"And it's always like that in the evening time,

We drink and we sing when our fighting is done,

And it's always so we live under the burnt clouds,

Ease our burden, Long is the night,"

-So Ist Es Immer, Hiroyuki Sawano

The sun looked like a mishappen oval underwater, shaping and reshaping itself with the movement of the waves.

I stared at its reflection as I swam up and stared still after I broke up through the surface. I only looked down when black dots started to blot my vision. It had been almost cold underwater, but now I felt heat on my head and shoulders.

It wasn't as hot as Fire Country, but it was close.

I turned and swam to shore, feeling around until I found the shelf of sand that dropped off into the sea.

Maho sat at the edge of the water, his cloak hanging off his back like a coat. His pants were rolled up to his knees and water lapped at his feet.

He hadn't been there when I went under.

He didn't look as I walked up to him, staring down at a band of gray cloth in his palm. He only glanced up as I shook water out of my hair, and then he jerked his face away, spluttering as he threw up his other hand to block some of the spray.

It didn't work.

"What's that?" I asked, pushing hair out of my face.

He shifted back, looking down at his wet clothes. "What did I do to deserve that?"

"Nothing."

Maho sighed but turned the cloth so I could look at it, and my eyes widened.

The band had a metal plate at the center, and the symbol on it was a cloud, a rough outline carved on by a kunai or a knife.

It was a forehead protector.

"Yahiko gave it to me for my birthday," Maho said, glancing at it again. "He told me it was a prototype of a real one since this one was made from his shirt, and not real cloth."

I leaned down to look at it. The cloth looked like it would rip if stretched too hard, and the metal plate was scratched and dented like it hadn't melted down straight.

Maho pulled his legs away from my still-drippy hair, looking like he wanted to sigh again.

The forehead protector made me think of the last thing Yahiko said to Hanzo, of how he would take everything from him. It felt like I was watching him do it.

He and Naga were in charge, but shinobi still wore Hanzo's headbands. They were around before him, but they were tied to him, tied to the shinobi he'd sent after us. Hanzo had been wearing it when he killed Konan.

What was it like, seeing it everywhere? On everyone?

Headbands were no different to shuriken to me. It was an object. I still had the scar from where a kunai hit me in the back, a faded puncture mark, but I didn't hate all kunai for it. But I could see how Yahiko might see it differently.

I stared at the cloud, and I felt a little like the forehead protector finally meant something.

"I've been afraid to put it on," Maho said.

The edges of the cloth were frayed, loose thread.

"You shouldn't be," I told him. "It might fall apart, but Yahiko would fix it if you asked."

Maho didn't respond. He traced his thumb over the symbol. "Remember that bounty for me? One day someone might turn it in and I—" he faltered. "I don't want you to look for me."

I tilted my head at him, hair draped around my face.

His fingers curled around the metal. "I don't want that to happen, but Hidan was right," he continued. "I don't want you to start a war over me. I don't want people to die just so I can be happy."

I only hummed.

"I don't want anyone in my ex-village to die either," he said, not looking at me. "But that's what'll happen if you come after me, because I know Iwagakure. Even if you go alone the Tsuchikage will put the blame on someone, and there'll be another war."

His shoulders hunched. "I'd rather be tortured than make someone else go through what I went through."

"You're not property," I told him, and he finally looked up. "And that's not fair."

The metal dug into his skin so hard I saw blood through his fingers. "The entire world isn't fair," he shot back. "If it happens just let them take me."

I straightened and looked away from him, squeezing water out of my hair. "No," I eventually said.

Because I was selfish. I let him in, and now it would hurt too much if he died. But it was also because—

"If you cared so much about other people, you should've already died," I said.

"What?"

"If Hanzo and not-Madara killed everyone, then all the shinobi we killed after that would still be alive," I explained, looking at him. "If Iwa-nin are worth more than you, then those Ame-nin were worth more than all of us."

Maho looked up again. "It's not the same."

I stared at him and I saw someone who was taught to save everyone, the same way Tsunade taught my brother. Someone who had no one until Naga and his ideals, before my brother faced his anger.

It was the same, but different, because Naga never would've told us to give up on him.

He knew better than to try.

"It is," I said back. "Nine of us would've died, but dozens of shinobi would've lived."

