"It didn't feel like he was really trying either."

"Hold me,

I'm a pale machine,

Life is just okay here,

Anyone can see,

I'm lonely,

With my pale machine,"

-Pale Machine, bo en

"Yahiko has old shirts you can use," I told Hidan.

I stepped over stone bricks left on the road and heard a hasty, embarrassed apology from within one of the metal foundations behind me, along with a quick, I didn't mean to leave to leave those there, muttered to someone else, but I didn't look.

Eventually, there'd be rows of apartments here.

"Yeah, right," Hidan said, looking everywhere but at the people looking back at him.

He hadn't worn a shirt since the day Sasori shredded his old one.

"Your old one was small anyway," I said.

Hidan blinked. "Fuck you," he said back, but there was no heat behind it.

The road wasn't much of one. Just a stretch of dirt clearer than the rest.

I hummed in response. "Have you been to Kumogakure before?"

Hidan tilted his head back. "So fucking random."

"Have you?"

He only looked at me.

"What color are the apples there?"

Hidan looked bewildered. "How the fuck am I supposed to know? You think I was sent there to be a shitty tourist?"

"You had to eat something," I pointed out.

"You and that orange-haired bastard might be the worst ninja I've ever met, but the rest of us actually take food pills and ration bars on missions," he said derisively.

"Food pills?"

"Fuck me."

He didn't explain, but I'd ask Naga later, so I didn't mind.

"You like apples?" he asked after a second, barely looking at me.

"Almost sounds like you care," I said back.

Hidan looked away. "Can't say anything without you being a shit about it."

"Like anyone trying to ask you anything?"

"Fuck you," he said when he couldn't come up with something better, but he still wouldn't look at me.

"Are there apples in Yugakure—" I stopped as a rock bounced onto the road.

Hidan looked at it, then glanced to the left. "Who the fuck is that?"

I stopped and saw the man who threatened Naga hunched in the narrow space of an alley, dirty and grimy and thin, and heard the crash of rain as it soaked into his clothes and left him shivering.

But there was no alley here and I knew if I looked up, I'd see the sun.

I blinked and he sat in the dirt under the shadow of a partial wall. He'd looked healthy before, but now he looked like someone no one cared about, someone who people would walk by while trying not to look at.

Who would want to help someone disliked by the Wolf of the Rain?

Who would sell him food? Offer him a place out of the sun? Give him tools to help keep himself clean? Who would let him keep what he fished when they could take it instead?

He looked at me, haunted and full of rage, and it made me smile.

"Did you get what you wanted out of this, Wolf?" he asked, like he couldn't get it out fast enough.

"Yes," I said, and he fell into stunned silence. My smile widened. "Did you think I wasn't someone who'd tear you apart and spit you back out because I could?"

He looked at his dirty, shaking hands. "You don't get what it's like dealing with kids day in and day out that keep taking from you. Little assholes who couldn't understand that I had to pay for what I had, and if I didn't make enough my contacts wouldn't sell to me. I was cut off from all but one when the war started. You think I could afford to have rats stealing from me all the time?"

I tilted my head. "So what?"

"It was me and others like me who did what we could to get by while Hanzo was fucking us all," he went on, louder. "You think anyone would've lasted long enough for the Akatsuki to come along without us? You think something I didn't do over ten years ago was personal? I thought this shit was over when the three of you didn't come back, but here you are, Wolf, long after I moved on. It was what you stole from me that kept you alive."

I walked closer, until I was looming over him. "So what?"

It didn't change that if Yahiko hadn't shown up, Naga would've come back with one less hand.

He stared up at me and searched my eyes. His shoulders sagged at what he found.

"Pitiful," Hidan said, amused, sandals crunching dirt as he came up behind me.

"You say you helped people," I repeated, looking past him. "And maybe you did. But I don't think Naga was the first."

He hadn't hesitated to say they should take the whole hand back then. I knew I was a product of war. So why was he so casual about it?

Maybe it was the only way orphans would learn, maybe it worked to stop so-called rats from stealing from him, and maybe those apples kept someone who paid for them alive.

And maybe, just maybe, none of that mattered at all.

"You could be a saint now," I told him. "Or you could've fed people from your own hands, and I'd still want you dead, because Naga didn't know how to heal when we met, so he would've died."

