidence—hiding the night before.

He can't wait to grow up.)

Kiba grinned back at her, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Don't worry, Sakura—I won't ever grow up."

Sakura smiled, reaching out and gingerly linking her hand through his; he blinked, startled, peering down at the pink hair and the green eyes like marbles. She looked back up at him warmly, lovingly, and said, "That's just what I want to hear, Kiba. We're going to stay young forever and ever."

He nodded in return and they walked together, heading slowly towards Sakura's calculus room, despite the fact that Kiba's biology lessons were in the opposite direction; every now and then, they would sneak a peek at the other person, tenderly, taking in every little change. His scars had healed now. Hers still hadn't. His hair was longer. So was hers. His smile was fake, bright, but fake. Hers was faker.

Just two little PROBLEM CHILDREN

Walking together as PROBLEM FRIENDS.

They approach Sakura's classroom slowly, unsure of whom should say goodbye first, and then Kiba swept open the door, holding it for. She stepped inside and immediately bowed her head respectfully, apologising quickly for being late; she was surprised to feel a rush of wind, as he bowed next to her; she was surprised to hear his voice join hers, low and familiar. The professor flapped a hand at them in dismissal—Kiba led her to the back row, and flung himself down next to the window almost immediately. She wondered if he couldn't help it—if he had to be on lookout—but she didn't ask. She didn't want.

She sat down neatly next to him, spreading out her books between them and beginning to silently take notes—notes which she would surely give to him at the end of the lesson, to copy up, as she had always done, every lesson they were in together. She glanced out of the window

(and she saw a rabbit, as white as snow, as white as paper, hop hop hopping along, down on the field, innocent and cuddly and she wondered what it meant, why she was seeing these things, why it reminded her of that boy)

before looking at Kiba.

He rested his head on the desk, winked at her, and then closed his eyes—his breathing began to rapidly slow and his face twitched from troubled to peaceful, as quickly as that. Her eyes lingered on his scarred cheeks—two short, deep cuts, just under each eye. His father had given him those, when they were twelve. Kiba had gone to see 'a guy he knew'; he disappeared into a shop with boarded up windows and then reappeared with a red triangular tattoo on either cheek. She asked if it hurt. He said it hurt like a bitch.

She hadn't known if he was talking about the scars or the tattoos. She figured it was a bit of both.

The next day, he'd come to school with a red scarf around his neck; and Sakura had reached out towards him, gingerly, just as she had done when she'd first seen him, earlier. Back then, Kiba had slapped her hand away and told her he didn't want to talk about it.

People had talked about his family before—parents threw him disapproving looks—and Sakura had known most of his story. His father was a drunk. His father was insane. He beat the mother and raped the children. He particularly liked his little boy. His little boy wore long sleeves and scarves to hide the bruises, where his father had gripped too tightly or bitten too hard.

So, one night Kiba's mother scooped up her two children and fled, taking the dogs with her—she'd always liked those dogs. And, since then, they'd had to keep running, because Kiba's father liked his little boy a bit too much and always wanted him back.

Kiba had left her first when she was twelve, then when she was thirteen—then he'd left for a few months again, just before her fourteenth birthday, then stayed for a while and left just after she was sixteen. Then he'd left her when she was eighteen. Each time he came back, he wore short sleeves underneath his hooded grey jacket; and, eventually, that jacket left as well, and he simply wore short sleeved tops all the time, no matter the weather. He told her he'd burnt the red scarf to ashes.

She was just glad he'd come back safely now.

She was just glad there weren't any marks anymore.

That the red scarf had gone.

Sakura watched Kiba sleep, whimpering every now and then, his face switching easily back into troubled and felt bad. Every time he saw a red scarf, he probably relived the memories. He was probably reliving the memories in his dreams.

(just like how she remembered her mother and her father god bless their souls)

She returned to her note taking, shaking the miserable thoughts from her head; what mattered was that he was here now. The past meant nothing. He was here now and they were going to be Lost Boys again, at the age of nineteen! She wondered briefly if that was too old to be a Lost Boy. She dismissed the thought.

09:03:02

"We're going to be late," Naruto murmured, hitching his bag strap further up his shoulder, listening to his shoes squeak as he walked down the school hallway. He took in the lockers, the textbooks, the red alarm and it was all too familiar. He felt a pang of homesickness for his last school—unlike that dickwad, he hadn't been home tutored and it was difficult and painful to transfer into another school.

Oh well.

He was Naruto, the eternal Bounce Back Kid.

He glanced down at the timetable in his hands and blanched. "Advanced… advanced placement Calculus? What, does God hate me or something?" He snapped, rubbing the sheet of paper as if to see if there was a mistake in the print. There wasn't. He threw his hands into the air. "Why me? I failed Calculus—and Biology and Physics, but that's not the point."

