I do not own Naruto.
There was an ambush waiting for them in Hashirama's house, and it took the form of one Uchiha Madara, much to Tobirama's chagrin. He should have expected it, he supposes. It's not like they were discreet with the child as they traveled the ramshackle skeleton of the soon to be village. Anyone could have spotted them.
"She could be an invader! A spy!"
"It's not like that, she's just a child, look at her-" Hashirama attempts to defend, shielding the small form behind him, and consequently, his brother as well. The whole ordeal is a bit ridiculous, actually. It always is when it involves his brother and that wild haired menace.
"We were children once, and look what we were capable of doing. You know as well as I do that age is no restriction when they are in service to a cause," Madara bites out coldly, coal eyes gleaming as he glares down both the newly minted Hokage, and the young girl who has begun rocking side to side.
"Madara, she grew from my chakra," Hashirama explains yet again. As an argument, it's fairly lackluster, but Hashirama has been defaulting to it for the entirety of her sudden appearance. Any suspicion cast her way is met with such ridiculous phrases as 'She's only a few hours old' and 'She's mine, I'll take responsibility for her', and 'No, I will tell Mito eventually'. It's actually fairly alarming how much he has voiced the sentiments.
"That makes her even more dangerous. An unknown power, perhaps a Kekkei Genkei. She's blinded you within mere hours of her arrival, Hashirama. Even your brother can see it, thick as he is," the Uchiha states, flicking his eyes toward the man in question, and flinging his arm outward as well.
Tobirama raises a single brow at the gesture. Madara must be desperate to attempt to get an agreement out of him. Usually, out of respect for Hashirama, they pretend that they do not exist to each other. When one enters the room with another inside, they do not speak to each other, do not glance in one another's direction, do not even acknowledge the other's presence in any way whatsoever. A call for aid like this is unheard of, and far too amicable for Tobirama's liking.
And yet…
His own gaze slides over to the girl, watching her stim back and forth as she lets her head drop this way and that in a repeated, rhythmic motion, her whole body swaying with the action. She's utterly unremarkable, with the same coloring as many in the village, her hair worn short, and her frame still rounded with youth. Perhaps a bit on the heavier side for a child, but there are many children growing rounder as the clans come together to build.
However, there is something wrong with this girl.
It started out like an itch in his senses, when he first registered that she was an entity of her own, and not the continued use of his brothers chakra. It was a quiet feeling, and even now he cannot put a name to it. Her chakra reserves are not abnormal, and everything seems fine, but...
She rarely speaks, for one. Oh, she talks, but nothing a child her age should say, opening her mouth to explain complex concepts that sound more like riddles than actual ideas. The subject matter she speaks of is esoteric, often vague and unfocused, yet her vocabulary is extensive, and her dictation is carelessly perfect. She does not stumble over harder syllables and sounds, and she does not pause when stringing together intricate phrases. In her tired state, her thoughts may wander, and she may trail off, but she talks with all the surety of an adult.
For another, when he and Hashirama fed her, there seemed no end to her appetite. She touched no meat, he noticed, but she consumed bowl after bowl of vegetable and rice, and devoured what seemed like some fifteen eggs in various forms. Though his brother may have been pleased to know she need not be weaned -and of course she didn't, look at her, she's not that young- Tobirama was unsettled by the sheer amount she ingested at a steady, meticulous pace. It wasn't just an improbable amount consumed, it was nearly impossible. The volume of it should have made her ill, or upset her stomach at least, but she merely shows a bit of distension in her gut instead.
More unnerving is the fact that her facial features seem permanently fixed in some serene, almost tired expression. It could be said that she is simply an inexpressive child, precocious and calm, but here had been no exclamation of surprise from her when Madara waylaid them in the hallway of Hashirama's current abode. No jump of startlement, or sudden tears. She simply flicked her eyes between the men, again and again, as Hashirama carried her to his own fuuton for her to rest.
In fact, it had been almost relieving when she began to display such a negative reaction to the verbal altercation between Madara and his brother. Of course, the repeated motions aren't comforting to witness, per say, but they are something other than the utter stillness of being that was before. It's a point to exploit, should they need to.
Hearing the silence that follows Madara's statement, Hashirama turns to look at Tobirama. His brother's gaze follows his own, and he makes a alarmed sound at the sight of the girl, as if just now noticing her distress. He probably is. Like a particularly unpleasant feline, Madara tends to demand attention, leaving none for those around him.