The man only leaned back against the wall and gave me a small, defeated smile. "Now I see the part I played in making you so terrible," he said, almost to himself. "I only wanted to talk to you again, Wolf. Just once—"

He reached behind himself, jerked a kunai up towards his neck, and I caught his wrist before the point could reach his throat. He struggled, looking at me in surprise, but it didn't take any strength at all to keep his hand still.

"You don't get to die so easily," I told him, and heard Hidan burst out laughing behind me.

"And you gave me shit for that heathen in Rain?" he asked.

"It's not the same," I said, and he laughed louder, but the man wasn't looking at either of us.

He stared at something above me, and he looked terrified.

I let him go and looked back, but there was nothing there.

"It's just another part of you being completely bullshit," Hidan said, wiping tears away.

"What was?" I asked and heard the man scrambling back, away from me.

Hidan waved at the air above me, still grinning, "It looked like a weak ass genjutsu, but I didn't feel shit. It was a giant fucking head with its mouth open and covered in purple fire. It was some of the most blasphemous shit I've ever seen."

Then he laughed so hard he stumbled forward and fought to catch his breath.

I only hummed as I looked back at the spot where the man had been. He'd left his kunai behind.

They'll move on to something else eventually, I thought, And then maybe I'll finally let you die.

"What the fuck," Hidan said, coughing hard.

"Did anyone else see?" I asked him.

"Even if they did, it doesn't look like shit from the back," he said. "It's the front that made that shit sacrilegious. Your sensei was that dumbass genjutsu user, right? What do you think they'll think?"

I lingered for another second, and then I walked away.

"What the actual fuck," Hidan said, wiping his eyes again. He'd been laughing so much he couldn't stop crying.

"Do you still want to go see what Sasori's doing?" I asked.

Hidan tripped, eyes shooting toward me. "You really don't give a shit that that shit just happened?"

"I didn't mean to do it," I answered.

He dropped to his hands and knees, laughing again.

.

.

.

I watched two puppets in red cloaks push a finished part of a stone wall upright as three more laid steel squares down, making a floor that'd be able to bear the weight of all the metal on top of it.

They were everywhere, digging up dirt or sticking bricks together with mortar.

Hidan was incredulous as he looked around. "That red-headed bastard wasn't lying."

Sasori sat on a stone slab, hand raised lazily, fingers barely moving. Each finger had one glowing string that branched off into a blue web.

It was the first time I'd seen him since Wind, because he didn't like our hideout.

I glanced towards the road and saw Keitaru on one knee, holding a brush, scrolls around him in the dirt. One was spread open in front of him, showing what looked like a rough sketch of the inside of a building.

He dipped his head to me, then Hidan.

Junpei was close to him, steadier on his feet but not much bigger than I remembered, digging a hole behind Keitaru and throwing rocks in.

"You really are out here building shit," Hidan said, like he couldn't believe it.

Sasori turned, but never lowered his hand. His eyes looked as empty as they had in the bingo book.

"You irritate me so much it's almost impressive, Akatsuki's dog," he said, toneless.

Hidan only shook his head. "Look at you," he said back, gesturing around him. "This shit is sad."

Sasori ignored him and shifted his lifeless gaze onto me, "If you're going to take him on a walk you should keep him muzzled before someone else does it for you."

"Building their village for them and calling me their dog," Hidan said, humored.

I didn't respond right away as I walked up to Sasori, looking at a similar scroll unrolled at his feet. "What does it make you then?" I asked. "If our dog never helps us build anything, but you are—"

Sasori had senbon in his hand before I stopped, spinning them so the points stuck out between his fingers as he raised his arm—

"Fuck kind of defense is that?"

—and the points poked at a vein in my throat. He applied just enough pressure to instantly break the skin.

I locked eyes with him.

"I've hit my limit with loudmouths," Sasori said, staring at me. "Go bother someone else or die."

I felt a warm line trickle down my neck. It made me think of Minato and Kakashi. I barely moved as I pushed strands of hair out of my face, looking above Sasori.

"Why does everyone always do that?" I asked idly.

His other hand stilled, and the puppets around me stopped moving.

Sasori didn't blink and didn't respond, but I felt his Killing Intent like a sudden downpour. Sandpaper hands scraped up my collarbone and slid around my neck, the fingers almost gentle until they pressed down and squeezed—

I knew it wasn't real, but it didn't seem to matter. I still felt like I couldn't breathe. I coughed, even though I didn't mean to.

