A/N: My hyperfixation has decided to suckerpunch me and steal my lunch money, so y'all continue to get daily updates.

-:-

The Uzumaki Clan, Shiori has learned, is nosy as fuck.

That's probably why her small audience of a few main family Uzumaki abruptly turns into every Uzumaki who can fit in the yard in the span of a few days. It's a sea of chattering redheads as cousins once-twice-thrice removed come to see the spectacle Shiori's rather minor achievement of crawling has become.

(And it's hard to think, or move, or breathe with all those expectant eyes on her.

And it's hard not to think about what a fuck up she was in her last life.

And it's hard to ignore the pain in her legs that never really goes away or gets better.)

Kushina is a constant in the amorphous sea of red, as bright and omnipresent as the sun's heat upon the globe. She's always the closest to Shiori, always the loudest cheering voice in the cacophony, always the proudest eyes as she gets a little further each day.

"You can do this!" screams Kushina's very being.

I can do this, Shiori starts to believe.

-:-

I can't do this, Shiori thinks to herself, laid out on top of her father's examination table. Shiori hurts, a deep ache that rattles through her bones, and if she didn't hate crying so much, she'd be wailing like the baby she technically is.

Kushina had picked her up this morning, and had caught the way Shiori's breath caught in her lungs as the movement jostled her legs, sending pain shooting through her bones. Hence, the examination table and her father's concerned face above her.

At first, Shiori thought the constant ache in her legs would get better as she got stronger. It was just the muscles building, she had told herself, it will get better eventually.

(It doesn't. It stays painfully, horribly consistent.)

Uzumaki Kenshi's face is not particularly inspiring as he goes about the examination, a deep furrow growing deeper and deeper with everything he finds. Eventually, her father heaves a long, tired sigh.

"You never make things easy on us, huh Shi-chan?"

(Shiori winces.

It's not like she asked for this, but then again, neither did her new parents.)

Kenshi smiles softly at her, running callused fingers through her red hair before picking her up, mindful of her legs.

Naturally, Kushina pounces as soon as they're out of the room, Nanami hot on her heels.

(Kushina's face remains concerned but hopeful. Nanami meets her husband's eyes over the girl's head, and her expression pinches to hold back tears.)

"Shiori has atrophied her legs to the point that there's permanent damage," Kenshi says, quick as ripping off a bandage. Shiori flinches, something echoed by her mother and cousin. "She'll be able to crawl and walk, maybe, but anything beyond that isn't going to be feasible. Hell, just walking is going to be painful."

"Fuck," Nanami says, succinct and watery.

(Shiori has to agree.)

-:-

Kushina picks Shiori up, and takes her to the wall. Shiori holds on tight to Kushina's shoulder, and doesn't allow herself to be put down. Kushina sighs, and takes her home.

Shiori doesn't try crawling for the wall for a day. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

A storm hits, and then it's just too wet to go outside for another week.

-:-

Shiori hasn't always been Shiori.

(She used to be a young woman who had smiled and smiled and smiled, because anything else meant breaking down and never getting back up.

She used to swallow down the anger she shared with her mother until all that was left was silent apathy.

She would go still, and go quiet, because talking meant she was talking back, and at least if she was quiet the screeching rage would die down eventually and find a new target.)

Shiori has always preferred to deal with adversity by doing nothing.

-:-

It's late afternoon, and quiet save for the sound of rain.

Shiori sits in Kushina's lap, the shoji doors open so they can watch as the rain falls.

(Kushina says, "You can't give up, Mochi. I know you're hurting, but you can't give up."

Shiori leans into her cousin's warmth, and says, very quietly, "Okay, Kushina-nee.")

-:-

The assembled Uzumaki are silent for once, the humid air of the whirlpool village weighing heavy against them. Her grandfather watches with flint grey eyes, sharp and assessing, waiting for her to fail again. Her aunt and uncle look like they're watching a particularly brutal and one-sided cage match. Shiori's parents stand together, eyes fixed on her with concern and too much love for a daughter like her.

Kushina looks at her like she's always looked at her.

"You can do this, Shiori."

(A declaration that dares reality to consider allowing anything else at its own peril.)

Shiori's legs still ache, but she sets her eyes on the flowing brush strokes of the wards and breathes through the daggers that land with every movement.

Shiori crawls on legs weakened by her own uselessness, on legs that burn and scream at the motions, but Shiori crawls. The pain builds and builds, but Shiori won't get better, no matter how long she puts it off.

Shiori crawls.

Shiori reaches out a small, chubby hand.

Shiori touches the wall, fingers finding the ink and chakra of the ward.

-:-

It's so warm.

It flutters under her fingertips like a heartbeat, steady and constant and alive.

It flows along its painted lines, spiraling and twisting itself into complex figures that leave her floating in a heady daze of SafeLovedPreciousOurs.

It is generations of Uzumaki, layered and built upon each other, and they recognize her as theirs to protect from anything and everything.

It reaches around her as she reaches for it, overjoyed simply because she exists and it loves her, and she thinks she could live forever and be okay so long as she could keep feeling like this.

(It feels like a reason to try.)

-:-

And then, like reality had decided it was quite done letting Shiori have her moment, the world erupts with sounds.

It is a dizzying feeling, like being slammed by the power of a tidal wave.

There are shouts and cheers and she's fairly certain she sees someone shoot off a katon. Kushina is there in an instant, scooping her up in her arms and laughing and twirling. And then Shiori is in Nanami's, Kenshi's, Aunt Hinami's, Uncle Arashi's: from Uzumaki to Uzumaki, with kisses pressed into her hair and red swimming in her vision.

It is loud and bright and as warm as the seals, and Shiori blinks back tears because oh.

They love her. Strange and broken as she is, they all love her.

And Shiori remembers that the seals were built by the Uzumaki, and this clan takes care of its own. It's only natural that attitude would bleed through into the written manifestations of their will and chakra. This is the strength of Uzushio; its seals that are filled with love and the willpower of its people.

(Kushina is ten now.

She'll be going to Konoha soon.

Uzushio is going to fall.

Fuck.)

-:-

A/N: Thanks to Love Stories00 for the long reviews, and thanks to Laala14 and Amaterasu53 for their shorter reviews. They all made me very happy, and I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story.