"Dumb cycle doesn't end,
I'm reborn and yet again,
That noise is stuck inside my head.
Oh help me this time,
I'm finding these feelings I never knew,
And need to hide."
-Nerve Impulse, JubyPhonic

A/N: The first part of this chapter is a continuation of the last scene from last chapter.

The blood was pink in the rain.

Yahiko had stopped in front, practice swords idle at his side.

A woman in a green flak jacket was curled on her side, eyes closed, a dark red puddle around her. A hole was in her middle.

There were five shinobi in front of us, dressed in brown and red. One of them was barely on his feet, holding his chest, supported by another. They looked tired and battered, but their weapons were raised. An older man at the front of the group held a kunai on a chain, gripping the links in his other hand.

I recognized the symbol on their forehead protectors. A big rock next to a little rock.

Iwagakure.

A dismembered arm was left in the mud between us, fingers curled and blue.

I heard the metallic scrape of Joji unsheathing his nagamaki.

Green-clad bodies were impaled on earth spikes to my left, some in pieces.

Kota took a half-step back and raised her fists, stance low like a brawler.

Paper peeled from the tips of Konan's fingers.

Mamoru-sensei went still.

"Captain," a younger, shorter boy said, looking nervously at us. "We're in no condition to—"

"Maho!" the older man snapped. "Have you forgotten our mission, or are you a coward? We killed those Konoha dogs, we'll do the same to Hanzo's people too."

Yahiko held his practice sword out to the side before we could move, a nonverbal 'wait'. He lifted the other to rest on his shoulder and shook his head. "We're not Hanzo's shinobi," he called to them. "We're the Akatsuki. I'm Yahiko."

"Akatsuki...?" Maho quietly asked, and another smacked the back of his head. A bald man with scarred fingers.

"That's nice, kid," the captain grunted, tightening his grip on his weapon. "But that doesn't change the fact that we've been ordered not to leave witnesses. We're supposed to move discreetly, you see?"

Yahiko eyed the severed arm, tapping his practice sword against his shoulder. He smiled at them. "No one else is going to die here today," he promised.

The captain's eyes were steel. He made a subtle gesture with the hand holding the links and charged forward, the bald man and Maho behind him.

Yahiko didn't move, holding the barrier between us and them firm. "Konan, Nagato."

The woman supporting her injured comrade at the back made the snake sign.

An earth jutsu.

Konan burst into paper. I heard Naga's soft inhale, and then he closed his eyes.

The Iwagakure shinobi made it two steps forward.

Konan was high above the battlefield, her lower half made of paper, wings sprouting from her back. She pointed two fingers at the woman at the back, a second before she spat mud at us. It went off course, just slightly, enough that it landed in a harmless pile next to us.

Maho stopped and stared up with wide, awed eyes.

Four steps.

"Yahiko—" Osamu began, hesitant and urgent.

"Trust me," Yahiko said, keeping his back to us.

The woman cursed and dropped her squad mate, backing away as she swatted herself.

Seven steps.

I sat and adjusted my cloak, crossing my legs.

"Stand up, Oka," Osamu's concerned eyes flicked from me to the approaching shinobi.

I shook my head. "I trust him," I chirped.

Kota looked at me and slowly lowered her hands.

The bald man stepped on the severed hand, leaving a red smear behind.

Ten steps.

Mamoru-sensei slouched.

Osamu's gaze shot to him, but Mamoru only waved him off.

Joji didn't put away his sword, but he didn't move either.

The woman fell in a screaming heap, rubbing mud and dirt on herself.

Finally in range, the captain threw his kunai at Yahiko, the chain attached glinting silver.

Still Yahiko didn't move.

The bald man leapt, weaving through hand-signs.

Eleven—

Naga's eyes snapped open. His irises were gold. The dark blue marks under his eyes and down his nose reappeared, and another line ran down his chin and neck. Two tiny tentacles poked out of his hair. His skin was shiny.

Naga planted his feet and the ground splintered. Between one blink and the next he was between Yahiko and the enemy shinobi. He grabbed the bald man by the back of his jacket before he could finish the jutsu and tossed him backwards.

The captain's kunai was deflected by Yahiko's practice sword, the chain snapping like a whip to wind around him. Before it could, Naga gripped the links and squeezed, breaking the chain with his bare hands.

Osamu looked shocked.

The captain had the same expression. He took a single step back before Naga was in front of him, gripping him by the face.

Naga slammed him down, mud and bloody water splashing up around us.

"Aliens, all of them," Mamoru-sensei murmured.

Konan lowered herself to the ground and I realized the woman wasn't screaming anymore. She was a crumpled heap on the ground. Maho was on his knees between her and us, clutching his kunai in a shaking hand.

