Part IV
Chapter Fifty: Secrets Spilled, Good, Better, Best
Obito's death—or loss, at least, according to Namie—weighed heavy on everyone. It jarred them, shocked them, all. For Kakashi, it hardly seemed real, and perhaps he could pretend it wasn't, if not for the eye in his left socket.
The first week was difficult, especially after Obito's name was added to the Memorial Stone.
Rin cried, blamed herself—he did much the same, but couldn't bear to let anyone see him that way. Not because of any shinobi rules, no, he'd left those long behind and buried because they really were trash, for all that they'd led to.
It just…hurt. Because he'd tried his best—as anyone could do, and—
"Always do your best, Kakashi."
—Despite that, so much had still been lost. But he supposed his "best" hadn't been the best from the start. It was…selfish. And when he tried to fix it, it was too late.
He hated himself for it, but the most emotional part of him wanted to blame it all largely on Namie. For what she'd said—for all she'd been hiding. They'd been teammates, once. They were family, now. But after Kannabi Bridge, he felt like he'd never really known her, that she'd never trusted him, not really.
There were clues, of course. Little things, little tells, the concern that seemed odd at times, but never seemed fully out of place until he had the full picture. Even before she'd revealed her secrets, her nature, everything, he'd known something was off, and he'd kept it to himself. Perhaps for too long. Now, he couldn't. All because of that one instant where she'd seen Obito, seen the enemy, and didn't make a move. Not a single move, when she always would have before. All because of the things she'd said in the past, and when her arm was crushed, trapped, and he'd been so close to losing two friends. One, he cared too much for, and one he hadn't cared enough for.
One who may never have really cared at all, for all she'd kept from them.
A week after they returned from the bridge, he'd applied for access to the restricted files—to review something of his father's, he'd claimed. The full record and history of the White Fang. He had clearance; he was a jōnin after all, and it was about his father. No one questioned it. No one was there to guard anything from the inside, either. From there, it wasn't difficult to locate the small Namikaze archive that contained four prominent files and a handful from the past, never fully transcribed from old scrolls sitting in the back, piled up.
Namie's folder was thicker than the others. But it wasn't in regard to missions, or skill—pages upon pages of medical history filled it out. At first, it made sense, because she'd been to the hospital frequently for various injuries, but these weren't physical reports. They had to do with chakra—and the mind. And most were dated from years back, before they'd even been placed on Team One together. Before they'd even known each other.
He reviewed write-ups of numerous tests, results, observations, and he could barely grasp it all, at first, despite having the words right there on dry paper in his hands, in front of his eyes. Something about it should have made sense, but it only brought on more confusion. For one, because these tests were detailed. Invasive. Hardly a thing that would be condoned under normal circumstances for any Konoha shinobi, much less civilians…but perhaps war times justified anything. He could say that no physical, no evaluation, no anything he'd ever been exposed to, after his first kill, after his father's death, before his recent promotion, came close to any of this.
But he quickly found the root of it. Once, some ten years ago, Uzumaki Kushina been kidnapped. It never became more than a small, quiet incident, but only because it had ended well, with their resident jinchūriki returned, unharmed. He'd only heard of it in passing from Minato and Kushina, when they got a little too lovey-dovey and fawned over how they'd first fallen in love. He didn't pay attention to it then, not really, but now it all clicked into place.
Namie knew about it, during and after.
It was there, all in writing. No reason to know it, yet she did anyway.
Just as he'd had a feeling she knew something about their mission.
Then, what else…? How much else?
He didn't read all of her files. Only skimmed through, collected points of interest, and stored them away for future discussion.
It didn't explain what he'd wanted to know, and neither did her explanation, or her revelations that she freely and so easily gave him upon confrontation.
If anything, when it was all put together, it…only brought misery. Because this wasn't the first time it'd happened. Because there could be something…wrong.
Because he had to let Minato know, no matter what she'd asked of him.
He found him at the Memorial Stone.
The sun hung suspended, high in the sky, and the air was dry. Warm. The prelude to a mild winter—weather that didn't quite belong. Fitting.
Sweat dampened the back of Minato's long-sleeved shirt. He'd been standing there for a while, hours even, because even though Obito was definitely one of the reasons, there were others he'd lost, too. He didn't turn when Kakashi approached, even as he stepped up beside him and stared at the many names scrawled onto the stone as well.
There was no easy way to bring up this conversation.
Offerings sat scattered across the grass at the stone's base—the treats left by Kushina, and the bright flowers left by Rin were easy to spot among all the rest. A pair of orange goggles, similar to the ones that had been crushed under stone, were also tucked into the shadow of the monument, and he almost did a double take at that, before he remembered Obito's cousin. Still, he stared at those goggles a bit longer than necessary, then breathed a sigh and prepared to just—speak. Just speak. That was the only way to get this over with.
