I do not own Naruto or any of its characters.

I'm really into sibling fics, and this little oneshot came to me when i was trying to sleep last night.

Liar, Liar

"You open this door right now, you little mutt! Get out of there!"

No. No way was he leaving this room. He rolled over on the bed and pressed the pillow against his head, muffling the volume of the voice that barrelled in through the door's crack.

"I'm giving you to the count of three, Kiba! If you're not out there by then, you'd better pray for Kami to save you!" A slight pause, closed promptly by a barked "ONE!" Then, when he refused to respond, "I'm serious, Kiba. Don't… don't you think I've lost enough already? Come out and we'll face this together… Kiba?"

"Go away," he murmured, knowing full well that his mother would not be able to hear him.

He heard her sigh on the other side. "You're not making this any easier for either of us. You're not the only one who is upset. I know you've probably taken it harder than I have, and I've got it pretty damn hard… Kiba, say something!"

"Shut up!" he yelled, and he heard her breath catch.

"Kiba, I-"

"You… you don't understand, not the way I do – not the way she did. You weren't ever home, and even when you were, you couldn't even cook us a proper breakfast without setting the damn stove on fire! And don't say you're sorry!" he snapped, when he heard Tsume make a faint sound of protest. "It won't change anything. She's… she's not going to – just leave me alone!" He sat up and gripped tightly at the blanket, his jagged nails piercing into the fabric. "Leave me alone," he said in a softer tone, almost as if he were talking to himself.

"Kiba… I know it doesn't matter anymore but… I'm sorry. Really, I am. I know it's not going to bring her back to us."

"Mom. Please."

"I'll go once I'm done," she said, and her voice retained a slight edge of authority. "You're right; I wasn't there when I should have been. I wasn't there to be a mother when I was supposed to. I should have gone on that mission with her. But I didn't, and it's my fault she's not here anymore. I know I did something wrong, Kiba, and I don't expect you to forgive me. Just – just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

He snorted. Like hell he was going to suicide.

"I won't."

"Kiba."

"Just go."

"I'm sorry."

Kiba heard her footsteps fade down the hallway. Only when he was certain that she had not disguised her apparent departure with a genjutsu or trick of any sort, he swung the lower half of his body over the edge of the bed and rested his hands by his side. Then he let his gaze wander.

Hana had always been what Kiba had dubbed a 'neat freak'. Her bed was almost always made – the occasional lapses in the habit caused by the times when she had to run off to keep a certain bratty brother away from the tallest tree or the steaming kettle or wherever and whatever Kiba often attempted. Her clothes were hung and placed in the wardrobe, with her drawers ordered according to its contents. Various photos were scattered around, a couple on the bedside table and a few more lined up on the window sill. Kiba gazed long and hard at the frozen memoirs, barely noticing when Akamaru laid his large head on his knee and whined as if he could feel his master's pain.

"I'm okay, Akamaru," Kiba said softly, though his cracked voice belied the claim. He ran his hand through the giant dog's fur, and then got up to kneel beside the two grey canines that remained of his sister's Haimaru Sankyodai. They whimpered and shuffled over so that Kiba could sit between them. One hand rested on a head each, and Akamaru sprawled over his lap.

"I'll keep you guys safe," the boy whispered, patting one of his sister's dogs. "I'll keep my promise, not… not like Hana."

He shouldn't have said her name, shouldn't have let her seep into his consciousness. She was addictive, just like a drug, and there was nothing Kiba could do to wean himself off her absence. The dogs sensed his distress and coiled around him, brushing their fur against his skin to remind him that he was not alone.

There had once been a time before Kiba had suddenly discovered that touching a girl was considered breaking the code of a Male's Cool, and that a mere hug would transfer thousands of 'girl germs' to him, which would then apparently keep all other 'cool boys' from playing with him. Before he had begun ducking whenever Hana tried to force down his unruly hair, Kiba had enjoyed his sister's company to no particular extent. She had received her canine partners before he had, and the two of them could often be found in the park, chasing three puppies around the swings, laughing as the occasional grey streak leapt up at them and tickled their chin with a lolling pink tongue.

