A/N:
(Edit: 7/16/2021)
*Oops I Did It Again plays in the background* I really hate this chapter tbh, which is why I keep editing it. Also, taking out most of the Japanese-like words. Keeping Nii-chan tho. bc 'big brother' doesn't sound as cute imo.
(Edit: 08/21/2020)
(Edit: 8/16/2018)
Yo, I'm editing the first few chapters. There are a couple slight changes, but nothing big. 1000 more words that before. Just read it the other day and realized just how many mistakes there are. Sorry bout that. (08/16/2018)
Still a bit nervous about posting this, though.
Whatever. Just fuckin read it. Fuckin ask questions if you have them. Fuckin SLAYYYY me if its shit, idc.
~Siren
I'm in love with an angel, heaven forbid
The first four years of Akira's life were perfect. She was the sun in which her parents revolved around. Her mother, whom the child often spoke of looking like a princess from her story books, was beautiful. With silky, red hair that was fun to braid, and a kind smile that lit up her face up like a star in the night.
Said red-head enjoyed putting her four-year-old daughter in frilly, pretty dresses. Something of which Akira loved. She liked how pretty she looked in the dresses and the way her parents would fawn over her.
Her father, a strong shinobi, would read her stories every night before bed. In the safety of her room, he would make grand gestures with his hands, voice altering in tempo to fit character personalities; becoming hilariously high when he spoke for a woman.
While her mother was the stars in the night, her father was the moon; dependable and eternal.
She was their Wildfire, and they were her universe.
Life was great. Innocent.
Too great. Because one sunny afternoon, everything changed.
"And it wasn't for the better."
Akira stood rigidly in the living room with her Mother, Papa and Jemma. Occasionally, she would shift on her feet, afraid to speak. For good reason, too. As it were, whenever she breached the oncoming subject, her parents always reacted in varying—usually unpleasant—ways.
On many occasions, they would make her sit in time out for hours. (At least it felt like hours to her four-year-old mind.) Jemma never seemed to mind. The older girl would just look on with pitying light brown eyes and shrug in a 'what can you do' manner.
At that moment, Akira wanted to play Save the Princess. Which was a normal occurrence in their household. Save the Princess was the toddler's favorite game, right next to when Akira and her mom would play dress up.
But dress up wasn't something Jemma enjoyed doing—not that she enjoyed doing much regardless. Not even Save the Princess would pull the moody brunette out of her own mind. It didn't matter that Papa made foam swords to use as props in their fun (it was a big deal in the Uzumaki/ Namikaze household) Jemma just never seemed to be interested in doing anything other than glaring out of windows.
To put it simply, Save the Princess was Very Serious Business in the four-year-old's mind. Breaching the sore subject could go either way with her doting parents. It was what made her next question all the scarier.
If they reacted poorly, there would be no fun for the rest of the day.
The thought made Akira take a deep, steadying breath. She focused on trying to gather all of her courage in order to give her thoughts a voice. Papa sat, balanced on one knee to make himself closer to her height. He sent her curious glances, waiting patiently for her to speak up.
She let out the breath, her words coming out in a rush. "Can Jemma play, too?"
There was a pause where the two adults just stared, eyes searching her own and their immediate surroundings.
"Of course, she can." Papa answered slowly, a soft smile gracing his handsome face. (Jemma always commented about how his face was enough to make ovaries explode—whatever that meant. The older girl never told her, just blushed, mumbled about how she would tell Akira when she was older—which was crazy! She was plenty old enough.)
Akira made a show of jumping, fist pumping in the air with a whoop of excitement. Her whisker-marked cheeks dimpled with how wide her smile was. She knew Jemma got bored a lot. Maybe this time she would join in on the fun.
"Yes! Then mommy is the princess and you are the evil king who stole her from our village. Jemma and I are the warrior ninja sent to save the princess, 'ttebane!" Her little blonde head bobbed up and down sagely as she spoke, a chubby hand cupping her chin.
This was one of Akira's favorite parts of the game. Weaving stories for the adults to follow in a world constructed from within her imagination? A joy of joys.
Mom often made offhand comments of Akira taking after her Godfather. It was never spoken in a very excited way, so whether it was a good or bad thing to take after someone she didn't know, was up in the air.
Apparently, her Godfather was a famous writer. She felt unsure just how famous he could be considering she had only been allowed to read one of his works: The Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi. Heck, Akira wasn't even sure if said Godfather even existed. The only time he had supposedly been around was when she was a baby.
Regardless, Mom relented that with how easy Akira slapped together a story—even at the age of four—she could help teach her Godfather a thing or two about story telling. Then she would go on about how Akira had better not end up like him when she grew older.
Her Papa chuckled, always willing to do whatever she wanted. "Sounds perfect to me."
"Just because I'm a princess doesn't mean I can't get outta this myself, 'ttebane." Her Mother sat perched in her tower (a chair surrounded by copious amounts of pillows), shoulders slumped dejectedly and face scrunched in slight offence.
