Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

June 9, 8bNb

First off, in my defense, I had just pulled two all-nighters procrastinating on a pair of midterm essays due in less than what was supposed to be two hours, give or take a few minutes, and I just wanted to get whatever snatch of sleep I could before getting up and signing onto my first class meeting of the day.

So when I blearily open my eyes to find a stretch of uninterrupted starry sky where my bedroom ceiling would normally be, with grass prickling along the lengths of my arms and legs instead of the futon I’ve been using as a bed ever since I had to move in with my dad, I am more than just a little confused, and really slow on the uptake.

Sitting up with a shiver from the chill in the night air, without thinking I call out, “Tou-san?” and freeze.

That’s not what my voice sounds like.

My mouth suddenly going dry, I chance a glance down at my hands to make out their shape and size, and instantly feel my stomach sink. If this is real, I think it’d be safe to say that I’m not twenty-two and may or may not be myself in the physical sense anymore. Before I can expend any more thought on the matter, the faint sound of a door opening behind me catches my attention. My head reflexively swivels to look over my shoulder and all thought promptly ceases.

Oh. Shit. I know that face, that hair, if even only vaguely. The vest and headband the man who opened the door is wearing are far more familiar. It takes a few moments for my brain to come back online and get with the program, but once I recover from the initial shock, my mind switches track to processing everything with the frantic speed of a whirlwind.

Severely pronounced bags under dark eyes; he hasn’t been sleeping. Ashen pallor to his skin, dotted with beads of sweat, fear or...? My eyes finally land on what he’s holding in one hand. An unsheathed sword, reminiscent of a Japanese katana, but I know it’s a tantō, a short saber, because—

The White Fang of Konoha, Hatake Sakumo, killed himself with such a blade.

The tears come unbidden, and I couldn’t have stopped the anguished sound that tears from my throat even if I tried.

(Probably) Sakumo twitches faintly in alarm as I descend into hysterics, my hands shaking uncontrollably as keening wails are muffled only by my clenched teeth and curled tongue. He hurries to set aside his blade and approaches me cautiously, his eyes glancing between me and the surrounding area.

When he crouches down in front of me, I raise my eyes to meet his concerned gaze.

He says something softly, and it takes me a few moments to parse his words.

“Easy, easy, you’re safe. What happened? Where are your parents?”

It’s not like I spontaneously understand him. I have to focus on what he says, remember the equivalents in my home tongue. My comprehension is the result of me studying the Japanese language for just a little more than five or six years. A good half of that time was mainly unguided and unstructured self-study.

A sob escapes me, partly because I don’t have all the answers I need and mostly because I’m face-to-face with a man who has at some point convinced himself that those around him would be better off if he no longer existed. I take in a breath that shakes me to the core and reach a hand out to press gently over Sakumo’s stomach.

I don’t miss the small flinch.

Even on the best of days, even with my home language, I struggle with words. My vocabulary in Japanese is limited, and seems so, so distressingly inadequate in the face of someone who is ready to give up.

But I know that willingness to let go so well it aches. And if I’m right about Sakumo, I know what he needs to keep going in spite of his desire to just lay down and die.

But how to convey the aftermath that I feared and regretted on my weakest nights? How to encapsulate the anguish of those left behind?

Curling my fingers into the vest covering where a blade once pierced, I force myself to heave in a deep breath. Slowly, the lyrics of a song unspool from the jumbled and tangled mess in my head.

Kimi ga nozonda no ha

Ore ga nozonda no ha

My new voice shakes, unsteady, but the melody and words and their meaning are clear. What it was I wished for, what it was you wished for…

Nokosareta koe ga  

Nageki, kimi wo omoi nagara  

Another flinch from Sakumo, this one far more pronounced. The voice left behind weeps, thinking of you.

Hitori, kimi no tame ni utau  

Hitori, kimi no tame ni—

My voice breaks on the last word, but that’s fine, the message is… I swallow back another sob. That was all that was needed. Please let it be enough. Alone, singing for your sake, alone, for your sake—

My breath hitches. “If you can’t live for your sake, live for someone else,” I implore, looking up to lock gazes with Sakumo even as my tears threaten to stain my cheeks. “Please.”

It hurts to see Sakumo like this. It hurts for me to say these words to him. As if I don’t already know how much it aches to live solely out of obligation to those still alive. Out of a desire to not hurt those I hold dear. Out of fear of leaving them behind to agonize and mourn and wrongfully blame themselves in the aftermath.

It hurts to see the realization sink in, the horror and anguish rising to the surface as the possible repercussions of his actions plant themselves in the forefront of his mind. If a fourteen-year-old girl with a civilian background could picture so clearly the aftermath of her own suicide, I can only imagine the magnitude of the conclusions a shinobi—famed for his prowess and wit—in his prime can draw.

I lean forward and press my forehead to his chest. All I can think to say is “I’m sorry” over and over as I cry over what once was, what now is, and the long yet-to-be that can—and very likely will—stretch so far as to become disheartening.

Please, I plead to whatever out there that may care to listen, please, let this be enough.

Chapter Text

June 10, 8bNb

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because when I open my eyes, they’re crusty and a bit swollen from crying. I have a bit of a headache and feel like I need to sleep for another week at least. My nose is stuffy, and I blanch with mild disgust. I hate having to breathe through my mouth. 

I’m pressed up against something warm that shifts faintly at a slow, steady rhythm. I look up to see Hatake Sakumo dozing, his worn features highlighted by the tentative morning light seeping through the windows of his home. I’m cradled in the gentle fold of his arms, and the movement I noticed earlier is the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathes softly in sleep. We’re sitting on a sofa in what I assume is some sort of living room.

So it wasn’t a dream. I’m really here.

I let out a quiet sigh, trying to wrap my head around the realization, and all the things it entails. I slump in dejection. I’m in way over my head.

... I’ll learn how to deal. ‘Fake it ‘til you make it’ is one of my go-to mottos for a reason.

“You awake?”

I jolt in surprise and snap my head up to see Sakumo regarding me tiredly, his gaze solemn. I wince faintly at the dark circles and faint redness lining his eyes.

I reach up and carefully prod at the skin under my eyes. “Think we match?” I ask, half morbidly curious—did my accrued sleep deficit and resulting discoloration beneath my eyes manifest itself with the me here, I wonder—and half hoping to lighten the mood.

Sakumo lets out an amused huff that sounds like it was startled out of him, and I can’t help the relieved smile that stretches across my face in response. He can still laugh.

He gives me a wry smile, but his eyes look searching. “What were you doing outside my house, last night? How did you get past the...”

I frown, my eyebrows furrowing as I fail to recognize some of the words. I try sounding them out out loud. I tilt my head inquisitively, hoping he’ll explain what he’s talking about.

Sakumo purses his lips. “... are a barrier of sorts that only let family and trusted friends pass through.”

I frown thoughtfully for a moment as I translate his explanation, then brighten when it clicks. Protection wards. He’s asking how I got past protection wards. Chakra or blood based ones, maybe, seeing as he took care to mention family and trusted friends. I think. Probably. I make a mental note to remember the term he used. I frown in puzzlement immediately after. How did I get past them? Did I even get past them?

“When I woke up, I was in front of your house,” I tell Sakumo honestly. “I don’t know how I got here.”

Sakumo looks troubled by my response. Which is fair, I realize, and completely understandable. It could mean a security risk, a flaw in the wards. If I could get through—assuming that I did—could others do the same?

“Your parents?” he finally asks.

I think back to my mom and dad, and feel the blood drain from my face as the realization starts to sink in. My expression crumples, and I press it into Sakumo’s vest. “No longer... here.” 

The likelihood of my mom or dad ending up here with me are slim to none. Even if they did end up here, their chances of survival would probably be worse than mine at the moment. It wouldn’t be impossible for them to survive, but... They only know a small fraction of the Japanese language as compared to me. Both are civilians, and getting on in age. But if they somehow ended up like me? De-aged and in different bodies? Finding them would likely be an exercise in futility.

It’s probably for the best that I come to terms with them being gone for good from now on. Probably for the best... but it hurts. 

No more days spent going out to lunch and catching up with my mom, stopping by her place and settling down to read her a chapter or two from whatever story or fan fiction I find (or write) that I think she might like. No more moments spent brushing my fingers through my cat’s fluffy black mane of fur. No more conversations at the dinner table or in the car that devolve into giggling fits spurred by flashes of wickedly funny or well-timed quips or jokes. No more awed and enthusiastic conversations where my mom shares what she found in her tarot draws and how they manifested in the days following.

No more days welcoming my dad home with an “okaeri,” and receiving a “tadaima” in return as he trundles into the rented house we’re staying at through the garage and narrow kitchen. No more semi-weekly runs to various fast food restaurants because we can’t really cook worth a damn unless we’re working with cup noodles or freezer foods. No more dinners spent together enjoying music from my playlist or the internet with the Bluetooth speaker.

No more hugs from either. No way to see whether they find their ways to their happy endings.

They’re gone.

What if I’m no longer there, where I used to be? What if I disappeared, and they were left behind? What if they lost their only daughter...?

I can’t hold back the quiet and heartfelt, mournful wails that spill from my mouth as I cling to Sakumo’s vest. They’re gone. I vaguely register Sakumo’s arms tightening around me, pulling me closer into a hug. At some point, his fingers start carding gently through my hair, and he murmurs something I don’t have the wherewithal to translate.

I cry until I feel so wrung out that I no longer have the energy or tears to continue. I feel hollowed out and frayed at the edges, raw and aching like I haven’t since my best friend and I parted ways because of my own insensitive behavior, since I lost my grandma to a car accident, since I lost my dog, cats and mice to old age. Raw and aching like I haven’t since that one night I almost went through with it, stopped only by the vision of my loved ones left hurting and wondering ‘why?’ in the aftermath.

“‘m sorry,” I mumble, my voice hoarse.

“You do not have to apologize for feeling sad about those you’ve lost,” Sakumo murmurs back. “It is okay to cry when you are hurting, so long as there are no enemies present to take advantage of it.”

A small breath of laughter flutters weakly from my mouth. “Sounds about right. But you’re tired and hurt, too. And I got your vest dirty.”

“My vest has... things far worse than your tears,” Sakumo hums, after a brief pause. I didn’t catch one of the words, a verb, but I think I know what he means, and huff another weak laugh.

“I think we match,” I finally say after a stretch of comfortable silence.

Sakumo lets out a questioning sound that vibrates beneath my cheek.

“I tried to cheer you up earlier. You did the same for me, just now. Thank you.”

Sakumo is quiet for a few moments before he shifts, lifting me up and carrying me as he gets to his feet. “I think you may be right,” he sighs, and his tone is a rueful mix of relief and sorrow. He starts moving towards another room. “We do match.”

Chapter Text

We end up in his kitchen, a rather quaint setup that reminds me of the kitchen at my mom’s place, although this one is a little more rustic and eastern in design. The lance of pain at the reminder makes a lump form in my throat. Sakumo glances at me briefly, a flash of concern showing through his dark grey, almost black, gaze. I shake my head sadly; I don’t think I’m capable of words at the moment, what with the tight knot of pain lodged in my throat.

Sakumo shifts me over until I’m secure against his left hip, freeing up his right hand to open cabinets and pull out a kettle—which he fills with water before placing over a stove flame—some tea bags—I vaguely recognize the kanji characters used for green tea—and two mugs. While we wait for the water to boil, he moves over to a table in the adjoining room and settles me into one of the chairs.

Instead of taking a seat himself, Sakumo turns my chair to face him before crouching down in front of me.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Aside from the name I was given at birth—which is without a doubt foreign and unusable here—I have many names, some given to me by friends and family, others I found or crafted for myself or the characters of stories I write. In homage to one of the characters I created, whose circumstances match mine the most, I’ll be—

“Hiiragi,” I answer softly. Holly, for defense and protection, in the language of flowers. I unconsciously trace out the shape of a holly leaf as I answer, and Sakumo regards the motion curiously before recognition replaces the confusion.

“Hiiragi-kun, huh?” He murmurs thoughtfully. “That’s a good name.”

I blink bemusedly at Sakumo’s choice of address. -kun? I wonder, confused. Not -chan? I settle for just smiling slightly and admitting, “I like it, too.”

Sakumo nods. “Can you tell me where you’re from?”

Another world.

... Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna go over well. But what do I tell Sakumo? I can’t just pull some random nation or village out of my ass and hope it works. Sakumo is a shinobi, part of a Hidden Village that has a solid Intelligence Division, if I’m remembering things right. I’m a kid again, at least four years old as far as I can tell, and that means at least four years of a back or cover story that I really don’t have. I look up at Sakumo, feeling lost.

Concern creeps into his gaze. “Can you read maps? Could you point out where you’re from if it’s on a map?”

“If it’s noted on a map, I think I should be able to,” I tell him. The trouble is, I know for certain that where I’m from won’t be marked on any of his maps.

Sakumo nods slowly at that, his expression considering. Finally:

“Let me get you a map. Can you wait right here for me?”

I nod morosely, at a loss for what else to do.

Sakumo gently pats my head as he straightens before leaving the room. It’s so weird, I note absently, for people to appear like giants now. I’m used to being at least at eye level or just a bit shorter than adults I interact with. It’s definitely going to take me some time to adjust.

At some point, I rest my head on the table with a sigh, pushing the idle observation to the side for the time being. I’m so in way over my head. How should I proceed from here? This reality… The story I remember… There is just… so much. There are so many things I want to address, to change, so many people I want to help. So many happy endings I want to see realized (if only because my family didn’t get theirs, and I don’t want to see the same here, if I can do something about it).

But given what the present reality is, I need to establish myself somehow, someway, first. One of the hardest things I’ve had to recognize and put to practice is the fact that I can’t help others if I can’t help myself.

I catch the sound of quiet footfalls and look up to see Sakumo enter the dining area. 

Huh. Was he being polite and not trying to sneak up on me?

He blinks in surprise but otherwise doesn’t react to my noticing his approach. In one hand he holds a rolled up scroll, which he opens and lays out on the table in front of me. I lean forward to get a better look. It’s decidedly less filled out as compared to some of the maps of the Elemental Nations I’ve looked up online. Not all of the Hidden Villages are marked on this map either. The nation and country names are about the only places I vaguely recognize. I scan the map, taking in all the markers for smaller villages, compare the geography to what little I recall from my country—from my world, my home—and find no overlap. I can’t even read the names of a majority of the places on the map. Kanji never was my strong suit.

My shoulders slump. “It’s not here,” I say helplessly, turning to look up at Sakumo, and it takes effort to fight back tears. And here I thought I’d drained myself dry for the day, at least.

Sakumo frowns in confusion. “Not here?” he repeats, bewildered, and moves closer to examine the map as well. “You didn’t by any chance fall from the sky, did you?”

I can’t hide my reflexive cringe at his question. It certainly seems more plausible than me showing up out of nowhere from another world and being changed into a child.

Sakumo catches my reaction, and he fixes his gaze intently on me. I freeze, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. His expression is blank, wiped clean of emotion, his gaze piercing, calculating. This is the White Fang of Konoha, a shinobi of such caliber as to be compared to the Legendary Sannin. While he may not be Sarutobi Hiruzen the Professor, or Senju Tobirama, who may very well have been one of only a handful of individuals to have at least had some inkling about dimensions and alternate realities, Sakumo isn’t stupid.

I can’t tell the truth. But I can’t lie, either.

“I fell asleep,” I finally say, to fill the silence. “I fell asleep, and woke up here. I don’t know what happened in between.”

Sakumo spends several moments scrutinizing my face, and I hide nothing in that vein. I’m tired, scared, worried for Sakumo, and feel helpless and lost beyond belief. But most importantly, I am telling the truth.

Eventually, the sharpness to his gaze softens, his stony features relaxing gradually. “I see,” he says gently, even though he probably really doesn’t. Not the entirety, at least. But these are the facts I can give him, and have thus far:

Hiiragi is the name I now answer to.

I fell asleep, and woke up in front of Sakumo’s house, within the boundaries of his Clan Compound’s protection wards, without knowing how I got there.

I am lost.

My parents are no longer with me.

Wherever I came from is not marked on any of the maps in his possession.

The whistling tone of the water in the kettle boiling reaches our ears. Sakumo stands slowly and pats my head again, retreating into the kitchen to pour some tea. He returns with a mug in each hand, placing one in front of me and the other to the side before rolling up the scroll and setting it somewhere it won’t be in danger of being spilled on.

I wrap my hands gingerly around the mug in front of me, pulling it a little closer and taking some comfort from the warmth. “Thank you,” I murmur.

Before Sakumo can reply, a voice calls out from a few rooms over.

“Tou-san?” 

“In the dining room, Kakashi. We have a guest,” Sakumo calls back.

I turn my head to face where the voice came from, my curiosity getting the better of me. I track the pad of approaching footsteps, then turn away to stare down at my tea before Kakashi enters. In case he doesn’t have his face covered, I tell myself, and it’s partly true. But I’m also a bit nervous. I am an unknown, and I’m not sure how he’ll take my sudden intrusion into his home. 

His light footsteps stop abruptly when he enters the dining room, and I wait a few moments before looking over to Kakashi. He’s so young, I think, half in awe and half in heartache. He can’t be much older than six or seven, as far as I can tell. I glance at Sakumo briefly, and his features tighten marginally with what looks like guilt, likely reading where my thoughts have gone from my expression. I wince. I didn’t mean to remind him like that. 

I turn my focus back to Kakashi and dip my head in greeting. “Hello,” I say softly, and wait for Kakashi to make the first move.

The younger Hatake stares at me blankly before his sharp, inquisitive gaze moves to Sakumo, looking for some cue from his father.

Sakumo is quiet for several long moments, his expression tranquilly pensive. “Hiiragi-kun,” he starts, and I blink. There’s that -kun address again. I tilt my head slightly to the side in unspoken inquiry.

“Do you know what you want to do from here on?” He asks, his voice gentle.

“... Live, I guess,” I answer quietly before venturing a sip of tea. It’s cooled down just enough to not be scalding. I can’t help the faint grimace in response to the initial bitter, earthy taste of green tea—I’m used to adding a spoonful of honey to help mellow the flavor a bit—but the second sip doesn’t bother me as much. “I don’t know how I should do that, though,” I admit ruefully.

Sakumo’s expression turns faintly somber. Kakashi glances back and forth between the two of us before seating himself at the table, next to Sakumo.

“If you’d like, you can stay here.”

My fingers tighten reflexively around the mug in my hands at Sakumo’s quiet offer, and I jerk up to stare at him, wide-eyed. Kakashi’s eyes widen slightly as well. I take a moment to take a deep breath, push away the immediate relief that welled up as soon as the words left the elder Hatake’s mouth.

“Why?” I choke out. “I can’t—” I struggle to find words. “This place is your home!” I say frantically, gesturing to both Sakumo and Kakashi. “A stranger—so easily—!” I fumble with my phrasing, knowing only some of the words, but not enough to articulate. I grimace, frustrated and alarmed in equal measures.

“Hiiragi-kun,” Sakumo says softly, and I shut my mouth with a quiet click. “I feel I can trust you not to abuse my invitation, should you accept it.”

A lump forms in my throat at the admission. Coming from a veteran shinobi, someone who can’t afford to not regard any abnormality, outside the battlefield or not, with paranoia, that’s... that’s a big deal. Capital ‘B’ Big Deal. There’s no way Sakumo is making this offer lightly.

I look between the two Hatake seated across from me before settling my gaze on Kakashi. “What do you think?” I ask him.

Kakashi blinks, caught off guard by my sudden inquiry, before glancing briefly at his father. “If Tou-san says you can stay, then you can stay.”

I make a half-helplessly amused, half-frustrated sound at the back of my throat. “That’s not an answer,” I press. I spend a moment thinking of how to phrase my dilemma in a way that would make sense to Kakashi with my limited vocabulary. “Would you be okay if I, a stranger, suddenly started living with you and your precious person?”

Kakashi straightens, and I catch a contemplative, almost approving glint in Sakumo’s eyes out of my peripheral.

This time, Kakashi spends several minutes mulling over my question, alternating between staring down at the surface of the table and leveling me with a considering look, as if he were trying to determine the worth of my character with what little information he has to go off of. It’s honestly incredibly nerve-wracking. When he finally sets his shoulders and takes a breath to answer, I brace myself. 

“You can stay,” he declares firmly. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t explain. He states it like blunt fact, a straightforward, immutable truth. 

What the hell am I supposed to say in the face of that?

My soft, embarrassed, “Okay,” is met with Sakumo’s warm smile.

Chapter Text

The first order of business to attend to after receiving Kid Kakashi’s seal of approval, according to Sakumo, is figuring out what I’ll need for my stay with the Hatake. First on the list is personal toiletries—toothbrushes and the like. The second Sakumo brings up clothes shopping, however, I visibly cringe.

It’s in part because I don’t want Sakumo to have to go so far out of his way to buy so much for me, and also in part because I’d rather not have Sakumo have to endure prolonged exposure to villagers that hate his guts just to get me a set of clothes.

Seemingly intuiting at least part of the reason behind my apprehension, Sakumo glances down at Kakashi before examining me speculatively. “Kakashi, do you think it’d be okay to lend Hiiragi-kun the clothes that no longer fit you?”

“Sure. It’s not like I’m going to be using them anymore.” Bless Kid Kakashi and his practicality.

My shoulders slump, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding with quiet relief.

Kakashi gives me a thoughtful look before turning abruptly, tossing, “I’ll go grab some,” over his shoulder before he strides off, likely to his room.

I let out another quiet breath. “Sorry,” I mumble, my fingers curling into the light fabric of the pale grey kimono shirt I arrived in this reality in. I look back up to meet Sakumo’s gaze. “Pay back a debt—somehow—” My shoulders hunch as I look down and run a frustrated hand through my (surprisingly soft) hair. I know most of the words, but how to phrase them always trips me up—

Sakumo crouches down next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder to get my attention. “No, that’s not—” he pauses, his expression turning pained. “That’s not necessary. Rather, I owe you.”

I stare at him owlishly, struggling to comprehend how, exactly, Sakumo came to that bewildering conclusion.

He smiles ruefully at my expression. “You saved me from myself, after all,” he tells me in all seriousness and kindness.

My expression crumbles. “No,” I bite out, and he blinks in surprise. “I stopped you, but I didn’t save you. Living... can become worse than dying. That’s how it felt for you, right? In that case, I didn’t save you. I only... your suffering... longer...” I look away, a small sound of frustration escaping me as my words fail me, again.

Sakumo’s expression tightens with puzzled concern before realization overtakes the confusion. “You—” he stops and straightens slightly, his eyes flashing with alarm.

“No,” I say softly, and it’s partly true, because I can’t be her, not anymore. A bitter smile curls the corners of my mouth upward slightly, my gaze fixed on the soft tatami flooring beneath my feet. “I knew someone like you. The circumstances were different, but you resemble each other, a little. The woman in my memory survived, but she was always sad. Even as she lived so that her precious people wouldn’t feel sad, she sometimes quietly wished for death. I could tell.”

Sakumo regards me quietly.

“It’s stupid,” I say abruptly, earning me another blink. “But to live means to get hurt, and sometimes life just hurts too much. And when someone no longer feels the desire to live for themself, they either give up,” my voice breaks slightly, so I clear my throat before continuing. “They give up, or they find someone or something else to live for instead of themselves. It’s stupid, it’s selfish, and maybe a bit unfair. But life can be all of those too, so... fair’s fair, I guess.”

This brings a wry smile to Sakumo’s features, and he reaches over to ruffle my hair gently. “Maybe,” he finally says, a hint of concession leaking through his even tone. “But I still owe you, for saving Kakashi from a life where his father leaves him behind.”

I look back up to meet Sakumo’s gaze and lose the will to dispute him on the matter entirely.

—

When Kakashi returns with a stack of folded clothes, Sakumo easily accepts them and ruffles Kakashi’s hair in thanks.

“Thank you,” I tell Kakashi solemnly, and the boy huffs, averting his gaze. I catch the barest hint of red tinting the skin of his ears from his embarrassment.

“They’re just clothes.”

I hum noncommittally in response. “I’m grateful all the same.”

“Hiiragi-kun, would you like a bath before you try some of these on?” Sakumo asks as he looks through the stack, casting measuring glances at me between outfits.

I nod. It’s probably for the best that I do. I can use the opportunity to familiarize myself with my new appearance.

“I’ll show where the bathroom is,” Kakashi states blandly before turning down the hallway. I hurry to follow him, and after a brief run through of how to work the facilities, he leaves me to it, closing the door behind him.

I wait a few moments for his footsteps to fade away before finally allowing myself to look at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I can’t help the snort that escapes me.

Short, downy storm grey hair that reaches halfway down my forehead, a couple inches above eyebrows of the same color. Slightly lidded, tired-looking eyes—with complementary swelling from crying and dark bags from lack of substantial sleep—contrasting with a piercing and focused pale gold gaze. I blink one eye closed slowly and catch a flicker of motion from what I suspect is a third, translucent eyelid—a nictitating membrane. (What the fuck???) Long grey eyelashes that preside over a strange thin strip of black that lines the entirety of my eyes. Pale, slightly rounded features over a fine-boned structure. 

I can kind of understand why Sakumo used the -kun address; I look more like a boy than I did prior to arriving here, and that’s saying something.

I pause, a niggling feeling making itself known at the corners of my conscious thoughts. I glance away from my reflection, and my eyes inadvertently land on the toilet.

...

Oh.

Oh.

I regard my off-white pants warily. If the pattern holds...

It takes me a few minutes to get up the courage to pull down my pants. Solidifying my resolve, I look down.

I stare. And stare.

Fuck.

What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

—

After standing around staring at equipment I have absolutely no idea how to work with for the better part of three or four minutes, I take a deep breath, let it out slowly... and then promptly move on. I’ll contemplate the ramifications of my gender being swapped on me later. First order of business, bathroom break, lather and rinse, then an actual bath.

Except. When I go to remove my pale grey kimono shirt, I feel the fabric catch on something on my back. I reach back over my shoulder, slipping under my shirt, and feel my fingertips brush something as soft as my hair near my shoulder blades.

What the fuck??? I carefully maneuver the shirt up and off, set it off to the side, then turn so that my side is facing the mirror. I take a deep breath (several, actually) and chance a look.

There is something dangling from my back. Scratch that, two somethings are dangling from my back. They’re the same fuzzy gray as my hair, and reach all the way down to just a few scant centimeters above the small of my back. A few experimental pokes and tugs lead to me realizing that they’re limbs. It takes a few more moments and some mental gymnastics for me to make the connection to wings. No flight feathers, just bone, muscle, and a whole lotta down feathers, but that checks out in my hysterical brain because I appear to be physically four or five years old—basically a chick in human years.

It’s all I can do to stare in morbid fascination, and it’s only a few minutes later that I start wondering if they can move. If I can move them. I mean, they’re literally attached to my back.

It takes some concentration, but eventually I figure out how to get them to twitch, to wiggle from side to side a bit. It’s slow going, and I decide to just. Step away for now and get back to what I was originally doing.

By the time I’ve finished with my usual morning routines (with too many surreal twists), I feel somewhat more centered and human. Warm water works wonders on the soul.

Checking outside the bathroom, I find a folded towel with a set of clothes on top just beyond the threshold—I heard Sakumo come by to drop them off while I was massaging (scentless) soap into my hair. Picking up the articles, I retreat back into the bathroom and towel dry first my hair—just enough to take care of most of the moisture, anyway—and then the rest of my body (the wings were a challenge to reach and dry) before setting the towel aside to hang dry and actually examining the clothes Kakashi lent me.

I’m somewhat amused to find that the shirt, a deep, dark grey that’s a step sideways from black, is a glorified tank top with a long neck and an attached mask. Upon closer inspection, the fabric on the inside of the mask portion appears more finely stitched as compared to the rest of the shirt. I’m reminded of the weave of the all-purpose military-grade fabric mask with replaceable filters I had that I used to help ward off harmful debris and airborne flora and fauna from my lungs, and wonder if the mask attached to the shirt works similarly. Probably, and then some—the Hatake, I’m pretty sure, like the Inuzuka, tended to have sharper olfactory senses compared to the average human. There’s also a slightly darker outer jacket with three-quarter length sleeves that zips up to go over the tank, I assume.

The somewhat baggy running—or are they cargo?—shorts are a light cadet blue that appear more grey than blue. I’m just really happy they have pockets. Actual pockets; not those weak, shallow-as-hell excuses of sewn together pieces of fabric that were depressingly common in most of the women’s wear I had the displeasure of working with before I ended up here. I never really fancied the idea of toting my stuff around in an unwieldy purse. 

With a wry huff of barely there laughter, I (carefully) pull on the pair of dark blue boxers that were placed between the two other articles of clothing, then pull on the shorts, happy to note they extend an inch or two past my knees—also a bit of a novel experience. The tank top’s a little trickier, seeing as it’s tighter than my loose kimono shirt, and practically presses my wings (holy shit, I have wings, what the actual fuck) flush to my back, and I accidentally pull it on backwards, the prickle of the tag against the front of my throat serving as a telling indicator. Pulling my arms back in through the (practically nonexistent) sleeves, I turn the shirt from the inside until the front is in the front and the back is in the back before slipping them back out through the correct holes. I roll up the mask, pull on the outer jacket, then take a moment to appraise my reflection.

Only the bridge of my nose, my eyes and eyebrows are bare. I can feel how the fabric of the mask stretches and slides against my skin with movement as I observe from different angles. 

I reluctantly exit the bathroom and head back towards where I remember the dining room is, seeing as I can hear quiet, somewhat wooden, clacking sounds coming from there. When I enter, I find Sakumo laying out some bowls, a plate, and some chopsticks on the table in front of where I sat earlier, the bulk of his back blocking my view of Kakashi, who sounds like he is already eating. Without thinking, I lower my gaze to the floor before Sakumo moves to reclaim his own seat.

With a careful hop, I settle myself into the chair across from Sakumo and Kakashi, taking a moment to take in the breakfast laid out before me. A bowl of steamed white rice with a dash or two of furikake (seasonings) sprinkled over the top. A bowl of miso soup with small cubes of tofu and strips of seaweed drifting in the steaming broth. Grilled fish—a little charred in some places—along with an assembly of pickled vegetables and other assorted greens take up the plate.

I haven’t seen such a spread in what feels like a long, long time. Four or five years, probably, during my first trip to Japan in a month-long study abroad program. The tender nostalgia aches just as much as it warms my heart.

“Itadakimasu,” I murmur, holding my palms together briefly before tugging down my mask and reaching for the chopsticks set out for me.

It takes me a few moments to adjust my grip and the placement of the chopsticks—my fingers are considerably smaller and thinner than what I’m used to working with—but I manage with minimal fumbling. I’m so glad I figured out how to eat with chopsticks before I first visited Japan, and kept up with the practice whenever the opportunity presented itself. I have to take my time, my movements slow, methodical, but at least I manage to avoid spilling or dropping anything. I try not to be too much of a messy eater.

“Gochisousama,” Kakashi intones before the faint rustle of fabric reaches my ears.

I keep my gaze focused on my meal, and gradually, one by one, the dishes empty. Once I’ve finished several minutes later, I set my chopsticks aside, press the palms of my hands together once more, and whisper a heartfelt, “Gochisousamadeshita.”

When I look up, Sakumo is smiling warmly while Kakashi looks a bit impatient, ready to just get on with the day.

“Kakashi, do you have anything pressing to do today?” Sakumo inquires, turning to look at his son.

Kakashi shifts in his seat, straightening to attention. “Not really. I thought I’d do some training.”

“Then would you mind doing me a favor and watching over Hiiragi-kun for me for the day?”

Kakashi and I blink before exchanging glances. Kakashi’s expression—what’s visible of it at least—looks wary.

“I’ll be careful to not be a bother,” I offer, sounding out the sentence slowly. I think I got the phrasing right.

Kakashi’s eyebrows raise in mild surprise in response. Sakumo lets out a quiet sigh and covers his eyes with a hand, looking a little out of his depth. I don’t really understand why he seems so distressed; things could be so much worse for him. I could’ve been an actual four or five-year-old with a mentality lacking maturity and restraint, the very anathema to a Kakashi in the throes of childhood. Or maybe just Kakashi in general?

“Got it. I’ll keep an eye on him,” Kakashi tells Sakumo after a few moments.

“Thank you, Kakashi,” Sakumo sighs, before patting his son on the head and getting to his feet. “I should be back sometime before the day’s out.”

He goes to reach for the empty dishes, but Kakashi stops him. “Tou-san, leave them. I’ll take care of the dishes.”

“I’ll help,” I hurry to pitch in before gathering my plate and bowls.

Sakumo glances back and forth between the two of us, his faintly strained features softening as a fond smile breaks like dawn across his features. It’d be nice if he could smile like that more often, I think solemnly. We’ll just have to give him more reasons to do so.

“Alright, I’ll be off, then.”

“Go and come back,” Kakashi and I inadvertently chorus simultaneously.

With a wave, Sakumo leaves the dining room. I follow his soft footfalls and catch the sound of a door opening and closing before returning my focus to my dishes. I balance them carefully one atop another and lift them before carrying them to the kitchen sink. Kakashi follows along behind me quietly.

Carefully setting the dishes on the counter, I eye the countertop critically before reaching up and over to hoist myself up to kneel on the elevated surface, taking extra care to keep my feet off the clean space. Huh, I vaguely remember that being considerably harder to do when I was a kid, what with my weight working against me. Now I feel... lighter?

Setting the thought aside for later, I reach over and turn on the sink and start rinsing the dishes. Kakashi leaves his dishes next to where I set the rest of mine before retrieving Sakumo’s from the dining room. After watching me wash the dishes critically for a few moments, Kakashi deems my efforts satisfactory and sets to drying the clean dishes with a dish towel and then returning them to their rightful places in the kitchen cabinets.

Once all the dishes are put away, I scoot off the edge of the counter and drop to the ground. The jarring impact I expected upon landing doesn’t come. Instead, I land lightly on my feet, not particularly gracefully, but not as clumsily as I normally would. Huh. Okay then.

I turn to Kakashi for direction from here. I don’t know what exactly he has in mind for training today, or where he intends to train. After a moment’s contemplation, Kakashi nods to himself before turning on his heel to head out of the kitchen. 

“Follow me.”

Seeing as he’s more or less been left in charge, I follow. In the entryway to the front door of the house, there are a few pairs of open-toed ninja shoes lined up to the side, each pair varying slightly in size. Kakashi scoops up a pair and tosses them to me.

I snatch them out of the air easily, and can’t stop the little flush of giddy wonder that surges through me. My hand-eye coordination was never this good.

“They’re just sandals,” Kakashi states, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone. Ah, it seems he misinterpreted the reason for my reaction.

Seeing that correcting him would be a lost cause, I simply smile brightly before dropping to the floor to try them on. They’re tight enough to bite into the instep arch of my foot and crowd my toes, so the first pair’s a no-go. After tugging them off, I move on to another one of the pairs of shoes that Kakashi nudges towards me with his own sandaled foot. The next pair are practically a perfect fit.

I beam up at Kakashi, who nods jerkily in satisfaction before turning and opening the front door. “Let’s go,” he huffs brusquely, closing and locking the door behind us before breaking into a jog. I hurry to follow after him.

We run for maybe thirty seconds before Kakashi abruptly stops and turns to face me, his gaze sharp.

I stumble to a stop, a mix of worried and confused. 

“You’re running inefficiently,” he declares, glancing down at my feet.

Oh. I look down at my feet thoughtfully before looking back up at Kakashi. “How can I fix it?” I ask.

Kakashi blinks, taken aback by my response. Was he expecting me to bluster or talk back like a—

Wait.

Ugh, of course he was. That’s fair. I shrug and meet his gaze. “I’m not used to running, so I don’t know how to do it well. Would you teach me?”

I’m met with a befuddled silence that lasts several seconds before Kakashi recovers. “Sure,” he says gruffly, lowering his gaze to my feet. “You’re hitting the ground with your...”

I stare at him blankly, not understanding the word he used. I repeat the word slowly out loud before crouching down and looking over my foot. I repeat the word and point just before my toes, regarding him with an inquisitive look.

Kakashi looks somewhere between disbelieving and stumped.

I dip my head, somewhat embarrassed. “Sorry. I don’t know that word yet.”

After a moment, Kakashi crouches down next to me and points at my heel before repeating the word. I sound it out and memorize the term.

“So when I run, I shouldn’t let my heel hit the ground first?” I ask.

Kakashi nods. “Right.” He then reaches over and points along where the ball and middle arch of my foot are located. “If you can, it’s usually best if you land with this first.”

“Okay. Is there anything else I need to fix?” 

Kakashi nods again. “Your way of running is too long.”

I take a moment to parse that. “When I run, each and every step I take is too big?” I ask awkwardly, trying to clarify.

“Exactly.”

“Got it, thanks. I’ll be more careful,” I tell him, taking a moment to memorize his pointers.

Kakashi straightens up and I follow suit. “Good. Let’s go.”

—

By the time we reach what I assume is a training ground, I’m feeling more than just a little winded, but the usual stabbing pain in my ribcage and tightness in my chest are nowhere to be found. My breathing isn’t raspy and ragged with the threat of an onset of asthma. I can still breathe.

My shocked wonder must be really obvious in spite of the mask covering half of my face, because Kakashi lets out a somewhat haughty huff.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised. My instruction was sound. Of course you’d improve if you fixed the problems I pointed out.”

That’s not why I’m surprised, I don’t say. Instead, I smile wryly. “Thanks for helping me get better at running.”

Kakashi looks away, and I get the impression he’s both pleased and embarrassed. After glancing about the training ground thoughtfully, he settles down in a comfortable sitting position in the grass, then takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“What are you doing?” I ask, keeping my tone curious. I’m about seventy percent certain he’s planning on meditating, but it never hurts to be sure.

He says something in response, and just as I expected, it’s a word I don’t recognize.

Kakashi cracks an eye open, notes my puzzled and slightly frustrated expression, and then gestures for me to sit down as well.

Once I’m settled and comfortable, he starts to explain. “... is a way to know and strengthen one’s chakra. You turn your focus inward and feel and move the energy that’s contained within. It helps to close your eyes and take deep, slow breaths. But don’t fall asleep!”

I snicker at the warning at the end but close my eyes and take a deep, even breath. I wonder if I’ll be able to feel my chakra? What would it be like? I keep my breathing even, gradually setting my thoughts aside for the time being. There’s a lot to set aside.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold. Repeat. I settle into the rhythm slowly, sinking deeper and deeper into calm and serenity. Passing thoughts are set aside for later contemplation. 

After a while of sitting with my eyes closed, the ambient noise around us seems to grow more pronounced. The flutter of leaves and the creak of branches in the trees as a breeze brushes through them. The soft crunches of grass depressing beneath the weight of a small animal in the undergrowth. The distant hum of innumerable voices blending together in the streets of the village, indecipherable, but recognizable. The odd cadence of dull thuds and sharper thunks! belonging to what I absently realize come from an exchange of impacting blows and weapons piercing wood.

I take a deeper breath and try to ease myself back, to focus closer to my immediate surroundings and self. To focus inwards, rather than outwards.

The slow intakes and exhalations of breath from Kakashi just a few feet away. The steady, rhythmic thump-thump! of his heartbeat, the quiet rush of blood as it flows through veins, the almost indescribable sound of tension in something elastic gradually releasing. The staticky crackling of a strong current—

I frown in confusion. “Can you hear that?” I ask quietly aloud, but the unusual sound doesn’t fade. It seems to intensify in volume and speed, somehow.

“Hear what?” Kakashi asks, his tone relaxed, albeit a bit puzzled.

My frown deepens, trying to find the words to describe what I can hear. “Electricity... Lightning... like zap-zap! Um.” I reach a hand up to rub at the ear closest to Kakashi. “It’s close... from you? What is it?”

Kakashi’s heartbeat ratchets up a notch, the previously loosening elastic stretches taut, and the current snaps like a sudden spark—

I blink my eyes open in surprise, but the sounds don’t go away. “It’s you,” I breathe, looking to Kakashi, feeling like I’m somewhere between alarmed and fascinated. “Heart sound, muscles,  flow of blood—all that’s you. But why electricity? Are you okay...”

I trail off as I take in Kakashi’s shocked expression. Then it finally occurs to me. Kakashi had a Lightning affinity, or, at least, he did in the story I read. 

Is that what I’m hearing? 

How?!

The sudden sound of a whole bunch of muscles tightening and stretching and loosening in tandem makes me flinch, even though Kakashi only twitches just a moment after.

The sounds of muscles stretching and relaxing in tandem rises over the ever-present crackle of electricity once again right before Kakashi starts to visibly move. The stretching and loosening sounds continue as he stands, competing with the sound of blood coursing through veins, the sound of a heartbeat, the sound of air rushing through lungs, the sound of a live electric current cracking and snapping and sparking—

This is all just from Kakashi, I realize faintly, eyes wide. One person.

If I can’t figure out how to dampen sound or find something to help buffer all the noise, I’ll start bleeding from the ears only moments after I set foot down any of the remotely busy streets of Konoha.

“My ears,” I whisper numbly. 

“Cover them,” Kakashi mutters after a long moment of alarm.

I do as he says robotically, carefully slotting the palms of my hands over them. I can still hear him—all of him—but it’s... muted, somewhat. Now the sounds of my blood and muscles are more in the forefront of my focus. 

“Let’s go back to the house. You can wait there, and I’ll find... find someone who can help us with this,” he suggests, taking extra care in keeping his tone and volume low and even in spite of the frantic crackling of what I’m now almost certain is his chakra’s affinity. “Okay?”

I nod my head stiffly and get to my feet, then follow as Kakashi leads me back to the Hatake Clan Compound, this time taking a route through mostly forest instead of the dirt path we trekked along earlier.

After unlocking and opening the front door, I duck inside and find a place to sit down and curl up somewhat comfortably, my hands still firmly covering my ears.

With a nod and a strained “I’ll be right back,” Kakashi closes the door and sprints off. I lose track of him minutes later as he seemingly disappears into the indistinguishable humdrum of the more populated parts of the village.

To distract myself from the sounds of the house around me, I start singing quietly to myself.

Shizuka na fukai mori ni 

Kikoete kuru deshou

Shin shin yuki ha tsumori

Toumei na oto no utagoe

Sora e to tsuyoku negai 

Dareka e no omoi 

Namida ga yagate yuki ni 

Te no hira e sotto hakonde

Furi ochiru yuki no hitohira ni 

Inori wo komete

Hito no yo no inochi no kagayaki

Michiru you ni

Hitotsu no negai ga ikiteku tame ni 

Kibou no kono uta wo

Tokete yuku yuki no hitohira ni

Inori wo komete

Kiekakeru inochi no yukue wo

Mimamoru you ni

Hakanai negai mo ikiteku tame ni

Kibou no kono uta wo

Shizuka na aoi mori ni

Uta wa saku deshou

Kirei na kokoro ni hibiku

Toumei na oto no utagoe

Sora e to tsuyoku negai 

Dareka e no omoi 

Namida ga yagate yuki ni 

Te no hira e sotto hakonde

Yasashiku

When I finish the song, I start again from the beginning. It isn’t until I’m partway through the third round that I catch the distant crackle of Kakashi’s Lightning affinity breaking away from the mass of sound that is the Village. Following along behind him is what sounds like a rumbling landslide, with just a bit of crackling here and there, but it’s different—not the charged crackle of lightning, but the crackle of fire as it eats away at wood.

They stop a ways away from the Compound, and I hear Kakashi’s voice, muffled by distance and the surrounding structure. I pull away one of my hands to hear better.

“Hiiragi, if you can hear me, can you come outside, to us?”

I get to my feet slowly and hurry to the front door, fumbling with the lock before exiting the Compound with my ears covered. I head straight to Kakashi and his tagalong. As I near, I catch sight of long, straight hair in a deep, dark brown and pale eyes with no irises. A Hyuuga, I realize in vague wonder. Kakashi’s a genius. If my chakra is behind my hearing ramping up, they’ll be able to see it and hopefully direct me in how to manage it.

The Hyuuga—aged somewhere in their teens, I estimate—eyes me thoughtfully, their androgynous features inscrutable, before they turn to regard Kakashi, the barest trace of a furrow wrinkling their brow. Before they can say anything, though, Kakashi addresses me.

“Hiiragi. What do they sound like?” he asks, gesturing towards the Hyuuga.

What is their affinity, is what he probably means.

I glance at the Hyuuga while I try to find the right words. “A lot of big rocks falling down a mountain,” I say awkwardly; I don’t know the word for landslide. “It’s really loud. There’s also a fire, but it’s quieter.”

The Hyuuga stiffens somewhat in surprise, and Kakashi levels them with a stare that clearly screams ‘I told you so’.

“I see,” the Hyuuga intones, his voice deep. “I’ll take a look.” 

I watch with morbid fascination as veins beneath the skin around the Hyuuga’s eyes become visible as they bulge, and hints of what might be the faint outline of pupils draw closer to the surface of his milky white gaze.

The sound of boulders tumbling and campfires crackling seemingly crescendos as it expands around and surrounds our general vicinity, creating a sort of stereo effect. I press my hands over my ears a little more tightly, but that doesn’t block out the sound of the man’s chakra by much.

After a few minutes, the Hyuuga deactivates his Byakugan, and the veins fade back beneath the surface of his skin. The landslide settles back to its deep dull roar of a rumble, with the fire going from a bonfire to a regular campfire, sound-wise. He glances briefly at Kakashi.

“It looks like some sort of Bloodline Limit,” he says slowly, choosing his words with care. “There are unusual chakra...” I don’t catch the word, but I’m pretty sure it might’ve been pathways, “that lead to the ears, but they are far more complex and numerous than I have ever seen before. You said they were not as sensitive before as they are now? And that the change happened after meditating?”

Kakashi and I nod in confirmation. 

The Hyuuga frowns faintly. “It did not look like the ears or chakra passages were consuming chakra, like how a Byakugan would upon activation. It must be a continuous or passive ability. Perhaps the pathways are oversensitive from the sudden introduction to or increase of chakra flow, or the introduction of increased chakra is simply enhancing everything indiscriminately, leading to hypersensitive hearing with little to no regulation.”

I grimace. Hypersensitive indeed. And from the sounds of it, it’s probably not going to go away unless I go deaf.

“I recommend introducing them to chakra control exercises to help them learn how to regulate the flow of chakra to their ears, for the time being. If the sensitivity does not go away over the next few weeks, they are likely going to have to consciously adjust their own sense of hearing internally, and possibly rely on something to help filter out or buffer the noise.”

Kakashi winces.

I have a sinking feeling that I know how it’s going to be.

“They also have a set of pathways that extend out of their back…” he trails off with the most mildest expression of bafflement I’ve ever seen.

“Oh. That’s probably… um. My wings,” I mumble, still trying to wrap my head around the whole concept.

Kakashi and the Hyuuga stare at me blankly.

“Here.” I carefully pull off my outer jacket and tank top, turning so they can see my fluffy wings in all their limp glory.

“Wings,” Kakashi’s incredulous tone really says it all.

“Wings,” I agree with a grave nod, as if I’m not internally freaking out right along with him. “I don’t have flight feathers yet,” I add, even though that’s clearly obvious when you look at them.

“Thank you,” I tell the Hyuuga. “For taking a look, and for the advice. I’m Hiiragi. Can I ask what your name is?”

The Hyuuga regards me with an inscrutable look before deciding to just roll with the punches and inclining his head slightly. “I am Hyuuga Mitsukuni.”

I smile in response. “Thank you, Hyuuga-san.”

Mitsukuni nods before turning his attention to Kakashi. “Is that all you needed?” he asks.

“Yeah. Thank you, Hyuuga-san.”

Mitsukuni nods once more before turning away and leaping forward, only to disappear in a swirl of leaves.

I blink several times in a row, more than just a little awed. “That is so cool,” I breathe.

Kakashi snorts.

Chapter Text

“I think your dad’s coming back,” I say abruptly sometime later that evening, once again fully clothed, with leaves stuck to my forehead, arms, and hands with chakra. I’ve come to discover that my chakra sounds like the occasional echoing drip of a droplet of water breaking the surface of a pond or lake in a cave, with an undercurrent of static sparking and the clatter of tumbling rocks sounding infrequently like white noise in the background. I’m willing to bet my main affinity is water, and lightning and earth are my secondaries.

Kakashi glances at me from where he’s been meditating on and off between coaching me through the chakra exercise I’m currently practicing. My current maximum is five leaves, one on each palm and forearm, and one on my forehead.

“You think?” he asks curiously.

“Either that, or there’s suddenly a storm with lightning and thunder coming closer.”

Kakashi blinks. “I don’t hear anything, and it didn’t smell like rain today. It’s probably my dad,” he decides.

I grunt softly in response, reining my focus back in towards each leaf on my person. I think I might be able to pull off adding just one more...

I glance at the small pile Kakashi gathered for me on our way back into the Hatake Compound after Mitsukuni’s examination. Just within reach, but I feel like if I move either of my arms right now, I might lose the leaves stuck to them. I take a few moments to mull over the quandary. 

I’ll use one of my feet, then. It’ll be a nice primer to channeling chakra there, especially for tree-walking and water-walking, later on.

I carefully unwind from my cross-legged seating position and stretch my right leg out until the heel of my foot is hovering just above the pile of leaves. Once I’ve wrangled and applied just enough chakra, I lower my foot and snag one of the topmost leaves before lifting it once more.

Kakashi’s given up all pretense of meditation, watching me with somewhat disbelieving fascination, for some odd reason.

Sweat trickles down the side of my face from my intense concentration, but the newest leaf stays.

That’s how Sakumo finds us when he gets home. “I’m home—!” He stops short.

“O-okaeri,” I answer shakily, my voice somewhat strained as my focus threatens to fray with my response and his entrance. Sakumo’s everything is distracting—louder than Kakashi, who I’ve tentatively acclimated to.

Kakashi reluctantly tears his gaze away from me to regard Sakumo with a wide-eyed look. “Tou-san, Hiiragi’s like me, except his ears are sensitive instead of his nose,” he reports faintly. “And he has wings.”

“Too much noise because of too much chakra,” I add tightly. “That’s what Hyuuga-san said. Sort of.”

There’s a long pause, broken when Sakumo finally speaks. “I see.” He sounds like he really doesn’t. “Hiiragi-kun, is that—are those leaves stuck to you with chakra? All five—six of them?!” There is a note of incredulity evident in Sakumo’s tone.

Really? That’s what he’s focusing on? “Yeah? Why?”

Sakumo lets out a half-strangled sound from the back of his throat, and I let the leaves drop with an explosive exhale before turning to look to him, confused. Sakumo looks somewhere between surprised and like he swallowed a slice of lemon. What the hell?

I look back to Kakashi, sending him an inquiring look. He catches my unspoken question and lets out a quiet huff that sounds a bit put-off. 

“Two, sometimes three leaves is my limit,” he mumbles, his tone surly with an undertone of grudging respect.

I blink, more than just a little bewildered. I don’t get it. 

My head swivels to look at Sakumo as the sound of his muscles stretching and relaxing reach my ears, and less than a moment later he starts striding over to us before crouching down. I startle somewhat when some of his joints pop like firecrackers on the way down, and Kakashi winces sympathetically at my reaction.

