Where devils rest their heads
- chapter two -
Shinobi from Kumogakure snatched Hinata Hyuga from her bed, and succeeded in bringing her back to their village. Hinata grows up in the camp of the Institute of Research, where her worth is determined by her Byakugan and her ability to kill. But her aptitude in combat does not go unnoticed by certain powerful parties, and when Hinata is thrust onto the battlefield, it becomes harder and harder to know whom to be loyal to, as the lines between good and bad begin to blur.
.
.
.
Hinata willed her skin not to crawl as she stared out of the village. Her feet dangled off the trunk she was sitting on, kicked the heels against the wood. Strips of bark floated to the ground – a few leaves held on by a silvery spider thread.
"If you're just going to let us work, you better go," Daisuke said. He rubbed a big hand over his face. He twisted his features, as if the silence was physically painful. "Hell-o? What are you even staring at?"
Hinata wondered if they shared the same view, and tried to see what it must have looked to him. The houses, crudely chiseled out of the rocks, circling around the mountains, and the red metal bridges that ran from peak to peak. She felt miniature and tiny next to those structures of dirt and steel. Perception was a funny thing.
"This is my first time." She let her head fall back and looked at the sky. No birds or clouds. The wind whipped loose strands around her face, into her mouth.
"First time? What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Seeing the village."
"Don't they let you out?" Daisuke's brows were creased. He laid a hand on his bicep and softly kneaded there, rolling the dark skin between his fingers. There were wounds on his hands, only just scabbing over.
"N-No." She didn't want to talk about the camp. Daisuke's face, slack in its confusion, and with his greasy, black hair blown back against his scalp made her wonder what she looked like to him; still wearing her IOC uniform, a gleaming Division pin on her breastpocket. Skin unmarred, hair well-kept. A child playing dress up.
Daisuke opened his mouth, but Hinata was quicker. "Let's get back to work," she said, and swallowed her stutter.
She walked past him, a tremble in her fingertips, and picked up the log. She dug her fingers deep into the bark; the wood pulverized under her nails. The air smelled of wildness, a certain savagery.
"Yeah," Daisuke said. Then a pause, and a rattle in his chest. "Yeah."
He grabbed the other end of the log, and together they went up the steep stairs.
After three D-ranks, Hinata ached all over, and was ready to beg for a real mission. They had cut wood for an old lady at the base of one of the mountains, had watched three children for a young couple, and had shoveled and weeded a grand garden for an elderly man with a perpetually disinterested expression on his face.
Sensei's glittering eyes, and the twitching smile playing around his mouth, kept her from making her displeasure known. She didn't want to seem ungrateful, after all. But Rin had no such inclinations.
"Listen," he started, "I get that we have to train our new Konoha rat, but we managed B-ranks, so what do you say, Sensei?"
Hinata sniffed the air. It smelled of dust and pine needles, the cold sharp and familiar. Sensei led their group out of the mission office, unto the street. She wanted to close her eyes and let herself be warmed by the pleasant afternoon sun. It blazed down on her scalp, and her skin burned in places that her hair didn't cover.
She was too wildly excited to be in the Village. Her hands kept spasming at her sides, restless for movement, and her Byakugan kept flaring up, to take it all in; the houses that were chiseled out of the mountains, the villagers that scurried like ants over the red-painted bridges.
"You don't work flawlessly together," Sensei said. The stores they passed were opened, lights dim behind the glass. A few store owners nodded respectfully at their group. "While your taijutsu and Daisuke's kenjutsu is more than chunin-worthy, Hinata here has not yet gotten used to your movements."
"I-It will only be a while," Hinata offered, and then flinched, as Rin's aggressive gaze came to rest on her. "Hopefully."
"It better be," Daisuke grumbled in reply, and unsheathed his knife. The curved blade gleamed silver as it reflected the sunlight, and Hinata came to a sudden halt at the sight. Her own hands fumbled for a kunai, but the pouch wouldn't budge under her fingers.