"Sensei." The name stuck, even if they were both the same rank, and it never failed to get Minato's attention. "I…" The words didn't form as they should, and he fell into silence again.
"Your father was a good man, Kakashi." Minato spoke up when Kakashi's words failed, but his eyes remained focused on the Memorial Stone. "I'm not sure if I ever told you that, but I should have. I want his name to be on this stone with the rest, someday."
Kakashi turned his head. Couldn't help it. As everyone else, he'd heard the rumors that Minato would be taking up the mantle of Hokage soon, but to hear him say that… He couldn't find the words.
"You did the right thing. Never think otherwise. I'm…proud. Of how you all grew. How strong you all became. As a teacher, I'm proud." He finally looked at Kakashi, expression carefully controlled, though there was melancholy behind it. "As family, I'm proud."
Namie's words, her warnings, flashed through his mind, and he closed his eye—looked away.
Obito's alive. Rin will die.
If Kakashi was any kind of family, he'd just spit out the words and let it be done.
"And…thank you. For bringing my sister back."
He opened his eye again, and looked out across the grass clearing. Tree leaves swayed in the breeze, nearby, and birds rustled about within them. If his—Obito's—Sharingan was unwrapped, he could see exactly how many, he could see their chakra flow, he was sure. He'd only heard a bit about the Sharingan from him, and it seemed so long ago (and he'd been so proud, bragging even without having obtained it yet)… He always wanted to awaken his. It was a shame he hadn't been able to use it. Once it healed, once he could unwrap it, the Uchiha would have their say in its possession, he supposed. But for now…
"I'm worried about her."
"I am too, Kakashi. She's always been out in the field, fighting, but now—"
"That's not what I meant. She…" He hesitated, briefly. Shut his eye and forced his hands to remain loose, not curled into fists, at his sides. "I read her files. I know I could face disciplinary action for that, but I had to. I think the same thing is happening again. She told me—she told me so many things, and I don't know what to think."
There. He said it. It didn't quite feel like betrayal, no matter what she'd asked, but it didn't feel great, either. When he chanced a glance at Minato, he returned the look sharply, but not in anger. His eyes revealed caution, and alarm. Whether it was due to his admission of breaking confidentiality procedures or because of Namie's name, he wasn't sure, but he couldn't take it back, now.
And he didn't want to.
Then, Minato's eyes flickered away, surveying the area around them. "We'll talk somewhere else. Tell me everything."
He wasn't sure if the mess of information was everything, but he told him as much as he could.
And by the time he was through, he wished he hadn't said a thing.
They spoke at Minato's home, while Kushina was out handling business, as she was still a shinobi, though her contributions were largely within the village itself and more goodwill effort than anything, due to her status. Especially when forces had been so depleted and there weren't many genin who could handle all of the rising D-rank missions spread around. Even so, her presence served as a morale booster and overall civilian attitude toward her had improved, if only slightly.
Kakashi didn't stay, after he said his piece. Couldn't even meet his eyes the entire time, weighed down with guilt and uncertainty, but it was understandable—he mentioned everything he could, even the part where Namie asked him not to tell her brother.
Once he left, Minato was at a loss. He let out the weary breath he'd been holding and set his face in his hands as he slouched on the edge of the sofa seat, reviewing everything and letting his thoughts wander into the past, into the present, and the future, all at once, like the sea crashing against a cliffside in his skull.
He didn't know how long he sat like that, thinking, wondering just where to go, what to do, but eventually, the sun sank low in the distance, taking the light in his apartment with it, leaving him in the darkness. He couldn't bring himself to reach for the light switch, the lamp, or anything. He listened, though, to everything going on outside, to the neighbors bustling about downstairs, to the civilians mulling about on the streets below. To the crows cawing on the rooftops.
This situation was familiar. God, it was familiar, and it was like a nightmare all over again, because hadn't this already been put to rest? It wasn't supposed to be a problem anymore.
And now that it was, again…Minato found himself at that crossroad he'd seen coming from a long way off—that choice he'd forever be faced with when it came to choosing family or Konoha. One over the other.
Sacrifices always had to be made. He'd learned that, over the years. With Kushina, being the village's jinchūriki; with the war, taking and taking and taking; and now, once again, with Namie.
It wasn't that he was concerned about the village in this case—but along with rank and his impending promotion came responsibilities. Knowing what he did about Namie, about her current situation, and now about what Kakashi exposed, he was bound by obligation to report it to the proper authorities, to get her the help she needed, before it became a danger to the public. No—she'd never become a danger. Never was, never would be. Not to anyone but herself.
That alone was cause for concern.
He was concerned about her. Just as Kakashi was—and that was exactly why he'd brought this to him instead of taking it to the Hokage, as he should have under normal circumstances. Maybe once, maybe before the outcome of this mission, he would have. That mission had changed them all.
