Life seemed to blur together after that, more so then it was before. Dad had to work, so often I would be deposited into some sort baby day-care. I didn't care for it much, and spent most of the time hiding away with a blanket from the other kids.
Everytime Dad came back for me I was ecstatic, and he would scoop me up into his arms. He always, always said the same thing everytime. "Missed you, baby boy!

My routine didn't change much aside from daycare, still mostly eating and sleeping, but now most of it was spent with strangers faces passing me by. After I was eventually picked up, I'd spend the evening like always, just him and me. It was….special, except morning would come and everything looped right back to the beginning again.

Dad's smile wasn't as bright anymore. He was perpetually worried it seemed, every time he wasn't directly interacting with me, a sort of melancholy fell over him. An unintended side effect was that Dad talked to me more, less in a baby-talk way, and more of a narrating his life sort of way. I picked up words and their meanings much faster after that, which meant life became slightly less boring, which wasn't saying much.

But still, life progressed. I made my milestones in the simple things. In my motor control, or strength gathering in my tiny, somewhat useless limbs. Then came the beginnings of solid foods, which was both heaven and hell.

I have always been a picky eater. I liked what I liked, and refused what I didn't know out of fear, and how it smelled. Textures had always been an issue, as had strong potent smells such as from tomatoes and mushrooms. I had partially expected this to go away with my reincarnation, after all, my new baby brain would have new pathways, right? Old issues would disappear, wouldn't they?

I found that it didn't quite work like that. I was an adult consciousness working with a child's brain. I was used to thinking in certain ways, which resulted in paths being created rapidly that were familiar to me. So, food was once more a tedious event. Something's stayed the same. I hated tomatoes and mushrooms with a passion, throwing a tiny baby fit any time Dad came near me with them, even if he was eating his cooked mushrooms a bit too close to me, close enough for the smell to work it's say to my little nose. Squashes were barely tolerated, as where things like green beans or peas.
Other things, however, changed with time and perseverance. Fish, which once was only a small and mildly tolerated part of my diet, became a big one. Dad always seemed to have fish around in the house, almost for every meal. So, I to found myself enjoying it in all its forms. I found enjoyment in more types of fruit and vegetables, depending on how they were cooked of course. To soft and I refused, which was much more accepted when one was a baby and not a twenty-something adult. I shamelessly took advantage of this.

Teething was a pain in my tiny little ass, but Dad plied me mostly with bits of frozen fruits, such as small slices of peaches, and some plastic rings that were used exclusively to gnaw on. (I didn't want to put tiny teeth marks in my rattling kunai, after all.)

I had about four teeth to my name, and a fairly good grasp of understanding Konoha's verison of japanese, when Mom came home.

Dad had been getting letters from Mom every few weeks, which he had been reading to me eagerly each time they came, sometimes more than once, always going quite and skipping what I assumed to be the more depressing aspects of war. (A lot of what Dad read to me from the letters were comments and questions about me, about missing Dad or things to do together some time. Mom's letters always sounded so lonely.) One letter came however, and Dad perked up in a way I barely remembered from my first month of new life. He was bright with life, after that letter. Fussing over me and the house, doing his work with a pep in his step. In those moments, he looked so young and happy. It was infectious.

Pretty soon, one evening after Dad had come home from work, Mom came through the door.

I remember how Dad swept her up in his arms, laughing and crying all in one motion. Soon I was brought into the fold, pressed into Mom's arms like a gift. I was papping her face with my hand, a little grin on my face, but I was mostly using this as a chance to get a good look at her.

Her hair had lost its luster, and there were lines of exhaustion on her smiling face. Her eye where as bright as ever, a spark inside of them I didn't think would ever go away. They were such a warm gold, that I felt like the sun was shining on me everytime she looked at me. I could understand why Dad loved her.
Even though her clothes were dirty, and fraying in some spots with clear patchwork in others. But it was Mom, a woman who had been fading from my memory but so alive in Dad's. I was glad to have her back.

"Yasu-kun! You're so big! Has your Daddy been taking good care of you?" Mom cooed, bouncing me in her arms.

"Ha-baa pff btt." Was my elegant reply, but I think she got my meaning, as her eyes met my own. (That was the first time I wondered what my own eye color was.)

Dad circled us both in his long, twiggy arms. "Yasu-kun here has been perfectly content, I'll have you know!" He grinned, bending low to press his face into Mom's neck. "We've missed you though. I've missed you." I barely caught his words, as muffled as they were.

Those words changed the mood in the room immediately. I ducked my own little head into Mom's chest, trying in vain to hide from the sadness that suddenly took over.

"I have to go, you know that. It's-"

"Your job, who you are. I know, I just worry."

Mom hummed at that, and we went about our life.

Taking pictures seemed to be Dad's new favorite pastime, as he always seemed to be snapping pictures at every opportunity. Mom spent most of her time with me, and as a result I stopped going to the daycare for a time. She got to know the pitfalls of my dietary habits, and the eternal struggle that was getting me OUT of a bath before I caught a cold by the cooling water. Being a little shit, I made sure no-one ever left that bathroom without getting as soaked as I had been.

