Losing Mom was like a slap to the face. Sudden, and sharp in a way that left me reeling. But it didn't last, and faded to a bitter memory before long. I didn't feel her loss deep in my bones, purely because she was gone so often, and I barely knew her, in the long run. I knew her eyes, her smile and laugh. But I didn't know her struggles or sorrows, or anything that made her human. Perhaps being reborn had made me somewhat numb, because I felt like I should have been far more broken then I was when she died. (I felt numb about a lot of things now, so I shoved them down so deep that they got lost, and I thought of them no more.)

Losing Dad was different.

He was the one who took care of me. Who kissed my head every night, made my food and taught me to read. He was a man who loved with everything he was, whose loss and pain easy to see in every move he made. My Dad was an open book to me, I could read him as easily as I could the words in my book.

He was the man who loved mushrooms in his food, but always ate them away from me because he knew the smell irritated me. He was the one who sometimes refilled the bath with warm water for me so I could keep playing in the water, leaving only when my fingers and toes were wrinkled and pruny. He hoarded Mom's letters, but read to me only the good, to spare me. Nights when work was tough, and his shoulders sagged with the weight of the world, he made tea for us and let me read to him, patient with my mispronunciations and awkward readings.

He was effectively my whole world, my only human contact, seeing as I spent almost all my time at the daycare reading instead of trying to socialize, since at this age, all of my peers were actually four years old, unlike me. I spent those hours waiting for him to come back, because the world seemed to be on pause when he wasn't there.

Finding his body that morning pulled all the air from my body, leaving me frozen and helpless and gasping for the air stolen from my lungs.

I did the only thing I could think of, with my eyes starting to sting with warnings of things to come.

I rushed to him.

"Dad? Daddy!" I collapsed down next to him, hands shaking as I reached for him. Dad was leaning back against the kitchen sink, a knife scattered next to him, covered in blood from the gashes in his wrists. His skin was so pale, so cold. I almost couldn't bare to look at his face, his open eyes glazed and unseeing. The dishes in the sink were above him, half finished.

"Don't do this to me, please Dad." I cupped his head, the child in me desperately hoping my touch would revive him. It cold to the touch of the hand I had cradling his face. He did not awake. I burned under his unseeing gaze. I pressed my ear to his chest anyway, when I couldn't find a pulse in his neck.

"You meanie!" I cried, pushing my little face into his shirt. Oh, how I wished his arms would move and hug me again. "I know you loved Mom," I whispered, "...but didn't you love me to? Wasn't I enough?" My whole body was shuddering with the force of my tears and I collapsed into his lap, curling up tight against him.

I just wanted to feel safe, and Dad always made me feel safe. (His lap wasn't warm. His lap was always warm.)

Dad felt stiff under me. "Don't leave me alone...please don't leave me alone." I croaked. "I don't know why I'm here, I can't do this by myself."

That didn't change the fact that I was alone though.

Alone in a cold house with a corpse of a man who didn't love me enough to stay.

Eventually I spent all my tears, and pulled myself away from my once-father. I didn't know how long I had been there, but I was tired. So, so tired. By this point, my little set of matching light-blue pj's with tiny clouds on them, were covered by splotches of dark, sticky blood. (He used to love these pj's.)

I couldn't bring myself to care about my appearance, as I stood on my tiptoes to open the front door, and out onto the street.

It was early afternoon. We lived in a small house in the poorer area of the shinobi districts, where the half-shinobi, half-civilian families grouped together. As such, the closest house was barely 30 seconds from our...my, front door. By this point, people were milling about talking, walking to and from a thousand places I didn't care to know about.

Things happened rather fast after that, once the people on the street saw me. The first half-screamed announcement of 'Oh my god! alerted everyone in the area to my presence.

The Military Police came, I was ushered about here and there. At some point somebody got me cleaned up and into a fresh pair of clothes, but I couldn't remember who or when. Everything was a daze. I know I was asked questions, and that I answered, and that I was told things that I hadn't known before. But it all went over my head, because I was lost, and so alone.

