"Hold me,
I'm a pale machine,
Life is just okay here,
Anyone can see,
I'm lonely,
With my pale machine,"
-Pale Machine, bo en
"Yahiko has old shirts you can use," I told Hidan.
I stepped over stone bricks left on the road and heard a hasty, embarrassed apology from within one of the metal foundations behind me, along with a quick, I didn't mean to leave to leave those there, muttered to someone else, but I didn't look.
Eventually, there'd be apartment towers here.
"Yeah, right," Hidan said, looking everywhere but at the people looking back at him. He hadn't worn a shirt since the day Sasori shredded his old one.
"Your old one was small anyway," I said.
Hidan blinked. "Fuck you," he said back, but there was no heat behind it.
The road wasn't much of one. Just a stretch of dirt clearer than the rest.
I hummed. "Have you been to Kumogakure before?"
Hidan tilted his head back. "So fucking random."
"Have you?"
He only looked at me.
"What color are the apples there?"
Hidan looked bewildered. "How the fuck would I know? You think I was sent there to be a shitty tourist?"
"You had to eat something," I pointed out.
"You and that orange-haired bastard might be the worst ninja, but the rest of us actually take food pills and ration bars on missions," he said derisively.
"Food pills?"
"Fuck me."
He didn't explain, but I'd ask Naga later.
"You like apples?" he asked after a second, barely looking at me.
"Almost sounds like you care," I said back.
Hidan looked away. "Can't say anything without you being a shit about it."
"Like anyone trying to ask you anything?"
"Fuck you," he said when he couldn't come up with something better, but still wouldn't look at me.
"Are there apples in Yugakure—" I stopped as a rock bounced onto the road.
Hidan looked at it, then glanced to the left. "Who the fuck is that?"
I looked and saw the man who'd threatened to cut off Naga's fingers, sitting in the dirt under the shadow of a partial wall. He'd looked healthy before, but now he looked like someone no one cared about, someone who people would walk by while trying not to look at.
Who would sell him food? Offer him a place out of the sun? Give him tools to help keep himself clean? Who would let him keep what he fished when they could take it instead?
He looked at me, haunted and full of rage, and it made me smile.
"Did you get what you wanted out of this, Wolf?" he asked, like he couldn't get it out fast enough.
"Yes," I said, and he fell into stunned silence. "Did you think I wasn't someone who'd tear you apart because I could?"
He looked at his dirty, shaking hands. "You don't get what it's like dealing with kids day in and day out that keep taking from you. Little assholes who couldn't understand that I had to pay for what I had, and if I didn't make enough my contacts would cut me off. I was shut out from all but one when the war started. You think I could afford to have rats stealing from me all the time? It was my livelihood."
"So what?"
"It was me and others like me who did what we could to get by while Hanzo was fucking us all," he went on, louder. "You think anyone would've lasted long enough for the Akatsuki to come along without us? You think a thing I didn't do over ten years ago was personal? I thought this shit was over when the three of you didn't come back, but here you are, Wolf, long after I moved on. It was what you stole from me that kept you alive."
I walked closer until I was looming over him. "So what?" It didn't change that if Yahiko hadn't shown up, Naga would've come back with less fingers, or one less hand.
He searched my eyes, and shoulders sagged at what he found.
"Pitiful," Hidan said, amused, sandals crunching dirt as he came up behind me.
"You say you helped people," I repeated, looking past him. "And maybe you did. But I don't think Naga was the first."
Back then, he hadn't hesitated to say they should take the whole hand.
I knew I was a product of war. So why was he so casual about it?
Maybe it was the only way orphans would learn, maybe it worked to stop so-called rats from stealing from him, and maybe those apples kept someone who paid for them alive. And maybe, just maybe, none of that mattered at all.
"You could be a saint now," I told him. "Or you could've fed people from your own hands. I'd still want you dead, because Naga wasn't a medic-nin then."
The man only leaned back and gave me a small, defeated smile. "Now I see the part I played in making you so terrible," he said, almost to himself. "I only wanted to talk to you again, Wolf. Just once—" He grabbed something hidden behind him and jerked a kunai up towards his neck.
I caught his wrist before it met his throat. He struggled, underestimating me, or thinking I'd let him, but it didn't take any strength at all to keep his hand still.
"You don't get to die so easily," I told him and heard Hidan burst out laughing behind me.
"And you gave me shit for that heathen in Rain?" he asked.
"It's not the same," I said, and he laughed louder, but the man wasn't looking at either of us.
He was staring at something in the air above me, and he looked terrified.
I let him go and looked back, but there was nothing there.