Sasori stared at me, unyielding, and I thought that this was Killing Intent.

Root, Hanzo's army, and Antei were nothing compared to this.

My hand went up to my throat, feeling instinctively for the cold pressure stopping me from breathing, even as I told myself it's not real over and over—

hurts, ignore it, can't breathe—

I blinked at the dirt, suddenly on one knee, a hand against ground keeping me upright. The other hand scratched at fingers that weren't there. I didn't remember dropping down.

I couldn't move, nothing in my body listening, and thought suddenly that I understood what Yahiko meant, years ago, when he told me that Jiraya had been right when he told us that we didn't get what it was like to be targeted directly.

He hadn't meant just being attacked, but feeling the full weight of a stare from a S-ranked missing-nin.

Naga and Yahiko had been close enough to feel Hanzo's Killing Intent. Hanzo, who killed Konan with ease, who, before he turned weak and sad, only let Jiraya and Tsunade live because he could.

What had that been like, thinking they were about to die while feeling like they were already dead?

My vision blurred—

can't move, not real, dying, not real, run—

Run?

I felt dirt under my nails as my fingers curled.

Was I scared... of Sasori?

I stopped, lightheaded and chest too tight, and then I punched myself as hard as I could. My head snapped to the side, ears ringing, cheek aching. The pain was like being splashed with freezing water, enough to loosen the grip around my neck, just enough to breathe out.

I looked up and saw Sasori's eyes widen slightly.

I knew who I was, and it wasn't someone who was afraid of Sasori. I spat blood as the pain started to fade to a dull throb and the hands closed off my airway again, because if he thought I was someone who'd do what he wanted because I was afraid, well, I'd just pull him down with me.

I didn't know what my Killing Intent would feel like. I'd never needed bloodlust to kill, and I didn't care about making people afraid of me.

They usually were just by me being myself.

Maybe that was why my Killing Intent didn't feel like groping, squeezing hands or a kunai digging into a heart, but like being submerged in an inky black version of the ocean. I thought of Sasori sinking in it, of making him feel what he made me feel by filling his mouth and nose with that thick, sluggish water until he choked on it.

I barely saw Hidan, sitting with his legs crossed, watching us with his chin propped on his hand like we were the most entertaining play in the world.

Stone thudded to the dirt and metal clanged as all the puppets collapsed at once. The chakra strings disappeared as Sasori stood, watching me with wider eyes.

"That's the second time," Sasori said, almost to himself. "What's your name?"

I bared my teeth at him. "You haven't earned it."

His gaze drifted to the side, more distracted by his thoughts, and I pushed myself up, unable to help the way my body shook, or the dark spots that made him almost unrecognizable.

I looked at the sky, feeling like the pressure was worse, like the fingers were digging into bones, and thought of what bloodlust felt like.

I'd only felt it a few times. Hanzo. not-Madara. White Zetsu. Black Zetsu.

And only two of them were still alive. If Killing Intent didn't work, what about malice? I hated them so much that thinking about why felt like sticking a needle into an old, but new wound.

If I really let myself feel it, it'd be bottomless. A dark pit of nothing beneath the surface of ink with only seaweed and bodies and the dark red stain of hate.

What was that like, to be submerged in all my hate?

The pressure of his Killing Intent started to slip away like a bad dream, because I knew that if Hanzo or not-Madara had killed everyone back then, I had enough hate in me to make the entire world bleed.

Sasori's eyes widened a little more. "If I could freeze that face, you'd make a good puppet."

I stared at him, but even with all the malice I could throw at him, he barely seemed to notice. It made me snort, and then I was laughing hard, because the only other option was to be afraid.

Sasori didn't seem to know what to make of that.

"You done with the pissing contest yet?" Hidan asked, toneless, eyes half-open. "Kill each other or kiss already."

I looked at him, but he only blinked back. "The fuck are you looking at?"

"They should've driven you out of Yugakure sooner," Sasori said idly, staring at a point next to Hidan. "Even the sound of your voice is starting to irritate me."

Hidan's gaze slid lazily to him. "Don't bother with that Killing Intent shit. It's not going to work," he said, then blinked a few times. "Wait, did you just say those warm water bastards drove me out of that shithole, puppet bitch?"

