Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

"For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"They haven't moved yet?" Sasuke asked quietly.

I shook my head, concentrating on the task at hand.

Sasuke and I were currently hiding in the master bedroom, the closest enclosed room that we could reach in a short time. The room itself was rather plain, very practical for a ninja family, but adequately stocked with hidden weapons and first aid kits.

My home-alone-inspired-plan and bravado had pretty much abandoned me since I entered this room. The chance was, anything that I could come up with would be easily disassembled by professional ninja. I'd rather play it safe, since it was not only my life that was at stake. Sasuke and I had decided that we would avoid confrontation unless necessary.

Speaking of it, there were three unidentified masses of chakra. All of them were considerably dimmer, heavily suppressed. Two chakra signatures had immediately appeared as soon as the intruder had dropped his incognito mode – perched in our neighbors rooftops – their positions flanked him in defensive pattern. They then had entered those houses, lurking around for only God knew why. The intruder himself was close by, currently standing in the living room that Sasuke and I had previously occupied.

Although their purpose was still unclear, I was certain that they were not here to commit murder. There was no one to assassinate in the compound except Sasuke and I. If they wanted to kill us, they would have done it already. Robbery was also unlikely, though not impossible, but I doubted that they would find anything profitable from the rooms they visited.

"I think I know what they're doing. . ." Sasuke whispered over my shoulder, his eyes were trained on the paper before me. "They don't go to the bedrooms or the bathrooms, but they always stop by the living rooms and the dining rooms – everywhere where people usually gather to gossip and chat."

I barely glanced at the dots that littered the blueprint of the compound that Sasuke had stolen from Fugaku's adjacent office, too caught up with calculating and scribing the intruders ever-changing positions in accordance with the blueprint's scale.

"I think," Sasuke hesitantly continued, "I think they're–"

"They're moving again," I interrupted Sasuke, getting tired with his incessant chatter. From the nasty glare that the boy aimed at me, he knew perfectly well that it was intentional.

I quickly scanned the blueprint with my sharingan, memorizing the image of each house's plans into my memory – inwardly musing about how easy college would've been if I had possessed them back then. I then grabbed my black marker, shoved it into my pocket, and ran to the door.

"Come on!"

Sasuke's feature twisted into an ugly scowl. "Just so that you know," he seethed, "my opinion still stands! This whole thing is ridiculous! It's a safety hazard! Mother is so going to have my head!"

I sighed.

And yet, I thought, the boy still refused to mind his own business.

I crouched on the foyer, nimbly dodging away with practiced ease when Sasuke tried to help me put my shoes on. "Perhaps," I said, "but if it could save life, then it's certainly worth doing. There are still dozens of houses left, houses which belong to our family. They could be planting bombs for all we know, it's better to be safe than sorry."

Well, at least that was what I told myself as I tried to justify my reckless behavior. It was a farce, of course. I had other activity in mind that certainly had absolutely nothing to do with saving people that I had little to no connection with, barring our surname.

Not waiting for Sasuke's answer, I creeped past the front lawn into the deserted street. In my mind-eye, I could see that the intruders had started to explore their next targets.

"Are we doing it tonight, Meister?" the tree asked.

"Yes," I muttered. I stopped and crouched beside a nearby neighbor's bushes-covered fence to draw crude floor plans of the houses before marking them with their infiltrators' respective positions, inwardly cursing them for moving so quickly. "Have you connected with the stem? You do understand what you have to do next, don't you?"

In conjecture with my plan to provide my pet-plant – and consequently, its parent-plant – with adequate nutrients, the tree was supposed to send out wide-ranging lateral roots that would send up erect stems in predesignated locations. From all above-ground appearances, the new stems would look like individual trees. The process then would be repeated until a whole stand, of what appear to be individual trees, was formed. This collection of multiple stems would remain connected through the root system, sharing roots, water and mineral nutrients as a one, single, genetic individual – certainly a fitting, if a bit sinister, image for such a despicable creature.

