"They're dead. Dead. All of them are dead!"

"Hush, Minato-"

"Ikilled, them, Kushina! It only took a second and now they're all dead!"

"Don't talk like this. Let me help you."

"Don't come near me! I-I- I have to go."

"Minato-"

"No!"

The two voices rise abruptly in the middle of the night, disrupting the uneasy peace that hangs over the shadowed vale. The first one – the tenor – is warbling unsteadily. The second – the alto – remains uncharacteristically calm, albeit laced with anxiety. At the edge of the camp, two figures stand, cloaked by the darkness that pervades the night, hidden from sight, but not from sound.

She fears neither; only for her companion.

Wild eyes stare back at her, eyes she has never seen so desperate, so afraid. Her lover is like a caged beast, one ready to tear apart the first obstacle in his path to oblivion. In his state, she fears the first he will tear to shreds is himself.

"It isn't your fault, Minato," she tries again, as steadily as she can muster. Tentatively, she takes a step towards him and touches his arm. He flinches away as if she burned him.

"I killed them all," he whimpers in a suddenly childlike lament and, in a second, he is gone, tearing through the surrounding trees, barely a streak of yellow vanishing in the gloom. And she is after him, but cannot hope to keep up with his speed. All she can do is trail behind him and pray that, by the time she catches him, he will still be in a salvageable state.

He runs, leaps, soars through the treetops as if he could fly for heartbeats at a time. He blinks; his eyes are dry and painful. He doesn't know how long he has been running, whether it's been a minute or a lifetime. Time blurs past like the little branches that claw at his face, drawing blood that the wind hastens to drag off his face. He runs as fast as his legs will carry him, breath hissing past his lips in short, desperate gasps. His cerulean eyes, usually so calm and warm, are now wide in horror and pain, mirror to a broken soul.

He runs, but his body can't keep up with the pace he has set. Eventually, his foot catches on a branch and he is sent shooting to the forested earth, landing in an untidy heap. The breath has been knocked out of him and he has bruises all over, but still he won't close his eyes, as if doing so will bring back the faces.

Their faces.

"Please throw these kunai into the glade at my signal," the young, but steady voice instructs, grim concentration painted on his features. The four comrades in his cell look at him uncertainly, glancing from his crouched figure to the numerous tri-pronged kunai they have been given, a paper tag wrapped around each handle.

"There are too many of them, Minato. We should turn back and call for reinforcements," an Uchiha says. Truly, there are too many of them, but they both know there is no time for backup.

"Throw the kunai," he repeats confidently. His squad captain frowns, but there is nothing but calm certainly in the young man's eyes. Nodding, he signals to the other members to follow the blond jounin's orders.

A nod has them get into their positions, forming a half-moon around the battalion of Iwa-nin. A hand signal has them readying their supplied weapons. A snap has them launching the deadly projectiles.

A throat is suddenly slit open, crimson lifeblood pouring out of the gaping wound. A knife is forced into the eye socket, popping the orb and puncturing the brain. Two daggers puncture two hearts simultaneously. A neck is snapped, a jugular pierced, a chest blown open, instantly, without mercy.

It's over before they can blink twice.

The young jounin is left standing alone near the edge of the massacre, one hand at eye level, holding one of his kunai. Blood permeates every fiber of his being and a length of intestine has tightly coiled itself around his forearm. As an afterthought, almost, those kunai that did not remain in their victims' bodies thud to the ground amidst the bodies that had fallen too suddenly, too unnaturally. His comrades say nothing, staring in awe at the blond as he flicks the blood off his kunai with one brisk flick, seemingly unaware of the entrails still firmly attached to his arm. They meet his eyes, and they are empty.

For a moment, he lies panting hard, stretched out on his back against the coarse forest shrubbery. Wide blue eyes stare unseeingly at the canopy above him.

He groans.

As if the sound frees him from a trance, the blond curls up on his side, a sob slipping past his lips, followed by another moan of anguish. Fingers clutch at the long strands of hair that frame his face, trying in vain to distract himself from the hollow feeling in his chest. In the silence, it's almost as if he can hear his victims calling to him from Hell.

"Wh-what have I done?!" he mewls to himself. Finally, he gives in to the tears and lays there, holding himself as the droplets stream down his face. He tries to snuffle the cries against his arms, but doesn't succeed. Groan after tortured groan slips past his lips, as if a knife is being twisted in his chest.

Kushina finds him like that, breathlessly dropping down to the ground. For a heartbeat, she freezes, gazing uncertainly at the tortured man she has never seen in so much pain. Finally, she moves forward, sitting down by his side and gingerly touching his damp hair. Tears rise in her own eyes.