Hashirama doesn't touch her as he kneels by her side, leaving his hands to flutter around her, but he casts an absolutely venomous glance at both Madara and him. For a man who vehemently protested that he had no idea what to do with a child a few hours ago, Hashirama is adapting alarmingly fast to father-figure hood.
"Hashirama. She needs to be put under watch, not coddled," Madara hisses, despite the poisonous look.
It seems the Uchiha is always ready to push things into conflict. Surprise, surprise, thinks Tobirama, without any alarm whatsoever.
"She's a little girl, Madara, and she is upset. Lower your voice," his brother returns. He finally settles his palms on the girls back, but it doesn't seem to garner much of a response.
"Far be it of me to object, brother," Tobirama says, his level, flat tone a distinct contrast to the other two's. "But she may not be. If you remember, one of the first things she said is that her body came from your technique, and I believe it was implied she existed in some state before that. We don't know how long she's been alive."
"Tobirama," Hashirama says in a disappointed voice. It affects Tobirama about as much as the look did, which is to say, he cares more about his brothers overall welfare than his current mood. Madara, and Tobirama never thought he would even think this, has a point. Hashirama is growing attached entirely too fast.
"There is a large possibility she is dangerous," Tobirama says. "I'm not entirely sure she's even human."
"Brother," the older man hisses in disbelief, and Tobirama blinks. Perhaps it is a bit callous, but it is not wrong to say it. The child -if it is one- doesn't even appear to be upset any further than she already is.
"No. No more, not in front of her," Hashirama declares. "Both of you, out."
"I'm not just going to leave you alone with it," Madara returns heatedly, and Tobirama does not miss that 'I'. Typical Uchiha. As soon as they gets what they desire, all thoughts of alliances or partnership are gone from their mind. This is why he can't trust them.
"She's not an it," bites out their Hokage fiercely.
Tobirama suppresses an eye roll at the theatrics of it all. This line of argument isn't going to get them anywhere, and unlike Madara, he understands that he cannot simply goad Hashirama into an action he seems set against. Instead, he has to make that option appeal to his brother.
"She's not going anywhere brother," Tobirama tries. "She said she was tired when we first met. Let her rest."
His brother stares at her stimming form, and then around the room. Tobirama knows that Hashirama is calculating the possibilities. The window is latched, and far enough off the ground it should prove detrimental to escape from, not to mention that they are three of the most powerful ninja of their time, and would hear an approach. The only other exit is the doorway they entered in from, which leads to a corridor that can be easily guarded. There is little chance of harm coming to her unless she strangles herself in blankets, or wears out the skin of her tailbone rocking so.
"She's upset. We can't just leave her," Hashirama says.
"She's upset because she's tired, and because we are discussing matters here. She only started rocking when Madara burst in and started shouting."
Madara makes a growl of protest and glares, but much like the Katon jutsu the man favors, it is entirely ineffective against Tobirama.
Hashirama doesn't answer right away, but his lips thin into a line that says he's thinking it over. He eyes the girl in his fuuton, completely voiding the world around her. Her eyelids are drooping and Tobirama estimates that she'll drop in less than ten minutes if she's left on her own like this.
"But-"
"Think of the safety of the village, if not yourself," Madara adds on, and it's like watching a Suna puppet after the wielder has been killed. He seems to crumple in on himself despairingly, all the strings cut from him.
"Alright," he sighs in defeat. "Alright."
He turns to the girl again, though, and he whispers to her in a soothing voice. He still doesn't touch her, but words of soft assurance and promises to return flow freely from him.
Tobirama stifles his frown, and waits for it to be over. It takes a few moments, and unsettles him in an odd way, but he bears it with stoic dignity. His brother has been doing things that make him uncomfortable from the moment he was born. Today is no different than the rest.
"It will be alright, Hashirama. We will settle this, and she will be here when we return," he comforts when his brother stands.
Hashirama doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to, his disgruntled expression speaks loud enough for them all to hear as they venture out of the room, gently sliding the door shut behind them, leaving the girl (or whatever it may be) to herself.
Or, rather, leaving the girl to herself for just a few moments. After the three distance themselves, inky shadows begin to pool on the wooden walls. From the corners of the room they slowly gather, cautiously congealing into the head and torso of some other thing. A creature of manifest will and spite, with a form no more permanent than her own. It is a capricious, vengeful thing, this other, lingering on the fringes like a shapeshifting spider, with the whole world as its web.
"Loud, arrogant monkeys," it murmurs softly. Its voice is so much more solid than its body, so much more real even at a low volume.
