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Dem Bones	By : zomboid Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 949 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Dem Bones

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Mourning provides a way for the living to let go of the dead. Death provides a way for the dead to let go of the living. This is why the dead stay amongst the dead because they no longer have that special bond, that special connection to the living, and the living move on because they no longer have any reason to mourn the dead. Oh, the dead will always be remembered by the living, whether in a memory or in a shrine kept in the family house, and the dead will always remember the living, though the memories become faded as they age and reach the time their souls must be reborn. He had mourned twice in his lifetime. Once when his beautiful, beloved sensei committed seppuku to take his transgressions onto her untainted soul to save him, and once when his beloved partner sacrificed his life for him. He had cried both times, unashamedly, mourning in his own way as he made preparations to avenge both lives lost. The first time, he�d promised himself he would become the strongest he could and take out those who had driven him to commit his sin and driven his sensei to kill herself. The second time, he couldn�t stand to live alone anymore, not when his heart was lying cold on the bridge, no longer able to breathe or to smile or to do anything. The second time, he resolved to run to his death, to avenge his beloved and to die. He already knew he wouldn�t be able to follow the same path his beloved would take, but he gave his last breath to make sure he, at least, wouldn�t be alone in hell.

He�d accepted his place in hell, in the frozen wasteland, sitting there within the ice and waiting for his punishment to continue. He�d accepted the fact the only time he would see his beloved would be in his memories, in his dreams, when he finally fell asleep. Still, he�d been very careful about falling asleep, as here in this place one could be torn apart at any given moment, or contorted even more into the strange shapes as the older ones were. He could see that their bodies were twisted into helixes or whorls or balls or twisted completely around. His body had begun the same transformation after so long confined in the ice, his form slowly beginning to contort in his ice prison. He wondered what shape he would take, if he would become a helix or a whorl or twisted backwards.

He�d accepted it. He�d made peace. He was at peace with his memories, encased in that ice. And then, his rest was disturbed. He hadn�t known what it was, at first. An annoying little buzzing, like a fly that wouldn�t leave your ear alone. It was insistent, horrible, and he just wanted it to stop. But it didn�t, it kept buzzing and buzzing until all he could do to drown out the sound was scream. But even that didn�t help, because in his prison he could hear nothing but that buzzing. He just wanted it to stop, to stop and leave him alone to his punishment and to his death and why wouldn�t it stop? He tried to shift, tried to find the location of the buzzing and when he couldn�t he growled in frustration. He felt wrenching pain moments after the buzzing finally, thankfully, stopped. It wasn�t the normal, gradual pain of being contorted, but a sharp horrible pain that constricted every fiber of his being.

He hated it, hated that pain, hated not knowing what was causing that pain.

As if someone was taking pity on him, the knowledge bubbled up in his brain, in the image of a beautiful little boy with wide, dark, innocent eyes. Of that same boy before him, a living shield. Of seeing that beautiful face one last time before he succumbed to darkness.

His lips curled into a snarl, hot anger rising from his very core. It was almost hot enough to melt the ice around his body, he thought, and he hated being locked away. Locked away while the grave of his beautiful, beloved partner was torn apart. He could feel it, feel the dirty, unworthy hands touching, fondling, tainting. He felt a roar bubbling up in his throat and let it out, though it fell on deaf ears all around. He didn�t, couldn�t, allow those unworthy ones to desecrate all he held dear. He wouldn�t be able to rest otherwise.

But what could he do?

His anger was growing hotter. His hatred was what allowed him to move. It was just an inch, but he had moved. Again, another inch, and then the ice around him was cracking, melting, his skin glistening with frigid water as he moved. His contorted body snapped back to rights, rotating joints and cracking his neck. His eyes smoldered with hatred as he moved over the frozen bodies of his comrades and moving to where the beast stood. The wind didn�t bother him, not at all, moving across ice and bodies toward where he could climb out. In the end, he didn�t need to climb at all, his body buffeted by the rough winds and lifted into the blackened sky until he could see the light of day. He felt heavy, shivered at the coldness, the wetness of what surrounded him, and clawed his way out of the dirt, screaming in denial as the fear of being smothered came to be a very real threat to him. When the wind brushed over his face he knew he was free. Dirt shifted aside and he climbed out of the grave, shaking. It was to be expected, the weakness, but soon enough the weakness was gone. Shreds of clothes still hung from his frame, but it didn�t matter, no. Not when he didn�t need to stay alive for too much longer, not after he retrieved what was his.

He limped, until the bone in his leg shifted back into place and then he could run. The scent was faint, but he could follow it. He always could, even when the boy had gotten lost and it took hours to find him again. He walked during the night, ran during the day, and the scent got stronger. The stronger it got, the closer he was, and one night he saw orange licking the dark in a lover�s caress and knew he had found what he was searching for. He approached the camp, slowly, a shadow blending in with the sounds and sights and smells of the night, slipping past the guards toward where the scent was strongest. The scent came from a tent in the middle of the group, a large, ostentatious thing. His lips curled in a snarl but he couldn�t deny what he wanted was within. He moved, slipping beneath the tarp, pausing to gauge his enemy. He shifted, lightly stepping over blankets and pillows, moving across the tent floor toward his quarry.