"I have, Meister. I'll be ready to move on your mark."

"Good."

Beforehand, I had prepared a vial of my blood to act as markers for the tree. I supposed I could simply use my chakra to act as markers and be done with it. That might be the case for a normal chakra system, but mine was anything but normal; and if the literature that I had read were to be believed, I would be unable to expel chakra – or at the very least have a hard time doing it – due to my disproportionate chakra ratio. Thus, I had to use the next best thing: blood.

The chakra pathway system was enmeshed into the body. Similar to blood in the cardiovascular system, it touched and interacted with every single living cell and passed through every organ. Chakra, being constantly produced and pumped out by the heart, mixed with the blood and entered the muscles and tissues of the body.

Whilst the chakra concentration in my blood might be lower if it were compared with the one that was directly expelled through pressure points, its 'signature' was still recognizable enough for my chakra-starved pet plant to identify. I suspected that if I had an edible – normal – chakra system, the tree would have swallowed me whole and sucked my blood dry by now. Strangely enough, the threats that the tree possessed upon my well-being did not discourage me from further studying it; in fact, it only managed to make the enigmatic tree even more enchanting.

"They are bugging those houses, I think," whispered Sasuke whom I forgot was even there.

I deliberately ignored him and marked more positions, my focus impeccable. "All the more reason to follow them then."

Sasuke glared at me, unimpressed.

"Alright, alright. . ." I humored him. "How had thou reached upon thy conclusion, brother dear?"

Sasuke huffed and folded his arms. "Well, the adults won't admit it, but the relationship between the village and our clan is pretty bad. I can't remember much of my earliest memory, but I'm sure that we don't always live here."

My brows raised. "Here?"

"In the outskirts," Sasuke clarified. "I've seen our family's old pictures – from the time before we were born – and the house and the scenery are very different. Don't you find it odd that all Uchiha live in one section of the village? Sure, it's good that you want to be closer to your family, but it must have been pretty boring and inconvenient when said family's compound is located far from the center of the village."

I glanced at the boy from the corner of my eye. He certainly was more perceptive than I gave him credit for. Though I would not outright tell him about what would happen, I had long ago decided that I would not lie to him either – only nudging him towards the right direction. Should the massacre commence, Sasuke would be the one who was most affected by its aftermath, thus he deserved the truth, which hopefully would help him find peace.

"Well. . . I don't know much about the ninja clan, so I thought it's normal," I admitted. "About the compound's position. . . Well, we are the Military Police, maybe people are uncomfortable with having prisoners near their houses, so we have to be the bigger person and move to the outskirts. As for your second question, the prison is located inside our compound, maybe the decision makers thought that more personnel means more protection for the masses from the convicts, so every Uchiha has to live inside the compound."

"I've thought so too at first. It's not really fair, but it makes sense, so I never ask about it," Sasuke said. "But when I was bringing father's lunch to the headquarter the other day, something that this officer said really bothered me. He said–"

I shushed him before he could say anything. Wordlessly, I creeped into another lawn, decorated by vibrant, grown sunflowers – a nervous Sasuke hovered right behind me. Once I found an adequate hiding place, I grabbed a dried twig and started drawing on the soil. I pointed towards our previous hiding place, where the lights on the house next to it was turned on when it was previously as dark as the night.

Sasuke shot me a small, grateful smile.

I shrugged. "So what did the officer say?" I asked.

Sasuke's expression turned pensive again, the corner of his lips quirked down, before he muttered in a barely audible voice, "He. . . He said that the higher ups suspect our clan's involvement in the Nine-Tails attack."

As I scribbled more dots on the dirt, I patiently waited for further explanation – something, anything – that could help me measure the extent of the boy's knowledge and gauge his reaction. I turned around when none came and was surprisingly greeted by Sasuke's blank expression.

"You are very accepting of this," the boy accused, a tinge of suspicion laced his tone.

I rolled my eyes.