Sakumo regards me thoughtfully, and must register my confusion, because his eyebrows raise slightly. “Hiiragi-kun, the exercise you were doing is just as much an exercise in concentration as it is in chakra control,” he explains slowly. “Most shinobi can only manage just the one leaf on the forehead, and particularly talented individuals an extra leaf or two elsewhere. Six leaves is... especially at your age, practically unheard of.”

My eyes widen. “Oh,” I say faintly. I mull over his explanation a bit before looking back up at Sakumo, seeing an opportunity. “Shinobi?” I ask tentatively.

Sakumo blinks, caught off guard. “Do you know what shinobi are?”

I frown thoughtfully. Technically, I do. But only from what I’ve seen and learned from stories and brief mentions in history. “Ninja?” I say hesitantly. “Like from stories? They’re real?”

Kakashi huffs. “Of course they’re real. Tou-san and I are both shinobi.”

I look back and forth between Sakumo and Kakashi in dubious awe. Like I’m not sure if they’re pulling my leg, but I’m also hoping that they really are what they say they are, just for the coolness factor. In actuality, I’m impressed Kakashi actually managed to become a recognized shinobi at such a young age and simultaneously wondering what the hell Sarutobi was thinking, promoting a four or five-year-old, natural talent be damned.

“Are there no shinobi where you’re from?” Sakumo asks carefully.

I shake my head. This I’m pretty sure I can say without much worry. “Aside from stories, no shinobi.”

Sakumo looks flummoxed, and Kakashi stares at me, wide-eyed.

My stomach grumbles abruptly, and I stare down at it, feeling somewhat betrayed. Sakumo chuckles and ruffles my hair, then Kakashi’s.

“I’ll go get started on dinner,” he says, his eyes crinkling to match his amused smile.

—

“Hey...” I start, looking to Sakumo. I can’t call him by name, because he never explicitly gave it to me. “Kakashi’s dad?”

A sharp exhalation reaches my ears as Kakashi huffs a quiet laugh. I glance at him wryly. I bet he’s more used to hearing people saying Sakumo’s kid, or Hatake’s kid. Must be refreshing for the tables to be turned.

Sakumo stares at me blankly from across the table for a few moments before the realization sinks in. “Oh, I’m sorry, Hiiragi-kun. I never introduced myself, did I? My name is Hatake Sakumo.”

“Then, Hatake-san...?” I ask, trying to gauge how he’d prefer to be addressed.

“I don’t mind if you use my name. Go with whatever you’re comfortable with,” he says gently in response.

“... Sakumo-san?” I venture, and receive an encouraging nod. I take a moment to stare down at the table and gather my thoughts. “Why are you... sad? Suffering,” I ask softly.

My newly heightened sense of hearing misses nothing. The stiffening of muscles, the hitching of breath, the increase in tempo of a heartbeat. The rumble of thunder, distant, muted. I raise my gaze to meet Sakumo’s, trying to convey my concern.

Kakashi has gone tellingly still, and his grip on his chopsticks tightens minutely.

“Well...” Sakumo says softly, trying to find the right words. “I had a mission. A very important mission. We were recovering vital information on our Village, but were attacked by enemy shinobi. My comrades were in danger—one was taken captive. Instead of leaving them and bringing the information straight to my Village, I... I gave up the information in order to save my comrades. As a result, the people of my Village are very unhappy with me.”

He lowers his gaze and takes a bite of rice.

I purse my lips. There’s no telling just what information Sakumo is referring to and how it might impact the Village, but still...

I straighten and do my best to puff up a bit, my face set in determination. “Your Village’s people are dumb asses,” I state bluntly, unimpressed.

Sakumo chokes.

Kakashi lets out a half-strangled giggle that sounds like it was startled out of him.

After a few moments, Sakumo looks back at me, eyes somewhat teary from the coughing fit, with an alarmed expression. “Hiiragi-kun, that’s...”

“But it’s true!” I press, insistent. “That information...” I fumble for a suitable analogy, “Think of it like a treasure map for something important you’ve hidden. If a thief or someone you don’t trust has it, then all you need to do is hide the treasure somewhere else, or lie in wait for whoever may come to steal the treasure. At least now you know what your enemy knows and can prepare as needed. Isn’t that an advantage?” I demand, folding my arms across my chest and tilting my head up somewhat defiantly. “Besides, I think someone who saves and protects his friends is someone worth trusting.”

Sakumo is rendered speechless for several moments, but after that, his expression turns pondering. Good, he’s thinking about it now.

Kakashi is looking at me as if I’m a completely new person, and consequently likes what he sees.

Wow, a second seal of approval from Kid Kakashi? It hasn’t even been a full day since I met him.

Sakumo’s quiet huff of laughter draws my attention back to him, and his expression is... painfully vulnerable with a hint of relief. He raises a hand that trembles faintly and runs it through his hair for a moment and closes his eyes.

“Thank you, Hiiragi-kun,” he murmurs softly, opening his eyes to meet my gaze, and the sheer amount of sincerity conveyed is enough to make my heart ache.

I nod stiffly, trying to hold back the sudden urge to cry.

Chapter Text

June 11 - June 16, 8bNb

My first week in this reality passes with me working on my chakra control, engaging in light exercise including a few katas, and Sakumo and Kakashi telling me about the current events (current date included, thank goodness), their Village, its history—whatever they deem safe enough to share with me. I soak it all in, recognizing a handful of the figures and events mentioned, but a good majority of it was kind of glossed over in the story I know from my reality. Though it’s a bit worrying to learn that the Second Shinobi War is possibly nearing its end. What that’ll mean for me, as a potential child-soldier candidate for the Third Shinobi War, and some of the things that’ll need to be done to protect certain key figures, I can’t say for certain... the clock is already ticking.

I manage to learn how to dampen the flow of chakra to my ears to the point that my hearing is about as sensitive as it was before my first meditation. In other words, still sensitive, but entirely bearable, barring any loud environments or sudden noises. It takes some concentration, but I can multitask, thankfully.

—

June 17, 8bNb

It’s all put to the test when Sakumo takes me with him to go shopping.

I knew, abstractly, that things had to be bad to make someone as disciplined, loyal, and steadfast as Sakumo grow so disheartened to the point of suicide.

Abstractly.

The reality is so much worse.

Some of the shop owners refuse to do business with Sakumo. Others charge him through the nose, or at least, they attempt to do so. All eyes turn to stare, to glare, whenever Sakumo passes through.

Judging. Disgusted. Derisive. Wary. Callous. Unmoved.

And the whispers...

It was only a matter of time before I’d heard more than enough. 

I stop.

“Hey, you. Come at me,” I say flatly, staring down the last asshole—looks like a civilian—to say something.

The civilian balks, confused. “What—“

“Are your ears just decorations? I said come at me.” I take a step closer.

“Ha, kid, you really need to—“

“I said, come at me,” I interrupt, my voice growing colder, eyes narrowing.

“No, I’m not going to just—“

 “Come at me,” I repeat, taking yet another step. “If you don’t take me seriously, I could hurt you. I could kill you.” I won’t, but he doesn’t need to know that. I’m trying to make a point.

“Whoa, kid that’s not funny—”

I bristle momentarily before lunging forward, trying to imagine this stranger dying by my hand. “COME AT ME!” I screech, and the man reflexively stumbles back until he hits the ground hard.

The whole street is still. I suck in a deep breath, then step back. “Just now, that was the—reflect—mirror?—the situation,” I say firmly, my voice carrying effortlessly across the silence. “You were Konoha, and I was the enemy Nations and Villages. They were waiting. Anything would do. You stumbled. You showed an opening. Exhaustion, injury, pain, sorrow, fear, I don’t care. You are proof. Anyone could have done one thing less than perfectly and it would not matter. And there’s no way to tell when they would stop waiting for an opportunity. Or an excuse.”

I whirl to glare at each and every person present that said something cruel, or nothing at all in defense of a man who is their comrade, with a snarl. “It was inevitable. And yet you hurt—bad talk—one man for everything when the fault lies with those who take advantage. Shameful!”

To the civilians, I bare my teeth beneath my mask. “Do you do it because he’s a shinobi, not one of you? Don’t make me laugh! Civilians are civilians, and shinobi are shinobi, but before all else, everyone is human. How would you feel if everyone in the Village turned their backs on you for doing what you think is right? How would you feel if suddenly, your friends and acquaintances thought you were better off dead?!”

To the shinobi, I seethe. “Where are the shinobi of Konoha? Where are the shinobi famed for their teamwork? Famed for how they protect their comrades? The only one I see here is Hatake Sakumo. Yet you leave him to face meaningless and ignorant slander alone... Your beloved Shodaime would weep!”

With a final pointed glare leveled at everyone nearby save for a dumbfounded Sakumo, I stalk back to the Hatake, gently grab his hand, and lead him away.

—

I’m still seething by the time we arrive at a park. I lead Sakumo to a bench, and he sits down mechanically, his mind seemingly a million miles away. Instead of joining him, I pace back and forth, in circles, trying to breathe deeply.

It’s... I haven’t let my anger out like that in a long, long time. Taking a moment to pause, I belatedly realize my hands are shaking, my entire body is shaking. I resume pacing; need to keep moving. Fuck, I feel so shaken, so jagged around the edges... there’s relief too, but that’s mainly overshadowed by my shock and concern and lingering fury. 

Was it wise of me to tear into everyone like that? 

Fuck that, they needed the wake up call. Their toxic behavior almost got Sakumo killed. 

It did, in the story I remember. 

Fuck. Breathe.

I stop abruptly. Did I overstep? I cast a worried glance at Sakumo, who still looks unresponsive. Shit. Is he okay? 

Before I can decide whether to approach him and ask if he’s alright, I catch the sudden faint sound of grass being tread upon and I whirl, a snarl rising automatically because I swear, if it’s another asshole here to tear into me or, worse, Sakumo—

I’m not prepared to see more familiar faces. Younger faces, but familiar all the same. My snarl downshifts to a wary frown, though the muscles up and to the right of my upper lip twitch reflexively, hinting at the potential for a repeat appearance, scowl-wise. “Come to pick on Sakumo, too?” I bite out, my tone frosty. Being polite is the furthest thing from my mind at the moment.

I get two different looks: intrigue and surprise. From Orochimaru and Jiraiya, respectively. 

Where is Tsunade?

Jiraiya’s quick to rally himself. “Listen here, brat—”

I bristle, bracing for further hostility. Naruto’s godfather be damned, if he dares to even insult Sakumo—

“You’re not my parent,” my voice breaks on the word for parent, and I grimace. “Don’t concern yourself with me. If you’ve got no business, leave.”

Surprisingly, it’s the distress conveyed by that single break in my voice that brings Sakumo back from wherever his mind went. “Hiiragi,” he breathes out on a sad sigh, and that’s all it takes to drain all the fight out of me. All that’s left is worry and exhaustion, and I’m certain it shows in my hunched shoulders and slumped frame. I cast another wary, appraising look at the two Sannin before turning my back to them to focus on Sakumo, who’s leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling.

I move to go sit next to him, but stop myself, not sure if I’d be welcome after my outburst in the middle of the street. “Are you—?” I don’t finish, because of course he’s not okay. He’s depressed, suicidal, and he’s got some strange kid that supposedly fell from the sky on his hands in addition to his own son, and don’t get me started on the toxic environment that is Konoha. “Will you become alright?” I settle with, searching his tired features.

His bemusement tells me that my phrasing was off, or my word choice for that particular inquiry was unusual. I don’t know how one would normally pose such a question in Japanese—either that, or I can’t remember at the top of my head—so my only way of asking is using the words and phrasings I do know. I grimace slightly; if only I knew more...

Sakumo’s expression softens. Understanding replaces the confusion, and he nods, a tentative half-smile quirking one of the corners of his mouth, but it doesn’t match the anguished resignation in his eyes. “It’s alright,” he says, and I can’t tell if he means he himself is fine—which would most certainly be a lie—or if he’s saying that it’s fine that the villagers said the things they did—and it’s not, damn it—or—

“It’s not alright. It hurts, right?” I ask helplessly, tears welling up in my eyes—again. Gods, at this rate I’m gonna give Obito a run for his money in the crybaby department. What happened to me being twenty-two and having some control—not much, granted, but certainly more than this—over my urges to cry?

“Fuck,” I curse quietly in my home language, rubbing irritatedly at my eyes with the back of my hand and forearm.

When my vision is relatively clear, I register the conflicted look on Sakumo’s face and let out an amused huff. He looks partly confused at the unfamiliar word and partly disapproving from intuiting the general idea just from my tone alone. Might need to be more careful about using my home language...

“They acquaintances?” I ask, jerking my head in the general direction of the two Sannin, and that serves as a suitable temporary distraction—I’m under no illusions that it’s anything but temporary—for Sakumo.

I turn around to stare at the two Sannin, who remain standing roughly where I last saw them. Sakumo slowly gets to his feet and moves to stand next to me, absently resting his hand on my head. “Aa, I know them,” he says calmly. “Orochimaru, Jiraiya. It’s been a while.”

Jiraiya grins ruefully, an unusual expression to see on the face of a younger Toad Sage, before he shrugs. “We should all go out for drinks sometime. We’ve got leave for the next few days, until the next mission.”

Some of the lingering tension in my shoulders relaxes at Jiraiya’s invitation. While alcohol may not be the best thing for Sakumo in his current condition, the knowledge he’s got someone else who doesn’t outright despise him will most certainly help.

Orochimaru inclines his head regally in acknowledgement before his golden gaze lowers back to regard me curiously. 

I meet his eyes and hold his gaze. It’s interesting to see that his pupils really are slitted like they were illustrated in the story. He’s about as deathly pale as he was depicted in the tv series, too, which is kinda intriguing. Wonder if it’s a circulation thing? If I recall correctly, he shared an affinity with and some attributes similar to that of snakes, so maybe he’s somewhat biologically cold-blooded? Or maybe he has some sort of condition similar to the reptilian cold-blooded constitution? Wonder if he has trouble with colder climes... Sunburns must be a real problem for him...

I inadvertently imagine Orochimaru reclining on a flat bank of rocks or a swell of sand, sunning himself for warmth while absently muttering about possible ways to protect his skin from the harmful effects of extended exposure to UV rays and just... lose my shit. 

I dissolve into a bonafide doubled-over giggle fit, much to the complete and utter confusion of the present company.

“What the hell, Orochi-teme, did you skip intimidating the kid and just send him straight into hysterics?” Jiraiya whispers hotly at his teammate.

When I finally recover my wits enough to straighten and breathe, it’s all I can do to keep from descending into another bout of laughter when I meet the Snake Sannin’s puzzled gaze. “Do you sunburn often?” I blurt out before my mind-to-mouth filter can come back online.

Orochimaru blinks in surprise.

Jiraiya snorts, despite himself. He casts an amused sidelong glance and elbows his teammate. “Well, Orochi-teme?”

Orochimaru glares back at Jiraiya with a look of annoyed chagrin before returning his focus to me. “They are a bit of an annoyance,” he admits, his raspy voice neutral. Which may as well be translated to ‘they’re a serious problem.’

I frown, my humor disappearing in an instant. “I see,” I say solemnly. I regard the Snake Sannin thoughtfully. “May I see your hand?” I ask, after a moment’s internal debate.

Jiraiya and Sakumo exchange glances at the abrupt about-face of my mood, and my sudden and strange request, but otherwise don’t say anything.

Orochimaru stares at me for a few moments before gliding forward a few steps, lowering himself into a crouch, and extending his hand for me to examine.

I only have a vague understanding of how the human body works—if even that. It’s been just a year or two shy of a decade since I last studied anything passingly related to physiology and the varying systems that help the body function. There was that packet I colored in with diagrams on the systems responsible for respiration and how the voice works a few semesters back, but that didn’t cover anything on blood flow or circulation. 

And one of his teammates is the best med-nin in all the Elemental Nations. Anything I figure out right now has likely already been discussed, but still...

With all of this in mind, I take in Orochimaru’s white—nearly translucent—skin, take note of all the veins visible, all a muted dark blue in stark contrast to the pale surface stretched over them. I hold up my own arm and hand to compare and contrast. I blink. More veins are visible on Orochimaru’s arm, and all of them are that same muted blue. Blue means a low amount or lack of oxygen, maybe a problem with circulation, I think. I look back up to meet Orochimaru’s gaze.

“Can I touch your hand and arm?” I ask.

Orochimaru blinks, and I catch a hint of befuddlement in his gaze. After a moment, he answers. “Go ahead.”

I hold his gaze for a few moments more, to make sure he’s really okay with this, before reaching out and placing one of my hands in his while resting the other along the length of his forearm. 

It’s kind of jarring, to realize that my skin tone isn’t that much darker than Orochimaru’s; I guess I didn’t realize because my hair is grey. Orochimaru’s complexion seems more pronounced because his black hair is so dark in contrast.

It doesn’t really come as a surprise that his skin is cold to the touch. I glance back up at Orochimaru, concerned. I know what it’s like to have cold hands and feet, be it from anxiety and nerves, lack of circulation, or simply just exposure to extremely cold weather. Orochimaru’s hand and arm feel like ice. With a frown, I press my fingertips gently but firmly to the pulse point of his wrist. I don’t know at the top of my head how fast an average resting heart rate is, how many beats per minute is the general norm, but I’m pretty sure a heartbeat as slow as Orochimaru’s would be a cause for concern for anyone else but him. It may still even be a concern for the Snake Sannin.

“Do you feel sluggish when you’re cold or somewhere where the temperatures are lower?” I ask quietly, my eyebrows furrowed. When I raise my gaze after a stretch of silence, I find Orochimaru’s gaze boring into mine, sharp and piercing and searching.

Jiraiya goes completely still, his face devoid of emotion.

Sakumo is looking back and forth between us all, his expression contemplative.

“Yes,” Orochimaru finally answers softly.

I nod slowly. I suspected as much. There’s nothing funny about Orochimaru’s constitution anymore. I clasp Orochimaru’s hand between both of mine, wondering if that would help any in transferring some warmth. Gods, he’s so cold. Is it like this for him all the time? And with few people who know, and possibly even fewer willing to work with him to help him keep warm—

A lump forms in my throat at the thought. In the story I remember, Jiraiya and Tsunade leave him. Has part of that already come to pass? Is that why Tsunade is absent? Has she already lost Dan and Nawaki? 

Jiraiya and Tsunade leave Orochimaru to face the cold within, and the cold of the callous, uncomprehending Village without. All on his own. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Aloe vera,” I say softly, my voice coming out a little hoarse. “It’s a—” I clear my throat and struggle to remember if I ever learned the word for plant, come up blank, “green thing. Not a tree, not grass. Um. Between. Green thing.” I stop momentarily, making a frustrated sound before continuing. “Heals burns. Good for skin. Mixed with—something, it can fix sunburns.” I mime rubbing lotion onto my skin, watching Orochimaru’s expressions for any sign of confusion or recognition. I find neither. There is only stunned intrigue.

“You need to stay warm,” I tell him earnestly. “Tea, sunbathing, onsen, futons heated with rocks boiled in hot water—“ I abruptly stop listing possible methods as a thought occurs to me, and my gaze inadvertently flickers to Jiraiya before resettling on Orochimaru. “Can seal tags be made to help change temperature?” 

There’s a distinct shift in the air as three of some of the best minds in Konoha actually take a moment to consider the question.

Another idea comes to mind in case seals can’t be used, but I keep quiet. I think it would be a bit more of a draining and imprecise method, assuming that it would work. From what I remember, elemental manipulation in general is hard to do, and it’s hard to say whether or not certain aspects of different elements can be combined, and to what extent... Like for example, mixing certain traits of the fire element chakra into a primarily wind-based jutsu in order to generate a warm breeze...? Would that even work, or would that fall into Bloodline Limit territory?

Jiraiya’s the first to break the silence, his expression going from thoughtful to ‘holy shit’ as he lets out a surprised sound. A tentative, hopeful smile begins pulling at the corner of my mouth as I stare at the younger Toad Sage expectantly.

“It might just be possible,” he says slowly, his disbelief gradually shifting into excitement. He rubs the palms of his hands together eagerly as he warms up to the idea. He goes to elaborate as the others turn their focus to him—well, Sakumo does, anyway. Orochimaru keeps regarding me with something between confusion and wonder, with only an ear angled towards his teammate serving as the only indication that he’s paying attention.

I try to follow along with Jiraiya’s rambling, but can only recognize a few words or phrases every so many sentences. With a half-frustrated, half-resigned huff, I tune out his chatter to look back down and check on Orochimaru’s hand, which has warmed slightly in the meantime. That’s some relief, then. 

When Jiraiya settles down somewhat, I glance over to see that a puzzled expression has overtaken his features, and I appear to be the source of his befuddlement. Uh-oh. That looks like a face getting ready to ask some serious questions. Most of which I really can’t afford to answer.

“Say, Sakumo, did you marry while we were out of the village, or...?” Jiraiya trails off, staring at me pointedly. Huh. That’s a surprisingly tactful inquiry, coming from the Toad Sage.

Sakumo follows his gaze. “Ah, no, Hiiragi-kun is staying with me and Kakashi.”

Jiraiya blinks, then addresses me. “Huh. Where’re you from, kid?”

I tilt my head up to stare at the partially cloudy sky, picturing my hometown, where I went to school, my friends and family. I blink back a few tears and tear my gaze away from the sky. Get a grip, I think with some frustration as I shake my head.

“Far away,” I finally answer sadly, returning my gaze to Orochimaru’s hand. I can’t feel much of a difference in temperature between his and mine. I glance up at Orochimaru. “Will you hold out your other hand?” I ask him.

There’s a slight pause before Orochimaru holds out his other hand. I promptly clasp it between my hands. It’s cold, just like the other was a few minutes ago.

“Far away,” Jiraiya echoes slowly. “We talking Land of Water far away or Land of Earth far away?”

I look back at Jiraiya blankly. “How far away are they from here?”

Jiraiya blinks, taken aback by my question before his expression screws up with thought. I wonder briefly if Sakumo’s going to say anything about me falling from the sky if this goes on for too long; it might be funny to see Jiraiya’s reaction if he does.

“I’d say, at a rough estimate, Land of Water’s about four hundred plus kilometers away, while Land of Earth is closer to six hundred some-odd kilometers away,” Jiraiya hedges.

“That’s pretty far,” I comment, having very little actual comprehension of the distances just provided, save for the fact that ‘pretty far’ can be considered an understatement. “Are they noted on a map?”

“Yeah?”

“Then both are probably not far enough to be far away,” I admit wryly.

The baffled look that statement earns me is priceless. The quiet, stifled snickers from Orochimaru are a nice bonus. I’m so glad my mask mostly covers my failing attempts to hold back my amused grin.

“You going to answer the question, brat, or are you just going to keep dodging around the topic?” Jiraiya asks, his tone begrudgingly amused but his dark eyes serious. 

My smile fades, and I regard him tiredly for several long moments. “My homeland is not here,” I tell him glumly, and that’s the closest thing to the truth I can afford to say. I turn away from him and focus on Orochimaru’s hand, my melancholy returning full force.

A faint sound of annoyance reaches my ears, and I brace myself for whatever Jiraiya plans to say next—something scathing or scolding, perhaps—but to my surprise, Orochimaru intervenes.

“Jiraiya,” he rasps, and his wild-haired teammate stops short. Now that he’s got his attention, he simply shakes his head slowly.

My shoulders slump fractionally when he backs off. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, my eyes downcast. But you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you. And even if you did... I think soberly. I can’t trust that you won’t just toss me into T&I or a lab to learn more.

As I’m wont to do when feeling particularly subdued, I sing quietly to soothe myself.

Toki no yurikago de

Tsumetai yume wo miru

Kimi ga utatte kureta

Yasashii, yasashii komoriuta

The three shinobi fall still and listen, and I close my eyes to the world, open my mind to the sound. This song is a song that’s rarely far from my mind, especially when I can’t bring myself to voice the hurt inside with my own words. This song is for those who know of the joy in life and the pain in loss.

Kimi ga nozonda no wa

Owaranu sekai

Ore ga nozomu no wa

Sekai no owari

Erabareshi koe wa

Mayoi, warai, urei, itawari 

Utau 

Kanashimi wo yorokobi ni

Kurushimi wo egao ni kaete 

Mukuwarezu ni—

My voice falters and breaks when the overlapping phrase I always wait for doesn’t join. I always wait, even though I know I’ll never hear it when I sing alone. 

Stupid.

My grip unconsciously tightens on Orochimaru’s hand as I remember that the majority of the song is beyond me without its other half. I skip to one of the last few verses.

Kimi ga nozonda no wa

Ore ga nozonda no wa

Nokosareta koe wa nageki

Kimi wo omoi nagara 

Hitori, kimi no tame ni utau

Hitori, kimi no tame ni...

Sakumo inhales sharply as he recognizes the lyrics I sang for him a little over a week ago. I trail off and reluctantly let Orochimaru’s hand go, now that it’s warmed up.

“Herb,” I mutter, as the term comes to me. “Aloe vera is an herb. Green thing. The leaves are a little fat and have... a weird shape. Long. Um.” I don’t know the words for tapering or serrated. I try to draw the general shape of the plant in midair with my pointer fingers. “If you find it, you’ll know it. Maybe. It’d be nice if it could help.”

“Thank you,” Orochimaru says softly, and I blink, caught off guard.

His golden gaze is heavy with some unfathomable emotion I can’t quite decipher.

I pull down my mask and muster up a half-smile, weak but sincere all the same. “Problem none,” I say, somewhat cheekily, knowing full well that that’s not really how it’s supposed to be said, if at all.

I catch a flash of bemused humor in the Snake Sannin’s eyes, and my smile widens in response.

I pull the mask back up and move to stand next to Sakumo, who opts to just pick me up.

“That offer,” Sakumo starts hesitantly, addressing Jiraiya, who blinks in confusion. “To go drinking together? I’d be happy to, maybe tomorrow?”

Jiraiya grins. “Looking forward to it. We’ll all be there, right?”

“I suppose I can go as well. It has been a while,” Orochimaru concedes coolly. 

I beam. “Alright! I entrust Sakumo-san to you.”

Sakumo sputters as Jiraiya guffaws, while Orochimaru watches with amusement.

I’ll protect this, I think fiercely. I won’t let this disappear without a fight.

Chapter Text

June 19, 8bNb 

Snap!

In retrospect, I really should have expected this.

I stare down at my arm in shock. Kakashi is practically frozen stiff, uncomprehending, eyes fixed on the portion of my arm that’s dangling limply at a nauseating angle from my elbow.

I fight down the nausea and sudden urge to throw up, but I’m afraid the tears are a lost cause, especially once the pain registers. I struggle to keep my breathing steady, careful not to move.

One blow. That’s all it took. One blow from a chuunin-ranked six (or seven)-year-old, who is undoubtedly holding back in a friendly spar, and my arm’s broken.

Sakumo’s at our sides in an instant, alarmed and confused in equal measure. I stifle my cries as he carefully folds my arm closer to my chest and lifts me up. I barely feel how my weight pins my wings uncomfortably against his arms over the sharp pain radiating from the break. I’m carried out of the Hatake Clan dojo and to the hospital, Kakashi sprinting along at Sakumo’s heels. By the time we get there, the shivers have set in.

At some point, a medic approaches, his hand coated in chakra while hovering over my arm. 

Looks like it was a diagnostic jutsu, seeing as his eyes widen in confused disbelief. I manage to catch the words ‘bones’ and ‘bird’ and ‘wings’ and close my eyes tiredly.

I force myself to focus when the medic’s chakra goes from a pale blue—a controlled percussive symphony of clattering and trickling sound—to a lovely shade of mint green—sounding like a muted harmony where no one particular sound or attribute is clearly discernible, quiet but resonant, and somehow I’m reminded vaguely of the sustained, soft tones of a marimba.

I watch and listen, transfixed, as he carefully sets the bone and mends most of the break, leaving only the memory of the injury when he finishes several minutes later. He splints my arm, stating something along the lines that he’s sped up most of the recovery, but that it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“Don’t strain your arm for the next week or two. Don’t go lifting anything heavier than a kunai, you hear me? And don’t go lifting any kunai at all!” the medic stresses, his expression fierce. I nod slowly. There are plenty of things I can do without lifting anything with my right arm. The medic narrows his eyes at me suspiciously, but ultimately deems me fit to leave and ushers us out.

Sakumo carries me back to the Compound, his expression tight with worry. Kakashi’s frame is tense as he walks alongside his father.

“Kakashi, it’s not your fault,” I say after a few moments. “Neither of us knew that my bones could break so easily.”

“If I’d hit your head—” Kakashi starts, his voice strained.

“You didn’t,” I state firmly. 

Kakashi’s shoulders loosen faintly at that.

I let out a wry huff of laughter. “I’m practically just like Sans.”

“Sanzu?” Sakumo asks, glancing at me curiously as he sounds out the unfamiliar name. Kakashi’s gaze reflects his father’s inquiry.

“He was a monster from a story; incredibly strong, but at the same time, incredibly fragile. If he took a single hit, he’d die. In order to survive, he became so fast that he could dodge just about any attack,” I explain softly, though the explanation  is a bit of an oversimplification of what he accomplished. “I just need to do the same. Become even faster. Dodge training,” I finish decisively with a firm nod.

Sakumo regards me worriedly. “Are you certain...”

“It’s protect or be protected,” I murmur. “I intend to protect.”

The rest of the walk back to the Hatake Clan Compound passes in silence.

—

June 20, 8bNb

The next day, I follow Kakashi to the training ground he first showed me to when I inadvertently unlocked my hypersensitive sense of hearing. I find a spot to settle some ways off so that Kakashi can train to his heart’s content without having to worry about me being underfoot. 

Part of me wonders why he comes here to practice his katas when he has a dojo he can make use of. Maybe he likes training outside better? Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t see the point of using it if Sakumo isn’t there as well...?

At some point, I catch the sound of someone approaching and look over my shoulder. I blink in surprise to see Orochimaru, who strides forward with almost inhuman grace and settles himself next to me. I stare at him owlishly, wondering why he’s here, and sitting next to me, no less. His gaze settles on my splint.

I grin wryly, setting aside my confusion at the implied inquiry. “Apparently I’m easily breakable.”

Orochimaru blinks, but doesn’t say anything. He simply waits for me to elaborate.

“If you’re like a lizard or a snake,” I start softly, letting my gaze drift back to Kakashi as he runs through a series of what I’m guessing are the next katas, “then I am like a bird. I’m super light, and can probably move pretty fast, but in exchange, my bones are... incredibly brittle.”

Orochimaru’s eyes light up with intrigue.

I laugh again, this time amused. “Interesting, right? Surprised me. Dodge training is my number one priority, right next to basics. I won’t break if I can avoid getting hit.”

Orochimaru hums. “That is certainly one way to go about remedying the issue.” I sense a but, and glance up to meet Orochimaru’s sharp, knowing gaze. “But there is no guarantee you will be willing, or able, to dodge every attack you face.”

That’s true, now that I think about it. If it were a situation where it meant either I take the blow or someone died, I’d probably take the blow. But if I don’t find a way to soften blows, I’m gonna get myself killed.

“Then... taijutsu, bukijutsu... iryoujutsu if possible, genjutsu, ninjutsu...” I trail off pensively. There are a number of ways I could go about this.

Orochimaru lets out a raspy chuckle. “Feeling particularly ambitious, are you?”

I let out a groan and run my uninjured hand through my hair in frustration. “I can’t even read very well yet...” Kanji, I lament internally. Why?

Orochimaru tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “‘Can’t read very well’?”

I grunt in annoyed confirmation. “I can’t read complex characters much. I know a few and can recognize a handful of others, but anything beyond Hiragana and Katakana? Can’t read for the life of me.”

Letting out a contemplative hum, Orochimaru slants his gaze over to the side. “I suppose that could complicate a number of things.”

I snort. “I’ll learn,” I sigh, half resigned and half amused. “But it’ll be troublesome.” 

Realizing I just channeled my inner Nara with their Clan’s time-honored adage, I can’t help the snicker that slips out of me several moments later.

“So?” I ask once I’ve calmed myself. “Did you have something you needed, or did you just come to chat with a strange brat like me?”

Orochimaru’s gaze returns to me, and he stares down at me for several long moments. “You are intriguing.”

I tilt my head slightly and grin back up at him. “Thank you. You’re quite interesting yourself.”

There’s another long pause. Finally:

“You are not afraid of me,” he says softly.

I hum. “Maa, you’re not particularly scary at the moment,” I state blandly. “I’m sure, as a shinobi, you can find any number of ways to be scary when you need to. But you don’t need to now, do you?”

Orochimaru blinks. “No,” he answers.

“Then I see no reason I need to be afraid of you.” I let that sentiment settle between us for a few moments. “Did you think I should be afraid of you?” I ask abruptly.

“Most children find me... unnerving,” Orochimaru admits.

I huff a wry laugh. I’m not most children, I don’t say. Instead, “It’s because they don’t understand. Fear often comes from where understanding is not. It’s the same with adults,” I sigh. “Adults should know better, supposedly.”

Orochimaru levels me with a politely disbelieving look. “And you understand me?”

“Not at all,” I answer unabashedly, the corners of my lips twitching upwards. “I only met you just recently, after all. But I know you get sunburns easily, just like me. I know you’re a human, and also a shinobi. I know you are capable of being scary, but I also know you don’t feel the need to scare me. 

“I know you are misunderstood, and perhaps quite often,” my voice softens. “Just like me.”

Orochimaru lowers his gaze, but he’s too good a shinobi to show any further indication as to what he thinks.

“That’s why I am not afraid of you,” I finish, letting my gaze drift back to Kakashi. “I do not understand you, but right now I understand enough to not be afraid.”

Another silence stretches between us as Orochimaru digests my shared thoughts.

“Your speech pattern is strange, sometimes,” he comments, seemingly apropos of nothing.

I bark a laugh, startled by the abrupt observation. Kakashi pauses in his kata to glance our way before returning to his training. I lean back, resting my weight on my uninjured arm, my fingers nestling into the cool morning grass.

“Why do you think that is the case?” I ask, more curious and amused than anything. I’m self-aware enough to know that my phrasing and word choices don’t always match the standard Japanese structure and usage. Even my speech patterns are all over the place, going back and forth between polite and casual with little rhyme or reason. My listening comprehension has always been better than my verbal communication.

Orochimaru eyes me thoughtfully, gaze lighting up with something a step sideways from delight. I’m reminded, surprisingly, of that one Sherlock from BBC, when he is encouraged or welcomed to deduce and explain what he observes. I wonder if Orochimaru is like him, full of observations and deductions and reason and theories. I imagine very few ever really invite him to unravel something, much less themselves, like I just did.

The main difference between the two, I decide as I watch Orochimaru, is that Sherlock dictates a majority of his thoughts and reasoning aloud as he goes for those around him to hear and follow. Orochimaru organizes his reasoning in his head, his thoughts left unspoken until he’s ready to part with them.

“You have an unusual vocabulary,” Orochimaru begins at last. “Your vocabulary, at first appearance, seems wider than the average child’s, but it is full of holes. Yet you show signs of knowing what you want to say, but not being able to convey your thoughts. When you do convey your ideas, albeit haphazardly or awkwardly, you show an awareness towards how clumsy it sounds. You exhibit reasoning beyond your years, but use only simple words or unusual words that are close in meaning to the conventional terms to explain them...”

I can’t help the smile that takes my face by storm as Orochimaru gathers the pieces of the picture, turning each fragment to determine how best it lines up with the rest of his observations. Will he get it right?

Orochimaru falls silent, staring at me without really seeing me. When his gaze focuses on me once more, there is just the smallest crease between his brows. 

“You’re used to speaking with a different language,” he concludes.

My grin turns incandescent. “You’re right,” I beam, honestly a bit delighted. It’s not really a convoluted mystery, but my circumstances make the obvious less so. My smile softens, becomes frail. “I could sing you a song in my language, if you’d like,” I offer. 

Orochimaru tilts his head curiously, a glint of intrigue lighting his golden eyes. “By all means, please do.”

I smile ruefully, taking a moment to pick a song. I close my eyes, remember the sound. I take a breath. Lose myself to the words.

Thought I found a way

Thought I found a way, yeah (found)

But you never go away (never go away)

So I guess I gotta stay now

Oh I hope some day I’ll make it out of here

Even if it takes all night or a hundred years

Need a place to hide, but I can’t find one near

Wanna feel alive, outside I can fight my fear

Isn’t it lovely, all alone

Heart made of glass, my mind of stone

Tear me to pieces, skin and bone

Hello, welcome home

Walkin’ out of town

Lookin’ for a better place (Lookin’ for a better place)

Something’s on my mind

Always in my headspace

But I know someday I’ll make it out of here

Even if it takes all night or a hundred years

Need a place to hide, but I can’t find one near

Wanna feel alive, outside I can fight my fear

Isn’t it lovely, all alone

Heart made of glass, my mind of stone

Tear me to pieces, skin and bone

Hello, welcome home

Hello, welcome home

I open my eyes, only to find Orochimaru staring at me in blatant fascination. I blink in confusion. “What is it?”

“You sang with more than one voice,” Orochimaru breathes, leaning forward slightly. “Is that common, where you’re from?”

I blink several times, open my mouth to respond, shut it. Blink again. What? “Wait a moment, ‘more than one voice,’ you say... What do you mean?”

“It sounded to me like you were singing with more than one voice and melody for some of the lyrics. There were even moments when you sang, but your mouth was closed, or not moving.” He pauses. “Are you aware that your chakra moves in interesting ways when you sing? I noticed it the other day as well, though it wasn’t as... pronounced.”

I blink in bafflement.

“Apparently not. Can you try singing it again?”

After a brief nod, I start to sing again, this time paying a little more attention to myself and my surroundings as I sing. And then I hear it. As soon as I sing the second line of the song, I hear how another voice—no, it’s my voice, but it’s singing the harmony instead of the melody I usually sing—layers itself beneath mine. Even the parts sung by Khalid in the original song are filled with another voice if I’m otherwise occupied with the main melody. When I finish the song once again, I reach up to feel my throat, more than a little in awe.

What was that just now? I know my limits (and the limits of basic humans) when it comes to singing, and it sounded like I literally just blew past some of them like they didn’t exist.

...

Some sort of consolation for being so suddenly placed out of my depth?

My eyebrows furrow. Unlikely. I glance up at Orochimaru and shake my head, somewhat dismayed. “How...?” I trail off, frowning. 

Chakra and sound makes me think genjutsu. Sound can be used as a medium for casting them, after all. Maybe that’s what Orochimaru was referring to about my chakra fluctuating strangely when I was singing? Was I unconsciously moulding my chakra into something a step sideways from conventional genjutsu? Sakumo did mention that my chakra control and focus was abnormally advanced, and both are necessary in some measure for someone to effectively work with genjutsu, as far as I’ve gathered.

Maybe it wasn’t a product of my vocal cords so much as a passive expression of chakra manipulation.

“Hey,” I speak up, my tone ponderous. “How does genjutsu work? What does it feel like?” I ask the Sannin.

There’s a brief pause as Orochimaru considers my inquiries before his eyes light up with comprehension. 

He gives no warning. Between one blink and the next, where there was nothing but grass in front of me, a fairly small snake now sits coiled. There’s a distinct foreign silence resounding in my ears that wasn’t there before, seemingly pressing in on me; just beneath it a tumble of all the elements cascade through their cycles, dampened, but present all the same. The haunting tones of a wooden flute weave through the elements. How odd. The rest of the world beyond what I imagine is Orochimaru’s chakra sounds muted somehow. Off balance.

I blink, interrupting the flow of my chakra, and the snake disappears along with the press of Orochimaru’s chakra. Sound surges back in as the silence retreats. I rub at my ears thoughtfully.

“A snake?” I ask, a half-smile tugging at a corner of my mouth.

Orochimaru stares down at me, intrigued. “You released the genjutsu without a...”

I blink slowly. I don’t recognize the word he uses, though I think I caught mention of the word for ‘hand’ incorporated. I repeat the unfamiliar phrase back slowly, a questioning lilt coloring my tone.

Orochimaru demonstrates a hand seal that I belatedly realize is used for disrupting the flow of one’s own chakra, the ‘kai,’ or seal for release. Still don’t quite understand how that works. I try to mimic the hand seal with my own hands, glancing back and forth between Orochimaru’s and mine to make sure it at least appears accurate. “How does that work?” I’ve always wanted to know. “Why does it work?” I turn my gaze back to Orochimaru’s, expectant.

That’s how Sakumo finds us, some few hours later (though we moved to the shade of a nearby tree to avoid sunburns), discussing basic and elemental chakra theory and their applications. Even Kakashi joined us at some point, occasionally adding his own input, but otherwise listening quietly.

“But if that’s the case, couldn’t you still mix different elemental chakras just a little bit? Like mixing just a tiny bit of fire chakra into a mostly wind-based technique to create a warmer wind?” I posit. The question’s been on my mind since I first encountered Orochimaru. “It’s not like a new element is created from the mix, right?”

Orochimaru tilts his head slightly to the side as he considers my question.

“And besides, why does everything have to have a huge effect? Why not try different ways to apply things, like size, duration, effect, stuff like that. Why do techniques only have to be executed as they are detailed in a scroll? That seems like a waste.”

Kakashi adopts an expression that looks halfway between affront and thoughtfulness. The corners of Orochimaru’s eyes crinkle just the faintest amount with his amusement. I noticed throughout our impromptu lesson on chakra theory that that’s where Orochimaru’s smiles really come from. The smiles he makes with his mouth are more like facades, fronts. Placeholders. 

I can relate.

“You raise some interesting points,” Orochimaru answers. “I believe testing them is the best way to find out.”

I can’t help the way I straighten with excitement, before pausing. I look over my shoulder and loosen my control over my chakra slightly—just enough to hear the familiar rumble of thunder I recognize as Sakumo.

“Sakumo-san,” I greet with a smile.

Kakashi looks up sharply and Orochimaru blinks. Sakumo lets out a quiet huff of laughter as he drops down from a tree a few meters away. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt or intrude,” he says ruefully. “You sounded like you were having fun.”

“Want to join?” I offer.

It hurts a bit, to see Sakumo hesitate and scan our small group—which includes his own son—as if to gauge his own welcome.

He gives a tentative smile after a moment before striding over and sitting between Kakashi and I. “So,” he starts slowly, eyeing me with a single arched brow. “Elemental chakra?”

I grin, entirely unabashed. “I wanted to know why this,” I clumsily form the hand seal Orochimaru showed me earlier. “Was good for breaking genjutsu. Apparently it’s one of the best—and simplest—ways to focus chakra enough in a way that’s easy to disrupt, and that helps break the genjutsu. The disruption, that is.”

Sakumo smiles at my enthusiasm. “Oh?”

“And then from there we started talking about chakra and its types. Yin for genjutsu and the mind, Yang for taijutsu and the body, and then the five basic elements. When I asked if elements could be mixed, Orochimaru-san told me about Bloodline Limits. So if elements can’t be outright mixed, I wondered if just certain parts of elements could be mixed with other elements instead.”

Sakumo mulls over that for a few moments. “Well, I think that might depend on a few different things,” he says slowly. “Elemental transformation and manipulation isn’t easy; I’d imagine that a large part of it would depend on the individual attempting the mix, and their natural affinities.”

“That makes sense,” I respond after a moment’s thought. I glance over at Orochimaru, remembering the sound of his chakra. “Orochimaru-san would probably be good at it,” I comment absentmindedly. 

Orochimaru blinks. “What makes you say that?” he asks curiously.

“Hm? Because you sound like everything,” I answer honestly.

Kakashi’s eyebrows shoot up as he straightens abruptly. “Really?” he blurts, a note of amazement coloring his voice.

“I am missing something here,” the Snake Sannin says slowly, eyeing the awed expression Kakashi is regarding him with warily.

Sakumo glances down at me in silent query.

I shrug. “I can hear chakra... elements,” I state haltingly. “Sakumo is thunder—so Lightning. Kakashi is sparking electricity—also Lightning. You sound like each element in their turn. And none of them sound quieter in comparison to each other. It’s honestly amazing.”

“You can hear chakra affinities,” Orochimaru repeats blankly. “Like a...”

I blink, not recognizing the term he used. “A what?”

He repeats the word before explaining. “Someone who can perceive the presence of others, more specifically their chakra, even from a great distance. Really powerful ones are sometimes capable of reading emotions or discerning the affinities of those they sense.”

“Ah,” I say as I finally understand what Orochimaru’s talking about. Sensors. I frown thoughtfully. Does my sensitive hearing count as a sensor’s skill? “But I don’t see anything. I just hear the sound of the chakra.”

Orochimaru hums, intrigued. “I cannot say I have heard of a sensor that perceives things through sound as opposed to a mental sight,” he admits after a moment.

My shoulders slump slightly at that. Welp, guess that means I won’t have much in the way of guidance or instruction for my hearing. With a quiet sigh, I shrug again. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped. I’ll figure it out as I go.”

“What is your...”

I stare at Orochimaru blankly. What I’d do to get my hands on jisho.org in this reality. I’m getting really tired of having to ask people to clarify unfamiliar terms. Orochimaru has the patience of a saint, which might be the exception to the rule of others I can expect to encounter here. “My what?”

Orochimaru tilts his head slightly. “How far can you hear?” he rephrases.

I pause to think. “I... don’t know,” I admit slowly. “I haven’t checked.”

Orochimaru’s eyes light up slightly. “Would you like to test it out?”

I take a moment to think about it. Sensors are largely uncommon, especially powerful ones, if I recall correctly. My sense of hearing could serve as an asset. It’s a skill I’ll need to be able to understand the ins and outs of, the limits, the whole shebang, if I’m going to become a shinobi.

Considering my body’s constitution, I might need to keep my distance more often than not and work with long-range combat. My hearing can complement that.

I look back up to meet Orochimaru’s gaze. “Sure. Let’s see what I can do.”

Sakumo lets out a thoughtful sound. “How do you plan to do that?” he asks warily.

I take a moment to recall the phrase I’m looking for. “Hide-and-seek?” 

Orochimaru nods thoughtfully after a moment. “We can each find a spot to hide at set distances from you to determine how far your sense of hearing can extend.”

“I’d prefer if we had at least one person with Hiiragi to be safe,” Sakumo inserts firmly. 

“I’ll do it,” Kakashi volunteers almost immediately, to my surprise.

Sakumo nods after a moment. “Alright. Then Orochimaru and I will hide?”

“Don’t conceal your chakra for now,” Orochimaru answers with an agreeing incline of his head. “We are trying to see overall distance. We can test the range and efficacy against concealed chakra another time. Until sunset, or we reach your limit?” Orochimaru asks, this time addressing me.

“Got it. How long do you need?” I ask.

Orochimaru and Sakumo exchange glances. Sakumo shrugs, content to let Orochimaru set the parameters. “Start in five minutes,” Orochimaru answers.

In the next instant the two shinobi disappear in a swirl of leaves. 

I glance at Kakashi. “Want to play jan-ken while we wait?” I ask.

Kakashi shrugs.

I only lose three rounds. Once I know what sounds Kakashi’s muscles make for each sign, I win the rest of the rounds, to Kakashi’s chagrin.

“It’s been about five minutes,” Kakashi finally says after a particularly unfortunate bout of speed jan-ken, the barest trace of relief evident in his tone as he turns away.

I do my best to stifle my amusement. Glancing around, I relinquish my control—to the barest degree I can—over the flow of chakra to my ears. I hum noncommittally as I tilt my head this way and that. “Orochimaru-san sounds closer,” I tell Kakashi idly. “Any recommendations on how to move through a forest?”

As a matter of fact, Kakashi has quite a few.

—

We have to stop before sundown on account of me stretching my range to the point that an unexpected explosion from several training grounds away ruptures my eardrums and leads to me bleeding from the ears.

(Which makes no sense, but it’s still happening, gods why—)

I barely register Kakashi flaring his chakra distressingly through the ringing agony in my ears and head. I’m a little busy shivering and curling into a ball and keening quietly as I press my palms over my ears, to be honest. I thought breaking my arm the other day was bad—this takes the cake, hands down.

When Orochimaru arrives—a few minutes or an eternity later—he exchanges a few words with Kakashi before disappearing in a swirl of leaves. Sakumo arrives some time after—he was maybe about twice as far away from us as Orochimaru was, I recall faintly—his face going through a series of micro-expressions as he takes in the situation and Kakashi’s explanation. Or maybe they were regular expressions. It’s kind of hard to see through my tears and the rising fog in my head at the moment.

When Orochimaru returns, a familiar face is just behind him, his expression exasperated until his eyes land on me. The exasperation is swiftly replaced with grim concern as the medic from the other day hurries over and runs chakra coated hands over my head. He carefully pries my hands—now liberally painted with red—away from my ears, and Orochimaru draws near to hold them out of the med-nin’s way.

Gradually, the pain is soothed, and the ringing gives way to the familiar and soft resonant tones that remind me of a marimba. The relief is so great I find myself losing consciousness.

—

June 21, 8bNb

When I wake up, it takes me a few moments to figure out where I am. A few quick glances tell me it’s the room that Sakumo prepared for me a little over a week ago. It’s different, though, quiet in a way it’s never been, even prior to my hearing going sensitive. I attempt to sit up, but flop back (ow, my wings) when a wave of dizziness overtakes me, blurring my vision and leaving my head spinning. 

My stomach sinks. There is no sound. I should have heard the sound of fabric rustling with my movement, the muffled thump of my head hitting the pillow, my explosive exhale—something.

I heard nothing. I close my eyes and let out a shaky breath that doesn’t reach my ears.

Something touches my shoulder and I flinch, my eyes snapping open to see Kakashi kneeling by my futon, his dark eyes conveying a mix of relief and worry. It’s his hand resting on my shoulder, and I relax somewhat.

When I return my gaze to Kakashi’s, his stare has turned expectant.

A bitter taste settles in my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I say into the silence, trying to keep my voice level, to keep it calm, but I can’t tell, I can’t hear—

“I can’t hear anything.”

Chapter Text

June 21 - July 1, 8bNb

The med-nin, Yamamoto Naomasa is his name, visits some time later to give me a checkup. Orochimaru left me a note for when I woke up; it takes up an entire scroll. It’s all in hiragana, thank goodness. The majority of it is dedicated to explaining my current condition. It’s long because it breaks everything down carefully, meticulously, in order to ensure I can understand.

I’m not deaf, apparently. There’s a seal regulating my chakra for me, courtesy of Jiraiya, keeping it from my ears in order to avoid further strain to my ruptured eardrums. Naomasa can’t heal my ears all in one go; my chakra pathways are too underdeveloped and sensitive to risk it. My hearing should start coming back within the next week or two—albeit heavily impaired until full recovery. Once my eardrums are better, they’ll take off the seal.

Kakashi adamantly refuses to leave my side while I’m recovering, dedicating his time to doing light workouts in my room—some of which I join—and teaching me Konoha Hand Sign, which is fun and keeps me from getting bored and going stir-crazy. It’ll be a good skill to have for later on, which is also a nice bonus.