A black cloth bag slept on a large pillow, the cloth molding to the contents within. He shivered in pleasure at the feeling that bag brought him, moving closer and reaching out to touch the bag. Fingers closed over velvet and he pulled the bag to his chest, cradling it as he would an infant, as he did his beloved little partner when he gave into temptation and forgot his pride and held the boy close to his body to remind himself he wasn�t dreaming. His heart was pounding, pleasure coursing through his blood, and he opened the bag, gazing wide-eyed at the sight of bleached white. He slowly reached in, fingers curling around the pale whiteness. A jolt went through his body and he purred, memories dredged up by love alone. He closed his eyes, savouring those memories, those feelings that they wrought in him, petting, stroking the bones within the bag.

�Haku�� he whispered to nothing, to the night, to the bones.

He closed the bag, holding it tight and close to his body as he made to escape. He left the tent and made to leave the campsite, made to head back to where his heart led him to intern the bones back to their proper place so he could rest again.

Lights exploded behind his eyes and he fell forward. He bent, tumbled, protecting the bones with his very body. He needed to, to protect the bones of what he couldn�t protect in the first place. He came to his feet surrounded. The weapons he didn�t care about; even if he could bleed, the pain would be a sweet caress to what he had felt before these bastards desecrated the grave of the one he held most dear. The pain in his head was nothing, he forced it away, and turned to stare at the leader, the man who had emerged from the tent where the bones had been. The look on the man�s face was one of surprise, of fear, but when those eyes fell on the object he clutched in his arms. Then that look of fear turned into one of victory.

An order was barked before he could react, the weapons moving forward to force him to dodge. One clipped the bag and he roared in denial, holding the bag higher than the weapons could reach. That proved to be his mistake. Before he could bring his wrist down to defend the bag, an arrow sliced across his wrist, pain blossoming. In reaction, he dropped the velvet bag, eyes wide in abject horror, not at the fact he�d dropped it, but at the fact he�d dropped it into the waiting hands of the bastard who�d stolen the bones in the first place. The man�s lips quirked in a cruel smile as he brought the bag to his chest and opened it, reaching in and pulling out a skull, turning it to face him. A shiver coursed up his spine as he watched that grinning, skinless face, eyes wide as he felt his heart constrict.

�Momochi Zabuza,� The man whispered. �What a coincidence to find you here.�

�The bones are mine.� Zabuza whispered, voice rusty. �Return them, and I�ll give you your life.�

The man laughed, raising the skull higher. �By these bones, Zabuza, you are bound. Aren�t you? That�s why you�re here, to get them back.�

Zabuza growled. He tried to take a step forward, found he couldn�t, and growled louder. Laughter met his attempts, his noises. He reached out for the skull and by a sharp command found himself driven to his knees.

�You�re bound to the bones, Zabuza,� the man holding the skull laughed. The laughter ceased all to suddenly as his free hand waved, arms grabbing Zabuza�s and hauling him to his feet. He tried to jerk away, but pain lanced up his spine and settled in his brain. The man moved forward, took Zabuza�s chin in his fingers and tilted his head to stare into the former Demon�s eyes. Something glinted there that Zabuza didn�t like; he jerked his head to try and bite the fingers holding his head hostage. He missed, was even slapped for the effort, and pain again ran up his spine to settle in his brain.

�You�re bound to the bones, Zabuza,� the man said again, leaning in closer to the dark haired man. Pain blossomed in Zabuza�s diaphragm as the man�s fist found a home, driving what breath Zabuza had from him. Darkness danced on the edges of his vision, but he could see the man wave his hand, and those holding him dragged him into the tent, even bound and gagged him. The pressure in his brain lessened, only a bit, but it came back when the skull was revealed again. It was horrible, the pain, and the darkness at the edges began to cover everything, until all he could see was darkness. But he could hear and what he heard hurt everything from his heart to his bones.

�Bound to the bones, and since I hold the bones, you�re bound to me.�

Zabuza�s vision returned, slowly, and he looked up at the skull, then the man. The grin he wore made Zabuza sick, but he couldn�t do anything. Not now. Zabuza growled.

�Bound to the bones, I hold the bones, you�re bound to me.�

Zabuza bowed his head. The gag was removed. He spat into the man�s face and earned a slap. He fell to the side, head ringing. A foot connected with his middle, his face, his chin, his neck. Zabuza felt the blows, felt the pain, and when it stopped, his head was jerked up, his eyes meeting the skulls and the man�s.

�Bound to the bones, Zabuza. You�re bound to the bones, I hold the bones, you�re bound to me.�

Zabuza�s brain felt like it was going to explode. He gasped for breath, writhing, and felt the skull�s teeth give him a tender, loving kiss.

The pain blossomed for a horrible moment � it seemed like an eternity � and then drifted away, a sweet nothing, a lover�s caress.

His eyes felt heavy, terribly so, and he was only vaguely aware of the master moving to cover him with a warm blanket. The master knelt beside him, brushed stray strands of hair away from his cheeks and leaned down to press a kiss to the same place the skull had. The master moved away then, barking orders before moving to lie in the bed he had vacated earlier. The skull watched and the servant slept, the master grinning as he realized the power he held.
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Dem Bones