"As I've said earlier, our clan is this village's Military Police Force," I said. "We have a prison built in said organization's building, which inconveniently is also located inside our compound. It sucks that we have to live in the outskirts, but we also have to live with dangerous convicts. Not only that, we also can't take part in the actual governing of Konoha because as the police force we are required to be neutral. So why does it really surprise you that we are under scrutiny for the Nine-Tails Attack? Haters gonna hate, brother. The sooner you realize it, the happier you will be."

"Are you saying that you're perfectly okay with the mistrust and the isolation from the rest of the village?! We have to do something, at least!"

"And do what, Sasuke? Revolt? We're just kids! Let's say we somehow manage to come out of that unscathed, the chaos would invite invaders from other villages. After a World War, the village can't afford anymore needless deaths and material destruction. Even if the threat from the outside never materialized, the losses would have been so great that Konoha would have ended up like that village you wrote for your homework, what's it names– Amy? Ama–"

"Amegakure?" Sasuke said dryly.

"Yeah, whatever that is." I waved him off. "Like I said, haters gonna hate. Don't waste your time to cater to their whim. You can't make everyone love you. If this place won't appreciate you, then leave. Why drown yourself with all the negativity? Just move to Ame or something. Be a merchant or whatever. Let's make Amegakure gre–"

"Oh shoot!"

"–at again–" I stopped myself short, finally registering the prickle in my senses.

Ah.

"Children," greeted the leader's distorted voice, which sounded more like buzzing of insects than an actual human being, from somewhere behind me.

I tilted my head, noting the existence of thousands upon thousands tiny, identical chakra signatures inside the man's body in my mind-eye. On the bright side, I noted, Sasuke and I were harmless enough not to warrant the other intruders' attention; they continued to fulfill their respective objectives.

I mouthed to Sasuke, 'Aburame?'

He blinked. Yes.

I slowly turned around and came face to face with a black cloak. My eyes carefully trailed up from his barely visible hands, where tiny insects crawled through his pores and hovered around him, ready to attack at his command; to his white porcelain mask – ANBU grade – noting the barely visible glint of his glasses through his mask's eye-holes as he bored his gaze towards Sasuke; and settled on the numbers that hovered above his head.

I stared, and I stared more.

The reason that I struggled to determine a person's exact lifespan based on the numbers that hovered over their heads was because their numbers kept on fluctuating. Infants in the maternity ward usually had a high amount of numbers, baring a few exceptions that I knew would not have a long life. How they then proceed in life, I theorized, would determine how long they remained in the plane of the living. Some decisions, however innocuous, could greatly jeopardize one's lifespan; thus it was of utmost importance that everyone refrain from behaving like an idiot and listened to me when I told them not to do something, not that anyone ever believed me anyway.

I admitted, there was a possibility that the man was dying, but I quickly dismissed it. Sick person would not be put on mission, especially not one that was as high-profiled as infiltrating the Uchiha compound – the village leaders would not allow any margin of error – thus whatever it was that would end him must be here, right in this compound.

He needed to leave, now.

"Whatever you're thinking of doing," I said, "don't,"

I flinched when I felt his chakra – and subsequently, his shiny, pitch black insects – almost lazily, crawled through his pores.

Amusement oozed out of him; mocking me.

I gritted my teeth. "I know it doesn't make any sense, but I'm warning you, if you stay here, bad things will happen and then there'll be nothing that you can do stop–"

Sasuke, whom once again I forgot was there, quickly intervened and tugged my arm, trying to pull me closer to him. "What my baby brother's trying to say is, we don't see anything, or anyone. We are simply minding our own business and will gladly let you continue your," Sasuke gestured towards the compound with a terrified frown, "whatever it is that you and your buddies–"

"Buddies?"

I bit back a curse when I felt his chakra surged.

He was no longer playing.

Sasuke stuttered as he tried to regain control of the situation, "W-what I meant to say i-is–"

I clenched my hands and bowed my head.

