He had learned to expect it, even after all these years, that it would still hurt. He considered it his duty to ignore it, as if someone out there cared how hard and impassive he was, like it was just another hurdle he had to leap over for the sake of family.
And once upon a time there was a country, and a village in the country, where it was always raining but nobody ever minded because they knew it was just god telling them he was there, to love, to be loved, to pass judgment on their everyday motions. Upon occasion an outsider would complain but they would all shake their heads and leave the poor man to nurse his third pint of beer in silence.
Therein lies the castle.
This castle was made of iron and stone and power and sweat and blood and who-knows-what else holding it all together. The story went that it was a giant that a past hero had turned into stone, hollowed out, and lived in, but those who were a little older grinned and remembered when they had put the last stone atop the structure's head one damp and cool day. The story was just to scare little children; how that was in fact accomplished is anyone's guess.
In any case, the castle currently housed a god and his angel, come to Earth to pass a hand of judgment and control over the land that had been wet for so long it no longer remembered what dry was. The god in question was currently sleeping. Or at least trying to sleep, anyway, for he was thinking about various plans he had yet to put into action.
The god-on-earth shifted on his bed, moving onto his side. His headache was steadily decreasing thanks to whatever it was She had given him for it, and he nearly smiled before catching himself and reprimanding whatever small gland somewhere deep in his brain that was giving him 'happy' because gods did not have 'happy' and he was a god.
Yes, yes he was. …No, that was not an undercurrent of doubt. Definitely not.
--
Somewhere else in the house the angel yawned.
--
A normal person would have walked up the stairs, the man concluded, but he preferred his own style of subterranean travel to that of normal people. After all, he was anything but normal.
His two giant Venus flytrap jaws that towered far above his head quivered ever-so-slightly in anticipation before becoming still once again, and he heard the man who was god give him permission to enter.
"Reporting in," said the strange man softly, giving an awkward little bow, which tipped his plant-jaws and nearly toppled him over. "The target has left the country and is now seeking employment in a ninja village towards the western border of Fire."
"Very well," croaked the god-who-was-man before clearing his throat. "Thank you again, Zetsu. Dismissed."
With another of those funny little bows the plant man phased through the floor and was gone.
The god-who-was-man sighed and flopped back onto his bed and continued to toss and turn restlessly for the rest of the day (most of his business was conducted at night, not that they could tell, for the ever-present rain-clouds blocked off their view of any sun that might be there.)
--
If his calculations were correct, there had been little or no overspending within the last financial quarter. This was very pleasing, as it meant he had no need to rush about collecting and making money. The dark figure in the dim room shifted a little, then stood up from his chair where he had been working his sums, and stretched. The crack of his joints made him think of the old man most would consider him to be, and he smiled slightly, knowing that even as he lived and stood and breathed he was exceeding all sorts of expectations.
This man ambled over to the bed on which his partner-in-crime (quite literally, in fact) was asleep and snoring, and poked him until he was awake.
"Whuh? We under attack?" mumbled the groggy male, running a hand through his silvery hair as he was apt to do when he was nervous or, indeed, sleepy. (He detested bed-head.)
"No, we're not under attack," said the strange man, quiet and calm. He waited until the other had sat up properly before explaining. "We have no over-expenditures this quarter."
The smaller of the two frowned absently, still mostly asleep. "An' thass why you woke me up?" he drawled lazily.
The strange man said nothing.
"Imma go back to sleep." He lay back down, arranged himself, ran a hand through his hair, and closed his eyes before muttering "Asshole." at his partner and falling asleep.
After a few moments in which he contemplated his own sleepiness, the strange man got up, puttered over to the couch, stole a blanket from his partner who didn't notice, fast asleep as he was, and went to sleep on said piece of (nice, comfy) furniture.