When mealtimes roll around, we sit back-to-back as we eat; our compromise. I want to respect Kakashi’s privacy, Kakashi wants to be sure that we both eat while the food’s still warm. We make it work. He’ll tap the futon to let me know that his mask is back in place, and I’ll gingerly lean back against him (mindful of my wings) just a bit more in acknowledgment. Sakumo, if his expression is any indication, finds the whole arrangement both endearing and amusing in equal measures. The fond smiles say it all. Much better than the pinched look he’s been sporting since I got injured (again).

My hearing starts coming back halfway into the second week, just in time for Sakumo to receive a new mission. 

I wasn’t expecting the babysitter.

—

July 2, 8bNb

“You two be good while I’m gone, alright?” Sakumo asks, kneeling down in front of Kakashi and I. “Kakashi, look out for Hiiragi, make sure he makes it to the appointment with Yamamoto-sensei tomorrow, okay?”

Kakashi nods firmly. “Understood.”

I reach up and hug Sakumo. “Be careful, okay?” I say softly.

Sakumo returns the hug, then gently ruffles my hair and then Kakashi’s as he lets go and straightens. He doesn’t say goodbye. He doesn’t say he’ll be back soon. He can’t bring himself to say the former, nor can he promise the latter.

With a nod, Sakumo turns and disappears in a swirl of leaves, leaving the both of us standing just outside the Hatake Clan Compound.

Kakashi glances at me to make sure I’m paying attention before signing ‘Follow’.

‘Affirmative,’ I sign back, a smile quirking faintly at the corners of my mouth. I fall into step next to Kakashi as he starts heading towards the training ground he often frequents. We take our time, signing back and forth, making games of seeing how swiftly we can sign something, how quickly we can read the other’s instructions and then act them out.

Once we reach the training ground, Kakashi drops down to start stretching, and I do my best to follow suit with one arm still splinted.

“Wow, that’s an interesting seal you’ve got there.”

I flinch, my heart practically leaping to my throat at the unexpected comment from behind me. That ‘interesting seal’ is going to cause my premature death via a heart attack, I can’t help but think somewhat viciously as I place a hand to my chest.

Kakashi jumps to his feet instantly and rushes over to me in alarm. He checks me over briefly before glaring reproachfully at the man who spoke up behind me. “Minato-san!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you! Are you okay?”

I crane my head to see yet another familiar face staring back down at me, his expression worried. Flyaway hair as yellow as the petals of a sunflower held back by a navy blue hitai-ate. Cerulean blue eyes deeper than the skies set amongst lightly tanned features. This is Namikaze Minato. The future Yondaime Hokage. Naruto’s father. I can’t help but stare, taking it all in. This is a reminder. This is one of the lives I want to save.

“I’m... I’m okay. You... surprised me,” I admit weakly, my heartbeat doing its damnedest to attempt some bastardized form of breakdancing within the confines of my chest.

“I’m sorry,” Minato repeats, all at once sincere and sheepish and apologetic.

“It’s okay,” I say, and it really is. It’s not the first time I’ve had what felt like the living daylights scared out of me, and it likely won’t be the last. “I didn’t hear you. That’s what the seal is for.”

Minato’s eyes light up with curiosity and a hint of concern. “The seal makes it so you can’t hear?” he asks.

“The inside of my ears are... um... injured. From a very loud noise. Explosion. The seal makes everything quiet so my ears can heal,” I explain tentatively. 

Minato blinks before leaning a little closer. “Is that so? May I take a closer look at it?”

“I don’t mind.”

I look away so that Minato can see the seal along the back and sides of my neck better. There’s a long stretch of contemplative silence before the sensation of the pad of a finger tracing along one of the curving lines painted on my skin prompts me to shudder and jerk away.

“Ah, I’m sorry, did I startle you?” Minato hastily apologizes.

“Neck...” I start haltingly, voice strained. I shudder again, the hair along the back of my neck and arms raising. It takes me a few moments to look up and meet Minato’s gaze. “I don’t like it when people touch my neck.”

Kakashi stills next to me, and Minato’s gaze sharpens, flicking briefly to my neck before returning to my eyes.

“My bad,” he says carefully, his voice softening. “How did you get those seals?”

“Jiraiya-sama drew them on while Hiiragi was unconscious,” Kakashi answers when I shrug.

“Sensei did?” Minato looks a bit surprised. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with him.”

“I met him and Orochimaru-san at a park with Sakumo-san a few weeks ago,” I explain. “He’s your sensei?”

Minato beams, though his smile is a little lopsided with fond exasperation. “Yeah, he is,” he confirms. He takes a moment to settle himself in a comfortable seating position on the grass in front of Kakashi and I before addressing the both of us.

“Well, my name is Namikaze Minato, eighteen years old, Jounin. Sakumo-san asked me to watch over the both of you while he’s out on his mission. I already do so for Kakashi whenever I’m in-Village, anyway. Would you mind introducing yourself?”

I blink. “I don’t mind, but what do you want me to include for my introduction?”

Minato hums thoughtfully. “I think name, age, likes, dislikes, and dreams for the future should be enough to start with.”

I can’t help the wry smile that overtakes my features. Like a genin introduction to a prospective jounin instructor, I think, a little amused.

“I’m Hiiragi, five years old.” 

...

I think. I look younger than Kakashi, at least, and he’s only six or seven. 

“I like to sing and whistle, play Shiritori, make Sakumo-san smile, learn new things from Kakashi, and talk with Orochimaru-san. I like starry skies, cool weather, and... And a lot of other things. I don’t like...” I trail off, trying to gather my thoughts and find the right words. “I don’t like people who let fear get in the way of understanding, or don’t even try to understand others. I don’t like when precious people are sad and I don’t know how to help. I also don’t like loud or sudden noises, hot, sunny days, and sometimes...” myself, I don’t say out loud. I shake my head.

“My dream for the future is to protect as many as I can. To make it so that those I hold dear may be happy until the end of their days,” I finish solemnly, glancing briefly at Kakashi before settling my gaze on Minato.

Minato’s cerulean stare is somber, almost measuring, as he regards me seriously. It’s anyone’s guess as to what sober thoughts he’s entertaining in that brilliant mind of his. “That’s a very good dream to have,” he says after a few moments, his features softening along with his tone.

I smile at the compliment, closing my eyes to make the expression more apparent past the mask I’m wearing. If you think so, it must be, I don’t say out loud. Instead, “I will work hard to make it so my dream can become a part of reality.”

Minato nods, acknowledging the promise with an approving smile. He turns his gaze to Kakashi. “So what were you two up to when I got here? It looked like you were doing some stretches...?” he trails off meaningfully.

Kakashi nods sharply in confirmation. “That’s right. We were practicing hand-signs on our way to the training ground, and once we finished stretching, I planned to run through some katas.”

Minato’s eyebrows arch slightly. “Hand-signs?”

Kakashi and I sign ‘Affirmative’ in unison, earning a startled laugh from the jounin. “I see. And those katas you mentioned?”

“Kakashi’s teaching me,” I pitch in.

Minato’s eyebrows climb higher in response before glancing at the chuunin in question, a hint of incredulity leaking into his expression. “Kakashi is?”

I nod, and Kakashi huffs. “Hiiragi’s not hopeless.”

I glance at the Hatake, surprised. That was high praise, coming from Kid Kakashi. Though the wording could use some work.

I grin mischievously, my eyes crinkling with my mirth. “It’s good practice for when he becomes a jounin sensei,” I can’t help but quip gleefully. Passive aggression, thy name shall be Hiiragi.

The horrified shudder that overcomes Kakashi, along with his followup of reaching back to rub at what he can reach of his spine over his shoulder, are priceless. Did I seriously just give him chills with that (seemingly) innocuous statement?

Minato looks torn between the desire to comfort the alarmed chuunin and the urge to laugh at the admittedly hilarious response.

Once he recovers, Kakashi turns on me, his wild silver hair practically bristling. “Don’t say things like that!”

I couldn’t hide my grin even if I tried—the fabric mask I’m wearing isn’t hiding shit right now. I hold up my hands and wave them placatingly. “Is it really so bad?” I ask through my giggles. “You seem to be doing fine with me.”

“You’re an exception!” he retorts, only to freeze a moment after, what features of his face visible flushing red with embarrassment.

It takes a surprisingly enormous amount of self-control to refrain from teasing Kakashi for such a slip of the tongue, but I manage. I calm myself with a deep breath—or maybe three—before looking back at Kakashi, who won’t meet my gaze.

“Thank you,” I say softly, helplessly fond. 

There’s a long pause before Kakashi lets out a chagrined huff and reins himself back into his serious persona. Because goodness forbid Kakashi ever be caught acting like the kid he technically is. I sigh quietly. I wouldn’t do him the disservice of treating him like a child, even if I were in a position to do so, not when he does not wish to be treated as such. He would only see it as patronizing and belittling, and it would probably just be counterproductive anyway. I’ll just have to stick to ribbing him when he gets too serious for his own good.

When I return my focus to Minato, I’m somewhat surprised to see the man looking relieved as he watches the both of us. Ah, I guess I wasn’t the only one worrying about Kakashi’s circumstances.

“So are we still going to do katas?” I ask Kakashi, unsure if Minato’s presence will change today’s training schedule.

Kakashi shoots me a look. “Of course. Why?”

I shrug. “Is Minato-san going to join us? What are we going to do once we’re done?”

Kakashi hesitates, casting an uncertain look at the jounin.

Minato beams reassuringly. “May I join you? If you’d like, I could give some pointers as well.”

Kakashi brightens almost imperceptibly at the offer before answering with a stiff nod.

—

When Minato approaches me while I’m working my way slowly through the third set of katas Kakashi taught me, I resist the knee-jerk impulse to stop what I’m doing, and simply keep moving through the set. I reckon if the jounin wanted me to stop and talk, he would’ve said so.

He watches for the better part of two more sets before he says something.

“What happened to your arm?” he asks.

“It broke,” I answer, not pausing in my movements. “My bones are kind of frail, so they break easily,” I add after a few moments.

I catch Minato’s concerned frown out of the corner of my eye, but refrain from commenting. My constitution is concerning; there’s no getting away from it.

“And this is the style you intend to use?” he asks, referring to the watered-down Hatake taijutsu forms that Kakashi has been teaching me up to this point.

I take a moment to think as I execute a slightly faster kick that carries me briefly off the ground. “Probably not,” I admit ruefully on an exhale. I intuit Minato’s next inquiry and answer it before he even opens his mouth. “I probably can’t use it, but I can still learn from it.” 

I finish my last set and take a few minutes to stretch and catch my breath. Kakashi, from what I can tell, still has quite a few more sets to work through, seeing as he’s been learning the form longer than I have.

Minato sits down in front of me, legs crossed. “Then what will you use?” he asks curiously.

I grin wryly as I settle on the grass comfortably. “Whatever I can. Either I find something that works for me, or I’ll probably have to create my own style to accommodate my limitations. Something built up around not letting my opponents land a direct hit. Or changing my opponent’s... um... what do you call it... course?” I grimace. It’s technically accurate, meaning-wise, but the word choice is unorthodox in this context.

Aikido is the first thing that comes to mind, but I never progressed far enough to learn more than a handful of grapples, and I am seriously out of practice. But maybe using some of the basic ideas behind the martial art as a foundation...

I turn my head to stare absently at Kakashi. Gai would’ve been able to come up with something, I bet; it sounds like the sort of arbitrary challenge he would’ve undertaken...

I straighten. Now there’s an idea. I don’t know how to approach martial arts, or taijutsu. So who better to ask than a taijutsu specialist? Gai might be too young right now, but his father might be able to help me figure something out (if he’s willing). Or at least point me in the right direction.

With that settled, I return my focus back to Minato, who’s staring at me with a mix of fascinated amusement.

“What is it?” I ask warily.

“You were completely out of it,” he chuckles. When no response from me is forthcoming, Minato levels me with a steady, vaguely chastising expression. “You may not want to get in the habit of doing that in the presence of others, if you plan on becoming a shinobi. It’ll leave you vulnerable.”

I blink. Ah, that’s true, now that he mentions it. I nod in understanding. “I’ll be more careful. Thank you.”

Minato blinks, a little taken aback by the complete lack of what I imagine was an expected defensive reaction to him calling me out like he did.

It’s my turn to feel amused. Poor Minato; there be no children here. 

...

Ah, that’s kind of depressing, now that I think about it.

“Once Kakashi is done, what do you want to do?” I ask abruptly.

Minato raises an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Kakashi gets his training, I get to learn from Kakashi. So next you get to pick something you’d like to do,” I reply, meeting Minato’s puzzled gaze. “Take your time and think about it. Kakashi’s still got a few more katas to run through.”

I feel a curl of satisfaction when, a few minutes later, a tentative smile lights up Minato’s face. Looks like he figured out what he’d like to do.

Chapter Text

“What you said earlier, about good practice for becoming a jounin sensei. It got me thinking, about how I’ve wanted my own students for a while.” Minato scratches at the back of his head sheepishly. “Would it be okay if you helped me practice?”

I blink, amused, despite myself.

Kakashi looks morbidly fascinated by the notion that the blond jounin genuinely wants students of his own.

“Sure,” I agree readily. “I can be a civilian-born student who gets the theoretical aspects but struggles with practical application, Kakashi can be the genius Rookie of the Year, and our third teammate can be the one who never shows up on time.” Oh, the irony. I hope this statement doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass later.

Minato lets out a bemused chuckle. “You’ve... got a really impressive imagination, Hiiragi-kun.”

“Nah... it could use some work,” I say cryptically before glancing at Kakashi. “You alright with this?”

Kakashi looks back and forth between Minato and I before shrugging, seemingly content to see how things pan out.

“Then we’ll be in your care, Minato-sensei,” I beam, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet.

The look of confounded delight that overtakes Minato is precious. He lets out an abashed laugh as he scratches at the back of his head. “Ah, what should I do? I’m kind of just... so happy.”

It finally sinks in, the realization that I’m technically older than Minato by a good four years. All years spent as a civilian, but even civilians can have insights that trained shinobi might not come by immediately.

“Want to know what I’m good at?” I offer with a grin as I lean forward, hoping to nudge the jounin in a decent direction. A good first step would be to see what he’s got to work with.

Minato stares at me blankly before his eyes light up with some sort of realization. He smiles gratefully. “Aa, I’d like to know your strengths and things you feel you could improve.”

“I’m good at chakra control and...” I take a moment to think. I don’t really have much else that I can claim I’m good at (that would be relevant to being a shinobi, that is), and since my hearing is still impaired, that’s also out. “I need to improve my genjutsu and taijutsu.”

“I’m good at just about anything, though I guess kenjutsu and ninjutsu are my strengths. I feel that I could improve everything I know,” Kakashi states dutifully.

“Ah, me too, I could improve everything I know,” I add quickly, raising my hand.

“I see,” Minato smiles warmly. “That’s good to know. Have either of you seen your other teammate?” He asks, settling into the scenario I proposed seamlessly.

Kakashi and I exchange a glance. Kakashi lets out an annoyed huff before looking away, and I shake my head.

“I see...” Minato says thoughtfully. “Then, in the meantime, I can give you some exercises to work on while we wait.”

I blink in surprise. In the story I remember, I got the impression that Minato and his team usually waited for their often tardy member before starting anything. Interesting that that’s not the case right now. Is it because Minato knows that our ‘third student’ is a no-show?

Hm. Something to think about later.

“Are you going to teach us a cool jutsu?” I ask cheekily, in part to tease Minato, but also in part to give him a taste of what to expect from actual students who aren’t already veteran shinobi or mentally twenty-two years old.

“Cool jutsus require very good chakra control. I’d like to see how far along you are with your chakra control before I teach you any,” Minato answers patiently, and I grin.

Nicely done, sensei.

“Hiiragi-kun, have you learned how to climb trees without using your hands?”

I know how, in theory. I just haven’t tried it yet. I settle for blinking owlishly up at Minato. “How?”

Minato smiles mirthfully before leading the two of us to the trees lining the edges of the training ground. “Watch closely,” he says brightly before walking up the tree trunk as if it were just another part of the ground.

It’s one thing to know it’s possible. It’s another thing entirely to actually see it in person. What a way to mess with a person’s perception of gravity. Once he reaches a spot several meters above the ground, Minato turns around to stare down at us.

Judging by how he grins and has to stifle a snicker when he sees me, my expression must be incredibly entertaining. He jumps down and lands gracefully in front of Kakashi and I. 

“The trick to tree-walking is channeling chakra to the soles of your feet and maintaining the flow there. The amount is also important; too much and you’ll damage the tree trunk and repel yourself, too little, and you won’t stick at all,” Minato explains smoothly.

I nod slowly, but eye the trunk warily. It makes perfect sense. But...

“Is there a fallen tree nearby?” I ask slowly.

Minato blinks, caught off-guard by the odd question.

“There is. It’s over that way,” Kakashi answers as he points, his eyes reflecting his puzzlement. “Why?”

“I’m gonna go practice,” I beam, my tone a little on the saccharine side. Like hell I’m gonna try running up a tree—without knowing exactly how much chakra I’ll need to keep me from falling—and risk another broken bone.

The two shinobi follow me, a little flummoxed. When I spot the fallen tree, I let out a sound of satisfaction. I promptly hop up onto the almost horizontal trunk and pace back and forth along its length, swaying every now and then as I adjust my balance accordingly. I keep walking, and after a few moments, turn my focus towards funneling just a little bit of my chakra to the soles of my feet.

No difference. No fresh scuff marks on the tree, and no adhesion to the wood. Okay then, maybe a bit more is necessary. Less than a few minutes later, I start noticing how it takes some effort to pull my feet from the trunk. Good, I’m getting close. But the new question is, is it enough to hold me to a vertical surface against my body weight and the force of gravity?

Better to be safe than sorry, I decide. I keep gradually increasing my chakra output until the bark beneath my feet starts splintering. I immediately reduce to a little less than the prior output and nod firmly. I can work my way down from the excess a safe distance from the ground to better determine the most efficient amount.

I glance up to see Minato and Kakashi staring at me with a mix of envious and offended realization. 

“Are you serious?” I ask exasperatedly. “No one’s come up with this before me?”

Minato covers his face with his hands and lets out a pained groan. “Hiiragi-kun,” he mumbles, his aggrieved voice muffled by his hands. “Presently, I think you’d make a better sensei than me...”

I sigh. “Even teachers can learn new things from their students,” I grumble. “Don’t be disheartened. Now you can pass this method on to your own students when you get them. And then they can pass it on to students of their own.” I hop down and meander over to a sturdy-looking tree standing tall.

“Do your best, Minato-sensei,” I tell the jounin without looking at him. “That’s all anyone can ever ask of you. If you ever feel like your best is not enough...” I trail off and turn to him, waiting for him to meet my eyes.

He tentatively pulls his hands away from his face and meets my gaze. I level Kakashi with a look as well before continuing. “If you ever feel like your best is not enough,” I restate softly, but with no less conviction. “Find a way to make it enough, become better, or ask for help.”

I turn away and suck in a deep, hissing breath, tucking my trembling hands to my chest and just taking a few moments to recollect myself. 

Sometimes, I can’t help but feel too much. I notice it usually happens when I talk or interact with people in general. But to be honest, tiring as it is, I prefer this to the hollow apathy that creeps up on me from time to time.

Especially when it comes to things I used to struggle with in my own experience. I don’t want them to have to deal with the fallout of the mistakes I witnessed or made myself, if I can help it.

Once I’ve regained a modicum of control over myself, I coat the soles of my feet with an appropriate amount of chakra and take my first few steps up the side of the tree. More than the sudden change in orientation, the amount of core strength needed to keep my stance level while standing parallel to the ground is surprising. I don’t venture much further up the trunk.

Now, how to go about this...?

I split my focus between my feet, maintaining the current amount of chakra on my left foot while dialing down the output on my right. When my right foot finally starts losing traction on the trunk, I correct the output until it’s safely attached and let myself smile somewhat triumphantly. I’ve found the optimal amount of chakra necessary for tree-walking.

Once the output for my left foot matches my right, I make my way carefully up the tree, acclimatizing myself to the activity and memorizing the method and amount of chakra to mould. When I reach a fork in the trunk, I proceed along the growth that stretches almost parallel to the ground until I’m practically standing upside-down from a viewer’s perspective on the ground. This is such a trip, I’m not gonna lie.

I seek out Minato’s gaze and grin, a bit giddy from the orientation and view. “Minato-sensei, I did it!”

The contemplative expression on the jounin’s face brightens with genuine delight as he smiles back at me. “Well done, Hiiragi-kun. Can you keep practicing for a few more minutes while I start Kakashi on something else?”

I shrug placidly. “Sure.” 

I stroll up and down branches for a few moments before descending the main trunk until I’m closer to the ground. Maintaining my chakra while walking is easy enough; whether the same could be said for jogging or running, however... better to be safe than sorry.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of running up and down the trunk, my focus briefly slips, I drop about a meter or two, and hit the ground with my back and a quiet, winded whine, my wings smarting from the impact. I make a mental note to ask Minato about some exercises to improve overall acrobatics (and more importantly, landing) at some point before rolling over and pushing up to my feet again.

I launch myself back up the tree and slip only four more times after the first fall (and manage to catch myself or regain my footing for the last two). It’s when I’m considering the distances between the branches of my current tree and those of a neighboring one that Minato returns and calls me down.

I sprint down the trunk and only slow once I’m near enough to the ground to jump down safely and land in front of Minato.

He regards me with a mix of amusement and wonder—I seem to get a lot of those looks lately, I notice—before speaking.

“I think,” he starts in good humor, “that you’ve shown impressive chakra control. If you can promise to be careful and discreet, I don’t see why I can’t teach you a jutsu.”

My eyes widen in surprise. Seriously?

He catches my shocked look and smiles warmly. “What kind of jutsu would you like to learn?”

I flounder for a moment, still reeling from the fact that Minato is willing to teach me—a five-year-old (with an added seventeen years of experience, granted, but still!)—a jutsu. Then I scramble through my memory, trying to recall what jutsus were available in the story. And then I realize, as a kid with a relatively small amount of chakra to work with, my choices are limited—oh.

The Kawarimi. The Body-Replacement Technique. Basic, (hopefully) not too chakra-intensive, and useful.

“I don’t have a lot of chakra yet,” I start, looking up to meet Minato’s blue gaze. He blinks, but I continue before he can respond. “If you are willing to teach me a jutsu, I’d like to learn something I can use in a pinch. Something that uses only a little bit of chakra, and can get me out of immediate danger.”

If I am going to fight in your war, I need a way to survive it, I don’t say out loud. Judging by the way Minato’s expression goes from confused to grim in a matter of seconds, I don’t have to.

“There’s a jutsu I know that comes to mind,” he says gravely. “It’s called Kawarimi.”

I tilt my head to the side slightly. Good, now we’re on the same page. “What does it do? How does it work?” I ask.

“As the name suggests, this jutsu substitutes the user with an object within their range—in other words, the user and the object switch places.”

I take a moment to digest Minato’s description of the jutsu before looking back up at him. “Does it work with people, too?” I ask curiously, an idea forming in my mind. “Can the user switch places with another person?”

Minato opens his mouth, stops. A look of befuddlement crosses his face. “I... I’m not sure. I haven’t seen or heard of it being used the way you’re suggesting.” A troubled look soon replaces the befuddlement. “If it could...” he stares down at me.

“Save a comrade, defeat an enemy, or even do both simultaneously,” I say with a grim smile. “Possibility has no end.” I know those aren’t the exact words used in the saying, but the meaning’s practically the same.

Silence stretches between us for several moments before Minato breaks it. “You really are something, Hiiragi-kun.” His voice is soft. There is no awe this time.

I meet his gaze solemnly. “I was born a civilian. Where I come from there are no shinobi. But there are warriors, of a sort. And I’ve heard some of the regrets of the survivors.”

Truth. All of it.

My response seems to settle some of Minato’s unease, but there’s nothing I can do about the rest. I can’t chase the phrase ‘child-soldier’ from his mind when he looks at me, because that is essentially what I intend to become, for better or for worse.

Because to save others I have to be able to save myself. To save myself, I have to become strong. And those who are deemed strong enough (whether they are truly strong or not) are drafted to fight in the service of the Village.

“Kawarimi has five hand seals. We’ll start with those,” Minato states determinedly, pulling me from my thoughts and drawing my entire focus to him. “Once you’ve got them memorized, we’ll go from there.”

Chapter Text

July 2 - July 3, 8bNb 

Tiger, Boar, Ox, Dog, Snake, repeat. Tiger, Boar, Ox, Dog, Snake.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

My mind wanders as my hands continue to run through the sequence of seals for Kawarimi. My gaze settles on the night sky stretching seemingly without end above, countless stars speckling the dark expanse like a flurry of falling snowflakes frozen in time.

It never fails to take my breath away, no matter how many times I see this. Before I woke up here, I could count the times I’d seen a view like this on one hand and still have fingers left over, and those all paled in comparison to this.

I can’t identify any constellations I recognize from home: the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, Orion and his belt. These stars are strangers to me, just as I am a stranger to this reality.

But they’re beautiful all the same.

At some point, I feel some vibrations through the roof and stop practicing. I look down to see Kakashi pulling himself over the edge and watch as he settles himself next to me.

“Why are you here?” he asks huffily. The ‘at this hour’ is heavily implied.

“I can’t sleep yet,” I answer honestly, my tone rueful. I can’t remember the last time sleep ever came easy to me. Even when I feel exhausted, it can take a solid thirty minutes to an hour (give or take) for me to drop off, and sometimes I just don’t have the patience to wait for sleep to come to me. It feels like a waste of time that can be spent doing something fun or more productive.

“Sorry I woke you,” I mumble, after a few moments. Kakashi probably clocked me the second I stepped out of my room and headed for the front door instead of the bathroom or kitchen.

He sighs, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge my apology. “You’re getting a little better at moving quietly,” he offers instead.

That brings a small smile to my face. “All thanks to you.”

A comfortable silence stretches between us, and I look back to the sky.

“Why do you like starry skies?” Kakashi asks idly.

I let out a thoughtful hum. I can’t say it’s because they were once so rare for me. That likely wouldn’t make sense for someone who supposedly fell from the sky. “It’s because I think they’re pretty. And...”

Kakashi glances at me curiously after a few moments. “And?” he prompts.

“And they let me feel peaceful,” I say awkwardly, at a loss for how to put my thoughts to words. “When I look up and see this,” I gesture at the expanse of starry sky, “I calm down. Everything just... suddenly feels like no matter what happens, it’ll be okay. It’s an incredibly freeing feeling.”

It’s incredibly naïve of me to think like this, but I can’t bring myself to care, to shake off the serenity or discard the wonder that starry skies like this inspire in me.

Kakashi eyes me dubiously for a moment before turning his gaze to the sky, squinting and tilting his head every now and then, as if trying to see the night sky the way I do. It’s endearing.

He leans back with a quiet, frustrated huff after some time, likely writing it off as a loss.

I hum. “It’s okay if the night sky doesn’t mean the same to you as it does to me. It’s a... personal...?” I think that’s how it’s said. “A personal thing.” My mind drifts to a song that’s been on my mind since I first really looked up at the sky tonight.

“Do you mind if I try something?” I ask abruptly.

“What?”

“Orochimaru-san showed me a bit of genjutsu on the day my ears got hurt. He said my chakra moves differently when I sing, and I want to see if I can do it without singing. Do you mind?”

Kakashi takes a moment to think about it before shrugging, though his frame has a new line of tension running through it.

“I’m not using it on you,” I hurry to clarify. “It’s... um.” How do I explain area-of-effect without knowing very many words to describe it with? “It’s like... everyone sees or hears something that isn’t real, as opposed to being trapped in a genjutsu.”

After a few moments, Kakashi seems to parse through my haphazard explanation, and relaxes significantly. “Oh. I guess?”

I nod and look up at the sky before closing my eyes and feeling for my chakra, tugging at it gingerly, thinking of the song and trying to translate that into sound through my chakra. It takes a few moments of me tapping the beat with my finger, before a sudden sharp intake of breath registers distantly as the low, soft tones of a piano reverberates through the air, eventually followed by a melody of resounding chimes dancing around the piano’s steady beat.

I slowly draw my focus outward, reveling in the realization that a song in my head, from my memory, is now playing through the area as if I were a speaker hooked up to an iPhone or something of the like. Except it’s better, because it sounds like it comes from all around us, as opposed to a single direction. Surround sound.

I open my eyes and look to Kakashi, curious to see his reaction. His eyes are opened wide in amazement as he listens to the doubtlessly unfamiliar but undeniably ethereal sounds and music. His eyes are eventually drawn back to the sky, and as the song loops, I see a light of wonder bloom in his dark eyes. I can’t help the smile that overtakes my features. Music makes just about everything better, I think fondly.

“This song... What is it called?” Kakashi asks softly at some point.

“... Whispering Flowers,” I answer after a moment once I’ve figured out the best translation of the title. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Kakashi breathes, his eyes glued to the sky. “Did you make it?”

I huff a quiet laugh. “No. This is a song someone else created. Nyx of the Shield.” Eh, close enough. “I just remember it. I’m glad I could figure out how to... uh, to... to... show it to you.”

We sit and listen, the song looping two more times before I let it go and silence reigns supreme once again. I let out a yawn, feeling a little tired from what I assume would be the chakra drain. 

“I think I’m ready to try going to sleep,” I admit before slowly getting to my feet. We make our way off the roof and head back inside the house, parting ways when we head for our respective rooms. 

I fall asleep just as the skies start to lighten with sunrise.

—

July 3, 8bNb 

“Hiiragi, wake up. We have to go see Yamamoto-sensei about your ears and arm.”

I let out a groggy grunt and crack open my eyelids just a slit to see Kakashi staring down at me, already dressed and ready for the day. I force myself to sit up with a yawn and shuffle out from underneath the futon’s blanket.

“How much time do I have to get ready?” I mumble out as I stare at Kakashi blearily.

“We need to leave in thirty minutes if we want to get to the hospital on time.”

“Got it, I can work with that,” I reply before another yawn overtakes me. I head over to the drawer containing the clothes Kakashi graciously loaned me. I grab whatever and meander over to the bathroom to soap up and rinse before getting dressed.

I follow Kakashi drowsily out of the Hatake Clan Compound; it isn’t until we’ve spent a few minutes walking towards the hospital that something occurs to me. “What about breakfast?” I ask curiously. “Not eating a meal... not good for the body.” I never learned the phrase for skipping meals.

Kakashi tosses something at me and I fumble it before catching it. It’s a bar, not unlike a granola bar, and a sudden sneaking suspicion creeps up on me as I squint at the wrapper. Naturally, I can’t read any of the kanji printed on it. Is this one of those infamous ‘rations bars’ I’ve read about?

“Minato said he’ll treat us to a meal after we’re done at the hospital. You can have that in the meantime,” Kakashi explains.

Oh, right. Minato did say something along those lines when we told him about today’s appointment yesterday.

I tug down my mask and unwrap the bar, figuring I may as well acquaint myself with what I can expect to have for field rations during the blasted war raging beyond the gates of Konoha. Bracing myself, I take a bite.

... It’s like a granola bar, minus the sweet. Minus the flavor, actually. It’s not exactly completely tasteless, per se. It’s more like there’s not enough flavor to balance out the texture (it’s considerably drier and tougher than what I remember of granola bars). Well, it could be worse, I muse. Better little to no flavor than tasting vile. Though a bit of water wouldn’t hurt to help wash it down... I scarf down the rest of the bar and tuck the wrapper into one of the pockets in my shorts for when I find a trash bin.

I notice Kakashi watching me out of the corner of his eye and shrug. “It might taste better with honey or salt, but it’s not bad.” I say noncommittally. Kakashi blinks at me in dismay.

We walk in silence. As we near more crowded streets, my skin starts to prickle with the feeling of eyes on me. It seems I left an impression on some of the villagers when I called them out on their baseless cruelty. When I meet their gazes head-on, I get a mix of reactions. Some look away, embarrassed or guilty. Some don’t, wary or concerned or apologetic. Some give me nods of acknowledgement or approval. Some turn away and grumble and gripe with discontented scowls on their faces.

The reactions of nearby shinobi are a mix between blatant and furtive. Some eye me appraisingly, others watchfully. For some, the only indications they give that they’re watching me are slight tilts of their heads or shifts in their posture.

Kakashi doesn’t miss a thing.

By the time we reach the hospital, he’s so strung with tension it’s a wonder he can move as fluidly as he does. I practically deflate, just glad to no longer be the center of attention for so many people. I’m more than awake now.

Kakashi turns to me, his eyes flinty. “What was that?” he demands softly.

I meet Kakashi’s gaze solemnly. “I went shopping with Sakumo-san about three weeks ago,” I start quietly. My voice hardens as I continue. “The villagers were being mean to Sakumo-san for no good reason. I got angry and rebuked them.” I pause. “I may have made a bit of a fuss.”

Kakashi arches a brow, skeptical.

I huff a wry laugh. “Fine, I made a fuss,” I amend, completely unapologetic.

Kakashi stares at me for several long moments before turning to head to the hospital’s front desk so I can check in. “Thank you,” he whispers, so softly I almost miss it because of my impaired hearing.

I follow and stop next to him, gently butting my head against his shoulder before pulling away, my own way of showing affection (I picked up that little habit from my cat). “Always, anytime,” I answer, equally quiet.

It’s not long before we’re escorted to a room and joined by Naomasa. His dark grayish-blue hair is a veritable rat’s nest, and there are dark circles lining his hazel eyes. He looks between me and Kakashi momentarily before grumbling something under his breath along the lines of ‘seeing double.’

I find myself caught between a mix of amusement and concern.

“Alright, you,” he addresses me after glancing at a file (presumably mine). “Let’s take a look at your ears first.” He reaches up and carefully cups my ears with his hands, his chakra sinking into my system to better examine them. It’s... weird, now that I’m a little more conscious to observe. It feels almost like someone running their fingers along my head, except from the inside. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly—it’s a little too soothing to be that—but it is... odd.

Naomasa hums thoughtfully. “They’re looking considerably better compared to the last time I saw them,” he comments. “It should be safe to heal them all the way now. Hold still, okay?”

I close my eyes and hold still, zeroing in my focus on the feeling of his chakra and how it goes about repairing what damage remains. I try to memorize the feeling, the process, for future reference. No way in hell am I going to try it out on my own without prior instruction, but it wouldn’t hurt to have something to refer to if I get the opportunity to study and practice iryoujutsu.

When his chakra leaves my system, I open my eyes to see the med-nin eyeing me thoughtfully. I blink. Did he somehow notice me observing his work?

“Alright kiddo, let’s see that arm of yours,” he says abruptly after a brief shake of his head.

I obligingly hold up my arm. He checks my arm and elbow with his chakra, and pulls away after a few moments. “All set. We can take this off now,” he says, a note of satisfaction coloring his tone. He tugs at the splint and removes it deftly. 

I glance at him inquiringly and he gives me a nod. I stretch out my arm and shift it this way and that, testing the range of motion and finding no issue, aside from the stiffness that comes from not moving something after an extended period of time.

I beam up at the med-nin gratefully. “Thank you, Yamamoto-sensei.”

He waves me off. “Yeah, yeah, off you go. I don’t want to see you back here for at least another three months,” he grumbles.

My smile widens. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best,” I reply cheerily.

Naomasa scoffs. “Cheeky brat. Out.”

I give him a hasty bow before leaving, Kakashi right beside me.

—

Minato meets us just outside the hospital. His eyes are immediately drawn to my arm, noting the absence of my splint. “Good morning,” he greets us with a warm smile. “Is your arm all better?”

Kakashi and I echo his greeting.

I lift my arm up and wave it around. “Yeah. It’s all good now. A bit stiff, though.”

“How about your ears?” Minato inquires.

I grin, relieved. Honestly, I missed my sensitive hearing, especially with the alternative I had to struggle with for the past week and a half to consider. Everyone and everything kept startling me left and right if I didn’t have a visual beforehand. 

I’m happy to be able to hear again, but... well. Thankfully, Jiraiya’s seal is still keeping my chakra from augmenting my ears. Busy streets and all that noise. “Completely healed. I’m so glad the seal’s still working.”

Kakashi and I share a commiserating look, imagining the fallout of my hearing coming back abruptly in the middle of Konoha without the seal in place to regulate my chakra. I’m willing to bet my eardrums would’ve ruptured on the spot again. I’d end up with a headache or migraine, at the very least. I grimace.

Minato eyes the both of us thoughtfully for a few moments. “I take it you don’t want me to try removing the seal just yet, then?”

I shrug, reaching up to scratch at the back of my neck. I could manually adjust the chakra flow to my ears again, but... after a few weeks without exercising that particular skill? “I think I need to find something to protect my ears, first... I don’t want to bleed from my ears again. Sorry.”

Minato’s eyebrows raise faintly at my response, worry creating a crease between the two arches.

“That’s the price of super sensitive hearing,” I mumble. “Good things and bad things often come together. It’s the same with weaknesses and strengths.”

Minato nods slowly in acknowledgement, because it’s true enough. “I see. Shall we go grab something to eat? What sounds good?”

I open my mouth before I can think to stop myself. “So long as it isn’t something spicy or a flavorless rectangle, just about anything sounds good.”

There’s a long stretch of silence.

“... Flavorless rectangle?” Minato asks, looking like he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. 

What? It’s not like I know the words for ration bar or field rations. And that was a perfectly accurate description!

Kakashi pauses for a beat. “That one time Tou-san made curry...” he says softly. I wince. “You were crying, and said it was because it was good and reminded you of someone you once knew...”

“I didn’t tell a lie,” I respond frantically. The flashback of my well-meaning Professor bringing me ridiculously spicy authentic Indian curry to help clear my sinuses and feel better when I felt under the weather the day before our study abroad group intended to return home is dancing in my mind’s eye. “It was good. It also just so happened to hurt a bit.”

“You were crying, Hiiragi.”

I bite back the urge to snap, My pain tolerance isn’t as high as yours, sue me! I let out an aggrieved sigh instead. “Yes, Kakashi, I was. Spicy foods aren’t exactly my favorite, but I wasn’t going to waste perfectly good food prepared by Sakumo-san.”

“Setting aside the matter of the... flavorless rectangle... for the time being,” Minato cuts back in, his smile just the faintest bit strained. “This is a good opportunity. What are your favorite foods?”

Kakashi hesitates before answering. The only words I catch are miso soup and some sort of fish? I internally bemoan my limited vocabulary. I’m pretty sure eggplant was in there somewhere, if I’m remembering my Naruto trivia right.

Minato and Kakashi turn their expectant stares to me. Ramen, non-spicy curry, and sushi were the first three things that popped into my head, but they aren’t my favorites—not exactly. They’re what I’m more familiar with. I think back to my first trip to Japan and feel my features soften. 

“I like zarusoba, tamago kake gohan, miso soup, mikan, and salmon,” I answer quietly with a nostalgic smile.

Minato beams back kindly. “I think I know just the place.”

—

After breakfast (or brunch, whichever), we spend some time walking through the streets of Konoha. With Minato present, civilians and shinobi alike are considerably more covert about their miscellaneous scrutiny of my person. Judging by Minato and Kakashi’s alert expressions and glances, they aren’t being subtle enough.

It’s easier to weather the stares with more company, but it’s still uncomfortable. Ever since late middle school and early high school, I’ve become a shy, reclusive, and socially-awkward turtle; I only act otherwise or pretend to be outgoing as needed to put others at ease. Or to shake things up, when I feel particularly moved or if the current status quo is more detrimental than beneficial. It depends.

We gradually meander over to the training ground that Kakashi likes to frequent and settle for some stretching.

“So, what are we doing today?” I ask Kakashi as I lean into a lunge.

“Minato-san, you still might want some practice for becoming a Jounin Sensei. Only part of a single day isn’t much in the long run in terms of preparation.” I notice that Kakashi is very carefully not looking at either of us.

Is he...? Oh, that’s adorable. 

It’s a struggle to keep my expression neutral.

Minato’s smile is practically effervescent; looks like he picked up on the chuunin’s roundabout request for the jounin to continue teaching, too. “You’ve got a point, Kakashi-kun. Would it be alright if I picked up from yesterday?”

Kakashi tries to shrug nonchalantly, but I’m onto him. I wager he’s the most enthusiastic of our trio.

“If it’s alright with you,” I reply, trying to keep my tone level and void of my amusement.

Chapter Text

July 4, 8bNb

An unexpected guest joins us during a spar between Kakashi and Minato (I’m spectating from the sidelines, cataloguing counters, parries, and redirections that I plan to inquire about later). I catch the sound of grass depressing beneath sandals that doesn’t match up with the footfalls of the two sparring ninja before me, so I glance over out of curiosity.

“Orochimaru-san!” I call, pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while.”

Kakashi and Minato jolt and pause in their spar to regard the newcomer.

The Snake Sannin inclines his head as he nears, golden eyes scanning my frame and noting the lack of splint and the continued presence of Jiraiya’s seal along my neck. “It has been a while,” he agrees. “How fare your ears, Hiiragi?”

I beam. “All better, but I thought I’d leave the seal for the time being until I figured out a way to protect them,” I answer honestly.

Orochimaru hums. “I may have something for that.”

It takes me a few moments to process that statement. I blink several times, at a loss for words, so, “Eh?” is what ends up being my oh-so-eloquent response.

Instead of commenting on my poorly articulated response, or elaborating further, Orochimaru holds out a scroll. I tentatively accept it, glancing back up at Orochimaru questioningly.

He motions for me to open the scroll, so I carefully unfurl it. Its contents reveal intricate scrawls of scripts and patterns radiating outward in a circle, whose interior is blank. I stare for several moments, trying to make sense of the Fūinjutsu that makes up what is most likely a storage seal. Aside from the overall design of the seal, nothing really leaps out at me as familiar. There’s just the faintest notion that if I tilt my head just so it reminds me of something else, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

After a stretch of time passing with me tilting and angling my head this way and that to try to make sense of the array or the stray thought that just won’t come forward, Minato approaches curiously. With a nod of his head and a polite, “Orochimaru-san,” as a greeting, he then looks over my shoulder at the design on the scroll.

“Ah,” he exhales. “Hiiragi, is this the first time you’ve seen a ...”

I crane my head to look at Minato blankly before turning a curious look to Orochimaru. The Snake Sannin doesn’t miss a beat.

“This is a ...” he explains as he taps the scroll. I immediately latch onto and commit the term to memory. “Its contents consist of a seal meant to contain objects up to a specified limit. This kind of scroll is called a storage scroll.”

I recognize the term Minato used in his inquiry. Ah, so it was storage scroll. “I see.”

Minato glances back and forth between Orochimaru and I in bemusement.

“So there’s something inside of the scroll because of the seal?” I ask to clarify.

“Correct,” Orochimaru confirms. 

Okay, cool. I smile warmly up at Orochimaru. “Thank you,” I tell him sincerely. I pause for a few moments. My posture shifts slightly as I start feeling awkward. “Um... How do I...?”

Minato points to the center of the blank circle. “Place your hand here,” he instructs patiently. “And then apply some chakra to the seal.”

I shift the scroll to hold with one hand before doing as Minato says. Channeling a pulse of chakra from my hand to the indicated portion of the seal yields a puff of smoke. Once it dissipates, my eyes widen.

“This is something I snatched on a mission in the Land of Earth. I kept it for research purposes, but until now had yet to do anything with it other than let it collect dust. I’ve made this new set with some modifications that will hopefully prove useful,” Orochimaru rasps, slitted pupils trained on the revealed object.

It’s a set of gunmetal grey (almost black) headphones—or at least something very similar. They’re not bulky or particularly weighty, but they’re solid—sturdy. I can’t be certain if they’re made of plastic or metal or something else. Whatever it’s made of—

“You made this for me?” I ask softly, a little overwhelmed by the gesture and the one to make it. This is Orochimaru we’re talking here, taking the time and resources to recreate and further modify a piece of foreign technology for a strange kid he met roughly three weeks ago.

I look back down to study the chambers meant for my ears. It’s faint, but I can just make out some sort of script on the inside. I stare for several moments before realization dawns. “Are those seals inside these?” I ask in baffled awe as I point into the chambers. “What do they do?”

“They will filter any perceived noise and protect the ears from damage without sacrificing the clarity,” Orochimaru explains, eyes flicking between the headphones and my face.

I’m speechless. Sound isolating technology, with a shinobi-appropriate execution. The Etymotic earplugs I used to use come to mind, except these are headphones—

“Is it really okay, for me to have this?” I ask softly, staring up at Orochimaru with wide eyes.

Orochimaru tilts his head slightly to the side, his expression slanting towards something along the lines of amused. “You’ve given me some helpful information for a few projects I’ve been working on on the side,” he replies smoothly. “This seemed like a good way to show my appreciation.”

I blink owlishly up at the Snake Sannin, confused. What information...?

Orochimaru’s eyes crinkle faintly with mirth as he notes my bafflement. He holds a pale hand out to me, palm facing up. “May I see your hand?” he asks.

I blink and immediately reach out and place my hand in his. I inhale sharply in surprise. His hand is warm—marginally warmer than mine, in fact. He reaches his other hand (also warmer than mine) over to maneuver my offered hand so that my fingers are pressed against the pulse point in his wrist. I immediately notice the pulse’s difference in tempo compared to my first examination all those weeks ago. It’s faster, steadier. 

It’s a relief.

I beam up at Orochimaru, genuinely happy for the man’s improved... health? Comfort? Constitution? Lifestyle? All of the above? He’s not cold—chilled to the bone—anymore, that’s for sure.

“I’m glad,” I tell him, unable to put to words the entirety of my thoughts, my worry, my relief, my joy. Fortunately, he seems to deduce the extent of my sentiments and merely inclines his head slightly in quiet agreement.

He releases my hand and slants his gaze back to the headphones. “Would you like to test them out?”

I look the headphones over for a few moments before slotting them over my ears in answer.

—

The headphones are a godsend, I’m not gonna lie. They’re light, easy to adjust, and make my life infinitely easier by filtering all the noise around me once the seals on my neck are removed (thank you, Minato). 

I hear it all, but it’s... not overwhelming. It doesn’t hurt. I can lend more focus to sifting through and attuning to specific sounds without having to divide my concentration between listening and regulating my chakra to a trickle as opposed to its natural inclination to stream.

I’m practically bouncing about and flitting with excitement, turning my head this way and that as I explore the veritable world of sound that’s now open to me (and safe to navigate). Orochimaru pulls out a scroll and starts taking notes—writing down his observations is my guess.

When Kakashi asks me what I can hear, it’s like a dam bursts. I babble almost nonstop, describing and identifying—and mimicking whenever my vocabulary is lacking. Minato watches with wide eyes as he listens alongside Kakashi.

A familiar rolling of thunder reaches my ears, and I whirl to face the direction it’s coming from, an elated smile brightening my features. “Sakumo-san is back!”

Chapter Text

Only once his mission’s objective is complete and he’s a mere three kilometers away from Konoha does Sakumo allow his thoughts to turn to home, to Kakashi—and to Hiiragi.

The newest addition to the Hatake household is... many things. A basket of contradictions is the best thing Sakumo can think of. An enigma, yet at the same time an open book. Gentle, but fierce. Sharp in wit, soft in heart. Brittle—fragile—yet unyielding. Disillusioned, alarmingly mature, and yet... somehow still naïve, innocent. Restless, and yet somehow serene. The list just goes on.

In some ways, mindset-wise, Hiiragi reminds him somewhat of his son, but... beyond that, Hiiragi’s occasionally jaded temperament reminds Sakumo of a handful of veteran shinobi he knows—himself included. It is... a disconcerting comparison, to say the least.

But the complexity of his comprehension and his razor sharp mind are the extent of the similarities. While Hiiragi is considerably conscious and aware of his body for his age, his movements can only be described as civilian (there is the matter of him walking about balanced on the balls of his feet when he isn’t wearing footwear, but Sakumo is inclined to chalk that up as an idiosyncrasy on the boy’s part). He’s a quick learner, but beyond that, he exhibits no base, no indication of training.

There are some quirks that leave Sakumo intrigued, or a bit baffled, if not concerned. 

Like Hiiragi’s penchant towards just about anything musical. Humming, whistling, singing; if the boy is certain that no one in his immediate vicinity will be bothered, he engages in any one of the three. 

The songs are unfamiliar to Sakumo, all unusual, but no less beautiful. Sung in Hiiragi’s voice, silvery and resonant like bells, melodic and solemn—especially when they have words to give form to the feelings stirred within—they’re gripping. Haunting.

Sakumo is willing to admit he gets a little worried whenever Hiiragi starts whistling. He’s heard the boy whistle for a solid four—almost five—minutes straight, seemingly without pause for breath. Apparently the boy somehow figured out how to whistle while breathing in (Sakumo didn’t even know that was possible until he saw Hiiragi do it), allowing the boy to whistle almost ceaselessly without interruption.

But for all the fluidity and ease with which he sings and whistles and hums as if it were all synonymous to breathing (how ironic), it’s an entirely different matter when Hiiragi speaks.

The boy is... almost always slow to respond. Slow to understand. It’s only a handful of seconds (ranging anywhere from two to fourteen seconds longer than the average person, children included), but it is unusual. When interacting with or conversing with someone, Hiiragi almost always seems to exhibit some form of lag. Comprehension. Reaction. Response. Even his speech comes across as slow, halting. In the end he almost always responds, but rarely is he ever without that unnatural delay.

Accompanying that delay is the almost-always present furrow between his brows (Sakumo fears the boy will end up with some impressive wrinkles there before he reaches adulthood if he keeps it up). He knows what that furrow signifies, though.

Concentration.

Whenever someone addresses Hiiragi, or whenever he’s conversing with someone, the boy is always concentrating. The intensity of his sharp, pale-gold gaze says it all. 

But why? Why does Hiiragi need to concentrate to such an extent?

Sakumo thinks back to the first time he took Hiiragi shopping with him. Remembers the strange word the boy hissed out with such ferocity. Sakumo isn’t entirely sure what “fakku” means, exactly, but judging by the tone with which it was uttered... probably some form of expletive (he never got around to questioning—or scolding—the boy about that, did he?).

Only a few days later, after Hiiragi was treated for his ruptured eardrums, Orochimaru pulled Sakumo aside, his gaze alight with a mix of concern and intrigue.

“You have some inkling as to the boy’s origins,” he stated without preamble. 

Caught off guard in the midst of worrying about Hiiragi, all Sakumo could do was stare back blankly.

Orochimaru’s calculating gaze missed nothing. “I see. Then I suppose you ought to know that our language is not his, regardless of his proficiency. I leave it to you to decide how to approach him on the matter.”

After saying his piece, the Snake Sannin excused himself, leaving the Hatake Clan Compound and striding away with purpose.

With the poor boy practically deaf for the following week and a half, Sakumo decided to wait for Hiiragi to recover from his injuries before broaching the subject.

Then there’s the boy’s constitution.

He still remembers the first time he carried Hiiragi—that first night. The boy had cried himself to sleep, and Sakumo decided to throw caution to the wind and bring him into his home. Even unconscious, Hiiragi hardly weighed anything substantial; Sakumo briefly feared the boy suffered from malnutrition or starvation. But a brief inspection revealed that while a bit wiry—wispy—he showed no signs to indicate he was starving.

