Flowers in the Rain
From her position at the cracked window of the western tower, Konan could see all of Amegakure. Under an endless torrent of rain, rows and rows of rugged buildings stood jaggedly with their rusty structures and twisting pipes. The few Ame shinobi who ever ventured outdoors were scattered across the many alleys as smudges of dark figures writhing their way across the gray landscape.
The cry-baby country. That had been Yahiko's jeering name for the flooded land that the three of them had—still—called home. It was forever gloomy and weeping: pouring torrents of cold rain upon the dreary, muddy lands in sweeps and mists, bringing no hope in the bleak future for an end in the rain and for glimmering rays of sunshine streaming through impossible gaps in the stony clouds.
"Konan."
The kunoichi started out of her reverie at the sound of the voice of Pein. She slipped her turquoise eyes away from the foggy glass and laid them on the orange-haired man. The man who had become her partner ever since they joined Akatsuki. The man with the body of Yahiko but the eyes of Nagato.
"What were you thinking about?" Pein inquired.
"The rain. How this country always cries," she answered quietly, speaking of the only thing settling in her thoughts.
Something flickered in Pein's glistening Rinnegan eyes, perhaps an entity akin to relieving the memory of their childhood of… pain. Konan, never able to read Pein's expressions, could only guess.
A dense silence followed her words, broken only by the steady beats of the falling rain upon the window and tower roof. Heavy dews that sufficed no pity upon the land in their harsh rattling. Droplets of water, whose every etch and every detail she remembered, had splayed upon the wild visage of Yahiko. The boy had always protected her and quiet Nagato in the aftermath of the many wars, having found her and a bleeding Nagato huddled in a small alleyway. It was how they met.
She admired Yahiko for his undying mettle. His gleaming eyes and determined grin had the power to lift her spirits even in the ghastly face of everyday torment, lifting her up from the mud towards even the smallest hint of sunny hope.
She cared gently for Nagato but also pitied him. The black-haired boy seemed to shrink in timidity and rarely desired to utter words despite a vague sense of steely hatred stemming from deep within his soul. His long bangs obscured his eyes and shrouded him in further mystery, evoking a sort of quivering trepidation in Konan.
She herself was sweet and gentle, masking her fear of the past with a small smile molded halfway into completion with Yahiko's optimism and loud rants about improving the country. Her long-time companions, paper and wrappers, helped her along the way. To flee temporarily from her suffering, she had taught herself the secrets of bending the paper likewise and the tricks of stiffening the resulting creation into perfection.
They were different and yet the same.
All three of them had all shared the same shattered childhoods that had been shredded and mangled by warfare. The same innocence in them had been tainted by spilled blood, and the same dreams they had cherished had been ripped apart by the despair of loss. And all three of them had managed to survive by clinging onto each other.
"We can't be caught," Yahiko had often declared firmly. "We don't know who out there is friend or foe."
"Can't we identify the shinobi by his hitai-ate?" Konan had asked, her eyes wide.
"No, we can't. Even some Ame-nin will cold-heartedly slaughter kids like us. It's all that bastard Hanzo's fault for turning this country into ruins," the orange-haired boy said bitterly.
Unruly orange hair that carried over into all six of Pein's bodies.
They had clung to his sage admonition. Each day became a deadly game of stealth and strain. Every one of their nerves were on high alert. The merest shuffle of a mangy dog passing through the carcasses of burnt metal. The slightest raucous croak of a drenched crow. It always sent small shockwaves down their spines.
They spent tortuous days steeped in such tension. Sometimes Konan almost couldn't bear it any longer—she wanted to break free and get out! Dash out into the wide open space and free from the impaling rain! But Yahiko always stopped her from making the cut with the shard of glass or caught her before she plummeted into the rushing river.
"It'll be over eventually, Konan," he said gently.
His eyes glimmered reassuringly, and it was then that Konan felt safest: when she was in his presence, his hands gripping her shoulders in a consoling way. She felt soothed, and the rain softened into rolling mists.
"When I stop this war, I'll plant a garden of flowers just for you!" he grinned.
She smiled and nodded, holding the promise close to her heart and cherishing it like a treasure. Because it was a treasure: her only possession that was truly hers and that sang with shimmering hope.
It was also thanks to Yahiko's resolve and vigor that made Jiraiya-sensei linger in Ame to train the three of them. With the power to control their chakra, they grew stronger and mastered new jutsu. Yet Yahiko's training was not fast enough to stop one of Hanzo's foot soldiers from striking him with a fatal blow.
She stared in great horror at the pools of blood that had gushed out of the wound in his chest. A hollow ringing pounded in her ear; someone kept screaming his name. No! No, no, no, nonononono—he couldn't die! Who was going to show her the field of flowers he had promised to plant for her? Who was going to cheer her up when she fell into darkness and stop her from sinking into the churning waters of eternal darkness? Who was going to stop the war and finally bring peace to the land?
