Chapter Forty-seven: Plea, Dissension


It never made sense—it never made any fucking sense that three children, almost teenagers, rank be damned, were allowed to set foot on the battlefield, ordered to infiltrate enemy lines and destroy the bridge aiding the opposing forces. But that was how these shinobi trained their young—like putting frogs in a pot of tepid water and slowly, steadily increasing the heat by exposing them to battles and war bit by bit, until it came to a comfortable boil and they were none the wiser that they were slowly burning raw and putting themselves that much closer to death—and if they ever did realize it, they were already too damaged to escape unscathed.

No, it was a thing Namie could never understand before, and now that it was real and not lines on paper, not just a story in her head, she still couldn't accept it. Because she should be the one to put her life at risk—and if not her, some other adult, jōnin, whatever. ANBU would be better suited to a stealth operation. This was no place for children, not a situation meant for first-timers of war and—god, was she one to talk. A genin at nine—chūnin at eleven. She wasn't much different, from an outside perspective, and maybe she'd contributed to this fucked up system when she should have worked to overturn it. There were several things she could have done, steps she could have taken, to make a change without using her secret knowledge. She knew that. She did. But she never acted and it was too late to think back over sixteen years' worth of missed opportunities and stew over regrets, now. Because here and now, everything was as it should be, as she remembered, and the script was hers to twist at will.

In order to change the outcome of Kannabi Bridge, she had to ensure she was present. Easy in thought, in planning, but difficult in action, when she was drafted to be at an entirely different location the day it occurred.

But not impossible.

The locations were close—they were fighting the same enemies in Kusagakure's country and their missions were connected. Not to mention, Minato would be joining her squadron—heading it, in fact, as they launched a full-frontal assault on the Iwa nin stationed across their once-allied country. Could gain it back, if this all went according to plan.

There was so much more to gain than a territorial advantage and they would never know.

"I'm worried," she admitted to Minato as she found him outside the jōnin standby station, ready to leave the job behind for the day and return home to Kushina and say his goodbyes before they departed at dawn, but stopping when she approached and looked briefly skyward before turning an unwavering gaze to him.

The sky was not clear that evening, nor would it be the next morning. Clouds blanketed the sky and shadowed everything in gloom, and the stickiness of cool-warm autumn humidity saturated the village in a sluggish, clammy doom like it was trying to stick it in time, frozen, and if that wasn't a bad omen, she'd eat an entire kunai. That alone was cause for concern.

"About what?" he asked, but the way his lips were set in a grim line that feigned calm, the way he wouldn't quite meet her eyes, gave away the fact that he knew exactly what and was trying to hide his concern as well. "You've been on the field plenty of times before, Namie. And we'll both be there. If anything, our enemies should be the ones worrying."

Neither of them were thinking about their own mission, or each other.

Namie's silence and hard stare—too severe, almost, and unsettling in that she'd rarely used such an expression toward him—brought on a sigh and wheedled out the words they both wanted to say.

"…They've proven themselves. They're a good team. A little rough around the edges, still—more than I would like—but they're more than prepared for the battlefield. Don't doubt them, Namie, they don't deserve that. Not now." As always, talking business with Minato the Jōnin as opposed to Minato the Brother was different (but a great deal easier than their little sibling talks), and though he tried to be moderate with his words, a detached firmness still lingered in his tone and it left no room for debate. It was his decision—not entirely, as Kakashi was no longer under his command and the Hokage had had his input, but as the team leader, the majority of it had been his—and the mission was set.

He believed in his team, in their skills, and so did they and dammit, she wanted to, too.

They don't deserve what's coming, either, she wanted to say, but knew better. She never interfered with his training methods, with the way he ran his team, and at this point it was out of both of their hands. But now, in this moment, he wasn't her brother, he wasn't their teacher, he was an obstacle—one she hoped moved aside for his own good.

"I would never doubt them," she denied after a moment of careful consideration, but it was the truth. "I just—I watched them grow up. A lot longer than you did. Part of me is proud they've come this far—especially Kakashi—and part of me can't let them go so easily. That's just the emotional side of it. The logical part of me is saying I'd benefit their team." She blinked hard and shook her head, steeling herself, preparing her next words; her shining sales pitch. "They're the linchpin of this victory. They need protection. They need someone at their back, in case they get overwhelmed. In case something—anything—goes wrong. In case the mission needs someone to fall back on. I can be there as a boon, a failsafe, to guarantee victory."

