Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Bad Habit ❯ bad habit ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Orochimaru-kun or any of the Naruto cast… T_T I cry. Yet, if I did own it, things would be a little strange, ne? so there. I don't own him. I only worship from afar.

*************************************************************** ***********************

~Bad Habit~

It had been the same way for years now. Orochimaru had known that he had gotten himself into a bad habit.

Kabuto had told him this many times; these had been the times when Orochimaru had bothered to listen to people. He no longer listened to the protests and pleadings now that he had been given a fate worse then death.

He was a broken man.

He was in pieces.

No more could he do things on his own.

He had Kabuto following him around, weighting on him hand and foot every hour of every day now.

It was not out of a pathetic urge to become some fawned after Hokage - no. The time of wanting to become the Hokage had long past itself away into the land of the Undead.

He supposed that was what he was now.

Undead…

Not living in his own body, for he could neither care for himself or live unattended. It hurt him to be this way.

He could not move his hands much more then a dull flapping; even that was too much for him.

He found himself wasting away inside.

No one cared about him, he knew, for he was forsaken to their senses. They had been the ones to punish him so. They had been traitors to his cause.

He had respected them and they had become traitors to him.

He did not blame the 3rd for his choice of actions.

He would have done the same in the 3rd's place. The punishment invoked upon him was one of torment and misery.

It was very much the thing he loved to bring upon those that did not follow him.

Yet he had gotten himself into a bad habit now.

At first, the cutting had only taken a little persuasion from his frozen and ravaged hands. He had held the knife only to try to feel something self inflicted; to feel something that was not caused by the cursed seal. He had wanted to feel.

Not that it had mattered much.

Blood was blood.

Pain was pain.

It had neither bothered him, nor intrigued him.

He tore at the flesh of his useless arms with reckless abandon.

What did he need them for anways?

They brought more suffering to him then any other part of the curse.

They bled constantly for the first few weeks after he had been punished.

Ha.

He knew it was impossible to stop now, after all, he had nothing left to do with his life.

He was lonely.

Kabuto was his only companion now that his village had fallen.

He was surprised that Kabuto had stayed with him through the thick and the thin.

Most of the others had thrown themselves to the mercy of the Konoha Army.

It had sickened him to see his own fostered family draw away from him as if he were a plague.

Perhaps that was what he had become, he mused to himself, a plague that Konoha had been trying to stamp out. Whatever the case, it was now apparent that Kabuto wasn't going to leave him to die like the others had.

He appreciated it.

In a corner of his blackened heart, he felt love for Kabuto's devotion.

Even after he had tried to make the Uchiha his favourite by pushing Kabuto away, Kabuto had remained faithful.

It was Kabuto that had first found out about the cutting.

He had caught Orochimaru in the act one night while coming into the room to tuck the Sannin in for the night. (The act was more out of familiarity instead of affection. Orochimaru had already cut himself off from most affection since the others had betrayed him to save their own pathetic lives.)

Kabuto had seen the blood.

He had seen the pained expression on Orochimaru's face at being found out.

At first, Kabuto had only stared in blank disbelief at the Sannin; sitting there, holding a blade between his shaking, useless fingers. It had seemed impossible for Orochimaru to do something so childish.

Yet, as Kabuto had looked, Orochimaru had tried to hide.

It had been a pathetic attempt, in Kabuto's eyes. The `hiding' had been nothing more then the man trying to pull himself deeper under the cover of the red comforter.

Kabuto had sighed and simply taken the blade away.

Orochimaru had simply turned a way and had refused to look Kabuto in the face for a week.

Sometimes, Kabuto would sneak inside the room to watch Orochimaru; worry was something that Kabuto had ignored, yet now it was key.

He had gone through the laundry basket in search of evidence that it had not been just a brief slip of sanity, as he had hoped, and what he had found made his blood boil.

The markings, tell tale signs, had been there all along; Tiny blots of blood that were splashed at random around the edge of the sheets.

He had crumpled up the sheet in his hands and had stormed into the Sannin's room, throwing them onto the bed covers out of rage.

Why, he had shouted.

Why are you hurting yourself?

Orochimaru had looked away again; a shrunken, dark look had clouded his eyes.

He had refused to speak up for his own defence.

It was a bad habit, Kabuto stated fiercely, to do such things. Orochimaru would simply have to stop that instant.

But Orochimaru hadn't stopped.

He had continued until one day he simply found himself incapable of existing any more.

It had been enough.

Later that same day, Kabuto found him lying beneath the covers; the top of his head lay pressed against the white pillow.

A red tinge had tainted the bedding a hazy pink.

Kabuto had wept bitterly.

He had pulled his friend onto his lap and had cried into Orochimaru's chest.

Orochimaru had reached up weakly and had touched Kabuto's face; the coarseness of the bandages around his slender fingers had burned like sandpaper.

Neither had said a word.

They sat together until Orochimaru had drained his life from his veins for the final time.

And for the first time since the curse, Orochimaru had allowed himself to smile.