Author's Note: I know that this update is a long time in coming, but... okay, well, there's no excusing me not writing this chapter sooner.

I really hope you guys are still willing to read on. To make up for it, this story is over twice as long as both of the other chapter's combined. Plus, it leaves me in a good place to keep going.

So? Review and let me know that you guys are still out there. I really hope I didn't wait so long to write it that the fan base died...

Oh, and I might have skimped on the proofreading some... just a little. I'll do it tomorrow, when I don't have class in 7 hours. Just let me know if you catch any that are absolutely devastating to your ability to read the story. The minor stuff I'll fix later. Thanks in advance!

Spring
by
Taka Momos

Haku woke to the sounds of explosions, dulled by the thick concrete walls. Adrenaline surged as he tried to find his orientation in the dark room. Gunshots and the roaring of motorcycle engines soon followed, shouts fading into the distance.

The door opened, light slipping inside the darkened room, as a bleeding Zabuza casually walked in.

"What's happening? A-are you okay!? Wh – uhh..." his thoughts of panic collapsed into a jumbled mess as the dizziness from standing so suddenly took its toll. Zabuza smirked as he watched the smaller figure stagger, taking steps forward to brace a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to help stabilize him.

"Turf war, some assholes threw a few grenades down the stairs – we're fine. We sent a few people after them. You feelin' good enough to help us clean up?" Haku nodded as he found his legs, taking a catalog of what parts of his body still screamed in agony – his head was throbbing, his arms ached in a dull pain, and his left leg caused him to limp. He slowly made his into the other room, using Zabuza to lean against when he needed to.

"What do you need me to do?" As he walked out the doorway, Haku looked around the room illuminated by the glow of orange, neon signs. Shattered glass littered the floor, though, other than an area near the stairwell he remembered as the entrance that was charred and showed signs of cracks in the concrete, the club seemed to be relatively in tact.

"You're just gonna be dressing wounds, nothin' too big. You'll get to meet a few of the guys. I don't want you getting' too friendly with most of 'em, but there's a few you can trust. You'll know who they are." Haku nodded, wondering how dangerous the others must be.

Grumbling, dirty men entered the room, all with minor scrapes and bruises – none of which seemed life-threatening. Zabuza put a firm hand on his shoulder, stopped him, as he reached over his head for a small, beaten box with small, brown spots that looked to be faded bloodstains. Zabuza once again eased him forward towards a large, muscular man, easily three times his own size, before setting the box down and opening it up.

"Alright, here's what you do." He picked up a roll of bandaging and a bottle. "You're just doing cuts. If it's still bleeding, don't worry about it. There might be some dirt and stuff still in it. Just pour this stuff on it," as he poured the bubbling liquid over the cut, making the man flinch, "and wrap it a few times. It's simple." Zabuza demonstrated wrapping before handing him the roll.

"So I just walk up to hurt people and ask them if they want me to do it? Or...?" Zabuza thought for a moment before clearing his throat and shouting to the men in the room.

"Listen up! This is Haku, he's cleanin' the small stuff. The rest of you go to Doc to get checked!" Haku tried to hide his embarrassment as the entire room stopped to look at him. Zabuza noticed his discomfort, though decided to busy himself with other things – knowing that he was incapable at dealing with weakness, particularly in a way that would make the situation easier on the young teen.

The first to walk up to Haku was a large man, well-built with large muscles on his torso. His skin was the sickliest color he'd ever seen – an odd shade of pale, light blue. The man smiled, baring a set of sharply pointed teeth. Long, thing, almost pointed fingers protruded from the hand that stretched out before him.

"Nice to meet ya, name's Kisame." Haku offered his own shaky, sweaty hand, weakly meeting the man's shake.

"That's a limp-dick handshake ya got, kid." Haku's muscles seized in fear as the man once again barred his teeth in a wicked smile. He stuttered, unsure what to say. "Y-yeah... what do I need to clean?" Kisame leaned down and jerked the left leg of his pants up, exposing a deep cut in the fleshy part of his calf.

"Just a scrape, nothin' much." Haku stared at the wound – still oozing crimson from beneath the cracks of dried blood and dirt.

"Zabuza told me to only clean small wounds. That looks kind of serious..." Kisame just waved it off. "I've gotten paper cuts worse than this." Haku stared at him for a moment longer before pouring the liquid into the cut. Kisame grunted as the bubbling hissed loudly. Haku was careful about wrapping the injured leg, wanting to make sure it was done exactly the same way Zabuza had done it. He wrapped it tightly, making sure that the entire wound was covered, before securing it by tucking it underneath itself and tying it off firmly.