At some point, someone escorted me back, shielding me from everything but my own room. Someone had argued against me going back inside within my earshot, but I had quietly interrupted and voiced my intention to go. (I still couldn't believe this, and despite the adults best attempts, I still looked past and saw the blood stained tiles. My father's corpse was gone.)

There, they helped me gather what clothes I could into a few garbage bags, leaving everything else behind. Everything but the most minimal of the details of that day faded to a blur. I was escorted somewhere, and shown a single bed in a room of many. They set my bags down, forced some food into me, then, blessedly, they let me sleep.

"Yasu-chan! Can you say Daddy? Come on baby boy, can you say Daddy?"

"Come here, Yasu-chan! Daddy's going to show you how to prepare mackerel! Did you know Daddy does this for work? Come here, Yasu-chan, Daddy's going to teach you everything he knows."

"Yasu-chan! You're growing so tall, baby boy! Mom will be so surprised when she comes home…."

"Yasu-chan!~"

"That's my boy! Look at you, so grown up, my precious baby boy."

"Yasu-chan."

"Goodnight, Yasu-chan. Daddy loves you, baby boy."

My dreams tormented me that night. Memories of a father who loved so deeply, but never enough. I twisted and turned, waking up with quiet sobs time and time again, stifling what I could and burying the rest in my rough pillow, until I fell asleep and it started all over again.

The next morning, I was woken gently by a boy a little older than me. His silver hair hung around his head, bangs tickling the large circular glasses that covered gentle eyes. (He pitied me, this I knew.) I was groggy, tired from sleep that wasn't at all restful. I blinked up at him, and let him tug me away with a gentle grip from the rest of the sleeping children in the large main room. I followed silently, mind rebooting from it's dead state, until I was pulled into a large cafeteria that reminded me immensely of a middle school lunchroom.

When the boy pressed a cup of something warm into my hands, interrupting my absentminded rubbing of the hand he had held as I sat at a table, I finally realized who was in the room with me. I came alive like a switch, jerking to attention as my fingers gripped the cup for dear life.

It was Kabuto. Tiny, pre-Root, pre-Orochimaru, Kabuto.

With his big glasses, the shaggy silver hair that fell around his soft features looked like some sort of halo. He looked pure in face, looking at me like I was a fragile, broken child. (And I was, wasn't I?) He, along with a woman with long honey-hair and squarish glasses, were wearing black robes with white, were waiting patiently for me to gather my thoughts. I knew them, even if I had never met them.

There were other adults moving around in the background, but they didn't matter to me. Kabuto did, as did Nonō. A boy who would become a man of terror, a spy and villain to Konoha, and later, in the end, an ally. A woman whose history and later death would impact the boy beside her.
I was still shaking, but Kabuto moved away with one last look, as Nonō sat down in front of me. She reaching a hand out to still my own shaking one's, pushing slightly so the tea would rest on the table and not spill. I jerked away from her, and hid my hands in my lap. She let me, with a sad, pained smile.

"Hello, I'm the Mother here. What's your name?" She asked, and I knew deep in my gut that she already knew. Why wouldn't she? She would have been informed yesterday before I ever even arrived. (I wondered how many people knew my name after yesterday. I wondered how long it would be until they all forgot me.)

"Yasu." I murmured, shifting unhappily. "But you know that. I'm here cause Dad's gone, right? This is an orphanage." If she was startled by my blunt response, she didn't show a fraction of it, only pity colored her features.

"Yes, that's right Yasu-kun. I'm afraid everything moved very fast yesterday, didn't it? How are you doing?" She pressed, hands folded over themselves on the table. She looked the part of a motherly matron, fitting for her current position.

I frowned, looking away. "That question is stupid." I bit out, lifting my arms onto the table, folding over each other, and ducked my head down. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be home, with Dad. With his abundance of love and his warm lap. I couldn't go back. I could never go back.