I could almost imagine someone, somewhere out there, floating in the far out place, laughing at my pathetic attempt to change the inevitable. It was arrogant and foolish of me to think that I had even a meagre of control of this world, to let the illusion of knowledge and freedom cloud me and prevent me from accepting the one ugly truth, that my past life did not mean shit. I might have come from a higher dimension, from a place where things were done in a far more civilized manner and where I did not have to constantly fear for my life as I did in this world; but as long as I stayed here, my life was as fickle as the rest of its fictional inhabitants.

Now, my decision to convince the man to abandon his mission had backfired; and with the current political climate, a suspicious ninja was the last thing that the clan needed. Even if I did not do anything, he still had spotted us spying on him, thus he certainly would not let us go. As Itachi had told me once, ANBU did not leave any witness. At the very least, we would have our memory altered and that was unacceptable for me. There was no telling in what someone would find inside my head.

It was ironic. All of my efforts to prevent needless pain and deaths from befalling my clan and I had resulted in just that: pain and deaths.

Perhaps this was the universe's roundabout way to tell me to choose; to show whether I wanted to survive or not. If I tried to act like my old self, I would die. There was no room for compassion, not when the ones that were supposed to be your protector were out to get you.

It was about time that I accepted that this world was different. It had a different set of rules and different set of morals. Killing was not something that was that was abhorred, it was a necessity. The old me would be repulsed with what I was today. But in order to survive, I had to adapt, and that meant speaking with language that the people in this world could understand: pain and bloodshed.

Taking advantage of the minute distraction, I slipped my hand into my back pocket and retrieved the blood vial.

It did not escape the intruder's attention.

His insects buzzed, "What are you doing?"

Sasuke stopped his rambling.

With my eyes trained on the soon-to-be-dead-man, I uncapped the bottle and poured its content into the soil before his feet.

"A fucking miracle."

Mikoto wrung her fingers together, clenching upon an invincible victim. She then took a deep, deep breath, before she slowly exhaled. She thought of her children – whom she loved dearly – lest she throttled someone with her bare hands due to her mounting frustration.

It would be bad for her children's emotional development to have a convict as a mother. Not that it mattered much, she thought grimly. Itachi had grown up too fast, Sasuke only cared for his father's approval, and her youngest. . . Hideyo. . . Well, she did not – she never – understood what went through his head. She almost missed his company, even when it only consisted of utter silence and staring into the distance. But there was no need to dwell on what had already happened, she supposed. Her eldest had informed her that her baby was getting better and she had seen that Sasuke was more than happy to indulge him – in spirit, if sometimes misguided, of being a good elder brother. Even that ugly twig in their backyard that he had brought home seemed to please him. Mikoto was not a finicky person; as long as her children were healthy and happy, she was happy.

But now Mikoto was furious.

Because after a long and exhausting day, instead of her children's warm smiles, she was greeted by the sight of a desolated compound with said compound's wards being breached; Sasuke unconscious form on her front porch; and her youngest son, by the Gods, talking to a bloody tree that she swore was not there this morning, in the middle of the carnage that was her dead aunt's destroyed house, with three mangled bodies hanging on its trunk.

"That son of yours never ceases to surprise me," commented the sudden presence beside her. "How come you never told me that he's capable of wood release?"

"Because he doesn't." Mikoto seethed.

Obito folded his hands over his chest. His brow rose beneath his mask. "Then what would you call that?"

"I don't know!" Mikoto snapped. She felt her angers deflated, leaving only a hollow sensation at the pit of her stomach. Her insecurity reared its ugly head, because what kind of mother did not know what her children were up to?

"I found surveillance cameras in your house and few other houses," Obito handed her a pouch that were filled with said electronic devices, "haven't been activated though."

Mikoto sighed and tied the pouch to her belt. "Itachi must have lowered the barrier for them to be able to get in. That silly child," she muttered.

"Well, that silly child turns out to be a clever bugger. I've checked the barrier, it is timed to be lowered for a period of time, allowing them to get in and get out at a predetermined time. He's good," Obito mused.