"Thanks kid, owe ya one." Kisame began to walk away, but stopped and, after a moment, bent down to whisper into Haku's ear. "If any dumbasses give you trouble, come find me. I'll deal with them." Haku stared into the larger man's eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity, before nodding. Kisame flashed one last smile before heading back up the stairs, leaving Haku to wonder just how dangerous some of the others must be that he'd need to be warned twice.

The rest of the time spent cleaning and bandaging was, for the most part, uneventful. Haku gladly resigned to the awkward silence most of the men who came up to him regarded him with – from what he could gather from their personalities, Zabuza and Kisame's warnings were slightly understated.

Many of the men had a look in their eyes – an anger, indiscriminate of to whom it was directed, hardened by years of street-life. Their eyes, clouded with such an anger, looked like stone – dirtied windows into souls numbed by drugs and hatred. From the many scars Haku could see on the flesh exposed to them, most, if not all, of the men around him were by no means new to violence.

Though, he could say that about himself. If he took the time to think about, the only difference between himself and these men was their response to the violence around them. While they searched for strength, a way to defend themselves by becoming as deadly as the dangers they faced, Haku had grown up blending in – hiding within the ruins of the the abandoned buildings, scavenging food anywhere he could find it. Where the men around him stole their food from others, Haku hunted rats and other vermin, ate insects if he was hungry enough. While the men around him killed for water, Haku settled for anything he could find – be it dirty puddles, stagnate pools in the sewers, or, if he were lucky, water running in rivers on the ground during rainstorms. If he had a bucket, or other such tool, around him in one of his many hiding places, he could collect the water while it was raining and have enough for possibly a week.

He oftentimes wondered, though, why the different responses were so extreme. Sure, he was weak – he'd spent a large portion of his life an orphan. His entire teen years, and most of his childhood. Only in his infancy did he have parents. But he didn't think about them.

Haku tied off the bandage of the man he was treating. The man flashed him an odd look – something alike to curiosity, fascination, or even lust. It was a look he'd seen before. The man's chuckle as he walk away wordlessly sent a violent shiver down his spine, turned his stomach. Gang members always did drugs – there were no exceptions. Painkillers for their wounds, or narcotics to increase the sensations of war, to fuel the brutality they got off on. That look was the look of a man who'd become a slave to their drug-driven violence. They were the men he feared most. While most thugs, especially leaders, resembled businessmen in their methods and logic, the lowly members who had fried their brains with drugs were dangerous because of their lack of logic and thirst for violence of the most heinous of ways.

They were men who could could achieve sexual satisfaction not by the act of rape, but by the slow, cruel, bloody murders of their victims. They could almost replicate the high of any drug by the torture they loved. The screams of their victims were far better than any orgasm. He'd only once made the mistake of wandering too close to a "crackhouse" – the term given to the hideout of gangs that were made up of nothing but these junkies. Their victims, or at least what was left of them, were displayed all around. Limbless, headless bodies hung from streelights by chains, the ground had an eerie glow of red – so much blood having stained the pavement that it would never be rid of its worn, grayish-red color. Limbs were strewn all over the area. Bodies were even positioned in sexual displays – objects inserted into the body, either anally or used to decorate gashes in the flesh, were on some of the victims. Others were impaled on stakes sticking out of the ground. Even still, others were clearly used for gratification – legs spread, tears in the flesh and cum stains evidence of their use. He could still remember the stench of death; it still brought up bile from his stomach.

He'd been lucky to escape. The screams of one of their victims rang loud in the air – sending him running as fast as he could. Where there was one of the junkies, there were others nearby.

A flash of blue skin brought Haku back to the present – out of his nightmares that had become dulled by time and exposure. He had to shake off the lingering sense of fear that gripped him whenever certain memories of his experiences clawed their way back into his memory. Kisame was dragging a long-haired raven behind him, the other clearly unwilling to follow him. While the struggle wasn't physical, Haku could tell the man wasn't happy to be manhandled. Even while being dragged forcefully, he had an air of grace and poise about him. Kisame walked towards him, grabbing for the first-aid kit. The raven began to speak, but Kisame silenced him quickly.

"Haku, this is Itachi. Itachi – Haku." Haku nodded his greeting, meeting the other's eyes. His eyes were hard – harder than most. And yet, they lacked the same lifelessness he saw in most. Where other eyes were made of stone, his were still made of glass – clear and full of color. Though his angry expression remained.