He stared at her for a long moment, considering her words. Weighing the pros and cons. He studied her as the Ogre of the Battlefield with the eyes of Konoha's Yellow Flash, one of Konoha's prodigies, constructing worst-case scenarios and thinking ahead two steps, five steps, before he blinked and he was her brother again, a human being who could lose his beloved students and sister if he made the wrong choice.

She couldn't make the choice for him, but she could push her cause. "I wouldn't say this if I didn't have the utmost confidence in you as a leader, Minato. Our forces will be more than fine with only you at their side. Your presence alone is a huge morale-booster. Everyone wants to fight at the Yellow Flash's side."

Maybe he wouldn't even hear her out if she hadn't participated in multiple battles, if she hadn't made a name for herself. If she hadn't proven herself. Or if nepotism didn't have its perks. But he did—he did, and he was considering her proposal seriously. Then—with exhaustion. And some doubt. And his shoulders slumped and he rubbed an exasperated hand across his forehead, closing his eyes to hide the weariness before opening them again.

"If I told you no, would you even listen?"

At that resigned tone, her face flushed a scarlet she could feel and she wished it was summer-hot outside so she could blame it on the weather.

It wasn't uncommon knowledge that she went about her responsibilities and risks her own way—not quite a loose cannon, not yet, but always an unsteady one—and, commands aside, did what she deemed best for the mission, for success, and that almost certainly assured her of no promotions for the remainder of her career. But being called out on it by her own brother, her own brother, someone who should be able to trust her, was something she wasn't prepared for. And he didn't speak it cruelly, or accusingly, but as an honest, and slightly pleading, question.

"…I would," she said at length, and it wasn't a lie. Not entirely. But part of her hated it—hated that she had to ask her brother to do this, to grant this, and with words that weren't entirely true. "This is something I have to do. I wouldn't ask if I didn't see it as imperative to the mission. But," it was difficult to concede, but she offered an alternative, "if it can't be helped, if things happen to go south on your end, I'll return right away. I don't always listen, I take liberties, but I won't refuse your order."

In a way, she supposed she was giving him a final chance to tell her to leave it, to let it go, to let everything play out as it should without intervention. Because if he said it, if he really said no and meant it, she wouldn't ask again.

She also wouldn't be a shinobi of this village for much longer and they would stand on different sides.

She never wanted him to become an obstacle, an opposition to her cause, but maybe it couldn't be helped when she intended to alter the great, grand scheme of things. It was fleeting, but for a second, just a second, she wished they hadn't been born as siblings.

Maybe he saw it, felt it, because something changed. A minor shift, like a hairline fracture—the beginning of a chasm—and it could have just been that he finally accepted she wasn't a child anymore, or a teenager, but closer to an adult, an ally, a comrade (a stranger) and some things were bigger than battles and codes of conduct and war.

He wouldn't deny her request.

"I'll inform Kakashi you'll be under his command tomorrow—unless you're needed at the frontlines."

She wouldn't have it any other way.

He was the first to leave, as she stood rooted to the spot, not quite relieved, but dreading tomorrow—dreading the unknown she'd deliberately unleash. Then, there was a hand on her shoulder. He hadn't left just yet. He stopped at her side, and that gesture alone should have brought comfort, resolved their differences, but it only brought distress because there may well never be a happy moment between them ever again and it was a sacrifice she was all too willing to make.

"Namie… Don't let this become something either of us will regret."

Those words stayed with her long after he finally walked away, and in some manner, they weighed heavier than the humidity in the air.

It'll be fine, she told herself, if only to soothe the hurt, the ache that lingered like she'd made a grave mistake. I'm not supposed to be there. I'm not supposed to be with them, either, but I have to be. I have to.

Before she could leave, before she could take a step, someone else approached the standby station and caught her eye. Only briefly—then looked away again, as she did the same. For a moment, she expected him to walk right by and finally, finally ignore her like she ignored him, but he didn't.

"Eavesdropping?" she asked, if only to fill the silence.

Kyouya shook his head. "No. I forgot something at the station."

He had been promoted, then. Somehow, she felt left behind, like everyone was moving on ahead without her. But she knew her path.

"Are you going to the battle near Kusagakure tomorrow?" she asked.

"I have a mission elsewhere."

She didn't ask for elaboration, so he took that as his cue to leave. Took three steps before stopping, with his back to her.

"You're going to watch out for Obito out there, right?"

It seemed too little too late at this point, but, well, some of her concern for his cousin had brushed off on him after all.

For a moment, she wished she could see his face—just to see what kind of expression he said that with, but all she could see was the back of his head, where his slightly-grown out and neglected hair stuck out to one side, just a bit, like he slept on it and hadn't had the time to smooth it down.