"Calm down, rat," Rin said and laughed in her face. "Geez, are all newbies like this?"
Daisuke ran a finger over the blade, and drew some blood, but didn't reply.
"We're going to try to get you adjusted to your teammates' styles, Hinata," Sensei's low voice said. Something about the gleam in his irises made her hatches rise. "And we're going to figure out exactly what style you prefer."
.
.
.
Daisuke crouched low in front of her, and spun his dagger between his fingers. Hinata watched how his chest rose with every breath, completely at ease. His scarf was wrapped tightly around the lower half of his face, and slung back over his shoulders.
In the distance, metal clattered. Hinata could just make out two blurry figures racing at each other, through the tangle of trunks around them. Rin's feral cry echoed over the training field.
"Ready?" Daisuke's voice was low enough to be almost intelligible. His grip around his dagger was white-knuckled; the powerful tendons in his forearms twitched.
"A-Always."
Hinata pushed herself off the ground and extended her leg in a kick at Daisuke's head. A hand snaked around her ankle, and the world blurred as she was pulled towards the ground. Hinata brought her hands up, pressed them against his chest. A blast of chakra, and Daisuke was thrown off her and smacked against the ground.
Breathing heavily, they regarded each other in silence. Daisuke leapt up, body arched with tension, and his dagger slashed through the air. She whipped her head back, felt her neck muscles strain, and brought her knee up.
It smacked into his stomach, but that didn't seem to phase him. The dagger came again, quicker this time. It slashed her shoulder. It was only the adrenaline that thrummed through her veins that kept her silent, though she could feel her muscles contract. Hinata brought her senbon and kunai up at the glitter of silver in the sunlight, and parried Daisuke's next slash.
A hand came around the weapons, grabbed her wrist, and pulled. A kick to her side made her gasp in pain, a strangled cry rolling over her tongue.
"That's enough for today, I think," Daisuke said. He sounded breathless.
"You're quick," Daisuke heaved, after they collapsed together in a rocky alcove. Sweat glistened on his forehead. "Your taijutsu is pretty standard, but it's decent. I didn't know they trained you that well at the IOC."
"You graduate when you're ready," Hinata offered quietly. She was gasping for air, and for once the blazing sun was less than pleasant. The rays edged up her chest, and her sunburned shoulders jerked under the warmth.
"The file said that your chakra control was above average as well."
Sensei stepped up, followed by Rin, whose clothes were cut up in various place. His hips were stained with green, blades of grass plastered to the fabric of his trousers, and blood had trailed a lazy line over his cheek.
His green eyes zeroed in on them. They flicked over Daisuke, who lifted a hand in a greeting, a smile tugged in his cheek, and then focused on Hinata's shoulder, where her gash was sluggishly oozing blood in small rivulets.
"Tch. When you're injured, you come to me, fool," Rin grumbled, and crouched beside her. His hands glowed green, and he pressed them against her skin. The chakra came in as a cold blast. A pressure against her skin, as if she was being submerged in water. She could feel it far beneath her skin.
Hinata's Byakugan flared to life, before she could actively stop it, and she watched as Rin's chakra circled and accumulated around his hands. It rolled through his coils with a force and a quickness that she had never seen before.
The concentrated chakra was almost to bright to look at, but she forced herself to watch as her gash slowly knitted together. Newly, unmarred skin – as if there had never been a wound.
"Daisuke is our close-combat specialist," Sensei said, eyes glittering. "Rin takes to long distance, as his status as medic must not be compromised. But his aim is excellent."
Hinata's hand crept up to her chest and squeezed her Division pin.
"Your eyes are good for tracking," he continued, "but I was thinking you could be a real surprise. All-seeing eyes, lithe and nimble statue, and decent chakra control." Sensei tilted his head, and though she felt both her teammates' eyes on her, feral green and glowing brown, she couldn't look away from her teacher's chiseled face.
"How would you like to be an assassin, Hinata?"
.
.
.
Keiko knocked on her door.