Konan clapped as Naga stood back up and Yahiko clapped him on the back.

Joji sheathed his sword.

Mamoru-sensei shook his head. "You think you've seen it all with these kids, and then they do something like this."

"What was that?" Osamu asked.

"Sage mode," Mamoru answered. "The kid had a slug contract before we met."

I stood. Namekuji didn't move or make a sound and I realized he was asleep.

Moving around Yahiko, I approached Maho. I felt eyes on my back, and then heard the quick sound of footsteps. Kota pressed her fist against my arm.

"You shouldn't go alone," she murmured.

"I'm not alone," I said, glancing back.

Kota stuck her tongue out at me.

Maho dropped the kunai and bowed low, forehead pressed against the mud. "Please," he begged. "Tell them to spare me."

I stopped in front of him, Kota next to me. "'Them?'" I asked, tilting my head. "You're not scared of me?"

"I—" Maho swallowed. "You're younger than me?"

I hummed at that.

Maybe, but I wasn't afraid like he was. I wasn't scared to fight, and I wasn't scared to—

Killing is wrong, Oka.

"Why'd you come over here, anyway?" Kota asked.

I blinked. "I wanted to ask..." I trailed off, and then I remembered. "If you don't like fighting, why are you here?"

"It's not like that—" Maho stopped, fingers digging in the mud. "I'm just inexperienced."

I crouched. "Then why leave Iwagakure?"

Maho looked up at me and—there were tears in his eyes. "Do you think I had a choice?" he hissed. "I tried not to graduate, but they saw right through me. I want to help the village, but—" he sniffed. "—I'm just a genin. I had another team, but this one needed another person and everyone strong enough was already on a mission—"

"Want to join the Akatsuki?" Yahiko asked.

I turned around.

Yahiko was further back behind me, hands laced behind his head.

Maho jerked up, eyes going wide. "W-What?"

"You can't—" Konan poked Yahiko's side hard. He didn't move. "First you tell those shinobi your name, and now you're asking a potential spy to join the Akatsuki?"

"That is what I asked," Yahiko agreed.

Maho shook his head. "I-I wouldn't spy on you, miss Angel!"

Konan stared at Maho.

"I was thinking more ostrich myself—"

Konan elbowed Yahiko and he choked.

"What's an angel?" I asked Maho.

"It's..." he trailed off, looking at Konan like she was the answer.

I looked at Konan too, but she didn't look like anything special to me. I glanced at Kota for her input, but she'd wandered over to Naga, who knelt next to the enemy captain, hands glowing green.

"If you sharpen your elbows a little we could make kunai out of them," Yahiko coughed, rubbing his stomach.

Ignoring him completely, Konan shook her head. "He can't join the Akatsuki. He's from Iwagakure."

"So?" Yahiko asked.

"'So?'" Konan spluttered back at him. "If anyone finds out—"

"The Akatsuki is open to anyone if they want peace," Yahiko interrupted.

Maho was giving Yahiko the same look he'd given Konan. Seeing as Yahiko already got to him, I left them to bicker about it.

Naga had moved onto the bald man.

Kota was patting down his pockets. She shoved ninja wire into the folds of her cloak.

"No more sage mode?" I asked Naga. The marks were gone.

"I can't heal with it," Naga explained. The bald man's right arm was stretched out, contorted and bruised in a way that told me it was broken.

Joji stood behind me. I didn't hear him approach.

"Why are you healing him?" he signed.

Naga looked up—too late. He looked apologetic. "Could you sign that again?"

Kota pointed at his hands. "Why?"

Naga smiled softly. "Because if I let him die when I could save him, I'm no better than him," he answered. "That's what my..." he trailed off and his smile faded. "That was the first lesson I was taught by the person who taught me medical ninjutsu."

I looked up, but Joji didn't say anything else.

"Teach me sage mode," I demanded, if only to get that sad look out of Naga's eyes.

Naga blinked. "I can't," he said, a ghost of a smile on his face. "It's not something I can teach you by myself—"

I inched closer, kneeling beside him. "Teach me," I said again.

"You can ask Lady Chiyoko," he tried. "She might say yes this time—"

I already knew she wouldn't. "I want to throw people like you did."

Naga ducked his head. His shoulders shook with mirth. "That's why I can't," he emphasized. "I didn't mean to throw him this hard."

"Maybe I want to throw people harder," I told him.

Naga broke and fought to quiet his laugh. "I need to concentrate," he said. "He could die if I don't do this right."

"Maybe if it was someone else," I half-shrugged. "You're too good to let him die."

Naga turned his face away, but I could still see his grin.

I absently flicked one of his stray hairs. "Why did you grow slug eyes?"