"I know asking that is selfish." When she didn't comment, he almost turned to face her, but stopped, and scratched at one of his shoulders. Shifted his weight, then kept walking, until she did speak.

"Yeah. I promised."

Again, he stopped, and finally turned to look at her, pondering the past-tense of the word. But by the time he did, she'd already turned her back and left.


Namie took precautions to avoid being recognized on the battlefield—not always, but during stealth missions, she cloaked her appearance with a basic henge jutsu, coloring her hair a plain brown and winding it at the base of her neck, with two sections framing her face, and also darkening her eyes—what she imagined she'd look like as Taji's biological daughter, or maybe just a ghost of her past self. She only brought out her mallet when it was a necessity, and kept it sealed away in a scroll hanging at her hip, beside her waist pouch. To any onlookers, she looked like any average shinobi in standard uniform.

Especially to Team Minato, who looked her way with varying degrees of surprise as she met them on the outskirts of Konoha. Not Kakashi—he was well aware she'd be joining them, and she could be no one else. That, and even with her appearance cloaked, her personality, her walk, her demeanor hadn't changed. Her eyes lingered on him, if only because of the package he held in his hands.

From Rin, was it? Made especially for him, put together with love and care and sewn with a good luck charm to its front, to commemorate his first mission as a jōnin. As their captain.

Briefly, she wondered if she should have gotten him a gift, too.

"You're later than me, Namie-senpai," Obito spoke first, mouth hanging open just slightly—or it could have been because of the candy he was chewing. A clear indication he'd helped out an elder on the way and likely arrived only a few moments before she did. "I mean—it is you, right? I can't get used to seeing you like that. It's like having two Rins around."

Namie offered a slight smile but no words as she looked between the three present—just three.

Minato was nowhere in sight: they'd exchanged places, here, but not roles.

But Kakashi was the lead in this mission and he was every bit the leader, in how he shot her an exasperated look.

"It's her," Kakashi confirmed with a sigh, not only irritated with her but also annoyed that Obito couldn't figure it out for himself when even Rin didn't look concerned. Probably, he'd mentioned she would be joining them some time before she arrived. He turned to store Rin's gift in his supply bag as they conversed.

"You are late. Weirdly late." If Rin pointed it out, it was definitely bad.

It couldn't be helped. She didn't oversleep; she didn't stop to help out any old people in need, and she didn't do it intentionally.

"I know. It won't happen again. Sorry to hold things up."

Kurocha had shown up on her doorstep again and she had to take him back to the Inuzuka grounds on her way to the rendezvous point. It wasn't an uncommon thing—he did show up from time to time, to sit, to relax, to net a free meal, to watch the stars at night from the countryside, but getting him to return home was difficult. She couldn't take care of him. Not now. Even if he desperately wanted a friend.

She wished she could have stayed.

"We should go. We're wasting time." Kakashi wasn't one to waste time, even less so now that he was a jōnin, and even less less so since he'd probably already bitched Obito out for his tardiness. "You're tailing us and staying out of sight?" he asked Namie, if only to confirm it. Of course he knew. There was no lecture for her lateness because it wasn't a recurring issue.

"Unless you call me. Captain." It was added as an afterthought, almost a slip of the tongue, but it worked. He didn't show it outwardly, but there was a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes. It was gone as quick as it came, and she didn't miss the doubtful expression Obito sent her way. "Ready when you are."

Nothing more was said, though they did all exchange a shared look confirming that they were prepared.

They departed for Kusagakure's country immediately and, as she'd said she would, Namie trailed a short distance behind them under tree cover.

Watching someone, rather than actively taking part in a mission, was an odd perspective shift. Of course, she'd jump in when needed, but the kids had their end taken care of. They didn't make a peep when they were working—not even Obito—but then again, they were tense. Jōnin present or not, they were essentially thrown out into the deep end to sink or swim, right smack dab in the middle of a war. Deep down, they all knew what it meant.

Success was imperative, but survival wasn't guaranteed.

Most of the journey was uneventful, and despite grumbling complaints that arose after a while of nonstop travel, Kakashi didn't allow them to rest until well into the evening, when the sun was a craggy half-circle sinking behind the mountains.

Light enough and still warm enough that they didn't yet need a campfire, but dark enough that they could stray away from the main path out of sight.