There was a low chuckle from behind him, reminding him that he wasn't alone.

"Yeah, I bet you find this hilarious," the blonde muttered, checking the room number—room C2, Main School.

"It's back here, idiot."

Naruto doubled around, shot his dark haired friend a glare, and then knocked once on the door.

09:05:32

There was a knock on the door.

Sakura's eyes flickered up briefly from her neat handwriting, on her notepaper, and then she looked back down. It was probably just a message, for some busybody whose mother could not pick them up, for one reason or another. She flicked back a page in her notes, writing down some reference page numbers, ignoring the person at the door altogether.

"…the transfer students!"

A bright, horribly familiar voice echoed in her ears.

She didn't want to look up. She was afraid of what she might see. She listened as the professor nodded.

"Okay, listen up, class! We've got some cute new transfer students," the old man rolled his eyes, beckoning them in. "Something for the ladies, I think. Introduce yourself, boys."

Someone bowed.

"I'm Uzumaki Naruto! Pleased to meet you."

(white rabbit)

The professor gestured with his hand. "And you, pretty boy?"

"…Uchiha Sasuke."

(a mad hatter)

Sakura looked up then. Grass green eyes—eyes like marbles—met stony, coal black and stayed there, for a second. Then, quickly, her eyes flickered to the left and Naruto's face brightened up. He waved.

"Oh, Sakura-chaaaaaaan!"

She paled.

The entire class span in their seats, turning to face her.

Naruto waved again.

Sasuke smirked.

She lifted a hand weakly in greeting.

"H—hello, Naruto… Sasuke…"

It was as though the breath had been knocked entirely out of her. The professor glanced quickly from the transfer students to his smartest, most prized student, before sighing loudly. "Alright then, boyo," he murmured, flapping his hands at Sasuke. "Take your annoying friend here and find yourself a seat."

Sakura slumped, placing her head in her hands—and then someone tipped her off her chair, scooped her up, and placed her next to the window. She blinked at Kiba, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged. "You looked uncomfortable and they're heading this way."

Sure enough, Sasuke was dragging a protesting Naruto to the back seat.

Her classmates were already beginning to whisper.

Kiba slouched back in his chair, linking his hands together and attempting to fall asleep—but Naruto's voice was getting louder and louder, and his friend didn't appear to want to do anything about it. The chair next to him scraped backwards. The squawking blonde sat down and beamed at Sakura.

Her skin turned ever paler.

She was snow white.

Kiba raised an eyebrow—and she was shaking.

Was she… scared?

Naruto appeared to have noticed it too, because his eyes widened and he held his hands up in front of him as if to say he meant no harm. He opened his mouth to speak and was silenced by a shove from Sasuke.

"Not here. Not now."

He glanced at Kiba pointedly, and Naruto nodded slowly. The Uchiha smirked, arrogantly, like he was somehow superior to Sakura's old friend, just because he knew something Kiba didn't. He narrowed his eyes.

That was when he decided he didn't like Uchiha Sasuke.

…Or, to a lesser extent, Uzumaki Naruto.

Kiba grabbed Sakura's wrist and stood up, dragging her to her feet as well—she blinked at him, alarmed, but he ignored her. "Professor," he called down to the front, and the old man looked up at him. "I'm sorry, but Sakura's not feeling very well. She's all pale and shivery. I'm going to take her to the nurse."

"Yes, yes; go ahead."

He pulled Sakura past Naruto, who blinked, obviously bewildered at the change of events, and then past the Uchiha—they glanced at each other and it was as though time slowed down. For a second, Kiba swore he saw red swirling in Sasuke's eyes—then he blinked, and it was gone. He missed Sasuke murmur something to Sakura as she hurried after Kiba; it was only the fact that he felt her tense and shaking disappear, that he knew something had happened.

Whatever.

("you can't tell him anything. he's safer that way.")

He was going to find out the moment they were out of that classroom and away from those transfer students. There was something off about them, he could feel it—the air around them felt scratchy and their smiles hid secrets

(scars?)

about Sakura that he desperately needed to know. He was her friend. If anyone could make her scared like that—make her shake like that—he needed to know.

(she thought she saw a grin, a fading, swirling, sliding grin, the tip of one canine protruding over the bottom lip, she thought she saw the grin of the deadly Cheshire cat but she was wrong wrong wrong)

He glanced back over his shoulder—she was peering at the top of a locker, making no effort to hide the horror on her face. His eyes slid across to where she was looking.

There was nothing there.

He raised an eyebrow, sighed blearily, and continued walking, and waiting until he finally found a deserted corridor. He glanced into the classroom doors as he passed—there was no one around. He smirked slightly, and then pushed her gently against a locker, pinning her in place, using his arms to block her escape routes. For a second, she didn't look at him—her eyes stayed staring at the top of that locker, wild and unseeing—and then she turned to blink at him, tilting her head slightly. "…I thought we were going to the nurse's office?" She mumbled, aware of the close proximity of their bodies and feeling uncomfortable.

