Disclaimer: Chisuke is my baby, but I don't own Naruto.

Warning: Rated T~ angst, child abuse, panic attacks and mild swearing.


Shiranui Genma reached the village gates when the moon was high in the sky and shrouded by thick clouds. The streets were empty, lifeless compared to how they are during the day, and as silent as a graveyard. His heart was heavy, burdened by the lives he has ended prematurely, and blood caked his skin and clothing. It came off in brown flakes, falling like ashes into the street to be washed away by the heavy, heavy rain.

It was at times like these when he wonders if all is not as it seems. He feels as if the darkness is really a sign. Sometimes he feels that it is a sign telling him to flee to the safety of his home, set the traps, close the shutters, and keep three kunai under his pillow instead of one. Sometimes, he feels as if those thick clouds are a blanket, warm and comforting, there to protect him from the world.

Then, there are the times when it feels as if something is telling him to search-- to look closer into the shadows of the alleyways, for something, anything, because there is something there and he just isn't seeing it--

He feels like he's missing something-- something important. Something that he should have noticed long ago, but was too blind, too focused on himself, too distracted on the world around him. . .

Something. . . something.

. . .Over time, the feeling had grown into knowing. He knew something wasn't right. Something (someone?) was out of place, alone. It was as if something (someone?) was hiding in the shadows, hiding in fear, with a knife behind their back because they can't protect themselves in any other way-- The feeling was one thing. The knowing was another. As much as he loathed to admit it, knowing scared him.

And once he started knowing, despite the fear, he started looking.

But no matter how hard he strained his tired eyes, he never seemed to see anything.

Still, when nights like these came, he searched as he walked home, peering into the shadows and alleys. When he did, he could have sworn he'd seen a flash of redredred, or the tiniest glint of light reflecting in something as dark as onyx-- but even when he slowed his pace and narrowed his eyes, nothing ever emerged from the darkness.

He dismissed it as a trick of the mind, or a trick of the light.

And the nights came, and the nights went, then they came again and went again.

He searched for five months.

He never found anything.


She woke to the steady beep of a machine. Nothing else accompanied the piercing noise but silence, cold, lonely silence. Her mind felt fuzzy and her body felt sore. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, begging for lots and lots of water-- she. . . she didn't have water. That's right, she forgot to get some before the lake froze over. . . right? Yes. And. . . the last of her bottles had also frozen into solidness too, she remembered.

Where was she? The ceiling was white, and the curtains, too. . .

Ceiling? She couldn't remember the last time she was inside. . . The last time she tried to go inside, the old man got mad at her. He kicked her and yelled at her, then he grabbed her by the hair and told her to get out.

She was cold at that time, too.

This. . . inside. . . this (building?) was so white. It was so white that it hurt her eyes. She had to blink really fast-- the lights hurt her eyes and made them blurry. They itched, so she reached up to rub them--

She jumped as a hand grabbed her fist before it could reach her eye, a strangled gasp escaping her dry lips. Her heart rate picked up, feeling as if it would jump out of her chest, and a coldcoldcold fear froze in her veins because she didn't want--she didn't--shedidn'twantthemtohurther-- pleasedon'tmehurtmepleasePLEASE--

"Don' hurt me!"

The words fled from her lips, raspy from lack of water and panic and coldcoldcold fear-- she scrambled back, her arms smacking the hand away. Her back hit the headrest behind her and she buried her face in her knees, wrapping herself in a tight ball, trembling as sobs and tears flowed from her, and she repeated the words over and over again--

"P-please don' hurt me, please, please, please, please-!"

Her sobs clawed their way up her throat, pouring and pouring and pouring out-- and she wheezed, her lungs searching for oxygen that just wouldn't come--

The pain, the coldcoldcold pain never came, she realized. There was no pain, no fists leaving bruises, no limbs hitting her stomach and making her taste blood in her mouth-- she quieted. Slowly, the minutes crawled by, and a few soft, subdued gasps for air were the only sounds that escaped her tight ball.