Nonō, and I wasn't about to call her 'Mother' even in my head, reached out, hand nearing my head and I ducked down further away from her touch. I didn't know her, didn't want her touch to stick to my skin, and be forced to rub it away. I was used to Dad's touch. I didn't want to get used to her's. I didn't want to get used to anybodies anymore.

Nonō only took part of the hint, as she got up to kneel beside me on my side of the table. Luckily, she didn't touch me, but I still turned my head in the other direction in my arms so I didn't have to see her. I was allowed to be difficult right now.

"I know you're in pain right now, Yasu-kun. I can't take that away, but I'm here to help you. Everyone here is, and many of them understand what it's like to lose their parents. You won't ever be alone here." I peeked at her, and her soft smile made my stomach curl. I pressed my head back into my arms.

Her words felt like a lie. A honey-coated lie, all dressed up to make it go down easy.

"What's gonna happen 'ta me?" I mumbled instead, fingers digging into the soft fabric of my shirt. (But it wasn't my shirt.)

"You'll stay here, with me, and Kabuto-kun, and everyone else. You'll be safe, I promise. We don't have much, I'll be the first to admit. But that bed you slept in will be yours, and you'll have a chest for your clothes. And lots of other kids will be around for you to play with, when you're ready. Does that sound ok, Yasu-kun?" She asked. I knew what answer she wanted.

"Yeah, okay." A lie, honey-coated to make it go down easy.

And just like that my life as an orphan began, and god, I was so sick of starting new lives.

For the first few days, Kabuto and a boy I knew was Urushi, seemed to run interference for me with the other kids.

They weren't the oldest kids in the orphanage, but Kabuto seemed to gather a bit of respect as Nonō's shadow, and Urushi was perhaps his dearest friend. Slowly, the novelty of me being new faded. I was set to the routine the rest of the children my age endured. A few mild chores, and a few lessons with the other workers of the orphanage, of which there weren't many. Day's passed me by at a snail's pace.

I did cause a bit of a rift with some of the other kids early on, given that I never referred to Nonō as 'Mother'. Rather, I respectfully called her 'Oba-san'. A few of the kids, including Urushi didn't like it, given as they viewed everyone as part of their family. The only one they had. But Oba-san only smiled, and hushed the children. A few of the other children nodded in understanding, as they to remembered their own parents before their individual tragedies. It was turbulent, not helped at all by the fact that I still wasn't sleeping well, and constantly on edge.

It was like I had been reincarnated all over again. Thrown into a new life yet again with no clue as to what to do.

I looked around me, and found despite Oba-san's declaration of me not being alone here, that I was more alone than ever. I looked around and felt no connection to anybody. I couldn't bring myself to chat with the children around me, introverted tendencies of my old life rearing their ugly head worse than before. I jerked from everyone's touch, which confused and frustrated many of my peers. I wasn't about to try to bond with Kabuto. I knew he would be leaving soon anyway, since ROOT had taken him young, and besides, I knew the fragile mind that was lying beneath his soft eyes.

He felt like a landmine to me, and I was fearful.

For a while, I thought I would waste away here, with nothing of real substance to do.

All of that was minor in comparison to the real problem. I was still hurting from Dad's suicide.

My sleep was haunted by memories. I didn't dream so much about finding his body. I dreamed of his voice, his persistent lessons on fish preparation. I dreamed of forehead kisses, and reading Mom's letters after diner with a small, warm cup of Hojicha tea. I dreamed of the look of fond exasperation on his face when I refused to get out of the bath, of how he learned quickly that bath time for me meant he was gonna get a bath to, given my love of the water. The simple things of our once shared life taunted me.

Going to the market on Sundays, moving from his hip to the ground with my hand in his to guide me. His patience as he taught me to read, his clear, smooth voice as he guided me through each word. I didn't spend too much time savoring my time spent with Dad before. I took him for granted, assuming as a civilian he would be there for me for years to come.