He thought back, so many years ago, to the tests they'd put her through, the constant observation, the studying—and how he'd put an end to it when he found out, because she'd only been a child, then; a student. Not a shinobi, but still a civilian. Once she'd graduated, grown into a genin, gained promotion to chūnin, the rules changed, and he couldn't protect her in the same ways because she could protect herself. Then, as ideals clashed, they'd drifted…
Or, had they just become jaded through this lifestyle, this constant exposure to war…?
She was still family. His sister. And the pain of choosing one over the other to make the right choice remained.
After a time, he became aware of something scratching on the front door—a key unlocking it, but having trouble—probably because Kushina was tired, after such a long day. Sure enough, once she finally managed to wrangle the door open, she breathed a loud, dramatic sigh and shuffled through, dropping her shoes carelessly to the side of the door and stepping into the hall. He heard her stretching—heard her spine crackle as it straightened out—and it was all habit, all a routine he was familiar with after being with her for so long, watching her for so long, and he could picture in his mind perfectly when she rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes and blindly reached for the light switch.
"Minato…? You home? Ugh, it was such a loooong day—and then I dropped by the library and it just made it longer because I couldn't find the book I was lookin' for, but then I did find it, and it was so interesting I couldn't stop reading…but I think I can help Namie out a little, knowing what it's like, and—H-hey, are you okay? What happened? Did someone give you trouble? I'll give 'em a piece of my mind, 'ttebane!" Her ranting came to an abrupt halt as she spotted him sitting alone in the dark—or had been, anyway, before she turned the lights on. She moved swiftly to his side and tugged at his arms until he looked up at her, and wasn't she just a beautiful sight. Even exhausted, even with those tired shadows under her eyes, she was filled with a righteous concern, always ready to fight anyone who wronged her loved ones. Not that she always acted on it anymore (thankfully), but it was the thought that counted.
Her presence alone brought warmth that cut through the dread threatening to consume him.
"Minato…?" Once she saw his face, though, that anger, that energy, evaporated, replaced by pure worry. He wondered what kind of expression he had, to shock her that much.
"Kushina…I don't know what to do."
She stared for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, mouth moving to speak, but not quite knowing what to say, just yet. A moment later, her warmth fell at his side and her arms wrapped around him and he leaned into her embrace, her quiet comfort, wondering what he would do if he had to go through this alone.
Really, he couldn't imagine a world without Uzumaki Kushina. Without his wife. He could still barely believe he'd been lucky enough to meet her and have her in his life all this time.
Despite her harsh and wild ways, the redheaded whirlwind was remarkably apt at knowing just what to do when someone was trapped in their own troubles. It was an inherent kindness. Compassion.
"I dunno if you can tell me what this is about," she began, because she knew what it was like to be bound by shinobi confidentiality at times, and she never pried when she couldn't, "but I know you always do what you think is right. Whatever you decide, I'll support you one-hundred percent, y'know?"
"I know," he said, letting his hand rest on the arms encircling him. She was warm—always warm, like she was filled with the sun. It was hard to fall into despair in her presence. "I know." Even so, he was a realist. No matter how much comfort she provided, no matter how much she supported him, a choice had to be made. "But what I decide to do could end up breaking this family."
"…No it won't. You'd never do that, 'ttebane." Her words were firm, even with the spike of tenuous alarm filling them. "Whatever this is about, as long as you do what you believe in, no one could ever fault you for that. Because even when you mess up, even bigtime, we forgive you. That's what family's about. No matter what you do, I'll always love you. So will Taji, and Namie. And—even Rin, and Kakashi."
"What if one of them doesn't? What if I end up hurting one of them just to help them?"
"…You're still helping, aren't you?" she tried, and he could feel a shaky smile as she pressed her lips to the side of his head. Then, the cool steel of her forehead protector as she rested her forehead against the same spot. "And they'll know that. They'll understand. Even if it takes a while." She took a breath. "But if they don't? You'll always have me. Always."
For a moment, he wasn't sure who they were talking about. He wondered if she knew it was about his—their—sister, or if she thought on a subconscious level that it was about herself. Even he didn't know that—not yet.
He reached up, ran his hands through her long hair, and sighed, and in that instant he could pretend the weight of the world was no longer on his shoulders. "Thank you, Kushina. Tell me about your day?"
She smiled again, breathed a quiet laugh of relief, always happy to provide ease in the wake of distress. "Of course! Most of it was pretty boring, like delivering groceries for the elderly, but I had to help one kid get their cat out from a tree, then…"
Kushina's words were…comfortable. Safe. She really would always be there for him to come home to, no matter what he decided to do.
No matter what.
Just as grief never really went away, neither did the old feeling of a missing limb.
Everything was slow, and Namie was restless—antsy.