For a few minutes, she stayed as still as she could, her body trembled and shook violently, and she tried her best not to shake, because she knew that if she moved before they left, then they'd hit her again and kick her again, and again, and again--

But there was no noise. No loud, angry yelling, a shuffling of feet or broken shards of glass being crunched underfoot-- she heard nothing. Carefully, her fingers loosened, aching and shaking as she released them from where they were wrapped around her legs-- and her legs, her arms and legs were wrapped in a soft white cloth, crimson splotches staining the fabric in random places--

Slowly, she raised her head, dismayed to find that her vision was still blurry and clouded--

A whimper escaped her parted lips, her limbs tightening around themselves once more. She shrank into herself trying desperately to make herself smaller, because she saw two warped, dark figures standing at the edge of the soft thing she was on. Through her warped, clouded vision, she could see a shock of electric yellow on the first figure and two blueblueblue orbs. The other figure was darker, barely close enough for her to see-- but it had two dark, dark, dark eyes--

And-- and they were tall, and dark, and scary-- and she felt coldcoldcold because she didn't want them to hurt her--shecouldn'tseeandeverythingwasfrozenandcoldcoldCOLD--

Salty tears dripped at the corners of her mouth, lip trembling as she whispered the only words she could. Her words were quiet, cracking in her dry throat from lack if water, but they were clear and begging to be heeded--she shook and trembled because it was cold and she didn't like--she didn't want--

"P--please, don' hurt me. I--I'm sorry-- Please, d--don' hurt me, please don--"

A gentle voice shushed her, and she flinched violently when the noise hit her sensitive ears, her mouth slammed shut, and she gritted her teeth. The salty taste of her tears make her feel as if she were choking--

It was the blonde that had spoken, she noted, and he drew near to her, slowly, as if approaching a scared animal. He raised his hand, and her sore muscles locked in response, limbs tightening around themselves so hard she'd was sure they'd snap--

--her eyes screwed shut because his hand was getting closer and closer and closer, and she was getting colder and COLDER--

She didn't want to be hit. She didn't want to be hit. She didn't want to be hit-!

It landed on her head, gently, and the man hushed her. Her eyes shot open, feeling the warm, warm warmth spread from underneath his large hand. The hands that hit her were always coldcoldcold and rough. But his hand was warm. Very, very warm, and when she peeked from under her eyelashes that were wet with tears, she could see a soft smile on his face. His blueblueblue eyes met her own, and they weren't hard with hate or cruel glee-- they were soft and warm and there was no cold.

"Shh. It's okay, were not going to hurt you."

His voice was deep, but it was soft and warm, and she found that she was paralyzed, anxiety freezing her in place. His hand didn't move away, instead it stroked her crimson locks slowly, tenderly-- and there was a sort of familiarity in the movement that suggested experience.

Unconsciously, her body began to relax. Her heart didn't beat so fast in her chest anymore, and her sore, sore muscles loosened

But her throat-- her throat hurt terribly. Slowly, she brought a hand to her throat, grasping it as she swallowed thickly. The action sent a sharp, prickly, slicing sensation through her neck, as if she'd swallowed a box of razors-- her hand tightened around her neck, her muscles reacting on their own from the sudden onslaught of pain while yet another hoarse whimper clawed its way out from her sore throat.

The stroking motion stopped, and she watched with her ever clearing vision--hand still tight around her neck-- as the nice man gave a small wave to the other figure--who was still too far for her to see clearly-- and it moved slowly, grabbing something from a small table and handing it to the blonde.

He--the blonde--moved the object slowly to her lips, carefully tilting it until a liquid flowed into her mouth. It was cool and pleasant, and it rushed down her throat, soothing the sore and scratchy feeling. Desperately, she reached to grab the glass with her own pudgy hands, gulping the liquid greedily, beads of it dribbling down her chin-- but he pulled it from her lips, firmly pushing her grabby hands back to her lap.

"Ah, ah," the blonde man chided, his voice carrying the same tenderness as it had from the beginning. "Drink slowly.," he told her, raising it once more. The cool glass touched her dry, cracked lips and she obeyed, sipping slowly, afraid he'd take it away if she didn't. When the glass emptied, he handed it back to the still blurry figure and with the same gentleness, he carded his fingers through her crimson locks.

"What's your name, little one?"