But now I was the one missing him, now I wilted in his absence. Except I had no letters, no hope of him ever returning. I only had the aching hole in my cold, numb heart.

He was my world, but his was Mom. I took more after my father then I thought, we both loved someone else with everything that we were.

My sleep haunted me, but at least it was still effective, for the most part. It gave me energy each morning, but I was sinking into a depression, and I knew it because that sucked whatever energy I started each day with away. I could put a name to the depression, but I couldn't stop it. This time, I didn't have a little daily pill box to help correct my brain, and I suppose even in reincarnation my brain patterns remained the same. I fell into predictable, pre-reincarnation routines and coping strategies.

Reading.

I took whatever few books the orphanage offered, and read them. Over and over, the same books again and again. A few basic story books, with worn and ripped pages. Nothing of substance.

But they gave me a world to escape to. A place where I had never died, and never lived to see all my loved one's die.

Of Course, one had to have the perfect reading place, good book or not. I moved from spot to spot, leaving when one became too well known as a place to find me, or to easy to be stumbled upon. I had recently decided to move from a small stump in what was considered the backyard of the orphanage, to a rock I deemed suitable in the front.

I was trying to climb said rock, tiny arms gripping the stone in a pathetic attempt to reach the top and a book stuffed in my shirt, for the first time one sunny afternoon. It wasn't very high, but it was a smooth little 'bolder', and it was my new chosen spot, so this was going to happen whether the rock liked it or not. It has optimum sun-catching position, and damn it all, it was perfect for my purposes.

I, predictably, fell onto my ass. Tiny toddler arms were not designed to be climbing a rock the same size as said toddler. My arms went out to the side as I slipped, my left forearm catching most of me as I came into contact with the ground. Nobody seemed to notice my fall, since I was the only one out front right now, which I was happy for. My arm hurt, but I didn't think much of it until I prepared to start again.

I found a little trail of blood trickling down to my elbow when I reached out to start my second attempt. Curious, and a little stunned, I twisted my arm around to look.
It wasn't bad, just a little gash leaking blood, with dirt and tiny pebbles decorating it. I pouted. It didn't really hurt right now, probably shock or something. Still, I did what I had always done when I got hurt.

I tried to solve it myself.

I didn't want to bug anybody for a little cut. It wasn't like it was going to kill me. A little antiseptic and a bandage and I'd be right as rain.

Honestly, the biggest problem was going to be getting to the first aid supplies without alerting anyone and causing a fuss. Not only was getting fussed over and inevitably touched a big 'No' on my to-do list, but I had dealt with worse then this last time around. If I could cut my finger cooking, quick wrap it with a towel I didn't care about, and keep cooking 'til I reached a point where I could leave it alone without risking my product and thus tend my wound, then I could deal with a darn scratch.

Well, it wasn't like I had to go immediately, right?

I frowned, looking around. My shirt was light green right now, and my pants a dark shade of gray. The shirt was a no go, and I wasn't going to risk wiping the blood off with any of the foliage around. The pants could work though. Looking down, I checked the fabric at the back of my heel. It wasn't really frayed at all, a problem I'd always had 'before', so I wasn't going to rip any fabric off if it wasn't already hanging by a thread.
Still, the gray pants would be the best for cleaning things up right now. Setting at the base of the rock, I shifted into criss-cross position, angling my arm down to rub gently at the very bottom edge of my pants, where the fabric was dry and clean. The discoloration would be the least noticeable there too, so bonus.

Of Course, that only solved the blood trickling down my arm problem. The wound itself was still dripping. I found licking the wound every few seconds kept most of the blood away and not dripping.

When in doubt, lick it. Probably terrible advice, but fuck it hadn't always worked for me. My blood was like copper and salt. All men bled the same, after all. Copper and salt, copper and salt. So, I bent my arm to be more comfortable, shook my book out from under my shirt, and decided to sit at the foot of my rock for today, managing the little book with one hand as I practiced my reading, and resting my other arm as comfortably as I could as I routinely licked it.