Namekuji made a sleepy but disgruntled noise at me.

"Not eyes," Naga corrected. "They were sensory tentacles. Namekuji uses them to taste and feel the things around him, but they make my sensory range bigger."

I hummed.

"And I can taste chakra," Naga added.

"What does chakra taste like?"

"Like sweat and disappointment," Namekuji answered.

"He can't taste chakra," Naga said.

"What if you eat Naga's chakra while he's in sage mode?"

Namekuji turned to look at Naga, but he didn't answer me either.

"Why were you slimy?" Kota asked, rolling a red pill around in her hand.

Naga looked embarrassed. "I can't control it that well yet."

"Can you make acid?" I asked.

"He can't. Old grandma Chiyoko hasn't taught him how to control his pH yet."

"pH?"

"Lady Chiyoko," Naga corrected.

Namekuji snorted, ignoring me. "I've known her longer than you."

"You should still be respectful."

Namekuji snorted louder.

The green sputtered out around Naga's hands, and I noticed how still he suddenly was. He turned around, and I followed his gaze to the top of the cliff above us.

A blond man in armor stood at the edge, flanked by men wearing rebreathers and shinobi gear.

I stood.

He was looking over us and, for a few, brief seconds, his gaze lingered on Osamu and Mamoru-sensei.

There was a raw sort of fury in Mamoru's eyes, a bitter and angry look that reminded me of when we met.

I looked back at Hanzo the Bastard. The man partly responsible for Naga's almost-kidnapping, for Kota being so angry at shinobi.

"You must be the group of troublemakers I've been hearing about," Hanzo rumbled, clear and loud despite being so high up.

"We're the Akatsuki," Yahiko yelled. "We've never tried to make any trouble. Our goal has always been to help the people of Amegakure however we can."

Hanzo stared down at him. "What's your name, boy?"

Yahiko ignored the slight. "I'm Yahiko," he answered with a grin, hooking a thumb at himself. "I hope we can work together towards peace someday."

Hanzo looked away from him without another word and his gaze stuck on us. "And you must be the medic-nin. Tell me your name."

I stepped in front of Naga. I did it without thought, with only the need to protect my brother from a man who hurt so many people.

I felt the weight of his eyes in a way I hadn't when I stood in the background, the coldness. He looked at me like I was an insect, helpless and waiting to be stepped on.

But I wasn't.

I was steel and fire and a wild, untamed rage. I was born in the hell he called Amegakure and molded by death and starvation and blood.

I would rip his throat out with my teeth if my brother asked me to.

I bared my teeth at Hanzo the Bastard Salamander, throwing off the attempt to make me fear him.

I feared you when you stood atop Ibuse, throwing chunks of buildings at me without ever knowing I was there.

But that was a long time ago, now.

And then Yahiko stood in front of me.

My eyes widened, and I remembered the one thing I was afraid of.

I fear you taking my precious people from me.

"I can tell you all about him when we talk in person," Yahiko called up to him, smile still in place, taking the attention off us and onto himself. Just like before.

"I don't want to be your enemy," he continued. "I want to work together to make Amegakure a better place."

Hanzo eyed him for another second, then turned away. "We'll see." And then he was gone.

Naga wrapped his arms around me from behind. "Never do that again," he said, muffled against my back.

Yahiko sighed, scratching the back of his head. He half-turned back. "You always have to make things more interesting, don't you?"

I couldn't promise Naga that I wouldn't.

I would always put myself in the line of fire for the people I loved.

戦争の子

Carefully, Yahiko drew the outline of a bird in red paint. It was a circle with tiny dots for eyes, a shaky triangle for a beak, and stick legs. Its wings look like clouds.

Kota sat across from him, watching intently as he slowly added a second layer of paint. She pointed at its legs, "Where's the feet?"

I could see Naga on the ground floor through the rails, facing the wall, kneeling in front of a simmering pot. Konan sat on the arm of an old, broken-down couch Osamu and Yahiko had dragged in from the rain. She hummed a song as she watched him, swinging her legs. Etsudo was stretched out in the middle, the lower half of her shirt torn. I could see the fresh, pinkish-white scars covering her stomach.

The far side of the warehouse was empty and dark.

Mamoru-sensei took Namekuji with him when he left with Osamu.

"Some birds don't have feet," Yahiko answered airily.

I bent, commandeered Yahiko's drawing thumb, and added wobbly circles around the ends of each leg. "There. Now it has feet," I said.

Yahiko blinked at it, then up at me. "You just gave it shoes," he accused.

"Some feet are shoes," I responded, mimicking his airy tone.

Yahiko's lips twitched. He crossed his arms and leaned back. "Such a liar, Oka," he said, mock discouraging, shaking his head. "If only someone taught you better when they still had the chance."