Akira's face morphed into childish horror, "Fair princesses should never have to dirty their hands… Or show her strength when behind enemy lines." The child mock whispered the last part with a conspiring wink.
The redhead relented with a smile and flippant wave of her hand, "Fine, fine."
Catching the foam sword Papa tossed her with ease, Akira poofed out her chest, faced the Evil King, and bellowed out a loud, "Draw your sword, your Evilness and face me in battle!" Then, as dramatically as possible, pointed her foam sword to him.
Said King raised his eyebrows and with the same dramatic flair, took out his own sword, its dull edges morphing into gleaming razor-sharp tempered metal. "Your fight is in vain, ninja warrior! For my evil plain is already underway!"
Akira glared at the imposing form of the Evil King but she wasn't afraid. In fact, she felt very much the opposite. Her heart was steady, its beats pumping a battle song through her bloodstream, calming her.
It was the same every time she went into battle: as if something deep inside of her stirred. Much like an ancient beast cracking its blazing eyes open to view the world for the first time in an age.
The ribbon holding her hitai-ate fluttered in the wind, tickling her shoulders. Akira motioned her sword threateningly to the King, a sneer pulling up one side of her lip, displaying canines that were just a tad too sharp. "Hold your evil tongue and spare me the boredom, old man!"
The King sputtered for a moment, face dumbfounded and quickly reddening. "Old man?! Why you—" his voice raised in mindless fury, "I'll force the princess to marry me and take over your precious village. Nothing and no one can stop me, not when I have—"
Little feet pattered across the floor as the King raged on (something horrifying about how he would make all of the citizens give him their candy in exchange for their lives). The small ninja warrior dropped to her knees and slid expertly between his legs, chopping one off easily in her wake.
The beast in her veins roared with delight as neon pink blood oozed from where a leg use to be. The Evil King fell to his one good knee, bellowing out in agony over his lost limb. Triumphant, Akira held her sword to the King's neck with a large, out of breath smile.
"But how!?" the king shrieked, pain morphing his features.
With an arrogant flip of her head, a movement that stirred her spiky mess of light blonde hair, Akira stated one of the many lessons Jemma had imparted on her; "'Death doesn't pause for evil speeches.'"
A snort of laughter bubbled up behind her. With those final words, Akira cut his head clean off his shoulders—spraying more pink blood into the air—letting out a victory cry that mirrored that of the roaring beast.
With the threat of the Evil King gone, the people who gathered around went wild, shouting Akira's name in repeated praise. They didn't have to fear for their candy anymore. The beast within her purred in satisfaction and closed his eyes, dormant until the next battle arose.
Akira, Slayer of King's looked to her companion and gestured to the tower in which the beautiful Princess was kept. "Go, release the Princess, Jemma. The fight for our village is over. Tonight, we celebrate, 'ttebane!"
"How anticlimactic." Jemma drawled, boredom lacing her words. It was then Akira noticed her companion hadn't given her aid at all in the battle for their village. In fact, she hadn't even moved from her place by the window.
Akira blanched, 'Typical. I did all the work while Jemma sat back and did nothing.' From the corner of her eye, she could see said brunette roll her own in exasperation.
With the Princess freed (by some unknown force because Jemma still refused to get up) she ran to her savior. Akira The Great was shortly lost in a sea of fragrant red as the Princess draped herself over her shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace. The relaxing scents of jasmine, sandalwood and ink filled her nose.
"How could I ever repay you for saving my life, oh brave ninja?" bubbled the Princess.
Akira waved off the question, "Mahmah, none is needed. Your safety is payment enough."
"Ohhhh, you are just so cute~ how could I possibly stay dead after that?" The decapitated King shot up and picked Akira up in his arms, spinning her around.
The magic was broken.
"Papa, you're supposed to be dead!" Akira squawked as her dad spun, planting kisses all over her chubby face. It didn't take long before her grave words were overtaken with giggles, face morphing into that of joy.
"Your adorableness brought me back to life~"
Jemma sighed from her seat on the floor. "Wow. The Yellow Flash sure is fearsome. I'm shaken to my very core."
"Minato you're going to make her sick if you keep spinning her around like that." Mom reprimanded, a hand resting testily on her hip. The fond smile on her lips dulled the effect of her anger that could make even the strongest man tremble in fear. "Besides, don't you have to meet with you team soon?"
Papa's cheeks were pleasantly flushed as he looked down to Mom, sky blue eyes filled with love and adoration. "I have plenty of time, dear"
At the mention of her father's team, Akira perked up. Now is the perfect time to ask. Small chubby hands reached out and grabbed her father's face. She leaned in and pressed her nose against his, "Papa can I come with you? Please, please, pa-lease!"
Papa's brows drew together in thought, a crease appearing between them. "Hmm… Maybe this once. Rin could use another female presence around. Those boys never seem to tire of fighting…" he sighed.
