Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto and not me.

A/N: I haven't really seen any fics with Yahiko, Konan and Nagato in them together, so I thought I'd give it a try (also, blame Silverchair's 'Straight Lines' song. Damn that thing is inspiring). Oh, and caution for spoilers!

Summary: The death of a man, the birth of a god and his angel.


Believer

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry."

"Don't talk. Stay still."

She couldn't stop it… the tips of her fingers squelched against the blood flowing from the bubbling wound. The paper she held against it was quickly becoming drenched. Bubbles blossomed and burst as the young man under her tried to breath. He coughed, his lungs trying to empty the liquid filling them. It ran down his chin, covering his hair and shirt with red and eventually pooling beneath him.

She couldn't help it… she applied more chakra, trying to get her paper to act as a plug. She wasn't a medic – what was she supposed to do?

They had been lucky, so lucky, to have survived so far. But their luck had finally ran out.

"I said I'd… protect you." Fingers twitched, scrabbling towards the girl's hands on his chest. His desperate grip wrapped around her wrist. "Konan, I don't wanna die."

"Shut up, Yahiko! Just shut up!" She bit on her lower lip, fighting back the tears. She didn't want her gaze to become blurred. She had to see everything, keep focussed. Strands of blue hair fell across her face, but she couldn't move her hands. She didn't dare do it. Her eyes flashed upwards for a brief second. The other young man with them just stood there, like a statue, frozen. His one visible eye stared at the wound in his friend's chest. But she could tell, even in the rain, that he was crying. It had been a long time since Nagato had cried, not since they were much younger. The tears that he had abandoned so long ago came flooding back, and he fell on his knees. He had learnt everything their sensei had taught them – every element, every strategy – but he'd never learnt how to heal.

Yahiko was staring at them both, his eyes racing between the two faces. He saw nothing but those two, those two that he had met when they were young. The first time he'd seen Konan she was sitting on an embankment, covered in mud with nothing but rags on and a paper crane in her hands – they littered the ground around her, tiny paper cranes everywhere.

Why are you making those?

If… If I make enough of them, an angel will come and answer my prayer. Are… you the angel?

If you want me to be.

They'd held hands for a long time after that as they travelled. They'd stopped holding hands when they came across the boy sitting next to the ruins of a run-down shack, surrounded by crudely-made grave markers. They hadn't been sure if it was a girl or a boy at first when they'd met. He was crying so much, long shaggy hair covering his face. They'd been surprised when he finally noticed them and held his fringe up so he could properly see them. His eyes were bloodshot, they didn't know how long he'd been crying. But… the bruises… He must have been in so much pain.

Together, Yahiko and Konan reached out and took the boy's hands.

"Yahiko… don't die. Don't leave us. Please don't."

"He's not going to die, Nagato. He can't." Konan's arms trembled as she whispered. She'd been holding them there for something that felt like forever. "He won't… he won't."

She kept pushing, why wouldn't the blood stop? Why couldn't she help him like he'd helped them all those years ago? Those times before, like when she'd had that fever. He'd picked her up and carried her all the way. They'd walked, following a road that stretched straight ahead and into the distance. The road had been so long they'd had to camp next to it. Somehow Yahiko had been able to set a fire, and he'd kept her next to it. He kept her warm, telling her everything would be fine until the next morning she'd woken up feeling strong again.

Are you feeling better, Konan?

Yes. Thank you, Yahiko.

I'm glad.

No. I'm glad you're my angel. I'll always believe that you are…

Yahiko's hand gripped harder, more frantically. His other hand flexed open and closed seeming like it wanted something to hold. Nagato filled it with his own, not flinching at the ragged nails scratching his skin. He could never forget those days before – Yahiko had stolen for them when they were desperate and fed them – three little orphans invisible to the world as they sought shelter in a narrow alleyway. He'd tried hard to change himself. Yahiko always asked if he was really a boy or not with all the crying he did. He didn't like the teasing, but it always pushed him to cry a little less each day. And Konan had been there too to support him. She was a girl, but never a damsel in distress. Her example pushed him too.

The grip the two felt lessened. Their eyes both fled to their friend's face. He coughed, a smile on his face.

"I remember those times," he said. "All those yesterdays…"

His gaze went to the sky.

"I wouldn't change them… ever…"

His hands went limp in their grip.

Konan's hands lifted from their task. I'll be the angel from now on… I'll be your angel now.

Nagato placed a hand on the young man's face, closing his eyelids. I'll protect everyone now. I'll show them your pain, so then no one will be hurt again. We'll show them your pain together, Yahiko…