hachi.


LINGERING ON KABUTO'S words would do her no good. As the rain washed over her shoulders and kept her cold and wet, a niggling voice told her, made her wonder, just what Orochimaru—a man that, despite all of his crimes (for which were most certainly worse than her own, but comparing their wrongdoings felt like a cheap attempt at reassuring herself)—would think about her sudden shift in chakra. Not just her chakra, even, but the way it was turning against her like the tides with the moon, or the apathy creeping up on her every time her decisions paved the way for senseless death.

Senseless though it may be, decisions have consequences. Tsunade had repeated those same words to her, albeit not quite as despairingly as it sounded in her head, in a tone that suggested even admitting her belief in Naruto's abilities had, indeed, gotten innocents killed. It was the truth of the fact, one that Naruto himself never had to face when others hid it for him.

Sakura herself had hidden the consequences of his actions from him more than once, even if she hadn't thought of it quite like that at the time. The bodies he carelessly trampled; the ninja caught in the crossfire of one of his Rasengan, thrown haphazardly despite his intention; even Sasuke's growing hatred of him, she had hidden that too, under false reassurances that 'it was just Sasuke' and 'you know all Uchiha are moody like that, Naruto!' They had been her guiding light once, too, those beliefs about her former teammate, but now they were curdling in her mind like sour milk, memories waiting to be fished out and faced under the bright light of truth.

Truth that she, deep within, knew would destroy her.

It wasn't as if she didn't know she would have to face the music one day. Sooner or later, she would have to own up to her crimes herself-except that was just the icing on the cake, wasn't it? And no one would be there for her when she inevitably crashed to her lowest point. She had thought, once upon a time, that the lowest she could have fallen was yearning for a boy who would rather kill her than ever return to a village that had destroyed his brother and family.

Sasuke was the one comparison she found herself loath to make, and yet he was a saint compared to her in every way.

"Well, not a saint, exactly," she whispered quietly to herself. The paper still sat heavily in its designated pocket, like a pointed spear waiting to impale her chest with its lethalness. Any chance she would have at forging a new life, if she even survived the war she was going to fight, would be gone if she decided to go to Orochimaru. Sasuke was a prime example of that—but they would take him back in a heartbeat, Konoha would, as long as they had the precious Sharingan within their grasp once again. She rubbed her face tiredly at the thought; this was none of her concern. Not anymore.

The closer Sakura got to Ame's borders, the heavier the rain became, turning from slightly uncomfortable globules of water to sheets of dagger-like fury, raining down on her shoulders with enough force that she felt them through her entire body. It helped distract her from the churning maelstrom within her gut, some, but not completely, because it had plagued her for far longer than the rain had started. It felt nothing like Konoha's occasionally warm, gentle rain; this was sharp and pummeling and felt like everything she deserved.

But the less distance that laid between her and the camp meant there was a bigger chance she would be discovered. Her hair was still bright and pink, despite the water soaking it all the way to her roots, and while it was still a choppy mess from Tsunade's hack job, it was still less recognizable than if it had been down to around her shoulders. She reached up and touched the wet strands gingerly, rubbing it between her fingers as she walked. She could cut it to around her ears, tie it up in a knot, dye it, and no one would know the difference—without her signature hair and Byakugou to give her away—as long as they didn't peer too closely at her chakra signature. It, too, though, was different, wasn't it? It wasn't exactly the same as it had been; where it had once been blue and calming, it was now thick and red and full of ragged spikes like towering cliff sides. It was still her chakra, but there was no trace of the careful manipulation she had been so famous at.

It made her feel sick inside.

All of that progress—everything she had done to become as good as Naruto and Sasuke… just gone. As if it hadn't wanted to stay with her in the first place.

She rubbed her eyes underneath the mask and shook her head. She had told herself she wouldn't linger on it, and yet here she was, dragging it back up again and again to form a relentless cycle in her mind, to the point where she was developing a headache. Or maybe it was her chakra? She wasn't certain anymore. The pain was clear, and it was fresh, and it was enough of a distraction that she peeled away from the main path and began searching for a dry place to dye her hair properly.

Ame, while mostly endless plains of lakes and rugged rock structures, had several hiding spots that she could count off of the top of her head. She had used some of them when she had gone on doubles with Kakashi—his name made her wince, even in thought—and sometimes even on her vacation days, when Konoha was too lonely and Naruto never showed any sign of coming back to see her. Her parents might have been a worthy visit she could pay, but they would never understand her life, or why she had become a ninja and not a merchant, like they were. The nomadic life, never settling in one place for too long and having homes in many places, hadn't been something she would ever entertain—Konoha was her home. Had been her home, anyway; now she was living the life she wouldn't have chosen for herself, disgraced from her village, and unable to return to it no matter how much she might want to in the future.