I stared him down. "I still bite," I reminded him.

Yahiko opened his mouth. Closed it. "I still have the scar from the last time you bit me," he said. "It stings a little more every time I think about it."

Kota, rubbing her finger in the half-dry paint making up the circle, drew a small, uneven top hat on the bird's head.

I leaned close to Yahiko and smiled, close-eyed like Konan sometimes did, "I can give you another one."

Yahiko shuffled back, putting space between us, and refocused on the bird. "Almost all messages from the war were delivered by summons or specially trained messenger birds like this one," he began. "It was faster, safer, and they're harder to take down than people."

"What kind of bird is it?" Kota asked.

Yahiko stroked his chin as he looked at the painted bird. "They mostly use hawks," he answered quickly, dismissing the question with a vague wave. "But Hanzo doesn't use them much anymore. Nearly all messages with mission-sensitive information are delivered to the battlefield by shinobi. Older, experienced shinobi, handpicked by the man himself."

"Why?" I asked.

"No idea," Yahiko answered. "What could've happened is that all the shinobi with bird summons were killed, or Hanzo stopped trusting them. No one I talked to knows for sure."

Kota colored in the hat with scratches of red paint.

My brows furrowed. "Why would anyone tell you about Hanzo the Bastard's birds?"

"Because I asked," he said simply, smiling. "Because they know about us and what we do. Remember when I told you that no one was loyal to this crybaby village? Shinobi that were hurt in the war and forced to retire ask for me. I feed them and they tell me anything I want to know. There's a little boy that asks for Kota too."

Kota's head jerked up. "Me?"

Yahiko nodded, "Black hair, shirt too small for him. He always comes up to me and asks when the girl with curly hair is coming back."

Kota's eyes widened and she went red. She threw her hands up around her hair and ducked down.

"So, you do know him," Yahiko said. "You should come with me next time I go into the village. Last time I went he glared at me."

I sat back. "Does he have baby teeth?"

Yahiko shook his head. "You know, I never thought to check."

Kota made an embarrassed noise.

I patted her arm in sympathy.

Yahiko laced his hands behind his head, looking up. "I think all the messenger shinobi carry decoy scrolls on them, just to make it a little harder for pickpockets. That's where you come in, Kota."

Kota's eyes snapped up to his.

"You were right before," Yahiko went on. "The people here don't see us as a separate group from Hanzo, and this is the first step to fix that. You know how to take things without getting caught. You wouldn't have made it this far if you didn't."

Kota frowned. "Ya-You want me to take stuff from shinobi?" she asked. "I've never... I can't."

"Did you ever think the leader of Amegakure would come to see us?"

"'Course I did," she mumbled, looking away.

Yahiko smiled, "Did you ever think you'd be here, with us?"

Kota didn't answer, scratching at a floorboard with her pinky.

"I believe in us, and I believe in you too."

Kota froze.

"I don't expect you to come back with a scroll on your first try, but I trust your judgement. I trust you to pick an easy target, maybe steal kunai or shuriken to practice," Yahiko said, leaning back. "You wouldn't go alone. I'd send Konan or Nagato with you, in case you need help. But I don't think you'll need it."

"Why?" she asked quietly. "I expect Oka to say stupid stuff like this, but you barely know me. Why do you believe I can? Why ask me? Is it just 'cause you can't 'feel me' or whatever?"

"That's partly it," Yahiko admitted. "But, mostly, it's because you're just as important as anyone else in the Akatsuki. I fully believe you can do this, and I wish you'd believe it too."

Kota ducked her head, fists clenched. "Why is it always so hard to trust either of you when you say dumb stuff?"

Yahiko's eyes were soft. He reached out and patted her head.

Kota gasped at the sudden contact, throwing up a hand to defend herself, an old instinct she never managed to shake.

"I felt like that for a long time too," he admitted. He ruffled her hair and she stared up at him. "Every time I trusted someone it blew up in my face. But then I met Konan, and I knew that if I was going to be a god of peace like I always wanted, I had to give other people a chance, even if it would just hurt in the end. I would've never found Nagato and Oka if I didn't, and then—" he gestured around the warehouse. "—none of this would've happened. I never would've gotten this far on my own."

Kota scooted back, rubbing furiously at her eyes. "Why does everyone always make me cry?" she hiccuped.

I shrugged at Yahiko. "You gave me and Naga the world. 'Course we have to help you take a little bit of it back."

Yahiko grinned and it was so bright that—

I wondered why I wanted to see the sun so bad when it was right in front of me.

A/N: 戦争の子 - War Child.

I might have channeled Mob Psycho 100 a little too much when I wrote Nagato's fight scene.