As Mom walked past them, she put a comforting hand on Papa's shoulder. "I'm sure it's just a matter of time before they begin to get along. Try to be patient." She placed a kiss on his and Akira's cheek, "And you, my little Wildfire, try not to get in any trouble. Okay?"
Knowing the last part was directed to her (she was the only one her parents called Wildfire, after all), the four-year-old sent her mother a blinding smile, "Yes ma'am!"
"Great! I'll have dinner ready when you two get home. Love you both."
"Love you more!" Akira echoed back.
...
Made me a believer with the touch of her skin
...
It was nearing high noon as Akira her Papa walked through the bustling village. She sat perched on his shoulders, arms wrapped tightly around his head, much like the hitai-ate he wore proudly. The metal of the forehead protector shone in the light, the symbol of Konoha winking at her in the sun.
Kira wondered when she would be able to wear one of her own, a hitai-ate, that is. She wanted to become a strong shinobi just like her parents.
To her, Konoha was more than a village. They were her family. From the kind people in the flower market, to the stray animals that ran around looking for scraps she fed them when they had leftovers. She was especially partial to the nice man that ran the ramen restaurant her Mom and Papa frequented.
Often times Akira heard the villagers whisper about some sort of "war." Even her parents talked about it when they thought she was sleeping. It confused her. From Jemma's description of the word, it was something that sounded ugly and scary.
Yet, Konoha was beautiful. How could they be in a war, when everything was perfect?
Wasn't war supposed to be dangerous? Scary? In Akira's mind, so long as she was behind the walls of Konoha, she was safe. Parents who didn't allow their kids out to play by themselves were just plain silly (that included her own, who rarely let her out of their sight, let alone out of the house alone).
After a few minutes of silent walking, the father-daughter duo made it to training ground three. The area was surrounded by trees on all sides with clusters of pretty flowers dotting around the grass. In places, the ground was barren all the way to the dirt. Some places were even scorched.
Akira's eyes drifted to the three wooden posts protruding from the ground on the left side of the familiar field. Atop the middle post sat a boy with wild silver hair, a mask covering the bottom half of his face. Hooded, dark gray eyes lifted to them in disinterest.
"Why is the brat here?" Kakashi Hatake questioned with no infliction in his flat, monotonous voice.
Irritation spiked in Akira's small body, eye twitching. 'What did he just call me!?' She mentally shot kunai at him, wishing they would actually hit (she wasn't good at throwing things).
They never had that great of a relationship, even if Akira had grown up babysat by the grumpy boy. Their personalities clashed, her being an adorable little ball of sunshine and him being a steaming turd.
Taking words she had heard Jemma say, Akira replied haughtily, replicating his bored tone. "That stick is still shoved ever far up your butt, Bakashi." She faked a yawn, patting her hand over her mouth to cover the smile that lifted the sides of her lips.
Kakashi sent back his own seething glare but stayed silent, looking all-around unimpressed with her. It was a well-known fact that the little girl loathed being ignored, so use to being the center of attention, it drove her crazy when she wasn't.
His lack of interest made her feel as if she were frothing at the mouth, wiping the smile clean off her face. They often got into verbal fights, always ending in someone having to pick her up to stop her from scratching the boy's eyes from his head.
Her papa's shoulders lifted and sank with a deep sigh.
Truthfully, anything Kakashi did annoyed her to no end. Then there was his stupid mask. He rarely was seen without it, except when he had dinner at their house—Mom said it was rude to wear while eating.
Jemma always commented about how he only wore his mask to give off a sense of mystery in order to attract women.
"Or men." Jemma spoke up, "With how much he enjoys sticks up his butt, he might as well be a flaming homosexual."
Akira snickered into her hand along with her friend for a brief second before her face drew together in confusion. She turned to the older girl, "Wait, what is a homosexual? And why is it on fire?" she asked her friend, head innocently tilting to the side.
The child glanced at the gray haired poopy-face as he fell off his perch after letting out a loud choking noise. He quickly stood, the exposed parts of his face red. "What did you just call me!?"
'Huh. Didn't I just think the same thing?'
"I didn't call you anything, stupid face. I asked what a flaming homosexual was." Her whiskered-face turned smug, violet eyes shining with an amusement. "But from your reaction I guess Jemma was right…" she mock-whispered.
Jemma at that point was rolling around in the grass, howling in laughter. It made Akira feel warm inside that she was the reason for that. Jemma rarely laughed so openly. When she was younger, the woman was much more expressive.
Over time, though, her easy smiles became closed off. The twinkle in her caramel eyes dimming until there was only hints of pain. Sometimes after Akira had a strange dream, the older woman would look distant and distraught.
No one even so much as glanced in the brown-haired woman's direction.
"Quit blaming your words on some imaginary friend." Kakashi growled back, tips of his ears taking on the color of his cheeks.