The girl, or woman wearing a girl's skin -or something else entirely- continues rocking, staring at the same place she has been since she was brought into this room. The spot which the being, that other, grew from like a pustule rising from skin.
"Are you Mara?" she asks, her voice airy and shaken.
"I am called Zetsu," it answers. "And I am here to save you."
She does not respond.
"Do you not remember?" the intruder prompts, searching for recollection in those unfathomable eyes. They stare impassively forward, and it sees itself reflected there, just as frightening and inhuman as it truly is. "It has been a very long time."
"I don't know," she admits. "Everyone is always fighting. I don't like it-"
"Shhhhhhhh," soothes the intruder. "You're waking up still. It will be slow. You don't have all the chakra you need to awaken fully yet, and most your body is sealed still."
"It's just a dream," she whispers, but it is a non answer. The other does not understand, but it does not need to. "How is it still just a dream?"
"Those brothers, the monkeys," the being returns to her gently, patiently trying to get the other to remember. "They cut you down."
Her blank, peaceful expression falters for the briefest of moments, and she looks befuddled and distraught as the entity slides towards her out of the wooden slats.
"Sons of Mirmir," she whispers back. "The end of Yggdrasil."
"Not the end," it assures her. The creature does not know some of the words she speaks, foreign and heavy as they are, but the tone is clear. How far her mind must have wandered, the sights it must have seen. It's confused, befuddled and unclear, but that makes it all the easier to control. "Their blood lives on, and your mind has returned. Those men, the ones shouting, if they found out what you are they would cut you down again. Seal you up another time."
She shakes her head.
"I just have to end this dream. I have to go back home and explain. The Sānqīng will know what to do. I can explain better, I know I can-"
The other finally frees both its arms from the wall, and reaches out to grasp the child with firm hands. It winds bits of itself around her like a cloying second skin, ceasing her rocking as it draws her back to the pool from where it emerged. It slips over her eyes, her neck and torso, conforming to her shape, tugging her into itself.
"You are confused," it assures her. "Still waking up. I will bring you back, help you remember."
"Mara," she condemns as the tendrils slip inside her mouth, coating her tongue with the taste of decay and soil. "You are Mara."
"I am Zetsu," it reminds her gently. "And I am saving you."
Yamanaka Ino tilts her head to the side as she scans over the information her father and the Hokage himself have brought for her to confirm.
It's only been a week and a few days since Lien last came, and subsequently slipped away, but the sheer amount of information being produced by the two sisters is astounding. There are complete notebooks filled to the brim on various topics, transcribed by steady hands. It started with the basics of what Ino knows is their language, all romanized letters with accompanying character sounds, and lists upon lists of words and definitions. Their handwritten dictionary takes up at least five notebooks on its own, and it's still not finished.
She's pretty sure that if this ever gets released, the code department will never be the same. In fact, she knows it.
"They can't really know this much," her dad mumbles tiredly from the corner of the room. Yet again she's struck by just how grateful she is for his presence, his unending support through this. She doesn't know where she would be if he wasn't there to help her sort out her head again, gentle and firm at the same time. With help, she should be able to go back to school in no time at all.
"Eight hours a day, five days a week, for nearly two decades daddy," she reminds him. "And absolute access to the internet."
"See, that's where I'm having trouble," he says, dropping the notes he's compiling to his lap. He lifts his finger to point to her in all seriousness, but the image is somewhat ruined by the pastel lavender blanket draped over his shoulders. It's her comforter from home, dotted with bush clovers and lilies, and he brought it in with a bunch of her possessions. They help ground her, remind her over where she belongs, who she really is in her head space. "It goes against everything I know to believe there is an incredibly complex network of databases, compiling all mankind's knowledge, regardless of borders and nationalities. One that allows for near instantaneous communication and can procure literally millions of sources for any given prompt. And it's accessible by civilians at any time they please."
Ino shrugs.
"They don't use chakra, so they had to figure something out. Maybe in a few thousand years we'll get there," she says, pausing for a moment to think about it. Actually, it could be less than that. Especially with a data dump like this to boost them. A decade or five, barring unforeseen circumstances, and they might get there. Then again, the culture is so different here, much more secular, so maybe not. Maybe something like it, but not at all the same.
"I'm not sure we should be aiming for a world like theirs, princess."
Ino juts her bottom lip out. She knows what he's doing, the subtle conditioning where he reinforces the idea that the other world is wrong, chaotic, and dangerous. It's a pragmatic tactic, but she doesn't like the way it creates a hierarchy, as if their world is somehow ranked above the other one. She understands her father's need to do it, but the rules he uses to quantify are often arbitrary and non-quantifiable.