Maho covered his eyes with his hand. "I don't want to be responsible for a war. Please, please don't make me have to live with that."

He carried his scars from war like an open wound. Never quite closing all the way, bleeding into his thoughts, his actions, easy to reopen.

"I found something," I told him.

We would never agree, so I didn't try to change his mind.

He shuddered but didn't look up.

"I was going to show Naga, or Yahiko, or Namekuji, but..." I trailed off, because he wasn't listening.

I stood there for a second, watching him shudder again, breathing hard, and then I walked back down into the water.

I raised my right hand behind me as I went, pulled slightly, and heard him gasp as he was yanked after me. He was flat on his stomach when I glanced back, coughing water.

"What was that for?" he asked, and his voice only shook a little.

"You're coming with me," I answered simply, and he stared at me.

"What? Where?"

"I found something out in the water," I repeated.

Maho gathered up his cloak before it could get too wet and pushed himself up. "You didn't have to do that. You could've just said."

I looked at him, thinking to mention that I did, but didn't. "Come with me."

Maho wrapped his headband up in his cloak, fingers trembling, and then put the whole thing down on the sand away from the water. "Are you giving me a choice?"

"Nope."

.

.

.

Between the village and Rain County, a wide, rusted pipe stuck up slightly out of the sea. It didn't look any different from the other ruins in the water, except that the inside was unblocked, dry, and led somewhere.

Maho leaned against the side of the pipe, panting as he used his arms as a pillow. He stuck to it so he didn't have to swim.

"No one told me the water is this choppy out here," he complained.

I didn't notice a difference, but the water had been worse before Naga stopped the rain.

I stood on the rim and stared down into the tunnel. It was curved in a way that would've stopped too much rain from getting in, but stopped seawater from leaking in, too.

Maho grunted as he climbed up, and I waited until his head was over the top before I ducked inside, sticking to the surface so I didn't slide. I felt grime and algae under my feet.

"Wait," he called. "In there?"

I paused. "I wanted to see what was at the bottom."

"You don't know what's down there?"

I glanced back, awkwardly, since I couldn't stand up all the way. He was staring at me, wide-eyed.

"I didn't want to go alone," I said in answer. "Kota told me I shouldn't, once."

He went quiet. After a second he frowned at the hole. "Never head into a dark space without a sensor-nin, a lighter, or someone that can use fire style," he muttered to himself.

I waited. Maho eyed the hole, then sighed and swung his legs over the side.

.

.

.

The tunnel sloped down for eighteen seconds, and then I stepped out into a space with curved walls made of smaller pipes. I hummed as I looked across the room, to the lamp buzzing softly from the ceiling. It was covered in so much dust that the white light coming from it was dim.

The middle of the room was a wide hole, the space between us and the lamp connected by a short bridge with metal steps. It had thick guardrails made of rope.

Maho scooted out behind me, shivering as he pushed himself up and away from the pipe. His eyes shot to the light. "That's not candlelight," he said.

The light was steady and unshifting, like a lightbulb.

"Someone has to be down here," he muttered, and shoved his hands under his arms, suddenly cold. "I should've left a note, or something."

I reached up and patted his head. "It doesn't matter if there is, because I'll protect you."

He frowned and gently pushed my hand away. "You don't have to talk down to me," he said back. "I don't like being down here, but you don't have to treat me like I can't defend myself."

My hand fell to my side and I walked closer to the bridge. "I'm not," I finally said. "I don't really know how to treat friends, and I wanted you to know that I wouldn't let you die. That's all."

After all, the only friend I'd ever had was Kota. Except if I did that she would've punched me, and it would've made me smile.

If only you didn't die.

I pressed a foot against the bridge, testing. It felt sturdy.

"I've never had a little brother either, so I treated you like Naga used to treat me, I think," I added, and heard him splutter behind me.

"I'm older than you," he said, voice pitching high.

I walked onto the bridge. "Physically," I agreed.

The rope wobbled and shed dust as he grabbed onto it behind me, then shook more when he drew back, making a disgusted noise at whatever came off on his hands.

"Why am I younger? Because I don't want to fight?"

I hummed as I thought about it. There was a big pit below us, deep enough that I couldn't see the bottom even when I leaned over the side.

"Because I want to protect you," I eventually said. "You say you can defend yourself, but you also think that no matter how hard you fight, Iwagakure will be able to take you back. It doesn't matter how long you can hold someone off if you won't kill."