I stopped eventually, long after the bleeding had finally stopped as I realised I wasn't tasting blood. I went about my afternoon as usual, reading my book again and again. When I was done, sun no longer warm on my face, I went back inside, and put the book away, and made my way towards the 'nurses' station.

Given that Oba-san was proficient enough in medical jutsu and healing to turn the Orphanage into a makeshift war hospital, and in turn teach whatever of her 'children' who wanted to learn, the nurses station was always well maintained, and usually had one or two people in it. I peeked in past the door, and I saw Oba-san and a few other people working on something and talking in low voices. I frowned, and considered leaving. Still, everyone looked predictably busy, and mostly all in one area. I slipped in, and carefully creeped towards some of the cabinets. I grabbed what I needed as quietly as I could, and sat down on the floor, hidden from immediate view by a trash can. Being small was a bonus when it came to sneaking.

My fingers were small and stubby right now, and the bandages I was used to weren't really the same here. Everything always seemed to be wrapped up with roll bandages. Still, the principle of first aid was still the same. Rub some antiseptic ointment on, place a small square piece of softer fabric designed to protect the immediate wound, and wrap everything up to keep it in place.

I was doing fine. I really was. I had the ointment and the protecting layer on, some bandages cut from the roll in an estimated length, and really all I needed was to figure out how to properly tie everything so it stayed and didn't constantly loosen up. It wasn't like I was surrounded with wasted bandages or ointment, my little area was well maintained, thank you very much.

Still, Oba-san found me with a startled, "Yasu-kun!" I glanced up, and winced. Too late however, as she was already fussing and kneeling down, hands reaching out for my arm.

"'M fine Oba-san!" I protested, tugging my arm away as quickly as I could. Her fingers brushed my arm, and the feel of it sent horrid tingles down my spine. I hated it, and wanted it gone.

"Yas-"

I started spewing words uncontrollably at this point, trying desperately to stop her from speaking. "I gots ointment, an-and some meshy soft stuff to protect it from the wrappin! 'M Fine! 'Snot bleeding anymore anyway!" My words never came out right, and the panic building didn't help.

Her face was sad, pained. "Yas-" I still didn't let her finish.

"I wasn't waste'n anything! Promise! I would'a let it 'lone, but everybody talks 'bout infe-" I was stumbling over my words here. I couldn't pronounce it right and my mind couldn't form it and I just started blurting out the same beginning sounds, my mind short-circuiting. I was panicking and I knew it. God, why now of all times?!

"Yasu-" Oba-san's voice was getting firmer now, and she reached out her hands to my shoulders, and god, her hands felt like lead weights.

"Infe-fe-In-" I shook my head as if to physically throw the word away, finally forcing myself to chose another word. "Dirty! Ery'body talks 'bout'm being dirty!" I think I was crying now, damn. I tried to wiggle out of her gentle touch but I had no room.

"YASU!" I blinked. I had never heard Oba-san yell before. I stilled, tears falling and snot bubbling from my nose, and I briefly looked over her shoulder at the gathering of people. "It's fine, you're ok Yasu-kun. Can you take a deep breath for me?" I looked at her again, shifting my right arm up to push her hands away, but taking a deep breathe anyway. (I could feel her touch on my shoulders, even with them gone now. It stuck to my skin, and it was wrong, that wasn't what the rest of my skin felt like, I didn't want it, I wanted it gone, it wasn't right.)

Thankfully, she must have got the hint because she didn't touch me again. Still, she guided my breathing until it was smooth and steady, until the tears were gone and I could whip my nose in some manner of calm. The touch on my shoulders still clung, so after my nose was clean, I rubbed each of my shoulders roughly, not meeting her eyes. Shame replaced the panic.