Namie watched the group from her position in the treetops, legs hanging over a branch and swaying slightly along with the breeze as she sifted through her pack for her second soldier pill, somehow not being able to find them despite knowing she'd packed plenty (didn't she?), and not nearly desperate enough to unpack all the supplies they were buried under just to get at one. Giving that up, she reached for her water bottle—and shut her eyes with a silent, long-suffering sigh when she realized her canine setback that morning caused her to forget to pick it up from the kitchen counter after filling it. Eventually, but not without a grudging sigh, she slouched and leaned back, but not far enough that she'd lose her balance and topple right out of the tree. Idly, she reached for her ponytail—and paused, when her hand hit a coiled bun instead.

Below, and some distance to the right, near the dark tree line, Rin crouched in the grass, weeding out wildflowers and sprouts for emergency salves and pastes, should their first aid supply dwindle. She couldn't see her face from here, as her back was turned and cast in shadow while her somber kimono top was awash in dappled, muted sunlight that filtered in through the treetops.

Obito sat by himself in the center of the clearing, guarding their supplies, and leaning against his own backpack, picking his nose while staring out into the distance, full space cadet—and then started suddenly, as if remembering where he was, and quickly looked around to see if anyone caught him. Satisfied that he'd gotten away with it, he glanced over his shoulder at Rin and watched her for a few moments.

Kakashi—he was nowhere to be seen, but she knew exactly where he was by the presence lingering just below her, leaning against the tree trunk. She didn't know when he'd walked over, when he'd arrived, but she was aware he was there. Probably watching the exact same scenes she was. Yep—she could just imagine him sneering in disgust and rolling his eyes when he watched Obito dope around and flick boogers. She didn't just imagine that scoff.

Soon, Rin wandered back to the supply pile with a bouquet of herbs and flowers clutched in her hands, smiling, and speaking to Obito with quiet words Namie didn't care to focus on from where she was. Obito, though, replied loudly, enthusiastically, before he was hushed. He flinched away with hunched shoulders, apologized, and fell silent as Rin unpacked a handkerchief and set the plants across its surface, separating petals and leaves and stems as needed.

Obito leaned forward and watched with rapt attention, speaking every so often, then rubbed the back of his head and grinned when Rin responded. After a moment, he pulled two apples from his backpack and offered one to her.

"You can join us when we take breaks," Kakashi spoke at length, and the words that cut through the ambient cricket chirping were so sudden she tore her gaze away from the other kids and looked down.

He didn't look up, but she knew he was paying attention. A canteen hung idly from one of his hands, and when she saw it, he tossed it her way a second later. Not close to smacking her in the face at all, but she caught it on reflex and leaned back, eyes wide.

She didn't want to chalk it up to the fact that he noticed, would have preferred to believe it was a coincidence, but at the same time wondered if he'd retained certain habits from Team One as well. As long ago as that was.

It shouldn't have felt as bitter as it did.

"We're continuing on in five minutes. There's still a long way to go."

He was a hardass by nature, if he wasn't letting them sleep on the first night. But, there was business to be done. It couldn't be helped. It was his first time as a leader, after all, and so, so much hinged upon the mission's success.

The cool night surrounded them as they resumed their journey.

The first day was uneventful, but as they neared the country border, the group became more vigilant and tense as a whole. None were unaccustomed to leaving the sanctity of the Land of Fire, though some had never left it for war purposes, even if they weren't heading directly into the fray.

Namie recognized it. Some shinobi who were the same age as them had been the same during her handful of deployments—you could always weed out the overly-eager, nervous newbies from the experts (though she wouldn't consider herself an expert, exactly, just someone who was jaded and accustomed to it) and all three of them were just that. Even Kakashi, no matter how confident and professional he tried to appear. Obito put on a strong face, especially in front of Rin, but he was far too antsy, too fidgety. Rin was the most realistic of the three, not trying to hide her worry, yet bravely pushing forward, knowing what the responsibility entailed.

When they passed into the buffer country now overrun by Iwa, still quite a ways away from Kannabi Bridge, they were miraculously spared any encounters with rogues or enemies. It wasn't due to Namie's intervention, either, as one of her intentions was to strike down any threats before they reached the main group—their route was just so out of the way that they just remained undetected the entire time. As expected of Minato's planning. And pure luck.

Still, in enemy territory, there was no room for error. When they stopped for breaks, they set up security perimeters and stood watch. Mostly, Namie took the brunt of the lookout position, but there were times Kakashi insisted she rest.

During one of those times, she decided to join Obito as he de-scaled the fish Rin had collected from the nearby creek, clumsy in his haste. She didn't really blame him, though, since this break wouldn't last forever. Kakashi was eager to rush them along.