Name? What's her name? Name. . . Momma gave her one, she thinks. Yes, Mommy used to call her by her name, a long, long time ago, before she left. She remembered how it sounded. Her mother had a voice that sounded like bells. She gave her her name because it matched her hair. . . the color of her hair was--

"Ch--Chis'ke," she whispered.

The blonde tilted his head, a thoughtful expression in his blueblueblue orbs as he carded his fingers through her long bangs, shifting them away from where they'd hid her strange, strange eyes. "Chisuke?"

She nodded jerkily in confirmation, and the man smiled. "Well, Chisuke-chan, my name is Namikaze Minato, and this," he gestured to the dark figure with his free hand, "Is Uchiha Shisui," he smiled.

Said figure approached slowly, planting himself on the left side of her bed, across from where Minato himself sat, and he held a offered his hand to her. "Nice to meet you, Chisuke-chan," Shisui chirped quietly, and when he leaned in ever-so-slightly, just near enough so that her bleary vision could make out the details on his face--

Her lip trembled again, and her tiny hand curled desperately around his middle and pointer fingers, watery orbs gazing into his onyx ones pleadingly-- because he was there. She remembered him clearly and he was there, and it was warm--

"'s cold," she told him. "'s cold-- m--mommy was tired an' I--it was cold-- I--I don' wanna be col' anymore--"

Her words caught when he wrapped his hand around her own, a sad smile adorning his face, and she lowered her eyes, lips parted as she stared blankly at their conjoined hands.

"Now then, Chisuke," Minato's quiet voice cut in. "I want you to tell me what happened as best as you can, okay? Then we can go home, right away."

Chisuke paused, gaze flicking to Minato's orbs. ". . .Home, bayo?," came her question, her voice carrying a certain vacancy in her tone.

She could barely remember Home. There was lots of grass. And water, she supposed. That's all she remembered about home. When she pictured it in her mind, everything was fuzzy and dark. She was always cold, as of late, and Home. . . Home was supposed to be warm, right? She--she could only feel coldcoldcold for the longest time. . . For the longest, longest time, it was alway colddarkcolddarkpainful.

The itchiness in her eyes made itself known and she brought her fists to the blurry orbs once more, only for Minato to pull her hands away before she could so much as touch them, "Your eyes got a little scratched, but they're still healing up, so try not to touch them," he provided gently, ". . .and yes, home. You'll be staying at my place for a little while, is that okay with you?"

Rather unsure of her own answer, she nodded anyway and was rewarded by another warm smile from the blonde, but then his smile dimmed, and his tone took an edge of seriousness. "Do you remember what happened to you, Chisuke?"

She froze, her fingers tightening around themselves, twitching with each flash of memory if coldcoldcold--

". . .Momma. . .Momma said we had'ta go to--to a safe place, bayo," she began, her voice barely a whisper as she tried to keep it level. "Sh-she was sayin' we--we had to leave the warm place 'cause there was. . .a lot of. . .of bad? I don' remember why, bayo, but it was gettin' colder in the warm place, an'--and," Her eyes dimmed, crystal droplets forming again in the corners as her voice trembled. Her words were barely coherent, she knew but. . .but. . . "Mommy got sick-- momma got real sick and - and it was cold ou'side--it was cold ou'side for a long long, long time--"

A sob rose up her throat, her fist curling tighter, tighter--

"Then the mean people came-- they started tellin' momma that she had'ta go away--the'bad men hurt momma and they hurtin' me too--," she told him, rocking herself, back and forth, and back and forth-- "it--it was cold--it was cold and it hurt - It hurt, it hurt, it hurt so much, bayo-- "

Her flooding words snapped to a halt when Minato swiped his thumb across her flushed cheeks, brushing away the salty, salty tears. "Stop. For now I'd say it's time to get you home. You don't have to tell me right now, okay? Don't push yourself - you can tell me whenever you think you're ready, ne?"

He stood from his seat on the edge of the bed to his full height (and he was very tall, she thought), and knowing he'd want her to follow, Chisuke shuffled to the edge of the bed, listening as the springs creaked softly underneath her.