Sasori didn't hear him. "If I made you into a puppet to shut you up, I'd still have to look at you."

Hidan stared at him for a few seconds, "You're a plastic-faced bitch."

I swiped blood off my neck as I started to feel the Killing Intent he was throwing at Hidan, and looked at the red flakes that came off on my palm as Hidan called him more names. I wondered if Minato and Sasori met before.

I stopped, remembering that Keitaru and Junpei were here, too.

Keitaru had a hand covering his face, paler than before, breathing slowly. He hadn't been close enough to feel it, I didn't think, but he had. All it took was for him to be near me.

"You made the poor bastard shit himself," Hidan said, following my gaze.

He was on his feet, and there was senbon where he'd been sitting.

I hummed back. Watching him, I thought I understood a little more about what it must've been like for civilians during the war.

I forgot, sometimes, that not everyone was me or Enyo or Yua, who'd been exposed to so much Killing Intent growing up that it took someone like Sasori to make me stumble.

How many hadn't died from starvation or from being at the wrong place at the wrong time, but from the Killing Intent of an A-ranked nin?

It could've been why there were no people as old as Chiyo or Rini here. Other than Gidayu.

"You didn't even think about him, did you?" Hidan asked, choking on a laugh. "My throat—fuck."

Sasori had been ignoring us, but I saw it when he abruptly paused, eyes on the toddler pulling on his pant leg. Junpei held a ripped piece of a red cloak up at him.

"Here," he insisted, pushing it up more. "Yours. Take it."

It was quiet except for the sound of Junpei insisting at Sasori while Sasori stared at him.

Enyo and Yua and Junpei and me. Children born of Killing Intent, of war.

Keitaru stiffened when Junpei started to speak, then went still as he glanced at us.

I looked at Sasori, and I thought to stop Junpei. Yahiko wouldn't break the deal with Sasori if he traumatized Junpei or worse because we needed him, and after seeing the state of the village he had to know it.

Keitaru stayed unmoving, but it might've been worse if he spoke and got Sasori's attention.

Sasori's fingers twitched and a puppet rose from where it'd been in a crumpled heap on the ground, limbs spinning and twisting back into place, the bottom part of its cloak torn from a stone block that had dropped on it.

Junpei eyes widened in fear at the sound, forgetting the cloak as he stumbled into Sasori's leg and clung to his pants, seeking comfort as he peeked back at the puppet.

It made Sasori go so still he didn't blink.

I didn't stop him. I should've, maybe, but I only thought of what Ebizo said about him, that there's always been something wrong with him, and Hidan (who tried to exchange an incredulous glance with me, but I didn't look back at him), and what Sasori said about Yugakure driving him out.

Sasori didn't know we'd found him in an inn outside the village, and he didn't wonder why he'd been there like I did.

He said they were all heathens, but it was the first place he'd gone back to after what he'd done to the village.

Naga told me that Sasori said Yugakure called him a demon.

And Sasori's relatives hadn't wanted him found to talk to him. They'd wanted to kill him.

What was that like, having no one and nothing for most, if not all, of your life? What might it drive someone to do?

Matsu had called me lucky, and it was only now that I started to believe it.

Sasori's pinky twitched and the puppet walked closer, unnatural-looking. Junpei hid his face in his leg. Sasori didn't pause, but he didn't take his eyes off Junpei.

Maybe there was more to why Sasori came here, too. It couldn't have been easy dismantling his hideout or workshop, wherever he'd been hiding.

"So the crazy is contagious," Hidan noted, eyebrows raised.

The puppet picked Junpei up by the back of his shirt, and he made a surprised, frightened noise, squirming, saying he didn't want to be picked up, but Sasori didn't acknowledge his cries as the puppet carried him to Keitaru.

"Guess that means you caught it too," I said.

"Fuck you."

"Keep your spawn away from me," Sasori said as the puppet put him down and Keitaru scooped him up and squeezed him tight.

"It won't happen again," Keitaru assured, voice weak.

Sasori raised his hand without acknowledging him and chakra strings reappeared at his fingertips. All the puppets were reanimated at once.

"Why are you helping us?" I asked.

Sasori sat on the slab again. "Do I seem like someone willing to sit around and wait until someone else gets around to giving me what I want?"