A forced chuckle echoed out of Papa. "Now now, children. No need to get so worked up…"
It was too late. At the fated words, Akira was pushing herself further up on her father's shoulders, one hand balancing herself on the top of his head while the other was a tiny, shaking a fist.
"Jemma is not make-believe; ya gray haired creep, 'ttebane!" her anger dissipated into sad confusion, "No one else can see her, is all..."
Said woman had sobered up by then. She sighed, running her hand through her wavy brown hair, "You're wasting your breath, kid."
She was right, of course. Just how she normally was. Any time Akira was caught speaking to Jemma, the people around her would send the child strange looks. Her parents tried convincing her that her friend was just a figment of her imagination—something Jemma had to explain to her in short stilted words: 'They don't think I'm real.'
Akira venomously disagreed, which lead to many a tantrum and trips to time-out. She became all but rabid when no one would listen to her, causing her temper to get out of hand.
No one would believe the words of a four-year-old. But they would believe a shinobi. She just needed that hitai-ate, and everyone would believe her!
Her parents even took her to the Yamanaka Clan to try and 'find answers.' Which led to Akira being seen by some blonde-haired man monthly to 'talk'. The man, Oishi, would ask her strange questions. A lot of the times more than once.
Things like when she first started seeing Jemma, or what Clan she comes from. "Ever since I can remember. She's from the Walker Clan from Ah-mar-i-cuh." she would say, causing the adults to become increasingly uncomfortable.
There was even this one time a Shaman came into their house and blessed it. Again, Jemma was Akira's source of information, explaining gently that they thought her friend was a ghost and were trying to get rid of her.
The fit she had that day got her two weeks of no playtime (read: one night).
"Hey everyone—Oh! Hi, Akira." Rin ran onto the training ground like an angel of peace. Instantly, the tension was broken.
Akira scaled down her father like a tree and landed in a crouch before bolting toward the pre-teen girl. "Rin, Rin! Bakashi is being a meany again!" she pouted, stopping to stand in front of her, hands clasped behind her back in a way she knew was adorable. She practiced the move in the mirror, sometimes getting tips from Jemma.
Rin placed a hand on the smaller girl's blonde head fondly. "Now Akira, I've told you not to call Kakashi that. You could hurt his feelings."
The four-year-old gave her a stunned look, completely perplexed. "But I want to hurt his feelings."
"That's not nice…" Rin frowned, the purple markings on her cheeks scrunched weirdly.
"Maybe I'm not nice."
A snort came from Kakashi. "At least she knows it."
If possible, lightning zapped between the two as they glared at each other once again.
"Alright you three, that's enough." Minato sighed. He looked up to the sky. "Guess Obito is going to be late… Again."
"What's new there?"
Just as Kakashi spoke, Obito came running onto training ground three, yelling about how sorry he was. "I was on my way here when a kid ran into a fruit cart!"
"-and let me guess. You helped the cart guy pick up his fallen fruit." Yawned Kakashi.
"How nice of you." Rin smiled.
Akira blocked out the rest of whatever they were saying. Stars shone in her bright violet eyes, sparkling at the sight of the goggled pre-teen.
"O-bi-to-nii-chan~" the small girl bolted toward her favorite member of Team Seven, repeating his name over and over. When she was close enough, she launched her smaller body into his.
Somehow, no matter how many times she did this, Obito never ceased to be caught off guard and they would go falling to the ground. Every time Akira would giggle like a maniac as he tried to fight the blush on his cheeks.
"H-hello Akira. Nice to see you today."
Kakashi mumbled something about how Obito was a disgrace to ninja kind.
Jemma eyed the goggled pre-teen as if he were an explosion tag ready to go off.
She was dutifully ignored.
"You're so nice, Obito-nii-chan! Unlike a certain somebody." Violet eyes cut to Kakashi, who was standing with his arms crossed over his chest. "He never would have stopped to help someone unless it was a mission."
Obito laughed, a hand rubbing the back of his head. His black eyes lit up for a moment as he pulled out a shiny red apple from his pocket. "Since I can't eat so soon before training, you can have this, Akira."
If possible, she smiled even wider, taking the apple and hugging him again.
That was exactly the reason Akira could easily ignore Jemma's warnings. Sure, she was an adult and knew a bunch of stuff; things that haven't even happened yet. However, she just had to be wrong about Obito.
He was kind and caring.
Anyone who would help old ladies could never be evil.
In Obito she saw someone worth replicating, someone to look up to. He was like a spark in the dark. A flame when the darkness became consuming. "Thank you!" She chirped, taking a large bite of the apple. It was juicy and delicious. A perfect snack for such warm weather.
"Okay Wildfire, how about you go play while we practice?" said Papa, "Just be sure to stay close."
The little girl looked around for a patch of flowers. When she found some near the tree line, she smiled widely to him, "Sir yes sir!" She saluted. Then, without any preamble she ran off; Jemma close behind.