Kiba ignored her.

Instead, he searched her eyes. They were the same as he remembered—wide, grassy green, flecks of darker colours, swirling and captivating—but they were different. Before, they had seemed so innocent. Naïve of the world. He, of course, had known better—Sakura was far from naïve; she had always been the smartest girl he knew.

Now her eyes were filled with barely concealed fear.

"Who are they?"

"They're old friends," Sakura said smoothly, but her lashes lowered and her eyes flickered to the side; Kiba narrowed his eyes.

"Liar."

She said nothing.

"…Why can't you tell me?"

Her eyes fixed on his shoulder.

(09:10:45)

(she saw a lizard, a bright green lizard, running, creeping, slithering over his shoulder, and she wanted to reach out and bat it away, but she couldn't because she knew he couldn't see it, couldn't feel it)

"…Because it's dangerous."

Kiba grinned.

"I'm good at running, Sakura."

There was a low chuckle from behind them.

Kiba tensed, eyes widening slightly, flicking to the side and then back to Sakura's face—she was straining to see the intruder, but Kiba was almost entirely in the way. She hoped against hope that it was just Sasuke.

She knew it wasn't.

"You'd better be good at running, little brat," the intruder said, and then all hell broke loose.

09:10:45

Idly, Naruto watched a bright green lizard do flip flops over his AP Calculus teacher. It somersaulted and twisted, floating so that he could see it's spotty belly—it performed one final leap, one final twist, and then vanished altogether.

He yawned.

It wasn't often you see a lizard do gymnastics over—

He froze.

Next to him, Sasuke had already vanished.

Sakura dived to the side, dragging Kiba to the floor with her, as the intruder fired his first round of machine gun bullets—they thudded into the locker where she'd been stood just moments before, some of them ricocheting, and she knew that, more than anything, she had to get Kiba to safety. His eyes were dazed and unseeing. If she left him on his own, he would surely die.

"Next round!" The intruder roared, spinning to point the gun at her—it was huge and terrifying, and as she gazed down the unblinking black eye, she thought it was over.

Then she span quickly, so fast that she became a blur, shoved her hand through the locker behind her and pulled it up to shield her body. The first shower of bullets punched through the locker, the noise temporarily deafening her—and the door she'd held onto first pulled away, littered with cruel, gaping holes. She heard empty shells scatter and roll across the floor. She heard Kiba pant somewhere to her right, hopefully safe, hopefully unhurt.

She heard more panting and then trainers squeak across the floor, moving quickly.

There was a thud, as two bodies collided, and the machine gun fire spluttered to a stop. Without thinking, she threw herself out from behind the locker, rolled, and then took in the scene before her.

The intruder was a tall and thin man; the right side of his face was so dry, it seemed as though he had scales. His eyes were set too far apart in his thin face; they were wide and bulging. They peered slightly off to the right, cold and unseeing, and she shivered. He didn't blink. He wore a tight green jumpsuit—if it had not been for the creases in the material, she would have assumed it was his skin and left it at that—with a long darker green coat.

He was a lizard man.

And he was looking straight at Kiba.

Her eyes widened. Those footsteps she had heard earlier; that thud she had heard just seconds before—they had both been Kiba. He'd been trying to help her, trying to save her, and now he was lying sprawled across the ground, keeping himself up with his elbows; a machine gun was pointed at his head, the barrel resting lazily against his forehead.

The man's eyes bulged and then he closed them, heaving a deep sigh. He turned to Sakura. "…Alice-chan. You're a bad friend, Alice—why would you let such a cute guy get killed? Why'd you let me splatter his brains across the floor? Why don't you…"

He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a black revolver, and threw it at her feet.

"…kill yourself?"

She looked down at it, unable to understand. The gun would probably fit snugly in her hand—now that she thought about it, there were probably worse ways to go; one pull of a trigger, and the responsibility would gone.

Naruto's freedom would be gone.

That was sad.

She kind of liked him.

She crouched slowly, picking the gun gingerly up just as footsteps rounded the corner; she glanced up, meeting Sasuke's eyes. He raised an eyebrow, glanced at the gun in her hand, at Kiba lying on the floor, at the man with the machine gun, and then back at her. This time, he raised both of his eyebrows.

"…got lost back near the science classrooms, asshole—you could have at least waited for me—" Naruto's voice croaked, ending abruptly, and he too took a quick glance at the action; at the excitement; that he had missed.

His eyes landed on the gun in Sakura's hand.

Surprisingly, he was speechless.