Because, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, she was hurting. Badly. Apathy could only get her so far when it felt like someone had torn her heart out of her chest and put it back inside out, lacerated with cuts and bleeding rivers across her ribcage. She had never been good at ignoring her emotions for too long of a time, and any therapist she had seen had been taken aback by the rapid shifts in mood she would experience… right before she wiped their files of any concerns Tsunade might notice and requested another. Except she didn't have that outlet anymore, did she? All the help was back in Konoha, and no other village had developed mental healthcare as good as theirs; or it wasn't their top priority, besides. The only place she could think of that she might find peace in was Suna—but Gaara was the Kazekage now, and the gods only knew if she could take solace in that or not. She hadn't seen him since the last Kage summit with Tsunade, when she was still training, and he had seemed so content, so happy to be in a position where he was respected and loved. For all she knew, he would never tolerate a traitor in his village.

'Traitor'. That would be under her name in the bingo book. Either that, or 'Rogue Ninja', 'Convicted Criminal', 'War OPS Operative', and maybe even a 'Kill on Sight' order. She wouldn't put it past Tsunade; she hadn't seemed to have a shred of affection left for her when she had walked out of the village for the last time. It wouldn't be put in yet, not until she reported to the camp and made herself known, but she wouldn't be going there as Sakura Haruno; no, she would need something discreet, something that didn't turn heads every time it was spoken.

Her mind tentatively settled on something familiar: Miyako. It had been the name her mother wanted for her, supposedly, but her father had been adamantly against it and chose Sakura instead; she had never known where the name came from, or why her mother had seemed so angry that her pick hadn't been chosen, but she never voiced it to Sakura herself. She thought it had been because it was all too ironic given her pink hair and green eyes—but maybe it had been something else. Maybe it had been the name of someone close to her mother, and she had wanted to honor that, knowing her birth would render her infertile despite her best efforts. It had been why she was an only child, after all.

"Miyako," she tested the name, muffled behind her mask. 'Beautiful night child'. It sounded like something the Uchiha would name their daughters. "I guess it's as good as any."

Miyako would have a backstory as similar to hers as she could get without raising alarms. She would be the former daughter of a civilian couple from Konoha (perhaps one of the older ones, but she would need to fudge her age a bit—that was fine, four or five years wasn't terrible) and a lower ranking ANBU member who had killed her teammates in a fit of PTSD induced rage. No one would be the wiser, since they wouldn't be getting any information from Konoha besides when to pick up new War Ops members for drop offs, and they wouldn't interact with the other forces there that might be from different villages as allies to observe the battles. She would be safe as long as she was smart about it; but how would she get past Neji? He might be exiled too, but he was too prideful, much too ingrained in the roots of his clan; he would do anything to get back into his family's good graces again, that much she was sure of. She was sure she could squeak past any others who questioned her, but Neji—Neji was the problem here. He never understood violence, only words; or so she had thought, and yet he had left her there to die without any conflict in his resolve.

So maybe, violence was the answer here, at least for him. Sakura didn't know if she could fight him properly without managing to behead him or destroy his organs accidentally; if she could drag him into a taijutsu fight, she might never win that, but she could get a few hits in. But using her chakra? She'd kill anyone she tried to force into submission. Then again… maybe the Gentle Fist might work something out—it may just be able to iron out her chakra.

"But then what?" She grumbled to herself, shoving past copious amounts of leaves and underbrush that were soaked with rainwater. Her shoes squashed beneath her feet uncomfortably, muddy and full of water and blood she was sure. It was gradually thinning out into a somewhat familiar path, but she wasn't sure. "I go back to fighting like I was? I'll die in battle if I go back to that, but…"

Was her medical chakra really worth it? As long as she wasn't sawing off her own limbs, she had no need for it anymore; not that she could probably even get it back in the first place. The changes were too extensive, too deeply wound within her body to ever change back; like Naruto with the Kyuubi, or Sasuke with Orochimaru's curse mark. This was something she couldn't change, and she felt stupid for even thinking she could.

Not that it would magically absolve her of all of her crimes, either. No, that was permanent and there to stay for the rest of her life. She would never be able to get rid of it, not unless the entire village of Konoha felt merciful and redacted it as a whole unit.

Sakura rolled her jaw and grimaced at the pop it made. Could she ever stop thinking? She didn't think so. It had been one of the many, many things Sasuke had said he hated about her in his mania induced rant the last she had seen him—with his eyes bleeding, mouth pulled into a crazed smile. That had been years ago, and she still felt those words as keenly as a knife twisting in her stomach, as if he had said them mere minutes ago and not when she was eighteen and stupidly in love.

But it had been one of the things Kakashi had admired about her, too, even when she nearly drove him insane on their missions.