Even now, sixteen years since Kiba had been born, the two Inuzuka siblings rarely had any fights. There were the occasional scowls, warnings and slightly offensive comments and jokes. It was difficult for him to despise Hana in any way. She was the one he toddled to when he felt a strange wet mass in his diaper in the middle of the night; she was always the one who found him locked up in the cupboard under the stairs when thunderstorms came rolling in; she was the only one who bothered to cook breakfast for him and put up with his complaints of lack of meat and roll her eyes when he shot out of his seat with a yelp and announced that he was late.

But on the rare occasions that they disagreed with each other, their arguments were intense. They often reached a point where Tsume would just throw up her hands and give up and leave her children to scuffle it out, and would check in once every ten or so minutes just to make sure that they had not killed each other.

They fought with words, wielded insults like swords and skewered their opponent with the sharpest of nasty comments.

"I hate you, I hate you!" Kiba yelled every single time, as if he were a little child. "How many times have I told you? Don't try to clean up my room! You just end up making me have to find my stuff and I get in trouble with Iruka-sensei because I can't find my shuriken set!"

"And how many times have I told you?" she would shoot back. Her eyes, usually so calm and friendly, would blaze with anger and an emotion that Kiba would learn to identify as pain. "If you would just take care of your own stuff, I wouldn't have to do it for you! Don't come running to me and telling me to do this and that for you if it's not what you want!"

"Fine! It's not like I need you anyway! I wouldn't care even if you died!"

Although he would yell the hurtful words out from the top of his lungs, Kiba would always realise, when he barricaded himself in his room to fume, that Hana had not meant to infuriate him in any way. Pride prevented him from seeking her out and apologising, so he always waited until very late at night for her to kick his door and scream equally harmful threats through the locked door – but she never did. And, as they grew older, Hana fell into the habit of leaving without a word or a glare, she would slip on her sandals and work with her animal patients in the vet, while Kiba lay on his bed and, like he had for years, wait for her to come home.

He always fell asleep waiting up for her, and when he drowsily opened his eyes, he would always find his head in her lap and her hand gently fingering his wild locks.

"Did I wake you?" she would whisper every time, and he would shake his head. "I'm sorry, Kiba. I didn't mean to yell at you."

And he would nod and acknowledge her apology even though he knew it was not his to accept and vow that, next time, he would draw courage to be the first to apologise.

The only time Kiba woke to find himself cradled in his sister's arms without the aid of an argument was the night he had been admitted into the hospital after Akamaru had fallen prey to a biological weapon and went berserk, almost killing his master in the process.

"I'm sorry, Kiba," she'd said, like she had unnecessarily so many times before.

"For what?" he asked, his voice cracked. Wordlessly, Hana reached for a glass of water and levered her brother up against her body, holding the cup to Kiba's dry lips until he had drained the last drop. When he did and was laid back on the bed, resting on Hana's lap, he asked again, "For what?"

"I was supposed to protect you, wasn't I?" she murmured, shrugging lightly. One arm cinched around Kiba's neck and tightened gently. "But I didn't. I just stood there and let you face it by yourself."

"Akamaru's my partner. It was my responsibility to get it right."

She smiled faintly. "And it was my responsibility to keep you safe. As your sister?"

He frowned, but the bandages binding his chin shifted it into a comical grimace. "I don't need you to keep me safe," he said indignantly. "I'm the man in the house. I'll be the one doing the protecting. I'll protect you, Hana." He grinned. "Because you're the girl."

He'd almost been certain that she would whack him alongside the head. But she only smiled and rubbed her hand against his bruised cheek, gently caressing the wounds on his face. "Right. So you don't need me to protect you, do you now, Kiba? Not from the monster under the bed or the ghost in the drains?"

"Pah! I'm not scared of those anymore!"

"You'd better not be," she said dryly. She gently rocked her brother until Kiba's eyes started to droop. Then, in a whisper, she said, "You'll protect me, Kiba, but I'll care for you. Always."

"Hmm?" he said, his words slurred by fatigue. "You will?"