…
Walls are built to keep us safe
…
Akira was on her fourth flower crown when something…strange happened. She had been thinking of the expression Kakashi would make when she forced him to wear one of the more brightly colored crowns, laughing deviously to herself as she weaved. As told, she stayed on the training ground, in eyesight of her Papa.
It began as the sun disappearing behind dark fluffy clouds, sending a wave of confusion through her. There hadn't been a single cloud in the sky when they had gotten there. When the birds fell silent, along with the normal noises of the forest, a pit formed in her stomach.
There were no squirrels in sight, which was strange considering she had shared her apple with a few brave bushy-tailed cuties. The world around her seemed to tense up, as if holding its breath. Waiting for something.
Spooked by the sudden change, Akira stood, clutching the unfinished crown to her chest. She peered into the woods, searching for any anomaly, anything that would explain the stillness. A deep rumbling came from the trees, causing her jump in fright. It wasn't like any noise she had ever heard in the Village.
Yet, there was something achingly familiar about it. As if, maybe, she'd heard it before. Possibly in a dream?
Two white lights shone through the trees. From afar, they looked like the eyes of a giant. They moved toward her incredibly fast. As they drew closer, she could see a silhouette of some sort of machine attached to the lights.
Jemma was yelling, but Akira couldn't make out the words.
Three other lights, these ones red, flickered held in place held by large poles. Another noise broke through the continuous roaring: a loud beeping sound.
Ah! That's right. In her dreams, those were things called cars. This must be what they looked like while on the side of a road. Still, the sight of them scared her for some reason. They just weren't natural in her world.
Akira took a step back. "Papa…?" The words held little form, coming out in a whimper.
Just as quickly as the car had appeared, it vanished. In its place were three faces.
"Akira, run!" Jemma shouted at her side. However, the little girl was frozen in place, unable to move.
Unlike the times when she played, her heart thrashed wildly in her chest, so frantically it almost hurt. Tears welled up into her eyes as she watched the middle stranger's lips stretch out inhumanly wide. Like a blade cut into the sides of his mouth into a long smile.
The hitai-ate on his forehead didn't look familiar. Instead of the leaf-like shape of Konoha, there were two rock-like etches, one slightly overlapping the other.
When he spoke, it sounded as if his throat was full of glass. "Wanna play a game?" the laugh that came from him sounded more like a wheeze. "It's called dodge the light."
Soreness spread behind her eyes.
"Oh god, no." Jemma tried standing in front of her, she tried, she tried, she tried, "MINATO! Please, hear me!" her shrill scream barely even cut through the air when a loud boom echoed in the air.
Akira watched from behind Jemma's tall figure as the scary man raised a hand toward them. A blinding light shoot from his fingers.
It struck her.
"AKIRA!" The distant sound of her father's voice reached her ears, tinted with terror.
"You bastard!" Obito.
Why do they sound so far-?
Her body, which had felt pulled taunt like a rubber-band, released. With it, a blood curdling scream. With a body that felt alight, Akira's muscles constricting without her consent.
She was being torn apart.
Then, an alien cooling sensation. Violet eyes cracked open and she was met with wide, brown eyes. Not caramel, not Jemma. They were watery with unshed tears. "R-Rin?" Akira croaked.
"Akira! Hang in there!"
Akira was so confused. Why was she laying on the ground? Where had that blinding pain gone? Her gaze dropped. Rin's hands hoovered over her body, glowing a pretty green.
"Get her out of here." Her father's voice broke through her haze. Instead of kind and light, his tone took on a calm seriousness he reserved only for when she was really bad. Yet there was a difference. This one was more calculating. Cold.
Akira was sure Rin would have done exactly that. Get them both away from danger. Would have. Instead, a strange water grabbed onto Akira's leg, pulling her toward a giant sphere of water.
She went to scream, but liquid filled her mouth.
Through foggy, water covered eyes Akira watched as her father and his team fought two of the men. She wanted to run to Obito and seek comfort, but she couldn't move. Her body was like a magnet, the chakra-water metal.
Jemma's body was laying sprawled out amongst the chaos, face frozen in fear, eyes rolled back and white. There was a gaping hole in her stomach.
A dark chuckle came from somewhere near her prison, making the fine hairs of her neck stand up and goosebumps form across her skin. "Minato Namikaze's kid daughter… The perfect sacrifice."
'I- I can't move!'
Her world went blurry as the sound of clashing metal rang in the air.
…
Until they're crashing down
…
There was nothing but white. It surrounded her like a giant sheet.
"Hello?" Akira called out to her blank surroundings. At least she could talk. Breathe. "Is anyone there? Papa?"
The young girl yelped in fright when the blankness shifted into the image of a room. Jemma popped up in front of her, sitting on a bed with a bright blue comforter. No, not Jemma.
Well, not the one she was used to seeing.
This Jemma's smile reached her eyes and lit up her face, much like her mother's. The smile itself was directed at a small rectangular device in her hands. Nimble thumbs tapped the hand-held screen at incredible speeds.