"Hey Haku, mind if I borrow that chair?" Nodding, Haku stood. He was surprised to see Kisame violently push Itachi down into it, kneeling down before the now-sitting man with a pair of tweezers in his hand. Itachi sat quietly, his expression far more livid than the usual anger his demeanor suggested he frequently displayed.

"Dumbass, goin' 'nd gettin' your hand cut up..." He heard Kisame mutter, the kindness he'd seen before struggling to stay afloat in the ocean of anger the man was clearly feeling.

"Would you prefer to be picking the glass out of my face? Because if that's what you want, I'll gladly go back and ask the man to try again. I'm sure he'll succeed if I keep myself from stopping him like you suggest." Haku couldn't understand Kisame's reaction to the deadpanned sarcasm – a lightning-like anger flashed in his eyes as he looked up, though Haku could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Can I help?" Haku asked. As amusing as he found the exchange, he still disliked conflict. It amazed him – even despite a lifetime of abuse, fighting rats for food in the dirty floor of a crumbling building, after a lifetime of being numbed by the most gruesome of sights and treatment by thugs, drug dealers, and con artists, he was still bothered by conflict.

"No, I'll be cleaning this. I'd just about fight you for the honor." The pale man flashed a toothy grin, before quickly grabbing for the bottle Haku had placed on the table by the chair. Itachi struggled, attempting to force his way out of the chair, but Kisame forced his back by twisting the hand he held firmly. Stilled by the pressure on his wrist, he grunted as the liquid was poured over his hand. Kisame grinned wickedly, seeming to enjoy the pain Itachi was in. Itachi struggled to retain his grace, though his clenched jaw and knuckles white from their grip on the side of the chair. Wiping the hand off with his shirt, Kisame began wrapping it in bandages, smile still plastered on his face.

"It's funny, ya know. Everyone thinks my little 'tachi's this big bad sadist – "

"Shut up."

"But in reality he's just a masochist who likes to inflict his own kinks on others..."

"Shut up."

"Admit it. As much as you're willing to hurt others, when it comes right down to it you love it when you're gettin' choked or whipped or spanked while gettin' drilled up your ass." Itachi's uninjured hand shot out, grabbing the other man's hair, wrenching his head back to look up into his eyes.

"Shut. Up." Kisame's smile never wavered, and, after a moment of silence, he began to chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah. Remind me to replace that stick up your ass with my – " A knee connected firmly with the loose jaw, snapping it shut with a loud pop, as Itachi stood. Haku sat, awkwardness tightening his nerves, silent from the conversation that had quickly turned far more erotic than he'd expected. Kisame once again chuckled as he stood, his casual nature returning as he looked Haku in the eyes.

"That's Itachi. Don't mind him, he's like that with everyone. If anyone bugs you and you can't find me or Zabuza, you can go to him too. Don't mind that ass-face he gets – no matter how stuck up he may seem, he'll still watch out for you. He'll act like he doesn't care, but deep down he's a just a nice guy." Haku nodded, unsure if he should ask the question circling in his head. Kisame quickly picked up on this.

"What?" Haku shook his head furiously, but the confused, pressing expression on Kisame's face urged him on.

"It just... I didn't know you were... g-gay." Haku kept his eyes locked firmly on the floor, but shot up in surprise when Kisame's laughter exploded close to his face.

"Nawww! I ain't gay. I just – "

"Will fuck anything he can fit his cock in." Zabuza's voice came from behind the large man. Kisame turned around, teeth barred as he grinned. Haku picked up a sense of pride run across the shark's face.

"And Itachi's just fucked up. He'd bang a girl as fast as anyone else if it weren't for his twisted sense of pride. But then he turns around and likes it when Kisame works him over. Guy's got some serious control issues." Haku settled for nodding, unsure of what to say. Zabuza was more social than he'd expected. He and Kisame began a conversation, while Haku let himself drift back to sitting in the chair, head buried in his hands. He jolted when a hand gripped his shoulder.

"Come on." Zabuza was kneeling in front of him, offering his back for Haku to climb on. Unsure, Haku wrapped his arms around the muscular neck, feeling a sense of weightlessness as strong arms wrapped his legs around the strong torso and held them firmly in place, before he was lifted into the air. It wasn't until his world spun from the change in altitude that he realized how tired he had become. Zabuza carried him back into the room he'd slept in the days before, walking them both over straight to the bed before gently lowering Haku onto the mattress.