Maho stepped closer and looked over the side. He sighed. "I'd rather be killed than kill again," he admitted. "When I was with my ex-squad, I had to get rid of bodies in pieces, because explosion style was too loud if I did it all at once. I didn't understand anatomy back then, and no one helped me cut the bodies apart, so there were times when I'd cut a vein, or hit a bone and have to cut somewhere else. I was left alone while everyone else went on patrol or talked about our next move. You don't know what that's like. You can't."

It sounded a little like patting the dead down for weapons.

Cold, glassy eyes staring at me as I pulled pockets open and searched for hidden weapons in clothes, even if I didn't understand it back then. Blood all over my hands. The still-warm feeling of skin.

I didn't have to cut them apart myself, but that didn't mean we never searched bodies cut apart by other people.

I turned to him. "How is it any different than if I kill for you? It's still killing."

Maho moved past me. "Taking a life with your own hands feels a lot different than watching it being done."

I disagreed, but wordlessly followed him.

He was like Hidan. He saw a difference because he'd lived a life off the battlefield. War was something that happened outside of his village, something he'd watched other people do until he was sent out to fight.

What was different about watching Ibuse swallow shinobi whole over pushing them down his throat myself? Either way, they died.

The lamplight illuminated part of a corridor with walls made of tinier pipes, and I could see another flickering circle of light at the far end of it.

"How did I go from your friend to your little brother?" Maho asked, turning back to wait for me. He shoved his hands under his arms again.

I led the way and absently trailed a finger along a black pipe half as wide as my hand. My finger was coated in a layer of dirt when I pulled back.

"I decided I don't want you to be my friend," I answered. "All of my friends die."

Maho went silent again, and I listened to his quiet footsteps behind me.

The light at the end of the corridor flickered again, struggling to stay on. It opened into another, wide space, one with a solid stone wall on one side, and three white doors spaced apart on the other.

"You remind me of Hidan," I said, if only to break the quiet.

Maho sucked in, and then, "I'm nothing like him."

I went to the first door. "You don't like him?"

He looked around the room instead of answering. "He doesn't make it easy," he eventually muttered.

I didn't disagree. The door didn't have a knob, but an indent to slide it open. I reached out to touch it—

"It could be trapped," Maho warned. "No, it definitely is."

I lowered my hand. "If it is, could you disable it?"

Maho paused, but I knew he couldn't. "What if there's someone waiting behind it?" he tried.

I hummed at that, and then pulled the door open. I waited, but there was only grime on the floor and dust on the gray table in the middle of the small room.

There were two chairs on opposite sides of the table, one with a decayed body leaning back in it, facing me. He or she was handcuffed to it. I stepped inside the room, but nothing happened.

Old blood stained the handcuffs and the handle of the chair.

Maho poked his head in, and his eyes went wide. "This is where the Stonebreakers work."

I glanced at him.

"This—It's where criminals are taken to be interrogated, but it's aboveground in Iwagakure," he explained. "They take traitors there to be tortured, too. The people who do it are Stonebreakers."

I looked back at the body, at the scratch-like marks scarred into the dried skin of their handcuffed wrist. "So, they were a criminal?"

"Under the old rules of the village," he answered. "But that doesn't always mean they deserve it. I'm a criminal to my ex-village, too."

Someone who died before or after Hanzo did, someone who was forgotten about, someone who may or may not have deserved it.

It was cruel.

There was nothing else in the room but a long-dead body and signs of a failed effort to escape.

I looked for another second, then I went back outside. Maho had already left. He had his back to me, but I saw his hunched shoulders. I watched him shiver, and I remembered what his old squad used to do.

He knew exactly what would happen if Iwagakure took him, all the ways they'd break him, and still, he didn't want to bring them war.

I went to the second door, but it was already partially open. I caught movement through the crack and saw part of a brown, furry body. A binturong was in the corner when I pushed it fully open, in front of three other, smaller bodies, baring its teeth at me.

I watched it for a second, and then I stepped into the room, idly listening to it hiss and hunch down as I looked around, but there were no bodies or blood.

I only saw dirt all over the ground and tiny footprints.

There was no fruit for it to eat or fish to hunt down here, but there weren't any people that wanted to eat them, either. Still, them being here meant that there was a hole somewhere that led up into the village, because I didn't think they could swim that well.