Why would she be smiling at a tiny screen like that?
"Jemma Lee-Anne, get your ass down here and set the table!" A womanly voice called from afar. It sounded distorted and crackly, like the sound a television makes when the antenna was angled wrong.
"Coming!" The brunette yelled back, standing up and slipping the rectangular device in her back pocket. When she stood tall, Akira let out a gasp.
Jemma's tummy was huge, sticking out like a watermelon. The little girl watched in fascination as her brunette friend looked down at her swollen stomach, affection glowing from her face. She rubbed it, whispering in a voice only they could hear.
"Any day now, baby. Then I'll get to hold you… And be able to eat sushi again!" Her laugh, like tinkering bells, was the last thing Akira heard before she was pushed back from some unseen force.
…
Violet eyes shot open.
Her father's face was close to her own. He was shaking her shoulders and calling out her name, fear making his voice quiver. When he saw that her eyes were actually seeing him again, his shoulders dropped in relief.
He pulled her to him in a crushing hug, say her name repeatedly, like a prayer.
She was wet, she noticed. And her body felt hot—scorching, in fact. Her breathing was short and crazed as she realized she was shaking. Akira dared not to speak. Fearful that the scream stuck in her lungs would be released.
She swallowed it down; deep, deep down.
Jemma.
Wild eyes scanned her surroundings for her friend. Her brain came to a screeching halt when a black-clad body came across her line of vision. It laid motionless on the grass. There was a strange smell in the air reminiscent of coins.
Akira swallowed past the lump in her throat. If she didn't have that terrible stench lingering in her nose, she could almost convince herself the man was sleeping. The red liquid—not pink—surrounding his body was enough for her to understand.
He's dead.
A whimper broke free from her throat. Her eyes were as wide as a saucer plates. The man's unseeing eyes watched her. Mocked her. His smile was frozen on his face, even in death.
She felt sick.
Someone put themselves in her view of the body, but it was too late. The damage was done. Jemma was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, Akira didn't feel four anymore.
She felt much older.
.
.
.
Mother's voice echoed throughout the hospital, even though she and Papa were standing outside of her door.
Akira laid silently in the hospital bed, listening to the beeping around her. She held onto Obito's hand, too afraid not to have something to hold onto.
If she didn't move, maybe her mom would stay calm? Or maybe they could forget today ever happened and everything could go back to normal.
The rest of team Minato were in different places in the small room with her. Rin sat next to Obito on a tiny visitor couch pulled close to her bed while Kakashi stood off to the side with his arms crossed. She could feel their worried glances but ignored them.
To her, they didn't matter in that moment.
The only one in the room who mattered was Jemma.
Shortly after waking up in what could only be a hospital room, the elder girl came back into being. She sat with her back in a corner of the room, arms wrapped protectively around the legs pressed to her chest. Her face was hidden behind her hair, the brown strands cascading around her shoulders.
In her stance the gaping hole in her stomach could almost be ignored. Out of sight, out of mind. (But the leaking black liquid coming from the hole couldn't be ignored.)
It was unnerving to see her like that. So much so, it made Akira's stomach turn.
She wanted to call out to her friend, to ask about the scene she had witnessed, to ask if she was okay, but… Jemma looked as empty as Akira felt.
"This is so stupid." Kakashi grunted, breaking the tense silence. "It's not like it's our fault she got in the way. If she had been closer like Minato-sensei told her-"
"What the hell, Kakashi?" Obito cut in heatedly. "She was ambushed and struck by lightning—she couldn't have moved even if she wanted to."
Ah, yes. That was right. She had been hit by chakra induced lightning. And then trapped in a—what had they called it? Oh yeah, a water prison. Aptly named.
They said the scary man had put her under an illusion of some sorts before he showed himself. If only that had been the truth.
Akira was positive what she saw was something from Jemma's world.
It wouldn't be the first time. At nights, memories leaked through their connection. Only, this was the first time Akira was by herself. It was also the first time she had seen Jemma pregnant.
Kakashi 'tched' and looked away, mumbling. "If she had any training, she would have known how to get out of the way."
Obito put Akira's hand down gently—she clenched her hands until her blunt nails dug into her soft palms—and stood. Anger made his shoulders tense. "She's four, you bastard! Not everyone is a goddamn prodigy like you. She's an innocent little girl; she shouldn't have had to go through any of that. Not while behind the walls..."
Akira, deciding to get away from the arguing pre-teens, stood on shaky legs and walked carefully over to Jemma. The older kids were too enamored in their argument, unaware of what she was doing.
The IV's and tubes in her arms stretched as she went. She didn't speak in fear of being caught.
"Obito is right." Rin spoke up quietly, placing herself between the boys. "We are here for Sensei and his family, for support."
Something inside of Akira felt weird as she made her way closer to Jemma. She kept feeling things she shouldn't and hearing a small voice whispering in the back of her mind.