He learned why when the bones in the boy’s arm broke—too easily—in a light spar with Kakashi.

“The kid’s bones are hollow—like a bird’s. Structure-wise, they’re light and fairly sturdy, but compared to a regular human’s?” Yamamoto Naomasa shook his head slowly in disbelief. “No competition. This time it looks like it was just bad luck; rather than force, the angle of approach is what broke the bone, as far as I can tell. 

“He’s gonna have to watch out for blunt-force trauma, though. Especially considering his bone did break with a minimal amount of impact,” the medic nin sighed before attempting to treat the break.

And then there were the wings, protruding from the boy’s back, too small and downy yet for flight, but all the same…

Like a bird, fallen from the sky, Sakumo couldn’t help but think as he stared down at Hiiragi, his stomach sinking with his unease. Perhaps it wasn’t as much of a stretch as he initially thought. No wonder the boy flinched when Sakumo had asked as much that first morning.

The idea of some nation or village in the sky is equally as mind-boggling as it is unnerving, if Sakumo is honest. As far as he is aware, there is no record of such. Hiiragi is probably the first ever case, evidence of some culture beyond the clouds. The only one—but again, it begs the question of why?

Why is Hiiragi the only one? Is he really the only one? In the first place, how and why did he fall from the sky—and how did he survive?

Sakumo has nothing but questions. The boy’s absolute honesty (disregarding what he omits, which is quite a bit, unsurprisingly) and how genuine he is in his interactions are points in his favor. The saving graces that hold the worst of Sakumo’s suspicion and paranoia at bay.

He lets out a soft exhale as the gates of Konoha come into view. Regardless, the boy bears watching. For all that he seems kind, Hiiragi is still an unknown, after all.

Chapter Text

Sakumo stops short in surprise when he turns to see us waiting to welcome him after he’s checked in with the shinobi stationed at the gate.

He strides over, eyebrows raised somewhat with his dismay.

“Sakumo-san, okaeri,” I greet him, relieved to see him relatively unhurt and home safe. Kakashi echoes the greeting as well.

“Tadaima,” he answers after a brief pause, his eyes softening faintly. He reaches over and taps lightly at my headphones, curious. “What’s this?”

“A gift from Orochimaru-san,” I answer happily. “It fil... um... filters?” I glance briefly at Orochimaru, who nods confirmation that I remembered the word correctly. “It filters all the sound so I can listen and not get hurt,” I finish enthusiastically. 

I pause and crane my neck to look back at Orochimaru. “What do you call it?” I finally think to ask.

Orochimaru takes a moment to think before seemingly coming to a decision. “Japanese Self-Defense Forces (JSDF).”

I blink rapidly, thrown for a loop and more than a little alarmed. I can’t have heard that right. I shake my head. “What?” I croak out a bit weakly, trying not to laugh hysterically.

Orochimaru tilts his head fractionally to the side, noticing my odd reaction. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment and simply elaborates. “Ji, for ears. Ei, for defense, or protection. And tai, for the band,” he points to the arching band that connects the ear coverings together.

Oh. Of course. Different kanji from what I was thinking.

“Ah, I see,” I reply faintly. That makes sense. Fuck, but that caught me off guard.

Sakumo stares down at me with an expression that’s hard to read before looking to Minato. He arches a brow in inquiry. “Namikaze?”

I turn to see Minato staring down at me in amazement. He tears his gaze away from me to meet Sakumo’s. “I’m—I’m a bit surprised. Hiiragi-kun heard you coming,” he says slowly, his gaze flicking back to me briefly.

Sakumo and I exchange a look of confusion. That’s not exactly new...?

“We were a little over four kilometers away from the gate when Hiiragi heard you.”

My head whips around to stare at Minato in disbelief. “Eh? Seriously?” I blurt out shrilly, my eyes wide. On the inside I’m practically shrieking. Four kilometers?! How many miles is that? Two and a half miles, give or take? That’s about the distance I used to walk from home to college!

Sakumo looks like he’s at a loss for words. Finally:

“I... First off, I need to go give my report. I’ll meet you all back at the Compound?” he asks, keeping his voice level.

“A-Ah, we’ll be there,” Minato is the one to reply. Once Sakumo disappears in a swirl of leaves, Minato starts ushering Kakashi and I back to the Hatake Clan Compound. Orochimaru follows along serenely, and I can’t help but envy the chill he’s rocking right now.

I try not to think about how desperately I wish someone would hold my hand. 

I could really use the comfort right now.

—

When Sakumo comes home, he finds us all in the living room. Orochimaru is comfortably reclining against the sofa, examining his notes from earlier. Kakashi is leaning against the wall trying not to look tense (and succeeding for the most part, but I can hear the fine, strained tremor of muscles pulled taut). I’m sitting on the floor, nestled in the junction of two walls meeting in a corner with my mask pulled down, my legs pulled up to my chest, and my arms wrapped around them to keep them in place. Minato is seated next to me, just a few inches away, and I can’t help how grateful I feel for the proximity. 

I can’t tell if it’s meant as a comfort or as a restraint, and decide not to look too deeply into it.

Everyone is in some way unsettled, myself included, with maybe the exception being Orochimaru. The Snake Sannin sounds and looks as if this were just another slow but mildly intriguing day at the office—I’m sorry, lab—and he’s just waiting for the work—cough, experiment, cough—to proceed to the next stage. 

I’m unsettled. Everything’s just been piling up. I’m not used to being... more. More than just a civilian, a college student who doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life or how she wants to accomplish her out-of-focus dreams, if they can even be called dreams. I’m not used to the ridiculous abilities I’ve gained since arriving in this reality. 

I’m not used to looking at the world around me and thinking, ‘this makes sense, I can work with this, somehow,’ despite all the pressure and the risks. I’m not used to having every word I say and every thing I do hold a range of impact that can mean the difference between life or death for myself and others.

I’m five going on twenty-two, but those are just numbers. I can’t say with confidence I’ve ever felt my age. Sometimes I feel like a kid out of their depth, other times I feel like a teen who never moved forward, and a lot of the time I feel so... weary in a way that feels all-encompassing and ancient. The last one might just be the by-product of introspection mixed with depression, the tendency to agonize over every little thing said or done, and sleep deprivation.

To sum it all up, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like an adult.

Just as well I’m physically five now.

Breathe.

Sakumo is here. Now is not the time to descend into an emotional existential spiral.

“Okaeri,” I say softly on autopilot, because it’s what I always say when someone comes home (it’s starting to sink in, that the Hatake Clan Compound is now synonymous to home for me; I honestly don’t know what to think about it).

“Tadaima.” Sakumo’s response is just as quiet.

A stretch of silence settles over us all.

I take a breath before venturing to break the lapse in sound. “I’m becoming weird.” It’s as much a statement to myself as it is an invitation for the others to answer, ask, react, respond—anything. I usually don’t mind silence, but this time it’s too heavy to be considered comfortable.

Minato’s the first to speak up. “Becoming weird?” he asks, brows furrowing faintly at my word choice.

I huff a wry laugh. As if I ever wasn’t weird in some sense, I can’t help but think, and somehow that soothes away a bit of my unease. “My mom and dad are... were what you call civilians.” I pause, a lump forming in my throat as my thoughts turn to my family.

“Dad tested machines, mom worked as a skilled consultant for medical insurance. I don’t know what I wanted to be. I didn’t know I’d be able to do all this,” I make a vague, encompassing gesture before waving up at my head, “to use chakra, to be able to hear so much more than normal.” 

I pause again for a long moment, taking a deep breath. “I fell asleep, and woke up here. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know how to go back. If I can go back.” 

If I’d want to go back, I don’t say out loud. Where I came from, I often felt listless. Aimless. Like I was going through the motions. Living as if I were dead, sometimes wishing I were the latter. I felt more alive reading stories than shuffling through real life.

Here, things are more straightforward, for all that they are convoluted. Here, things make more sense to me than, ‘go to school, figure out what you want to do in life, find a job,’ full stop. Maybe I’m a bit messed up, for thinking that for all that I had, what I might have needed was direction.

Someone specific to tell me to do something specific for a specific reason to get a specific result. For someone to give an order, and for me to have the drive to follow through—because it’s them giving the order, and following through would make them happy—and then through them I’d obtain my own happiness secondhand.

I wanted direction. I wanted someone to give me direction. I wanted someone I could devote myself to. 

I don’t know what I wanted.

I was too busy suffocating to find what I wanted.

Here, I feel like I can breathe. Like I can think.

I’m tired. I’m scared. I’m uncertain of the future, for all that I know about the overarching timeline of the story that mirrors this reality.

But I feel alive.

Breathe.

“You mean to say your ears weren’t this sensitive before?” Orochimaru asks curiously in the lull.

I’m grateful for the question, the distraction from thoughts of home and what it meant to me, how much it all hurt, in its own way. “Yeah. Same with chakra—I didn’t know I could use it. There are records and scholars,” I continue. “But it’s somehow different. The practice, the way it’s used, if it is used. Not many really know much about it, or care.” I rest my chin on my knees when I finish.

The look of confused alarm on Minato’s face is understandable. This is probably the first he’s heard about my background beyond ‘ward of the Hatake’ and my brief and vague commentary on where I’m from. I’m aware that Sakumo likely has a few conclusions of his own as to where I’m from (even if they might be wrong). Orochimaru knows that I have my own native language, and from that likely has suspicions of his own. I don’t know if Sakumo has discussed any of this with Kakashi; even at this age he has the poker face of a pro, as far as I can tell. And for all that I can hear every breath taken, every pulsation of each and every heart present, every inherent element, I cannot read minds.

“You fell from the sky,” Sakumo finally states tonelessly. The sound of muscles tightening and straining in surprise reaches me from all corners of the room. I hug my knees a little tighter. I need to be careful.

“Have you ever stood at the peak of a mountain and looked down to see the land in its entirety as it stretches below?” I ask softly. I don’t wait for an answer. 

“It’s a bit like that. Now imagine the mountain shrinking until it’s a vague bump, a change of color, just from the distance between you and it. Imagine everything as indistinct patches of green, blue, brown, white, and yellow. Imagine clouds of white or grey obscuring the world below. You can’t see beyond them, they’re like a second sea, in a way. Constantly in motion, constantly changing, with the winds shaping them instead of currents within the natural flow of water. Imagine looking up, sometimes to endless blue, to more clouds, to countless stars that feel so close you could almost reach them. You can’t, they’re still too far, but it feels like you could.”

I continue to describe what it’s like to the shinobi in the room to the best of my ability. To me, flight isn’t beyond the imagination. I’ve seen the world from a birds-eye view more times than I can count. Commercial jets, two-seater airplanes; I was no stranger to travel, especially by air. Business trips and family visits..

For shinobi, someone falling from the sky is hard to believe. But it’s far more believable than someone appearing from an entirely different world.

One carries far more severe connotations—and for me, consequences—than the other.

Everyone else seems frozen—even Orochimaru is tellingly still. I haven’t told a single lie, and they all know it. For all that I can be just as much a liar as anyone else—maybe even more so—I’ve exercised honesty because that’s what’s needed, for myself and those I wish to save.

“Like a bird, indeed,” Orochimaru comments quietly, referring to what I told him when explaining my broken arm.

I laugh ruefully, appreciating the irony.

I wait a few moments before voicing what’s been weighing on my mind since we gathered in this room. “So,” I start soberly. “What will happen to me?”

I look to Sakumo. He found me. He welcomed me into his home. My establishing a place in this reality hinges on him, presently.

He stares back at me for several long seconds, his eyes considering. “You told me, that first morning, that you wanted to live,” he finally says, his tone level. “That you didn’t know how to do so. Are you still unsure?”

I take a long moment to gather my thoughts, to arrange and translate them. “I probably can’t go home,” my voice wavers faintly, and I swallow before continuing. “I am here now. Your home is here. You let me stay in your home. Your home is part of a village at war. If you will let me, I will learn and I will fight to protect your village. Because it is home and precious to you, and I will surely learn to see it as precious to me.”

When Sakumo nods his approval after mulling over my response, I close my eyes and curl inward a little more as tears—both relieved and anguished—start to slip past my brave front.

A soft sigh and faint footsteps and the roll of thunder. Sakumo gently pulls me out of the corner and tucks me into a hug. I can only cry in earnest, because my family and world are gone, lost to me, and I’m just now starting to let it really sink in.

Because I need to let them go, to learn to remember them fondly, but not let them weigh me down. 

Because all of that is easier said than done, and hurts more than words could ever describe.

Because a dead man is alive, and offering comfort and refuge when he could have just as easily tossed me into T&I or killed me.

Because I know the road before me stretches so far it’s almost disheartening.

Because for once in a very, very long time, I feel like I can move forward in spite of it.

Chapter Text

July 4 - July 7, 8bNb 

The days following Sakumo’s return are... rough, to say the least. I keep bursting into tears over the smallest things, to my chagrin, but I don’t try to stop it. People have tears for a reason, and shedding them is not a crime, no matter what anyone else says. I need to let them out as I work my way through letting go. (Though I honestly wouldn’t mind crying a little less.)

When I’m not crying, I’m mostly silent, but moving, doing something. Practicing the hand seals for Kawarimi, free-running, running through stretches and katas, running up trees and leaping from branch to branch. I throw myself into motion, because I know the clock is ticking and I can’t cry forever.

Kakashi is almost always around when I’m not crying. He wordlessly corrects my stances, nudges me into motion, catches me when I stumble and fall, drags me back to the Compound before I can overexert or seriously injure myself.

I can’t put to words how grateful I am. I settle for gently butting and brushing my head against his shoulder, my wordless way of expressing my affection and gratitude.

He seems to get the message, somehow.

It’s on the third day I realize that Sakumo and Kakashi are more tactile with me than before. The reverse is also true; I seek out more contact. Lightly brushing against or alongside Kakashi’s side or Sakumo’s legs. Reaching my hand out for someone to either hold my hand or press a palm to mine (it took a little while for the two to figure out the latter behavior). Sitting back-to-back with and leaning slightly against Kakashi during quiet moments spent practicing hand signals and chakra control in the living room. Seeking out hugs from Sakumo.

To the two shinobi, I may as well be screaming ‘I’m touch-starved’ at the top of my lungs. 

Thinking about it, I kind of am, in a way. Touch-starved, that is. One side of my family showed affection through frequent contact (hugs, scratchy-backs, improvised massages), and the other was hard-pressed to venture any contact at all. And at some point, I developed my own tactile language... and never found a conversation partner.

As I worked my way through college, a distance started growing between myself and my family, between myself and my friends. I started falling back into my reclusive tendencies, retreating from interacting with others more than necessary, all while longing for a closeness I didn’t feel I could find or trust in those around me. Repressing a desire for uncomplicated touch that was comfortable for both parties, that wouldn’t be taken advantage of.

Queen of self-denial and self-censorship that I was, I never said a word.

—

July 7 - July 8, 8bNb

When I start to try stifling my urges and abruptly back off from brushing against Sakumo’s leg while he sips at a cup of coffee (or maybe black tea?) in the kitchen, belatedly fearing that I might be overstepping, Sakumo gives me a look. Or rather, a series of looks. Questioning, comprehending, unimpressed, exasperated, encouraging, reassuring, steady. I get his message loud and clear; it was nice of him to go out of his way to dumb it down for me.

I tentatively lean back in and then he promptly lifts me up, settles me against his hip, deposits his coffee cup in the kitchen sink, and heads for the couch in the living room. He calls Kakashi over, and we spend the day making what I think might be the rumored puppy pile I’ve read about in passing. Or something like it. It is uncomplicated, comforting, and what I imagine might be close to heavenly. Within the first few minutes I go limp, all at once soothed and relieved.

I needed this.

—

The day after, Sakumo departs on another mission.

—

July 8, 8bNb 

With Minato in-Village while Sakumo is out on a mission, our babysitting/practice sessions resume. The main difference, as compared to prior sessions, is that Minato starts using Shadow Clones.

I learn this when I notice a strange stereo sound accompanying Minato’s elements, which somehow sound quieter than usual.

“There are two Minatos,” I tell Kakashi in complete bafflement as we walk to the usual training grounds. “I can’t tell the difference.”

Kakashi stares at me blankly before breaking into a brisk clip to confirm what I’m sensing with his own eyes. I hurry to follow.

There are indeed two Minatos standing side-by-side in the middle of the training ground’s open field. Kakashi pauses briefly before approaching the jounin.

I take a few moments to look back and forth between Minato and his Shadow Clone. I really can’t tell which is which. That is... uncanny. Cool, but uncanny. I wonder if other types of Clones would present the same issue.

“Twins?” I finally ask, dubiously. “But your chakras have the exact same sound...” Even their heart rates are in sync, like two of the same track overlaid one on top of the other, or played simultaneously. Like a cell division resulting in a perfect copy of the original.

Both Minatos give the same amused smile simultaneously. That’s really impressive. I can’t help but imagine Naruto pulling the same thing but with at least a hundred clones and can’t stifle the shiver that races up my spine. Uwaa... now that’s actually a cool but kinda scary thought.

“Not quite,” the Minato on the left speaks up. “I figured I’d try something a little different for today.”

“Rather than splitting my attention between two or more students,” the Minato on the right continues seamlessly. “I figured it would make more sense to oversee both of your lessons simultaneously, and give you both a hundred percent of my attention.”

I nod thoughtfully. It’s a pretty good idea. 

I don’t miss his neat deflection, and my stomach sinks slightly. On the one hand, I’m a civilian kid, and probably don’t have anywhere near the clearance to know about the Shadow Clone Technique and its specifics. That doesn’t bother me.

What I find a little disheartening is that with this, Minato might no longer trust me enough to leave me to my own devices like before. I’m certain his explanation is completely sincere. It’s just that there’s also the included and unmentioned bonus of being able to keep an eye on me. Which is entirely understandable. Doesn’t mean the thought doesn’t sting a bit.

I smile sadly. “That’s a good idea, Minato-sensei. Um. Then do you also go by Minato-sensei? Or do you wish to be called something else?” I ask without indicating which of the two I’m addressing. Naruto’s clones’ individual personality quirks might have been (will possibly be?) the exception to the rule, but one never knows.

I expected the puzzled blinks I receive in reaction to the inquiry, but the nearly imperceptible glance the Minato on the left casts to the Minato on the right speaks volumes.

I’m willing to bet that the left is the Clone and the right is the original.

Both shrug a moment later, and the Clone picks up where Minato left off. “We’ll be working with you one-on-one. Hiiragi-kun, you’re with me.”

“And Kakashi, you’ll be working with me,” Minato finishes.

Kakashi and I nod, following our respective instructors.

Clone Minato leads me into the trees ringing the edge of the training ground and stops in a small clearing. 

When he turns to me, I bow. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Hiiragi. I look forward to working with you, Sensei.”

When I straighten, Clone Minato is staring at me in open dismay. I meet his gaze steadily. You are your own agent, and I acknowledge you as such, I don’t say. 

I don’t say a word.

Clone Minato’s gaze sharpens, turns searching. I wait. What exactly I’m waiting for, I can’t say for certain, but I wait.

Finally:

“Namikaze-sensei is fine,” he murmurs, then blinks, as if surprised to state as much out loud.

I simply nod. “Got it. Namikaze-sensei, then. Once again, I look forward to working with you.”

Namikaze nods slowly in response before changing the topic. “Have you been practicing the hand seals for Kawarimi?”

Instead of answering, I carefully run through the sequence at a moderate pace, focusing more on fluidity than agility. Tiger. Boar. Ox. Dog. Snake.

Namikaze watches with a thoughtful look before nodding. “One more time.”

Tiger. Boar. Ox. Dog. Snake.

“Good, I think you’re ready to start learning how to apply chakra to the technique,” Namikaze states, satisfied. “I want you to watch and listen carefully.”

“Okay.” I filter through all the noise and hone my focus in on Namikaze’s chakra, all a fascinatingly fearsome mix of howling winds, raging fire, and sparking lightning. Forget Konoha’s Yellow Flash—he’s a veritable firestorm. I fix my eyes on Minato’s hands, held up in preparation to run through the technique’s seal sequence.

Tiger, Namikaze’s chakra flares up like a fire lighting. Boar, it wrenches into controlled flame. Ox, it spreads outward, surges back, collides, locks. Dog, it flows like a stream to seek something out of view. Snake, it settles, coils—in the background, muscles stretch and pull taut in preparation for a leap, a low, resonant hum thrumming like some ambient accompaniment—then surges, and Namikaze is replaced with a log the size of my torso that falls to the ground with a wooden thunk.

I whirl to face where I hear Namikaze’s chakra sparking and crackling and whistling from several meters above me. I spot him only a moment or two later, perched calmly on a branch. He blinks, looking a bit taken aback by how swiftly I marked his change in location. He jumps down from the branch to join me back on the ground.

He tilts his head in inquiry. “Well?”

I open my mouth, pause, and shut it, flummoxed. “I listened,” I state slowly. “I could hear, but I...” How to put it? “It’s like I had an image, or an idea translated from the sound. Um.”

Namikaze regards me with interest. “Oh?”

“It’s like, with Tiger, your chakra went fwoosh!” I fold my hands together before pulling them a little ways apart from each other and wiggling my fingers like tongues of flame. “Like a fire catching. And then with Boar, it kinda... flipped over? It calmed down a bit, became a little more steady. Ah, but the fire didn’t go out,” I hurry to clarify. 

“Uh... with Ox, it spread out, then charged back in and collided and stuck together? And then with Dog, a bit flowed away toward where you ended up, and with Snake it caught... uh... like... like... oh! Like it grabbed something, and then the rest of the chakra you used just flew to join the little bit that reached out and grabbed hold,” I elaborate, watching as Namikaze’s eyebrows gradually climb higher and higher up his forehead with each successive description.

While Namikaze takes a few moments to digest my explanation, I replay those moments in my mind’s eye, trying to memorize and internalize the way Namikaze’s chakra reacted through each step of the technique. 

If I were to draw a comparison for the whole thing, it almost reminds me of a mix of casting out a net, or feelers, identifying a suitable target, and then aiming and firing a grappling gun to pull yourself up once it catches. Except what you catch ends up switching places with you. Now that I think about it, the established connection cuts off once the switch takes place. Is that an automatic occurrence, or is that something that has to be done consciously?

And then there was that resonant, humming sound. It actually kind of reminded me of a heavy, vibrating bass just on the edge of the auditory spectrum. Like any deeper, and the frequency would be too low to register. My assumption is that that might’ve been an expression of Yang chakra, since it seemed to focus around Minato’s body. Maybe. The only comparison I can draw to it is Naomasa’s iryoujutsu, and while clearer and more... pronounced, for lack of better terms, there was a similar resonance. 

The question is, how do I distinguish and replicate those qualities with my own chakra?

“Uh... Namikaze-sensei?” I ask tentatively.

 Namikaze’s eyes flick to me in unspoken inquiry, though he seems a little distracted, gaze distant. “Hm?”

“Is it okay if I meditate for a bit? There’s something that’s bugging me, and I want to try to figure it out.”

He turns his full attention to me. “Do you need help?”

I hesitate. It might actually be wiser to have guidance than to fumble about blindly until I figure it out, in this case. “Sensei, just a little after you formed the Snake seal, I heard this strange, deep sound. Um... like this.” I make as low a humming sound as I can. “Except much deeper. It didn’t sound like an element. Was... did you use Yang chakra?” I ask haltingly.

Namikaze blinks and opens his mouth in surprise. “I... yes, I did use Yang chakra, to enhance my body’s movement, but... But you heard it...?” He trails off.

I dip my head and shuffle my feet a bit sheepishly. “Sorry, Namikaze-sensei, but could you help me figure out how to find and use Yang chakra?”

Namikaze nods slowly after a moment. “Of course. Sit down, and I’ll guide you through meditation.”

—

By the time Namikaze deems it appropriate to reconvene with Kakashi and Minato (read: hours later), I manage to get the general idea of identifying the different aspects of my chakra. Just barely. One of the drawbacks to my sensitive hearing makes itself painfully known by interfering with my perception of my own chakra, sort of.

To put it plainly, I can’t hear myself as well as I’d like because of all the blasted noise beyond me. It’s all so distracting. It’s what I imagine trying to hear the sound of your own heartbeat whilst attending a rock concert would be like. Not necessarily impossible, but definitely not easy either.

After a while, I can identify my elements without too much of a struggle. Yin and Yang, however, are a completely different issue.

They take me longer to find. To interpret.

Yin and Yang are balance, natural opposites and counters to one another. Sustain versus staccato, void versus matter, mind versus body—each with an anchor in their opposing halves to ensure their existence. One cannot be completely without the other, after all.

Yin is marginally easier for me to find, once I manage to listen beyond the crackle-chirp of sparking electricity, the tumbling clatter of stones across hard earth, and the resounding, echoing droplets breaking the surface of still waters cradled in the depths of an expansive cavern.

Sound, song, melody—incomplete. Where does it all come from?

Yin and Yang complement and complete each other, I have to remind myself. If Yin is sound, what is Yang? Yin and Yang, push and pull. If Yin is sound, and sound rings out, then in this case Yin must in some way be push. In what way then, would Yang be pull, in regards to sound?

It takes only a few moments after I ask myself the question that it clicks.

Breath, percussion, the muted tapping of a mallet—incomplete. Where does it all lead to?

Bring them together.

It all translates.

It’s distant.

But I can hear it. 

It’s mine.

The solemn, resonant tolling of a faraway bell tower. 

It’s almost... poetic.

Chapter Text

July 9, 8bNb 

I wake to Kakashi giving me a nudge.

“Mmf,” I mumble, cracking open an eye blearily.

Kakashi takes one look at me and snorts. “Did you stay up all night again?” he asks dryly.

“Sort of,” I grunt as I force myself to get up. “It’s not fair that it’s morning already.”

Kakashi lets out a quiet huff of laughter at my grumbling. My mouth quirks into a wry smile. It’s a beautiful thing, to hear Kakashi’s laugh—minimal as it is—and for him to mean it.

“Hurry it up,” he says brusquely, but not unkindly, as he tosses a bunch of clothes my way. “Breakfast is gonna get cold if you take too long.”

I snicker and slip into the bathroom to wash up and get dressed for the day. This is Kakashi’s roundabout way of encouraging me to learn how to get dressed and ready in short order, in case of emergency or other things that crop up short-notice.

It’s kind of sweet, in a blink-and-you-miss-it, prickly way, but I know to look beyond the surface when it comes to Kakashi.

Underneath the underneath, indeed.

Breakfast is a simple affair of white rice and grilled fish with a number of greens.

I take care of the dishes, and then we’re out the door.

“What was it this time?” Kakashi asks as we stroll down the path.

“Mm?” I make a questioning sound before I register what he’s asking a moment later. “Oh. Meditating, for the most part,” I yawn. “Night is, relatively speaking, a bit more quiet than day, you know. It’s easier for me to concentrate.”

A thought occurs to me. “Ah, that reminds me. Hold still for a second?”

Kakashi stops and turns to me curiously.

I lean a little closer, closing my eyes and furrowing my brows in concentration, listening for what I wasn’t sure I heard last night or not.

The chirping crackle of Kakashi’s lightning is as clear and present as ever, but I try listening beyond that. A raspy scrape, a whisper, a faint, breathy crackle, a quiet trickle. 

Well, would you look at that.

“So it wasn’t my imagination,” I mutter as I lean back.

“What is it?”

“It’s all quieter than your lightning,” I state awkwardly, trying to find the right words.

“What?”

“You sound like everything, but your lightning is the loudest.” 

Kakashi’s eyes widen. 

I beam at him. “You might want to work on that.”

—

As Kakashi all but drags me to our usual training ground, I can’t help but ponder over a few things. 

I’d always wondered about Kakashi’s affinity (before and after the Sharingan), even before I ended up here in this reality. Sure, he favored Lightning over most of his other techniques, but he also wielded a number of other elements with such... finesse. Adding the Sharingan to the mix, well. 

As far as I can tell, the Sharingan identifies, memorizes, copies and intuits that which is necessary to pull off a successful copy. Instantaneously.

That’s all well and good—amazing, even—but what if you don’t have the needed affinity to back it up? You can still use an elemental release without having said element as an affinity (excluding Bloodline Limits), but it’s harder, takes more energy, and yields a weaker result. In other words, it’s inefficient, all-around.

From the story I read and watched, the Uchiha Clan yielded primarily Fire and the occasional Lightning affinities, with a few rare exceptions. And yet for all the techniques they could copy, they still favored Fire techniques, to the point that it almost seemed ridiculously stubborn. But taking affinities into account, rather than stubbornness, it might’ve been just plain pragmatism.

But even after receiving the Sharingan, Kakashi didn’t stick with his supposed affinity, Lightning. Why?

What if, kind of like Orochimaru, Kakashi had an affinity for all the elements? What if he had a head start with Lightning (considering the Hatake Clan techniques and prior chakra affinities), and didn’t discover and develop his other affinities until after he received the Sharingan? 

What if he could have a head start now?

Kakashi of a Thousand Jutsus was a title he earned by virtue of copying techniques with the Sharingan he received.

But Kakashi, young as he was, was head and shoulders above a good deal of the veteran shinobi of his village when it came to ninjutsu. He crafted his own elemental manipulation techniques—Chidori, and later Raikiri—for goodness’ sake.

What if Kakashi of a Thousand Jutsus could be a title he earned by virtue of creating his own techniques, using all of the affinities at his disposal from the get-go (or as close to it as possible)?

Would that change anything?

It’ll take time, and dedication, but I think I know Kakashi enough to at least know this:

He’ll make time, and he’s got dedication in spades.

—

Just like yesterday, Namikaze and Minato are waiting for us. Namikaze is just a few milliseconds too slow to mirror Minato’s smile in perfect sync, and I don’t miss it.

“Good morning, Namikaze-sensei,” who’s standing on the right, this time, I notice, “Minato-sensei,” I greet amiably as Kakashi pulls me along.

I get a puzzled look from Kakashi, a faint, almost startled quirk of the lips from Namikaze, and a flummoxed expression from Minato.

I just smile guilelessly back at them. Let them wonder; I’m not saying a word.

Well, not about that, at least. I take a breath and open my mouth, but pause. I look to Kakashi, an eyebrow raised in question. The whole matter of his affinities is relevant to him, after all. It’s up to him to decide what he wants to do about it.

I close my mouth and tilt my head. He stares back at me, blinking in brief confusion over my behavior before realization dawns in his eyes. He gives me a small appreciative nod before turning to address Minato.

“Minato-sensei, Hiiragi said that I sound like everything, but that my Lightning was the loudest.”

Namikaze and Minato blink. Minato’s the one to respond. “By everything, you mean...”

“Fire, Water, Earth, and Wind,” I state calmly. “They’re quieter... or rather, Kakashi’s Lightning is so loud that it makes it harder to hear the rest.”

“Can we work on Elemental Manipulation for the other elements, today, Minato-sensei?” Kakashi asks.

I blink in surprise. Kakashi actually asks; doesn’t beat around the bush or anything. He must be really excited over this.

“A-aa, of course, Kakashi,” Minato answers, a bit flatfooted. He glances at Namikaze. “I leave Hiiragi-kun to you.”

Namikaze nods, and we watch for a few moments as Kakashi and Minato walk away, beginning a discussion on possible exercises.

Namikaze turns to face me. “Shall we go, then?”

I nod and follow him to the clearing we meditated in yesterday. I notice the log from Namikaze’s Kawarimi still sitting on the ground and can’t help but wonder just how crazy it would get if a slew of graduating Academy students simultaneously had to perform the Kawarimi in the same room or field. Logs everywhere. Maybe a few branches.

A giggle slips out unintentionally.

Namikaze gives me a curious look, and I try to school my features back to a neutral expression. The mask helps a bit, but I still fail. Horribly.

Amusement replaces Namikaze’s curiosity. “Did you think of something funny?”

Well, if he’s inviting me to share...

“Well, it’s just... can you imagine a whole bunch of shinobi using Kawarimi in the same clearing at the same time? Nothing but small cut trees left all over the place,” I laugh breathlessly. “I don’t know why, but that’s what came to mind all of a sudden, and I couldn’t help but laugh.”

An intrigued look crosses Namikaze’s face before he breaks out into a chuckle. “That’s true, it is a funny thing to imagine.” He regards me thoughtfully for a moment before moving on. “Do you have a better feel for Yang chakra?”

I shift my weight and smile a bit sheepishly. “I might’ve spent all night working on it.”

Namikaze arches an eyebrow.

“Ah, no, I just... couldn’t sleep,” I hurry to explain. “It happens from time to time, so I just do something until I can fall asleep.”

“Does your ‘from time to time’ mean ‘often’ or ‘sometimes’?” he asks with a knowing look in his blue eyes.

I avert my gaze.

Namikaze crouches down to be more level with me. “Hiiragi-kun.”

“I know,” I say softly, but there’s a bitter edge lining my tone. “Sleep is important. But sometimes the inside of my head is awake, and won’t settle down, no matter how tired I am. No matter how much I want to sleep. I’ve tried a number of things to try to fix it, but...” I grit my teeth and hunch my shoulders. “Nothing really works.”

It’s not a new development. My sleep patterns and habits have been irregular at best since late middle school, early high school. And when I couldn’t afford to sleep, I’d settle for small catnaps (if they could even be called naps), or force myself to stay awake until I passed out. And then sleep for ten or more hours straight, or force myself awake prematurely with alarms whenever my schedule demanded it. Rinse and repeat.

It’s a vicious cycle that does a number on my mental health, which hasn’t really been at its best for a long time now.

With a sigh, I look back and meet Namikaze’s gaze. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to complain.”

His expression tightens with concern.

I huff a tired laugh. “It’s fine. I get some sleep. It’s just sometimes during the day. Sometimes through the night. Sometimes in the morning. Rarely just one way or the other. That’s what naps are for.”

Namikaze gives me a long, assessing look before he reaches out and gently tugs me into a half-hug. “If you get to a point where you need a break, tell me,” he murmurs. “You’re still a child, and it’s best if you get the sleep that you need when you can. And you really don’t want to get injured while training.”

A lump forms in my throat, so I just nod slightly. 

Breathe. 

“I’m okay right now. If I get tired, I’ll let you know,” I promise.

“Okay.” He leans back and his arm falls back to his side. “Would you like to try practicing Kawarimi now?”

I nod firmly.

My eyes are dry. 

I’m okay.

“We’ll do this in stages,” Namikaze starts, straightening and stepping away and over to the log before righting it. “First, focus on switching with the log. Once you feel comfortable with the technique, we’ll start working on improving your speed and range. From there, we’ll work on learning to use Kawarimi while you’re moving, while your chosen object is moving, and then while both are in motion.”

I nod again. That sounds logical.

Namikaze pauses for a moment. “You pointed out that you didn’t have much chakra, and you’re right. While we’re practicing, I want you to keep track of your levels. When it starts to get low, tell me immediately and we’ll work on something else that doesn’t require chakra. You really don’t want to get chakra exhaustion; it can be especially dangerous for children.”

“Understood,” I answer when he levels me with an expectant stare.

“Good. Let’s begin.”

—

“Hiiragi-kun... why aren’t you saying the name of the technique? It might help you to verbalize what you’re trying to do,” Namikaze speaks after my fifth unsuccessful attempt. 

I blink and look at him confusedly, before shrugging. “I don’t want to get in the bad habit.”

“Bad habit?” Namikaze asks, his tone bewildered.

“But isn’t it? Saying what you intend to do when an enemy can hear? That’s like inviting them to counter.”

I look back to the log thoughtfully, and ignore the telling silence that falls over the clearing after my response.

I can do this. I know I can. I know how my chakra needs to move, the intent needed to guide it and the shapes it needs to take. I can hook it to the log like Namikaze did when he demonstrated the other day. I can even draw on the Yang chakra necessary, but when I try to activate the technique, my chakra just fluctuates and recedes back to me, unused. What am I missing?

I recall Namikaze’s demonstration and...

Oh.

Fuck, I feel stupid. That’s embarrassing. I run through the hand seals, and shape my chakra...

Here I am, standing around, when it’s obvious I need to move—

In a twist of chakra and burst of smoke from the excess, I find myself standing where the log once sat, with a bit of disorientation from the sudden spatial displacement and the rush of giddy elation that surges through me—

I did it!

I whirl to face Namikaze with a grin. “I did it, Namikaze-sensei!”

He beams back. “Well done, Hiiragi-kun! How do you feel?”

On top of the world, because that was my first ever jutsu. “Awesome! I’m gonna try again!”

And again.

And again.

And again.

I can’t stop smiling. I keep careful track of my chakra reserves. Five uses leaves me at about what feels like halfway. I wonder if I can reduce the consumption of excess chakra to the bare minimum like I did with tree walking...

Six awkward (unsuccessful) leaps later and I find the ideal amount of chakra needed to use the technique. Wow, I was really overcharging my first few Kawarimi jumps. Whoops. I need to be more careful about that.

I use Kawarimi twice more with the bare minimum before deciding that I’ve got it down pat, for now. I’ll take some time to practice more later. I turn to Namikaze. “I’ve got a little less than half left,” I tell him. 

“Alright. Try Kawarimi one more time. I’ll time you. Ready? Start!”

I run through the hand seals and once I’ve got a lock on the log, I leap.

Kawarimi.

I turn to Namikaze expectantly from where I switched places with the log.

“A little over five seconds. That’s not bad,” Namikaze says with a warm smile.

“Yeah, I’m probably dead,” is my wry comeback.

His smile grows a bit strained.

“Yeah, I thought so. I’m gonna sit for a bit and practice my hand seals and chakra manipulation before I try again. My goal’s gonna be to cut it down to at least four seconds by the end of today.”

With that said, I plop down and start working through the sequence of hand seals and shaping my chakra as needed up to the point where I would need to move to activate Kawarimi before canceling and letting my chakra flow back.

Namikaze tilts his head to the side before approaching me and sitting down a little to my left. “What are you...?”

“I noticed that even if I gather and shape the necessary chakra, it’ll all go back if I don’t move or jump,” I mumble, feeling heat rise in my cheeks as I blush. “It’s why it probably didn’t work the first five times I tried Kawarimi. I can take advantage of that to practice shaping my chakra without using it up, and hopefully improve my speed while I’m at it.”

Namikaze blinks, intrigued. “You think of a lot of interesting ways to practice whatever you’re working on,” he comments after a few moments.

I snort. “No, I just put a lot of effort into finding ways to be lazy.”

The startled bout of laughter that comment earns me is priceless.

—

I manage to cut my time down to three seconds before calling it a day. Still not optimal, but a definite improvement all the same.

...

YES!

Chapter Text

July 10, 8bNb 

“You’re very quick to learn,” Namikaze comments during a break in tossing the log around the clearing. 

I’d initially dropped to lie spreadeagled on the ground, trying to catch my breath, only to grimace as my wings twinged in protest at being crushed under my deadweight. 

I somehow keep forgetting that I actually have wings that don’t appreciate being carelessly pressed into the ground. 

My solution is to just roll over with a faintly wheezing huff. I’ve been running this way and that, up and down trees, while practicing Kawarimi with target objects at varying distances (wherein I learn greater distances come with a higher chakra cost) or moving targets (wherein accuracy hinges on chakra control more than capacity) for the better part of two hours. Nonstop.

Two hours!

Kids are ridiculous.

Ah. That sounds like what someone who feels old would think. 

...

Whatever. Age is relative. My point still stands.

“I,” I start between deep breaths, angling my face a little further away from the grass and dirt beneath it, “happen to have a lot of focus. And what we’re working on happens to make sense to me. I don’t think I would seem very quick to learn if we were practicing reading and writing.”

Namikaze raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You have trouble reading?”

I let out a frustrated huff. “Kanji is... difficult. I can read hiragana and katakana just fine, though it takes me a little bit.”

“Why... oh.” Namikaze hesitates. “Do you know a different written language?”

I cast a glance at Namikaze, who is regarding me curiously. I’m honestly surprised it took him (or any of the others, for that matter) this long to ask about it. I gingerly sit up and take a moment to consider his question.

“Aa. One or two. Uh... Three?” I look up and frown thoughtfully. Do IPA and cursive count as written languages? I shrug. “One language, but three ways to write it? Two of them aren’t used very often, though.”

Namikaze looks intrigued.

“My turn. Does Fūinjutsu use characters, or is it just weird lines arranged in a specific way to get a desired effect?”

My eyebrows shoot up when I catch the affronted look that crosses Namikaze’s features. 

I can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, sorry, that was a bit insensitive of me. But I’ve been looking at the scroll Orochimaru-san gave me, and I don’t understand it at all. I know that it works, but I don’t understand why or how.”

This seams to mollify the blond jounin. He then proceeds to jump into an explanation that I only understand every other fourth word of, not including participles and subject markers. When he pauses for a breath and sees my aggrieved look, he stops. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, Namikaze-sensei. I... don’t know a lot of the words you used,” I tell him honestly.

“Oh,” Namikaze lets out a sheepish chuckle and scratches at the back of his head. “Maybe we could show you a bit some other time. It might be easier if you can see what we’re doing and we can break it down as we go.”

I stretch out a bit and smile. “I’ll look forward to it, then.”

An easy quiet settles over our clearing. 

“Say, Hiiragi-kun,” Namikaze murmurs. “Do you still speak with your home language?”

I grimace. “There’s no one to talk with, except maybe myself.”

“I see...”

“I don’t plan on forgetting it, if that’s what you’re wondering. I know a few songs in my home language. I practice them from time to time, usually when I’m alone. Don’t want to freak someone out on accident,” I mutter a bit self-consciously.

“What’s your language like?”

I pause, trying to find the right words, before snorting. “Compared to yours, it’s practically all over the place. Why? Do you want me to say something? There’s this blessing of sorts a girl once said, and it’s stuck with me since I heard it, if you’d like,” I offer.

Namikaze leans forward a bit. “You don’t mind?”

I shrug. “Well, you’re asking,” I answer flippantly.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Namikaze says reluctantly, which is nice of him to say... but. He’s misunderstanding something.

“That’s not it,” I tell him, my voice turning to steel and effortlessly snaring the jounin’s full attention. “It’s because you’re asking. That’s why I don’t mind answering.”

When his pupils contract drastically, I know he’s read my implications loud and clear. He looks discomfited by my unspoken awareness of the very real alternatives of torture or interrogation.

I look away with a tired sigh. “Even we had wars, where I’m from. You’d think people’d learn after keeping record, but... in the end, there’s always someone who wants to pick a fight, and always someone who will step up and end it.”

Namikaze doesn’t respond.

“That blessing I mentioned,” I start. “You still want to hear it?”

I glance over in time to catch Namikaze’s nod.

I take a breath and speak words that feel like home, like hope.

After a few moments, “What does it mean?” Namikaze ventures softly.

A small smile crinkles the corners of my eyes. “If I were to very literally and roughly translate it... May you find success and happiness in your endeavors.”

Namikaze mouths the words to himself before returning his gaze to me. “That’s... When is it used?”

I huff a laugh. “You can say it whenever, if you mean it. That’s the beauty of it. I use it often when parting ways with someone I’ve just met. If I can’t be there with them, then at least my words...”

Namikaze’s expression grows solemn. “Then it’s a farewell...?”

“No,” I crane my head to meet his gaze with a wistful smile. “It’s a wish.”

—

July 11, 8bNb 

When we reach the open field of the training ground, Kakashi and I find Minato and Orochimaru waiting for us.

“Today I’d like us to try Shinobi Playing Demon.”

“Shinobi Playing Demon...?” I ask, a bit bemused. There’s something familiar about part of that phrase...

Kakashi looks at me askance. “You’ve never tried Playing Demon? The person who is the Demon chases after the rest, and if they catch someone—”

“Oh!” I exclaim as it hits me, smacking a fist into my open palm. Playing Demon. He’s talking about Tag. Fuck. I gotta be more careful about translating things so literally.

Kakashi blinks at me, alarmed by my outburst, and I send him an apologetic look for interrupting him.

“Yeah, I know how to play. Sort of. I just didn’t recognize the game’s name right away. Sorry.”

Orochimaru, Minato, and Kakashi project varying degrees of curiosity.

“We call it ‘Tag’ where I’m from,” I admit with a shrug.

“Tagu?” I get baffled looks from Kakashi and Minato.

Close enough.

I put extra effort into keep my expression neutral. “Yup. ‘Tag’. There’s a couple of different types of the game, too, with different rules.”

“Oh?” Minato asks. “Like what?”

“Well, there’s ‘Freeze Tag’... uh... Playing Ice Demon, I guess? If the Demon catches someone, that caught person has to stop and can’t move from where they were caught. If the stopped person is touched by an ally that hasn’t been caught, then they can run free. If the Demon catches everyone, then it’s the Demon’s win,” I explain to the best of my ability. “Does that make sense?”

Minato and Orochimaru both have thoughtful looks on their faces. I’m willing to bet they’re drawing parallels to possible mission parameters and outcomes involving capture and retrieval, at least tangentially. Or even team-building exercises.

Kakashi adopts an aloof expression, but I’m onto him—his chakra’s zapping more frequently than usual with interest. And if I listen a little more closely, I can even hear a faint smattering of his other elements a little more clearly than the day before. Just a little, but the difference is there.

“Hmm, we’ll go with that, then,” Minato states brightly, drawing my attention back to the blond jounin.

“What?” I ask, not understanding what he’s referring to.

“That—er, Fu-furizu Tagu... Playing Ice Demon. We’ll do that today.”

I blink, baffled. Where is he going with this...?

“I’ll be the Ice Demon; Kakashi and Hiiragi-kun and...” Minato trails off, sending Orochimaru an inquiring look.

“I will observe,” the Snake Sannin rasps with a faint smirk.

“Then just Kakashi and Hiiragi-kun will be allies,” Minato finishes, turning back to us.

Kakashi and I versus Minato? 

Without Orochimaru as backup?

Damn. I’m not too thrilled about those odds, not gonna lie.

“I won’t be using any jutsu,” Minato picks up again, flashing an amused grin at my reluctant look. “But,” he pauses, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth, “You two can.”

... Better.

Marginally.

“If either of you remain uncaught after thirty minutes, it’ll be your win. You get five minutes before we start. Off you go!”

Kakashi sprints for the tree line and I’m only a step behind him. Once we’re out of Minato’s sightline, Kakashi flashes a few signs with a hand.

Separate. Confine. 3. 100. Meters.

I nod and sign back a quick ‘Affirmative’ before ducking away to the left. I spread my awareness and listen, keeping tabs on Kakashi’s crackle, Minato’s firestorm, and Orochimaru’s elemental symphony.

I surge up a tree, not wanting to leave much in the way of tracks behind, and take extra care not to snag or snap any branches I flit through. I move from tree to tree, mindful of Kakashi’s movement and position in relation to my placement. While I can’t quite judge precise distances with my hearing (I haven’t figured out how, yet), I can guesstimate and hope for the best.

My heart starts pounding like a war drum in my ears when Minato starts moving, and it takes me several quiet, deep breaths to settle it to the point it won’t infringe on my senses.

Focus, I think to myself. I need to keep track of everyone’s movements. 

Orochimaru settles himself someplace about halfway between Kakashi and I, as far as I can tell.

Kakashi flits from place to place—tree to tree, judging by the nearly nonexistent sound of his distant footfalls and the whispering rustle of shaking leaves marking his passage—pausing here and there for small stretches of time.

Minato stops before resuming his pursuit, footfalls growing soft in the way of growing distance between us.

He’s going for Kakashi first.

I chew on my bottom lip thoughtfully. What to do? Kakashi’s good, but I’m one hundred percent certain that Minato’s better, even with his handicaps.

I leap from my current tree to another, drawing closer to tail Minato, and by extension, Orochimaru and Kakashi. I stop abruptly in alarm when Orochimaru’s chakra silences. Whipping my head around in concern, I strain my ears and pick out the sound of breath and blood flow and a heartbeat around where I last heard Orochimaru.

I let out a relieved breath. Orochimaru’s still there. He just... suppressed his chakra?

I check on Minato and Kakashi. There’s still a good deal of distance between the two, as far as I can tell. 

I change my course and head towards Orochimaru. When he comes into view, I perch on an overhanging branch and regard the Snake Sannin curiously. He looks back up at me, a faint smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“So you can still find me, even like this,” he comments.

I don’t say anything in response, taking in as much detail as I can as an idea comes to mind. 

The texture of Orochimaru’s clothes, how they shift and rustle with movement, if any. The shadows that frame and drape across his features in the dampened lighting beneath the foliage. His poised stance that looks the epitome of relaxation. The very presence the Snake Sannin exudes by virtue of his existence. The space he fills. The way grass bends and dirt depresses beneath his feet. The flutter of his long hair as it catches every faint breeze.

I drop down and stop a few feet away, breathing in. My nose is nowhere near as strong as my hearing, but I can make do. I catch the scents of aged paper and sharp chemicals, earth and growth and metal.

I press it all into my memory.

Orochimaru regards me patiently. I exhale slowly before curling my tongue inwards toward the roof of my mouth and let out a chirp reminiscent of one of the many birds I’ve heard in this stretch of forest over the days spent training here.

Orochimaru blinks and tilts his head slightly in intrigue.

I reach for my Yin and Yang chakra, drawing more on the former than the latter, using the sound of my chirping as an anchor.

Orochimaru’s gaze sharpens as it flicks to something behind me.

I glance back and see Orochimaru mirroring the man before me. I return my gaze to see my inspiration for this, and find golden eyes alight with something close to exhilaration.

“Clever, clever child,” he chuckles approvingly. “Namikaze had best be careful.”

I beam before stopping the flow of my chakra to my makeshift genjutsu. I don’t have to look behind me to know that the illusory Orochimaru I made disappears. The sudden absence of perceived presence tells me enough.

“Hurry back to your game, Hiiragi-kun,” Orochimaru rasps, his tone amused.

I give the Snake Sannin a jaunty wave before turning my focus back to Kakashi and Minato. I bite back a curse as I realize the two are a little too close to each other for comfort, darting about in an obvious chase. I sprint in their direction, keeping my breathing muffled and footfalls light, just like Kakashi taught me.

I obtain visuals on Minato and Kakashi just in time to witness the jounin landing a glancing tap to Kakashi’s retreating forearm.

For all that Kakashi can be as quick as a bolt of lightning across stormy skies, Minato may as well be the very sunlight that arcs across light years of space unimpeded and unfettered.

I catch the faint sound of frustration caught in Kakashi’s throat as the chuunin reluctantly stays where he was tagged.

Slinking carefully into the cover provided by some especially leafy branches, I scan the surrounding area, trying to come up with a plan to get Kakashi back in the game. My eyes catch a few promising bits of deadfall that aren’t too far away from him. While not quite as large as the log I’ve grown accustomed to working with while training with Namikaze, beggars can’t be choosers; I can make do.

I avidly track Minato’s movements, honing my hearing in on his firestorm chakra and the stretch-release of his muscles, careful to not let my eyes linger directly on the jounin for more than two to three seconds. He idles near Kakashi for nearly two full minutes before leaping away and disappearing into the trees.