Before her feet could touch the ground, her body froze in panic as Minato's body casted a shadow over her own. His hands slid underneath her arms, lifting her up with ease, and she found herself propped on Minato's hip, her face buried in his shoulder with his strong arm wrapped around her to keep her from falling.

Clutching the front of his shirt reflexively, muscles tensed with apprehension, her orbs locked themselves on his face, looking for any sort of anger or hatred or dissatisfaction--

Anything that promised pain and coldcoldcold--

The man chuckled at her, and she saw no hatred in his eyes, only the same soft and warm in his blueblueblue eyes and--

Unsure of what to do, the redhead turned her face into his shoulder once more. The blonde exited the room, and her body relaxed ever so slowly.

. . .She was lulled asleep by the motion of his slow and steady steps and the warmth that came from being in his arms-- for some odd reason, she felt calm. For some reason, she felt safe. For some reason, she felt warm.


It was during the sixth month of his search that Genma found the first hint of a clue. The night was cold and the moon was bright. Snow, fresh, glistening snow sparkled under the streetlamps and crunched underfoot. It cast a blue glow on the world around him, the many facets of each snowflake individually reflecting the moons silver light.

It was one of those nights. One of those nights when the gritty flakes of dried blood that fell from his fingertips were a ghastly contrast to the pure, untainted snow. It was one of those nights when he felt the need to search, and he held that certain knowing in his heart-- that firm belief that something was wrong, out of place, alone.

And his eyes searched, narrowing his vision to scan every crack and every crevice. Every shadow and every corner that he passed--

And that was when he saw it, the dark figure was slumped against a nameless alley wall, the stark blackness of its form contrasting with the glowing flakes of pure snow.

It was that night--as he studied the cold, lifeless body of what was once a beautiful woman, a trail of frozen blood oozing from her lips, the color of that blood not unlike her crimson hair--that he realized that this knowing was not just the paranoid fantasy of a seasoned shinobi.

There was something true about that Knowing. And it scared him more still, because he still felt as if something was wrong.

He still felt that something (someone?) was still out of place, alone, and very, very afraid.


When she awoke again, she was in another unfamiliar place, in another unfamiliar bed. The ceiling was off white, instead of the stark, bright white of the other building. The bed was softer than the last one, and it had a deep green comforter instead of a stiff, white blanket. The bed was pushed to the corner, a small bedside table sat to her left, and a small dresser was stationed beside it. On the left side of the opposite wall, was a door. A porcelain lamp stood on the bedside table, glowing a soft light that casted rays around the small room.

Was this. . .Home? It looked a lot different compared to her old Home, but she wasn't sure what the thing that was Home entailed, so she speculated that it depended on the person that. . .makes it home? She wasn't sure. Home was confusing, and it hurt her chest when she thought about it, so she opted not to.

"Ah! You're awake!," came the loud, exuberant cry. Chisuke whipped her gaze to the door, that was now cracked open, a young woman leaning into the room. She'd a bright, glowing smile on her face, and the light from outside the room was much brighter than on the inside. It cast against her form, making her smile seem ever brighter and forming a halo around her flaming red--

Oh. . . 'She has hair like me.'

The woman bounced into the room energetically, hair trailing behind her like a bright flame and, despite Chisuke's best efforts to stay still, she flinched from the sudden movement, curling her knees up to her chest.

The woman's glowing smile dropped, her brow furrowing and her pink lips turning downcast at the edges. Then, a low growl erupted from her throat and for some reason Chisuke couldn't understand, the growl sounded as if it wasn't directed at her. Her violet eyes weren't hard with hate-- and after a moment, an expression of understanding dawn on her face. She settled, offering a hand to Chisuke.

"Come on, little gem. You're probably hungry aren't 'cha? You need to get some food in your belly and meat on your bones, ya know!"

Dumbfounded, Chisuke just nodded and placed her small, bandaged hand into the woman's palm. The bandages were very thick, and it was hard to move her fingers with them on, but she ignored the discomfort. She felt uneasy and overall confused with the entire situation.

First, she had been cold, then she was in a place that was warm but far too bright, and now she was here. And she didn't know where here was. The blonde man--Minato--said he was going to take her Home. Was this Home? It was warm here, and it wasn't too bright. The red haired woman seemed. . . Chisuke didn't know what she seemed like, but her hand was just as warm as Minato's and she smiled a lot.