Her lips twitched into a small smile. She liked that. She made a boy speechless—her with her baggy jumpers and her tiny breasts and her creepy eyes—she made a boy completely speechless. And all for the wrong reasons. Her eyes flicked back to the lizard man and she noticed that he was smiling; almost by its own accord, her hand with the gun moved towards her head. She felt the cold metal of the barrel against her temple.

"That's it, Alice-chan. If you kill yourself, I won't kill the boy," the man practically purred, his thin lips stretching into a smile. "Bill the Lizard always keeps his promises."

"I thought you were on our side!" Naruto squawked, flapping his hands and shaking his head repeatedly at Sakura. She ignored him.

Bill cocked his head.

"I'm on the winning side, Mr Rabbit, sir."

That was when Sakura and Sasuke moved.

(09:20:25)

Sasuke moved first, if only by a fraction of a second—his hand snaked inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small object. His arm snapped back and then jerked forwards, in the blink of an eye, and the object flew through the air—as it flew, it grew bigger, until finally it was its normal full size.

It was the Mad Hatter's hat.

Except, this time, it was different—this time, the brim of the hat flashed underneath the hall lights; as it flew closer to Bill, she could see blades protruding from the brim. Each blade was as thin a needle, but deadly. She watched as Bill's eyes widened—and he was oh so slow—as he watched the hat, but he was helpless to stop it, because it was so quick and he was so slow.

It sliced cleanly through his wrist, ricocheting off the locker behind him and landing harmlessly on the ground next to Kiba's feet. Bill the Lizard turned a peculiar shade of pale. He gazed at the stump that was his wrist—Sakura winced; it was so slow; and finally, as the blood spurted out in a rainbow of crimson, began to scream. They were sharp, piercing screams, broken and shattered, one after the other, going on and on and on.

(09:20:30)

Sakura snapped into motion. Her fingers curled tightly around the revolver and whipped her arm around so that the barrel of the gun was pointing at Bill. He was busy shrieking. He was busy screaming. He was too busy—too busy to notice that he was about to die.

"Oh, Bill-chaaaan?"

Her sing-song voice was different. Frosty and cool. Eerie. It didn't sound like her. Yet, it sounded just like her.

He gazed at her, his eyes bulging with fear. His scream died away. His lips curled into an 'o' shape, as he gazed barrel of the revolver—gazed into the unblinking barrel of a killing machine. His eyes flickered back to her.

She smiled.

Her finger squeezed. Once. Twice. Three times. The first bullet almost missed; it ripped through Bill's ear, leaving a nice bloody hole about the size of a small 5 yen coin, and then thudded into the locker behind him. The second shot pierced his shoulder. The third shot tore into his kneecap; his hands flew to the wound and his legs buckled. He dropped to the ground, whimpering, writhing beside Kiba.

For a second, Kiba thought about helping Bill—then he remembered that the motherfucker had put a machine gun to his head and asked Sakura to kill himself. He probably deserved whatever he got.

Or, at least, that's what he thought until he looked up and gazed into Sakura's eyes.

He drew back, sucking in sharply; that was not Sakura. Those beautiful green eyes were filled with malicious, evil intent—they weren't filled with the mixed emotions that Sakura's eyes were filled with. These were filled with nothing but the need to kill. They were not the eyes of Sakura.

(They were the eyes of Alice.)

"N—no…! Please… please!" Bill flinched away, flipped onto his back (reminding Naruto so much of the lizard he'd seen earlier, cartwheeling and tumbling, but he didn't say anything—he stayed where he was, arms folded, leaning against the locker, watching absently) and attempted to scramble away. "No, p—please, I'll do anything!"

"…anything, Bill-chaaaan?"

He risked a glance over his shoulder—Alice's expression was unreadable. He nodded pathetically, his fingers brushing faintly over his stinging ear; they came away red and bloody. He whimpered; and it had all been going so well. "Anything!" He agreed.

"…kill yourself."

Bill froze.

"Pick up that machine gun and put it against you head and, BANG, BANG, BANG. Shoot yourself dead, Bill-chaaaan. I know you can do it. You have until three. One—"

He rushed for the gun.

"—two—"

His fingers fumbled around the sleek black beast.

"—three."

He whipped the gun around, with a triumphant shout—it died immediately in his throat, as he found himself gazing back down the barrel of the revolver. He looked upwards. Alice's eyes seemed dead to him. Inhuman. Hateful.

"You picked the wrong team, Bill."

She squeezed the trigger.

so follow me down down down
into the hateful black abyss

She can't remember pulling the trigger.

She can remember everything else. Everything before:

The begging.

The writhing.

The crawling.

The pleading.

The pitiable attempt to fight back.

The shock.

She can remember everything after:

The look of horror on Kiba's face.

The brains and blood splattered across the locker, the floor, the walls, Kiba's clothes, Kiba's face, the front of her jumper.

The way she wiped the revolver on her clothes, removing all fingerprints, before laying it out neatly beside the dead Bill the Lizard.