Was this how Jemma felt with her? If it was, she felt bad because it was awful.
Emotions that weren't her own came and went too fast for the child to put a name to.
From the corner of her eye, Akira saw Kakashi slash through the air with his hand. "It's not my family. So why should it be my problem?"
Something built up inside of the four-year-old. It made a strange coldness coil around her stomach and head feel light. Jemma's image flickered. The whispers became shouting.
'Because your family is dead. Your dad is gone; left you in an attempt to make up for his mistakes. If you don't want to be here-'
At the same time, both Jemma and Akira's head moved in order to glare at Kakashi, eyes dark. "-then leave." They spoke in unison.
Shocked, the blonde-haired child's head snapped back to where Jemma sat. She was still glaring at the teenage boy even as her body slowly vanished.
Akira whimpered as pain shot through her skull. The worst head cramp she had ever experienced sliced through her brain and cut behind her eyes like jelly. Her stomach was freezing, she was going to be frozen alive!
The steady beeping in the room became fast, too fast. Her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She held her head in agony and screamed.
Everything became a blur after that. She heard worried voices, her parents' joining in. Sometimes she saw their terrified faces but soon, just like Jemma, it faded away.
As everything faded to black, the beeping came to a halt. Then—nothing.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-
Worlds apart we were the same
Until you hit the ground
"Who...am I?"
The question floated in the air, loaded and dangerous like a game of Russian Roulette. The chamber spun, and then locked in place.
"Jemma."
"Akira."
Were the two simultaneous answers.
A loud bang!
No.
Not Jemma.
That's who she was. Who she was now is Akira.
Floating between them hovered a growing, dark red orb. It looked like the ball was made of fire, red flames flickering back and forth in a breeze neither girl felt. From it came a feeling of warmth. Not the warmth one would feel from something hot, but the warmth of something familiar.
On one side was a short toddler with innocent violet eyes. Bright blonde hair a shade lighter than her fathers framed her young features; three faint whisker markings gracing each of her cheeks.
Across from her, a nineteen-year-old. Her hair was let down, falling in long, chestnut brown waves. Her eyes were a haunted, sad caramel.
"Is that… me?" Both girls spoke at the same time, watching in wonder as the orb responded with large, licking flames that stretched toward heavens. The girls slowly looked from the orb to each other, understanding dawning on the elders' face.
They were one in the same, just different parts.
"Reincarnation." Jemma spoke, a hint of hysteria and disbelief in her voice. "You are my reincarnation. Holy sheep shit…" the last part was whispered to herself.
"So, we are…that?" Akira pointed to the orb of dark red fire.
The older of the two nodded, a hand coming to her chin in deep thought. "It must be our soul or somethin'." She had been trapped in the anime-word of Naruto for four years—anything made sense at that point.
Akira whispered sadly, "…But that means…you died."
A look of pure agony crossed the older woman's face. She clutched her chest and nodded her head, "Yes. There was so much I still needed to do." Black tears streamed down her face like rivers. Her hand slid from her chest to her gaping stomach. "Someone I needed to be there for…"
Akira felt Jemma's sadness as if it were her own—or was it her own? This was too confusing for a four-year-old, even if she was considerably smart for her age.
Being so young, she had yet to feel something as heart-twisting as loss. If the feeling in her chest and the clear tears falling from her own eyes was anything to go by… Jemma had lost someone extremely dear to her.
Afraid and overwhelmed, the little girl crouched down so that she was closer to the ground, hands clutching her head. "I-I want my Mommy and Papa." She cried. She wasn't used to such sad, awful feelings. She didn't want to feel it! "I don't want to be here anymore!"
Jemma's face paled. "Oh no…" she stared wide-eyed at the child she had watched grow, stricken by a realization and the mounting horror that followed soon after. "My reincarnation lives in the Naruto Universe… As his older sister. What kind of fucked up, fanfic-crazed nightmare is this!?"
Sniffles came from the blonde, "You're not making any sense!" she whined, fat tears trailing down her whisker marked cheeks. "What does a book character have anything to do with this?"
'Oh, the irony.'
Jemma guessed it was alright, though. She wasn't in any real danger. Akira was. (She ignored how that thought made her feel more afraid than her being in danger). To the world, Jemma was nothing more than the creation of a child with a vivid imagination.
Nothing could physically touch her, just as she couldn't touch anything. She was safe. But…
Jemma had watched that little girl grow up. Was there for her first steps, her first words. She loved this child—her reincarnation, her brain reminded her—as if she were her own. Would she be able to stand by and watch her suffer knowing all that she does?
To go through losing her parents all alone? Lose everyone except a brother she would be forced to care for?
"I don't want to be here, Jemma." Akira moaned into her knees.
Looking into the flame, Jemma began to think. Think, think, think. Wouldn't it make more sense if she was in the fireball—er, soul?
Insane as all of this was, Jemma was almost positive she wasn't supposed to be with her fucking reincarnation.