Chisuke hadn't seen someone smile in a long time-- smiles must be. . . good, right? Mommy used to smile. Sometimes. She didn't show as many teeth as the red haired woman did, but her smiles were just as pretty. Minato smiled a lot too. His smiles were warm and nice, and the red haired woman's were bright and sunny.

It was strange. She only ever seen Mommy smile, and. . . Mommy had a pretty smile.

"My name is Uzumaki Kushina, dattebane, but you can call me whatever you want, little gem!," she gave another bright grin, bouncing as she dragged Chisuke by the hand. Said girl stumbled behind her, mind reeling because what in the world was going on-- she'd never witnessed energy of this kind before, and it felt as if it was the equivalent to culture shock to her.

"--nd were having homemade ramen for dinner tonight, ya know! Do you like ramen, 'Suke-chan?"

Snapping out of her thoughts, Chisuke frowned, shaking her head in denial and responding in a quiet whisper, "I-I've never had ramen b-before, bayo." A blush crawled at her cheeks as her verbal tic slipped out. Kushina's eyebrows raised almost to her hairline and she let out a gasp.

"I don't know whether I should be upset that you've never tried the Food of the Gods, or squish your cheeks 'cause you sound just like lil' Naru-chan, dattebane!," she cried. Shaking her head, she led her into a hallway, one that had few wooden doors lining the walls. Absentmindedly, Chisuke's eyes flitted to the painted metal plaque on one of the doors. The handle was a bright metallic orange, and the kanji for 'Naruto' was engraved neatly on the equally orange plaque. "You've never tried Ramen," Kushina clicked her tongue, "That's just disrespectful to the Food of the Gods, ya know! We must fix this right away!"

Chisuke, much to her chagrine, found herself stumbling at double the pace until Kushina dragged her into a large room. The recently waxed floor practically sparkled, and the walls were a pale lavender color. In the middle of the room was a large dark oak table, six chairs placed neatly around it and a vase of winter peonies centering it. There was food on the table, too-- and Chisuke mentally gaped because she'd never seen that much food in one place in her life.

Her gaze snapped to the shock of electric yellow and deep blueblueblue eyes, then flipped to the boy with dark eyes and equally dark hair--Shisui. Minato beckoned her over and, when she hesitated, frozen in her spot, Kushina's gentle palm pressed against her back, guiding her to be seated on Minato's right side.

Not five minutes later, a full meal was placed neatly in front of her. Hands fidgeting nervously on her lap (because really, she still had no idea what she was supposed to be doing here), she ignored her watering tastebuds. The couple had already began to eat, and they were chatting amiably with eachother. Her eyes flicked between the two as she waited for them to. . . She really didn't know what she was waiting for. . . Did they want her to eat? She didn't really know what they wanted or why she was here. The whole situation was confusing, and her stomach ached with hunger but she didn't want to eat without asking because what if they got mad? What would she do if they got upset? There was nowhere to get away if--

"'Suke-chan. . ."

She froze, eyes widening in cold panic when she registered the three sets of eyes that had narrowed in on her. Kushina was looking at her with some strange emotion-- she didn't-- when she'd said her name, she didn't sound happy--and no. No--

'Oh Kami, no, please don't tell me I did something wrong--'

The smallest of creases formed between Kushina's brows, her lips turning down as she spoke with the voice that was supposed to be full of cheer--

"What's the matter? Are you not hungry? I can get you something else if you--"

"No!," Chisuke flinched at the loudness of her own voice, ducking her head shamefully when the blue and violet and onyx orbs widened at her outburst, "I--I mean. . .it's not--not, b-bayo. . .i-it's. . . I mean I just. . .I--I--"

"What is it, 'Suke-chan?"

"'s just that-- I wasn't sure if. . .if. . ." her eyes slid to the food before in a nervous gesture. She gulped uncertainly when Kushina's lips dropped open.

"You wanted to know if you could eat?," came the incredulous cry, and she nodded, her gaze frozen on the wood of the table, hands clasped so tightly together that her knuckles were white--she--shouldn't have asked--she shouldn't have opened her damn mouth--she--

"Of course you can eat, 'Suke-chan!"