Naruto's approving nod.

Sasuke's self satisfied smirk, as he retrieved his (now bloody) hat, and tucked it away in his pocket.

The horribly fake scream that left her mouth.

She remembers the teachers, who flooded the scene, took one look at Bill and began to scream themselves—she remembers those who were braver telling the teenagers to stay back. She remembers how the crowd swept past the teachers anyway. She remembers Naruto babbling about how a psycho ran into the school and announced he would kill Kiba and then himself. She remembers the tall blonde girl, who rushed out and wrapped her arms around her, telling her that she was just in shock and everything was okay.

She remembers the way Kiba stared at her as if he were finally seeing her.

She remembers everything.

Except killing him.

She wonders if that is a blessing or a curse.

"You poor baby!"

Sakura winced, grasping her pillow and pushing it down over her head, burying as deeply into the covers as she could—but not before she spotted blonde girl stroking Naruto's hair; the latter was looking immensely pleased with himself, as the girl sat be, side his bed, completely ignoring Sasuke. They were in the sickbeds, down next to the nurse's office; technically, there were only two, and she and Kiba had had them originally—then Naruto had suddenly shoved her friend away, wrapped himself in two blankets, and attempted to look as sick as possible.

The blonde girl had fallen for his tricks.

Now, Kiba was sat beside Sakura's bed, staring at her stonily—every now and then, she'd look up and see the cogs whirring away inside his way, chugging away, trying to find an answer. She knew he wouldn't find one. She hadn't been able to find one herself.

The door opened quietly and Sasuke slipped into the room. Beside her, Kiba tensed, his face suddenly becoming carefully blank—but she could see his eyes were furious; after all, who else did he have to blame, except Sasuke and Naruto? Who else could she blame except those two and… herself?

"Sakura."

She yanked the pillow off her head, fluffed it up, and then placed it back in its original place; she pulled herself upwards so that she was in a sitting position, and gazed at the Uchiha, trying her hardest not to meet his eyes. She didn't like his eyes. They were too captivating, enchanting; too damn hypnotising.

His fingers tilted her chin gently upwards.

"Sakura." Her eyes finally met his and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. If she wasn't careful, those eyes would drag her down. If she wasn't sharp enough, those eyes would tear her apart. If she wasn't smart enough,

(she'd fall in love)

those eyes would kill her. She looked away.

"Sakura, we need to talk," she'd thought it would be Sasuke who spoke next; instead, Kiba's voice trembled, strained and hoarse; she glanced at him—he wouldn't look at her.

(those grass green eyes would tear him apart, would drag him down, would kill him, would make him fall fall fall in love)

Naruto scoffed. "Wasn't that what you were trying to do, before Bill came and kicked your ass, and Sakura had to save you?"

Kiba ignored him.

"Who is Alice?"

Sasuke's eyes narrowed and he tensed slightly—Naruto snorted loudly, rolled over and turned back to the blonde girl—she, meanwhile, was busy watching the scene, with wide eyes. Sakura never took her eyes off Kiba's face. He didn't look scared, like she thought he would; instead, he looked mildly disappointed that she'd even dare keep a secret from him; but his knuckles were stark white and shaking slightly, and she knew that he was also angry. She just wasn't sure why. She reached out, slowly, carefully, and this time, he didn't flinch away as she placed her hand gently on his.

"I can't tell you—you're safer that way."

"Bullshit. Don't give me that 'you're safer if you don't know' crap," Kiba's voice was a whisper. "Because I didn't know then, did I? And some psycho put a machine gun to my head. And I don't know now, do I? And your Uchiha boyfriend looks like he wants to rip my throat out."

Sakura glanced at Sasuke.

His face held no expression, but he was looking at Kiba with eyes that suggested he would very much enjoy pulling the other boy apart. He probably could, too.

"So don't give me that crap. Tell me."

His eyes were filled with longing, now; the disappointment had almost disappeared. She remembered, briefly, when they were younger and they pinky promised. We won't run from each other. We won't hurt each other. We'll stick together forever. We'll never ever grow up. She remembered linking their little fingers together, hands sticky, faces grubby and chanting the words together, over and over again. She remembered his smile. She remembered her laughter.

And she knew she was going to tell him.

"…I'm Alice."

Sasuke's words floated back into her head: you can't tell him anything—he's safer that way. She pushed them aside easily. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and began to speak.

"I don't… I don't understand it much either," she shot a glance at Naruto, who shrugged sheepishly. "But in the, uhm, dream land, there's a place called Wonderland. It's part of a big, sick Game, and Sasuke… Sasuke and Naruto are the contestants. I got picked for it, picked to be Alice, and now I have to win the Game, so I can free all of Wonderland and kill the Queen of Hearts. But, I guess the Rules are much more complicated than that."