"It's just another part of you being completely bullshit," Hidan explained, wiping tears away.
"What was?" I asked as the man scrambling back, away from me.
Hidan waved at the air above me, still grinning, "It looked like a weak ass genjutsu, but I didn't feel shit. It was a giant fucking head covered in purple fire. It was some of the most blasphemous shit I've ever seen." Then he laughed so hard he stumbled forward and fought to catch his breath.
I only hummed as I looked back where the man had been. He'd left his kunai behind.
They'll move on to something else eventually, I thought, And then maybe I'll finally let you die.
Hidan was still laughing.
"Did anyone else see?" I asked him.
"It doesn't look like shit from the back," he said. "It's the front that made that shit sacrilegious. Your sensei was that dumbass genjutsu user, right? What do you think they'll think?"
I lingered for another second, and then I turned away.
"What the actual fuck," Hidan said, wiping his eyes again. He'd been laughing so much he couldn't stop crying.
"Do you still want to go see what Sasori's doing?" I asked.
Hidan tripped, eyes shooting towards me. "You really don't give a shit that that shit just happened?"
"I didn't mean to do it," I answered.
He dropped to his hands and knees, laughing again.
.
.
.
I watched two puppets in red cloaks push a finished part of a stone wall upright as three more laid steel squares down, making a floor that'd be able to bear the weight of all the metal on top of it.
They were everywhere, digging up dirt or sticking bricks together with mortar.
Hidan was incredulous as he looked around. "That red-headed bastard wasn't lying."
Sasori sat on a stone slab, hand raised lazily, fingers barely moving. Each finger had one glowing string that branched off into a blue web.
I spotted Keitaru out of the way of the puppets, going through papers with sketches on them. One was on the dirt in front of him next to a brush and a small pot of ink. It looked like an outline of the inside of a building.
He didn't seem to notice us. Junpei drew on another paper with ink-stained fingers at his feet.
"You really are out here building shit," Hidan said, like he still couldn't believe it.
Sasori didn't look and didn't lower his hand. "You irritate me so much it's almost impressive, Akatsuki's dog," he said, toneless.
Hidan only shook his head. "Look at you," he said back, gesturing around him. "This shit is sad."
Sasori ignored him and shifted his lifeless gaze onto me, "If you're going to take him on a walk you should keep him muzzled before someone does it for you."
"Building their village for them and calling me their dog," Hidan said, full of humor.
I didn't respond right away as I walked up to Sasori, looking at similar pages spread out in front of him. "What does that make you then?" I asked. "If our dog never helps us make anything, but you are—"
Sasori had senbon in his hand before I stopped, spinning them so the points stuck out between his fingers as he raised his arm—
"Fuck kind of defense is that?"
—and poked the points against a vein in my throat. He applied just enough pressure to instantly break the skin.
I locked eyes with him.
"I've hit my limit with loudmouths," Sasori said, staring at me. "Go bother someone else."
I felt a warm line trickle down my neck. It made me think of Minato and Kakashi. I barely moved as I pushed strands of hair out of my face, looking above Sasori.
"Why does everyone always do that?" I asked idly.
His other hand stilled, and the puppets around me stopped shuffling. Sasori didn't respond, but I felt his Killing Intent like a sudden downpour. Sandpaper hands slid around my neck, the fingers almost gentle until they pressed down and squeezed—
I knew it wasn't real, but it didn't seem to matter. I couldn't fight it, and I couldn't breathe. I coughed without meaning to.
Sasori's stare was unyielding.
I thought that this was Killing Intent. Root, Hanzo's army, and Antei were nothing compared to this.
My hand went up to my throat, feeling instinctively for the cold pressure stopping me from breathing, even as I told myself it's not real, it's not—
—hurts, ignore it, can't breathe, ignore it, flare my chakra, ignore it—
I blinked at the dirt, suddenly on one knee. I scratched at fingers that weren't there and didn't remember dropping down.
I couldn't move. Nothing was listening. I didn't know why, but I thought of what Yahiko told me once, about Jiraiya being right when he told us that we didn't get what it was like to be targeted directly.
Konan had been so close to Hanzo. Had she felt this?
—not real, fight back, not real, get up, not real, run—
I felt dirt under my nails.
Run?
I wanted to run... from Sasori?
I punched myself in the face as hard as I could. It made the dark spots worse as I caught myself from falling, ears ringing, cheek aching, but the pain loosened the grip around my neck enough for me to breathe out.
Enough for me to feel confusion, and then indignation.
I wanted to run?