"Yes. I'll always be there to care for you, Kiba. It's a promise." He'd snored then, and she had smiled, allowing her younger sibling to rest.

But he'd heard her, and since then had taken it for granted that Hana would always be there to tend to his many bruises and cuts, to have breakfast ready for him when he rolled out of bed in the morning, to pack his lunch and leave it by the door when he dashed out of the house, ten minutes late.

Today, he'd woken to find all his expectations broken, crushed and tossed away.

Just like the way Hana had, reportedly, fallen at the hands of the missing nins.

Kiba leaned forward and pressed his cheek against Akamaru's warm belly, grinding down hard on his teeth. He hadn't believed Tsume when he had stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, wondering what scentless breakfast his sister had concocted for him because, surely, she would have come back from her mission sometime in the night. He'd ignored her strangely red eyes, brushed off the hand she had laid on his shoulder, and stormed into Hana's room, determined to rouse the lazy prankster – and found himself throwing open the door to breathe in the musky odour of a week of misuse and his sister's already fading scent.

Tsume had quietly tugged him outside, and they had walked out the door in time to see the bloodied stretcher being marched past by a group of grave-faced chunins. Kiba hadn't needed to throw back the white sheet and peer down at the body to know that it was her. The second, smaller stretcher that followed, bearing the crushed corpse of the eldest of the Haimaru triplets told him all he needed to know.

After the Sand and Sound invasion, Hana had found her brother curled under the large oak tree in their backyard, tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Crybaby," she'd commented as she lowered herself to sit beside him.

"Shut up," he muttered, but made no move to wipe the tears.

"You shouldn't cry, little brother."

"Yeah?" he said sarcastically, rounding on her. "And why not?"

She stared straight ahead. "Because you are a shinobi."

Kiba blinked in surprise, his vision blurring slightly as a tear was pressed against his pupil. "What's that got to do with anything?" he demanded. "Just because I'm a ninja, I can't cry – what kind of reasoning is that? The Hokage is dead. He was protecting our village before either of us were even born! And now he's dead! Lots of people died, Hana. How can you just sit here and say things like that?!" His eyes widened. "You're so… you're so cold-hearted."

"You think so?" she asked quietly.

"Well – look at you! You don't even look sad!"

"Kiba, listen," she said, and the tone in her voice didn't allow him to get up, yell words down at her, and stomp away. "We're shinobi. We see people die – sometimes we're the ones that kill them. It's cruel, I know, but we're not allowed to cry. It's us who protect this village; we don't have time to wipe the blood off our hands and cry. By the time you've killed the first man, you're ready to turn around and kill another."

Kiba found that his mouth was hanging open. Hana - his sister Hana who could barely bring herself to spank him for eating out of the cookie jar - expressively speaking so emotionlessly, lecturing him on how to kill. The world must be ending tomorrow.

"You smell that?" Hana asked suddenly.

He frowned and sniffed the air. "What?"

"Blood. We're sitting here, but even as we talk about them, there are shinobi patrolling the streets, securing the border. They might have had family members taken away from them, perhaps even killed in front of their eyes – but they're not allowed to cry." Hana smiled and flicked a finger lightly against her brother's forehead protector. "This piece of metal here won't let you cry, Kiba, because it represents what you are."

So since that day, Kiba hadn't cried.

Until now, the barriers had stayed strong. He'd fought through many battles, attained scars, both emotional and permanently physical. But he never cried. He either growled, hissed, moaned or fainted dead. He didn't cry.

But now the barriers were coming down. He reached up and tore his forehead protector from his head. He squeezed it tight until the dogs whimpered. Then he tossed it at the wall, where it clattered to the floor and lay face down, just like Hana must have had in the last moments of her life.

She was dead, passed on, become part of the buried prone.

She had left them. Left Kiba.

"I'll always be there to care for you, Kiba. It's a promise."

So much for a promise.

Kiba buried his face against Akamaru's fur. Inuzukas took promises to heart, and he'd glued Hana's to his.

"You lied, Hana," he whispered into his companion's belly. "You're a liar."

"I'll protect you, Hana…"

But then again, so was he.