I didn't answer, but only glanced at the scroll at his feet. It looked like a sketch of what the walls and floor were supposed to look like on the outside, almost like—

"You're making our tower," I realized.

Hidan snorted, scratching his chest. "It just gets better. But I'm their fucking dog, right?"

Sasori didn't look at him, but his thumb twitched, and I saw the puppet nearest to us freeze in the middle of hammering. A short blade appeared out of its other sleeve.

It stayed like that for a few seconds, like Sasori was considering the effort it would take to dismember Hidan, and then his thumb lifted a little and it went back to hammering.

"Go bother someone else," Sasori finally said.

It only made Hidan laugh.

I watched Keitaru hold Junpei close, talking quietly to him, and thought about all the things Sasori could've done.

"We'll go," I said.

Hidan stopped mid-laugh, staring at me. "The fuck—go fucking where?"

"Not here," I answered.

He tch'ed. "Don't tell me you feel bad for the puppet bitch."

"Not exactly," I told him, then simply turned away.

"Such a piece of shit," Hidan sneered at my back.

I didn't turn around, but I heard him walking after me.

"You don't have to come," I said. I felt the weight of Sasori's eyes but didn't turn around. "You could stay and watch him build. It probably wouldn't bore you."

Hidan rubbed the back of his head. "Fucking asshole."

I glanced back, briefly, at Keitaru, and wondered what he thought of me.

.

.

.

"You're a purple-eyed bitch," Hidan was still saying, with feeling.

"You have purple eyes," I pointed out, again.

Hidan clicked his tongue at me, eyes closed. "I should've sacrificed you."

I ate a handful of warm rice from a cup. "You're going to run out of insults."

His eyebrow twitched. "Cocksucking dickhole."

I hummed vaguely.

"Bitchtart—" he stopped mid-step.

His eyes opened slowly as I turned back.

He looked down at the small knife buried in his side in mild interest. A thin line of blood trickled down to his pants as he traced it back to the small hands that grabbed the hilt and pushed it in deeper, putting all her weight behind it.

Hidan blinked once, just as slow, and held out a hand at me, "Toss me a bandage roll, will you?"

Her eyes jerked up to his, flicked back to the knife, then went up again.

I wasn't sure if I had one. "It'll heal," I said, eating more rice.

She was an orphan. I knew by the frayed edges of her shirt and the dirt that made her hair look brown. She was maybe nine or ten, and wore a flat hat that was cleaner than she was

"Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is getting blood out of pants?" he asked heatedly.

I almost asked if water-style wouldn't make it easier but heard the insult to that without him having to say it.

She pushed away from him, stumbling as she turned to run, only to jerk to a stop as Hidan caught her collar without looking.

"Who washed your clothes in Yugakure?" I asked.

She gasped, twisting, trying to free herself, but neither of us looked at her.

"I didn't go around getting stabbed all the fucking time," he answered. "I never had to worry about this shit before I taught all those heathens a lesson."

"Let go!" she shouted, but there was nothing around us but ruins and impressions where they used to be. Too many of them had holes filled with rust or mold for someone to hide behind.

It didn't seem like a trap anyway. If I hadn't known we'd come this way, how could she?

"But you went on missions," I pointed out.

Hidan slow-blinked. He responded by gesturing at the knife.

"I—I hate you," she shouted, reaching for the knife as she thrashed. "I hope you choke and die!"

I shifted the cup to one hand and reached into the back of my pouch, feeling around until I found soft, probably old cloth in one of the inner pockets. I tossed it at him.

She sagged and glared up at him. "Everyone hates you."

Hidan didn't glance at her, but he held up a finger at her, telling her to wait. He held one end of the roll with his teeth, letting it tumble down as he pulled the knife out and tossed it aside.

I scooped out a handful of rice as he shoved the other end against the wound, and I watched him pause as he realized he didn't have enough hands to wind it around himself.

I didn't move as he glanced at me, and his eyes were full of curse words. He spit the cloth out, giving up, and just held a bunched-up wad against his side.

Hidan glared at me for another second, then turned glittering eyes down onto her. "Now what the fuck was that for?"

Her fists clenched as she twisted to meet his stare. Her eyes were bright and angry, even as she trembled. "You—" she faltered, gritting her teeth. "You killed my dad."