Not that she was an academic in such a field, but she had already lived and died. As terrible as that truth was, she was only part of the soul. Maybe even just a fragment.
She had no place in this world.
Then there was the fact that Akira didn't even exist in the show she used to watch. Naruto never had an older sister. He was alone in the world. Rejected by the village he loved. That was what made his childhood so achingly sad.
'Just like my son…'
No. She couldn't think like that. Her son has his grandma; he wasn't ever going to be alone.
'Maybe if I… I don't know, touch it? Akira will go back and I'll be absorbed? Maybe I'll at peace or some shit?'
… Suure. She would go with that.
Not like she hadn't gone through the past four fucking years unable to interact with anything or anyone—no one but the child in front of her.
The child who she felt die after trying to check up on her.
The brunette moved her hand closer to the orb with sluggish movements. Would it hurt? Would she lose her memories? Forget herself? She was definitely about to find out.
The movement must have startled the little girl because her head shot up, as if knowing what she was about to do. Jemma noticed as she reached closer that hers and Akira's body began to fade. Was that a good thing?
"What are you doing?"
"Well," the brunette paused to look at… Herself? 'My head hurts.' "I'm thinking if I touch our soul-thingy, it will send you back."
That seemed to perk her up. "I can go back?" the hope in those few words…
"Uh, yeah. You can go back to that terrible world and I'll go to heaven or whatever." It wasn't a good time to think of just how unreligious she was at that moment.
"I just want to see my Papa again." Well, at least the tears had stopped.
"You'll get to see him, I promise. Have fun with trying not to die, I guess." Even as she spoke, her heart ached at how true her words were.
"You say such weird things." Akira replied, wiping the snot dripping from her nose. She seemed almost happy again (oh the bipolar beauty of youth). Then the child jumped up with a loud WAIT.
"What? I've got clouds to dance on or eternal fire to burn in."
"What is a homosexual? Flaming or not." Akira's face was set seriously.
Jemma hadn't been expecting that. "Eh? It's when a guy loves a guy. Like how your parents love each other. Same with girls liking girls."
Akira's mouth made an 'o' of understanding.
Okay. This was it. No turning back. Trying not to let her nerves get the better of her (or give the child enough time to interrupt again), Jemma reached out again to touch the orb.
She could do this. Not for herself—but she could do this for Akira. For the child she loved. For the future as a strong shinobi she would have once her ghost was gone.
"Wait!" Akira wailed out, again.
Before the older of the two could answer, the small blonde tackled Jemma's shaking legs. "I'm gonna miss you."
Jemma didn't have enough time to smile or feel good. The sudden attack on her legs made her flail, arms windmilling around in a desperate attempt to gain stability.
Instead of righting herself, though—because that would be too easy—they fell into their soul.
Red fire blasted out and Jemma watched in horror as Akira's small body lit up in flames, a smile on her chubby face. She closed her eyes.
So fly on your own
It's time I let you go
Go
"Okay. What the fuck. I'M STILL HERE!" No sooner than the words left my lips, the orb burned bright until my body was engulfed in an ocean of red. The most tranquil feeling I had ever felt in both my lives rushed over me like cool running water.
Yep.
This was much better than being forced to live in the Naruto world. I'd miss that little shit, though. She was the only good thing to happen in that entire Naruto-verse experience.
I floated there, hell knows how long, when something tugged at me. "No thanks." I stated, swatting away the uncomfortable feeling of tiny fingers.
It was fucking creepy but I was too Zen to give a fuck.
They grabbed onto me again, pulling harder this time. Insistent on me following. Sigh.
With a roll of my eyes, I followed slowly, grumbling. This wasn't my idea of being at peace. Normally, that meant nothing would bother me!
As I walked, the red surrounding me slowly began to darken. When an inky blackness could be seen in the distance, I fought to turn the other way; to go back to my peaceful red oblivion. The hands held on tight.
I looked around me desperately, trying to find something to grab onto and for a brief second, I thought I saw a man with pale brown hair and horns (? The fuck?) smiling at me.
… Wat.
His lips moved, as if speaking, but I heard nothing.
Darkness became my friend.
.
.
.
I'm in love with an angel who's afraid of the light
.
.
.
My eyes opened. There was no red. No strange horned man (sage something?) Instead, there was a bunch of faces staring down at me.
Suuper creepy. After years of only one person being able to see me, so many eyes looking (into the windows of my soul) was terrifying.
"Akira! You're okay!"
Warm arms wrapped around me and I gasped at the strangeness of being held, cringing away from the feeling. Then, I let out a loud groan, breaking out into sobs.
This couldn't be happening.
It had to be some big joke. The world making my un-life into some sort of fuckin' prank show.
No one came out yelling "You've been pranked, bro!" sadly. A tragedy.
I stretched out my—considerably smaller—arm and its hands. Then whispered underneath my breath, voice broken.
"…Son of a bitch."
Song: Angel by Theory of a Dead Man