'I--What?'

Blood red whisps of her hair flashed in her vision when she whipped her head to Kushina. If she wasn't so shocked, she would've cringed at the sharp twang if a pulled muscle in her neck, but--

"I - R-really, bayo?"

Kushina sighed, a long, sad, drawn out thing that made her look fifteen years older and closed her eyes. For a few moments, it seemed as if she'd fallen asleep--(really, she was so still that Chisuke thought she really had drifted asleep)--before her eyes popped open, and she gave Chisuke a sharp look, her voice taking a serious tone.

"Chisuke. Don't you ever ask for permission to do something as crucial to living as eating is in this household ever again."

Her tone was sharp, almost biting, and Chisuke recoiled, a whimper escaping her, and eyes as wide as they could be while her hands gripped the edges of her seat in a death hold. That same cold shock spiked dangerously in her chest-- the one that warned of coldcoldcold danger--

Minato and Shisui watched apprehensively as the spitfire of a woman continued on her mini rant, her violet orbs aflame, feminine voice holding firm. They watched as the little girl shrank in cold fear. Her nails dug into the wood of her chair, every muscle in her body locking tighter, tighter, tighter--

"--and no child will ever - and I mean ever go hungry in my household, is that clear?"

With any and all words stuck in her throat, all Chisuke could manage was a jerky nod, the corners of her mouth wobbling ever so slightly. Kushina's voice softened at that, her eyes losing their burning edge. "Now, eat up, 'Suke-chan," she commanded gently. The downwards turn of her mouth smoothed out, and she removed herself from her seat, rounding the table. When she neared to little girl, the redhead ignored the way the girl flinched back, no doubt expecting pain, and crouched down beside her.

Kushina stared into the girls wide eyes. Really, they were quite pretty, one as red as a ruby and the other as dark as onyx--both equally wide in fear and confusion.

It angered Kushina--it made her so, so angry when she saw the fear and the uncertainty-- that lack of trust, embedded deeply into the eyes of someone so young. It was infuriating that someone had caused that fear-- someone had injured this child, terrorized her, traumatized her-- Why? Why they would do this to an innocent child, she didn't know.

It was angering. So, so infuriating.

But this was still a child, and Kushina vowed to herself, the moment she'd seen the injured girl--barely four years old-- bloodied, bruised, and scared. . . The moment Kushina saw her, she vowed that she'd help her. Save her.

This was somebody's child. This child's mother was dead. And Kushina was sure, with every ounce of her being, that Chisuke's mother would have wanted her child to live happy.

With that vow on her heart, and the child's mother in her mind, the Uzumaki smiled gently at her at Chisuke, ignoring the way she flinched again when Kushina brought a thumb to her brow, smoothing the crease that had formed there.

Kushina, Minato, and Shisui collectively let inward sighs of relief echo through their hearts when Chisuke's expression of terror soothed out, the expectation of danger dying in her eyes.

And with a genuine smile, Kushina quickly dived back into conversation with Minato and Shisui, occasionally asking Chisuke questions about herself. She wasn't able to answer most of them, but the grownups didn't seem bothered by it, and they didn't seem to mind her silence.

The cold shock and apprehension dissipated, and Chisuke ate.

And when night set in, her stomach fuller than she could ever remember it being, she sat on Shisui's lap, his (warm) arms around her and a picture book steady in her small hands. The lively, chattering of the blonde and redhead couple in the background was a somehow comforting noise.

She wondered if the book she held was made with magic, because the pictures were so colorful and happy. Her pudgy fingers flipped through the pages, gently, as if they were made of gold leaf, and she eyed the many drawings with avid interest until her orbs clouded with sleep. Her eyelids felt heavier and heavier every second, and she found she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore.

Vaguely, as the memories were foggy with sleep, she remembered a shock of bright blonde hair and blueblueblue eyes, and the soft grin on the face of someone with dark hair and equally dark eyes. Vaguely, she remembered warm arms and feeling like she was floating. Vaguely, she remembered soft blankets being tucked under her chin, and something equally soft beneath her.

And she felt warm.