"Oh, Minato…" she whispers, having to force the words past the tightness of her throat. "Why did you do this to yourself…?" She says no more, just sits, stroking his hair as he cries. She wants to look away, but something tells her to watch, to share the agony with him.

It feels like an eternity before the sobs start coming more slowly, the trembling receding. When he lies still, her hand slips from his head to his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Come on, move a little," she says as coaxingly as she can. "Put your head in my lap." For a moment, she's afraid he won't respond to her. But he does. She can't help the relief flowing through her as he shifts, resting his head and shoulders on her crossed legs, one arm supporting his head. She can see his face now, even if he is staring off to the side; his eyes are bloodshot, face pale as chalk. The misery painted on his face almost makes her want to cry again.

"Hush now…" she says lamely, stroking his hair again. She tries to cup his cheek, but he flinches away from her touch and she withdraws. Occasionally, his breathing tightens, as if a heavy burden is pressing down on his chest, but he heaves it anxiously. His fists keep clenching and unclenching. Her hand hurts from where she's managed to ensnare one of his own sweaty ones, but she doesn't dare mention it or complain.

"I killed them all."

The voice is soft and anguished, barely above a whisper. It breaks her heart to hear him so forlorn, so lost. He bites his lip, blinking rapidly.

"Minato…" she sighs again, resting her hand on his shoulder. "It… it wasn't your fault." They both know those words are empty, hollow. It ishis fault.

"I chose to come here. Ichose to use the Hiraishin like this. I'm the only one to blame for this," he retorts forcefully, his entire face scrunching up with the effort of holding back more tears.

"If you hadn't come, we'd all be dead," Kushina points out firmly, her hand tightening on his shoulder. "If you hadn't arrived, Iwa would have wiped us all out and taken the border. You know this. Please… Pleasedon't beat yourself up over it." A tense silence hangs over them, only making Kushina more frightened. She wishes she could read her lover's mind; understand what he was thinking, so that she could set him straight.

"It was necessary…" he says softly, face calm and relaxed.

"Yes," she replies, relieved. "Yes, it was, Minato. You saved us all. Aren't the Village, your comrades' lives more important than the lives of those Iwa-nin?"

"Of course they are," he drones mechanically. Suddenly, the tension flows out of him completely, leaving him limp, as if the weight of the world were pressing down on him. "We're shinobi. Nothing means more to us than defending the village. If we don't fight, we're going to lose this war, and our friends will die for nothing." He recites. "I know this and yet…"

"Yet?" Kushina prompts him softly, her eyes wide.

"And yet, it feels wrong," he says doubtfully. "This... Even if we win, it won't be what Jiraiya-sensei wanted, what I wanted. It won't be true peace. I would only be strengthening the cycle of hatred and pain that exists in this world, Kushina. I'd be making it worse! There will be hundredsof friends, loved ones of those shinobi I kill that will thirst for revenge. Even if the war ends, it won't be peace. It'll be just another respite before the next one starts," he rants angrily, the words tumbling out faster than normal. Kushina stares down at him for a moment, then smiles as tenderly as her heart can muster, cupping his cheek and turning him to face her.

"Minato…" she begins softly, blinking away a few tears. "You're being such an idiot." At his startled look, she can't help but chuckle wryly. "You're taking on the burden all by yourself, as usual. You can't create peace all by yourself," she tells him fondly, brushing her thumb against his cheek. "You have to rely on others just as much as yourself and work together to create a world where peace can exist. That's the only way it'll last," she breathes gently. Minato remains frozen, staring up into her eyes with wide ones of his own, blinking. Doubt is written clearly on his face, doubt and uncertainty.

"If it were that easy to change the world, Jiraiya-sensei would have done it by now."

"Jiraiya's already old, Minato. It's time for the newer generation to take charge and try to shape the world." She can tell he's listening, but isn't convinced. "Weren't you the one claiming you would be Hokage?" she taunts on a whim.

"Some Hokage I would make," he snorts bitterly

"Minato! What the hell?"

The Hokage's supposed to be a great man, someone the village can look up to and trust to lead them. He has to be wise and strong, like Sandaime-sama, not a murderer like me." A flash of anger and annoyance crosses his face as she gasps. "What?" he snaps. "I'm just telling the truth." Though he's angry, he's also clearly miserable at the confession.

"You're not a murderer, Minato!" Kushina exclaims, now her turn to grow angry.

"You can't deny it," he snaps back, then sighs. "The people I killed… They-they didn't get a chance to defend themselves. They couldn't flee or surrender. They were just… just sheep, waiting to be slaughtered. And I'm the one who did it. Even if they had to die for Konoha, I was the one who did it!. In cold blood. Unflinchingly. And… It was so easy! I killed hundreds of enemy shinobi, many of whom could have easily been jounin, with not a single wound. What does that make me? A heartless executioner? A god of life and death? I don't want to be either," he begins ranting again, talking faster and faster as the words spill out.