"I got a letter from my mother," she said, as she pushed past Hinata, and proceeded into the apartment. Now that they were Genin, they occupied the homes within an apartment complex on one of the other peaks.
Hinata's two-chamber apartment grew dark in the early afternoon, and the shadows slithered over a sunken couch, and a wooden flooring that squeaked under the slightest weight. But it was hers, in a way that the barrack at the camp had never been. Here she was Hinata, and not patient number 133, report to Lab 5c.
They slouched onto her bed, and ignored the aggravatingly loud protests of the bed springs. Hinata waited quietly, the silence an invitation. Keiko remained silent and propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze on the ceiling.
"Kaa-san sent me a present," she spoke up. One of her hands was curled around the waistband of her trousers, while the other pinched the fabric of her flak jacket. "It's one of the first in years."
She lifted a hand and dropped a tiny doll in Hinata's lap. It was made of straw, with a pink dress, with a flowery pattern. Two buttons, one big, one small, served as eyes. Hinata trailed them with a finger.
"P-pretty," Hinata said carefully, while she kept her gaze on her friend's face. Family had always been in difficult topic in the camp, and was only seldomly talked about; mostly in fights, meant to hurt. She knew Keiko's mother still had a special place in her friend's heart.
"It is, isn't it? She sad she made one for my litle brother too. I think she's forgetting that I'm almost thirteen."
"How is she doing?"
"The same as always. At least, I think she is. Her letters have always been vague."
"And your brother?" Hinata had no brothers – she didn't even have a family. It only made her sad when she heard Keiko talking about hers, and then only because of the look of nostalgia and longing on Keiko's face. It was hard to miss something she had never had, Hinata supposed.
"Better. He's a bit sickly, but mom's sending him to a civilian school. He won't be joining the IOR, that's for sure."
There was no bitterness in Keiko's voice, but neither was it kind or forgiving. Hinata watched her for a moment, and then pressed the doll back in her hands.
"A-are you going to visit them?" she asked quietly. "You can, you know. Now that we're ninja."
Keiko sighed, and pivoted slightly – leapt up from the bed, all taut grace. Her hair was tied up on her head in a bun, and frizzy, orange flyaways framed her face. They danced with her movements, bounced up and down her cheeks, as she paced the room.
"Would you go to your family, if you could?" she asked. Hinata's breath stuttered in her throat, and she grabbed the duvet, pulled it to her chest. A glance at her fingers made her loosen her grip; her knuckles were white.
"Because that's the same. When you don't see them for years, but are aware of their existence, can you even claim to love them? I have no idea what they're like, after all this time."
"I don't know," Hinata found herself saying. A staircase in midsummer heat, the glint of a Konoha headband. A voice saying this is your home now. All of that meant something, but not as much as she expected it to. Those were just memories, and there were bigger things to worry about. "I don't know."
Keiko came to sit beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders. Her body cast a pleasant warmth over her.
"Let's sleep," she said. "Somehow I haven't managed it without you close."
Hinata snaked a hand around her wrist and squeezed.
"Let's," she said, and let her eyes slip close.
.
.
.
The following morning, Sensei took her to the furthest peak. They walked quickly, shivering pine needles in their hair, their breaths steaming up the air. Hinata took the time to observe her teacher. A slim, and shallow face, with a chin too sharp and a hawk-like nose. Narrow eyes, black and glittering.
"W-Who was here before me?"
They stepped onto one of the red bridges, and the wind swept her words away. It pounded angrily against her form, and she had to plant her heels in the metal to keep her standing. In the distance, the sky bled grey, and dark rain clouds loomed ominously.
A storm was coming.
"A girl," Sensei said, voice rough. He grabbed her by the elbow, almost dragging her behind him. "Channel chakra to your feet. That is easier."
She did as she was told, though the sticky sensation was less than pleasant. "I-I'm not that good at it yet," she explained, and hurried after Sensei. The wind cast her hair into her face. "Who was she?"