"Dammit, why does he have to be such a jerk, Namie-senpai? I mean, I get that this is an important mission, but can't we at least have a decent meal before running off again? What a slave driver!"

Namie wrinkled her nose at the mess he made of their potential meal, but didn't point it out. Instead, she crouched beside him on the riverbank, dipping her exposed fingers into the shallow water trickling past. A shiver ran up her arms and she felt goosebumps rise up under her gloves. She watched him from the corner of her eye, almost laughing as the soles of his shoes slipped a bit against the muddy ground, but kept her attention largely on the perimeter, searching for signs of enemy presence. It was strange and it rubbed her the wrong way that things had been so easy, since things usually go south at the worst time, and she was reluctant to accept that sometimes things just went that way—until they didn't.

"Slandering the captain, Obito? Might be a good idea to curb that habit."

"You're one to talk." At this, she did laugh. But before she could comment, he kept talking. "I just feel like he thinks he's hot shit now that he's a jōnin. And he's especially taking it out on me. He's lectured me at least ten times since the mission started!"

"He's just trying to make sure you're ready. And that you don't goof off. Cut him some slack."

"I know he's like your family and all, but do you have to take his side…? It just feels like he's rubbing it in my face sometimes."

"I'm not taking his side," Namie defended, drawing her hand from the stream and flicking water his way with a frown.

He flinched as the droplets speckled his goggles and stuck his tongue out, but didn't retaliate, only set aside a stripped fish on a Rin-provided handkerchief and started on a third. "Y'know, I'm not as dumb as I look."

"Really?"

"Ha ha. You're hilarious!"

She caught the halfhearted glare sent her way and returned a small smile in spite of it.

"I just mean I get that this mission's important. I'm not trying to slack off or be an idiot. I wanna prove I can handle myself—handle this. It doesn't help when he treats me like I'm still a kid, especially around Rin. We're the same age! I can totally do this! Even better, probably, once my Sharingan awakens! No—definitely better! I'll show him…I'll be someone strong, someone Rin will give a special good-luck first aid kit to, too."

Right—that happened. But for a special occasion, a congratulatory gift. The fact that Obito took it to heart and got so worked up over it…

"You are a kid, Obito. You all are. It's not about being dumb or not, it's—" she stopped, rubbed a hand across her eyes briefly and sighed. "He just—he doesn't want something bad to happen, like what happened with his dad—" Again, she stopped, and let her hand rest heavily across her forehead protector as she stared at the other side of the creek, focusing on a toad wriggling its fat, slimy little body through the mud. It wasn't exactly a slip-up; she just wondered if it was too soon to bring that up.

Minato wasn't here to say it, after all.

"His what?" Obito asked, kunai going still as he squinted at her. "What about his dad?"

Namie sighed again, more for show than out of exhaustion or irritation. "What? It's not like it's a secret."

He continued to squint. "I don't get it."

"You know about Konoha's White Fang, right? Hatake Sakumo?"

"Yeah, sure I do. Everyone does…"

She rolled her eyes. "And?"

"…What?"

"Hatake? Ha-ta-ke," she stressed, finally turning to meet his confounded gaze with slight exasperation as she leaned her cheek against her damp palm, noticing too late that it was the one she dipped into the creek.

It finally clicked.

"No way—that was his dad?" he asked, hushed, or as hushed as a loud kid could be, as he threw a wild glance over his shoulder toward where Kakashi stood watch.

"Yep. He's got a lot to live up to…and a lot at stake."

"So…it's true? What happened to him and all? I've heard stuff, but it all sounded like a warning story to keep us students in line."

"It's all more or less true. His dad was disgraced after an important mission's failure and took his own life to atone for it." Well, that was the short of it.

She recounted her knowledge of the event and its aftermath after a moment, just to make sure he understood it.

He listened, and looked Kakashi's way the entire time, stone-still.

"I don't think he did anything wrong, but sometimes the world eats you alive anyway. And it tries to take down everyone you love, too." She looked, too, feeling almost guilty for spilling that not-exactly-a-secret secret. "It weighs pretty heavy on him, even if he doesn't show it."

Kakashi stood facing away from them, arms crossed, out of ear shot, while Rin studied their mission map a little ways away from him. Still, she couldn't help but feel he knew what they were talking about.

As if on cue, he turned to look their way, not amused, and probably even less so as they both wrenched their glances away and returned to staring at the water, playing innocent.

"He totally saw us," Namie whispered, to which Obito nodded.

"He totally did."