I spat blood. I didn't know what my Killing Intent would feel like. I'd never needed bloodlust to kill, and I didn't care about making people afraid of me. They usually were just by me being myself. Maybe that was why my Killing Intent didn't feel like a throat being squeezed, being beheaded by a blade, or a kunai across the neck.
It felt like I'd submerged myself in an inky black version of the ocean. It felt like I was sinking in it, like Sasori was drowning in it. Like thick, sludge water was pouring down his throat, shooting up his nose, and weighing down his body so he couldn't swim back up, so that he never stopped drowning.
I barely saw Hidan, watching us with his chin propped on his hand like we were the most entertaining play in the world.
Stone and metal hit the ground as all the puppets collapsed at once. The chakra strings disappeared as Sasori stood, watching me with wider eyes.
"That's the second time," Sasori said to himself, unaffected by my Killing Intent. "What's your name?"
I bared my teeth at him. "You haven't earned it."
His gaze drifted to the side, more distracted by his thoughts, and I forced myself up, even as sandpaper fingers dug harder into my neck. It felt like he'd break the bones. I looked at the sky, and wondered how bottomless my malice could be.
I thought of not-Madara, of both halves of Zetsu, but even with enough hate that my own Killing Intent made me feel like gasping, he only stared at me with eyes a little wider than before.
"If I could freeze that face, you might make a good puppet after all," he said.
I looked at him and I started laughing, a choked, ragged sound that used up all the air I had left, because I refused to feel scared of him.
Sasori didn't seem to know what to make of that.
"You done with the pissing contest yet?" Hidan asked, toneless, eyes half-open like we were boring him. "Kill each other or kiss already."
"They should've driven you out of Yugakure sooner," Sasori said idly, and the sandpaper hands slipped off as he stared at a point above Hidan. "Even the sound of your voice is starting to irritate me."
Hidan's gazed lazily to him. "Don't bother with that Killing Intent shit. I'm not some heathen who feels fear," he said, then blinked a few times. "Wait, did you just say those warm water bastards drove me out of that shithole, puppet bitch?"
Sasori didn't hear him. "If I made you into a puppet to shut you up, I'd still have to look at you."
Hidan stared at him for a few seconds, "You're a plastic-faced bitch."
I swiped blood off my neck and looked at the red flakes that came off on my palm as Hidan called him more names. I wondered if Minato and Sasori met before. And then I stopped, remembering Keitaru and Junpei.
Keitaru was on his hands and knees, papers dropped around him. I hadn't been careful, hadn't cared about who I drowned as long as I made Sasori—
"You made the poor bastard shit himself," Hidan said. He sounded closer, and senbon glittered where he'd been sitting.
Not everyone was Enyo or Yua or me, who'd grown up with Killing Intent like it was water.
There was a before for people like Keitaru. Before Hanzo, before the war, before the Akatsuki. Before me.
"You didn't even think about him, did you?" Hidan asked, choking on a laugh. "My throat—fuck."
Sasori had gone back to ignoring us, but I saw it when he abruptly stopped, eyes on the toddler pulling on his pant leg.
Junpei held a ripped piece of a red cloak up at him. "Here," he insisted, pushing it up more. "Yours. Take it."
And Junpei, who'd inhaled Killing Intent like it was air as I stared down a water dragon.
It was quiet except for Junpei insisting at Sasori and Sasori staring at him.
Keitaru's head jerked up at the sound of his voice. He glanced quickly around himself and froze as his eyes caught on us.
I thought of stopping Junpei. Yahiko wouldn't go back on the deal if Sasori traumatized Junpei or worse because we needed him.
Keitaru stood, but didn't come closer, and it told me that Sasori hadn't given him much choice in coming here.
Sasori's thumb twitched and I watched a puppet rise, connected to him by a faint blue string. Its limbs spun and clicked back into place, the bottom part of its cloak torn from a stone block that had dropped on it.
Junpei only looked afraid as it dragged itself towards us, forgetting the cloak as he stumbled into Sasori and tried to find comfort in his legs. It made Sasori go so still he didn't blink.
His great-uncle had said that there's always been something wrong with him, but looking at them made me think of Hidan, who was stunned into silence.
Sasori claimed Yugakure had driven him out, but what he didn't know was where we found him, at that inn full of people he called heathens. He'd killed all of them, but it was the first place he went back to after Yugakure.
I looked at them both and wondered what having no one might drive someone to do. If all I knew was undeserved hate or rejection, what might I have done to Amegakure, if given the chance?
Sasori's thumb twitched again and the puppet bent down behind Junpei, freezing as Junpei clung tighter to him. Sasori didn't take his eyes off Junpei.