She did stay at the hospital as her doctors insisted—and she was rightfully chided by the staff for leaving without letting someone know, much less by escaping out the window, which remained tightly shut ever since her return. Especially by Inori, but he was always acting weird about it, because Hiroto's incident was fresh in his mind even after all these years and he always wanted to bring it up, mention the similarities, ask her what she was going to do, but never did. So she looked him straight in the eye, said I know, and he left it at that. Then, she asked about his kid, his wife, and things were normal again.
Kakashi hadn't spoken to her since she told him those painful secrets, and Rin's scheduled death day was fast approaching. He wouldn't let it happen—neither of them would. Couldn't, now.
It took another week, but the staff finally decided to discharge her, though they danced around the subject of her doomed career. Once, she would have felt the same, since she'd seen it almost wreck Hiroto, but now she thought otherwise.
Because hadn't he made the choice to retire? There were some things shinobi couldn't do, when they lost limbs, to paralysis or amputation, but battle wasn't technically barred forever.
She had to fight, and keep fighting. Until something gave way.
Which was exactly why her post-hospital days were spent at her favorite training ground. Not with her mallet, because she'd left it behind in battle once again—a shame, since it had been so damn solid and especially expensive even with Minato's intervention with that swindling smith, but she tried not to think about it. Kunai and shuriken were easy to handle one-handed, so that's what she did. Complicated hand seals? Techniques? She wasn't sure how that would work, but she wasn't quitting. There had to be a workaround.
The only technique she had full use of was Aura, and it remained fully-functional. It was the first thing she tested, when she recovered enough to have the mind to do so. Though now it was a technique exclusively meant for defense, and not to be used in tandem with a weapon. Small sacrifice.
But it was good to be back in the field, with cold steel warming in her palm. Hearing the dull, steady plunk of the blade piercing the wooden training dummy worked as well as any therapy session. Ten, then eleven, all in a wobbly circle—not quite close to the red bull's eye painted on the dummy, but creeping closer as she grew accustomed to her new distribution of weight and balance.
This wasn't the end of her struggle, she knew. It was a temporary lull, but she took full advantage of it. For once, the future didn't look dark. Neither did the past, despite all of its tragedies.
Of course, thinking that way was naïve, and deep down she knew it wouldn't be that easy—was just too numb to acknowledge that fact.
Before the twelfth kunai embedded its point into the center of the target, she received a summons from the Hokage—a hawk, soaring lazily in the sky overhead. Not only a summons, but a notice for any to retrieve her if she failed to show up.
Everything had led up to this moment.
When Namie opened the door, when she saw who was in that office, the full extent of the situation crashed down at once and she couldn't feel; her feet dragged like lead, like they were someone's else's, as she forced herself to keep walking, to face the ultimate consequence, to see what would become of her and this world.
The office didn't smell like smoke, today, and there wasn't a faded cloud of it lingering over everything. There was no lit pipe, no cigarette, no tobacco. Only a clear view of the Hokage, sitting formally at his desk, while Danzō and the two other elders, Inori, Hiroto, and Minato, Minato, stood on either side of it like a judging panel, like an interrogation committee. It was a trial to evaluate her mental condition, her sanity, to determine whether or not she was a danger to Konoha or just to herself. To determine whether or not her skills could still be utilized for other purposes.
She expected the room to feel like a prison cell, at that point, but it remained as it was, bright and open, with windows allowing sunlight to stream in, and she could see birds swooping past and clouds drifting by outside and it felt…different. It wasn't terrible, like it had always been, and even if her feet stuck heavy to the floorboards, it didn't feel like they were sinking or that the room would swallow her whole. There was a sense of resignation about it all, so she smiled wryly and stood as tall as she could.
This wasn't only her final consequence—it was the final opportunity for change.
Minato, she thought, wouldn't meet her eyes as she walked toward them all, but he did. He watched her, with apology, worry, caution, clearly written all over his conflicted face, but she didn't blame him, no, nor did she blame Kakashi, but the sting of betrayal was still there, no matter how dull.
It was her fault.
Inori and Hiroto were there, because—well, they'd seen this before. Hiroto was a witness from the past, and Inori was the one recording her health. Probably, he'd been keeping watch on her all along, even though tests had officially ceased. Neither looked happy to be here.
Danzō—he looked like he'd been waiting for this for a long time, and he didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge her, but the sense of smug victory about him made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
The door shut heavily behind her, as soon as she was past it. ANBU were stationed around out of sight, she knew, to keep her from escaping, should she decide to run. To protect the Hokage, should she decide to attack. Barrier tags for privacy and confidentiality were in place, she was sure, and everything she said would be documented for review and kept secret by everyone in this room, more so than anything before it.
She wasn't surprised by any of that. If anything, she was surprised Kakashi wasn't present.
"Namikaze Namie—" The Hokage began to speak, with authority, with caution, and a bit of regret, but she cut him off.
"I know why I'm here."