He doesn’t stray far, to my utter lack of surprise.

I’ll need an escape plan if I want to pull this off. I scan the surrounding area again, going so far as to check behind me for favorable targets for Kawarimi. I pause. Would it be possible to carry Kakashi with me in a Kawarimi? It’d at least give the both of us a bit of a head start on putting some distance between us and Minato. But how to go about it?

Pursing my lips thoughtfully, I slowly gather my chakra and run through the hand signs with the intent to perform a Kawarimi, then pull my hands out of the final seal and don’t act on it. 

A grin spreads across my features.

It’s brief, but it’s a window of opportunity. 

I’ve got roughly a little more than a second after locking in on the technique before it cancels and my chakra returns to me unused.

A second is plenty of time for me to grab hold of Kakashi before jumping. (Hopefully he won’t accidentally skewer me for this—I’m absolutely positive that instinctive shinobi reactions are a thing, and more than likely violent.)

In the back of my mind, I can’t help but hope this completely slapdash, hare-brained idea of mine doesn’t go terribly wrong and end badly for either of us.

Confirming Minato’s position once more, I gather my chakra, and run through the hand seals.

Kawarimi.

In an instant, I’m just a few paces away from Kakashi, and my heart all but leaps to my throat as the sound of Minato launching from his hiding place reaches my ears. I waste no time in dashing for Kakashi, running through the seals once more—using at least three times the necessary amount of chakra, just in case—before wrapping my arms around the frozen chuunin and leaping.

Kawarimi!

It’s a rough landing, but we scramble to our feet and book it, leaving Minato and the fallen branch we switched with a good ten meters behind us.

“Did you just use a shunshin?” Kakashi hisses incredulously as we retreat.

“Hah? The hell do you mean? That was clearly a Kawarimi,” I bite back between hysterical, breathless laughter. I can’t believe that actually worked!

On the first try, no less! 

Holy shit!

The strangled sound Kakashi makes in reaction is entirely understandable and just as entertaining. 

“This way,” I urge, tugging Kakashi along with me to press against a tree. “Try not to move, I’d like us to not be immediately found out if I manage to do this right.”

“What are—“

“Shh!”

Pulling up the illusion from earlier as I chirp is a bit harder to do with my focus as frayed as it is, and even harder to wrap it around the two of us. When I feel it settle into place, it’s not a moment too soon. Minato lands a few yards away, casts a quick glance towards us, gives a brief nod of acknowledgement, then sprints off.

I hold my breath for a handful of seconds, listening as Minato’s firestorm moves further and further away, before letting out a relieved sigh and dropping the step-sideways genjutsu.

“Let’s go before Minato runs into the real Orochimaru,” I mutter as I step out of Kakashi’s personal space.

Kakashi lets out a quiet huff, but follows without argument. We pad through the forest cautiously, trying to remain undetected whilst conserving energy.

“Ah, we were found out,” I chuckle when I catch wind of Minato encountering the real Orochimaru.

I steer the both of us away and out of range whenever Minato starts drawing closer to our position.

“It’s been thirty minutes,” Kakashi announces quietly after what feels like forever playing a nerve-wracking mix of keep-away, hide-and-seek, and cat-and-mouse.

“Really?” I ask in tired disbelief. Kakashi nods. “Oh. Okay then, should we go meet up with Orochimaru-san?”

Kakashi shrugs, and I decide to take that as either agreement or acquiescence. I lead the way back, honing in on Orochimaru’s heartbeat while keeping tabs on Minato, just in case.

Upon reaching the small clearing the Snake Sannin situated himself in, I take a few steps forward before deciding to flop gracelessly to the ground with a ragged sigh, much to Orochimaru’s amusement and Kakashi’s bemusement.

“I was so nervous!” I groan as I stretch out, trying to relieve some of the tension that’s gathered in my frame.

Kakashi huffs a quiet laugh and sits down next to me. “Thanks,” he mumbles under his breath. “For coming to get me.”

“Anytime, always,” is my heartfelt reply.

Minato arrives only a few minutes later, a proud smile spread across his features. “It’s your win. Nicely done,” he praises warmly.

I playfully jostle Kakashi with my elbow as I smile back at the jounin. 

Minato steps closer before joining us to sit on the ground. “Shall we talk about it?”

I glance at Kakashi, who nods firmly in response.

Minato leans forward, resting a chin on his hand as he regards the both of us with a pensive smile. “Then what would you like to talk about first?”

Kakashi hesitates briefly. “When we started out, we split up. I thought it would buy us more time,” he admits.

I tilt my head to the side thoughtfully. In theory, it could have. 

But.

“That would require either of us to not get caught,” I murmur, eyes downcast. “If Minato-sensei had gone after me first, he would’ve most likely caught me sooner and still have plenty of time to track and chase you down,” I explain, hoping not to insult Kakashi.

But Kakashi simply nods, recognizing the logic behind my words.

Minato hums, but doesn’t say a word.

“I’m kind of surprised you stayed as long as you did near Kakashi after catching him,” I address the blond jounin after a moment. “While it makes sense to lie in wait and ambush any rescuers, there was no guarantee I would attempt a rescue. If I kept my distance, and you remained to guard Kakashi, when time ran out, Kakashi and I would still win by default.”

Kakashi gives me a puzzled look while Minato’s smile widens faintly.

“Then why did you try to rescue me,” Kakashi asks, “if our win could already be assured?”

I arch an eyebrow. “There was no guarantee that Minato would stand guard until time ran out,” I tell him. “And besides...” I pause. “If possible, no one gets left behind,” I say firmly in my home language.

Minato and Kakashi both blink, taken aback by the unfamiliar words.

“That’s a... a... a catchphrase? From where I’m from. It means, if possible, no one gets left behind. I believe in that. If someone can be saved,” I turn my stare to Kakashi. “It is more than worth it to try.”

“I see,” Minato says slowly, and I turn my gaze to him. There’s a light of approval in his blue eyes. “And if they can be saved, but you’re not strong enough to save them?”

I dig my fingers into the grass, meeting Minato’s gaze fiercely, defiantly. “I told you, didn’t I? If I’m ever not enough, I’ll find a way to be enough, get better, or ask someone for help.”

I brace for further questions, the hypotheticals with no right answers that almost always pair with what-if conversations like this, that always leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

The very real scenarios where not everyone can be helped, or saved.

But they don’t come.

Minato watches me, his gaze missing nothing. The approval doesn’t fade, but a sorrow joins the mix, and I get the feeling that he knows. Knows that I know at least some of those dreaded questions that he’s not asking. Knows that I know the weight of answering them.

Instead, he blinks and moves on. 

“I recall you pulling an interesting Kawarimi while rescuing Kakashi,” he comments casually.

“I’m honestly surprised it went as well as it did,” I admit sheepishly after a long pause. “I didn’t know if it would work or not.”

Kakashi whips his head around to send me a piercing look. “You didn’t?” he demands, alarmed.

I sigh, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, that was reckless of me.”

At least it worked?

“It was reckless of you to try something like that without absolute certainty of it being possible,” Minato agrees, but his tone is gentle. “But we also cannot deny the efficacy of the result. Perhaps we could try practicing it again later, and find ways to make it safer.”

I nod, appreciative of Minato’s two cents’ worth.

Kakashi settles back with a quiet huff. “Was it the same with that weird seal-less genjutsu you pulled, too?”

“Ah, no, I knew that one would work, sort of. I kinda tested it out before running your way when Minato was chasing you,” I answer, looking over to Kakashi. “It’s based off of what I did with Whispering Flowers, remember? Except instead of just sound, I mixed in a little bit of everything.”

Minato straightens a bit. “This is the first I’m hearing of this,” he interjects, and I turn back to him. “What exactly did you do?”

I shrug. “I don’t fully get it, but,” I chew on my bottom lip ponderously, trying to find the right words to describe. “The first time, Orochimaru-san pointed it out to me. I sang a song, and more than one voice could be heard at the same time. He said my chakra moved in an interesting way when I sang.”

Kakashi and Minato glance at the Snake Sannin lounging against a tree, who nods in confirmation.

“We came to the conclusion it was a sort of unconscious manipulation of Yin chakra, which is used commonly in genjutsu. I tried doing it again a while back without singing, and was able to make it so that Kakashi and I could listen to a song from my home,” I continue. “Like... uh... a surrounding effect... er... genjutsu, with only sound.”

Minato looks intrigued.

“I could show you?” I offer.

“Please do,” Minato responds with a nod.

It’s easier to call up the chakra this time, now that I know what I’m looking for. I tap the beat on my leg, and soon enough Whispering Flowers is playing throughout the small clearing.

I listen with a tender smile, glad that this is a piece of my world I can keep with me, and share with others. When the song ends, I stop feeding my chakra into the area around me.

When Minato looks back to me, I beam. “It’s pretty, right?”

“Aa, it certainly is,” Minato agrees, his voice soft. “Have you always been able to do that? With your voice and without hand seals?”

I shake my head. “I think it all started doing that after Kakashi showed me meditation, and I tapped into my chakra for the first time,” I muse. “It was the same with my ears.”

Minato hums thoughtfully and leans back, resting his hands on the ground to support his weight. “Genjutsu isn’t really my forte,” he admits. “I might be able to help you with the basics, but...” he glances over to Orochimaru. “What do you think, Orochimaru-san?”

“I suppose I could lend a hand when I have time to spare,” the Snake Sannin states slowly, eyes fixed on me. “I find a lot of what Hiiragi-kun seems to be capable of... fascinating. I’m interested to see what he can do with his potential.”

Chapter Text

July 12, 8bNb 

It turns out that Orochimaru has time to spare the very next day. 

As such, instead of pairing up to train with Namikaze, I end up sitting in the shade of one of the trees ringing the field of our preferred training ground while Minato moves off to work with Kakashi. My eyes follow the two with a muted sort of contentment.

I drag my gaze away to find Orochimaru observing me intently, as if he’s just found a new puzzle piece and doesn’t know where it fits. 

I smile a bit self-consciously. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so distracted. Where should we start?”

He blinks and sets aside whatever thought that occurred to him for the time being.

The first thing on Orochimaru’s agenda is genjutsu theory.

We spend the better part of nearly two hours discussing genjutsu. Its strengths and weaknesses. Its inherent risks when handled poorly. Its many types of application—namely through sight, sound, touch, and even on rare occasions, scent—and the two groups all genjutsu are divided into: area-of-effect (which entails using primarily Yin chakra—and just a touch of Yang chakra to stabilize it—to overlay an illusion over reality, generating sights, scents, sounds, and sensations that can be perceived by multiple targets indiscriminately) and internal cerebral manipulation (in which the caster controls and shapes their target’s perception by applying and circulating Yin chakra directly to relevant regions of their target’s brain).

My background understanding is balanced out by my limited vocabulary, so it takes a good deal of time—and a lot of parroting and rephrasing, and metaphors and examples, go figure—to cover the majority. 

It helps that Orochimaru brought scrolls with diagrams that he can point to as he explains for some of it, and gives a lot of really good examples and scenarios that are easy to understand.

It helps that Orochimaru makes a very, very good teacher.

When Orochimaru calls for a break, I let out a haggard sigh and take a moment to massage at my temples. 

Learning the intricacies of something mostly foreign is tough enough on its own.

Learning said intricacies while parsing through a language not entirely your own is... even for a largely intellectual learner like me, undeniably draining.

“Do you have a headache?” Orochimaru asks, not unkindly.

“No,” I answer tiredly. “It’s just—a lot.”

“Your focus is impressive. That will serve you well with genjutsu, among other things,” Orochimaru says after a few moments’ deliberation. “I expected you to ask for a break nearly an hour and a half ago.”

I snort. “Two hours on a particularly extensive topic isn’t so bad,” I mutter. “Three hours might be pushing it, though.” Especially if I have little to no interest in said extensive topic.

I will forever rue the days spent in three-hour-long lectures at college. Just... no.

Orochimaru arches a brow, and I angle my head away to yawn. Gah, even just thinking about it makes me feel exhausted by default.

The Snake Sannin hums. “Well, I suppose we can work on something else for the rest of our time today,” he says offhand, and I turn back to look at him curiously.

He pulls out a small square of paper and holds it up for me to see.

—

I stare at the paper blankly.

I know what it is. It’s Chakra Induction paper, practically a litmus test to determine an individual’s elemental affinities.

What I don’t understand is why Orochimaru brought one. I already know what my affinities will most likely—

Oh. I didn’t get around to telling him that, did I? Have I told anyone yet? I draw a blank. Huh. I guess I haven’t.

Misinterpreting my flummoxed expression, Orochimaru proceeds to explain the properties of the paper. I nod along and decide to wait for him to finish before mentioning my suspicions.

“Any questions?” Orochimaru asks at the end of his explanation.

“Er...” I start awkwardly. “I think I might... already know my affinities?”

Orochimaru blinks, intrigued. “Oh?”

I shrug jerkily. “Water is my main, with Lightning and Earth as secondaries, I think.”

“You don’t sound very certain. How did you come to this conclusion?” The Snake Sannin asks curiously.

“I heard it, a while after my first meditation with Kakashi,” I answer honestly. “Though it’s harder for me to hear my chakra as opposed to outside sources.”

“I see... Then I’d like to see you use this to confirm your hunch,” Orochimaru says after a moment before holding the paper out to me.

I nod amicably and accept the paper, idly running a thumb and forefinger over its surface to gauge its texture. I’m reminded somewhat of card stock, except for the fact that it’s too flexible. Weird.

I frown at the paper thoughtfully. How should I go about holding it? If I’m right, maybe I should hold it from its sides...

With that decided, I channel my chakra into the paper through my fingertips.

As expected, the top half of the paper immediately grows damp, followed by a delayed but simultaneous crinkling of the bottom left corner and crumbling of the bottom right corner.

Well then.

I look back to Orochimaru to see the Snake Sannin staring thoughtfully at what remains of the paper. His gaze lifts to meet mine. “It is certainly as you said. What do you want to work on first?”

I blink at the Snake Sannin in surprise. “I can choose?”

Orochimaru arches a brow, unimpressed.

I sigh, a bit bemused. Perhaps I’m a bit too used to teachers and instructors and professors telling me what they expect me to do. I haven’t been able to set the pace like this in a long time.

“I’d like to work on my secondary elements, if possible,” I start slowly. “They’re likely to be more difficult to handle, and I’d like to strengthen them before starting on my primary.”

Orochimaru tilts his head to the side in intrigue. “That is an unusual choice,” he comments. “Usually one starts with their primary element, because it is easier to work with and generally stronger than a secondary affinity, if any.”

I cross my arms, tilting my head defiantly and leveling the Snake Sannin with a flat stare. “If I always start with the easiest, I’ll just end up frustrating myself unnecessarily when I move on to tasks that won’t go as smoothly or come as easily,” I state dryly.

Orochimaru lets out a throaty chuckle in response. “Very well then,” he concedes. “I will show you some exercises for Earth and Lightning Nature Transformation, and we will proceed from there.” 

With that said, Orochimaru rises to his feet and leaps up into a tree to gather a handful of leaves before dropping back to the ground gracefully. Setting all but one leaf to the side, Orochimaru gestures for me to move closer to observe better.

“For Earth Nature Transformation,” he begins, holding both ends of the leaf in one hand each. “The intent is to change the properties of the leaf into dirt.” I watch in fascination as with a minute crescendo of a landslide, the leaf seems to shrivel before crumbling into granules of soil.

I frown in thought, reaching to poke at the resulting dirt curiously. It’s somewhat moist—Orochimaru didn’t drain the water from the leaf. Did he perform some conversion of matter to coax the leaf into changing its physical properties to be more like that of earth?

When I draw back and don’t give any indication of asking anything, Orochimaru brushes the dirt from his hands and then reaches for another leaf. 

“When practicing with Lightning Nature Transformation, I recommend either having a water source or someone capable of using a water jutsu readily available.” He levels me with a look that speaks volumes, and I nod seriously.

Working with Lightning equals fire hazard, got it.

Makes sense, considering that some forest fires can be caused by lightning strikes.

Seemingly satisfied with my acknowledgement of his implied warning, Orochimaru turns his focus to the new leaf held between his hands. “With Lightning Nature Transformation,” he begins once more, “it is a bit trickier. The intent is to pierce a hole through the center of the leaf—preferably without setting it aflame.”

My eyes boggle as with a sharp shriek of electricity, a small flash of lightning sparks from Orochimaru’s fingertips and punctures the middle of the leaf, leaving a smoldering hole through its surface. I hold my breath, but while the edges of the puncture glow orange-red with the potential for fire, it doesn’t catch, even with the passing breeze.

I swallow reflexively before raising my gaze to meet Orochimaru’s, more than a little in awe, but my concern takes precedence.

“Your fingers... are they okay?” I ask hoarsely. In my experience, static stings, and what Orochimaru just generated... that was well beyond static, even if it was on a small scale.

Orochimaru pauses, noting my reaction with puzzled interest. He holds his hands out for me to examine. Aside from callouses formed from a dedication to bladed instruments and scars earned from an ongoing battle for life, there isn’t anything else of note. No charring or burns or Lichtenberg marks.

“It tingles a bit,” he finally admits, his golden eyes seemingly pinning me in place when I look up to meet them. “In the beginning, it will sting. You grow accustomed to it, and with improved control, it hurts you less.”

My mouth twists faintly beneath my mask. Just as I thought.

I let out a wry huff. “Maa... At least with this, I can work on my pain...” I hesitate, trying to remember if I ever learned the word for tolerance; no dice, “endure... um, along with my Lightning Nature Transformation.”

Orochimaru regards me silently, his gaze unreadable. “Would you like to see the exercise for Water Nature Transformation? For future reference?”

I hesitate, then nod.

Gently pulling his hands from mine, Orochimaru reaches to the side for another leaf. Instead of selecting just one, however, he grabs two. I frown in confusion.

“There are two ways to practice Water Nature Transformation,” Orochimaru explains upon noticing my expression. “One is a little more challenging than the other. You could even go so far as to say that the two methods are merely separate stages or approaches of one practice.”

Setting one leaf on his lap, he holds the other one between his two hands, making certain that the leaf is horizontal and parallel to the ground. “The easier method of Water Nature Transformation entails drawing the water from the leaf and letting it pool on top—without letting the leaf grow brittle enough to break.”

The sound of rushing water surges, and water gradually wells up from the center of the leaf. The leaf itself turns brown, as if aging into deadfall before our eyes, but does not collapse or break beneath the weight of the water resting above it.

Flicking the water away, Orochimaru discards the dried leaf and picks up the leaf on his lap. Holding it the same way he did with the prior leaf, Orochimaru continues. “The second method entails drawing water from the air around you and gathering it in the center of the leaf—without letting it spill over.”

Once more the rush of water rising reaches my ears, and slowly but surely, droplets of water are pulled from the air and pool into the little makeshift well of the leaf, stopping millimeters short of the edges. I let out a soft exhale in wonder, my eyes fixed on the water that trembles faintly with the minute movement of Orochimaru’s hands.

When I sit back, Orochimaru dumps the water off the leaf before setting it to the side, too.

“When you can perform any one of those exercises without difficulty, we can explore the practice or creation of elemental techniques, if you so wish,” Orochimaru tells me, a faint smirk tugging at one of the corners of his mouth.

I blink at him in bafflement.

His smirk widens. “Personally, I am greatly interested in seeing what you can come up with.”

It takes a moment for the Snake Sannin’s admission to sink in.

I absently tug down my mask and let the grin—equal parts grim, determined, and eager—that spreads across my features serve as my answer.

If it’ll help me protect those I hold dear...

I can think of a few ideas.

—

My go-to these days seems to be meditation, I muse as I sit beside Orochimaru. I find the notion a bit hilarious, seeing as how my mom—

the inadvertent reminder stings, breathe

—would recommend it to me from time to time in the hopes that it might help me ground myself, and maybe even remedy my trouble with sleeping.

Perhaps I would’ve done well to put more effort into trying the things she recommended.

I guide my thoughts out with the breath that leaves my lungs on an exhale. Hold in stillness. Draw in serenity with the inhale. Hold.

I reflect on the elements. If I am to wield them, I need to understand them.

Earth—what is it? What role does it hold? What does it want?

Earth is sturdy, can be unmoving as rock. It is the foundation that gives way to life and all that grows. It steadies, it protects, it endures. It shifts and changes. It is the shield and the stave. It is the base. Blunt force and the force that blunts. What it wants... is to be. It soaks up Water, is unmoved by Wind. Fire may scorch its surface, but will reach no further if it cannot burn hot enough. Earth only moves for itself, and is vulnerable to Lightning, that which pierces all.

Water—what is it? What role does it fulfill? What does it want?

Water is potential, amenable to just about any shape, provided there is something there to act on it, to contain it. It can be a gas, a liquid, a solid. It sustains life and nourishes all that grows and it washes away filth. It moves—endlessly if allowed—it rages, it stills. It follows the path of least resistance, and in so doing gains the strength of all that follows along with it. It is motion and it is serenity. What it wants... is to flow. It sinks into Earth, who stops it in its tracks, and extinguishes Fire. Wind encourages or slows its motion. It happily relays and amplifies Lightning’s current.

Fire—what is it? What role does it act? What does it want?

Fire is light, heat, energy. It is simultaneously the end to life and that which grows, and the opportunity for things to grow anew. It burns, it clears away, it reduces whatever it can to ash. It lights the path, it chases away the chill. It races and spreads if left unchecked or untempered. It is destruction and it is creation, the forge that softens unyielding metal and coaxes it into shape. What it wants... is to consume. It is stifled by Water and Earth, but can race across the latter unhindered. It devours Wind and grows all the fiercer for it, and is acquainted with and can be ignited by Lightning.

Wind—what is it? What role does it play? What does it want?

Wind is free, undefined by our eyes save for when it moves something else. It carries life and that which grows, ferrying them to new beginnings. It whispers, it howls, it screams—it cradles all sound. It lifts and it hastens and it impedes. It is the blade that cuts and the breath that incites motion. What it wants... is to fly free, unrestrained. Earth weathers and buffers its force, undaunted. It chases Lightning away. It falls prey to and fuels Fire, and plays amicably with Water. 

Lightning—what is it? What role does it take? What does it want?

Lightning is ferocity, light and energy provoked by opposing charges. It is capricious. It arcs through the skies and lunges to the ground. It is the force that tears the air asunder, cleaving a space of silence for sound to crash back in in the form of thunder. It is an instant of chaos, a harbinger of destruction, a revival. It ravages that which cannot withstand it, and powers that which can. It is the live wire that sparks and the spear that pierces. What it wants... is to strike, to break through. Earth crumples against its devastating impact. It balks and is driven away by Wind. It lights Fire and is conducted and encouraged to an extent by Water.

Water and Wind are sibling elements, just like Fire and Lightning. Earth stands apart, firm in its solitude.

I take a moment to breathe through my contemplations, my conclusions. Only once it all settles do I venture to assess my chakra and the natures folded within.

The sound of a drop of water echoing upon impact reaches my ears, but it’s not what I wish to focus on just yet, so I do my best to tune it out for now, set it to the side. It takes a little longer, but I gradually zero in on the clatter of tumbling stones and the crackle-chirp of sparking electricity.

I opt to devote my focus to the latter, since I have the convenience of a Sannin capable of effectively using Water ninjutsu readily available. I’m pretty sure I can practice with Earth and Water alone on my own time, seeing as Orochimaru didn’t see fit to caution me about them.

I try to coax the Lightning coursing through my veins (I’m feeling poetic, sue me) closer to the forefront, the surface. It’s simultaneously like a skittish animal and a warhorse chomping at the bit, jumping away from my grasp one moment and charging full bore towards it the next, making it hard to get a good hold of it. It’s a bit frustrating, I’m not gonna lie.

Why is it doing that?

I think back to what I remember about lightning and electricity in general. I’m no expert by any means, but I remember a bit about opposing charges...

Opposing charges...

Oh.

Oh!

I return my focus back to the push-pull of my Lightning chakra, and more specifically, search for what causes it to dance away and what causes it to draw closer.

What repels it, and what attracts it.

After a while of observing my chakra in general, I realize I’m reminded somewhat of a swinging pendulum. It arcs far to the left and swings back to the right, sort of. In a metaphorical sense of left and right. Back and forth (like the rising and falling of tides, how ironically appropriate), but when it reaches that point in the middle, the lightning rushes forth with an almost eager crackle.

If I get no reaction when the metaphorical pendulum is in motion and too far to the ‘right’ or ‘left’, then does that mean there’s too much of the same “charge” for a proper spark to light? Does that mean that that center point is where the ideal amount of “positive” and “negative” can be found? Is that where I should aim in order to call my Lightning forward?

Nothing for it but to try.

...

I say that, but getting the pendulum to slow down, much less stop where I need it to, is easier said than done, at first.

It’s manageable, but it’s like fighting a losing battle, or running uphill. Why? Am I doing something wrong? It sure as hell doesn’t feel right. Maybe I’m missing something.

Pursing my lips thoughtfully, I keep trying, but split my focus between my efforts and my chakra, only to realize that the clattering of Earth has gotten louder than even the drip of Water and the chirp of Lightning.

I let out a loud exhale, trying to gather my thoughts and make sense of all this.

Okay. What do I know?

First, my chakra likes to sway back and forth like a pendulum (or tides, I can’t seem to let that thought go). That’s it’s usual, natural state, it seems.

Second, when in its natural state, my chakra sounds most like Water, or rather, Water sounds the loudest.

Third, when the pendulum swings by the “middle” of the pendulum’s arc, Lightning sounds the loudest.

Fourth, when I try to slow or still the pendulum, however, Earth sounds loudest.

...

Huh.

If stillness brings up Earth, instead of Lightning, then... what if I just kept the pendulum in motion, but shortened the arc so that it reached the middle more frequently in a shorter amount of time? Or increased the speed of the swing? Or even both?

From there, it’s almost laughably easy to shape my chakra the way I want to, and Lightning crackles in my ears—I can feel it practically humming just beneath the surface, jumping about restlessly, searching for an outlet.

I open my eyes and stare down at my left hand. Without thinking, I provide it.

With a sharp snap! and brief, shrieking chirp, a small arc of lightning sparks between my thumb and forefinger for the span of a second or two.

I jump with a startled, “Son of a bitch!” in my home language, shaking out my smarting left hand. 

Fuck, that hurt! Like static on steroids, ow!

Blinking the spots out of my vision from the sudden flash, I check my tingling fingertips for damage, but don’t find anything of note or out of place. Remembering myself, I glance up sheepishly to see Orochimaru regarding me with a raised eyebrow.

Ah, whoops. I swore again, just now, didn’t I?

“That was fast,” he comments dryly, but I get the impression his tone stems more from surprise than from sarcasm.

I absently rub at the pads of my fingers, which are now starting to go a bit numb, and shrug jerkily. “Meditation’s a lifesaver,” I answer distractedly, my eyebrows furrowing. 

I can’t help but wonder why not very many others of the story I read bothered to meditate more often. This feels almost too easy in comparison to Naruto’s struggles with his Wind affinity. Am I just an exception to the rule? Or is it really supposed to be that simple, and the current approaches to practicing with elements are why everyone seems to trip themselves up? 

Now that I think about it, there wasn’t much in the way of explanations, in the story, at least, when it came to a Jounin Sensei addressing students. They’d show them something was possible, maybe give a comment here or there about what to look for, but it was all surface-level. There was very little direction or guidance given. Almost like they followed the thought of “figure it out yourself,” or something along those lines. Was that intentional, or not?

I frown, more than a little concerned. I’m not sure I really want to know the answer to that.

“I think I need to learn how to read and write,” I state abruptly, and Orochimaru blinks.

I pause. “And maybe consult a lot of different shinobi that use different or same elemental ninjutsu.”

Orochimaru tilts his head to the side curiously. “And why is that?”

My frown deepens slightly. “You said, ‘that was fast,’ didn’t you? As if someone getting an element to work so quickly is not normal. I want to know why. Am I just special? Or am I just doing something right that almost everyone else isn’t?”

Orochimaru’s eyes narrow faintly. “You think that there’s a possibility that everyone can learn beginning Elemental Transformation almost as swiftly as you just did.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

I respond anyway. “Lightning is one of my secondaries,” I say quietly, in part as a reminder. “And I think I can get Earth to work just as quickly, if not faster.”

Orochimaru stares at me for a long moment before holding out a leaf.

The unspoken message is as clear as day to me.

‘Show me.’

I take the leaf with my right hand, and I turn my focus back to the pendulum, listening for the clatter of tumbling rocks. I gradually guide the pendulum’s motion to a standstill, the scrape and clatter of Earth reaching a crescendo in my ears. I nudge my waiting chakra through my fingers toward the leaf, encouraging it to go and simply be, and watch as the leaf crumbles into dirt.

I look up to see Orochimaru staring down at the fallen soil, tellingly still.

Finally:

“I will see about gathering some materials to help you learn to read and write. I look forward to seeing what your studies yield.”

Yeah, I thought as much. As expected of the scientifically-oriented shinobi. I can’t help the amused quirk tilting up the corners of my mouth.

Chapter Text

July 13, 8bNb

The cacophony of a raging inferno descends upon Konoha in the early hours before dawn.

I wake up with a startled cry and lunge for my headphones.

Kakashi rushes into my room only seconds later, brandishing a kunai, his silver hair bristling like raised hackles.

My ears are ringing, but the pain eventually subsides. It doesn’t feel like my ears ruptured again, but it’s a near thing. I take in frantic lungfuls of air, my heartbeat jackhammering wildly within the confines of my chest. 

It takes me a few moments to calm myself a bit and register the fact that Kakashi is addressing me. 

“Sorry. My ears. There is an incredibly big blaze coming to the village out of nowhere. It woke me up. Hurts. It’s so loud,” I babble, my thoughts whirling.

Kakashi tenses, and I imagine his thoughts are running parallel to mine.

Is there an attack? 

I tilt my head this way and that, but the rest of the chakra elements I can hear within range past the blaze aren’t picking up in volume like they seem to when someone’s agitated or readying a jutsu. The ones that aren’t muffled with sleep are alert, but not... alarmed.

I let out a long, shaky exhale. “Those that are still awake aren’t... fighting. It doesn’t seem like anything is unusual,” I report, and Kakashi relaxes somewhat, but not entirely. “Maybe someone returning from a mission? Their chakra is...” 

Deafening. 

Yeah, I think I’m gonna have to learn to get used to sleeping with my headphones on if whoever I’m hearing is gonna be in-village for any length of time.

—

Minato takes one look at my face and immediately knows something isn’t right.

Not surprising, really. I saw my reflection this morning as I got dressed before breakfast. The bags under my eyes have darkened considerably, and my pupils have been drastically contracted with fear and distress from the moment that massive surge of sound approached the village.

The massive surge of sound that turns out to be none other than Uzumaki Kushina, Minato’s girlfriend (are they dating yet?), Naruto’s mother, and presently Konoha’s resident Jinchūriki. Who is standing right next to him. Who I am taking extra care to not outright stare at right this moment.

That would explain the magnitude of the commotion her chakra is. And, well... largely that of her passenger’s.

I’m not afraid of Kushina, or Kurama. I have a healthy respect and somewhat vague understanding of what each is capable of, individually.

No, it’s the sheer goddamn volume of the noise that’s got me on edge.

In an instant, Minato is in front of me, concern writ across his features. His mouth moves, but I don’t hear him the first few times he says my name, because it’s so hard to focus on anything while there’s the mother of all howling firestorms blazing across my senses point-blank. Minato’s chakra’s been reduced to a barely audible and tame fireplace in the face of Kurama and Kushina’s roaring wildfire. And that’s even with my headphones acting as buffer.

“Minato-sensei,” I say weakly, trying not to shout over the clamor only I seem to hear, cutting him off after several unsuccessful attempts to focus on just his voice. “I think I’m gonna need a seal like the one I had when my ears were hurt.”

A flicker of confusion crosses his features, but he nods, his mouth stretching into a grim, flat line. He reaches into one of his pouches for a brush and some ink and proceeds to carefully paint the seal along my neck. I fight back the discomfited shiver—I don’t want to risk messing up the seal with any unanticipated movements from my end. He checks his work twice before nodding in satisfaction and activating it.

I slump with the breathtaking relief that comes with the abrupt return of blessed, relative quiet. I’m not ashamed to admit I even let out a relieved whimper.

Kakashi is quick to press to my side, and I lean against him, grateful for the comfort and support.

“I’m... I’m okay,” I mumble weakly after basking in the lack of noise for the better part of a minute. “I just... couldn’t hear anything over the noise.”

Minato’s eyebrows furrow in puzzlement. “The noise?”

Abort, abort, abort.

I shake my head slightly before briefly looking to Kushina. Her expression is a strained mix of confusion and worry. It’s a shame, really. It’d be better if she could smile instead.

“Hey, sensei, who’s the pretty lady? Your friend?” I ask Minato with a wan smile.

Kushina flushes faintly at that, and I can’t help but wonder at how the red that adorns her cheeks nearly matches the bright ruby of her long, long hair. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen someone with hair as long as hers in real life. I can hardly imagine the amount of baseline maintenance alone...

“Ah, this is my girlfriend and partner, Uzumaki Kushina,” Minato answers, his tone sounding abashed, but his gaze is searching.

I look back to Kushina. So they are dating. Good to know. “I see. Nice to meet you. I’m Hiiragi,” I address the kunoichi.

I feel sufficiently accomplished when a smile breaks out across her features as she approaches and crouches down to be a little more level with me.

“So you’re the squirt that Minato’s been telling me about,” she grins down at me, her deep indigo gaze sparkling with mirth.

I blink, and for lack of a response, I settle for tilting my head away slightly and yawning to show just how unimpressed and unaffected I am by her teasing jab at my stature. I’m five. Five-year-olds are short. Rain is wet.

I also didn’t get any sleep after she returned to Konoha. If this is going to become a pattern, and sleep-deprivation’s always been in the cards for me (it’s a thing), I’m probably going to have to make peace with guaranteed stunted growth. That, and the ever-present bags under my eyes are liable to grow darker and permanent, if they aren’t already the latter.

Her flummoxed expression prompts a muffled snort from Kakashi. Bless.

I bury my forehead into his shoulder and snicker quietly. Gods, I need some sleep. I only get this giggly when I haven’t slept nearly enough.

When I finally settle down, I pull away from Kakashi to give him back his personal space. For all that he’s kind enough and willing to extend reassurance and comfort to me, I know that he’s not overly fond of prolonged contact with people in general. Sakumo’s an exception, but he’s also Kakashi’s dad, so. Fair.

I yawn again and sway slightly on my feet, in part for the soothing motion and in part because I’m just plain tired.

“Hiiragi-kun, did you get any sleep last night?” Minato asks, his tone regulated to the point that it’s more an inquiry than an accusation. 

I just stare at him for several long moments, not even sure what face to make in response to that.

“He was woken up by a large chakra signature, and hasn’t slept since,” Kakashi reports blandly.

I wince, resisting the urge to glance at Kushina.

I get the impression that both Minato and Kushina freeze for just a second before reacting accordingly—with concern—but I get the impression that a slew of anxiety, guilt, and alarm are all roiling underneath the surface.

I shrug jerkily. “It’s fine. It just startled me. The seal helps to make it so I can’t hear it anymore.” A thought occurs to me, and I look at Minato with a tentative hopeful expression. “Can you teach me to make this seal,” I gesture at the one he inked onto my neck, “or something like it? In case I run into another person with really loud chakra in battle? It’d be bad if I couldn’t focus on my surroundings because of one outstanding opponent.”

Minato blinks, caught off guard by my request, and I duck my head sheepishly. I’m well aware that asking for a shinobi to teach you something without them first making the offer can be considered as rude. 

I scramble to find something I could offer in exchange. 

“I could—uh, I could show you one of the writing systems I know in return.”

That immediately snares the blond jounin’s attention. Of course, if he’d asked, I would’ve been more than willing to share, but I get the feeling he would’ve felt the need to reciprocate, even then. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t asked me since the last training session I had with Namikaze. He’s treating me as an equal—or as much of one as he can, which is still flattering—by not demanding information, and since he doesn’t know what I would want in return, he hasn’t broached the subject. It’s probably better this way.

Minato nods, his expression showing just a hint of his excitement. Kushina looks intrigued, and Kakashi... well. I think I owe him quite a bit for all that he’s taught me since my arrival.

“I can show you, too,” I tell Kakashi with a smile. “Since you taught me your katas and how to move quietly through a forest.” I look to Kushina, a bit puzzled. I wouldn’t mind showing her, too, and I don’t want her to feel left out, but...

“Uzumaki-san...” I start, but trail off, trying to think of something I could ask of her. Simply by being an Uzumaki, a lot of what she knows is... pretty large-scale, and practically impossible for me to try, period. I could maybe ask her to teach me a seal as well, but then again, I shouldn’t know that she specializes in seals, since we literally “just met” minutes ago. I need to think about basics, little things that might match her strengths...

Genjutsu’s out, Orochimaru’s already got me covered there. Taijutsu’s also out, considering my constitution, and the fact I already have someone in mind to ask for advice. Ninjutsu... also out, because my reserves practically pale in comparison to Kushina’s, and Minato already taught me Kawarimi. Plus, Orochimaru’s also planning on coaching me through Elemental Manipulation and the process of creating jutsus... Iryoujutsu is definitely out of the question. That leaves...

Ah. Bukijutsu. Perfect!

“Uzumaki-san,” I start again. “I can show you if you promise to show me how to throw kunai.”

Minato and Kushina blink before the latter outright beams. 

She ruffles my hair and laughs. “Sure, it’s a promise, y’hear!”

I can’t fight the grin that tugs at the corners of my mouth at the mostly familiar verbal tic.

“And that’s Kushina to you, squirt! None of that stiff Uzumaki-san nonsense!” she adds, pointing at me sternly.

“Then Kushina-san,” I reply warmly. 

She makes a weird, ambiguous look. “Oh, come on, you could at least go for neechan!”

“I—er, uh,” I stammer, reeling. She’s about Minato’s age, so late teens. That makes them physically... what, twelve, thirteen years older than me? My mental age aside, that’s not out of the realm of possibility. I had a brother nearly a decade or so older than me, give or take. And this abrupt push for familiarity... Kushina’s got a handful of friends, and Minato, but her family, her clan, is... gone. Dead or scattered to the winds. Not so different from me, if you look at it all sideways. I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Kushina-nee... san?”

Her gaze softens at the note of vulnerability I couldn’t quite keep out of my voice.

I catch Minato watching the exchange with a tender look in his eyes, and I duck my head, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

A hand runs gently through my hair, and I glance up to meet Kushina’s soft expression and her lopsided smile. “That’ll do, I guess,” she huffs, rolling her eyes theatrically. “One of these days I’ll get a -chan out of you, just you wait. You better prepare yourself, y’hear?”

I huff a quiet laugh. “Good luck,” I say sincerely, then tack on like the passive-aggressive little shit I am deep down, “Kushina-neesan.”

Kushina guffaws and ruffles my hair. That’s twice she’s done that now. I wonder if that’s going to become a pattern. “You are not cute at all!” she declares, sounding absolutely delighted by the fact.

Well good, that suits me just fine. I wasn’t aiming for cute, anyway.

—

Once Kakashi and I finish our stretches and warm-ups, Kushina is quick to snatch me up and drag me off to the tree line to make good on her promise to show me how to throw kunai. Minato simply watches us go with a besotted smile, and Kakashi has the gall to look slightly relieved, the traitor.

It’s easy to tell, early on, that Kushina doesn’t know a thing about teaching. The whole endeavor turns out to be as much of—if not more—an exercise in patience as an exercise in throwing kunai.

Which is completely okay. I can make do. 

“Alright, first off, this is a kunai,” she says brightly, holding out a small familiar-looking throwing knife. “This is the pointy end, this is the part you hold, and this is where you can attach wire.”

Right. I make a mental note to ask Sakumo for the more specific terminology later.

She pulls out another kunai and holds it out to me.

I carefully avoid the... pointy end and the straight razor sharp edges of the overall blade, and wrap my fingers around the bound hilt. I get the distinct feeling that the blade is too big for me to throw effectively. When I lift it, I immediately notice its weight and grimace internally. If I’m not careful, I can end up doing some serious damage to my wrist muscles and tendons.

“Alright! Watch carefully, y’hear!”

I look up in time to see her arm flash forward and register the sharp thunk! of the kunai embedding itself in the trunk of a tree several meters away. I look to the thrown kunai, then back to Kushina, who smiles with gleeful satisfaction and turns to me.

“See? Just like that!”

I blink slowly and mentally count backwards from ten. “Kushina-neesan... uh... could you show me how you hold your kunai, please?”

She frowns, puzzled, before shrugging and pulling out another kunai from the pouch strapped to her leg. “Like this.”

I stare at her hold thoughtfully before carefully shifting the kunai in my hand, looking back and forth to try to copy her grip.

“Like this?” I finally ask.

Kushina squints at my hold critically. “Ah, no, no, more like this,” she answers, using her other hand to gesture at the one holding the kunai.

I stare at her hold expressionlessly for several long moments, trying to identify what she’s referring to, and come up blank. I just barely resist the urge to sigh.

—

By the time Minato stops by to call a break for lunch, Kushina is a mix of dejected confusion and frustration and I’m doing my damnedest to keep my expression neutral.

‘Cause it’s either that, or cry. And I really, really don’t want to cry right now. Not in front of Kushina. I can tell she was trying her best, and I don’t want to risk making her feel worse than she already does.

A skilled kunoichi she may be, but a teacher she is not. Yet. I don’t even know.

I really need a nap after all this.

—

We end up getting ramen for lunch because of course we do. Kushina’s here. What else would we get?

It’s not the fabled Ichiraku Ramen I’ve read and heard about from the story I know, but it’s got the red-haired kunoichi’s seal of approval. I’m not even sure if Ichiraku’s a thing yet. 

Honestly, I’m just glad Kushina’s mood is vastly improved. And a little in awe of just how much ramen she can pack away into her sturdy, fit form. As far as I can tell, her figure’s all lithe muscle and minimal fat. It’s staggering to know that the comical depiction of the Uzumaki’s appetite wasn’t just an exaggeration. Go figure.

I finish my bowl with a murmur of appreciation before laying my chopsticks across the bowl.

Kushina leans back on her stool to look past Minato and over to me. “That’s all you’re eating?” she asks.

I shrug my shoulders. “This is enough for me,” I say diplomatically. “I haven’t expended much energy, so I don’t need as much to compensate.” I think that’s how it works, anyway. I can’t say for certain.

“I see,” she says ponderously before returning to her... ninth bowl, I think. I glance at the stack of empty bowls next to her and do a quick count. Yeah, that’s her ninth bowl.

I look up to see Minato’s reaction, since he’s the one paying (rest in peace, Minato’s wallet), and am half-bemused, half-unsurprised to see the tender look on his face as he watches Kushina demolish her ninth serving. I shake my head in wry amusement. Love is blind, indeed.

“Thank you for treating us to lunch again, Minato-sensei,” I tell the blond jounin as we all leave the stall. 

Minato smiles warmly. “It was no trouble, Hiiragi-kun.”

I pause for a moment before broaching this morning’s conversation. “Where would you like to learn?”

Minato exchanges an inquiring glance with Kushina and Kakashi before looking back to me. “Would my apartment be alright?”

I shrug, not having much preference either way. “If that’s alright with you.”

— 

Minato’s apartment is a quaint 1LDK, boasting tidy floors and surfaces, several bookshelves stocked with books and scrolls, and basic necessities. Beyond that, the apartment is sparsely furnished with a low table, a handful of cushions and one or two chairs for seating, a small dining table, and a drawer containing blank scrolls, papers, brushes, and ink. I imagine more sensitive materials and weaponry are likely stashed in his bedroom, though I happen to spot a few strategically hidden kunai throughout the apartment for emergencies.

Kakashi, Kushina, and I settle on the cushions around the low table while Minato gathers a few blank scrolls, brushes, and bottles of ink from the drawer before setting them on the table. He excuses himself briefly to head to the kitchen, and I hear the sound of water from a sink; likely preparing tea for his guests.

He returns and seats himself on a cushion next to me, passing me all I need to write out one of the writing systems I promised.

Before I can reach for a brush, Kushina makes to excuse herself.

I blink at her in confusion. “Where are you going?”

She frowns, equals parts puzzled and contrite. “I didn’t teach you how to throw kunai, so it wouldn’t feel right to sit in on learning what you have to share, y’know.”

I pause for a moment, scrambling to remember what I said earlier. Inspiration strikes moments later, and I fervently thank past me for my word choice. “But I didn’t ask for you to teach me how to throw kunai.”

Kushina shoots me a look of incomprehension.

“I asked you to show me how to throw kunai, and you technically did. It’s partly my responsibility for not understanding everything you showed me.”

She stares at me for a long moment before snorting and settling back at the table.

Grabbing a brush and dipping it a little awkwardly into one of the ink bottles, I start painstakingly drawing out each letter of the alphabet—in cursive. I make two columns with thirteen letters each, ‘a’ through ‘m’ on the right, ‘n’ through ‘z’ on the left. It’s a bit paranoid of me, to go out of my way to write it all in the Japanese format (top to bottom, right to left), but... well. Might be a bit prudent of me to start getting in the habit of exercising a bit of paranoia.

Minato stares down at the letters in fascination.

“Sorry,” I apologize a bit self-consciously as I eye my writing critically. I never really grew out of grade school cursive. Or the inferiority complex that accompanies it. I can’t help but wish my cursive looked a little less... haphazard and a little more refined, elegant. “My writing’s a bit... uh... all over the place.”

“Really?” Minato asks, tilting his head this way and that to view it from different angles. “I wouldn’t know,” he says after a few moments, his tone open and honest. 

Kakashi and Kushina scoot over to get better looks. 

“It looks weird,” Kushina states outright.

“I’d imagine so, since it’s most likely the first time you’re seeing it,” I huff wryly. I tap the corner of the page idly, trying to think about how I want to approach this. “There’s a song to help teach the names of the letters,” I offer after a few moments. “I can teach it to you all, if you’d like. Though it doesn’t cover pronunciations...”

I get three baffled looks from the shinobi in the room.

I snort. “Look,” I start, drawing out the hiragana for ta. “Ta is ta. The name and pronunciation are the same.” I draw out a cursive ‘c’ and point at it. “This is called ‘c,’ but its pronunciation can either be kk or ss, or even ch, depending on what you pair it with,” I explain, demonstrating the sounds. “Kind of like with kanji characters, except there aren’t as many variations.” I pause. “I think.”

I give them a few moments to let that sink in before continuing.

“But if you know the names of the letters, you can... er... build a word by listing the letters in their needed order, and you can understand the word without knowing the pronunciation,” I finish a bit awkwardly. Gods, this is hard. Teachers are something else. How the hell do they even do it?

All three shinobi exchange glances before returning their gazes to me.

“Would you mind teaching us the song?” Minato asks for the group.

Teach a few shinobi how to sing their ABCs. Right. This can’t possibly go wrong.

—

July 13 - July 16, 8bNb 

It doesn’t go wrong, per se.

Thankfully for me, Minato, Kakashi, and Kushina are all fairly quick studies.

I just didn’t take into account the effect of catchy tunes or the consequences of getting songs stuck in a person’s head.

See, three days later, to my brief confusion and following retroactive horror, I happen to hear a chuunin carrying a message humming the melody for ABCs under his breath as he jogs by.

Not even thirty minutes after that, I witness what might be a jounin merrily whistling the same tune as he meanders through the shops lining the street.

Later that evening, I catch a pair of sloshed civilians belting out the melody (minus the lyrics) as they stagger their way back home.

It’s fucking surreal.

When I return to the Hatake Compound, I make a beeline for my futon and promptly lie down whilst burying my face in my hands.

What have I done?

Chapter Text

July 17, 8bNb 

“Hey, Hiiragi-kun, would you mind looking these over and telling me if I made any words?” Minato asks abruptly.

I look up blearily from my scrutiny of the scrolls Minato drew up and provided for study on seals meant for canceling noise. I’m not making much headway.

I reach over and wordlessly accept his proffered scroll. Squinting down at a mix of nonsensical combinations and lucky jackpots, I grab my own brush and mark the correct spellings and provide the closest translations I know for them in the margins before handing it back. At least his writing’s neat. Sometimes I struggle with deciphering Kushina’s jaunty scrawl.

He brightens when he takes in his successful combinations and their corresponding translations.

I opt to flop over and lie down on the cool grass for a breather. Minato shoots me a concerned look. I wave my hand slightly. “Just a break,” I mumble wearily before closing my eyes and pressing my fingers to my temples—out of habit more than anything else.

Minato makes a sympathetic sound. “Probably for the best. You’ve been looking those seals over for hours.”

“That long?” I groan.

“Aa.”

“I’m not gonna lie, I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

“Seals can be... tricky, even when you know what you’re doing or what you’re looking at,” Minato says soothingly.

I huff a rueful laugh. “And I know neither of those. I’m probably going to need to learn how to read before I can do anything beyond just drawing the whole thing as I see it.”

There’s a brief pause. “If you do attempt to do that, please make sure to let me or Kushina check it before trying it out.”

“Roger that.” I wouldn’t want a seal to blow up in my face. 

I let my mind wander for a bit, reflecting on what little I do know about seal work, largely some of the results derived from such.

Sai’s drawings come to mind and I shake my head. I don’t even know how he managed (will manage? Shit, he hasn’t even been born yet, has he?) to pull that off.

The Hiraishin, Jinchūriki seals, curse seals, storage seals, barrier seals, explosive seals...

Seals... seals...

...

Don’t seals kind of look like the Japanese equivalent of cursive writing?

...

Hold up.

I sit up abruptly in incredulity and shake my head. There’s no way that would work.

But what if...

“Hey, Minato-sensei, do you have any spare blank seal tags?” I ask reluctantly.

Minato arches a brow curiously. “I do,” he confirms slowly. “Why? Did you want to try copying one of the seals I drew out?”

I grimace. “More like I had an idea that I want to test out.” A really stupid idea, but considering the reality I’m in, that doesn’t really account for much. Stupid shit worked more often than not in the story I know.

Minato stares at me for several long moments before reaching into one of the pockets of his flak jacket and pulling out a few swatches of blank sealing paper. He passes them to me along with a brush and a bottle of ink marked with a different label than the regular ink. 

“Be careful.”

I nod seriously. With a deep breath, I stare down at the tags thoughtfully. Maybe I should practice writing out something on regular paper instead of diving in headfirst and running the risk of wasting precious sealing equipment.

... Yeah, I’ll do that.

I reach for the brush I used earlier to mark Minato’s combinations and dip it into regular ink. Pulling out a relatively clear page from my stack of notes on sealing, I let the top of the brush hover over the surface, indecisive.

What should I try making?

I huff. The better question is, as a shinobi, what would I need? 

Two things come to mind: stealth, or an opening.

Go big or go home, and home’s no longer an option.

I start writing out my idea.

—

I remember Minato telling me about how the majority of seals have a crap ton of components out of necessity, even the really simple ones. The reason for that is because in order for a piece of paper or a series of markings carved or painted with ink or blood to function as something other than what they literally are, intent and clear specifications are a must-have. The seals themselves serve as the guideposts and receptacles of intent and energy. That’s why if a single mark is out of place, or missing, everything gets thrown into disarray when chakra is added to the mix, and then everything either fizzles out or blows up. Spectacularly.