"So, the crazy is contagious," Hidan said, incredulous.
"Guess that means you caught it too," I said.
"Fuck you."
The puppet picked up the cloth with one hand and snagged the back of Junpei's shirt with the other. He trembled as he was tugged free, starting to cry, but Sasori didn't acknowledge it as the puppet trudged to Keitaru.
"Keep your spawn away from me," was all Sasori said as he puppet dropped Junpei into Keitaru's waiting arms.
Sasori had already turned away before Keitaru promised him it wouldn't happen again. Chakra strings reappeared on his fingertips and all the puppets were reanimated at once.
"Why are you helping us?" I asked.
Sasori sat on the slab again. "Do I seem like someone willing to sit around and wait until someone else gives me what I want?"
I didn't answer, but glanced at the papers at his feet. The one closest to him looked like a rough sketch of beams and structural supports, almost like—
"You're making our tower," I realized.
Hidan snorted, "It just gets better. But I'm their fucking dog?"
Sasori didn't look at him, but his pinky twitched and the puppet nearest to us froze in the middle of hammering. A short blade appeared out of its other sleeve. It stayed like that for a few seconds, like Sasori was considering the effort it would take to dismember Hidan, and then his pinky lifted a little and it went back to hammering.
"Go bother someone else," Sasori finally said.
It only made Hidan laugh.
I watched Keitaru hold Junpei close, talking quietly to him, and thought about all the things Sasori could've done.
"We'll go," I said.
Hidan stopped mid-laugh, staring at me. "The fuck—go fucking where?"
"Not here," I answered.
He tch'ed. "Don't tell me you feel bad for the puppet bitch."
"Not exactly," I told him, then simply turned away.
"Such a piece of shit," Hidan sneered at my back.
I didn't turn around, but I heard him walking after me.
"You don't have to come," I said, feeling the weight of Sasori's gaze. "You could stay and watch him build. It probably wouldn't bore you."
Hidan rubbed the back of his head. "Fucking asshole."
I glanced back, briefly, at Keitaru, and waved.
.
.
.
"You're a purple-eyed bitch," Hidan was still saying, with feeling.
"You have purple eyes," I pointed out, again.
Hidan clicked his tongue, eyes closed. "I should've sacrificed you."
I ate a handful of warm rice from a cup. "You're going to run out of insults."
His eyebrow twitched. "Cocksucking dickhole."
I hummed vaguely.
"Bitchtart—" he stopped mid-step. His eyes opened slowly as I turned back.
He looked down at the small knife buried in his side in mild interest. A thin line of blood trickled down to his pants as he traced it back to the small hands that held the hilt and pushed it in deeper, putting all her weight behind it.
Hidan blinked, just as slow, and held out a hand at me, "Toss me a bandage roll, will you?"
Her eyes jerked up to his, flicked back to the knife, then went up again.
I wasn't sure if I had one. "It'll heal," I said, eating more rice.
She was an orphan. I knew by the frayed edges of her shirt and the dirt that made her hair look brown. She was maybe nine or ten, and wore a flat hat that was cleaner than she was.
"Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is getting blood out of pants?" he asked heatedly.
I almost asked if water-style wouldn't make it easier but heard the insult to that without him having to say it.
She pushed away from him, stumbling as she turned to run, only to jerk to a stop as Hidan caught her collar without looking.
"Who washed your clothes in Yugakure?" I asked.
She gasped, twisting, trying to free herself, but neither of us looked at her.
"I didn't go around getting stabbed all the fucking time," he answered. "I never had to worry about this shit before I taught all those heathens a lesson."
"Let go!" she shouted, but there was nothing around us but ruins and impressions where they used to be. Too many of them had holes filled with rust or mold for someone to hide behind.
It didn't seem like a trap anyway. If I hadn't known we'd come this way, how could she? "But you went on missions," I pointed out.
Hidan slow-blinked again. He responded by gesturing at the knife.
"I—I hate you," she shouted, reaching for the knife as she thrashed. "I hope you choke and die!"
I shifted the cup to one hand and reached into the back of my pouch, feeling around until I found soft, probably old cloth in one of the inner pockets. I tossed it at him.
She sagged and glared up at him. "Everyone hates you."
Hidan didn't glance at her, but he held up a finger at her, telling her to wait. He held one end of the roll with his teeth, letting it tumble down as he pulled the knife out and tossed it aside.
I scooped out a handful of rice as he shoved the other end against the wound and I watched him pause as he realized he didn't have enough hands to wind it around himself. I didn't move as he glanced at me, and his eyes were full of curse words. He spit the cloth out, giving up, and just held the bunched-up wad against his side.