He didn't seem surprised by her interruption. He studied her calmly, with a carefully controlled expression and frown (but fear showed through, just a bit, wrinkling the corners of his eyes—whether he feared for his safety, for Konoha's safety, or for her safety, she didn't know). "And what have you to say?"
It was best to begin with honesty, or at least a sliver of it. Lying had never gotten her anywhere, after all. She'd thought about just what she would say, if it came to this, and she'd gathered a handful of facts and red-flags that would serve to her advantage when none of this seemed advantageous at all.
Regret? She had just a bit.
Even so, she steeled herself and held her head high as she spoke with as much conviction as she could muster.
"I lied to you. Years ago. I knew Uzumaki Kushina had been kidnapped and taken from Konoha. I knew my brother would pursue and save her. It wasn't a sensory ability; it wasn't a special technique; it wasn't because I was perceptive or smart. I was born with knowledge about several future events, and that was one of them."
Inori made a sound and she could see him move in her peripherals as she kept her eyes solely on the Hokage, but he didn't speak.
"…And another one of those is that Uchiha Obito is still alive."
This statement drew forth a larger reaction, mostly incredulous and derisive—Minato hadn't told them that, yet, and with good reason. The boy was as good as dead, as far as they knew.
So, she brought out her ace. The one not even Kakashi had been privy too.
"As is Uchiha Madara."
Even if Minato hadn't relayed everything he'd learned from Kakashi's tattling, they couldn't ignore this. Because—he had to have told them. Otherwise…otherwise, she'd jumped into this without reason.
No. No, it was with reason. Had to be. Had to change. It was why she was here. It was why she'd told Kakashi.
"Impossible!" One of the elders, the old woman with her gray hair wound in a tight bun atop her head, spat as she stirred beside the Hokage's desk. "The search party reported nothing suggesting survival. Not even a corpse. And Uchiha Madara? Still alive? Ridiculous."
Now, all eyes turned to her with varying degrees of skepticism and shock. No one expected any of this. But, that was exactly the reason the "everything" she always let go was never fully that.
Her gaze passed from the Hokage to her brother, whose eyes creased as he withheld a flinch, as if he almost couldn't hold the gaze. "I'll tell Minato everything. But only Minato, because he'll be initiated as Yondaime Hokage soon and I trust him. I don't see any point in telling the Sandaime. Or any of you, frankly." Her smile grew tight—unkind, though not malicious—as she looked at each of them briefly before focusing on the Hokage again. "I would tell you more, but you've already turned my mind over and over and failed pretty spectacularly. Now, I'm offering everything I know freely, wanting nothing in return, but only to him."
"She's not…in her right mind," Inori attempted to say, despite the verbal jab she'd implied at his past handling of the matter. But he was in charge of her recovery, her evaluations—always was—so he knew better than anyone that she was, indeed, in her right mind. In fact, she'd never been better.
"She's lying!"
"If she'd had this so-called information all along, why would she not bring it to our attention right away?"
The urge to defend herself, her choice, her decision, was strong, but she refrained, only blinked and tried to cross her arms before realizing she could only cross one, and it reached awkwardly for the ghost of an arm, fingers falling through air. She tugged down her left sleeve to hide the scarred end of her arm, toying with the fabric. The urge to summon her shield was also strong, and as chakra buzzed in her palm, it felt like chakra flowed through her absent left arm, too, trying to take shape as she fought down the dregs of fear and uncertainty. It was far too late for that, now.
This was an all or nothing shot.
"Because proving it isn't easy," she spoke at long last, knowing Minato's eyes were on her the entire time; that he struggled to reach his own conclusions and make a decision. "Because I knew you'd look at me like you're all looking at me now. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should've told you the truth, all those years ago." She shook her head. "I don't care what happens to me, not really. Not anymore. I just want to protect the people I care about, while I can. I don't care much about Konoha as a whole, but what I know can protect this village, too. That's why I'm here. So punish me if you have to, just listen."
The Hokage held up a hand to silence his council and returned her sharp gaze with a careful, level stare. "I am listening. We are all listening, Namie-kun," he spoke up at last—and it was true, they were. They'd pulled her into this audience for an explanation, though, not a convoluted exposition that brought more questions than answers. "If what you say is true, how do you expect to be trusted to share the necessary details?"
"I've never done anything to hurt anyone, have I?" Her eyes shifted to Danzō, narrowing slightly, before she looked back to the Hokage. "And I've never blown the whistle on anyone's secrets when I damn well could."
In this, she expected everyone else to understand that she'd never betrayed Konoha despite not caring about it, for all she'd done for it during the war under that ugly nickname, but her minor anti-Konoha slip-up had already been rooted in their minds and mentioning secrets was a mistake, because in the next instant, someone signaled security and a knee dug sharply into her spine— her chin hit the floor as a seal slapped against her back and her chakra abruptly fizzled out just when it flared over her hand, but goddamn it wouldn't kill them to go easy, would it, because she'd already lost an arm and couldn't lose much else. Minato yelled out, and his hand reached forward, but he didn't move from his spot, only stared, conflicted, scared, and she could only see this because she turned her head his way.
