A/N: This little story takes place after Kakuzu and Hidan's death. So err yes, they're dead... C:

I was listening to Sting's version of Fields of Gold when the idea for KakuHida death fic came to mind haha (although this story is probably as far from the song as you can get XD ).

Kakuzu sweeps his hand against the stalks of cat's tail for the fiftieth time that day. He watches the frizzy flowers narrow as they sift between his fingers, fanning out back to their original form as they leave his grip.

His face contorts into a pained scowl. Realization sets in. The result is the same: nothing.


He can feel nothing. Touch nothing. Taste nothing.

Yet his eyes are able to see into the eternal gold-orange vista that stretches before him. He can hear the wings of the butterflies and the song of the birds. But that is all. He can still feel nothing. Touch nothing. Taste nothing.

He rises, angry at the cruelty of the way things have come to be. Once he had been part of this world, able to feel the warmth of the summer sun on his brown skin. Now he was merely an observer.

He drags his feet in the tangle of weeds. He might as well go... somewhere. Anywhere. It didn't really matter, did it? As long as he kept going. As long as there is something to do.

So he walks – into the embrace of the burning sun whose warmth he cannot feel.

But Kakuzu remembers. He remembers a century's worth of sunrise and sundown. He remembers the distinct brush of a lover's lips caressing his own, fingers entwined in long hair, chests rising and falling, skin plastered to skin, bodies moving as if in a dance. He remembers the biting winds and the searing deserts, warm blood spilling in rivulets down his hands, the smell of copper poisoning the air. He remembers the taste of peaches and sweet potatoes, and the majestic song of the Takigakure falls as they hit the earth from their heavenly abodes.

A century of memories. How could he forget?

Hesitantly, he turns back. He doesn't wish to see it, but he needs to confirm it. He needs to confirm his existence. Or lack of…?

The stalks bow lightly in the wind: untouched, unbent, undisturbed. The patch of weeds on which he was sitting just moments ago cannot be distinguished from the rest of the field. There is no sign of interference, no indication that somebody - that he - had been there. It was as though he never existed.

Kakuzu sighs. The world seems to constantly want to prove his non-existence.

He realizes that he has a century's worth of memories with no way to prove it. He does not belong here, in the world of the living. And he cannot make new memories because whatever he does now will have no effect on the world. He is nothing…

So he walks.

Because there is nothing better to do.




Hidan stands at the edge of the boulder, pondering the idea of falling. Will it hurt? He pushes his chin forward, leaning slightly over the edge. The drop is sharp; about six hundred feet of vertical rock ending in a valley of jagged white stone riddling a carpet of tall grass.

He bends down cautiously and picks up a stray rock. Shifting slowly, he lies on his stomach and stretches out his arm, holding the rock over the edge of the boulder. He drops it.

Violet eyes, gleaming with familiar expectation, trail the downward course of the object as it plunges into the vertical drop. He holds his breath, timing the fall.

One… Two… Three... Four... Five... Six… –

There is a distinct crunch as hard earth shatters against the stone pikes below. He grins.

He sits on his haunches before rising fully, straightening; taking in the glory of the afternoon sun. Of course he cannot feel it. (The sun's rays, that is…)

He is teetering on the edge of the boulder once again, toes curling in anticipation, adrenaline rushing to his head as he lifts his arms to the sides in preparation for the plunge. This is it. He sucks in a deep breath, delirium rising already.

He is falling. He watches the ground loom in closer and closer as he nears his destination. Warm air presses hard against his chest as his body succumbs to gravity. And then… impact.

His pale face shatters against the jagged rocks below. It hurts (like hell) but only for a moment, because soon everything is just black. There is blood – lots of it – trickling down the crude white cones, collecting drop by drop into the fragments of skull.

He smiles. I can finally feel the sun again.

But the rock is still there; he knows it. He dares not look down, but he can feel it nudge his toe.

It never left the edge of the boulder. No matter how many times he dropped it. No matter how many times he watched it shatter.

He grits his teeth.

Cruel, cruel world. Cruel fate. "Fuck you, Jashin sama!" he yells into the afternoon blaze.

He drops to his knees. The boulder anticipates his fall. But how could he? He has already fallen and cannot get up.

His forehead touches the ground. I am dead. Turning his head to a side, he notices a yellow butterfly lightly perch itself on the rock he had thrown so many times before. I am dead… and I already want to die…

Hidan weeps in silence.




Kakuzu stands next to the man, watching him with intent green eyes. The man is kneeling as if in prayer… or defeat?

He longs to talk to him. Ask him what he's doing. Ask him what the weather is like. Does he have a family? Where did he come from? Could he tell him what day it is? Did he know where to go? He had so many questions; too many for his own good. But the one that he longed to ask the most was "Can you see me, hear me, feel me?"

How long has it been, Kakuzu wonders, since the last time he spoke to anyone? He can only remember the cold summers and endless winters that seemed to pass before him as if they were merely handfuls of loose sand wafting in the breeze.

Kakuzu looks at the man and doesn't say anything. Spare yourself the disappointment…

Hidan is aware of the other's presence, yet he does not stir. He knows it wouldn't make a difference. Whoever it was that was standing next to him could probably not see him anyway. After all, he was nothing.

But curiosity gets the better of him and he looks in the direction of the other person.

For a moment, violet meets green.

And then…

"You!" Startled voices call out to each other in unison.

"You can see me?" Hidan asks, standing up now.

"… Yes." Kakuzu blinks. He tries to remember.

"Y-you… you can hear me…"

"I can. Can you?"

Hidan eyes the ring on the man's left middle finger. North. "Kakuzu?"

Three. "Hidan…" I remember.

Hidan raises his hand, slowly, as if any sudden movement will shatter the illusion. Curious fingers touch air as they move closer to Kakuzu. "Can you… feel?"Hidan stops, fingertips feeling nothing, yet hopeful.

Kakuzu brings his hand to Hidan's, shaky. Will I feel…?

Dark fingers intertwine with pale ones. Calloused flesh skims over calloused flesh. Fingertips map knuckles; fingernails graze skin.

Kakuzu smiles. Hidan squeezes his hand tighter.




And so they walk – into the embrace of the setting sun whose warmth they cannot feel.

But that isn't going to be a problem now is it?