She watched him silently for a moment, though she couldn't see his expression for the sunlight glaring off of his goggles. He continued to scrape the scales off of the fish with his kunai, slowly and more thoughtfully than before.

"But, like I was saying, cut him some slack, okay? He's trying. I know you all are." That said, she rose to her feet and stretched out her legs, looking down at the muddy stains creeping up her ankles. She turned to leave—not to let Obito out of her sight, but to move to the nearby tree—and he spoke up before she could take a step.

"I'll try. I guess."

It was all she could really ask for.

She nodded, satisfied, but he spoke again before she could take another step.

"Namie-senpai, do you think I'm a failure for not having my Sharingan yet…?"

Well, she wasn't leaving anytime soon, now. She crouched down again, and folded her arms across her knees.

"Did Kyouya say something to you?"

"No! No, he didn't, I just…feel like an idiot sometimes." He dropped the final fish onto the pile with the rest and leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky. She still couldn't see his expression through the light shining off the lens, but she knew what it looked like, more or less this time.

"You goof off way too much, but you're not an idiot. You just don't have it yet because…you don't need it, yet."

"That's kinda what Kyouya said."

"Doesn't sound like him at all."

"I know, right?"

They fell into comfortable silence for a moment, before Rin came up behind them and observed their prospective dinner with a smile. "Good job, Obito! Do you think you could grill them up with a fireball jutsu?"

"Of—of course! Definitely!"

"Not too well-done though," Namie threw in casually, smiling slightly as Obito grinned from ear-to-ear at the other girl.

Rin turned to her with a matching smile. "Kakashi wants to discuss our plan, too. Meet us by that big rock when you're done. Both of you."

They knew the mission specifics, more or less. Circumvent the enemy forces and sabotage their supply line at the bridge, while Minato and a battalion of others engaged them, not only as a diversion but to push their advance back as well.

Now that they were in hostile territory, it was imperative to sneak, to remain out of sight, and doing so meant braving the deep, dark forests that rivaled that of the one overgrowing Training Ground Forty-four back home. These forests weren't quite up to the level of the Forest of Death, but they were sickly humid in a way that stuck to the skin like slime and populated by obscenely huge mushrooms and thick, petrified tree trunks towering what seemed like a mile overhead, letting in next to no light to guide them forward.

In this atmosphere, Namie didn't trail behind—she walked close beside them, though remaining out of immediate sight. There were…creatures…lingering in the shadows. She couldn't see them, but she could feel them—and at times, hear them, slithering, crawling, skittering. She didn't think they would attack, but she definitely didn't trust them and losing a team to an overgrown reptile or insect would look absolutely awful on record. More importantly, it would totally fuck everything up bigtime.

There was also something human nearby, but she knew that more by memory than instinct alone.

Sure enough, Kakashi halted their advance and they crouched to take cover as he scanned their closed-in surroundings with a keen eye, barely breathing, deathly still.

Namie set her hand on her weapon scroll and silently unclipped it from her belt, unwinding it and preparing to summon her mallet, knowing an enemy encounter was inevitable. Tracking the opponent was simple; there were tells everywhere. He was an amateur at hiding, but perhaps not attacking. She pinned down his location with no difficulty.

For a moment—just a fleeting moment—Kakashi's eyes met hers, and she understood that look. He was ready to engage, and asked, no, ordered, that she watch his back.

Too bad he didn't remember she was terrible at following directions from higher command.

Too bad he didn't know she never intended to follow him from the start, because old habits die hard.

They both launched from cover at the same time, one wielding a heavy mallet, the other an erratically sparking, shrieking palm full of electricity.

The Chidori.

She hadn't seen it before, and it was a glorious sight. Raw energy, sparking, erratic and shrieking—an electric burst that cast them all in a blinding white light. The polar opposite of the boy himself—and also…terrifying. But not nearly enough to deter her.

With the chakra-glow of Aura set close to her open palm and lost in the Chidori's light, she blocked his way—made damn sure he knew it, and he stumbled, only briefly, before wrenching his attack out of her path and changing its course at the last second, to keep it from catching her—because he was way off-course and would have gotten himself blindsided, and smashed the full steel brunt of her weapon into one of the hardened tree trunks, crushing it into shards and fine dust and mushroom spores and leaving a gaping crater in its side that surely would have decimated the enemy on the other side, had he remained.

No, he moved. And so did several others—shadow clones, by their appearance, or just a ridiculous amount of twins. Twenty, or so. Icosuplets, was it? Just a passing thought as she got her bearings on where each of the three kids were, as well as the enemy.