Hidan tilted his head. "And how the fuck would you know?"

She shook harder and ducked her head. "I know you sacrificed him. He didn't come back to the shelter and they—they know it was you. They looked for him and found what was left. What you left on your symbol."

I hummed at that. The shelters were supposed to be used by civilians. It meant I'd have to tell Mamoru-sensei, if only because he paid more attention to them than Naga or Yahiko.

"What—I didn't eat him," Hidan said, like it made him want to laugh.

She bit on her lip, nails digging into her palms. "You killed him for no reason. He—He was a good man."

Hidan only looked at her. "They tell you about the Way of Jashin?"

"They told me everything about you."

His eyes looked wild. He tightened his grip on her and yanked her up until she dangled from his grip. "You don't know how much I want to kill you for telling me that blasphemous shit. What the fuck do they think they know about Lord Jashin if they couldn't even tell you that I can't die?"

Her eyes widened at him. "There has to be a way. I'll find one—"

Hidan dropped her. She gasped and cried out as she hit the ground and Hidan stared at her as he reached into his pouch but didn't pull the scroll out.

Her hat slipped off and she scrambled for it, holding it tightly to her chest as she brushed it off, and I realized why she was out here.

She'd been looking for the spot where he died.

Hidan finally pulled his hand out, still staring at her. "Your dad was a bitch," he said, and she looked so angry her face went red. "Whatever those soon-to-be dead heathens said about Lord Jashin is horseshit. You know who the best sacrifices are?"

He waited, but she didn't answer.

"The answer is the shitheads who attack me first, and then have the nerve to look afraid when they started it," he said, amused as he took a step closer to her. "Every heathen like them needs a lesson on why they should be free from fear, but they're always the most stubborn assholes. They resist His judgement the most with their dumbass principles and shitty beliefs and I always, always take the most time trying to show them the right path."

She looked up at him, the color draining from her face, and I saw someone who'd been taught to hate Hidan, to think it was up to her to avenge the dead without really understanding who he was.

Hidan looked through her. "But they never fucking listen."

He paused after a moment, blinking at her like he'd forgotten she was there, and ran a hand through his hair. He grinned when she leaned away from him. "So, what the hell does that say about your shitty parent?"

She turned and vomited, and he laughed.

"You can go," I told her, considering how little rice was left in my cup.

Hidan shook his head, tilting his head toward me. "After all the blasphemous shit she said, you want me to let her go without telling me where I can pay a visit to those heathens?"

"She won't give them up if you ask, and you wouldn't have stopped if you were going to do anything else," I said idly.

And it wasn't her fault.

Hidan looked at her, then dragged a hand down his face. "You're a real downer, you know that?"

"And if you want her to know the right way, you could teach her yourself."

He looked at me through his fingers.

"Why would you do that? I know—I know who you are," she said, wiping her mouth with her arm.

"Because I can," I said.

She stared at me, waiting, but there was nothing else. If she wanted to think I was incapable of kindness, then I'd let her. It didn't bother me.

She hesitated, looking at Hidan's wound, then back at me, still disbelieving, and then she darted up and almost fell as she ran like she was being chased.

Hidan hadn't taken his eyes off me.

"Are you still mad about Sasori?" I asked.

He blinked. "You're still on that shit?"

I looked at my mostly-empty cup instead of answering, and then I held it out to him. "Want it?"

He eyed it for a second before he took it and shook it out over his mouth.

"I'd have to ask to have those assholes, wouldn't I?" he asked, picking rice off his chin and eating it. "Red-headed bastard."

"I think you'd have to ask Mamoru-sensei," I told him.

"Fuck."

I could've kept walking but— "You never answered my question about Yugakure."

Hidan glanced off to the side. "You're such a shitty kunoichi," he said. "You ever had the time to take off your clothes and hand wash them while on a mission?"

I looked at him. "That wasn't what I asked."

Hidan didn't look at me and didn't speak.

I hesitated, and then glanced at the sky. "Never mind—"

"What was your mom like?"

He was already walking away when I looked down, and it took a second before I realized what he meant, and that he didn't want an answer.

I followed, watching him scrape intently at pieces of rice stuck to the bottom of the cup, and didn't mention that he hadn't cursed at all around the word mom.

Red-headed bastard, puppet bitch, mom.