"'M fine." I muttered. I heard Oba-san sigh. I also noticed people had cleared out of the room. A small mercy.

"It's ok, Yasu-kun. May I see your arm?" I frowned, but complied, removing the uncompleted bandages and peeling back everything so she could peek.

She hummed, looking it over. "It doesn't look bad at all, and you did a very good job taking care of it so far." Her eyes met mine, and I shifted uncomfortably. "Yasu-kun, why didn't you come to anyone to take care of this for you? We could have healed it, no need for any of this." I knew immediately that I couldn't bullshit an answer to get out of here faster, not with the way she was looking at me. Honesty it seems, would be the forced policy of the day.

"I didn't wanna bug anybody 'bout it….it's not that bad...An...And I don't like being touched, and I know you woulda fussed…" I looked at my feet, tiny little toes peeking out of my sandals. I was so small now...so small….

"Dad's….gone now. It's just me. 'N I know you let evrrybody call you Mother….but I didn't really even know mine…'Snot fair to her….'n, 'n I'm alone now, so I gots to be able to take care of myself." I ended my little confession on a determined note, looking up. I could see she was going to protest, and she did.

"You're not alone Yasu-kun-" I didn't let her get any further.

"But I am!" I could feel little swells of anger bubbling up. I may have been an adult in mind, but I was a child in body and all that entailed. I may be very well spoked for a 4 year old, but I was still dealing with a child's emotional imbalance and lack of mature restraint beyond my own thought process.

"I dun like touch, an the other kids are to bouncy, and they dunt like that I call you Oba-san! Dad was all I had, 'n now he's gone an 'm alone. Have'n people round willing to be nice and have'n friends or, or people you trust are different things, Oba-san. 'N they don't got no reason to trust me either, I can't do anything….I can't even take care of 'mself." I was shaking a little bit, but Oba-san thankfully didn't reach out to me. I could see the pain in her eyes, I could see that she didn't know what to do in that moment.

I wasn't like the other kids, and now it was blatantly clear to her I think. I spoke to well, was to independant. Too smart for my (physical) age, to resistant to the methods that had worked with the other kids. In this life, my old problems and disorders hadn't really taken hold until I was older, but I could feel their hooks in me again.

Oba-san spent a few moments looking lost, before her eyes hardened. I think in that moment, I saw the former ROOT agent she had been lurking just under the steel in her eyes.

"Well." She began, standing up. I grew fearful, hand starting to twitch and shake. "I guess it's time to change that. Let's pick all this up, and move off the floor. I'll teach you how to wrap that up, Yasu-kun. Do you want to learn how to take care of yourself, Yasu-kun?" She asked me. I think she meant more than she was saying, however.

"Yes please, Oba-san. I don't want 'nybody to have to take care of me anymore. I wanna be strong'nuff to take care of myself."

Another milestone in my young life was passed that day. Oba-san started by teaching me first aid, and starting me on some chakra control exercises. She gave me something to do, something to work towards, and I started to thrive a little bit, in my own little world.

Then Kabuto left, and I realized that I wasn't just learning what I was learning for nothing. Oba-san was providing me with a head start for ninja-life. I hadn't even considered being a Shinobi before Kabuto stood in front of everyone one day, choosing to leave to help all those he left behind. I sort of forgot about it, as crazy as that seemed. Real shinobi just weren't part of my daily life.

Watching Kabuto make that decision to leave and do something with himself, for the sake of the people he loved, I knew I had to do the same but for different reasons. Why was I alive, why was I here, if not to be a shinobi? If not to challenge the status quo, and try to change the lives of the characters I had loved in a past life, to change them for the better?

The next day, when everyone was lost and frustrated over the loss of one of their own, I threw my little body into what training I knew how to do, with a private resolve to learn the training methods I didn't.

I dug down deep, as deep as I could, and pulled steel into my spine. I was going to be something, do something. I wasn't going to waste away.

I had work to do.