Then Konan finally realized it was her own voice that was screaming.
The rest ensued in an instance, a swirl of gray and red. The frozen temperature chilled her to the bone and numbed her conscience: she was indifferent; she was alone. All she remembered next was a full glorious land of crimson corpses streamed out in the rain.
And the sludge of red that dyed Nagato's hands and face.
Yahiko had planted for her a field of fleshy, red flowers.
"You… you didn't have to kill all of them…" Konan whispered in a jagged tone.
The boy turned to face her, his Rinnegan eyes glowing viciously.
"It was necessary," Nagato returned in a soft, harsh voice. "They killed Yahiko. I had to kill them to stop them from killing."
"Yahiko-kun was only stealing food from them! It doesn't make sense to kill so many lives just because of—"
"Are you saying he meant nothing to you?" Nagato roared.
Konan lapsed into a stunned silence wracked by dry sobs. Nothing fell from her eyes but the rain.
"Yahiko is our friend! He was always the one to volunteer to find our next meal. He was the one who made Jiraiya-sensei stay to teach us ninjutsu. He was the one who looked out for us!
"And he had a dream to stop this country from crying! I will fulfill his dream for him! I will emerge as a new being and stop this violence with violence!
"Never forget this, Konan," hissed Nagato. "We must honor Yahiko. I will remember our friend by taking his body… our dreams will become one…"
"Nagato-kun, what are you talking about?" cried Konan.
Tears, mingling with the rain, began streaming down Nagato's stolid eyes as he lifted Yahiko's corpse from the dark mud.
Suddenly, Konan felt a stab of hatred towards the boy, the one laying his blood-soaked hands on Yahiko and grinning madly into the latter's pale face. She hated Nagato, hated him and wanted to scream at him to let go, let go of Yahiko and let him rest in peace… but her voice and body were frozen, congealed into ice by the rain.
"We will become one…" Nagato whispered, "and together we will become the most powerful shinobi in the world…"
Time stood still as the boy tugged the kunai lodged in Yahiko's chest out of the soft flesh.
And crimson paint dripped out from his creation in thick gushes as he plunged the metal into his own chest and there was an explosion of scarlet unfurling upon the muddy earth brimming with turmoil under the howls of the skies. And throughout the land, one could hear a scream nestled in the winds of the storm, resonating from the crumbling throat of a terrified, blue-haired girl.
Lightning flashed. When the haze cleared, Konan saw a single boy standing in front of her, his back turned towards her. The hair was orange.
"Yahiko-kun…?" she breathed almost silently.
Then she berated herself for her foolishness and her naiveté for believing it could be Yahiko because it was true: this was not the Yahiko she knew and loved.
He had frightening eyes, eyes of concentric circles swirling in the midst of vivid colors.
Her heart pounded hollowly in throbbing apprehension and grief.
"Nagato-kun?" she ventured timidly. A voice laced with fear and hatred.
The stranger smiled. Yahiko's smile. With Nagato's eyes.
"The boy you know as Nagato has died," he said smoothly. "He released the full power of the Rinnegan, and with the sacrifice of both boys, gave birth to a new being: pain. I am the pain of this country. I embrace its suffering. I am called Pein."
Pein of Yahiko's smile and Nagato's eyes took a step towards her, his bare feet sloshing into the clump of broken red flowers.
"I will save this country from pain by inflicting my own pain on the enemy. And—" (the shadow of a wild grin from Konan's memory flitted across his face) "—it will no longer be a cry-baby country."
He looked right into her wide aquamarine eyes.
"Let's go, Konan."
She retained her gaze outside the blurred, broken window of the tower. Apathy—neither admiration nor hatred nor fear—infused her heart. She didn't care about anything; she had been alone for years now, with only her origami and fading memories to keep her company.
Now the only thing she knew and could do was to follow his orders as the Angel of God that faithfully carried out his will. Yahiko would have wanted it despite the unfeasibility of it all. And nothing else mattered anymore.
"Hai… Pein."
They stepped outside the tower, into the rain, into the bare field of unseen flowers withering into nothingness. Flowers that coveted within their petals the dreams of undying hope of the weeping land. Flowers that no longer existed.
Forever the cry-baby country.
A/N: Sort of PeinxKonan (or YahikoxKonanxNagato..) and my speculation of how Pein came about. Ending was meant to be vague, though what I meant is that Yahiko/Nagato's dream of ending the violence only results in more violence and thus more rain; their dream of peace will never be achieved, as symbolized by the withering "flowers" of hope.
Please review! :)