She was certain she'd targeted the source, but it wasn't so.

Shaking off his shock her blatant intervention brought, Kakashi struck down the shadow clone in his path and made quick work of a second—at the same time, one descended upon Rin and Obito.

She didn't think he'd do it, after their pep-talk, but he froze, the damn kid froze, and he wasn't ready he was just a kid just like the rest of them and even a shadow clone can kill, and she moved, before she even knew it, while Rin also tried to reach him with a shout, kunai in hand, but neither could reach him in time and she knew it, too.

Another enemy stood in her way—Namie drew four shuriken from her bag and flung them, dead center, through both, as something sliced from her shoulder to upper arm and split open skin in a screaming pain she'd grown accustomed to.

Still, she didn't look away until the clones disintegrated into twin plumes of dust and she was sure Obito and Rin were safe, and they were, a little shaken, but alive.

Kakashi was still fighting, she could hear him; she could hear kunai and that shrieking Chidori, and he would be alright, had to be, because she had to believe he could handle this and Minato wasn't there to help him and she just wasn't fast enough to protect them all if he wasn't.

It was child's play, really, compared to everything else she'd seen, but she didn't have to protect the kids, these kids, then. She ignored the blood soaking through her sleeve, down the back of her arm underneath her vest, and gripped her mallet tight, swinging it up as she turned, rendering her opponent into a useless cloud of smoke in one fell swoop.

"Kakashi, how many?" she yelled, feeling the sting in her arm, hoping he didn't get hit, hoping he was still ok, but she saw blood that wasn't her own on the grass nearby, shining black in the subdued violet light of a sinking sun somewhere overhead. The silence rang too loud. "Kakashi!"

"Sixteen," he breathed out, but his voice was thin and far away, and she didn't hear any birds singing anymore. Counting hers, that was nineteen. One, the real one, was close, somewhere, and they had to take him down before he created more clones—after calling twenty, he should be tired enough, easy enough to kill.

Unless he called for actual, flesh-and-blood reinforcements.

She scanned their surroundings as she stepped back, tried to move closer to Kakashi, and felt chakra buzzing in her hand, knowing she should've just listened, provided back up, because it would have been alright either way—wouldn't it? No one would die here, not yet.

Trusting that was far too hard, in practice.

A gash bled from his side, but it didn't look deep. Still, she offered her shoulder—her good one—as he slumped, breathing heavily, and leaned against her to remain standing.

'I'm not as fast as Minato. This is why things get messed up. I never should have come.'

But—no. Thanks to the bloodshed, the enemy made a mistake. A vital error. Her eyes caught half of an adult-footed bloody sandal-print stamped onto the flattened grass, shining a disgusting deep violet-red, and a short distance away she spotted another, leading the way around another tree trunk shadowed by an overhanging mushroom cap.

If she listened closely, she could hear labored breathing, but it could have been her imagination—could have been Kakashi, but she didn't want to accept that he'd been injured even as sweat ran down his face, soaking his mask and sticking his hair to his face. As quietly, carefully, as she could, she nudged him forward and led him to Obito and Rin, let the latter offer him her shoulder instead, and then turned away, dragging her mallet. Locked her gaze on the enemy's hiding place.

For a split-second, all she did was stare, and then she vanished in a puff of white smoke and a swirling leaf out of place in this biome that cleared to reveal a mid-sized mushroom. In the next instant she kicked away from the tree trunk, dropping down fast toward the enemy to give him a face full of blunt steel.

This time, he wasn't a shadow clone. Something glimmered in his eyes, something that told her he recognized her reputation, but it was too late to care. Too late to fully unsheathe his sword as it stuck, forever half-sheathed.

His body twisted, crumpled in on itself, exploding into red and bone instead of smoke. His forehead protector bounced away, landing on the grass Iwa-side up as his body dropped among thick and tangled roots, looking much like it belonged.

She didn't blink.

She stood in the shadows, waiting, listening for more enemies, but none came.


Somehow, they made it out of that forest.

Definitely a little worse for the wear, and the return of ever-waning sunlight spoke it in volumes. She didn't care about her arm, even though the blood soaked all the way down to her hip, because even though it stung at least she could still move it. Wrap it, move on, she was good to go. Kakashi, on the other hand…

"Is it bad?" she asked Rin as the girl helped Kakashi remove his shirt so she could get a good look at the wound, which had bled out quite a bit but looked to have clotted, and that was a good sign. He wouldn't look at her, and Rin didn't answer right away, as she examined it, twisted away to rummage in her medical pack for antiseptic and everything else she needed before setting it aside and then calling chakra forth across her palms to press against the injury.