I crouched down and held my hand out in offering, but the binturong only hissed louder. I didn't move as Maho came in behind me.

"What are you trying to do?" he asked.

I didn't look back. "Treating it like a pet. You call them, and they come."

"It's a wild animal," he reminded me, vaguely amused. "Why do you think it'll listen?"

I paused and lowered my hand because I didn't really know.

It worked once, with that missing cat—

I blinked and the thought fell apart like soggy paper, because I'd never seen a cat before.

I didn't immediately answer. "Are there cats in Iwagakure?" I eventually asked, turning to face him as I stood.

"Wild ones," he murmured. "Isn't this enough? Can't we go back up now?"

"You can, if you want," I said, and walked past him.

He grumbled, but followed me.

.

.

.

I stopped in the middle of a room shaped like a box. I looked up past the stone part of the wall, up to where it became rows of pipes bigger than I was, stretching up beyond where I could see.

"Someone who fell down here would never be able to get out," Maho said. "It'd take too much chakra to climb, especially if the rain fell down here."

The pipes were covered in spiderwebs and dust, and the floor with dirt and animal droppings. No one had been down here for a long time.

"I feel lost and we've been walking in a straight line," he added. "Anyone who used to work down here would only have to wait for the enemy to run out of stamina and then capture them."

How many people would someone like Hanzo have trusted to know about this? And even if he told them before he became a bastard, how many of them were still alive? How many would care even a little about who was left down here?

"Ibuse could fit in here," I said idly, looking down. "He could fill this whole place with poison."

Maho shivered again. "Any infiltrators would just disappear. They'd be an easy meal for him."

There were three doorways and dark hallways beyond them with dim, distant lights at the ends. North, east, and west.

North would continue the 'straight line', but I heard the faint sound of running water from the west, and went that way instead.

Maho quietly scoffed, "You chose this way just because I said something."

I smiled but didn't respond as I left the room behind. For three or four seconds it was nearly pitch black. I heard Maho's breath hitch and paused when he grabbed my shoulder.

"Just making sure," he mumbled.

I started walking again, but he didn't let go.

"I wouldn't leave you," I told him.

"No, I know," he said. "But I can't hear your footsteps and—and I can't see anything."

The sound of running water became slowly louder, splashing, and I could vaguely make out the end of the tunnel.

I used less chakra and moved so each step was heavier. I heard a nervous laugh behind me.

"You're not afraid? Not even a little?" he asked, near-silent like the dark could hear him.

"No," I eventually said. "When I was little I'd sleep in the dark. It's easier to hide in, too."

Back when Naga left to steal food. Sometimes I wouldn't wake until he came back, but sometimes I'd wake up alone. I remembered being scared, but too tired and weak to do anything about it.

I didn't remember what the alley looked like, but what I'd felt lingered, even more than how cold it must've been.

The fear that Naga would be caught, that he wouldn't come back.

It was easier to hear others in the dark, easier to train to move soundlessly when there was nothing else to focus on but how loud my own footsteps were.

Maho didn't say anything.

I walked out of the tunnel and stood under a circle of dim light. The room was shaped like a bowl, and at the center a stone wheel turned in a slow, methodical circle below me. The bottom of it was submerged in water.

A steel rod held it in place and connected it to the wall. Higher up, a pipe poured a steady stream of water down onto one side of it.

Maho's hand left my shoulder and he stepped up to the edge, eyes wide. "It's a water wheel."

"Water wheel?" I repeated.

"It turns the current into electricity," he explained, gesturing up at the lightbulb. "I've never seen one up close. They're only useful in places with a constant flow of water."

I watched it churn. Moss clung stubbornly to the slats, and there were cracks in the stone.

Maho's awe faded as realization made his eyebrows furrow. "But this has been here the whole time, and no one's been using it."

Years of wasted electricity because the dead meant more than the living.

His fists clenched and he took a step back. "Someone knew. Someone had to know."

"Doesn't matter," I told him, and moved past him to walk around the rim. "We can't change what we didn't know, and I won't give Hanzo anything. Not even my anger."

I didn't hear anything for a few seconds, and then he sighed and took a deep breath.

"Maybe I am the younger brother," he muttered.

A/N: Maho - 16. April 23.