"I'll tell you," she spat, looking at him, only him through the hair that fell wildly across her eyes, because he was the only one that could help, at this point, fuck all the rest. "If you don't listen, Rin NONE OF YOU LISTEN, KONOHA FALLS!"
And it would, several times.
It's the first time she's yelled so loud, she thought, feeling her throat sting as her cheek pressed against the hard floor, blood on her lip, busted from harsh contact with the floor, before security pulled to her feet and dragged toward the door. She resisted—dug her heels in, despite having no chakra to make them stick, and if they didn't think she was crazy before, they probably did now, for sure—definitely looked it. Even the Hokage was now standing, hands pressed firmly against the surface of his desk as he watched her detainment, eyes wide, jaw set to speak, conflicted. He hadn't been the one to authorize it, she realized. Wouldn't do something that cruel unless he had no choice. "I want to help! I'm offering you this, so don't be idiots and just listen! I could have kept it all to myself!"
Her eyes turned to Danzō—he stared, livid, and it was him, him, and he'd always had something against her, hadn't he, he'd been waiting for something like this for ten years, waiting for her to slip. She'd fallen into a false sense of security, thinking they forgot; thinking hiding behind carnage and playing by the rules, albeit loosely; thinking her brother's status would protect her during all of this.
Seeing him stand there while ROOT hauled her away hurt more than anything—hurt more than the fact that Kakashi told him, hurt more than the fact that he didn't come to her about it first.
These were the consequences—the gallows, and this was the noose she'd hung herself with.
But it couldn't be the end—there had to be change. Had to, or it was all for nothing. So she continued to resist, fought back even as she passed the doorway, as she stumbled and dropped to her knees in the hallway and almost, almost twisted away, out of their hold, and bit into someone's hand like a rabid dog and—no.
That wasn't her.
Someone did sink their fangs into the ROOT shinobi tasked with her capture and there was blood, and brown fur and yelling, and a scream—
She grabbed Kurocha, threw her arm tight around his neck and they prepared to run, to escape, to leave, to defect, and this wasn't how it was supposed to go but, shit, she never did have a good plan from the beginning and maybe this was how it was supposed to be.
She grabbed Kurocha and they ran, and then someone else grabbed her and they vanished, gone, like a flash.
When the world stopped spinning, when the bile in the back of her throat no longer surged and the urge to vomit faded, Namie opened her eyes and pulled her face from the thick coat of brown fur it buried into—and she focused on the taste of blood on her lips and the feel of it against her cheek and under her hand—which she pressed to the leaking wound, knowing it was from a blade, long, sharp—not a kunai. But a blade, all the same, and it was shallow, but still bleeding, still heartrending, and she'd never been so glad to know this dog in her entire life.
He'd be okay, she told herself, knowing it was true. Had to be, because losing so many—she couldn't lose him, too. She'd broken this world's hold on her, its hold on everything and it couldn't take from her anymore. Not again. Not ever.
Hands moved hers aside, hands that assessed the wound and agreed that it was shallow, that Kurocha was, would be, fine, then a wad of fabric pressed to the injury to soothe it, to soak up the blood.
The floor was gritty, cool, and for a moment she thought it was nighttime, thought they were outside, but they were in a dark room. A hideout, perhaps, an emergency bunker, or the equivalent of what that would be in this place, because it had a bed for sleeping, for staying, for hiding away. On some level, she recognized it. On some level, she didn't want to, because that familiar sight of a three-pronged kunai hanging on one of the far walls, glinting in what little light they had, wasn't a glimmer of hope, but crushing despair.
No. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. It was—all fucked up, confused, and time began warping, folding in and over on itself even if the blurs of vertigo at the edge of her vision were just an aftereffect of Flying Thunder God transit.
"No—I made you a criminal," she hissed in full, miserable self-loathing, and blood seeped from her split lip, still, and it tasted like metal and mud, but it didn't stop her from grabbing Minato's shirt collar, from curling her fist against the fabric until her knuckles turned white and her fingers went numb—he didn't stop her. "Why? Why the fuck did you have to do this?" Her voice was heavy, thick, clogged with sobs she tried to hold back just to make him understand that this wasn't how things were supposed to be and it was all fucked up now that he'd gone and acted all on his own. Went off-script. But so had she, and naturally things wouldn't be the same, wouldn't be how she expected.
Why was she so mad, if this is how she'd wanted it to be—wasn't this the change she wanted?
She looked at her brother through eyes bleary with tears, narrowed, angry, and red, with teeth bared, like a beast, but seeing her wild face reflected in her eyes only pissed her off more and she hated herself that much more.
But he was calm—too calm, and it hurt.
"Because I never did enough for you."