Mikoto cracked a smile despite everything. "Of course, he is. He's my son." Even if the boy killed her with his own hands, Mikoto would still love him. There was nothing that she would not do for her children, no matter the cost. The thought brought forth a grim memory from not-so-long-time-ago, a memory of pain, death, destruction, and blood, so much blood–

"Do you think it's because of the Shinigami?"

Obito shrugged. "Who knows. I'm not the one who summoned the Death God to revive my dead child. Like I've said, by the time I found you, you were already dead. Konan took care of him whilst Nagato revived you, and then I returned both of you to Konoha."

"And I'm forever grateful for that," Mikoto murmured quietly. "But I was desperate, Obito. I didn't think things through. It's not like I expect to find my son dead at the hands of his own brother." Mikoto really did not know how she went wrong with Sasuke. She understood what the boy was trying to do, to an extent. Hideyo was suffering and it would've been more merciful to let him rest, but Mikoto was never really good at letting go – not her children. "By the time I found him, it's already too late to use Izanagi to revive him."

Mikoto heaved a sigh.

"I admit, Kushina's story on the origin of Shiki Fūjin was very vague, but one thing that I am sure of is that summoning the Death God requires sacrifice. And I've given It exactly that, my soul and that of my enemies. It's a tedious, painful, and risky process, but it worked. The last thing that I saw before I closed my eyes was my son breathing, and that was good enough for me."

"Then we won't ever know," Obito replied with finality. "Unless, of course, you get over your issue and ask him about it, like any other sensible parents."

Mikoto grimaced at the low blow.

Prior to her son's death – and his subsequent revival – Mikoto could not cope with his deteriorating health, nor could she accept the fact that he would most likely die. Fugaku was worse. He already distanced himself from their youngest even before he was born, when he found out that it would be a difficult pregnancy. Fugaku could not stomach the idea of loving a child only for it to be ripped away from him. Thus, the man kept his distance, whilst Mikoto turned to alcohol. She remembered one memory during her drunken haze that she tried to forget to no avail, where she fell asleep on the couch with Hideyo lying on her chest. Mikoto did not even realize that he had stopped breathing. The fight that ensued after Fugaku – thank Kami – succeeded to resuscitate him was one that Mikoto would never forget.

Mikoto had kept their interaction to a bare minimum ever since, even after his revival – where Hideyo's condition had steadily improved – opting to send her clone to take care of her children instead whilst she trained and pushed her body to its limit. Doing Obito's bidding had also kept her focused and her skills sharp, no matter how much she hated them sometimes. For the first time in years, Mikoto felt good about her life. Now, if only she could woman up and face her children.

Mikoto shook her head. "I'm not ready for him, not yet. But you, on the other hand," she grasped the sleeve of the man that she used to babysit, "you can talk to him."

"Let me get this straight," Obito shifted his mask, revealing his scarred, incredulous face, "You want a ruthless terrorist, slash missing-nin, slash traitor to talk your one-year old son? Have you been drinking, cousin?"

Mikoto ignored his insult. "Honestly, it's nothing worse than over an alcoholic mother who accidentally suffocated him, a father who cannot stand to even look at him, a brother who's a traitor to his own clan, and another brother who intentionally smothered and killed him. If you can babysit Itachi, then you can babysit him too."

"You're manic," Obito deadpanned.

Mikoto snorted. "Well, trying to be a high-functioning person after being stuck inside the Shinigami's belly can do that to someone."

Obito huffed.

"Besides, I have to take care of Sasuke and clean the crime scene. The clan meeting will commence in about. . ." Mikoto glanced at her watch, "an hour, so there's much work to be done. Talk to him, will you? And oh, if you could, please ask him to move the tree. It's aesthetically unpleasing."

Before Obito could think to muster a reply, Mikoto had disappeared into her house with Sasuke in tow.

Obito blinked, then shrugged.

What could go wrong anyway?

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