Following that vein, copying down seals is highly inadvisable, especially so if the one doing the copying doesn’t understand the components of the seal they’re copying. Seals rely heavily upon specific detail and intent working in tandem. If you want to make a storage seal, but don’t know why you’re using certain squiggles and lines over others to make said storage seal, your intent can become muddled, and the seal can become ineffective (or unintentionally explosive) as a result. That’s part of why Fūinjutsu is such a dangerous and difficult art, and why Minato insisted that he check over any seals I copied down.

So, say I want to recreate something akin to invisibility with a seal. 

I’m gonna have to get really fucking specific.

I can do that.

—

By the time I finish inking a literal cursive word vomit into an inward rectangular spiral on the blank seal tag, surrounding a large rendition of the word ‘undetected’ at the very center, and lift the brush off the tag, I’m starting to have second thoughts.

Is this even going to work?

I shake my head furiously. Pretend it is, and check to make sure there aren’t any errors that would get in the way.

Activation: upon sticking to a person or object, check.

Deactivation: upon removal, or draining stored chakra, check.

Effect: render unseen by all senses, except those of the one wearing the seal, check.

Target and Range of Effect: the entirety of the object or person to which it is stuck to, check.

Duration: ten seconds, check.

Energy Source: primed with stored necessary chakra, check.

...

Everything else looks good. I lean back with a tense huff and look up to see Minato eyeing the tag with wary interest. Glancing back down at the tag, I make a face. How the heck am I gonna test to see if it works? I can’t just ask Minato to slap it on himself, and I doubt he’d let me try it out either.

Maybe I could try sticking it to a tree?

But if it explodes... Forest fire. And I’d still get caught in the blast.

But if it doesn’t, and actually works... how will I retrieve the tag if I can’t see it? Oh wait, ten-second duration, duh.

“What is it supposed to do?” Minato asks after a long stretch of silence.

“Supposing that this actually works,” I start slowly. “It should make whatever it sticks to impossible to sense for ten seconds.”

Minato’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Thing is, I don’t know if it actually works,” I admit lamely, my shoulders hunching. “And I don’t know how to test it out without risking injury or starting a fire.”

An abrupt poof! of smoke and displaced air has me looking up to see Namikaze standing next to Minato.

I blink. “Namikaze-sensei?”

Namikaze smiles faintly before looking down briefly at the tag in question and holding his hand out, palm up. “Pass it here. I’ll test it out.”

My fists clench reflexively. Namikaze may be a Shadow Clone, but still...!

“Are you sure? Will you be okay?” I ask worriedly. No one ever really stops to ask what Shadow Clones face upon dispersal. Do they experience the pain and fear of a killing blow? And what of the individuals that receive those memories?

“It’ll be fine,” Namikaze assures me with a kind smile.

I can’t tell if he means it.

I lower my gaze and give him the seal tag. “Be careful, okay?”

Namikaze simply nods before using a Shunshin to place himself in the center of the field of our usual training grounds, a good hundred meters away from Minato and I. And the trees.

With a wave from Minato, Namikaze waves back before sticking the tag to his person...

And the tag bursts into flames. Namikaze’s reaction is swift and immediate. He tears the tag off and extinguishes the small burst of fire before things can devolve further.

I let out a quiet sigh, simultaneously relieved that nothing terrible happened to Namikaze’s, and disappointed that English cursive isn’t a suitable substitute for what-all is used for the sealing arts.

Oh well. Maybe I’ll just stick to supplying Minato with ideas and let him figure out how to make them feasible through the means he’s familiar with. In the meantime…

“You all right, Namikaze-sensei?” I call.

“I’m good, Hiiragi-kun,” he assures as he returns. “That was actually a fairly tame reaction compared to other matrices I’ve seen tested.”

“I’ll take it,” I respond tiredly. “At least nothing terrible happened, and now I know what I had in mind doesn’t work.”

“What did you have in mind?” Minato asks curiously, leaning forward.

I heave a sigh and run a hand through my feather-soft hair. “I thought that maybe the writing system I’m currently teaching you, Kushina-neesan, and Kakashi could be considered equivalent or at least adjacent in function to the script you use in fūinjutsu, due to the fact it’s considered a form of calligraphy where I’m from.” I shrug a shoulder. “I thought wrong.”

A look of intrigued consideration settles over Minato’s face. “I see…” he says softly.

“Since it doesn’t work, would you mind terribly if I just share my ideas with you, to play around with?” I inquire, when it looks like he’s not going to say anything else.

Minato’s expression brightens a bit, and even Namikaze’s eyes spark with an interested glint. “I’m all ears, though I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to produce the desired results.”

Good enough for me. “Okay, so you know how I said the tag I made was meant to make whoever it was attached to impossible to sense for a set amount of time? Do you think that maybe a seal could manage that via a form of genjutsu, with the seal as the anchor? That would make it a hell of a lot harder to dispel the genjutsu used to conceal the subject, wouldn’t it? And since genjutsu can target external phenomena or internal perceptions, that could mean…”

Minato and Namikaze listen with rapt attention as I natter on into the early evening hours, happy to just get my ideas out in the open.

—

July 23, 8bNb

This has got to be some form of excessive overkill, I think faintly as I look at the rest of the occupants seated at Sakumo’s dining room table.

Minato is seated to my left with a pile of blank sheets of paper and scrolls, with Sakumo inspecting bottles of ink across from him. To my right, Orochimaru is paging through one of the many books he brought (I’m willing to bet a majority of them are dictionaries), Kakashi is seated across from me with a neat stack of packets and paperwork full of writing and red marks (schoolwork from his brief stint in the Academy, perhaps?), and across from Orochimaru is a pouting Kushina irately flicking a few brushes and pens back and forth across her immediate table space.

All here, ostensibly, to teach me how to read and write.

Don’t any of them have missions, or something? Patrols? This is ridiculous. There’s no way they all managed to land downtime or in-Village duty simultaneously at the tail end of the Second Shinobi War.

They’re one-third of the Sannin, the village’s Jinchūriki, a dishonored but still renowned frontline fighter, and a pair of rising star geniuses, a small part of my mind whispers mutinously, of course they’d find a way to swing this. Especially if properly motivated.

But surely they must realize that this is overkill?! I can’t help but scream back internally. Sometimes simulating conversations with myself helps me process. People should try it more often.

That’s probably the point.

... I take a moment to think about that.

Touché.

—

“Hiiragi?”

I blink and look up blearily from my scrutiny of the umpteenth mock-up worksheet for matching kana to kanji, a little dazed. It takes me a moment to realize who addressed me.

I make a questioning sound as I stare blankly at Sakumo.

“Take a break,” he says with a faint smile that doesn’t quite match up with the worry in his eyes.

I blink again as the kanji characters for the command inadvertently swim to the surface of my mind’s eye. Take a break... oh. I look around slowly to see Kushina eyeing me with concern and disbelief. Minato and Orochimaru are going over the other sheets I completed. Kakashi looks borderline twitchy, occasionally shifting slightly in his seat.

A quick glance out the nearest window shows that the sun set at some point.

I blink again and slowly lean back in my seat, pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes. Fuck, how long have I been going at it? Everyone showed up here sometime around eight or nine in the morning, give or take...

Damn. Yeah, I might want to take a break. I nod jerkily before looking to Kakashi. “Wanna go outside with me?” I ask. He looks like he needs something to do after sitting around all this time working with paperwork—something I suspect is yet another anathema to a majority of action-oriented shinobi, right up there with being saddled with genin students.

Kakashi nonchalantly gets up from his seat and starts heading for the front door.

I grin tiredly and stifle a snicker as I follow him out, not fooled for a second.

—

It occurs to me, in a moment of quiet reflection, that here, in this reality, it’s somehow... easier.

I remember thinking that it was easier to breathe, to think, but it’s more than that.

How to put it into words?

Before I wound up here, I struggled with people. Interacting with them, specifically. I almost always felt at a loss, if they didn’t say anything. Only when people spoke, I could listen to their words, to their tone of voice, the tempo and cadence of what they were saying, and it was like I finally had context. Like a cardboard cutout finally becoming an actual person, going from flat to full of depth.

Visual cues like facial expressions helped, too, but I relied more on auditory input simply by virtue of my hearing being better than my vision, and the fact that I knew far better than anyone how easy it is to hide one’s feelings by pasting a smile on my face and pretending nothing was wrong, with those around me rarely seeing beneath whatever metaphorical mask I donned.

For some reason, here, it’s somehow easier to... to read? To intuit the overall feelings or rationale behind a person’s actions or reactions. And that’s—that’s weird, I’m beginning to realize. For all that the shinobi of Konoha I have encountered are almost as expressive as open books with neat, legible text filling the pages, I know that most shinobi in general are disciplined enough to put a lid on what they’re feeling and mask their intentions if they want or need to.

But the crux of it is... when they do try to hide or mask their intentions, it almost feels like I can see through it. Or at the very least, I can recognize the general mood beyond their facade. All without them having to say a word.

And I don’t know how or why I can do that.

I don’t remember being able to do that, before ending up here.

What changed?

—

July 28, 6bNb

I meet Gai’s father, Maito Dai, during one of the ‘mandatory breaks’ Sakumo set for my reading/writing study sessions in order to prevent a repeat of that first binge.

The man, like the Gai I read about, has bushy brows and a bowl cut, wears deep green spandex and bright orange leg warmers, and has a positive, boisterous, and unfailingly polite attitude. Unlike his son, he has a bushy mustache to match his brows, along with stubble leading to an equally bushy goatee. He also wears a bright yellow bandana around his neck. 

I catch Kakashi grimacing faintly out of the corner of my eye and heave a quiet—but no less heartfelt—sigh.

The man in question is presently on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing from what I assume is the client of his current mission. I focus my attention on the conversation and catch the tail end of the situation.

“—already have three broken dishes because of you and your damn misplaced enthusiasm! What part of washing dishes don’t you understand?”

Dai nods along, contrite and earnest but unwavering in the face of his client’s ire.

I leave Kakashi’s side and stride over purposefully. I stop right next to the two, and the client cuts off his tirade when he notices me. “What do you want, boy?” he mutters as he eyes me warily. 

I regard the client thoughtfully for a few long moments before abruptly turning my gaze to Dai. I notice the faint tremors running rampant throughout his frame and limbs, hear sounds not unlike strings snapping and fabric tearing—except what I hear is neither string nor fabric. It’s muscle fibers, strained and torn and ohgodshowisheevenstanding—

“Can I help?” I ask.

Dai blinks at me in startled befuddlement.

The client scoffs and gestures at Dai. “Look at that, you’re so incompetent that a child has to help you with your mission!”

I level the client with a frigid, unblinking stare that shuts him up immediately. “I intend to become a shinobi,” I state slowly, my tone as hard as steel. “A good shinobi is a shinobi who assists their comrades when they are in need of aid. And there is no shame in accepting such aid—even good shinobi stumble when pushed past their limits.”

A sniffle reaches my ears, and I turn in time to see the waterworks running full tilt down Dai’s face. It takes a lot of willpower to refrain from flinching or cringing. “Such an admirable outlook! Your youth is commendable, young man! May I know the name of my future comrade-in-arms?”

I dip my head in a polite nod. “I’m Hiiragi.”

“Hiiragi, is it? Yosh! I gratefully accept your youthful offer of aid!”

I look to the client, who scratches at the back of his neck uneasily and grumbles, but eventually leads Dai and I into his restaurant. We’re herded over into a back room just beyond the staffed kitchen. The man points out where everything is, and what goes where before reluctantly leaving us to it.

I look around thoughtfully before dragging an empty but sturdy-looking wooden crate over to the rack for dry dishes. Then I grab a clean dishtowel and hold it out to Dai. “Would you mind sitting here and drying the dishes?” I ask while gesturing to the crate. “I can do the washing.”

He nods agreeably, giving me a thumbs-up and a wide smile. Before he can take the towel, I pull it back briefly. “I’d like you to treat the dishes as you would a new student with no prior experience with taijutsu,” I say softly.

It’s like a light switch flipping on, the way comprehension lights up Dai’s eyes. He nods firmly, his smile a little more subdued, but no less genuine. Satisfied, I give him the dishtowel before turning to the piles of dirty dishes stacked by the sink, waiting to be cleaned.

Not a single dish is dropped or broken from there on.

The client is appeased by our work ethic, and the mission ends with success.

—

As we leave the restaurant, Dai beams at me effusively. “You have my heartfelt gratitude for your splendid assistance, Hiiragi! The flame of Youth burns brightly in your words and actions!”

I shrug. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I have a question, if you do not mind me asking,” Dai asks after walking in relative silence for a few minutes.

I tilt my head to regard him curiously. “I’ll tell you if I’m not comfortable answering.”

Dai nods. “Earlier, you spoke of your desire to become a shinobi. May I ask why you wish to take on the mantle?”

I hum. “That’s easy, shinobi-san. I have people I want to protect, to see happy until the end of their days. To live my life alongside. But I’m not strong enough to protect them as I am. After all, I can’t protect them if I can’t protect myself.”

Dai pauses, his bushy eyebrows furrowing thoughtfully as he considers my answer. “That is...” he trails off, seemingly at a loss for what to say in response.

I smile wryly. “My bones are frail,” I state softly, holding out a hand palm up. “They break all too easily, even when sparring with a boy only roughly the same age as me. Do you think I’d be unfit to become a shinobi?”

Dai’s response is immediate. “Absolutely not! Anyone can accomplish anything so long as they put forth their utmost effort and stand strong in the face of adversity! Never give up, never lose sight of your goal! So long as you tend the flames of Youth and let them burn brightly, you will surely accomplish whatever you set out to do!”

I nod thoughtfully. “Then I have another question for you, shinobi-san,” I finally start. “Earlier, when I approached to ask if I could help, I could hear how your muscles were straining, tearing and ripping, screaming from overwork. As a man who willfully and willingly breaks himself, can you tell me how I can avoid being broken?”

Dai stops short, eyes wide in surprise. I meet his gaze evenly.

I take a deep breath, tilt my chin just a bit higher. “I need help. Because I don’t know how to fight as I am. Because if an enemy lands a single hit on me, I’ve lost, and those I wish to protect will no longer have me there to protect them. I’ll just be another loss weighing down their hearts, and I don’t want to hurt them like that.”

Dai looks a bit gutted by the time I finish. To be fair, I did just indirectly tear apart his reasoning for a lot of the effort he puts into a number of things.

When he starts walking again, mulling over my question, my quandary, and my rationale, I fall into step beside him, content to wait quietly for his answer. 

I stop just outside the Hokage Tower. Dai stops as well when he realizes that this is as far as I’m willing to accompany him.

He purses his lips thoughtfully before speaking. “I am afraid I do not have an answer for you, Hiiragi.”

I make sure to keep my disappointment from showing on my face.

“However,” he continues, and I blink. “I would like to help you find an answer that suits your brilliant, passionate flame of Youth. Tell me, Hiiragi, have you any principles you live by?”

My eyebrows furrow in puzzlement. “By principles, you mean...?”

“You told me you do not know how to fight. So tell me how you live, or how you wish to live, the principles you follow. From there you can build a foundation for how you wish to fight,” Dai explains, his expression grave.

I blink before lowering my gaze to the ground to ponder.

The principles of my path, the form with which my fight takes.

I have my answers a few minutes later, and it takes me a few minutes more to translate them. I’m grateful for all the hours I recently spent expanding my vocabulary and comprehension of the Japanese written and spoken language with Orochimaru and the others.

“Zousui no you ni sosoge.” 

増水 のように 注げ。

Flow forth like the rising waters.

“Rakurai no you ni osoe.”

落雷 のように 襲え。

Strike like the falling lightning.

“Hateshinaku chi no you ni taero.”

果てしなく 地 のように 耐えろ。

Endure like the unending, everlasting earth.

“Nagare ni nare.”

流れ に 成れ。

Become the flow.

I look up to meet Dai’s dark eyes. “Those are the overarching principles I wish to live and fight by.”

—

I find Kakashi practicing his katas when I return to the Hatake Compound alone. He glances at me when I settle off to the side to stretch.

He doesn’t say a word, but the air is heavy with unspoken inquiries and confusion.

“He’s a comrade, too,” is all I say.

—

July 29 - August 7, 8bNb 

I spend my days splitting my time between my studies, coaching Minato, Kakashi, and now Sakumo on the written language I introduced to them, physical conditioning and katas, learning how to throw and fight with kunai (the latter of which I am frightfully but predictably abysmal at), and practicing with Kawarimi and genjutsu and my elemental transformations, settling into a sort of rhythm.

One night I climb up onto the roof to stare up at the sprawling expanse of starry sky.

I turn twenty-three.

Hiiragi turns six.

I don’t breathe a word of it to Sakumo or Kakashi.

—

“Happy Birthday,” I whisper softly in my home language.

Chapter Text

August 8, 8bNb

I wake early to the sound of someone approaching the Hatake Clan Compound. A few minutes later, I listen as Sakumo leaves the house to meet the visitor outside, only to blink as I recognize the voice of the visitor. Sitting up with a yawn, I climb out from under my futon’s blanket. Running a hand through my short, feather-soft flyaway hair, I take a moment to count the days since I last saw Maito Dai.

It’s been... a week and a half? Give or take.

I look up as Sakumo approaches my room. He peeks in with a bewildered look on his face. “Hiiragi... Maito Dai is outside asking to see you,” he says his tone lilting questioningly, as if he were really asking, Why is Maito Dai outside asking to see you?

I blink. “Maito... Dai.” I repeat slowly, belatedly realizing I never actually got the guy’s name when we met. “What does he look like?”

Sakumo stares at me for a long moment. “Black hair, bushy brows, mustache, and goatee, green spandex—”

“Ah. So that’s shinobi-san’s name. I’ll be out in a few minutes,” I tell Sakumo, hopping to my feet and rifling through the clothes in my wardrobe. I select mainly lightweight and dark articles before pulling them on, thinking back to the infamous training regimes Gai favored in the story I read. I’m pretty sure he had to get it from somewhere, and his dad’s probably a safe bet as his inspiration.

Sakumo follows me out of my room, watching as I grab a few ration bars from the kitchen cabinets and fill a water canteen, and then out the front door into the faint light of early morning. Dai immediately brightens as I step out of the Compound.

“Hiiragi! It is wonderful to see you bright in spirit on this fine morning!”

I stifle a yawn behind a hand before replying. “Good morning to you, too. Maito-san, is it?”

“Goodness! I never introduced myself, did I? My apologies! I am Maito Dai, Genin of Konoha. It is a great pleasure to make your youthful acquaintance!”

“Likewise, Maito-san. I’m Hiiragi,” I pause to glance at Sakumo uncertainly, “uh... Ward of the Hatake?”

Sakumo hesitates, which tells me that I probably still don’t exist on paper (medical files being the exception, considering my recent track record), and that that’s probably going to have to change sometime in the near future. Lovely. Not. But the Hatake Clan Head nods faintly in confirmation of my assumed status. Oh good, it wasn’t presumptuous of me to claim that title.

Dai nods and somehow manages to refrain from commenting on the exchange and inquiring about my family. I’m grateful for the man’s tact.

“Is there something you needed Hiiragi for?” Sakumo asks curiously.

Dai straightens to attention before folding into a perfect ninety degree bow. “Hatake-san, I humbly request to have the honor of helping to fan the brilliant flames of Hiiragi’s youthfulness. He asked me a thoughtful question I had no answer for, and I sincerely wish to help him find a solution that will embody his principles and keep his flames of Youth burning brightly.”

Sakumo is frozen, at a complete loss of what to make of Dai’s entreaty. I’ll admit it takes me several moments to parse through his words as well. I look to Sakumo expectantly. He pushes his silver bangs back with his hand, still visibly reeling. “I...”

I shuffle over to lean my weight against Sakumo’s leg comfortingly before turning my gaze to Dai. “Can he come with?”

Dai straightens from his bow, nodding enthusiastically. “Of course! My son will be accompanying me, as there is nothing better than camaraderie forged in shared efforts through both challenges and hardships!”

Ah, so Gai’s going to be there, too. I might need to see about wrangling Kakashi into joining—I can’t have the future taijutsu master fixating on me as his Eternal Rival now, can I? “Can Kakashi come too?”

Dai beams and gives me a thumbs-up. “The more the merrier! I applaud your willingness to reach out and strengthen the youthful bonds of those precious to you!”

I grin, amused and a bit rueful. Speak of the devil...

“Hiiragi?” Kakashi calls as he steps out of the house. He approaches cautiously, already all geared up for the day.

“Wanna go with?” I ask cheerily.

He eyes me warily. “...Where?”

“To find answers. And do some taijutsu training. Probably.”

Kakashi levels me with an unimpressed look before turning his gaze to Dai, expression vaguely dubious. “With him?”

I arch an eyebrow, equally unimpressed with Kakashi’s unspoken dismissal of Dai’s skills. “You might be surprised,” I say lightly, but there’s a needle-sharp warning embedded in the undertones that Kakashi immediately picks up on, if the sharpening of his gaze is anything to go by. “I have a good feeling about this.”

As soon as my second statement leaves my mouth, I’m reminded of one of my favorite songs, and make a mental note to find some time to sing it later.

Kakashi’s gaze flicks back and forth between Dai and I, the gears slowly turning in his head as he tries to identify just what it is that he’s missed. I catch Sakumo staring at me with a strange look in his eyes out of my peripheral, but don’t say anything. Even Dai is regarding me with a half-touched, half-confused expression.

I tilt my head slightly to the side. “Shall we go?”

—

Dai leads us to a different training ground from the one Kakashi and I usually frequent. This one is a little more heavily forested, with larger, sturdier trees, and I spot several gouges in the surrounding earth and trunks the deeper we go.

I smile faintly before taking a deep breath and starting to sing as we walk, careful to keep my chakra from overflowing into my voice and the air around me.

Youkoso, 

Fukai mori no oku

Mezurashii 

Okyakusan ne

Warui kedo, 

Koko kara saki de wa

Mori de no manaa ga aru no

Hoo, hoo

Fukurou ga shiraseru

Hoo, hoo

‘Kyaku ga kita,’ to

Hoo, hoo

Fukurou ga shiraseru

Nanika ga hajimaru youkan 

Lau, lau

Nani ga mitai no?

Lau, lau

Anata shidai

Warui kedo,

Koko de wa anata wa

Manekarezaru kyaku nano

Hoo, hoo

Fukurou ga shiraseru

Hoo, hoo

‘Kyaku ga kita,’ to

Hoo, hoo

Fukurou ga shiraseru

Nanika ga hajimaru youkan

Nanika ga hajimaru youkan

Nanika ga hajimaru... youkan

After a few minutes of quiet after finishing the song, Dai is the first to speak up, though his voice is considerably softer than his usual loud and jovial tone.

“You have an amazing singing voice, Hiiragi-kun. What song was that? I’ve never heard it before.”

“It’s called ‘Fukurou ga Shiraseru’,” I answer with a wry smile. “Honestly, I don’t think I do the song justice.”

Sakumo’s eyebrows arch slightly with incredulity. “I find that hard to believe,” he comments quietly.

I shrug. “Maa, perhaps I’m a bit hard on myself,” I admit ruefully. “I still think the original singer’s voice sounds better than mine.”

“And they would be?” Dai inquires curiously.

“She went by the name of KOKIA. I like a lot of her songs.”

“Will you sing some of them, later?” Kakashi asks curiously, not quite managing to hide the hopeful lilt to his tone.

“Sure, if you’d like,” I smile warmly, my eyes crinkling faintly. “I always enjoy singing songs I like.”

—

The instant we arrive at our destination, Dai calls a happy greeting to his son, who is in the midst of working through a set of push-ups.

Gai immediately leaps to his feet and charges over to meet his father with a loud, tearful hug that is a little hard for the rest of us to comfortably watch without feeling like we’re intruding. Also, Gai with nearly shoulder-length hair—what a trip.

When Dai finally pulls out of the hug, he wipes his tears from his eyes with his arm before gesturing to the rest of us and announcing that he brought guests for the day’s training.

“Ah!” Gai exclaims with recognition, pointing at Kakashi. Kakashi heaves a put-upon sigh and otherwise refrains from acknowledging the other boy’s presence.

I sigh as well, though for a different reason as I watch the two bicker (with only minimal input on Kakashi’s part). Well, I guess something’s better than nothing, I think, somewhat resigned and more than a little amused. Kakashi, I’ve come to learn, is primarily a shinobi of few words; he’s usually content to hold his peace, comfortable in his silence.

Sakumo has this somewhat helpless smile as he watches the two with a hint of amusement. Dai just looks immeasurably proud and fond in equal measures. 

I sidle up to the latter, tilting my head and listening carefully for a few moments. “Your muscles sound like they’re in better condition than when I last heard them,” I observe quietly, glancing at the taijutsu specialist out of the corner of my eye. “Are you feeling better?”

Dai starts faintly before grinning at me sheepishly. “You gave me much to think about, when last we met,” he states honestly, his smile warm, but his eyes and tone are somewhat somber in contrast to the cheer.

I hum noncommittally and look away. “Is that so?”

Plausible deniability, all the way. While it wasn’t my main intention to get Dai to take a really good look at his values, and what they mean for himself and those around him, I think it was a happy coincidence, a good development to encourage on the side. I think. Hopefully. 

Fingers crossed I didn’t just screw Genma, Gai, and Ebisu over.

But...

Dying is easy. Living is harder, especially so for those left behind.

I let out a near-silent huff of mirthless laughter. Ha, that’s rich, coming from the hypocrite who quietly wishes for death.

Perhaps noticing the sudden downturn of my mood, Dai claps his hands and calls for the other boys to gather.

I take a deep breath and brace myself.

—

Sakumo has to carry Kakashi and I back to the Compound, to the elder Hatake’s amusement and the younger’s chagrin.

“If you have enough energy to feel embarrassed over being carried by your loving family,” I all but hiss at the intractable chuunin, “then surely you have enough energy to run through another set of Maito-san’s Passionate Youth exercises.”

That threat, to my muted delight, serves to cow Kakashi. Noted and filed.

Sakumo’s chuckle reverberates through us from where we’re pressed to his shoulders and chest. It’s a nice feeling and sound, I’m not gonna lie.

“Did you know he’d be that... ridiculous?” Kakashi eventually asks hoarsely, eyeing me haggardly.

I shrug, only to wince at the way my muscles twinge—ow—and settle for a quiet sigh. “Not entirely. I had an inkling—he gave me the impression that he’s a man who knows what he’s doing, even if he’s prone to going a bit overboard.”

A bit overboard. Ha. Understatement of the century.

Kakashi grumbles a bit reproachfully in response.

“Be glad he called a halt when he did,” I huff as I roll my eyes, exasperated. “As far as I can tell, he was going easy on us.” At Kakashi’s incredulous look, I expound further. “He stopped us well before we ran the risk of going too far past our limits and straining or tearing muscles seriously. When I first met him, his muscles sounded like they were ripped to shreds.”

Kakashi shudders, only to barely choke back a whimper from the resulting pain of his complaining muscles. I grimace sympathetically.

Sakumo makes a concerned noise in the back of his throat. “Ripped to shreds?”

“Yeah. Was a wonder he was still standing, much less taking a mission in that state,” I sigh again, a bit disgruntled, before yawning. “Honestly, added strength only helps if you’re able to feasibly wield it once you’ve attained it. Tearing yourself apart in the process is... just... counterproductive...”

Sakumo’s shoulder makes a nice pillow, and the swaying motion as he walks only serves to lull me further as I nod off, exhausted from the day’s workout. 

Just a nap... I’m gonna need all the sleep I can get for day two of Maito-san’s guidance...

Chapter Text

August 11, 8bNb 

After I finish eating breakfast, I gather my dishes and wash them in the sink before drying and putting them away. I feel a little sluggish and sore all over, but it’s bearable. Broken bones and ruptured eardrums hurt far worse than this. Perspective really works wonders on a person’s pain thresholds.

I clamber gingerly back into my seat at the table and pillow my head in my arms, eyes half-lidded. Kakashi’s out on a mission. His absence weighs on my mind like molasses as I think back to the day prior, remembering how Gai had to leave early to meet up with the team he was recently assigned to as a new Genin.

“Ne, Sakumo-san,” I start tentatively.

Sakumo looks up curiously from his tea. 

I chew on my bottom lip thoughtfully as I try to find the best way to broach the subject. I sigh and give it up as a lost cause. “When can I join the Academy?”

I look back up to see Sakumo regarding me solemnly. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Does it matter? It takes a good deal of effort on my part to keep from asking that. I simply nod my head gravely.

“For those here now, and those that will follow,” I murmur, meeting his gaze resolutely. “I would fight to secure a place where they can grow up safe and strong and happy.”

Sakumo’s grip tightens minutely around his cup of tea before loosening. Removing his hands from his tea, he pushes up and away from the table to head further into the house.

He returns less than a minute later, a small stack of papers held in his hands. Instead of taking his usual seat, Sakumo settles in the chair next to mine, placing the papers in front of me.

I start reading through them carefully. I have to ask for a few clarifications, but I’m quietly proud of the fact that it’s few and far in between. I’ve come a long ways since my arrival in this reality.

Only once I’ve read through the packet in its entirety do I return to the forms requiring my personal information.

I leave only the name I’d assumed shortly after I first arrived.

I can see about making a surname of my own later.

For now, I can be content with just Hiiragi.

—

Once the forms are filled out, Sakumo leaves to get them filed. I tag along, noting with no small measure of satisfaction that the discontented and reproachful murmurs of the villagers are now more rarity than commonality. Sure, eyes still follow us, but a majority of the hostility is nonexistent.

I breathe in deep, setting my shoulders and holding my head high. This, this is my first accomplishment—beyond stopping Sakumo from committing suicide. This is undeniable change, proof that I can make an impact for the better beyond just interacting with those I’m familiar with from the story I know. No more insidious, venomous whispers to choke and strangle Sakumo from the inside out.

I reach out, and Sakumo gently cradles my small, pale hand in his larger, calloused one. Warm, firm, alive. I close my eyes for a moment, taking it all in.

Like this—I can breathe a little easier, walk a little further, a little longer. Maybe not for forever, not to the natural end. But for Sakumo, who lives for his son—I can let myself linger a little longer. For Sakumo and Kakashi and the others—and those yet to come—I can bring myself to stay.

In this realization I find a sort of bittersweet resignation, a long-suffering serenity.

This is fine.

This is enough for me.

I have my first anchors.

The contract I once lived by is once again renewed.

—

I, Hiiragi, in solemn silence do swear:

So long as there is one person I hold dear, and who holds me dear in return, my life will not be taken by my own hands.

—

Not long after my papers are submitted, examined, and filed, I’m herded off into an Academy classroom that isn’t currently in use by what I assume is a Chuunin instructor. The man is grim-faced and exudes an air of no-nonsense, leading me to believe that he takes his job very seriously. As he well should.

War-time protocol isn’t as concerned with application dates, it seems.

After telling me to take a seat, and once I’ve complied, he places a packet on the desk in front of me.

“I want you to answer to the best of your ability. Once you’re finished, let me know and I will look over your answers. If you do well enough, I will give you the next set until we determine your year and class placement. If you end up in a higher placement than your age range, you’ll have to play catch-up on your kunai handling and taijutsu on your own time, or whenever an instructor is available. Understood?”

“I understand,” I answer serenely.

Satisfied with my response, the instructor nods briskly. “Good. You may begin.”

—

I hold nothing back and end up landing myself in the class set to graduate in a few months.

Well, shit. I honestly wasn’t expecting that.

—

I’m escorted back to Sakumo in a bit of a daze, and the Chuunin Instructor—Ginko Hirose-sensei, who also happens to be the instructor for the class I’ll be in—curtly relays the good(?) news.

Sakumo regards me with a mix of proud approval and anxious dread before drawing me into a hug. 

I reach up and hug him back, not quite able to completely hold back the fine tremors wracking my frame and hands.

Tick-tock tick-tock, I’m on the clock.

—

We spend the rest of the day buying whatever supplies I’ll need for attending the Academy tomorrow onwards, upon Sakumo’s insistence. 

First on the list are clothes. Kakashi’s hand-me-downs may be all well and good for casual workouts around the Compound or with Minato and the others, but I’m going to need my own attire for Academy training and onwards. I won’t be this small forever; growth is imminent, inevitable. My equipment needs to fit me, for me; optimize everything for maximum effect.

Sakumo and I are both in agreement that I’m likely going to be an agility-evasion reliant shinobi, considering how light and fragile my bones are, so heavy or restrictive clothes and armor are out of the question.

We settle for sturdy but lightweight mesh armor undershirts and a few sets of black pants that are a size or two too big with hardened leather strips stitched to the fabric to provide protection for major arteries and tendons commonly targeted for immobilizing or permanent neutralization. The somewhat loose clothes will allow room for growth, and can in the meantime be secured with fastenings and wrappings.

I get similarly leather-padded no-sleeve turtleneck shirts in dark grey, black, deep indigo, and hunter green. The leather might not stop a blade, but paired with the mesh under armor, it’ll at least help impede its progress.

Next are thick, dark midnight blue—borderline black—wrappings for my forearms and calves because anything much lighter is easy to spot in a forest and I’m aiming for stealth. White for backups in case I end up somewhere with little cover or a hotter climate. Or both. Lightweight hardened leather bracers and greaves to go over those for some extra protection.

After that is a mottled green and grey hoodie with quarter sleeves and plenty of pockets to stash necessities and weapons—it reminds me of those ScotteVests I’ve seen online a handful of times, except the sleeves are shorter and this feels like it’s built to last. The deep hood’ll come in handy for hiding my eye-catching white hair and obscuring my headphones somewhat. I’m almost rocking a Shippuden Shino vibe.

Last are sandals and tabi, both in black. As we make our way to the register, I pause in front of a crate of gloves. I pick up the set that caught my eye, a pair of black form-fitting gloves with water-proofed exteriors. I crane my head up to look at Sakumo imploringly, who seems a bit confused by my abrupt selection—seeing as the gloves aren’t fingerless—but doesn’t comment or tell me to put them back.

My shoulders slump in relief, and we store our purchases in a scroll after they’ve been paid for. Then we’re moving on to the next stop—weapons.

I’m not entirely sure what to get aside from kunai. Sakumo helps me pick out a belt and pouches to attach to it to hold them. He also grabs a set of shuriken and senbon meant for younger wielders for me to practice with.

When Sakumo asks if anything else catches my eye, I scan the varying assortment of weapons, contemplating the merits of a bō staff or a naginata before my eyes land on the array of swords. I stare thoughtfully at what looks to be a tantō, more a long dagger than a short sword, then eye an even smaller blade that I vaguely recall being referred to as a kogatana, the eastern equivalent to a western pocket knife. Sort of.

As I look back and forth speculatively between the two blades, Sakumo notices what I’ve been intently staring at and smiles faintly. 

“Why not try holding them?” he asks, and I blink. “If you like the feel of them, you can work with them. I can teach you how to wield the tantō. As for the kogatana...” he trails off, eyeing the small blade uncertainly.

With a mental shrug, I reach over and carefully lift the tantō. It’s got a good bit more weight to it than a kunai, and the weight distribution is different, too. There’s a minimal guard on this one, and the blade is a handful of millimeters thicker than the other tantō blades lined up on the display (though it’s just as sharp). The handle is wrapped in a misty grey-blue. I carefully test its balance and weight, moving it in slow arcs.

While I don’t exactly know what to look for in blades, I think this one would suit me just fine. With a satisfied nod, I move over to the kogatana, grabbing and lifting it with my free hand.

It’s undeniably lighter than the tantō, though whether it’s the same weight as a kunai or even lighter is hard for me to say. Like the tantō, the kogatana’s weight distribution is a little different compared to a kunai. What catches my attention is the handle. Wrapped with a rich indigo with no guard, it’s got a heft to it that suggests that the kogatana could be used as a projectile as well as a close combat weapon.

Assuming I could feasibly throw it and improve my nonexistent aim. Might be better to stick with something like the tantō for close range defensive melees...

I tilt my head to the side pensively. But if I choose to go for the tantō, I’d either have to forgo using ninjutsu whilst wielding, or learn how to use jutsus single-handedly or without hand seals.

...

Well, I’m already getting in the habit of forgoing saying the jutsus I use aloud. May as well go the whole mile and work towards forgoing hand seals for the jutsus I intend to use commonly or in tandem with a blade.

I nod firmly, decided. I’ll go with that. I turn to Sakumo. “Is it okay if I get this one?” I ask, holding up the tantō and returning the kogatana to its place.

Sakumo nods his assent.

Cool.

Along with our selected weaponry, pouches, holders, and sheathes, Sakumo grabs whetstones and kits containing the necessities for the care and upkeep of blades.

I mentally add the sum of this purchase to the one accrued from the first stop and start to wonder just how many D and C rank missions I’d need to complete to reimburse Sakumo. I frown. I’d also need to set some aside for savings, now that I think about it... I wonder what the rates are...

I shake my head. I’m getting ahead of myself. Graduation is still several months away and there’s still the matter of whether or not a jounin will even accept and pass the team I’m assigned to...

I startle when Sakumo pokes a finger between my eyebrows, a slightly exasperated look on his features. “If you keep that up, you’ll have wrinkles before you reach sixteen,” he teases lightly. I blink and raise a hand to rub at where he poked.

“Wrinkles are wrinkles. If someone gets hung up over how I look and can’t appreciate me for who I am, wrinkles and all, then I honestly don’t see the point,” I state bluntly.

Sakumo blinks down at me in surprise.

I shrug fatalistically. It’s too early to be thinking about this. While I may be mentally twenty-three, I am physically six years old. Give or take.

“Where to next?” I ask.

Next and last is school supplies. Notebooks, brushes, paper, blank scrolls, pens and pencils, along with a bag to carry them. I find myself questioning the rationale behind purchasing a bag I’ll only use for a handful of months. Then I actually get a look at the bags and note how they’re built to last and have a plethora of pockets. I could see myself using one of these even after graduating. 

Alright then.

Just to be safe, I try one on after filling it with some of the things we intend to purchase. The weight pressing down on my wings… isn’t the best, but I can manage with it, so long as I’m careful about keeping my wings pressed flat and mostly out of the way along the lines of my back. 

I briefly wonder if Kushina or Minato might have any ideas on seals that bend space in a way similar to storage scrolls, but less contained…

I tilt my head slightly in consideration.

Hm.

Definitely food for thought. I’ll have to bring it up the next I see them. Last I heard, the two seal enthusiasts have been having a blast—hopefully not too literally—playing around with some of the ideas I shared with them.

Returning my focus to the task at hand, I notice a stack of sketchbooks and shuffle over, my expression softening as I draw closer. I used to doodle and draw whenever I felt inspired, sometimes even illustrating characters or events from some of the stories I dreamed up or wrote. It’s been a while since I last took some time to draw... Not since some time before I arrived in this reality, I think. 

I reluctantly pull myself away from the stack, only to stop short as Sakumo passes me with a light pat on the head and picks up two sketchbooks to add to our purchases.

“You don’t have to—” My voice dies in my throat when I meet Sakumo’s steady gaze.

“It’s good for a shinobi to have hobbies on the side,” he says gently, shifting the sketchbooks to the arm carrying the rest of the school supplies so he can run a comforting hand through my hair. “It’s alright, Hiiragi.”

I hesitate, then swallow down any further protests. Instead, I settle with, “Thank you, Sakumo-san.”

Chapter Text

August 12, 8bNb 

When I’m called into class and I step through the threshold, two things happen: my breath leaves my lungs as if it were punched out of me, and following that I immediately feel a surge of anguishdisgustoutrage that leaves a painful lump in my throat and a bitter taste on my tongue. My features tighten visibly despite my best efforts to keep them neutral, and a few students flinch at the unintentional glare I level them with as my gaze flicks frantically from face to face.

I knew, I know I knew, but actually seeing it—

Too young, too young, my mind wails beneath the surface, mild swells hiding the riptide. A majority of them can’t be much older than nine or ten, and I spot at least one other student that looks to be my physical age. Kakashi I’ve resigned myself to accept, but this—

I want to scream.

These children shouldn’t be sent out to the front, to war, but they will, they will—

They will die—

I recognize a few faces, Ebisu, Kurenai, Asuma—

Breathe.

At Hirose-sensei’s prompting, I introduce myself.

“I’m Hiiragi, six years old,” I grit out tightly from the strain, grateful for the black mask that covers most of the snarl marring my features.

Breathe.

“I look forward to working with you.” The platitude comes out sounding like a threat.

Hirose-sensei scrutinizes me for a long moment before directing me to an empty seat. Eyes follow me as I stride stiffly but nearly soundlessly to the indicated seat. Once settled, I level the entirety of my focus on the Chuunin Instructor.

Teach us, I seethe silently, anger rampaging through my veins, alternating between molten metal and stinging dry ice. Teach us to survive this damn war you’re condemning these children to.

The man shivers.

—

Come lunch break, a lot of the students make a point to give me a wide berth. Fair, I probably wouldn’t be the best company right now. I need to move, to get out, get some air, just breathe.

I storm out of the classroom and out into the schoolyard, taking in the sight of children, some as old as those in my class, the rest distressingly younger (some even younger than my physical age), and sprint for one of the trees, tearing up it in my helpless fury and panic.

I pace along the branches, sometimes leaping restlessly to higher or lower limbs as I try to work myself down from my frenzy.

Breathe.

Breathe. 

Breathe, damnit!

With a wordless snarl, I throw myself from my branch and hit the ground with a roll that turns into a flat-out run.

I need to get away, find somewhere out of sight, these poor kids shouldn’t have to see me break apart, I just can’t—

I swarm up another tree a fair distance away from the Academy building, and by extension, the droves of children training to be child soldiers or to fill matchboxes or too-small coffins, names engraved upon a cold, unfeeling stone—

A choked, gasping sob wrenches itself from my throat as tears stream from my eyes.

I want to scream—

I yank down my mask and heave in a desperate breath—

The muscles in my throat lock, paralyzed by my traitorous mind as no sound escapes save for a long, quiet hiss of air, followed by hitching breaths and hiccuping sobs.

Even here, even now, I still can’t—

It takes several long minutes for me to hollow myself out. I slump against the tree’s main trunk, and breathe, laying still and listless. Gradually, my tears cease and my nose clears. I take in a shuddering breath, and start humming a melody that catches once or twice in my throat before it eventually smoothes out.

I move from humming to singing the wordless melody of Yasuharu Takanashi’s I Have Seen Too Much in the hopes of soothing the ache that’s settled in my chest.

I pour my sorrow, the anguish over the sheer unfairness of it all, my unspoken prayers and pleas to whatever gods may care to listen for the children to be safe or, at the very least, swift in leaving this world—all of it—into the song as I sing it over and over and over—

The sound of someone approaching reaches my ears, but I don’t stop, can’t stop, if I do I’ll just fall back into crying or raging, and I don’t want to do either, not here—

I sing for another few minutes before letting my voice trail off, feeling a little more human and a little less like breaking down again. I take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out again before looking to see who happened upon me.

I catch orange goggles and onyx eyes opened wide with tears trickling down yet another familiar face and feel my heart sink.

“You okay?” I ask softly, because first things first, the boy is crying. Is he injured? Was he bullied?

Obito starts and frantically swipes at his face with his arm to remove all traces of his tears before blustering, “I-I wasn’t crying! I mean— uh, yeah! I’m fine! Just—the wind blew dust into my eyes and—”

“It’s fine. I cried too,” I cut him off, voice flat from how drained I feel.

He gapes up at me in bewilderment at my admission, and I heave a weary sigh. “Anyone who thinks crying is a crime is an idiot.” Or emotionally constipated, but I don’t know how to say that in Japanese without its meaning getting garbled and lost in translation.

Obito blinks up at me in disbelief.

I hop down from my perch and land lightly on the ground near the base of the trunk. With this sudden change in elevation, I now have to look up to meet Obito’s gaze.

After a moment’s hesitation, Obito takes a few steps closer, shifting his weight nervously. “Why... why were you crying?”

Because all the children here that pass muster will eventually be sent out to fight someone else’s war.

Because a good deal of those children will die in said stupid war.

Because I feel helpless to do anything about it.

I close my eyes and just take a moment to breathe. “There are a lot of reasons for why I was crying,” I say tiredly. “I was just—terribly sad, and angry, and in pain. What about you?”

Obito dithers for a few moments before answering. “I, I just... I listened to you sing, and... it was super pretty and just... er, but... all of a sudden my chest started to grow tight and hurt and... I couldn’t help but cry,” he mumbles, pressing a hand to his chest for emphasis before lowering his gaze after a few moments.

Empathy, maybe? I wonder, feeling a little guilty. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised. “Sorry,” I murmur. Obito’s head snaps back up in surprise. “That was probably my fault. You might’ve picked up on some of my hurt and felt it as if it were your own. Music is a language all to itself; words aren’t the only things capable of conveying a person’s feelings.”

He simply nods his head, seemingly at a loss for words.

I take pity on him. “I’m Hiiragi, a new student.” I carefully refrain from bringing up my age. Right now, for me, the reminder would be... it’s just—unwise.

Obito straightens, his confidence and cheer returning now that we’re back on more familiar ground. “I’m Uchiha Obito, Konoha’s future Hokage!” he declares with a grin, pointing a thumb at his chest.

I look him up and down thoughtfully, my expression somber, but a little hopeful. “It’d be nice if you were Hokage,” I finally state softly.

Obito’s eyes widen almost comically in the face of my honest acknowledgement, but it aches more than it amuses.

“The fact that you can cry for the sake of someone else is a point in your favor,” I continue. My expression sobers. “Don’t lose that. But don’t show those tears to your enemies, either. Konoha will need someone kind to nurture and guide her, but she’ll need someone strong and steadfast to defend her just as much. I’m certain, with your best effort, you could do it.”

He could. If Obito could at one point stand against multiple nations with just a handful of questionable allies, then surely he could funnel his drive and tenacity into becoming an exceptional Hokage. Though why anyone would want to be Hokage is honestly beyond me.

At the first sign of tears welling up in his eyes, Obito hastily turns away with a sniffle to hide his tears, his shoulders hunched.

This boy, really, I think ruefully. “I’m not your enemy,” I remind him, but don’t press further.

It takes a few moments, but he eventually turns back to face me, his movements tentative, expression so disarmingly open and vulnerable that a painful lump immediately forms in my throat. Tears of my own threaten to spill from my eyes, and follow through not even a moment later. 

Here we stand, reflecting one another’s sorrows.

He takes an aborted step towards me, only to remain rooted to the spot. 

In my moment of weakness, the underneath rises up. “Say, when you become Hokage, do me a favor?” I choke out, feeling the fractures spread as I smile a smile that is all sharp edges with pain and anguish.

Obito stares back, transfixed.

A smile in name only, for how broken it surely is, for how it feels, closing my eyes as it spreads further across and warps my tearstained features.

“Don’t send children like us out to die for your wars.”

—

I don’t catch the flicker-flare of red, the formation of the first spinning spokes of the pinwheels that overtake onyx for the briefest of moments.

—

I return to class ten minutes before lunch break is over, mask back up and tired eyes red and somewhat inflamed from crying my fill, despite my ministrations of cold water in the bathroom.

I refrain from eating the bentō lunch Sakumo prepared for me. I wouldn’t be capable of enjoying the meal, much less keeping it down, in my current state. I’ll try eating it later, once my thoughts and stomach have settled somewhat.

A lot of the students eye me warily, while a handful dismiss me as weak because of the obvious remnants of my breakdown. A few look at me with concern.

It’s one of the lattermost that trades seats with a student of the foremost to sit next to me.

I watch absently, feeling numb, indifferent to the reactions garnered by my appearance.

My new neighbor sits down and turns to meet my gaze evenly. He looks to be one of the older students in this class, maybe nine or ten years old—too young, too young—with a pale complexion sparsely speckled with freckles on and around his cheekbones. His eyes are a silvery grey—an uncommon color—offset by copper hair that tumbles about and frames his face in thick waves, held back from his forehead by a light beige fabric headband.

His features are soft and slightly rounded, contrasting with his mature, concerned expression. Surprisingly, he has the good sense to not ask if I’m alright.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asks quietly instead.

My mouth quirks upwards in a mirthless imitation of a smile, hidden by my mask. “No. Just came to some disheartening realizations.”

The boy’s eyebrows furrow faintly, but he doesn’t comment. His expression smoothes out moments later. “I’m Tachibana Shichiro, ten years old.”

Morbidly curious, I ask, “Are you really the seventh son in your house?” before I can stop myself. 

I wince. I don’t even know if his name utilizes the standard kanji for seven and son.

Shichiro, thankfully, takes my inquiry in stride. “Yeah. I’m the fourth youngest.”

Oh, good, he didn’t take offense—

I do a double take and silently do the math. Seventh with three younger siblings... I stare wide-eyed at Shichiro. “You have... nine siblings?” I ask weakly, more than a little horrified on the boy’s behalf.

He nods placidly before fixing me with a blank look and deadpanning, “It’s a madhouse.”

A bark of startled laughter escapes me, and his features relax somewhat, his gaze lighting with warm humor.

I smile crookedly. “You didn’t have to go out of your way to lift up my mood.”

He nods sagely. “Certainly, I didn’t have to.”

I huff, amused despite myself. “Thanks anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” he answers easily as he regards me solemnly. 

My smile fades. His expression practically screams the lament, ‘Too young,’ as he examines my features.

And it feels like relief, no matter how bittersweet, because this boy gets it.

Hirose-sensei strides back into the classroom with the remaining students filtering back in for class, and we cut our conversation short.

The Chuunin Instructor calls for quiet, gaze flicking briefly to Shichiro and I, and then proceeds with the rest of the day’s lessons.

—

By the end of Day One of Grade School for Professional Killers, I’m ready to admit to feeling more than just a little wrung out.

Shichiro contents himself with sticking around until my guardian shows up—keeping close, but ultimately leaving me enough breathing room so as not to crowd me—to my relief. Much as I appreciate his earlier overtures of friendship and compassion, I did literally just meet him today. I don’t have much to go off of in terms of character—his is a face and name I never came across in the story I read.

I try to swallow down the almost reflexive apprehensive panic that that triggers. Just because I never heard mention of him doesn’t automatically mean he dies, I try to convince myself amidst the threatening hysteria. Maybe he just doesn’t graduate, or doesn’t climb very high up in the ranks of Konoha’s shinobi forces, or maybe ends up somewhere in the background. There are tons of departments staffed by shinobi that never really got much coverage. And surely there are and will be things that aren’t exactly the same?

I press the heels of my palms to my closed eyes.

Breathe.

As soon as I pull my hands away and blink open my eyes, I spot Sakumo approaching with Kakashi walking along at his side.

The swell of relief I feel as soon as I lay eyes on the pair catches me off guard.

Shichiro straightens in surprise when Sakumo stops a few feet in front of me. His eyes are wide with recognition, and as he glances back and forth between the two Hatake and I, a hint of amazement starts replacing the disbelief.