"What? Of course you did! You always did. Just—how in the hell do you expect to be Hokage now!? Why risk it all? WHY?" Kurocha whined, licked at his snout, as his eyes darted between them, and it caught her by surprise momentarily. She let go of Minato's shirt—pushed him back, at the same time, though he barely budged—and blinked hard, still not entirely sure this was really happening.
Wouldn't it be so immensely cruel if it was all genjutsu?
But—no. The blood on her hands, the warm, furry body leaning against her side was all too real. Too vivid. And her chakra returned—the blocking seal had been ripped off and she could feel it burning through her circuits once again, even through the absent left arm.
He didn't raise his voice—not like her.
"Because I believe you, Namie."
He meant it. He really meant it, because when he spoke it he looked her straight in the eyes without hesitation, without uncertainty, with only genuine truth. Part of him was serious as a jōnin of Konoha, but most of it was serious as her older brother. As family. As someone who cared.
As someone who'd throw everything away for the ones he loved.
Even if it was her.
She grit her teeth, then the words poured from her mouth in an unstoppable torrent. "What do you mean you believe me?! I'm crazy! They all said it, and nothing I said really proves otherwise! You weren't—why did you—I didn't think you'd ever—For someone like me? That's so stupid! I didn't need you. I had everything under control. I could've—"
"No, you didn't. You were scared. You always are, when something difficult happens. You think you can't depend on any of us, that you have to handle it all alone. And I let you, for so long. I almost did, today—but…I couldn't. Not again. But I believe you." He looked at the ground. Shook his head slightly so that the dim light caught on the steel of his forehead protector. "I didn't know if I would, but I do."
"What about Kushina, and—" Naruto, she almost said, but caught herself at the last moment as the tears started to trickle down her cheeks like her eyes were damn leaky faucets and she had to scrub them away with the back of her hand, still bloody, before stopping and realizing it was only making things worse because now her ugly crying was snotty and smeared with red, and dirt. "And Mom," she finished weakly, but without real feeling.
Still, he never raised his voice, but spoke firmly. "Kushina can handle herself. Always has. And I think she'd agree with what I did. As for Taji…" He shook his head. "Family will forgive, won't they?"
"Dammit. Dammit… Fine. I know. Fine," she sniffed at last, shoulders slumping in resignation. Her tears didn't stop, yet, so she let them fall until they dried. "It isn't like we can undo any of this."
Really—why was she so surprised? He never, never, failed to come to her aid when she needed it the most. It was stupid to think that this time maybe he would turn a blind eye, because…
Because he was her brother.
The bonds she'd forged weren't so easy to break—it was another thing to come to terms with. Those around her always got dragged in, some way or another.
Her eyes drifted to Kurocha as he panted, as his side heaved, and she ran her hand over his ribs, checking for hidden injuries. None. He'd be alright. And hopefully…hopefully, everything else would be, too.
She ran her hand across her damp eyes and took a deep breath. "So, what's the plan?"
"I don't know. I didn't exactly think this would happen, either." Minato cracked a nervous smile, if only to provide some levity. Then, when she didn't return it, it slowly faded away. He focused on the dog's wound and checked beneath the wadded-up cloth to see that the bleeding had slowed, that it was just a wound, now.
There were probably medical supplies around somewhere. Namie moved to her feet—with some difficulty, because shaking knees didn't do well to support anyone, and correcting her balance was a challenge when she remembered she only had one arm. But with no small amount of care, she did it. "Where is this?" she asked, as she eased her way past Kurocha and took a long look around the dim hideout.
"Not in Konoha. It's one of my hidden safe houses. I set up a network of them, connected by the Flying Thunder God technique. This wasn't really what I thought I'd use them for, though…"
"Does anyone else know about them? Can anyone track you?"
"I wouldn't bring us here if they could."
"I'm not doubting you. I'm just asking."
"There's a first aid kit under that table," he deflected, quietly but urgently, glancing to the corner of the room.
She followed his stare to that area and pulled a dusty case out from the shadows under a small table.
Within it were fresh bandages, antiseptic, needles and salve, as well as soldier pills. For a moment, she thought of taking one, if only to gain her strength back. To give her that little push that would keep her going. But…it was better to save them for later. She returned to her brother and Kurocha and poured antiseptic over the open wound slashed just below his neck, close to his shoulder, and shushed him soothingly when he whined at the burning sting as it flushed clean. That done, she pat his side and moved away so Minato could stitch it up—just to be cautious, she was sure. It wasn't that deep, a lucky graze, but would probably still scar. But, for all intents and purposes, the dog was good as new, wrapped and ready to go in a matter of minutes.
"No one knows where we are," Minato said at length, returning to her question. "And unless they can reverse engineer the technique, they never will. In hindsight I'm sure it would be a good idea to report locations marked with the seal for safekeeping, but I don't suppose anyone ever thought it could aid the escape of a potential detainee."