She pulled a face.

"When you said that you'd be seeing me in the Real World, I didn't think…"

"You didn't think I meant it?" Sasuke drawled, tilting his head as Sakura nodded numbly. "Think of this as the only Rule of Wonderland; to survive, you must remember that anything is possible, always."

Sakura nodded again, feeling pathetic and weak. How could she expect the unexpected, when anything, and everything, could happen? Before Wonderland had appeared, nonsense had no meaning—now, it was everything. She had to believe the unbelievable and predict the unpredictable. She had to survive in a Game that had no Rules and no limits.

She had to survive.

Kiba cleared his throat loudly. "If you're fighting to free all of Wonderland, why are you being… hunted?"

"Because the Queen of Hearts doesn't want to die, duh," Naruto replied easily, despite the fact that the question had been directed at Sakura—she watched miserably as Kiba scowled angrily, looking as though he wanted nothing more than to punch the blonde boy in the face. "So the Queen of Hearts rounds up a big army because, before Alice returns, the Queen is the Queen. To openly rebel equals an instant, painful death. So people listen—and when they listen, they lose faith, like poor old Bill. He was nice. He used to live in my back garden, in Wonderland; I think that's why he called me Mr Rabbit. I don't know."

Sasuke, meanwhile, was busy scowling at Sakura. "You shouldn't have told him any of this. He's a liability. He'll get himself killed."

Sakura opened her mouth to respond.

"Ex—excuse me…?"

Everyone turned to gaze at the blonde girl; Sakura had forgotten she was even there. She'd heard everything, of course.

"I was just thinking," the girl continued, ignoring Sasuke's disapproving glare and the fact that Naruto was busy staring at her breasts. "Wouldn't it be good to have someone in outside of… Wonderland? You guys will be busy, uh, fending off fairytale creatures with machine guns and machetes; he could be finding information on… Wonderland…?" She trailed off lamely, clasped her hands in front of her and glanced nervously off to the side.

There was silence.

"That is the best idea I've heard so far!" Sakura said, smiling easily at the girl. "I don't think I know your name."

The girl raised an eyebrow.

"…Yamanaka Ino."

Oh. Oh. Yamanaka Ino: captain of the cheerleading squad. Yamanaka Ino: the flawless, perfect blue-eyed blonde. Yamanaka Ino: the most loved girl in the school. Yamanaka Ino: the boys all adored her and the girls wanted to be her. Yamanaka Ino: who'd started school with braces and greasy skin. Yamanaka Ino: the kind of girl who could make highschool life a misery for Sakura, if she wanted to. Yamanaka Ino: everyone knew her name. That Yamanaka Ino.

"Oh," Sakura responded lamely, wanting nothing more than to curl up and disappear into nothing, withering underneath the cheerleader's piercing gaze.

Ino frowned slightly, tapping one perfect finger, with perfect nails, against her perfect lips; everything about her screamed perfection. She reminded Sakura of sweets; wonderful to look at, and tasty at first—but eat too much, gorge for too long, and you end up feeling sick; I've had enough candy, ma'am, no more for me, thanks. Yamanaka Ino, the candy girl.

The candy girl smiled warmly, and Sakura knew she was forgiven. "You know what else would be good? I should help Kiba!"

"…why?" Kiba grimaced.

Sakura sensed he'd had enough candy.

"Because I," Ino tapped her chest importantly, "am in just the same position as you." She jabbed her finger at Kiba, who recoiled almost immediately; Sakura could not help but admire the girl. Ino was so in control, despite the insanity of the situation she was in—she was a born leader (a cheerleader) and by God, she was born to be in charge.

"That could work," Sakura said hastily, before Sasuke could shoot the blonde girl down—she glanced nervously at him, but his expression was unreadable. He considered her offer, frowned, and then finally spoke.

"There is no record of Wonderland in this world."

"What if there is?" Ino placed her hands on her hips. "What if you missed something? What if you were too busy fearing for your life to search properly? What if you're not looking in all the right places?"

Sasuke didn't reply.

Ino beamed in triumph. "See? You know I have a point."

"Yeah, that seems pretty fair," Naruto said, from his position sprawled across the second hospital bed, tangled up in the sheets. "I mean, we're going to be busy protecting Alice-chan, so we can't do anything about it."

"And maybe—maybe—if we discover the secret of Wonderland, we can put an end to it. We can end the Game forever," Sakura offered, her voice filled with hope. The idea of ending the Game was just too wonderful. She had only been playing for a few days and that much was more than enough. She just wanted…

She just wanted her normal life back, as odd as it seemed. She wanted to wake up and look forward to a normal, average day. She didn't want to fear for her life at school, where she was supposed to be safe. She didn't want to follow the White Rabbit, with his charming grin and sparkling eyes. She didn't want to sit with March Hare and the Dormouse, and drink tea and eat biscuits. She didn't want to even see the Mad Hatter, with his dark eyes and a voice as smooth as chocolate.