Sakumo glances at Shichiro briefly before returning his concerned gaze to me. I carefully refrain from wincing; it looks like he caught my minor breakdown as he neared. Either that, or maybe my scent’s giving away my distress to some degree. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised.

“Your friend, Hiiragi?” he prompts, his tone neutral with a light overtone.

I nod. “Aa, he’s nice. Sakumo-san, this is Tachibana Shichiro. Tachibana-kun, this is Hatake Sakumo, my guardian, and Hatake Kakashi, his son.”

Reassured that Shichiro isn’t an instigator causing my disquiet (he kind of is, but it’s really not the boy’s fault), Sakumo turns his full attention back to the older student and smiles warmly at him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Shichiro looks—for lack of better words—stupefied, and maybe a bit overwhelmed. At least he’s not scornful or disparaging?

“I... I...” he struggles to collect himself enough to string a sentence together. After a few more fumbles and false starts, he bows deeply—almost a perfect ninety degree angle—to our collective bewilderment.

“I— my— uh— Ichiro-nii is friends with Akagi Yuusuke,” he blurts, and Sakumo goes tellingly still. “My brother and I... er, well... that is, I wanted to say thank you. For saving his friend’s father.”

I inhale sharply and hold my breath, shocked. What are the odds?

Sakumo’s eyes have gone wide, and there’s the barest trace of a misty sheen to them that leaves a painful lump forming in my throat.

Shichiro straightens slowly, his eyes earnest and shining with genuine gratitude. “Thank you for saving Yuu-nii’s father.”

At a loss for words, Sakumo nods his head in acknowledgement, hesitates briefly, then tentatively reaches out and gently ruffles Shichiro’s hair before retreating. “I do my best to make sure my comrades return home safe.”

Shichiro stares back up at Sakumo with a mix of wonder and adoration.

My heart aches as I watch. He missed this, in the story I read. As far as I know, no one ever thanked Sakumo for bringing their family, their friends, home safe. All he ever received was condemnation, even from those whose lives he’d saved in exchange for compromising the mission. 

My breath hitches as I study Shichiro’s features, reflecting upon his words and actions. Okay, I take it all back. It’s only been less than a full day, but there’s no doubt about it. This one’s a keeper—and there’s every possibility he’ll die in this war.

I take a deep breath. My resolution firms as I square my shoulders. 

Not if I can help it.

Not on my watch.

Chapter Text

The first thing I do after returning to the compound is set my backpack in my room and pull out my homework and a pencil, before striding over to the dining room table and getting to work.

Sakumo starts prepping dinner, and Kakashi hovers, peeking over my shoulder to look over my answers from time to time. He doesn’t say anything, so I must be doing it decently enough. I finish my homework with a minute or two left to spare before dinner is ready, so I return the papers and packets to my backpack before reclaiming my seat at the table.

With no more homework to distract me, I let my thoughts wander.

I need to step up my training in taijutsu and ninjutsu. I’m fairly comfortable with Kawarimi, but I’m one hundred percent certain I can do better. Maybe it’s time I started weaning myself off of hand seals for the jutsu? Or is it still too early?

The less said about throwing weapons, the better. I reflexively cringe as I think back to the other day’s practice with Sakumo. I was lucky to not have impaled my own damn foot with my attempt at throwing kunai. 

There were reasons why I avoided sports in general, but especially those requiring decent hand-eye coordination, before. Balance issues, depth-perception issues, asthma, noodle arms... the list goes on. Long story short I need to practice with my throwing weapons a lot. Especially so if I want to be able to keep my distance from enemies and avoid close combat as much as possible.

And then there’s elemental transformation practice. I’ve been doing fairly well with Lightning and Earth, but I’ve hit a roadblock with Water elemental transformation, which is a bit aggravating. I mean, Water’s supposed to be my primary, for goodness’ sake!

I can’t even get a hint of moisture to well up from the leaves I practice with.

I start tapping the surface of the table absently in frustration. I don’t understand why I’m struggling as much as I am. I’m certain that the conclusions I drew upon meditating on the elements, what they are and what they desire, are sound. That’s not the issue.

“Itadakimasu,” I murmur distractedly on autopilot before grabbing the chopsticks that appeared on the table along with dinner at some point.

The problem is, I don’t know how to tap into my Water Nature. My chakra flows like the tides going in and out, like a pendulum swinging back and forth. I figured out how to draw out Earth and Lightning easily enough, but Water... I don’t know how to translate it, I guess. Earth requires stillness, a steadfast base, and a foundation upon which to be. Lightning requires swift friction and motion in the balance between charges to spark and ignite.

But Water... it’s been nearly a week and a half since I first attempted the practice for its Elemental Transformation, and I haven’t made any headway. I can feel it there, ready and waiting beneath the surface, but I just don’t know how to shape my chakra and bring it forward.

The irony that my secondaries are proving easier to wield than my primary after what I told Orochimaru is not lost on me.

Maybe I’m thinking about it wrong? Or just looking at it from the wrong angle?

I pause, my chopsticks stopping halfway between my bowl of rice and my mouth. My eyebrows furrow thoughtfully. If that’s the case, how can I go about approaching it differently?

“Hiiragi, are you—”

“Can I go to one of the training grounds with a small pond or river nearby?” I ask abruptly, only to stop as I realize I just cut off Sakumo. I blink rapidly as I come back to myself. “I’m sorry, say again?”

Sakumo regards me with concern. “I asked if you were okay. You’ve been staring at your rice for the past few minutes like it’s going to bite you if you so much as blink.”

I focus my gaze on the bite of rice between my chopsticks, held suspended as a result of my musings. “Oh.”

I promptly pop the bite of rice into my mouth and start chewing.

Sakumo and Kakashi exchange a look.

“Did something happen at the Academy today?” Sakumo asks carefully.

My hand stills, and I inwardly chastise myself for the obvious tell. It’s not that I wasn’t going to talk to Sakumo about it, it’s just—the principle of the thing, giving away my reactions for all and sundry at another’s prompting.

“If we start talking about it right now,” I finally answer slowly, doing my best to not let my thoughts wander too far down that path. “I don’t think I’ll be able to finish my dinner.”

Sakumo freezes, his eyes flashing with trepidation at my admission. 

“After dinner, then,” he states gravely, his tone implying that anything beyond that is non-negotiable.

—

We gather in the living room, piling up on the couch, Kakashi leaning against the right arm, me against the left, and Sakumo in the middle, wholly unbothered by the two sets of tiny feet resting on top of his thighs.

I find myself staring unseeingly out the nearest window, my thoughts darkening in concert with the evening skies.

“Hiiragi,” Sakumo calls my attention back to him. “What happened at the Academy?”

Heaving a weary sigh, I close my eyes. “First, why did the Shodaime establish Konoha?”

There’s a long pause, likely due to Sakumo trying to figure out what my angle is in asking.

“From what I understand, Konoha was founded in order to bring peace between the warring Clans of Fire Country,” is Sakumo’s answer.

I hum. “Okay. But why push for peace? What stopped him or someone else from simply eradicating all of those in opposition and erasing them from history?”

Silence descends upon us, heavy and uncomfortable in the face of the disturbing words delivered with utmost nonchalance.

“I imagine it was so that they could ensure a future of prosperity, secured by the bonds forged between allies and once-upon-a-time adversaries,” Sakumo replies warily.

“So basically to protect the future?” I ask lightly.

“I believe so.”

I crack open an eye and regard Sakumo critically. “Then if Konoha was founded to protect the futures of its inhabitants, why are we endangering those very futures by sending children out to the frontlines?” I ask, the lightness of my tone leeching away to leave behind only razor-sharp, serrated steel.

The tightening of the creases around Sakumo’s eyes and the clench of the muscles in his jaw in response to my quiet reprimand dressed up as a question are telling, but I don’t quite know how to read those signs. Is he upset on behalf of the decisions made by the Hokage? Or is he also dissatisfied with the current state of things?

My gaze flicks to Kakashi as the younger Hatake sits up and takes in a sharp breath, likely opening his mouth in preparation to protest.

“You and I don’t count, Kakashi,” I say flatly before he can get a word out. “We may be young, but we have enough maturity to understand a good deal of exactly what it is we’ve signed ourselves up for. I’m not deluded by tales of heroism or flowery speeches encouraging me to do my part.”

Kakashi leans back, eyes wide in the face of my cold, dispassionate tone and expression.

Well, it’s either this or yelling, and I don’t like raising my voice at people in general, much less at those I care for and respect.

My gaze shifts back to Sakumo, who sits rigidly in place, eyes locked on me. “You asked if something happened at the Academy today,” I start, my level tone starting to waver. “I walked into class, took one look around, and saw three things.”

I stop, take a deep breath, and swallow past the painful lump in my throat threatening to strangle me from the inside before continuing.

“First, I saw children. Second, I saw too-small coffins and early graves. Third, I saw futures unfulfilled and the anguish and loss they’ll leave in their wakes.”

I blink as my vision blurs, releasing the tears that built up as I spoke. I sniffle and avert my gaze.

Moments later I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and don’t resist as Sakumo gently scoops me up and presses me into a hug, resting his chin on top of my head. I can feel his throat working as he tries to swallow past a painful lump of his own.

“I think I understand, sort of?” Not really. I start again in a hoarse whisper. “But that doesn’t stop it from hurting. Or leaving me angry and feeling helpless.”

Sakumo’s hold tightens faintly in response before he unwraps one arm to pull Kakashi in as well.

I reach an arm around to gently hug Sakumo back as I close my eyes. I think back to what I saw today, the ache it prompts, and remember the words of a song that never failed to leave an ache in my chest. As good an outlet as any—better, even—I start to softly sing, my tone wavering and wobbling here and there.

We laid our names to rest

Along the dotted line

We left our date of birth

And our history behind

We were full of life

We could barely hold it in

We were amateurs at war

Strangers to suffering

We made our families proud

But scared at the same time

We promised we’d be safe

Another lie from the frontlines

Our backs against the wall

We’re surrounded and afraid

Our lives now in the hands

Of the soldiers taking aim

Our questions ricochet

Like broken satellites

How’d our bodies born to heal

Become so prone to die?

Though time is ruthless

It showed us kindness in the end

By slowing down enough

A second chance to make amends

As life replayed, we heard a voice proclaim:

“Lay your weapons down

They’re calling off the war

On account of losing track

Of what we’re fighting for.”

So we found our way back home

Let our cuts and bruises heal

While a brand-new war began

One that no one else could feel

Our nights have grown so long

Now we beg for sound advice

“Let the brokenness be felt

‘Til you reach the other side

There’s goodness in the heart

Of every broken man

Who comes right up to the edge

Of losing everything he has”

We were young enough to sign

Along the dotted line

Now we’re young enough to try

To build a better life

To build a better life

As quiet seeps back in around us, Sakumo takes in a quiet, shaky breath. “Another song from your home?”

I nod faintly, careful not to accidentally head-butt Sakumo’s chin.

“Will you tell us what it says?” He asks.

I nod again and tentatively recite the lyrics ponderously in Japanese, pausing from time to time to search for the right words or phrasings. By the time I finish, Sakumo’s hold has gone tight again.

“What,” he hesitates as his hoarse voice breaks. “What is it called?”

I press my cheek to his collar bones. “Mars. The closest word I can think of as a translation would be fire planet or fire star. It’s also a name for a god of War,” I answer softly. “A man who calls himself Sleeping At Last is the one who wrote and sang it.”

A choked sound escapes Sakumo when I translate the artist’s name.

I hum soothingly, but say nothing more for a long time. I just want to sit here like this and share warmth and comfort with those I hold dear.

I close my eyes sadly as I breathe out a despondent sigh. I want to... but I can’t.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Lives hang in the balance between the hour and minute hands, running the risk of being lost and buried beneath history’s falling sands.

“I need to get up,” I say quietly. “I need to go to a training ground with a river.”

“Why?” Kakashi asks curiously, though his tone sounds a bit more subdued than usual.

I shift slightly, wondering if I’m going to have to wriggle my way out of Sakumo’s hug. “There’s something I need to check,” I answer as I tentatively try to pull away. No dice. “I’ve been struggling with my main affinity, so I thought I’d try to approach it differently. That, and I need to get stronger. The number of people I want to protect keeps increasing,” I complain halfheartedly before trying again.

I give up after a few moments, slumping against Sakumo. “You can come with if you want?”

Sakumo snorts at that despite himself. 

Right. As if he (a full-fledged adult shinobi) needs permission to accompany the charge he’s now most likely legally bound to provide care for and supervise. I probably could have worded my invitation better, but... I honestly can’t be bothered right now.

“No more than two hours,” the elder Hatake finally concedes. “You have class tomorrow.”

... Right.

Looking forward to that.

Not.

Chapter Text

For the sake of conserving energy and saving time, Sakumo carries me on his back all the way to the training ground, Kakashi keeping stride with little to no difficulty. It’s a rush to watch everything around us pass by with the wind nipping at our faces and hair from how fast we’re moving. Upon touching down near the edge of the river winding through the area, Sakumo crouches down, allowing me to climb off.

I glance around curiously before examining the river speculatively. It’s a fairly sedate stream, no more than maybe four meters wide. The water’s clear enough, and I can kind of see the bottom.

Settling into a crouch, I reach down and dip a hand into the stream, relishing the water’s chill in contrast to Konoha’s warm and humid summer night air.

Come to think of it, this is the first time in a long time that I’ve come in contact with moving water outside of showers. I’d almost forgotten the feel of how the currents lap and swirl around me, pushing and pulling at my hand lightly but ultimately giving way when it doesn’t budge or follow along.

I cup my hand and lift it partway out of the water, watching and feeling how some of the water leaks out as it’s pulled along with the rest of the river, to be replaced by the water welling up and in through the cracks between my fingers. And so it goes, over and over, back and forth, following the path of least resistance. Flowing.

I close my eyes and feel for my chakra, trying to find something—anything—in the energy flowing within that matches the flow of water without.

The pendulum sways, the tides rise and fall. Where can I find the path of least resistance?

...

Oh.

Wherever it flows is where resistance is the lowest. 

Drawing up and shaping my chakra from a fixed point, stilling the pendulum, yields Earth. Doing so while shortening and speeding up the arc of the pendulum’s swing near the midway point gives me Lightning. If I shape my chakra as I follow along with its ebb and flow...

I jump to my feet and turn to Kakashi excitedly. “Hey Kakashi, do you know how to do a Shunshin?” I ask.

He sends me an affronted look. “Of course I do,” he retorts before promptly disappearing in a swirl of leaves.

I let out a happy sound and immediately crouch down to inspect and pick up some of the leftover leaves. A quick look over my shoulder reveals that Kakashi landed on the other side of the river.

“Thanks, Kakashi,” I call out before returning my attention to the conveniently gathered leaves.

Kakashi’s indignant sputtering is followed by Sakumo’s laughter, and I can’t fight the amused grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.

Setting the spares to the side, I take one leaf and hold it horizontally between my two hands, concentrating as I reach for my chakra once again, shaping it and matching it to its rhythmic swaying. I can’t hear my chakra with Minato’s seal still in place, but I’m sure I’ve got it right this time. 

I reach out and feel for the water stored within the leaf, feel it resonate with the chakra flowing beneath my skin. I encourage the water to flow outward by way of my chakra and watch elatedly as the leaf turns brown when water wells up from within it. The leaf breaks, unfortunately, but I find it hard to care—this is progress! I’ve finally gotten water to well up!

I look up at Sakumo and beam. “I almost got it!”

Sakumo’s eyebrows are raised. “I saw,” he responds, impressed.

After the demise of about ten more leaves, Sakumo speaks up again. “Have you learned water walking, yet?”

I stop what I’m doing and blink up at Sakumo. “Water walking?”

Sakumo smiles at me in faint amusement. “It might help your control to learn water walking. Watch.”

With that said, the elder Hatake strolls casually up to the bank and then, without so much as a pause, walks out across the surface of the stream without sinking.

I gape, because just like with tree walking, while knowing is one thing, seeing is another thing entirely. When Sakumo turns and grins back at me, I jump to my feet and hurry over to the edge of the riverbank. 

I pull off my jacket and shirts—my wings get caught briefly in my haste and twinge in protest—before setting them off to the side, where they won’t run the risk of getting wet. My pants, wrappings, and sandals are quick to join the pile, along with my pouches, leaving me only in my dark blue boxers.

Sakumo lets out a confused and slightly amused sound. “Hiiragi?”

I look at Sakumo once I’ve situated myself at the bank of the river. “I don’t like getting my clothes wet, if I can help it,” I explain blandly. The way they just cling to the skin when soaked... eurgh. Just... no. 

Needless to say, I wasn’t and still am not a fan of water rides at amusement parks. If I were in swimwear, it wouldn’t bother me as much, since they dry relatively quickly compared to regular clothes, but... presently, I’m not. Ergo, clothes off.

And now, it’s bad enough when my still downy fluff gets soaked through and plastered to my back; the main drawback to bathing, these days, and drying the feathers can take a couple of hours. The resulting sharp and musky scent isn’t too bothersome to me, but I’ve seen Kakashi’s nose wrinkle in dismay a couple of times when he’s caught a whiff.

Channeling chakra to the sole of one of my feet like I would for tree walking, I tentatively stick said foot out onto the water’s surface. It holds firm on the surface of the water for all of little more than a second before it starts sinking. With a choked-off sound of alarm, I hastily lean back, flailing my arms as I struggle to keep my balance and avoid falling into the river.

Safe.

I let out a huff of relief and stare down at the water thoughtfully. I had a feeling it wouldn’t work, but I just had to double-check. Taking a seat at the edge of the river, I lean forward and reach out to press my palm to the surface of the water, trying to get a feel for the way it moves beneath my hand.

Water walking, unlike tree walking, is probably dependent upon the motion of the water. Still waters from tranquil ponds versus flowing or rushing waters from streams and rivers versus turbulent and unpredictable waters from seas and oceans, and all that jazz. The only common thread, I wager, is the fact that you need to constantly cycle the chakra you channel on your person to match the movement of the body of water you intend to walk across.

There’s not really a ‘one size fits all’ like with tree walking.

After spending the better part of two or three minutes like that, I start channeling minimal amounts of chakra to the palm of my hand, and examine how the water responds upon introduction. I press down with each change of application, experimenting with the way I funnel my chakra and how much I channel.

It’s a slow, painstaking process, but after an hour or so of adjusting and testing, my hand starts to rest on the water’s surface a little longer without breaking the surface tension. My eyes narrow with concentration. I’ve nearly got it. I’ve got the cycling motion down, for the most part, now I just need to focus on the amount.

I know I’m using too much chakra when the water abruptly splashes away from the palm of my hand, and I immediately dial it down to correct my error. I keep cycling the chakra at the same output for a few long moments, making sure I’ve got the amount and the feel down before stopping and leaning back from the river for a breather.

A quick glance at Sakumo reveals the elder Hatake crouched at the center of the river, his chin resting in one palm while his other arm drapes across one of his thighs, watching me pensively, eyes half-lidded. Kakashi’s standing right next to him, posture straight but at rest, gaze quietly expectant.

Waiting for me.

I get to my feet and take a bracing breath before channeling and cycling my chakra to the soles of my feet. I take a step.

The water is cold, but not unpleasantly so, I observe absently as I step out across the water slowly, cautiously. My heart rate starts picking up with my exhilaration, and it’s a fight to keep my chakra flow steady with all of the giddy elation threatening to break my concentration. 

If I had to draw a comparison, I imagine tree walking is like driving automatic, and water walking is like driving manual (stick-shift). Both are entirely possible, it’s just... one requires a fair bit more focus and multitasking than the other.

I carefully try not to think about all those instances practicing learning how to drive manual where I kept skipping gears as I make my way to the two shinobi waiting for me to join them.

Sakumo straightens from his crouch with a faint, proud smile. “Well done, Hiiragi.”

I smile distractedly, gaze fixed on my feet for a good few moments even after stopping in front of the two Hatake. I look up and my smile widens. “Can I ask a favor?” I ask.

Sakumo tilts his head inquiringly.

I reach out and grab both of his hands, pulling them toward me until I’ve hooked his arms under my upper arms. He has to lean forward a bit awkwardly, but he doesn’t comment, content to humor me. Once I’m satisfied, I look back up and meet his gaze with a sheepish grin. “Don’t let me fall?”

He blinks, caught off guard by my request, but nods acquiescence.

I let out a long, nervous exhale before grabbing hold of Sakumo’s forearms and gradually lowering the amount of chakra channeled to the soles of my feet. I want to find the absolute minimum amount necessary to stand and move across the surface of the river without falling through and sinking. Not quite two minutes later, I break surface tension and drop abruptly, only for the arms hooked under mine to catch me and prevent me from going under. 

Heart rabbiting frantically in my chest and grip tight from the sudden fall, I take a few calming breaths before adjusting my chakra output to the optimal amount, testing the waters (ha) with careful steps before letting go and pulling away from Sakumo with a relieved sigh when I don’t sink or drop again.

I grin again, holding up my arms behind my head. “I did it,” I laugh breathlessly.

Sakumo’s smile returns, and he reaches over to ruffle my hair. “You’ve still got about ten minutes left,” he tells me. “Do you want to call it a night, or...?”

My answer is immediate. “I want to practice a little more.”

Sakumo snorts in amusement. “Right. Ten minutes,” he repeats, giving me a look.

I nod before taking a few steps away, jumping up and down a bit before starting up a light jog across the river. Kakashi joins me without a word.

It’s only fitting I go down with a splash from a momentary lapse in concentration.

I resurface with a splutter to hear Kakashi and Sakumo laughing, and grin wryly as I set to figure out how to pull myself back up on top of the water without falling back in.

All in all, it was a good ten minutes well spent. Drying my wings off was a pain in the ass, though.

Chapter Text

August 13, 8bNb 

I arrive at the Academy early enough that the classroom isn’t even unlocked yet. I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose before setting my bag to the side, taking a seat on the floor, and leaning back against the wall to wait. I may as well take this opportunity to mentally prepare and fortify myself for the rest of the day. 

It still leaves me feeling sick to my stomach, knowing that children my physical age and younger come here for the purpose of going to war.

I pull my knees up to my chest and press my hands to my face with a haggard sigh. 

Find a different angle.

They come here to learn some of the skills necessary for their survival.

... 

That’s... true; a somewhat easier pill to swallow.

But I don’t recognize more than a handful of faces from my class.

My shoulders slump.

Sure, let’s get the emotional breakdown done and out of the way early today, why don’t we?

Fuck.

—

Fifteen minutes later, I look up to see Hirose-sensei approaching the classroom with a vaguely troubled expression on his stern features. He pauses just in front of the door, changes his mind, and keeps walking until he’s standing in front of me. 

When I don’t say anything, the Chuunin Instructor lets out a quiet sigh and crouches down.

“What’s troubling you?” he asks bluntly. “You had a scary look on your face yesterday that only went away after the lunch break, and even then your expression wasn’t much better than it looks now.”

I grimace but don’t bother trying to wipe away the wet tracks on my face. I take a moment to debate whether it would be wise to voice my misgivings or not. I decide to compromise.

“Ne, Hirose-sensei,” I start softly, raising my eyes to meet his. “Do the other students understand?”

Hirose-sensei blinks slowly, a puzzled furrow forming between his brows. “Understand what?”

“The weight of what it means for them to be shinobi and kunoichi in war.”

Hirose-sensei’s eyes widen fractionally

I sniffle and lower my head to rest my chin on my knees. “Because most of them, they don’t look like they do. And that scares me, and it’s hard to see. They don’t get it, don’t take it seriously, and because they don’t, they’ll either learn in one of the worst possible ways or get themselves killed in the process.”

I look back up as tears start to gather in my eyes again. Hirose-sensei looks a couple of shades paler than when he first approached me. I blink, and the tears overflow.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when all I can think of when I see some of my classmates is too-small coffins.”

When my vision clears, I get a good view of the haunted look that overtakes Hirose-sensei’s dark brown eyes.

“Six years old,” he mutters plaintively under his breath before reaching up to rub at his face with a scarred hand. He clears his throat. “Listen up, Hiiragi-kun,” he says, a little louder, tone firm. “My job is to make sure you and your classmates are as prepared as possible for life as kunoichi and shinobi before graduation.”

He lowers his hand to meet my gaze, expression resolved. “Believe me when I say that my peers and I will not pass a student if we feel they are not ready.”

Pretty words, ultimately of little worth or reassurance, when even those suitably prepared end up dying anyway.

The empty, pitying smile I give in response earns me a discomfited grimace from the well-meaning Chuunin Instructor.

—

Shichiro practically takes one look at me after arriving at the Academy and makes it his mission to take me under his wing—almost quite literally.

With him being one of the tallest in our class, and me being several years younger, and therefore smaller, it’s easy enough for him to literally tuck me under his arm like a bird might shelter a hatchling under the cover of its wing.

In summation, I learn early on that he’s a total mother-hen, and the poor boy doesn’t even realize it.

I can’t really find it in myself to protest or resist his brand of reassurance and comfort.

—

August 14 - August 18, 8bNb

I learn that I’m not the only classmate Shichiro looks out for. Nara Sosogu, a rather recalcitrant, reticent boy and the only other six-year-old in our class, by all appearances, grudgingly endures Shichiro’s fussing. 

By all appearances.

But when I look at the interactions between Sosogu and Shichiro and compare them to interactions between the sharp-tongued Nara and just about anyone else... 

Shichiro’s nonjudgmental demeanor goes a long way in soothing the tension and aggravation that most others seem to inspire in my fellow age-mate. There’s a certain lack of bite to his tone, a softening of razor edges when in the older boy’s presence that makes me wonder if there’s a history between the two.

I will admit to being intrigued by the Nara. He’s an outlier, in that he already has drive, something that motivates him to move, to progress, rather than sit back and watch the world around him turn. And he’s another one of those who takes one look around and gets it.

Though as opposed to my anguish or Shichiro’s quiet unease, Sosogu’s go-to reaction is frustration.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Sosogu’s got a short fuse... though it really doesn’t help things when other students keep verbally needling or poking at him. 

When sufficiently vexed, the boy is prone to spitting verbal vitriol, cutting words aimed with unerring precision. I have yet to see him lose an argument—I’ve watched at least eight of them since my second day at the Academy, and heard about six others through gossip.

And he has the most impressive potty mouth I’ve ever witnessed in a six-year-old. 

Which he is completely unrepentant in revealing to me the first time Shichiro introduces me to him.

Rather than taking offense or being scandalized, I grin at Sosogu with wry amusement. “If you can keep a secret, I won’t mind teaching you a few new ones,” is what comes out of my mouth, to my strangely complete lack of shame.

I’m not here to tell you how you should behave.

As far as I’m concerned, if the kid’s far enough along in the mental department to see past and call out others' bullshit, I don’t see why he can’t collect cusses and make use of whatever ammunition he damn well pleases. That, and if I chastised him for his language, I would be a hypocrite of the highest order. 

Considering the fact we’re training to become child soldiers and killers, the boy could do far worse in terms of coping mechanisms.

Shichiro shoots me a wide-eyed look, likely thrown for a loop by my unheard-of offer.

Sosogu’s expression shifts from mildly hostile to somewhat pleasantly surprised. He gives me another considering once-over before looking away dismissively. “At least you’re not a dumbass,” he mutters under his breath. Then, a little louder, “Maybe later.”

Presence acknowledged and accepted, is what I hear. 

What do you know, this ‘underneath the underneath’ thing really does come in handy for more than just Kakashi.

“Roger that,” I reply lazily before flopping down to the grass in the shade and opening up my bentō.

Shichiro, bless his unprejudiced soul, just takes the whole encounter in stride and simply watches us with this look of utter contentment in his grey gaze. Total zen, ‘all is right with the world’ vibes.

What I’d do to keep it this way.

—

Surprisingly enough, Sosogu doesn’t ask me to teach him those new curse words I offered. Pity.

—

August 19, 8bNb

My first ever sparring session at the Academy is... well. 

I only have the beginnings of a handful of katas for the style Dai started devising for me, paired with the faint bit of muscle and stamina I gained from almost daily workout sessions with the indefatigable spandex-clad shinobi. 

… And the katas that Kakashi and Sakumo taught me. And a fair bit of sparring experience with Sakumo (whenever he’s not away on a mission), after that one time Kakashi accidentally broke my arm (the elder Hatake is capable of stopping just before landing a hit). 

… And about a little under a week’s worth of instruction on the Academy’s taijutsu katas that I managed to wheedle out of a number of the Chuunin Instructors whenever the opportunity arose and they had a moment to spare.

I’ve had nothing but time on my hands since arriving in this reality, and I’ve been filling it with learning and exercise, and dedicated practice, as if my life depended on it (it technically does).

How all of that will translate into overall skill for me, I have absolutely no idea.

The first student I’m paired against looks to be a few years older than me, which means he’s undeniably bigger than me and has more experience.

Ah, I think, somewhat apprehensive as I settle into a ready stance with the Seal of Confrontation, this kid’s gonna wipe the floor with me.

Hirose-sensei looks back and forth between the two of us before nodding in approval. “Begin!”

The boy—Haruki, I remind myself absently—charges at me full bore without taking a single moment to gauge his opponent, which is a bit insulting, I’m not gonna lie. Well, his lack of caution is to my advantage, I guess?

My brows furrow faintly as I sidestep his first swing. 

Huh?

I duck another wide swing.

This is strange. 

I shift slightly out of the way to avoid the roundhouse kick he follows with. 

Is he supposed to be this... slow?

I can see his moves coming with plenty of time to dodge.

I blink as a thought occurs to me. Is it because I’m used to dealing with faster and far superior sparring partners like Sakumo and Kakashi?

Haruki makes a sound of frustration as yet another strike fails to make contact with me.

I eye the other boy thoughtfully. I’m... not entirely certain that I’m strong enough to land a hit that’ll put him out of commission for the spar. I’ll just have to use his own force against him, then.

I sidestep and nudge aside the next punch with my forearm before latching onto his wrist, tugging him forward and around with his current momentum before twisting his wrist and causing him to overbalance and hit the ground hard. I immediately follow him down, pinning his shoulder with my free hand, careful to hold and keep his arm up by the wrist at just the right angle before steadily turning it and applying pressure.

“Owowowowow!”

I maintain the current pressure but don’t push any further, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now. I don’t dare take my eyes off Haruki to look to Hirose-sensei for direction.

I’m honestly surprised I retained and performed that throw as well as I did. It’s certainly been a while.

Thankfully, after a few more seconds, Hirose-sensei calls a halt, and I carefully lower Haruki’s arm to the ground. I get to my feet and back off a few steps, giving the boy some space to get up as well. I hold my hand out for the Seal of Reconciliation, which Haruki reciprocates after a few moments of rubbing at his wrist and shoulder.

I turn to see Hirose-sensei staring at me with a puzzled look. 

Ah, right... I accidentally defaulted to Aikido. Haha. Probably a pretty sloppy execution of it, too, now that I think on it, but, well... whatever works, I guess?

Do they not have that here?

More importantly... I send Hirose-sensei a mildly alarmed and somewhat accusing look, glancing pointedly at Haruki before returning my gaze to the instructor.

I mean, seriously, that was a white-belt technique! A poorly executed one, I might add! What have the other instructors been doing until now?

Hirose-sensei has the good grace to grimace faintly, clearly in agreement with my assessment.

My stomach sinks. 

I hope Haruki has some skill in tactics or long-range weaponry or ninjutsu to balance out his abysmal taijutsu. Else he’s as good as dead if he graduates.

—

My second sparring partner is another boy—there aren’t a lot of aspiring kunoichi in this class, I notice—by the name of Kouga. I take note of the red and white Uchiwa stitched onto his clothes and heave a quiet sigh as I realize what Hirose-sensei might be doing. 

First he pits me up against a student with the lowest taijutsu scores, then he assigns me to another with the highest taijutsu scores. He’s probably trying to gauge my proficiency while simultaneously instilling in me a bit of confidence tempered by humility. 

Supposedly. I could be reading a little too deeply into this.

But seriously? An Uchiha? Isn’t that going a bit overkill on me? Aren’t they, like, exceptionally adept at taijutsu in general, since they have a Clan to support them and a style they are taught outside of class?

Fuck. Now how can I go about this without ending up with broken bones?

I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath. When I open them, I settle into one of the four starting stances of the taijutsu form Dai developed for me. 

Kouga pauses in the middle of forming his Seal of Confrontation, his gaze lighting with cautious intrigue.

I’m under no illusions that I can win easily against a boy who’s had several years to practice and refine the tried-and-true combat forms of an established Clan. That doesn’t mean I won’t put forth the effort to do my best. Because while it might be okay to lose here, out there, losing is practically synonymous with dying.

Best to not get in the habit of losing without a fight.

We form the Seal of Confrontation, and Hirose-sensei calls the start.

The first thing I learn about Kouga is that he’s much faster than Haruki. The second thing I learn is that he’s still slower than me. I evade the vast majority of his strikes with minimal movement on my part, though he still manages a few glancing blows that smart quite a bit. While trying to acclimate myself to this abrupt increase in tempo, I struggle to find openings in his form that I can exploit.

Instead of growing frustrated like my previous opponent, though, Kouga backs off, eyebrows furrowed as he takes a moment to regroup. I opt not to follow and use the reprieve to consider my options. 

Rakurai and Zousui are out, for the time being, seeing as they are offensive forms, and the idea is to not risk getting my bones broken in a spar. Uchiha Kouga is a little too fast for my liking to try those two out, presently. 

I’m currently exercising the Nagare form, which is defensive and reliant upon evasion and my opponent using grabs. I could just keep going and wait for Kouga to go for a grab, but there’s no guarantee that he will. Maybe if he starts getting impatient, but... The other option is my other defensive form, Hateshinaku Chi, which is good for diverting attacks and following through with heavier counters or transitions to other forms.

The latter might be the more prudent option, for now. I change and firm up my stance accordingly, and Kouga blinks in dismay, his neutral expression sliding into something wary.

When he charges at me for round two, I’m ready for him. Instead of avoiding his opening strike, I divert it by smacking his forearm with mine. I duck the follow-up palm strike from his other hand and shift out of the way of a kick. While his foot’s still in the air, I hook my foot around his grounded ankle and topple him.

Resisting the temptation of following him down, I back off instead and as such avoid Kouga’s fierce retaliation by a hair’s breadth. I feel the displacement of air from his passing kick brush against my face.

Shit. That was way too close for comfort.

A shaky breath escapes my lips. Fuck, that could’ve been catastrophic if that connected.

Forget fighting outside the Village, sparring in the Village can be just as fatal for me if I’m not careful.

Heart in my throat, I watch as Kouga regains his footing. I need to end this somehow, and soon.

Making a snap decision, I surge forward, switching to Zousui. Caught off guard by my sudden offensive, Kouga backtracks, throwing a punch to try to deter me. I weave around it without sacrificing an ounce of my speed or momentum, cataloging his stance and, more importantly, where his weight is centered or leaning off-balance.

And immediately take advantage with extreme prejudice.

Pulling or pushing someone already off-balance into a fall isn’t very hard to do, so long as you know where and in which direction you need to apply force.

Kouga goes down for a second time, but manages to drag me down with him by my arm. In true Nagare fashion, I go without resistance instead of bracing, to my opponent’s surprise. He hits the ground hard and I tuck into a roll, my shoulder driving into his gut serving to wind him (twenty-plus pounds’ deadweight with momentum included is still twenty-plus pounds’ deadweight with momentum) and manage to extricate my arm from his hold without breaking it in the process.

We scramble to our feet and I transition to Rakurai, stopping short with my fist just centimeters away from the unguarded skin of Kouga’s throat, and Kouga’s fist centimeters away from my face. Dead and dead.

Well, I can live with a draw if it means being capable of holding my own against one of the best in the class. (I’m just glad Kouga’s short enough for me to reach his neck at this angle, else I would have most certainly lost in terms of blows traded.)

Hirose-sensei calls a halt and I carefully retract my extended arm with an exhale that audibly shakes. Oh, I was holding my breath at the end there. Really not good for fights.

Kouga pulls back as well, onyx eyes fixed on mine. I form the Seal of Reconciliation on autopilot, and he mirrors the motion, wrapping his fingers around my smaller, trembling digits. Once dismissed to let the next pair of students take the field, I make a beeline for Shichiro.

He takes one look at my expression and gently tugs me to his side to tuck me protectively under his arm. I huddle against him and watch the next few bouts absently, devoting more of my focus to taking deep, calming breaths. While keeping up with Kouga is certainly an accomplishment, it also means I need to step up my game.

If an Academy student can nearly put me out of commission, then a trained genin and onwards can and definitely will be more than capable of the same.

It’s a sobering thought, to say the least.

—

August 21, 8bNb

This can’t go on, I think grimly one morning after an inordinate amount of fluff is sent drifting through my room—the messy result of wrestling off my sleep shirt.

It’s practically a wonder how long I’ve managed to keep relegating the fact that I have wings to the back of my mind.

I reach a hand up and press its palm to my eyes before letting it slide down my face and drop back to my side. 

I have wings. 

Wings that are without a doubt growing—their span has increased by (at a guess) at least five inches since my arrival, and it’s getting harder to keep them tucked away and concealed under my clothes. 

Wings that need maintenance and exercise if I don’t want them to become atrophied and infested lumps hanging from my back.

A faint tickle is the only warning I get before my train of thought is briefly derailed by a sneeze. Ugh.

I rub my nose with my forearm, trying to simultaneously alleviate the lingering discomfort and ward off the rest of the airborne irritants. 

I heave a sigh. The main issues are matters of reach and neural disconnect. There are some areas I just can’t access on my own when cleaning, and at present, I can barely manage a twitch at the base of where my wings connect to my back. My brain hasn’t really “discovered” and developed the link between it and the set of limbs I didn’t have before arriving here.

I’m going to need help learning how to move them. I heave a sigh. Here’s hoping Sakumo won’t ask too many questions about my current conundrum.

—

Of course, Sakumo asks the one question I really wish he didn’t.

“I don’t mind helping you with cleaning your wings, but why can’t you move them?” Thankfully, he seems more concerned than suspicious.

Obviously, I can’t say anything about not having wings before arriving; the matter of reincarnation—or transmogrification—aside, they were way too developed for that not to be the case, at least from an objectively biological standpoint. But how the hell am I supposed to lie with the truth here?

“I can’t— uh… it’s a sort of mental block, I think? I know they’re still there, and I can kind of get them to twitch, but anything beyond that…” I explain awkwardly. “It wasn’t like this before I wound up here.” Yeah, because I didn’t have them!

“Ah,” Sakumo answers, realization coloring his tone as he—hopefully—draws conclusions that line up neatly with my partially made-up backstory.

Sakumo crouches down in front of me and meets my eyes. “I understand, Hiiragi-kun. It may take a while to recover your full range of motion, so you’ll need to be patient—especially with yourself. Alright?”

I nod after a moment, then turn to offer him my back, and more specifically, the wings hanging limp.

“Let me know if anything hurts or feels uncomfortable,” he murmurs, before the feeling of careful fingers running through the downy feathers of my left wing incites a shudder from me.

Gods. That feels… weird? Different? I don’t have the words to describe it, save for maybe foreign and sensitive.

Sakumo pauses, and I clear my throat. “S’okay. It doesn’t hurt.”

He resumes, gingerly tracing from my shoulder blade to my wingtip, pressing into junctions, tendons, and joints just enough for me to feel it without any pain or injury. The whole wing shivers in response, and I catch a blink-and-miss-it awareness of how the nerves connect before it slips away and out of my reach once more.

He does the same for my right wing, and then he guides both limbs through motions—raising, dipping, tilting, folding, curling forward, and curling backward. I try to pay close attention to memorizing the feel of the movement, but the sensation of someone else’s hands on my wings proves distracting enough to make my focus tenuous at best and the overall endeavor frustratingly difficult.

I heave a quiet sigh, recognizing that this is probably part of why Sakumo urged me to be patient with myself, but—

It’s difficult. And mildly discomfiting. I’ll probably need to go through several more sessions just like this before I can gain any control over how I move my wings. 

Ugh.

Chapter Text

August 22, 8bNb

“I told you I didn’t want to see you for at least another six months,” Naomasa gripes as he stalks into the examination room. He runs a sharp eye over the kid before his scowl downgrades from irritated to puzzled. “You’re not injured. Why are you here?”

“Hiiragi has been accepted into the Academy; we wanted to get your professional opinion on whether it would be safe for him to spar with his peers,” Hatake sums up succinctly, resting a comforting hand on his ward’s shoulder.

Naomasa blinks slowly as he processes the information. He turns his gaze back to the kid. “Ah. You’re not injured, but you almost got injured. What would it have been?”

“A kick that would’ve probably caved my face in,” the kid answers. Naomasa is inclined to believe that he isn’t exaggerating, considering his brittle constitution.

Naomasa stares at him blankly for a long moment. “Right,” he finally starts. He points at the injury-prone kid. “No sparring with brats for you. You can’t afford to fight against anyone incapable of pulling their punches in-Village, and brats are on top of that list because they haven’t developed the skill and discipline to manage that yet. Stick to Chuunin and higher-ranked nin. I need to go grab some forms and write out a note for you.”

Once he’s said his piece, he storms out of the room. He wishes he didn’t understand the necessity of accepting a child with brittle bones into the Academy. All he can do is ensure, to the best of his ability, that the kid lives through it.

—

August 23, 8bNb 

“Hirose-sensei.” 

Hirose blinks down at his class’s enigma. “What’s that you’ve got there, Hiiragi-kun?”

The boy shuffles his feet a tad anxiously—unusual, that, as far as Hirose’s observed, while the boy is expressive, he tends to refrain from showcasing nervous tics like that—before handing him a packet and a signed note.

“I wasn’t sure if this was in my file or not, so…” Hiiragi trails off.

Hirose reads through the documents and feels his blood chill with every sentence he finishes. “Shit.”

The kid tilts their head at the near-silent invective—right, sharp hearing. Damn it.

“I’ll see about organizing a rotation for us instructors to spar with you,” Hirose sighs, running the hand that isn’t holding the note and packet down his face in an effort to keep it from shaking. “Thank you for coming to me about this, Hiiragi-kun, I’ll make sure these are added to your file.”

Hirose waits until the kid is out of the room before he sets the packet down and starts fiddling with a kunai, eyes locked on the damning documents. None of these were included in the kid’s Academy paperwork, which is distressing—and unacceptable. Hiiragi could very well have died during a simple spar with Uchiha Kouga—a match Hirose unwittingly set to gauge how Hiiragi held up against the best in class.

A dead student on his watch, Hirose grimaces, swallowing back bile. Then there’s the political fallout to consider. Hatake’s ward, killed by an Uchiha... He shudders.

“Why wasn’t this in his file? Fuck. If I find out who filed the paperwork for this, I’m going to wring their fucking neck!”

Hirose can’t help but wonder apprehensively if this was just an honest clerical error or a deliberate attempt at sabotage.

Coincidence or conspiracy?

Unease settles heavily in his gut. 

Chapter Text

September 12, 8bNb

Today marks one month since my enrollment into the Academy, and there is a little more than two months remaining until the Graduation Exam. I enrolled fairly late into this year’s class rotation, so I had to play catch-up on paperwork (schoolwork and homework, mostly). 

The subjects that give me the most trouble are history and math, the first because I’ve always been a bit temporally challenged and sometimes struggle to match exact dates with specified events, and the second because anything beyond basic Algebra is a nightmare if I don’t have a calculator on hand. And marksmanship when it comes to throwing weapons, but hey, I’m making progress; I can hit the targets half of the time. Not good, but also not bad considering I’ve only had less than a month’s worth of practice under my belt.

When I do catch up with the current class, I seek out Hirose-sensei and enquire about any extraneous subjects that I might need to cover, seeing as I skipped a good chunk of the Academy’s curriculum. He readily supplies me with packets and books that I work and read through during breaks between my extracurricular activities—Taijutsu with Dai, Kenjutsu and tracking with Sakumo, Elemental Manipulation and Genjutsu with Orochimaru, the occasional Fūinjutsu and Ninjutsu with Minato, stealth and kunai throwing with Kakashi.

It’s a lot, but at least I’m never bored, seeing as the internet’s not really a thing here. By the end of my days, I’m exhausted enough to just slip straight into sleep when my head hits the pillow, to my relief. All of that on top of sleep deprivation would be a nightmare.

But while I throw myself into my studies with a frantic determination that borders on desperation, I can’t help but notice how seriously the majority of my classmates aren’t taking Hirose-sensei’s lessons and warnings about the war we’ll soon be sent out into. Sure, maybe not immediately after receiving our hitai-ate, but it’s still a grim eventuality.

I have to remind myself that they don’t understand, that they don’t have a frame of reference to draw from in order to really appreciate the severity of their circumstances.

Their ignorance will cost them their lives, and the lives of the friends they so happily chat with instead of taking heed of Hirose-sensei’s words, a part of me whispers, mournful and furious in equal measures.

Something gives.

Fuck that.

—

I choke down my dinner and thank Sakumo for the meal. 

I don’t miss the grim set to the elder Hatake’s mouth, or the creases around his eyes that convey his worry.

With a deep breath to settle some of my nerves, I meet Sakumo’s gaze wearily. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with Minato-sensei,” I tell him quietly. Kakashi perks up faintly with interest at the mention of the blond jounin. “Do you know if he’ll be available sometime tomorrow, or within the next few days?”

Tomorrow’s an off-day for the Academy, so I’m hoping I can consult with him and maybe test out a few ideas for seals I came up with earlier today for the sake of addressing some of my current dilemmas.

“I’ll send him a message,” Sakumo answers after a long, considering pause.

“Thank you. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Hiiragi,” Sakumo starts as I stand and gather my dishes. I pause to give him my undivided attention.

“Are you...” he falters and doesn’t complete the inquiry. Kakashi glances at his dad before regarding me solemnly.

The bastardization of a smile that twists my mouth is a bitter, self-disparaging thing, and my fabric mask isn’t pulled up to cover the worst of it.

I have this idea.

This horrible, sickening idea.

And I plan to find a way to realize it.

I’m not okay.

—

*Only Two Smiles*

I am painfully reminded that I have only two smiles.

They are for friends, enemies, and strangers. There is no discrimination or distinction between the ranks of people I encounter. The smiles and what they mean, what they are for, themselves are the only distinction.

I have only two smiles.

Smiles for those I intend to live the rest of my days with, those I intend to live for.

And smiles for those I already accept as dead despite the heart still beating, blood still pumping, thoughts still churning, breath still seesawing in and out as they yet live.

I love those of the latter no less than the former.

I simply move through life accepting the fact I’ve lost them the moment I met them. The fact that they are mine, but never to keep, to hold, to live the rest of my days with.

I have only two smiles.

Neither is fake, not really. They wouldn’t be smiles if they were fake.

I don’t have three smiles, because fakes don’t count as smiles.

Smiles for those I intend to live the rest of my days with are given sparingly, to few and far in between.

Smiles for those I already accept as dead despite yet living are a little more common.

Fakes don’t count as smiles, no matter how frequently they tilt the corners of my mouth upward.

If fakes counted, they would be the ones I give the most.

Just as well I don’t count fakes as smiles.

I have only two smiles.

—

September 13, 8bNb 

It’s an uncharacteristically grey day today, I note as I wait out in the training field Kakashi and I like to frequent. Normally I revel in cloudy days. There’s even a faint breeze carrying the premonition of Autumn and its chill.

I am both weighed down by and grateful for Kakashi’s absence today.

“Hiiragi-kun,” Minato greets, his gaze weighty and his smile dim. Sakumo must have said something about my mood.

“Good morning, Minato-sensei,” I murmur tiredly. “Thank you for coming.”

Minato settles himself down next to me on the grass and regards me out of the corner of his eye. “Sakumo said you wanted to talk to me?”

I sigh and harden my resolve. “Aa, that’s right. I... came up with some more ideas for seals that I wanted your input on. I don’t know if they’ll work or not.”

When I don’t continue, Minato nods slowly. “Okay. I can help with that,” he agrees readily.

I press my lips together, willing myself to get my next words out. “One of them... provided it can function as intended, I think you should know what I’m intending to use it for. Why I thought of it in the first place. What it’s supposed to do.”

I stop, and level Minato with a haunted gaze. “And maybe, if it’s completely unreasonable, I need you to convince me to not use it as I first intended.”

—

By the end of my explanation, a few hours of Minato trying to design seals that could possibly make what I have in mind reality, and a demonstration of one of the five resulting seals in question that proves successful, Minato’s expression is closed-off and pale.

(The first and fifth were duds, the second and third only accomplished parts of what I was aiming for, but the fourth...)

But he does not object, or try to dissuade me.

I was afraid of that.

I spend the rest of the day with Minato as he makes enough copies of the proven seal, and then test them. When my chakra reserves run low, he helps me charge the rest.

—

September 15, 8bNb 

I wish he’d stopped me.

—

September 16, 8bNb 

When class is done for the day, I stay behind, waving for Shichiro and Sosogu to go on ahead. Once all of the other students are gone, I approach Hirose-sensei, who immediately notices my solemn countenance.

I present my observations of the students in my class and my worries. I show him the seals Minato made, explain what they do, and describe the exercise I devised for their use. I share the concerns I have about the fallout and aftermath of the whole drill, and some of the potential consequences that could arise, should it be approved. I include some possible measures to implement for damage control.

I even hand him a drafted proposal detailing the parameters and all of the above. 

It very pointedly doesn’t have my name written anywhere on it. Even the handwriting is deliberately altered to avoid identification via cross-examination of any of my writing on file.

By the end of the whole ordeal, I feel numb.

Hirose-sensei looks like he’s aged several years in a matter of... what, twenty minutes? Give or take?

“I’ll be sure to get this looked over, Hiiragi-kun. It’s... not a bad idea,” he finally says weakly.

No, it really isn’t, I agree silently. It’s a terrible one.

And I hate myself for even thinking of it in the first place.

—

September 18, 8bNb 

It’s approved.

Of course it is. 

I’m dealing with shinobi, trained warriors and killers, who live and serve under a militaristic dictatorship and are currently in the midst of war. Ethics and morality, beyond a ‘them versus us’ mentality, aren’t exactly the highest on the list of priorities, presently. And even then it’s still heavily skewed, considering what takes place within the supposed safety of Konoha’s walls, whether the esteemed Hokage is aware or not.

It takes a lot of effort on my part to not throw up right then and there when Hirose-sensei delivers the news after pulling me aside at the end of the class day.

He takes in my pallor with a sympathetic grimace. “Do you want to sit out for the exercise?” he offers. “You did come up with it, after all. I’m sure, more than anyone...”

I shake my head slowly before he can even finish. “While I am… a little more aware than most of my classmates,” I whisper hoarsely, “I will likely need this just as much as the rest. If you’re worried about me breaking any bones, I’ll… I’ll be extra careful. That, and... it wouldn’t be fair, if I backed out now.”

I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

Hirose-sensei holds my gaze for several long moments, eyes flickering back and forth between mine searchingly before nodding. “Alright. The exercise will take place on the twentieth. Go home, get some rest.”

Get some rest. 

Right. 

—

September 19, 8bNb 

Everyone keeps asking me if I’m okay.