"No one ever thought the golden boy would turn his coat." A nearby jug filled with water caught her eye—she offered it to Minato as he attempted to clean his hands with the bloodied cloth. "Not that I think you did. I shouldn't joke. But it isn't like you can just waltz back into the village and expect anyone to turn a blind eye. I can just leave," she stressed, eyes creasing as the conflict of the situation weighed on her once again and tears threatened to return. "What will you do?"
"I'll help you. After all of this, going back would be a waste. So, we're committed to this. You know things, important things, so we'll do what we can with that."
She watched him for a long time. "How much did Kakashi tell you?"
"All of what you told him, most likely. But knowing you, there's more."
"There is more," she admitted, watching his back as he dumped the water into a basin and rolled up his sleeves to scrub away the dried and fresh blood. He wasn't wearing his vest, but it wasn't the only thing missing, because there should be a cloak there, too. His shoulders may never carry the Hokage mantle, after all of this. But maybe…just maybe… "I have enough information to force the Hokage to step down early. For what he's allowed to happen on his watch. Danzō, Orochimaru… Because you have to become the Yondaime. That's one thing I won't give up on. But I'm more concerned about Rin, at this point. And Kakashi." The more she talked, getting ahead of herself, ahead of the present, the more it felt like she was a babbling madwoman. "Minato, are you scared of me…?" she had to ask it. Had to know, because all of this proved that he cared, but it didn't mean he wasn't afraid.
The sound of agitated water sloshing in the ceramic bowl came to a halt. He stood there, head bowed, half-cast in shadows, and didn't turn to face her. Slowly, he continued his task, keeping his silence for an unsettling minute that seemed to stretch on for ten. "I am. I won't lie."
The excess water that slipped over the edge dripped steadily, slowly to the ground. She counted the drops—four, five, six, and spoke again when they ceased.
"I'll tell you everything—all of it. Everything, like I said, from start to end."
She did, and he listened. Although, as always, it wasn't everything—only as much as she could give from memory, wringing out every last bit, holding nothing back. Everything that applied to this world, but never, never, uttering a word about how it was once fiction.
The tale began at her rebirth, stitched in bits from her first life for background, and the events she knew were inevitable without intervention, past, present and future. She told him of Obito's fate, of Rin's death, of Kakashi's pain. Of Naruto's birth. Of his own death, and Kushina's as well. Of Konoha's future, and his son's. Of Orochimaru's crimes, and Danzō's, happening now, under the blind eye of their leader. Of Jiraiya's death, of the Akatsuki. Of Uchiha Madara, or at least what she knew of him and his plan and Obito's involvement in it and the looming threat of the end of the world as they knew it.
She didn't know everything, she confessed, but she knew enough to make a dramatic difference. She knew of a prophecy made by toads that only Jiraiya could confirm. She knew of a coup and a massacre that would ruin the entire Uchiha clan and instigate so, so much. She told him of his story, of their story—them, the characters they'd once been—and included everything she could, as chronologically as she could even with it all spinning in her mind, thoughts whirling.
And as the truth poured out, it shaped itself into an arm, a hand—the one she'd lost—and reached into the sky, through the clouds, and dug its fingers into the world, into the flow of fate, into ink and paper and meat and bone. It twisted, twisted, twisted, turned, until something snapped. Broke.
Changed.
"I…I want to change things for the better. I always did. I just couldn't, not on my own. And you're right. I need help. I always did. This is my last chance." Three people. She'd told three, and this time it mattered. How did the saying go—third time's the charm? Turned out it was true.
It took three major losses to move her, and three major conversations to put change into motion.
At some point, Minato turned to watch her, arms hanging still at his sides as he let it all sink in, expression alternating between that of a lost child learning far too much and a livid adult outraged by what had happened and would happen in his absence.
At some point, Kurocha rested his head in her lap and she absentmindedly scratched his ears. Her part in this was done—that's what it felt like, but there was still a long way to go. But for now she could rest, free of that burden, and Minato could think. He was the smart one, after all; genuinely smart. He could plan better than she ever could. So, he'd lead, and she'd follow. For once, she'd allow that, and she'd listen to his orders.
He didn't speak for a while. Understandable—if anyone told her about such a life and all it entailed, even just a little, she'd fall headfirst into an existential crisis. He chewed on his thumb nail, bit it to the quick, as he considered everything, and if his worldview had been shattered by any of it, he didn't show it. Only stared off to the side with shrewd eyes, a tactician's eyes, analyzing the information at hand and constructing the best course of action for all involved.
When he finally finished sorting through it, filing through it all and deciding which parts were priority, he reached up to untie his forehead protector. Stared at the shining metal of the spiraled leaf symbol clutched in his hands for a moment, closed his eyes, and dropped it heavily to the dirt at his feet.
That sight held hope—true hope. For the first time in a long while.