Sasuke raised his eyebrow, but remained (thankfully) quiet.

Her eyes flickered over to Kiba; he'd definitely share her joy, she was certain of it. Her eyes met his, just for a fraction of a second, and then looked away, uncomfortably. It was too late. She'd already seen the truth in his eyes.

He didn't believe her.

…she'd prove him wrong.

The priest is stood at the front of the church, Bible in front of him, his eyes filled with unquestionable adoration and undying loyalty. In the first few rows, are the regulars—the ones who always say their prayers; the ones who believe. Behind them, are a few stragglers, sitting in random rows, not too close to the front, not too far from the back—they glance nervously, sheepishly, at each other, not quite certain, not fully believing. They are the ones who will fall fastest. One pretty word, one charming prayer, and they are gone. In a few days, they will be sat in the front rows. They will not question God.

At the back, with his arms crossed, sits the Knave of Hearts. He watches silently for a moment, inwardly scoffing; these people do not know God, not truly—they believe in a lie. If God truly exists, he thinks, then he is nothing but a murdering bastard. If God truly exists, then he created Wonderland. If God truly exists, he has condemned this poor Knave to hell.

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference…"

The Knave inspected a stained glass window, idly, marvelling at the way the sun shone through the dull colours—brightened them, so to speak—if there was one thing he had to admit, it was that churches were generally beautiful places. With their old and musty smell—it reminded him of the damp and the dark and his childhood. It brought back happy memories.

"…living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardships as the pathway to peace…"

He closed his eyes, leaning back on his wooden bench, wincing slightly at how uncomfortable they were—and then his expression became blank, and he felt nothing but peace. He was content. He could forget. He could forget Wonderland and its horrors. He could forget the cursed task that had fallen upon his shoulders. He could forget the man who thought himself to be God.

He could forget.

He felt the bench dip slightly—heard the creak of the wooden planks moving—and a small smile flitted across his face. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He opened his eyes and bowed his head respectfully.

"Your majesty," he murmured, keeping his voice as low as possible. "It is dangerous."

The Queen wore a perfectly sculpted mask, made of ivory. It was as white as snow. It was no doubt extremely expensive. The Knave glanced appreciatively at it, taking in the Queen's navy suit, as well, and the white cufflinks, with the red hearts. The Queen watched the priest for a moment, before finally responding.

"I am aware."

"They have approached Alice," the Knave continued, lowering his gaze to the floor. "We know. The lizard was sent to test her—she defeated him easily."

The Queen studied his subordinate, before turning back to the priest. "Tell the cat he has done well."

The Knave nodded once. "He wishes to know when his brother will be returned to him. He wants evidence that his brother is still alive."

The Queen turned back to him, staring straight at him—blood red swirled in those eyes—blood red insanity and death and hatred. Blood red met brown. The Knave found himself unable to look away—captured by those hateful eyes. His breathing became difficult, until he no longer knew how to breath; he gasped, his hands flying up to his throat, his eyes rolling back in his head; and then the Queen closed his eyes and the spell was broken.

"Do not test me, Knave."

"The boy is dead, isn't he?"

"The cat killed him," the Queen explained.

"It was your doing, though, wasn't it? Your eyes…" The Knave trailed off, pushed his glasses back up his noses, and then continued. "You used them to trick him. What evidence will we give him?"

"Bring the cat to me. I will give him all the evidence he needs."

"…taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will…"

"Your majesty; we know Alice's true name, her face and where she lives," the Knave ventured, frowning slightly. "We could kill her now and end this Game. Why…?"

"I understand now," the Queen responded, her voice blank, and the Knave of Hearts found himself hating that blank, expressionless, snow-white mask. "I understand the true meaning of this Game. I cannot defeat it, unless I break Alice. By breaking Alice, I shall shatter Wonderland and all of its inhabitants. I shall kill Alice, of course, but only after I have broken her fully—and broken the hatter and rabbit and all the others who follow her way. I will break Wonderland and then I will put it back together again. No one will cross my path."

It made sense, in its own twisted away. Simply killing Alice was not enough—Alice needed to be humiliated and broken, before her defeat. She needed to give up. She needed to beg and plead for mercy.

Only then would the Queen of Hearts reign comfortably over Wonderland.

"…that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him forever in the next."

The Queen stood up abruptly, staring dispassionately at the Knave of Hearts. "You are a loyal subordinate, Knave," his voice was soft and low and oh so cold. "I am forced to trust you, for now. Do not make me kill you."

The Knave smirked.

"I'll try not to."

The Queen nodded in farewell, before turning and slipping out of the building, flitting away like a shadow. The Knave did not watch him leave—instead, he turned back to the priest, who was shutting the Bible fondly, as though it were his friend, and smiling.