"I mean, it's a wealth of information and technology, but it's very divided. One hundred and ninety six nations is a lot, not to mention the smaller factions within those countries. They also have to put up with a lot, and apparently there's a huge disparity between sects of people. There's a large divide between working and ruling classes that is only thinly glossed over. The division of labor leads to incredible specialization and a divorce from the production process-"
"Daddy," Ino interrupts. "That's Marxism. You are trying to degrade that world's processes with and argument from that world."
Her father shrugs, jostling one of the plush pillows at his side.
"The rhetoric is sound. If you want a living example, look at those who have crossed over. Supposedly, they are clan. Very, very close family. And yet..."
Ino puts her notebook down as well, her jutting lip retracted and turned into a furrowing brow. That was clever of Daddy, if she thinks about it. He began with a wide perspective argument and instead of abandoning it when it was made to be silly on one scale, he shrank it to fit another, more personal scale. One that he knows very well Ino feels passionate about.
The sisters, and their treatment of Lien.
There is a metaphor to be made there, about the division between them. The specializations they have seem to have taken for granted, and the divide between the ruling parties and the workhorses.
The memory of Franky striking Lien across the face bubbles up in Ino's head, and she very carefully breathes out through her nose to dispel her frustration.
In this metaphor, the ruling parties are the sisters, and Ino herself. They are the ones everyone is listening to. The three of them are the ones conveying information in a palatable way, and they receive the credit for it. They obtain rights and responsibilities.
The workhorse is Lien. The one who is showing them the information, who is providing labor -through transportation, communication, guidance, and realizations- is Lien herself. In turn she is degraded for her efforts, which aren't seen as efforts at all.
There is this disparity between them, this divide, where a large majority does not see Lien's labors for what they are. They see the insane whims of a mad woman with too much control, and not the reaching hands that are filled to the brim with experiences and viewpoints that need reflection and validation, which she cannot provide by herself. So she showed them to people she trusted in the hopes that they would assist her.
But those people were overly emotional. They drove her away in their fear of the situation, and have acted out of nothing but fear since then, regardless of how kindly they have been to some of the memories Ino has of Lien's experiences, this is easy, it's downright luxurious, it's-
"Well done, Daddy," Ino says with a slow breath. "I thought you were trying to make their world seem unappealing, but really you were trying to widen the gap between me and the sisters some more, just to be safe."
Her father huffs, leafing through the notebook on his lap with an airy expression. There is no guilt in him, she know, nor does she blame him. This is his job, after all, and he is acting both on orders and out of genuine concern.
"You are too smart sometimes, Princess."
"Intellectual recognition does not negate emotional response," she parrots back at him, citing something he once taught her. He flashes her a grin, knowing his methods have worked at least a little.
"It doesn't, but I wish I could draw the same emotional reaction to the one who put you in this situation," he informs her.
Ino taps her fingers on the page in front of her. She wants to find the right words before she tries to explain, but like every other time she has tried, she just can't. Sorta like she can't really find the words to explain a lot of concepts and beliefs she has these days.
It would be easier if she could do as Daddy wants. It would be nice to have a black and white picture of who is good and who is bad, to work towards one goal without interfering ideologies and conflicting information. If she could, she just might give up understanding for simplicities sake.
It isn't that tidy though. A comprehensive worldview rarely is, let alone a comprehensive view of two worlds on mental, emotional, and intellectual scales. It never used to be like this. It was never this difficult before Lien.
That thought, more than any of her father's efforts, is what makes Ino begin to feel a smidgen of negativity towards the woman. It's just a seed, but with dread, she realizes that seeds have the bad habit of growing.
'No,' she reminds herself. 'No, I won't be upset because I know more. It doesn't make sense.'
She repeats it like a mantra in her head throughout the day. Lien is confused, a lost form looking for her body. Lien is harmlessly trying to figure things out, deliberately avoiding any violent action. She is attempting a peaceable solution to her problems, and Ino believes that she can do it.
Do what, she isn't sure, and which 'she' eludes her as well, though.
AN: So, I tried to clean it up some, but if there are mistakes, let me know. Also, Lien is gonna be in the upcoming chapter a lot because 1)She's a main character. 2) The plot has need of her. I know people understand/relate to/like Franky and Theresa more, and they have their time, but this arc kinda got off the rails because I shifted focus.
Edit:Fixed some typos