She smiled sadly at the memory and tried to ignore the way her chest tugged painfully. While he hadn't been the best teacher, he had been a good friend to her; better than she deserved, right up until the end. She was sure he was watching her through one of Sai's many ink animals, but it was lonely with it being so one-sided. She would miss him, of that she was certain, probably more than anyone else in the village. Maybe even more than Naruto and Sasuke and Ino and Sai; not by much, but just a little more. On some level, she might have even loved him—not as she had Sasuke, but it had been… something. Nothing that would ever make her ruin their friendship, but there had been an ember between them, waiting to be stoked into flame. She wondered, sometimes, even before her sentencing and sudden change in chakra, if he would have made her happy, and if she would do the same. It always ended with an uncertain 'no' that was always a 'maybe', and she would leave it there, never to go any farther.

Wondering, though, would just make her more sad, so she shook the thoughts from her head and examined her surroundings. The dense vegetation had thinned out to a clearing, but she could make out a cave ahead that had no signs of life within it except for a few bats and maybe a toad or two. A stream cut through the edges of the treeline, opposite the path she had taken to get there, but it was dirty—and the closer she looked, with a growing alarm—and tinged with blood. It grew in wispy trails, going all the way down the curves and edges and vanishing out of sight, but it was heavy enough that the rain couldn't dissipate it.

She was close to the war camp, she was certain of it now. There was a smell in the air that smelled of fire, burning bodies, chakra and lightning—war, and nothing unfamiliar to her. They were burning their dead and the fighting had ended for the time being. She couldn't hear any signs of fighting and hadn't heard any for since she had come into range; they were likely waiting for another battalion, or taking refuge for a quick rest. She didn't have long, though, that much she knew.

Ripping her vest off and depositing it deep in the cave, she withdrew the packets of hair dye. It was dark brown, plain and mundane, and had no discernible brand on it, but the smell was there, and she wrung out her hair as best she could before applying it in uneven chunks. She had never dyed her hair before, besides with chalk or genjutsu, and she lathered her hair with the unpleasant sludge until she was certain she had covered everything to the best of her ability. It would be ugly, that she knew, and it would be the worst thing she had ever done to herself short of letting her guard down around Ino, but the change would do her good. It had to.

She checked for spots in the reflection of a kunai as she let the dye sink in. It was less dark brown and more of a strange brownish-pink, but it covered enough of it that she hardly recognized herself even without it washed out and dried. Her mask made it worse, the white clashing against the uneven color, but if no one looked twice she would be fine—in theory. She let it sit until her scalp itched unbearably and the burning started, and washed it out in the dirty river where there was, thankfully, no more blood. It stained her hands and fingernails, but it was done, and now she smelled like a combination of dye and sour water.

Sakura frowned and sniffed her shirt. Sour, and mixed with acrid body odor; she had never sweated so badly before that she smelled herself so loudly. She always made sure to take sponge baths or bathe in a river; but once glance at the creek in front of her made her frown. Her hygiene would also be taking a backseat, then. Her pants and the bottom half of her shirt were soiled with her blood, too, and would reek worse if she left it and slept like she was.

Sleeping, though, wasn't the best idea to her. She had no idea what was waiting for her in her dreams and had no desire to face it right now. So, with a quick glance around, she deposited her mask in the cave and began rummaging through the bag Kakashi had packed for her. He had been gracious enough to somehow shove a sleeping bag deep in the bottom of it, and other than her irritation at the contract he'd given her, she was grateful he had thought of it at all. It was one of her older ones, pale green and threadbare, but she was happy to see it all the same, and rolled it out behind an outcropping of rock that wouldn't leave her exposed to anyone who might just walk in. It would be a little snug, but she had spent many nights sleeping on the ground and having something was better than nothing at all.

A further inspection left her with two pairs of long sleeved turtlenecks, a single pair of ninja leggings that looked like they'd seen better days with holes in the knees and thighs, wrappings for her chest and one pair of underwear that weren't hers and looked to be purchased from one of the stores she had gone with Kakashi to. She didn't remember him buying them, and they looked a little large for her, but she stripped off her wet clothes and laid them out to dry. She patted herself dry with a piece of a dryer sheet that had clung to the bag—he really never paid attention to things like that—and when she was fully clothed again, closed the bag, turned it into a lumpy and vaguely uncomfortable pillow, and settled into her sleeping bag with no intention of going to sleep.

She was cold, but she couldn't make a fire. It was too risky and someone might see it. Her teeth chattered and her hair clung to her face in thick strands, so she tucked her hands underneath her chest and rolled to her belly. That way, she could warm herself somewhat and her organs weren't exposed to anyone who might get the drop on her.

The bats squeaking in the cave were her only company, and she listened to them as the sun dropped out of the sky and the cave was plunged into darkness, leaving her to sleep filled with dreams of a blood soaked battlefield and a triumphant Kirin screaming in the clouds above.