"Amen."

"How did you know?"

The question had only just occurred to Sakura, as she stepped past the lockers littered with bullet holes and the blood stained tiles, walking sombrely in between Sasuke and Naruto—Kiba had been dragged away by Ino, off to do some early research on Wonderland, see what they could find out, and she missed his familiarity. But, as she walked beside them, the question nagged at her constantly.

Naruto eyed her warily. "…know what?"

She flapped her hands. "How did you know where I was? How did you know to come, just then? How did you know that something had happened; that I needed your help? Just… how?"

"Magic."

She scowled at Naruto. "I'm asking a serious question here—"

"—and I gave you a serious answer!" The blonde responded, sounding indignant and feeling slightly upset that she didn't believe him. "We don't understand it—you suddenly see this images, these illusions, when someone playing the Game appears. Like, when Bill turned up, I saw a lizard. Sasuke saw it too."

The Uchiha nodded.

Sakura felt herself pale. That explained it, then—all of the little things she been seeing; the boy with the hat, the rabbit on the field, the little lizard she'd seen—they'd all been warnings.

"You can see them as well," Naruto continued hastily. "The Game gives you a bit of a warning, you just have to be looking out for them—however, Alice doesn't have an illusion, which means you're safe. Alice can't see the Queen of Hearts' illusion, either, but we can."

"The Cheshire Cat doesn't have an illusion, either."

Sakura froze.

Images flashed in her mind: above the lockers, she'd seen it. A grin. Swirling and fading, with one pointy canine showing. She'd seen the grin of the Cheshire Cat. But he… he didn't have an illusion, so she couldn't have—it wasn't possible.

(anything is possible, alice)

"…Are you okay, Sakura-chan?"

Naruto's voice was distorted, as though she were deep underwater—and his voice seemed to be distant. She realized she'd stopped walking. She'd probably stopped breathing.

"…Sakura-chan?"

She remembered the Cheshire Cat; the way he'd eaten that bird so easily, the blood dribbling down his chin, his mocking voice. He'd whispered her name. He'd known she was. How many other girls were there, called Sakura, with bubblegum pink hair? It had probably been so easy to find out who she was and where she lived. And what had Sasuke said? Never, under any circumstances, should she trust the Cheshire Cat.

"Sakura."

She blinked. Sasuke was stood directly in front of her, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring directly into her eyes—Naruto stood a little further back, watching anxiously.

"He's here, isn't he?"

"W—who?" But she knew exactly who Sasuke was talking about.

"…The Cheshire Cat."

She nodded slowly.

Sasuke's face was unreadable. He lowered his gaze to the floor and she found herself noticing how long his lashes were; then she wondered why she had noticed such an unimportant thing, and found herself unable to answer.

When Sasuke looked up, he was smiling.

"…it's started."

The Cheshire Cat smiled, tugging his knees to his chest as he sat comfortably on one of the two hospital beds—it was still warm. It was the one the little rabbit had been lying in; he could smell the blonde on the pillows. His eyes strayed over to the other bed—Alice's bed—and his smile widened.

"You're going to have to be more careful, Alice-chan, otherwise people are going to get hurt," he scolded the bed, all the while still grinning. "You'll end up losing friends and family and everyone."

He tilted his head, hearing Alice's answer—except the voice he heard was lower, kinder, obviously male—it was the voice of his brother.

("just like you then, mr cat?")

The Cheshire Cat's smile faltered. "…Yes. Just like me."

("don't worry, mr cat—i'm sure your brother isn't hurting too much. in fact, i'm certain of it. he's in a much better place, am i right? you know you can't save him—you're far too late.")

"What do you know, Alice-chan? You're blindly following that Mad Hatter—blindly falling into his mess, and you can't scrabble out of it."

The voice in his head did not reply.

The Cheshire Cat smiled.

"I'm a cuddly little kitten, when you compare me to the Hatter."

("i trust the mad hatter—just like how your brother trusted you.")

"And look where it got him, Alice-chan," the Cheshire Cat laughed, tapping his forehead. "Now he's just a voice in my head. He doesn't live—he doesn't breath—he's just a little voice up here who nag, nag, NAGS away at me. You sound just like him, Alice-chan."

("i am him, mr cat.")

"I know."

("i wonder if you'll be strong enough to save me.")

—welcome to Wonderland, children; where the grass is blue and the sky is green and no one can hear you scream. Welcome to Wonderland, kiddies; where the flowers are beautiful and the people are beautiful and when they pull your heart out, you'll be beautiful too. Welcome to Wonderland, my friends; where nothing is as it seems but everything is so painfully obvious.

Welcome to Wonderland; where it's kill or be killed and there is nothing wondrous about it.

Enjoy your stay.