"Mariko," Sensei said, with a glance. His features were tight. "She was about Rin's age. Wanted to be Raikage, when she grew up."
"What happened to her?"
"Kiri nin killed her. A slash to her neck, and it was over. Rin couldn't save her. It reminded me how much blood our bodies possess."
Hinata felt herself shiver, and knew it wasn't from the cold wind that bit at her face, and penetrated her clothing. She had heard stories at the camp, and knew the reality of a shinobi, but it had never felt close.
"I'm going to make sure you don't face the same end," Sensei said. They stepped off the bridge, onto the uneven ground. Above her, rocks loomed, tilted as if they were loose and could fall at any moment.
"I'm bringing you to Ayano Sato." Hinata's breath stuttered to a halt. Staring wildly up at her teacher, she wondered if she had heard him correctly. The Dream Devil, whose smiles were poisonous, and whose words strung lies in your ears. Her bingo book entry was almost blank, but her status was firmly at the top: A-rank.
They stopped in front of a house, though it could hardly be called that. A round structure was crudely chiseled out of the mountain. The few round windows were dark and dirty. A filled watertank was tucked to the side, along with two withering plants.
"Go on in. She's expecting you."
Hinata stepped forward and closed her hand around the doorknob. The cold radiated through her hand. "Won't you be coming with me?"
Her teacher didn't reply. She peered over her shoulder, but the place that Sensei had occupied was traitorously empty.
Inside, the smell of wet cushions and detergent warmed up the air. The Dream Devil was seated in a rickety armchair by one of the round windows. A light breeze came in from the window, and played with her long, dark strands. Her face was older than Hinata had imagined; wrinkled, pockmarked. Her eyes were big and bulged slightly in the sockets, shadowed by long, brown lashes.
"Somehow they always bring me kunoichis."
The woman's voice was rough and throaty. She did not seem at all alarmed by Hinata's presence, and instead calmly and deftly rose from the armchair. "Somehow they think girls will appreciate the art more. As if gender has anything to do with it."
The red yukata swished around her legs. She walked over to the back wall, where tapestries and hand-written notes were plastered all over the wall. Drawings of coal - a dozen of portraits, with only the eyes colored in. A crude drawing of a fly, trees dark and teal behind it. A sharp moon in the sky.
Flies buzzed by the windows. "The weak and the meek – they want me to carve something out of it. Most come here with thoughts of fame. They never last long."
"W-Will you – w-would you teach me?" Hinata's voice stuttered in her throat, and she almost choked on her tongue. The buzzing grew louder, folded itself around her. A thousand crickets began to sing.
"No," Ayano said. "That's what they don't get. There's nothing to teach."
The fly on the picture began to move. It twitched against the paper, and its translucent wings shimmered in the dim light of the fire. An ember snapped. Smoke billowed up from the hearth, writhed like a living thing against the ceiling and the walls. The smoke twisted and contorted the drawings on the wall; they seemed to come alive, to move over their paper. A choking fog. Hinata couldn't tear her gaze away.
Filth settled down on her skin, sticky like oil. She wanted to wash it away, this chaos, this -
"Every mind is different," Ayano said. The fire flicked back, and the insects quieted. She sat back down in the armchair, and beckoned Hinata closer. "Is that your greatest asset? Your mind?"
The answer came to her, too quick and too honest. "No," Hinata said, and held Ayano's gaze, barely blinking. "I think that would be kindness."
The woman laughed. The sound was harsh and cutting, a cackle. She slapped Hinata on the arm. "Your greatest asset is telling people exactly what they wish to hear?"
The fly wrung itself through the paper and buzzed through the room. It landed on Hinata's knuckle, tiny body twitching, and lifted the two front paws to wash,
"I can work with that," Ayano said finally, after a long silence. "I can definitely work with that."
.
.
.
A/N:
Apparently I cannot write battle scenes. I hope this is a satisfactory second chapter. Next up: Hinata's first mission!
Please, leave a review (it would make my day), and if you have any tips or criticism, do share.