Eventually the joy faded. The family meals and outings didn't last, because soon enough Mom left again, and Dad seemed to wither in her absence. I didn't miss her, not like Dad did, but my heart longed for my family to be whole and happy again.

I began to mark the passage of time by teeth. Two more teeth, and Mom was home again. Gone before the next two. Back after four more teeth.

She was gone more than she was home. (This was my normal, just me and Dad, in a bubble of our own making.)

I began to walk in earnest, toddling after Dad around the house. Once I got it down the first time, nobody could stop me, but Dad never once tried. Words spilled from my mouth more and more, pestering for one thing after another, mostly books to be honest. My first birthday was a small affair. I got a little party and treat at daycare, and a little celebration at home with Dad. I already knew my family was pretty insular, but that was a shock to me, for the first time realizing I had never meet a friend of my parents. Dad didn't seem to have any friends, and who even knew about Mom. For the most part, it was just us. I didn't see it as the warning it should have been.

I think, aside from me, Mom was Dad's whole life. He seemed to live solely for her, and by smaller margins, me. He thrived in her presence like a flower at bloom, and shriveled away when she wasn't. Oh sure, he tried, but I could see that he was weary and worried.

It was, after all, the Third Shinobi War, and Mom was off fighting it, leaving Dad alone clutching her letters to his chest every time they came.

There wasn't really anything of substance in my childhood aside from that. I learned to talk, but found no words to engage my Dad in any meaningful way. I walk better and better,until it was once more second nature. My teeth came in, I grew, Mom came and went. I learned to read and submerged myself. For all I knew this world to be one of ninja's, my life was entirely civilian.

I was barely four, when the War began to teeter to an end. Mom was home a little more often now, and Dad was looking better. I thought things were looking up. My hair was settling on a nice shade of cobalt blue, which was a pleasant and unexpected surprise, and I clearly inherited my eyes from Mom. Her's may have been warm gold, but I think mine were bright in contrast.

(Sometimes in my more playful moments of self indulgence, I grabbed Les the Surviorwolf and pretended we were werewolf brothers. I howled and prowled around the house, crafting tales of my own internal turmoil as one cursed by the moon itself. Other times, I pretended that this was my pack, my territory, and it must be protected. Dad would always laugh when he caught me. "Love you, baby boy." he would whisper as he put me to bed, a kiss to my forehead and Les tucked in beside me.)

I was excited the moment I fully realized what was happening, mind swirling with possibilities now that the war was ending and life was smooth out into something a little less patchwork.

I should have known. How many stories have I read in my two lives? How many fanfics OF those stories? I should have known that things would fall apart. What reincarnated life is ever portrayed as an easy one, after all?

Mom died as the war was ending, killed in one of the last skirmishes, on October 23rd.

(They came to the door, like in some old WW1 movie, dressed in uniform and faces burdened by the task given to them.)

Dad just…..broke, after that. He moved in silted steps, and no other color but black seemed to be in his immediate wardrobe. The funeral was obnoxiously sunny, and it was for the rest of the shinobi killed in recent times, not just Mom. I walked behind Dad to lay a flower before her picture, sniffling a little as I did so. After all, I would go an entire life without a mother now, with only memories of warm gold to haunt me at night.

Less then month later, the village was swarmed with the joy and celebration. The War was over, official and signed in piles of paperwork on November 17th.

Dad took me home in silence, his eyes empty, his actions and movements stilted and forced. Our house had been so silent and cold since Mom died, just stepping back inside through the doors felt like stepping into a graveyard. Dad fed me, kissed my head with a lovingly whispered 'Love you, baby boy.', and sent me off to sleep.

( dreamed that night, crystal clear and vibrant. Dad was laughing, swinging Mom around in his arms, kissing her for all he was worth. Mom looked sad, but I could see how her fingers clutched the front of his shirt. My father was so much taller than my mother, never more apparent than now. He towered over her, long arms suddenly stretching out around her. They twisted and snapped, clothing and skin melding together until they become wood. They embraced, and I watched as they melted together into a towering tree, growing unnaturally in speed as it climbed into the skies, bright red leaves glistening in the sun.

A moment, of peace, then panic. I cried soundlessly into the void around me, trying to call them back. They did not respond, did not call back. But the leaves fell, rain came, and suddenly I am alone in the eye of a hurricane. I keep screaming, but if any sound left my lips, it was eaten by the swirling red leaves.

I jerk awake, the darkness of my room a strangely comforting sensation compared to the red leaves of my dream. I think about sneaking into my Dad's bed with him, but I shake my head and open the window instead. I crawl back into bed, dream already fuzzy around the edges. (The next time I wake, I remember nothing of my dream, except for the feeling of loss and a storm of red around me.)

I found my father's body in a drying pool of blood in the morning.