"You're still recovering, so if you feel weak then come in here and lay down."

"I'm sorry," Haku said as he cast his eyes down, "but I really wasn't feeling too tired! And I just wanted to help." Zabuza curled a finger under Haku's chin, lifting his head up to meet his own eyes. He searched Haku's face, before gently pushing on his chest until he reclined back on the mattress.

"Get some sleep." He began to turn and walk away, but Haku flung his hand out blindly, a strangled cry straining from his throat as his grip found only empty air.

"W-wait!" The heavy steps stopped. He looked up to see Zabuza staring at him blandly, only the smallest trace of confusion in his features. Haku felt a burning heat erupt across his cheeks, sending waves of sickness throughout his body as the heat met the chills of fear as he thought about being alone in a club with some of the men he'd seen. He couldn't shake a certain fear tugging at his chest when he thought about the bodies he'd seen, mutilated by the hedonistic addicts he had come to fear from his life alone on the streets.

His mind screamed for him to say that simple word. Stay. He tried, but all he could manage was a throaty groan as the syllable caught in his throat. Relief flooded into his body when Zabuza seemed to understand, walking back towards him. He stopped, and Haku could see him thinking the situation over. Finally, Zabuza let out a deep sigh.

"Move over. I got shit to do tomorrow, and I'm not gonna do it with my muscles sore cause I slept on a concrete floor all night." Haku nodded, unable to hide the excitement of such a weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He shifted on the bed as Zabuza walked towards the door, shutting it while flipping a switch – turning on an orange, neon sign hanging on the wall. The shape was a symbol he'd never seen before.

The mattress was suddenly much smaller as he pressed against the hard wall, allowing room for them both. He looked over to check the amount of room Zabuza would have to catch the man working the button of his jeans. The zipper growled, before he began working the pants down his thighs. Zabuza sat, kicking off his jeans and leaving them on the floor. Blood once again pooled in Haku's cheeks as he watched Zabuza lift his shirt above his head – firm muscles all across his back rippling as more and more skin became exposed. He could feel his breathing become heated and shallow as he stared at the sculpted shoulder blades – then the rounded, shoulders as his entire back became exposed. He quickly turned around and buried his head in his arms before he was caught staring.

The sound of the shirt joining the pants in a pile of clothes on the ground was the last sound heard, before he could feel the heat of the man's back against his own as they lay close to each other. Haku's hormones raced faster the more he tried to calm himself – a part of him longed to turn around and bury himself into muscles of the man who'd offered him a rare sense of security in his life.

After what seemed like an eternity, he heard the man's breathing even out into a gentle rhythm. He did his best to fight his urges, but finally gave in. He turned over, and gently leaned closer – until finally he felt his forehead connect with the hard muscle of the back he'd been admiring.

It wasn't all that he wanted, but it would be enough – discrete enough as well – to find him sleep.

Some time during the night, Haku woke from an unnerving dream that must have had him turning in his sleep. Images of the bodies he'd long-since learned to take as signs of nearby danger filled his sleep – and, yet, it wasn't a nightmare. The countless times he'd had similar dreams, he'd woken in a cold sweat, panting and scrambling to vomit somewhere away from whatever he was using as a bed. But this time – there wasn't fear so much as... discomfort.

As he regained more of his senses, he realized he was surrounded by warmth – a blazing heat burning against his back, encircling his waist, ghosting the shell of his ear. He pressed back, meeting what he immediately recognized as the muscles of a strong, well-toned chest. The orange glow of the light eased him out of the panic he'd ordinarily experience, reminding him of where he was.

And, more importantly, who was holding him against their half-naked body.

His mind was sounding all sorts of alarms about the situation, but his body begged for – revelled in – the attention it was getting. The soft puffs of warm breath against his scalp, as well as the feeling of strong arms holding him in their loose embrace, lulled him back into a comfortable sleep – something he'd rarely experienced in his life.

An unfamiliar warmth swelled in his chest – his body almost rejecting it. It wasn't nausea, pain, or suffocation.

He'd heard about it before, but never experienced.

It was... happiness.

Author's Note: Again – I'm really sorry, and I hope this chapter made up for the wait you guys had to endure.

Please review, I'd love to know what you think about the story. Or even the casual comment about enjoying it or not liking it or whatever is fine. Reviews let me know you guys are out there, and I'll take even a simple "Hi" over silence!