First thing in the morning it’s Kakashi.

Next is Shichiro.

After him is Obito, who I sometimes meet up with during lunch breaks.

Sosogu doesn’t say a word, but his eyes follow me with perplexed disquiet.

Even Sarutobi Asuma, who sometimes joins Shichiro, Sosogu, and I for lunch every now and then, pulls me aside to ask if I’m alright.

Kouga keeps casting me unnerved glances, his brows furrowed.

After school, right before I leave, it’s Hirose-sensei.

At dinner, it’s Sakumo.

Just after that, it’s Minato, who visits at my request to disable the seal that muffles my hearing, and knows.

—

It’s the hardest thing in the world to not burst into tears every single time someone asks.

I can’t bring myself to tell them I’m not okay.

—

September 20, 8bNb 

Our class is escorted to a training ground that was reserved for our exercise today. I’m quietly relieved it isn’t one I’ve visited or used with Kakashi or Dai. It’s a large stretch of forest broken up by the occasional bush and patches lacking any cover, surrounded entirely by a thicker array of trees.

I can hear several heartbeats and chakra signatures interspersed throughout the trees, hidden amongst the leaves.

I keep my eyes glued to the students in front of me to resist the temptation to look up, to seek out the shinobi I know are there.

Once we’re all gathered in the center of one of the small clearings, Hirose-sensei starts dividing us all into two groups, distinguishing between the two by assigning colored headbands. Red and blue.

Whether it’s by luck or design that I’m assigned to the same group as Shichiro and Sosogu, I’m too ineffably grateful to care.

Each student is allowed a set of dulled kunai and shuriken. After we’re all suitably armed, Hirose-sensei gives us an abbreviated explanation of the exercise.

“The scenario is as follows: you’re out in the field when you encounter enemy forces. Fleeing is not an option, as your opponents are too close to discovering your outpost and supply lines, respectively. Your objective is to neutralize the enemy forces with extreme prejudice. Taijutsu, kunai, and shuriken only. If you are hit by a blow that is judged as fatal, you are ‘dead,’ and will not be allowed to continue. The complete takedown of the opposing forces will end the exercise. Both teams will be allowed ten minutes to come up with a plan of attack before the start of the exercise. Any questions?”

A few excited murmurs break out amongst the gathered students, but otherwise, no hands are raised. Before the established teams can part and start heading to opposite ends of the grounds, Hirose-sensei speaks up once more, his tone and expression grave.

“I advise you all to take this exercise very seriously.”

That earns him a troubled pause from everyone gathered, but most just shrug off their worries and return to what they’re doing. I tie my red headband around my forehead and join the rest of my group in a huddle at one end of the field.

I listen quietly for the first minute as some of the students propose tentative plans. A quick glance around shows Sosogu’s expression growing more thunderous with each passing second. When a brief pause presents itself, I jump in.

“Nara, do you have any suggestions?” I ask abruptly.

Sosogu blinks at me in mild surprise before refocusing on the situation at hand. “We need to break up into smaller squads. Three or four members at most. One close-combat, one long-range offensive, one a mix of all three, and one to run interference and provide aid to the rest across the battlefield. Close-combat Squad will have at least one long-range offensive, and Long-range Offensive Squad will have at least one close-combatant. Play to your strengths, and help each other cover your weaknesses. Gang up whenever possible. No one-on-one confrontations if you can help it, fairness be damned. Honor and all that bullshit mean nothing in a fight.”

He scans our group thoughtfully, ignoring some of the scandalized gasps elicited by his crass language, his easy dismissal of the supposed moral high ground known as honor, or a mix of both.

“You, you, and you,” he points to three students: Kurenai and two boys whose names I haven't memorized yet. “You’re our Long-range Offensive Squad. You, you, and Sarutobi are in charge of the Close-combat Squad.” Asuma arches an eyebrow but readily agrees, moving closer to his assigned squad members to quietly go over a handful of maneuvers they could try to get the jump on their opponents.

“Tachibana, you’re with me and...” his gaze flicks indecisively between me and one other boy for a long moment before he points to the latter. “Him. For the Mixed Specialty Squad. That leaves you, you, you, and Hiiragi as Interference and Relief.”

While there are a handful of surly mutters and brooding faces, no one outright contests Sosogu’s battle plan and assignments.

I wave over my squad and snap off a few quick additions of my own. “Watch out for stray weapons and friendly fire. We’ll be moving between squads and skirmishes to perform hit-and-run distraction tactics. If you happen across weapons on the ground and can safely collect them without getting taken out, do so. You can pass spares along to the Long-range Offensive Squad if they happen to run low. Keep an eye on your surroundings and call out anything that catches your eye. If more than one squad requires assistance, we’ll split into pairs and act accordingly. Does that sound good?” I ask.

Before I can receive confirmation (or anyone in my squad can argue), Hirose-sensei calls time and begins the countdown for the exercise to start.

I forcefully shove my feelings to the side for later and watch as our group assembles, Long-Range Squad in the back, Close-Combat Squad up front, Mixed Specialty Squad in the middle, and Interference Squad to the side between the front and the middle.

Silence reigns supreme with only Hirose-sensei’s countdown to contest it. Until finally: “Begin!”

In mere moments, the quiet is replaced with the sound of metal bouncing off metal, enthusiastic war cries accompanied by elevated heartbeats and chakra natures singing, the dull thuds of exchanged blows and grunts of exertion, and the flurrying whistles of projectiles flying through the air.

The first to ‘die’ is a boy from the opposing team.

One of Asuma’s teammates lets out a shout of victory while his adversary groans in disappointment.

Not a moment later, an ANBU operative dressed in black with grey body armor and a fearsome mask descends upon the battleground and stops in front of the latter.

Everyone, myself included, freezes.

“Dead,” the ANBU intones, their monotone voice ringing out across the clearing in the sudden stillness. Then, faster than any of us can comprehend, the masked operative lashes out, and the next thing we know, the boy hits the ground and doesn’t move.

No one reacts immediately in their shock. Only after a few moments does one of the other students on the opposing team stumble forward to collapse to his knees beside his felled teammate. With shaking hands, he reaches to the boy’s neck to feel for a pulse.

He won’t find one.

He forms the seal for dispelling genjutsu with shaking hands. “Kai,” he whispers, his chakra flaring weakly. Nothing happens, nothing changes. “Kai!” he tries again, and this time his chakra surges outward like a bonfire before receding. The result is the same.

After a long moment, he looks up at the impassive and intimidating figure looming above him, eyes wide and welling with tears. “Why?” he croaks out, only to scream it once more. “Why?!”

“If you ‘die’ here, you will just end up dying out in the field. As such, there is hardly any difference if you are disposed of now,” comes the ANBU’s dispassionate response. “Continue.”

And so having said their piece, the ANBU disappears.

Everyone is galvanized into action by the boy’s anguished battle cry as he charges for Asuma’s now frightfully pale teammate.

Everything explodes into motion and sound, and I have to shove one of my teammates out of the way of a barrage of shuriken before my team gets back with the program.

By the end of the battle, our group, the red team, is declared the winner. 

I don’t feel like a winner, nor do any of our remaining group members. Of the thirteen that made up our group, only five are left standing, myself included. I lost one teammate and ‘killed’ at least three adversaries. Assisted with two other takedowns.

There are twenty-two children lying still and deathly pale across the field.

This scene will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life, I have no doubt.

I stagger over to where I saw Shichiro fall, where Sosogu sprawls across him. From a distance, they look like they could just be napping together, enjoying the early morning sun, Sosogu using Shichiro’s stomach as a backrest, or a pillow. 

My hands start to shake uncontrollably.

I force myself to approach them, to get a closer look, to bear witness.

They aren’t breathing. I don’t hear any heartbeats coming from them.

There’s a ringing in my ears, underscored by a faint buzzing noise, and the loud sobs and cries from the remaining children left cradling the husks of their friends, teammates, and classmates.

This is war at its most basic, I think dully. It is fear and violence and clamor and chaos and instinct and survival, loss and death and silence and grief.

I slowly lower myself to my knees beside precious Shichiro and precociously prickly Sosogu, eyes staring transfixed, unblinking, as I realize that this is a reality I have to face. I can lose people like them, just like that.

I suck in a shaky breath and stifle the low, anguished sound that wants to leave my throat. I reach out for Shichiro’s hand and stop as I realize I’m still gripping a dulled kunai in bone-white fingers. I retract my hand and will my fingers to let go, and the weapon drops to the ground with a soft thud.

When my fingers curl around Shichiro’s hand, I flinch at how cold it feels in mine. I stretch my other hand out to gently brush Sosogu’s cheek—coldcoldsoverycold—and the next thing I know, tears are leaking from my eyes.

It’s a battle to keep myself from hyperventilating as my breaths hitch and seize and grow rapid with little rhyme or reason.

I barely register the wavering footsteps that approach.

“Don’t... don’t look,” Asuma chokes out, tan skin nearly drained of color, as he reaches down and pulls me away, turning me and pressing my face to his chest in an attempt to keep me from seeing any more, arms wrapping around me tightly in a trembling embrace. My own arms hang limply at my sides, uncooperative despite the distant impulse to reciprocate and extend comfort in return.

I can still hear the others crying, and it hurts like a thousand needles stabbing straight into my heart, because I did this to them. They will likely never forget this for the rest of their lives, long or short.

“This concludes the exercise,” Hirose-sensei’s voice sounds across the field. When he receives little to no response, he straightens and barks out, “All students, attention!”

Those left standing straighten in reaction to the sharp tone of command piercing through the fog in our heads.

“Those who are dead, please remove the seal tag that was placed somewhere on your person,” he continues, voice firm and unbending.

A majority of the students still standing stare in blank, uncomprehending confusion at Hirose-sensei.

When just what he said registers, everyone whips around just in time to see the first ‘body’ disappear, revealing Kurenai standing to the side with a seal tag clenched tightly between her trembling fingers.

A strangled sob tears itself from Asuma’s throat.

One by one, the ‘dead’ are replaced with the undeniably alive and the teary-eyed, the shuddering and the sobbing.

ANBU operatives flicker back into the clearing to collect the tags discarded on the ground and clutched between frozen fingers, returning the gathered tags to Hirose-sensei, who nods in thanks. The ANBU operatives disperse immediately after.

“Hiiragi!”

Asuma steps back just in time for Shichiro to swoop in—warm and breathing and alive—and lift me up into a desperate hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice broken up with hiccups and sniffles.

That’s not right, Shichiro, I want to tell him, but I can’t seem to find my voice beyond the buoying relief and crippling guilt. The one who should be apologizing is me.

I feel a hand just a smidge smaller than mine cradle one of my own—warmwarmalive—and catch Sosogu scowling down at the ground, shoulders hunched and face red and stained with tears out of the corner of my eye, though my vision’s a bit blurry.

It feels like I’ll never be able to stop crying.

When Hirose-sensei eventually calls everyone’s attention back to him, there are at least twelve shinobi and kunoichi lined up behind him, a majority of them sporting pale blonde hair and teal eyes lacking pupils. Their expressions range from neutral to open.

Hirose-sensei briefly runs through introductions—an assembly of shinobi from Psych—and explains that everyone is required to talk with a member, before he steps aside. The team from Psych all briefly exchange glances, tilting their heads fractionally this way and that from time to time, before stepping forward simultaneously and breaking apart to seek out what I assume are the priority cases.

One strides calmly toward Shichiro, Sosogu, and I. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who he’s got in mind, seeing as the majority of his attention is focused largely on me. He doesn’t look like a Yamanaka, with his charcoal black hair and hazel eyes, and I’m not sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved, or if it really matters if he’s a Yamanaka or not.

It’s hard to tell what to think or feel right now.

I blink and suddenly he’s right in front of Shichiro and I. That was fast. Was he walking that quickly? Or did he use a Shunshin? Shichiro’s hold on me tightens—this is fine, Shichiro is here, is warm, is alive—and the Psych shinobi’s gaze flicks briefly to the side, where I’m pretty sure my friend’s face is.

“Your friend needs help processing what happened,” the Psych shinobi states placidly, voice and tone even, smooth and soft as a polished river stone in the palm of a hand. I decide it’s a nice voice, all around. “You could think of it as him needing treatment for injuries of the mind from this recent ordeal.”

My thoughts inadvertently stray back to the exercise—to counting ‘kills’ like counting sheep—and I shiver.

There’s a long pause as Shichiro hesitates. “Hiiragi?” he finally calls quietly.

I turn my head back to him, idly wondering at how I kept it craned to look over my shoulder at the Psych shinobi for as long as I did without any strain.

“Hiiragi,” Shichiro starts again, grey gaze flicking back and forth between my eyes, his soft features hardened and edged with concern. His freckles stand out more against his pale, pale face. “You... you need to go with...”

“Fujiwara Niwaki,” the Psych shinobi supplies easily.

I crane my head back around to stare owlishly at Niwaki for a long moment. “Two trees for the garden,” I muse absently, voice coming out hollow, distant.

“That’s right,” Niwaki responds calmly after a moment without batting an eyelash.

“Hiiragi,” Shichiro calls my attention back to him. “Can you stand?”

I look idly down at my arms, hanging limp at my sides and unresponsive, then my legs, dangling lifelessly like a doll’s, several inches from the ground. My eyes linger on the distance between my feet and the ground for several long moments before I return my gaze to Shichiro to stare blankly at the boy, struggling to remember what it is he just asked.

“I... I’m going to set you down, okay?”

Shichiro carefully lowers me, waits for me to regain my footing on solid ground, and slowly draws back.

My knees don’t buckle underneath my weight, but the ground sways, and I sway to match it—or is it the other way around?

Before I can become intimately acquainted with the earth below, however, large hands reach out and steady me.

Standing straight and thinking straight aren’t easy to do right now, I note distantly before following the hands on my shoulders back to... Fujiwara Niwaki. That was his name.

I think.

“Would it be alright if I picked you up and carried you?” Maybe-Niwaki asks politely.

I stare for a long moment, turning the inquiry over in my head. “Sakumo-san picks me up when I’m sad,” I answer, before frowning faintly in a hazy muddle of frustration and confusion. That didn’t really answer Niwaki’s question, and we weren’t talking about Sakumo, were we?

Niwaki tilts his head slightly to the side. “Are you sad right now?” he inquires.

I...

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I pause, stumped, trying to make sense of...

Not here, a part of me whispers plaintively.

I blink a few times before focusing back on Niwaki, who patiently awaits my answer.

“I think I’m a lot of things right now,” I tell him honestly feeling miles away.

Niwaki hums. It’s a thoughtful sound, neither positive nor negative.

I shuffle a little closer, Niwaki’s gentle grip the only thing keeping me upright. It slowly dawns on me that I probably can’t—and shouldn’t—really stand right now, much less walk.

Everything’s gone cold, quiet, distant.

I look around me, eyes wide. More shinobi have arrived on the scene, carefully herding or ushering a student each somewhere else. Some even lift up their chosen charges and leap away, leaving the clearing in swirls of leaves.

Two shinobi approach Shichiro and Sosogu, exchange quiet words with the boys, and steer them away.

I didn’t notice the new shinobi arriving.

I should have heard them.

Why didn’t I notice?

It’s probably the shock, I realize faintly, watching numbly as the remaining students are led or carried out of the clearing. Before I know it, only Hirose-sensei, Niwaki, and I are left, as far as I can see. I can’t seem to hear much beyond the immediate vicinity right now.

“Would you please carry me?” I ask, my voice small.

“Of course,” Niwaki replies immediately, and gingerly picks me up, tucking me against his chest.

He’s warm.

Chapter Text

Niwaki brings me to a rather large grey building that somehow manages to toe a line between nondescript and intimidating. At any other time, the way it looms above might serve to unnerve me, but this isn’t any other time. I’m a bit preoccupied, at the moment.

Upon entering, a shinobi seated behind the reception desk looks up to see us, and his expression tightens faintly. “There’s more of you?” he asks, gravelly voice going flat with incredulity.

Niwaki hums. “We’re the last, I think.”

I lock eyes with the shinobi behind the desk and his expression twitches. “Gods, did you sedate the kid?”

“No,” Niwaki answers, his tone dipping ruefully as he strolls towards one of the hallways leading out of the front room. “I believe his pupils dilating to this extent might be a natural response to shock—psychological, in this case.”

Ah, so this is psychological shock. Good to know.

Wait, say what about my pupils?

I look up curiously at Niwaki. The man in question glances at me and notes my expression. There’s the briefest flicker in his gaze, some sort of change, and he does an abrupt U-turn.

“Keisuke, do you have anything reflective on you?”

There’s a long pause. “No...?”

Niwaki continues past the reception desk without so much as a pause to step back out of the building. “Good, that makes you at least a semi-competent stealth-oriented shinobi, but also puts me in a bit of a bind. I’ll be right back.”

“Wha—!” Keisuke’s offended sputters are cut off by the door closing behind us.

A quiet, somewhat strangled giggle bubbles up from the depths of my throat.

We don’t stray far from the building. Niwaki leaps up to land in front of a window darkened by what looks like blackout curtains on the inside. I can vaguely see my reflection and—

Whoa.

Yeah, I can see why that Keisuke guy asked if I was on something. There’s almost no iris visible, just a thin ring of pale amber-gold surrounding pools of black.

I vaguely recall seeing a video where a small owl was floating along in some sort of bath? And their eyes were wide open and their pupils were just...

Yeah. Like that.

My attention starts to drift from the window now that my brief moment of clarity courtesy of curiosity is over, and I feel myself slipping back into a sort of daze.

A blink later and we’re walking back down the hall Niwaki started down earlier.

Eh? Weren’t we just outside?

I lose track of all the turns we take.

We end up in a room painted in a soft shade of orange-yellow, with a sort of office chair set in the center and a couch across from it just about two meters away. There are no windows, but there are a few paintings framed and hanging on the walls behind the office chair and left wall adjacent to the couch—plant life and birds—and there are low cabinets sandwiching a desk lined up along the right wall adjacent, across from the door we entered through.

I stare and stare, and suddenly I’m not here. It’s not mid to late morning but early evening, and there are large windows through which sunlight slants in, bathing everything gold. I’m not being carried but walking on my own two feet toward the couch. I’m not silent but opening with a polite but genuine inquiry about how the week’s been, my therapist—who I haven’t seen in too long (or was it just last week?)—trailing behind sedately with an answer, ponderous and at ease, all mellow and unhurried tenor tones.

For just a moment my breath catches with the overwhelming sense of relief—of safety, of security.

I’m broken out of my reverie when a soft blanket is carefully wrapped around me. At some point, I’ve been placed on the center of the couch, and once Niwaki deems me suitably... blanketed, he steps away and removes a clipboard and pen from one of the drawers by the desk before reclining in the office chair.

I’m caught in a grey area between the familiar and the dissimilar, wavering between tranquility and uncertainty. Niwaki simply starts scratching away at the papers on his clipboard, glancing up from time to time as if to gauge whether I’m ready to... to talk, I think.

Psych shinobi, I recall sluggishly. Therapist, psychiatrist, some part of me whispers back. 

How was your week?

My arms finally seem to come back online as I pull the blanket around me closer, nestling into the fabric for comfort. As my eyes rove around the room, counting the inconsistencies and identifying the parallels to what I remember of a place I haven’t seen in what feels like years, I start to feel a little more settled, and grounded. My thoughts start to stick and connect as opposed to flickering briefly to the forefront only to be dispersed like so many thin wisps of smoke.

In the midst of this reclaimed serenity, I take a moment to turn my focus inward. The mass of tangled threads that my emotions and overall mental state resemble makes me want to heave a tired sigh.

I just want to cuddle with Kakashi and Sakumo and forget the world ever existed for a while. Preferably forever.

I restrain the urge to release the aforementioned sigh and bring my attention back to my surroundings, and, most prominently, to Niwaki.

The halcyon gurgle of a brook gradually reaches my ears, and I let myself just listen for a while. Water, like me, I think idly, soothed by the peaceful noise.

“A stream runs through the garden, nourishing the tree,” I murmur absently.

Niwaki’s hand stills, and his hazel gaze flicks up to meet mine.

“Oh?”

“It’s a nice sound,” I mumble a bit awkwardly, blinking rapidly, starting to feel a bit self-conscious.

Niwaki nods thoughtfully. “Would you be willing to tell me more about it?”

I feel my shoulders lower a bit at the inquiry and cock my head this way and that to hear better.

“It’s more noticeable than Tachibana-kun’s, but Tachibana-kun sounds more like vigorous gusts stirring up small swells over the surface of a pond. You sound like a river advancing along peacefully, but I get the impression that the waters might be deeper than they sound in some stretches.”

Niwaki’s neutral expression loosens somewhat, especially around his eyes, and the barest trace of an amused smile flashes across his features. “I see,” and he sounds like he does, and is entertained by the image I’ve provided him. “Is Tachibana-kun your friend?”

I feel my expression fall a bit as my mood plummets. “He’s the one who was holding me when you approached,” I answer morosely, before closing my eyes in guilt and shame. “He’s a good person.”

The sound of the pen gliding across paper reaches my ears, and I open my eyes to stare down at the shadows cast by the creases and folds of the blanket wrapped around me.

“Do you want to talk about him?” Niwaki asks after a few moments.

My insides freeze, but I nod, because I need to address this. Clamming up isn’t going to help me right now or in the long run. “He was dead,” my voice comes out flat with the faintest tremble. “I saw him push Nara out of the way of a kunai, and one of the Blue Team members took advantage of his distraction before any of my teammates or I could intervene.” My voice wavers at the end as my shelved pain starts to leak through the cracks.

“I didn’t see Nara go down. I only saw both of them again after the battle ended. At first, it looked like they were asleep—” my breath hitches and catches as tears start to well up again. A weak, mirthless laugh escapes me before I can continue. “Just taking a nap together out in the sun, like they sometimes do during breaks between classes. But I couldn’t hear them. They weren’t breathing. They were just,” the tears spill and my voice dwindles down to a strained whisper, “still, and cold. Gone. Lost.”

I take in a shaky breath that sounds more like a sob than an inhale. I look up to meet Niwaki’s eyes briefly before my gaze drops to stare unseeingly at the floor. “And I was left behind.”

I’m clutching at the blanket now. I’m not sure I could stop now even if I wanted to. “It hurt, so much. I wanted to protect them. I wanted to help them grow, to watch them live to be happy, if not to old age. I still want all of that.”

The image of children strewn lifelessly across the clearing flashes across my mind’s eye, and I flinch and gasp out another sob. “It was so scary, and unbearably sad, to see how many of us fell to each other. How easy it was. How we can expect the same the moment the war drags us in. We were all weak, even the best of us. If it had been real, if we had been facing actual enemies, I don’t think any of us would’ve survived.”

I talk and talk, working my way through the snarl of thoughts and feelings inside as if I were ripping open scabs to clear away any pus festering underneath the surface. 

This happened. This is what I felt. 

Niwaki listens, eyes never leaving me, and somehow his gaze feels like a tether, keeping me from falling off of an edge I’ve been walking along for some time now. From time to time he’ll prompt me when I flounder, ask for clarification, or add a more rational, detached perspective or observation for me to consider.

It’s just another therapy session, but this too feels like home.

Eventually, I fall silent, feeling wrung out. 

I’m not okay.

But I feel better than I did before entering this room with the Psych shinobi. And that’s something.

—

I’m not surprised, at the end of the session, when Niwaki gently recommends I be scheduled for a few more.

I nod wearily, almost relieved.

I needed this, too.

—

It turns out that once we’ve met and talked with a Psych shinobi, we’re allowed to go home for the day. I’m quietly grateful that I don’t have to sit through a handful of hours of class like this. I feel like the slightest breeze could knock me over, and the less said about my willingness to get back up again, the better.

Niwaki escorts me out of the building, and once we’re outside, looks at me askance. A long moment passes with me just standing there listlessly before he wordlessly picks me up and starts strolling towards whatever destination he has in mind. I’m honestly too exhausted to care, though when he starts humming the melody for ABCs I choke out a startled laugh, because really.

That damned song keeps sneaking up on me when I least expect it. 

Niwaki pauses in his humming. “You know the song?” he inquires curiously.

I huff a wry laugh. “It’s almost as if there’s hardly a person in Konoha that doesn’t know its melody these days.” It’s like the damn thing went viral, or something. Seriously.

“No one seems to know any words to it,” Niwaki comments idly as he skirts around a wagon. Oh, looks like we’re entering one of the merchant districts.

Pity I never learned the Japanese lyrics for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. The melody is practically the same, after all.

I hum. “I guess that means it’s up to the singer to find their own words,” I say breezily, resting my cheek on Niwaki’s shoulder.

“You think so?” the Psych shinobi wonders aloud.

“Why not?”

“I see.” He walks in silence for a few minutes. “So do you know any songs then? You didn’t seem all too fond of the one I was humming.”

I snicker. “I might know a few,” I answer easily in my amusement. “Some I know the words for, some I don’t.”

“Like what?”

I let out a considering sound as I run through the songs I know in my head. After a while, I come to a decision. I tug down my mask and start to sing quietly, head swaying gently to the imagined tempo, changing a few of the words of the song as I go.

Futari no musuko* ga arimashita

Mittsu bakari toshi no hanareta

Seikaku no chigau futari wo oya* wa tatoemashita

Hitori wa tsuki de shin no tōtta musuko* desu 

Hitori wa taiyou de hogara ni waraimasu

Sora wa hitotsu oya* no mikokoro

Taiyou mo tsuki mo

Tagai no chigau sugata wo urayamashiku omoimasu

I start whistling an approximation of the flute’s sweet solo melody, eyes closed as the notes lift and drift up and down until the next verse.

Udenoii* tsuki no sugata ni taiyou wa kogarete

Atatakai taiyou no hi ni tsuki wa kuchi wo tozashita

Majiwaru koto no nai futatsu no hoshitachi yo

Onore no sugata wo kuraberu tsumi ga aru

Sora wa hitotsu oya* no mikokoro

Taiyou mo tsuki mo

Tagai no sugata de kagayake yo

Oya* no sora no shita 

Sora wa hitotsu oya* no mikokoro

Taiyou mo tsuki mo

Tagai no chikara de kagayake yo

Oya* no sora no shita

Ru~ru~ru sora ga naku

Ru~ru~ru sora ga naku

Futari no musuko* ga arimashita

My voice trails away and my mouth stretches into a crooked, close-mouthed smile. To think I could adapt KOKIA’s Futari no Musume to the bare bones of the saga of Hagoromo, Ashura, and Indra just by tweaking a few of the lyrics...

How ironic.

“I haven’t heard that one before.”

My brooding is interrupted by Niwaki’s input. “Mm? Oh. Yeah,” I say rather unhelpfully.

There’s a long pause.

“Where did you hear it from?”

“A lady who called herself KOKIA.”

“Oh?”

A corner of my mouth twitches upward in reluctant amusement. Keep digging and you’re gonna hit bedrock, buddy, I think somewhat uncharitably. Though to be fair, if he’s working in Psych, he might also be part of the Intelligence Division, and I doubt any shinobi worth their salt from there would pass up the opportunity to fish for information. “Yeah. I didn’t know her all that well, but I remember some of her songs.”

I think Niwaki gets the hint because he changes his topic of inquiry. “Earlier, you mentioned a Sakumo. Were you referring to Hatake Sakumo?”

I nod solemnly. “He’s a precious person I want to protect,” is my prompt answer, because I have very few compunctions talking about this.

“Really? From what I’ve heard, he’s pretty strong. Are you sure he needs protecting?”

“When he’s unwilling or unable to defend himself and fight back?” I grumble tersely. “Yes, I’m sure.”

This response seems to draw Niwaki up short.

“What do you mean?” he asks cautiously.

I take some time to mull over what I want to say, noting a few familiar landmarks from when Minato took Kakashi and I out to lunch after my appointment with Yamamoto-sensei a while back.

“What’s a loyal shinobi of the Leaf to do, when the very people they’re sworn to protect turn against them?” I finally ask in turn, keeping my tone flat. “What’s a loyal shinobi of the Leaf to do, when they’re persecuted for embodying the very values the Village supposedly touts?”

Niwaki, likely sensing that I’m not done, remains silent.

I close my eyes and spread my focus outward as I take a deep breath, focusing my hearing on my surroundings, just in case.

“I don’t know much about the whole fiasco, but I have a general idea. What I don’t get,” my voice lowers, “is why an otherwise successful and once well-regarded shinobi of the Leaf who fails to recover information is loudly rebuked, when whatever led to that very information being taken in the first place isn’t even mentioned or addressed. Doesn’t make much sense to me.”

Niwaki’s stride slows.

“Missions fail sometimes, for any number of reasons, but I don’t hear people cursing the names and refusing to do business with any of those other shinobi who fall short. So why? Why, why, why, why?” I demand quietly as I turn my head to meet Niwaki’s gaze. “Why is no one else asking these questions, and why are there no answers to be had?”

My mouth twists until a snarl mars my features. “Why is the Village—meant to be home, to be safe—behaving like a far worse adversary than anything one could ever dread to encounter outside its walls: an enemy you can’t fight? Let them keep it up, and you’ll be losing the loyal shinobi you’ll need for this gods-damned war knocking at our doors.”

With an aggravated huff, I pull my mask back up and look away. After a few minutes of fuming, my anger gradually drains away to leave me feeling nearly twice as wrung out as before. I need to stop doing this to myself.

“Sorry,” I mutter dully at some point. “I’m not angry at you. I’m not entirely sure who I should be angry at, but I do know that I am angry—and frightened. Because I don’t know if Konoha truly realizes the weighty repercussions of its actions.” I hesitate for a long moment, before closing my eyes in resignation. “Because I don’t know if Kakashi realizes just how close he came to losing his father, and Konoha, its White Fang, to an early grave.”

There’s an abrupt jerk as Niwaki nearly misses a step at my soft-spoken admission. His heart rate jumps with his alarm.

It doesn’t take a genius to connect the rest of the dots, the role I played in order to come by such information.

This is me asking for help, for an intervention, in a roundabout way.

Because for all that I am mentally twenty-three years old, I am still in many ways very much a child in more than just appearance.

And children are nowhere near equipped to maintain and safeguard the mental well-being of a battle-worn shinobi.

Especially if it’s a shinobi whose views on life and death run eerily parallel to their own.

Kakashi is Sakumo’s anchor, but that’s not guaranteed to last, what with this war coming to a close and another looming not far ahead, and the fact that Sakumo committed suicide even with Kakashi still there in the story I remember.

I don’t know if I count as one, or if I even should. For all that I know, I signed my death warrant the moment I signed the Academy application forms.

I close my eyes and heave a sigh. It’s like my list of worries has no end.

A good few minutes later, I reach around and awkwardly pat Niwaki’s shoulder in consolation, earning me a puzzled sound.

“Yeah,” I sigh into the Psych shinobi’s other shoulder. “I’m not sure if you lucked out or drew the short end of the stick; I have a lot of issues.”

The quiet chuckle that the comment earns me goes a long way in lifting my mood.

—

Between the morning’s wreck of an exercise and the following endeavor of unraveling and unloading and processing in my therapy session with Niwaki (and then some), it was only a matter of time before I crashed.

I wake up with a few starts from fitful snatches of sleep with the blurry image of children lying dead searing the back of my eyelids, of the sense-memory of cold flesh and silenced pulses beneath my fingers, of the enraged and terrified and anguished screams of my classmates ringing in my ears. Niwaki is always quick to soothe me with quiet murmurs and a careful hand carding through my hair.

As far as I can gather in my more lucid moments between naps, the Psych shinobi spends nearly the entire day meandering about the streets and shopfronts of Konoha, content to carry me around like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

From time to time, I feel the telltale prickle of eyes following me, and the way that Niwaki’s hazel gaze sharpens as it flicks here and there tells me he’s aware of them as well.

Maybe part of the reason he’s wandering around Konoha like this isn’t just a whim. I have to remind myself again that Psych shinobi are often closely tied to the Intelligence Division. They live and breathe and deal in information.

What better way to get a read on someone than to observe the reactions others have towards the person in question? Niwaki must be, quite literally, having a field day.

I idly wonder what conclusions he’s drawing for all of a minute before deciding I’m nowhere near rested enough to bother with this. I’m so damn tired...

—

I wake to the sound of a familiar chakra signature preceding a familiar voice.

“Hiiragi-kun?” Minato calls, and I lift and turn my head to pinpoint the blond jounin’s location. I spot him stopped on a rooftop across the street before he leaps down to join us, his blue gaze awash with guarded concern as he notes the unfamiliar shinobi holding me. Niwaki slows his stride to allow the newcomer to catch up.

“Hey, Minato-sensei,” I mumble, resting my head back against Niwaki’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

Minato’s gaze flickers across my face as his worry overrides his suspicion. It takes only a moment for realization to overtake his drawn features. His expression softens. “I’m doing fairly well. And you?”

I close my eyes and heave a sigh. “Today... was a bit rough,” I admit quietly before opening them again. “Niwa—er,” Shit, I don’t think I’ve been given leave to use his first name, what was his surname again? “Fujiwara-san’s been helping me through it. Everyone else had to talk to a Psych shinobi as well.”

Minato glances at Niwaki, his stance loosening somewhat. “I see... Thank you, for looking after Hiiragi-kun,” he says gratefully, his gaze earnest.

Niwaki rolls the shoulder my head isn’t leaning against in a sort of half-shrug. “I’m glad to be of assistance,” he replies simply before tilting his head curiously. “You’re acquainted with each other?” 

Minato nods. “I often watch him and Kakashi whenever I’m in-Village and Hatake-san is out on a mission.”

“Minato-sensei helped teach me how to read,” I add idly, belatedly realizing that Minato could possibly get in trouble for training an Academy student without permission.

Minato gives a somewhat lopsided smile. “More like I helped supervise and curb your study binges,” he comments with faint amusement.

“I can’t stay illiterate if I want to be a good shinobi,” I grumble with absolutely no bite. “Hiragana and verbal reports will only work up to a point, and I don’t think ‘I couldn’t read the mission parameters,’ or ‘my mission report’s blank because I don’t know how to write,’ would be appreciated by those infamous Mission Desk shinobi Kushina-neesan keeps complaining to me about.”

“True,” Minato concedes with a soft snicker, and I grin wryly. 

Niwaki chuckles quietly and agrees. “Certainly, I don’t think I’ve heard anyone use those excuses before.”

“Well I certainly won’t let myself be the first, Kanji and its difficulty be damned,” I grouse. I can’t put into words how frustrating it is, to be unable to write out my thoughts and ideas clearly, to not know the words necessary for conveying what I wish to communicate, be it with the written or spoken word.

It grates all the more, seeing as I’m so fond of reading, writing, and proofreading literary works.

Here, writing everything out in my home language could put me at risk and under suspicion, so learning to better read and write a language I was only conversationally proficient in is pretty imperative.

As if sensing my increasing stress levels, Niwaki hums. “You’ll do fine.”

I blink before letting out another sigh and letting my hunched shoulders go slack.

“By the way,” Minato starts slowly. “Why are you carrying Hiiragi-kun around?”

Niwaki doesn’t miss a beat. “I don’t think he should be alone right now. If I were confident that I could find his guardian at the Hatake Compound without the risk of intruding, I would’ve taken Hiiragi-kun straight there, but...” he trails off meaningfully before continuing. “Do you know where I might be able to find Hatake-san? There are some things I need to discuss with him.”

I pause to think for a moment as Minato does the same. Judging by the orange-pink tint to the sky, it’s somewhere between early to mid-evening now, around the time we’re normally dismissed for the day.

Minato and I open our mouths almost simultaneously.

“Try the front of the Academy?”

“Maybe the Academy?”

We all blink, bemused. I send Minato a sheepish look, but he simply smiles and gestures for me to go ahead.

“The front of the Academy,” I repeat after quietly clearing my throat. “It’s where I usually meet Sakumo-san at the end of the school day.” I pause for a moment after my brief explanation. “I didn’t know we’d be let out early,” I finish tiredly, which is true. I honestly wasn’t looking forward to going back to class after participating in the exercise and follow-up therapy.

But I was resigned to it.

“That sounds like a good place to start,” Niwaki’s response cuts through my weary rumination. “Will you be joining us, Namikaze-san?”

Minato hesitates, expression torn, before heaving a sigh. “I’d like to,” he admits apologetically, “but I need to gather some of my gear and make my way towards the Main Gate. I—we’re slated to leave in about...” Minato scrutinizes the sun’s position. “Twenty or so minutes. I was on my way to my apartment when I spotted you.”

“Go,” I reply with a faint smile, trying to push my reflexive flutter of worry for the blond jounin aside. “Be careful, okay?”

Minato’s answering smile is as warm as the sun, and almost equally as hard to look at. “I will.”

Without much fanfare, Minato breaks away and disappears in the direction of his apartment. I watch after him for a few moments before letting my head fall back against Niwaki’s shoulder with a soft thump.

Niwaki’s stride turns a little more purposeful as he starts heading for the Academy. “Was he the sun you sang of earlier?” he inquires curiously, his tone ponderous. “He certainly has the smile for it.”

It takes me a moment to realize what the Psych shinobi is referring to, and I huff a soft laugh. “He certainly does,” I concede ruefully. “But no, I was thinking of something else.”

“Something else or someone else?”

I let out an amused huff before giving the question some thought. 

“Perhaps a bit of both.”

An old legend caught in a recurring feedback loop, and two boys—brothers—at odds across time. The dreams they chase, and the dust kicked up in their wakes.

I close my eyes. Thinking about this right now won’t do me any good. There are still several steps I need to take before I can so much as think of tackling the issue. Down that path lay questions and choices that have no right answer.

I really, really hate those.

—

Just as I thought, we find Sakumo waiting at the front of the Academy with a worried frown that turns anxious when he notices Niwaki’s approach, and the fact that I’m letting a stranger carry me. He visibly inhales deeply, only for his shoulders to tense further.

Hatake sense of smell confirmed. I can only imagine what he smells from someone who likely works often with the Intelligence Division (and likely by some extension, T&I) and whatever scents my more extreme emotional state(s) may generate.

Kakashi is absent, likely still away on the mission he left for this morning. He’s been getting more missions lately, and I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

“Good evening, Hatake-san,” Niwaki greets, his tone smooth and even, soothing in a sort of unobtrusive way. “My name is Fujiwara Niwaki; I was in charge of Hiiragi-kun’s therapy session and supervision today.”

“Therapy session?” Sakumo demands, his expression alarmed as his dark eyes flick over to me.

“From what I understand, Hiiragi-kun’s class underwent a trial exercise that simulated a battle not unlike what one may be expected to encounter outside of the Village. None of the students were seriously injured,” Niwaki hurries to reassure Sakumo, who looks at him, aghast, “but for a stretch of time, a majority of the students were led to believe that some of their fellow classmates were dead, or indirectly killed by their hands. As such, the need for therapy, which was mandatory for every student that participated.”

Sakumo takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “Would you mind telling me about it in more detail at the Compound?”

Niwaki nods. “Of course.”

“Hiiragi?”

I glance at Sakumo, who looks immensely tired and somewhat pained. “Will you be okay talking about it with us, or would you like to save it for later?”

I blink, surprised by the question, before taking a moment to think it over. I’m tired, mentally drained, and emotionally exhausted. But that’s hardly anything new for me. I can hang tight a little bit longer. The fitful naps I took earlier helped, somewhat.

“Can I bring my sketchbook to the table and draw while we talk?” I finally ask. It’d be something to keep my hands busy, and help soothe my soul by keeping a part of my mind separate from the conversation.

Sakumo’s gaze softens. “Of course.”

—

Sitting at the dining table with Sakumo next to me and Niwaki across from Sakumo, I’m in a doodling mood. Which basically means I’m not sure what I want to draw, so I default to wings of all different shapes, styles, and sizes. Some with feathers, others leathery like a bat’s (or dragon’s), and a handful with man-made materials and objects. 

Niwaki spent the majority of the past hour or so calmly explaining events to Sakumo, with me chiming in softly every now and then to provide further clarification or added commentary. Now he sits patiently, content to remain silent and watch as I draw while Sakumo digests this new bit of intrigue.

I move on to doodling a dozing wolf with feathery wings draped over a moon. From there I painstakingly work out some caricatures of Shichiro and Sosogu hanging out at our usual spot for lunch, a sketch of Obito beaming with a thumbs-up (it takes me a while to get his hand right) whilst wearing what I vaguely recall the Hokage hat looking like, his orange goggles dangling loosely around his neck. I sketch Kakashi in the midst of one of the katas I’ve watched him run through countless times, with three little ducklings sitting off to the side serving as his audience. A quick sketch of Sakumo smiling contentedly with his eyes closed.

(Those last few bring a faint smile to my face.)

“Do you like to draw?”

I blink and glance up at Niwaki, who’s staring at me curiously. “Ah, yeah, a bit. It’s kind of... soothing. Sort of,” I answer a bit self-consciously. After a moment’s hesitation, I push the sketchbook across the table. “You can look, if you want.”

There’s nothing that could be perceived as overtly foreign in this one. It’s mostly just people I know here or animals, a lot of birds and owls, a few attempts at sceneries with mixed results, and maybe a handful of random patterns and tessellations. And then there are copious amounts of pages dedicated to my kanji practice, some with doodles and illustrations to match images with the meanings in the characters. 

Niwaki flips the pages to start at the front of the book, hazel eyes tracing the contents of each page with careful consideration.

I watch him for a little while before resting my head on the table.

Sakumo eventually breaks the quiet. “Will Hiiragi need to attend more sessions?” he finally asks.

Niwaki glances up to meet the elder Hatake’s gaze. “I would highly recommend it,” he answers immediately. “While Hiiragi-kun is surprisingly well-adjusted and mature for his age,” here he pauses, carefully closing and setting down the sketchbook, and I close my eyes, “there is no denying the necessity of therapy after participating in such an event. He needs to work through the trauma he underwent so that it does not affect him adversely at inopportune moments.”

Sakumo nods in response, absently reaching over to run his fingers comfortingly through my hair. I open my eyes and meet the Psych shinobi’s gaze tiredly, not sure if I should be concerned or not. That protracted pause and his word choice give me the impression that he feels that something is off. He’s not wrong; it figures it’d be a shinobi equivalent to a psychiatrist to notice something not quite right with this picture.

“What do you think, Hiiragi?” Sakumo inquires.

I blink and glance at Sakumo, arching a brow. “It’s probably for the best. What I saw today...” I trail off, blinking rapidly to banish the images that immediately come to mind. I shudder and take a deep breath. “I’m not gonna lie, I feel like my mind’s a mess. And that was just an exercise, a watered-down version of what I can expect if I graduate and become a shinobi of Konoha. I need help, to prepare for and learn healthy ways to cope and handle similar situations. Who better to learn from than someone who works in Psych?”

Sakumo stares down at me solemnly.

“I’m hurting,” I continue, my voice softening as I meet his gaze. “If I don’t address it, it’ll just fester and drag me down like any other injury.”

Sakumo closes his eyes after a moment, a wry smile tilting one side of his mouth upward. “Is this you leading by example?”

I snort, because I can’t help it. “Maybe a bit,” I admit ruefully. “But I need this, too. And a nap.”

Sakumo huffs a quiet laugh. “Go on, then. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

I excuse myself with a polite nod to Niwaki, who observes the entire exchange unobtrusively, and leave for my room, humming the melody to Imogen Heap’s You Know Where To Find Me as I go.

Chapter Text

September 21, 8bNb

I wake with a start, not quite remembering what I was dreaming about, but having a fairly good idea regardless.

With a sigh, I fold my arms in front of me and rest my head  against them, waiting for my heart rate to settle. I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to sleep. So much for sleeping in on weekends...

Well. Not like I’ve been sleeping in much since arriving in this reality.

I spend a good deal of my morning reflecting on my life, and what I know of the story this reality resembles. There’s no knowing how accurate my knowledge is, but there is one thing I am certain of. I am aware of and privy to more than I probably should be. And that’s dangerous, seeing as I live in a village that has a Clan—the Yamanaka—that specializes in reading and rifling through the minds of enemies and allies alike.

I shift uneasily at the reminder. My mind is my sanctuary (even if it can get hella depressing and self-reproving and ugly from time to time), the one place I can retreat to where no one else can follow. Or, it was. If Niwaki works in Psych, then there is every possibility that he may be capable of using some of the Yamanaka techniques, or something of the like.

No offense, but even if I trusted Niwaki—or any other person—one hundred percent, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with them walking around in my head. It’s never been a pretty place, and there are things I just don’t want to share with anyone, period. 

Then there’s the whole matter of being from an entirely different reality. Of being an entirely different person, in a sense.

Long story short, I need a way to protect the contents of my head somehow, someway, and stat, seeing as I’ll likely be frequenting a building full of literal mind-readers from now on. 

The immediate solution that comes to mind is Sakura’s Inner self, but I’m honestly not sure if that was a genetic-predisposition-slash-kekkei-genkai, a medical condition caused by any number of stressors, a deliberate development, or a figment of imagination or gimmick used for comedic effect.

But the notion of having a semblance of my self capable of defending my mind as I would my body is an appealing one, I’m not gonna lie.

Though how I would go about replicating such a phenomena...

I sigh.

When in doubt, meditate.

—

It’s as I’m listening to the distant tolling of the bell tower that my Yin and Yang chakra resemble that a thought occurs to me.

Yin governs the mind, and Yang governs the body.

If I want to fortify my mind, I’ll need to incorporate the usage of Yin chakra in some way.

I think back to my first lessons on genjutsu theory with Orochimaru, of the risks of handling Yin chakra carelessly.

...

Welp, here’s to hoping this latest hare-brained idea of mine doesn’t leave me braindead. 

—

There was a stretch of time between my last year at elementary and my first year of high school where I started to seriously reflect on my past actions and their consequences, who I was as a person, and how that person appeared in the eyes of others. How that person’s actions affected others.

It was an abrupt surge of soul-searching that kickstarted when a reality check cut deeper than any blade ever could. Self-awareness never tasted so sour and bitter.

I took a long look at myself and saw someone prideful, petty and spiteful, easily offended and slow to forgive, someone jealous and possessive and selfish. I saw someone full of baseless hubris, who rarely ever bothered to take others’ feelings into account.

I saw all the ways I hurt those around me with my thoughtless, insensitive actions and words.

It was a wonder my friends remained such for as long as they did.

It was a long three years of looking at my reflection, smashing the mirror in my mind to pieces, discarding the shards I abhorred and salvaging the fragments I thought worth keeping, until I felt like I was less than half a person but all the better for it.

I was largely in the wrong; my behavior was unacceptable, and so I changed it.

It wasn’t like I underwent a complete one-eighty in terms of personality all at once, but there were some immediate changes that simply started the domino effect. In the end, I willfully went from one extreme to another. Prideful to lacking self-confidence. Loud to quiet. Always talking to keeping my mouth shut, censoring my shared thoughts, and constantly listening. Angry to remorseful. Close-minded to understanding and accepting.

If I could help it, I would never intentionally hurt someone I called friend again. I would learn to be more careful with my words and actions, try to be more conscious of my friends’ moods and plights and needs.

It wasn’t all good. My refusal to entertain anything vaguely resembling pride led to my self-esteem falling to an all-time low, leaving me depressed and unwilling to reach out to others when I took my self-recriminations too far because I didn’t think I was worthy of them or their help. I often refrained from letting myself feel or grow angry for fear of hurting others, suppressing frustration and defaulting to sorrow in its stead. I often wallowed in guilt and self-loathing, silently berating myself whenever I felt I fell short of the self-imposed standards that seemed to stand miles high. 

It was like climbing skyscrapers erected in the midst of the remains of a ruined cityscape with rusty ladders missing rungs.

I started to retreat and isolate myself from both friends and family, knowing I wasn’t okay, but unwilling to say anything. I didn’t want to bother anyone with my troubles.

I felt like I’d already done enough damage to those around me.

I’ve gotten a little better over the years. 

I was just a kid who had no clue who I wanted to be, only an idea of who I didn’t want to be.

I was a kid who feared the day they’d be discarded and left alone, who regretted all the hurtful things said and done, and almost learned too little too late to make amends. 

I hope that my friends are out there somewhere, happy, with friends that treat them with all the care and respect they can no longer receive from me, now that I’m here.

I will always miss them, and never forget the lesson I learned from almost losing them.

—

And I suppose I should thank them, for the time they shared with me, and the inspiration for what I plan on doing next.

—

The world falls away, all sounds save for the tolling of a faraway bell tower going mute as I sink deep into meditation, falling farther than I’ve ever ventured before. 

Upon opening my eyes, I find empty space, dark and formless. A blank slate. A hollow zone.

I draw upon my Yin chakra, stabilizing it with just a hint of Yang chakra to imbue what I have in mind with substance, and start giving my mind-scape shape. 

Cool water rises up to my ankles, with rough sands and earth digging lightly into the skin of my bare feet. A sky stretches above and around me, black and midnight and royal blue interrupted only by countless stars across the wide expanse, some even touching the distant glowing white horizon. An approximation of the Milky Way galaxy stretches across the sky and dips beyond the pale, ethereal glow of the horizon. It’s comprised of teal and blue and indigo as opposed to the original pinkish orange-yellow. The shallow waters reflect the night sky, providing the illusion of walking among stars.

The salt flats of Bolivia are my inspiration.

The occasional curl and wisp of silvery mist and rising auroras of teals and pale blues dancing along the surface of the water separate reality from my design.

I take a moment to pause and catch my breath. This should be enough of a base, for now. I wait a few moments, trying to get a feel for my chakra reserves. Hopefully I have enough left for what I came here to do.

I blink and a large and rectangular unadorned mirror stands before me, showing me a distorted mismatch of who I once was and who I am now, as Hiiragi. I grimace. That can’t possibly be healthy. I can’t have either giving way to the other. I take a deep breath. Moment of truth.

—

Baring my teeth in a snarl and bracing for pain, I lash out, slamming my fist into the conjured mirror, aiming for the warped face staring back at me. 

Agony whites out my vision and takes my breath away.

My reflection splinters into ten fragments—including myself, that makes the total lucky number eleven—ten reflections from the point of impact. I dig my fingers into the fractures spiderwebbing between each piece, uncaring of how the edges cut at and bite into my fingertips. I have eleven faces to work with. I need to make them count; I refuse to waste a single one. Yin and Yang chakra curl around and spread from my hands and fingers as I rearrange and reimagine my selves.

—

One to safeguard and defend the mind from unwelcome guests, and keep the other selves in check and balance.

Happy Birthday, Sentinel.

One to store and organize information both relevant and trivial.

Happy Birthday, Archivist.

One to cradle and protect the memories of the world I came from.

Happy Birthday, Predecessor.

One to cradle and protect the memories of this world I find myself in.

Happy Birthday, Scion.

One to remember and preserve the songs I have heard and learned, and have yet to learn.

Happy Birthday, Walkman.

One to secure my secrets, to keep my lips sealed, no matter what.

Happy Birthday, Silence.

One to guide my blades and hands without hesitation, to be merciless when I can’t.

Happy Birthday, Undertaker.

One to stay my blades and hands with forbearance, to extend humanity and grace when my compassion fails.

Happy Birthday, Mercy.