"I think," she began slowly," that that's who you could become, if you let yourself." His eyes flicker to her, surprised and defiant. "War has that effect on many people, Minato, whether they kill just a few, or hundreds. Heck, we shinobi face the same thing every day. Yet, for every unhinged psychopath, there are people like Jiraiya and Sandaime-sama, who can sleep at night. They kill, not murder. And I know you, Minato. You don't take pleasure in killing. If… If you keep your humanity in all this, you'll come out somewhat whole in the end, like the rest of us." She can tell he wants to believe her, but is too hesitant. Before she can say anything else, both start and look up; they can feel three chakra signatures speeding towards them.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Minato sighs in exasperation, covering his face with his arm. Kushina bites her lip, but tries to put on a smile for their visitors.

"Hey, you three," she greets them as Obito, Rin and Kakashi jump down to the ground in front of them. At any other time, she would be glad to see her lover's team, but now feels like an inappropriate time.

"Is… Is Sensei okay?" Rin asks for the group nervously, glancing down at the prone figure of their teacher.

"He will be. He just needed to vent a little," she explains. Perhaps it isn't the full truth, but a little white lie here and there doesn't hurt. She knows that if he wants to, Minato will tell them. As if right on cue, she feels his muscles tense as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, dropping his hand between his knees. If his students are surprised by his pallor or red-rimmed eyes they don't react openly.

"I'm fine," he addresses them shortly, pausing a little to clear his throat. "Go on, back to camp. All three of you. There might still be Iwa-nin about, and I'd rather avoid another skirmish." His gaze remains steady as he scrutinizes them, trying to figure out what they're thinking. Kakashi is unreadable, but the fact alone that he's constructed a mask so carefully already shows that the news has affected him. As for Obito and Rin, he can clearly tell they're both repulsed and worried. He can't help but feel touched and tries to let go of his annoyance at their interruption.

"Sensei, we…" Rin begin weakly, but stops, unsure how to interpret his tone and expression. A long pause stretches over them as they wait for him to gather his thoughts. They want to ask, but do not dare. He wants to tell them, but isn't sure how.

"Look," he sighs at last, tone frank and heavy. "What… what I did is possibly the most horrible thing I will ever do in my life. It was an atrocity, and I sincerely hope you never have to follow in my footsteps. However, it was necessary for the village. I know that doesn't make it okay, but it makes it bearable. At least, it should." He winces as the final words fall off his tongue. He wishes he didn't sound so stiff.

"Maybe you should be telling yourself that, Sensei." Rin interjects softly, catching him by surprise. Meeting her gaze, he can see that she understands and sympathizes. Even more, he can clearly make out the relief; relief that her sensei isn't a heartless murderer after all. He pauses, regarding his team with an unreadable expression, then finally breaks into a small, warm smile. The gesture visibly relaxes his students,

"Thank you," he says sincerely, his voice thick with emotion. "Whatever you hear at camp… Know that I'm not proud of it- of any of it. And you shouldn't be, either. Ever. In fact, I'm more than glad you're not. You're better than that. Now, head on back to camp. We'll be back soon." Now it's their turn to smile back, nodding their heads. As they turn to jump back into the trees, he feels a gentle hand on his back and instinctively, he can't help call one final thing after his team. "Thank you." They turn around to smile at him reassuringly as they leave.

Once the three chuunin are gone, Minato goes back to brooding, biting his lip. Kushina watches him for a while, knowing he has to think things over, possibly in private.

"Let's head back," she offers after a while. Wordlessly, he gets to his feet.

When they return to camp, he's thankful that no throng of people descends on him. Instead, people call out to him as he passes, grin or pat him on the back. He's relieved they're not going into length and simply nods in reply, moving on before they can start a proper conversation. The fact that everyone seems to think him a hero is dampening his spirits even more, until he meets Nara Shikaku's eyes. True to his nature, the Nara says nothing, just nods. But Minato can tell he knows, and approves. With Kushina standing beside him, he feels a little bit better.

That night, he cannot sleep, Kushina's words weighing heaving on his mind. Though they say nothing, he knows his team is braving the night with him, as he has done for them in the past.

It takes him some time to finally see what his lover has known all that time. By then, he is known as Konoha's Yellow Flash, a flee-on-sight decree decorating him. Again, it takes time before he can take some pride in his achievements.

Two years later, he thinks back to that day and remembers. He knows now what he has to do, what to strive for with all his might. Not just as the Yellow flash, but as the Yondaime Hokage.