Namie realized a beat too late the medical supplies were for her.

"It's deep, but it didn't hit anything vital. No poison—he'll be fine, after a while," she spoke quickly, out of breath, focusing intensely on healing the injury. "Obito, help Namie. Namie, take off your vest and move your sleeve so Obito can see it and tell me what it looks like."

"I'm fine," she interrupted firmly, but at the look Rin shot her way, she shut her mouth tight and shrugged. "Alright, alright."

She hated getting hurt, if only because undressing was a pain, and it meant she had to remove two utility belts for supply packs as well as the annoying vest, not to mention unzip her shirt, but at least that's all she had to do. Some wore more complicated outfits and she wasn't sure how they handled injuries then.

Even so, after shedding all that, she unzipped her shirt enough to slide it off of her injured arm and let Obito get a look at it as he shifted anxiously from foot to foot at her side. He'd tried to help, uncertainly, before she brushed him off, then he just stood there with a few medical supplies bundled in his hands. The thin armor beneath the vest and her shirt had been severed; the fine, metal links scratch against her exposed skin, but it seemed to have protected her as it was supposed to, since Obito said the slash was deep, but wasn't too deep. Clotting. No bone was exposed, at least. That was always good.

"Good," Rin agreed, "Sanitize it with that bottle there—and then get a needle. Stab wounds need to be closed up fast. There's also some salve and bandages…" she trailed off, and both looked her way briefly, but she shook her head and said no more.

"You've done stitches before, right…?" Namie asked Obito, if only to try to lighten the atmosphere. It took her a moment to realize her voice sounded weak, breathless, and everyone was shaken up by the ordeal. He didn't speak, so she craned her head to get a good look at him.

Tears pooled in his eyes, she realized, and he'd pushed his goggles up on his head because they'd probably gotten fogged up from the crying. And his hands shook, unsteady as he tried to sort through the supplies held in them.

Shit.

"Fuck stitches," she hissed under her breath, taking the antiseptic-soaked cloth from him and pressing it against her left shoulder by herself. "It—don't—" she tried her best to say something that would make all of this okay, but none of it was really okay at all. "Look, we all fucked up. I fucked up—so don't… It was my fault," she concluded, feeling the punishing sting in her wound as she clamped the cloth tighter to it, wishing it was deeper, wishing it hurt more.

Or didn't, at all.

"No it wasn't." Kakashi's spiteful tone shocked her, shocked them all, and all eyes turned to him as he winced against the healing chakra Rin steadily applied. "You did mess up, but it wasn't your fault. None of us are any good at teamwork. But I'm the leader, so it's my fault."

She was well aware of that, but hearing him say it aloud was a bigger shock than seeing Obito's frustrated tears and dammit, she wanted to tell him it damn sure was not all on him, that he wasn't his father, that it wasn't the same, but she couldn't find the words between doing her best to gulp back the sob threatening to break loose.

"It's my fault, because one of the chūnin under my command froze up and can't pull his own weight; because one of the chūnin under my command just won't listen and because I knew all of this and jumped into it anyway."

For once, Obito didn't snap back, as Namie knew he would. No one said anything.

"It doesn't matter," he continued after that stretch of deafening, disappointed silence. "Let's just get this mission done."

At some point, Rin had begun to wrap his torso, and then she moved behind Namie, evaluating the injury—she didn't realize she'd even approached until the sharp cold of healing chakra seeped into her skin, slowly warming up as it targeted her damaged cells.

"It'll be okay," she said to Obito under her breath as he sat, still, at her side, repeating it again for emphasis. "He's just upset. We'll be okay. We'll do better."

Rin wasn't one to be more partial to one comrade more than another, but she didn't use her healing chakra nearly as long on Namie. Probably to conserve her own strength, probably because it wasn't that serious of a problem. She did, however, still stitch it up and wrap it, promising the damage wouldn't remain.

Kakashi didn't speak to anyone during the entire time they set up camp and rested, but Namie tried to catch his eye several times—until he did return it and sent her such a dark, heavy glare she physically cowed away.

The incident set them back by a day, but things would work out in the end. Had to.

At least, Namie hoped so.


NOTE: For those who aren't aware, this story's finally fully-written! I'm sticking to an update schedule of posting every Saturday until I get to the final chapter of this fic. That's why updates have been so frequent lately.

Also, this chapter has been double-updated with the next, so please continue on and enjoy reading as soon as it's available.