Hidan glared at me for another second, then turned glittering eyes down onto her. "Now what the fuck was that for?"
Her fists clenched as she twisted to meet his stare. Her eyes were bright and angry, even as she trembled. "You—" she faltered, gritting her teeth. "You killed my dad."
Hidan tilted his head. "And how the fuck would you know?"
She shook harder and ducked her head. "I know you sacrificed him. He didn't come back to the shelter and they—they know it was you. They looked for him and found what was left. What you left on your symbol."
I hummed at that. The shelters were supposed to be used by civilians. It meant I'd have to tell Mamoru-sensei if only because he paid more attention to them than Naga or Yahiko or me.
"What—I didn't eat him," Hidan said like it made him want to laugh.
She bit her lip, nails digging into her palms. "You killed him for no reason. He—He was a good man."
Hidan only looked at her. "They tell you about the Way of Jashin?"
"They told me everything about you."
His eyes looked wild. He tightened his grip on her and yanked her up until she dangled from his grip. "You don't know how much I want to kill you for telling me that blasphemous shit. What the fuck do they think they know about Lord Jashin if they couldn't even tell you that I can't die?"
Her eyes widened at him. "There has to be a way. I'll find one—"
Hidan dropped her. She gasped and cried out as she hit the ground and Hidan stared at her as he reached into his pouch but didn't pull the scroll out.
Her hat slipped off and she scrambled for it, holding it tightly to her chest as she brushed it off, and I realized why she was out here.
She'd been looking for the spot where he died.
Hidan finally pulled his hand out, still staring at her. "Your dad was a bitch," he said, and she looked so angry her face went red. "Whatever those soon-to-be dead heathens said about Lord Jashin is horseshit. You know who the best sacrifices are?"
He waited, but she didn't answer.
"The answer is the shitheads who attack me first then have the nerve to look afraid when they started it," he said, amused as he took a step closer to her. "Every heathen like thatneeds a lesson on why they should be free from fear, but they're the most stubborn assholes. They resist Lord Jashin's judgement the most with their dumbass principles and shitty beliefs and I always have to take the most time trying to show them the right path."
She looked up at him, the color draining from her face, and I saw someone who'd been taught to hate Hidan, to think it was up to her to avenge the dead without really understanding who he was.
Hidan looked through her. "But they never fucking listen." He paused after a moment, blinking at her like he'd forgotten she was there, and ran a hand through his hair. He grinned when she leaned away from him. "So, what the hell does that say about your shitty parent?"
She turned and vomited, and he laughed.
"You can go," I told her, considering how little rice was left in my cup.
Hidan shook his head, tilting his head toward me. "After all the blasphemous shit she said you want me to let her go without telling me where I can pay a visit to those heathens?"
"She won't give them up if you ask, and your scythe would be out already if you were going to do anything else," I said idly. And it wasn't her fault that she was taught wrong.
Hidan looked at her, then dragged a hand down his face. "You're a real downer, you know that?"
"And if you want her to know the right way, you could teach her yourself."
He looked at me through his fingers.
"Why would you do that? I know—I know who you are," she said, wiping her mouth with her arm.
"Because I can," I said.
She stared at me, waiting, but there was nothing else. If she wanted to think I was incapable of kindness, then I'd let her. It didn't bother me.
She hesitated, looking at Hidan's wound, then back at me, still disbelieving, and then she darted up and almost fell as she ran like she was being chased.
Hidan didn't take his eyes off me.
"Are you still mad about Sasori?" I asked.
He blinked. "You're still on that shit?"
I looked at my mostly-empty cup, and then I held it out to him. "Want it?"
He eyed it for a second before he took it and shook it out over his mouth.
"I'd have to ask that one-armed bastard, wouldn't I?" he asked, picking rice off his chin and eating it.
"Yep."
"Fuck."
I could've kept walking but— "You never answered my question about Yugakure."
Hidan glanced off to the side. "You're such a shitty kunoichi," he said. "You ever had the time to take off your clothes and hand wash them while on a mission?"
"That wasn't what I asked."
Hidan didn't look at me and didn't speak.
I hesitated, then glanced at the sky. "Never mind—"
"What was your mom like?"
He was already walking away when I looked down and it took a second before I realized what he meant, and that he didn't want an answer.
I followed him, watching him scrape intently at pieces of rice stuck at the bottom of the cup, and didn't mention that he hadn't cursed at all around the word mom.
Red-headed bastard, puppet bitch, mom.