Uzumaki Kushina hates Konoha.

It's not something she ever thought would happen, and it certainly isn't something she planned. With the destruction of Uzushio, Konoha has become her home. It is vastly different from her native land, the smell of freshly cut grass instead of salt water lingering and dancing in the wind. And, sure, her arrival is solely due to Mito-sama passing her the Kyuubi in the necessary and never-ending game of Jinchuuriki Tag, but Kushina knows the only thing she can do is keep moving forward.

Like any shinobi, Kushina is adaptable. She becomes one of Konoha's most formidable kunoichi, absolutely ruthless on the battlefield, and if Kumo and Iwa shinobi are absolutely terrified to catch a glimpse of her blood red hair, well… she has no problem slaughtering them with extreme prejudice. The Third War allows her to use her chakra chains in so many different, creative ways.

The war also brings out a terrifying, bloodthirsty side of her, but that's beside the point.

She grows to love Konoha; loves the Hokage monument, the belief in the Will of Fire, the people who welcome her with open arms (Minato). Uzushio is, and forever will be, a gaping wound that will never fully heal, but Konoha is a balm to soothe the agony over a legacy left decrepit.

Or, it was.

Now, after all of the blood, sweat, and tears she's shed, after she dies to protect this fucking village, they repay her sacrifice by damning her legacy.

Naruto is the best of both of his parents, with his father's loud blond hair and bright blue eyes, with her tanned skin and boisterous attitude. He's the best thing that could have happened to her, a product of the love and joy she shares with her husband.

Dying to protect him is as easy as breathing, instinctual, and she does so without many regrets, will do it all again if she needs to. It's the leaving him behind that despairs her, damages her soul is ways she never anticipated.

Because Uzumaki Kushina may be dead, but she is not gone. Oh, no. She lingers, keeps watch over her son but is never able to touch him, to speak to him, to comfort him.

It's not so bad at first. Kushina sings old Uzushio lullabies to her bundle of joy, not sure if it's for his deaf ears or her wounded spirit. She tells him about the sea, about the crystal blue water, about the bright coral reef and the swimming creatures that hide in the crevices, about the sand that she could squish between her toes.

She tells him about his grandfather, a stubborn man with a heart of gold who she hopes he will take after. Kushina tells him of the time Minato had rescued her, of the times he's stood by her regardless of how hard she made it, too wounded and scared to go through the pain of losing anyone else to just let him waltz his way into her heart.

Naruto remains unaware of it all, stares aimlessly at the stuffed kunai hanging from his mobile, or sometimes sleeping peacefully, ignorant of her ghostly presence.

But that's okay because he's here, alive, healthy, and Kushina has never felt so blessed.

Naruto's caretaker, a middle-aged seamstress with deep worry lines but a kind face, is a little indifferent to him. Kushina hates it, because her son deserves so much more effort than this woman is giving, but she tries to be compassionate, especially when she sees the woman weeping over a photo of her husband, tragically killed when the Kyuubi broke free.

Kushina knows more than anyone that grief can get in the way of living.

Understanding is not the same as acceptance, but Kushina is more willing to give the woman the benefit of the doubt.

Until the woman's slight indifference turns to outright neglect.

Naruto wails every time he's left in his soaking, soiled diapers, howls every time he's left alone for hours, cries when his caretaker handles him just a little too rough.

Kushina had died painfully, blood filling her lungs, chest burst open from the Kyuubi's claw, and yet that doesn't hold a candle to this new torment. To see her son in pain and not able to do anything about it is excruciating, salt in an already festering wound.

Kushina does what she can; she screams, she rages, tries to get the woman's attention one way or another.

Nothing works, and for the first time Kushina curses Konoha, hates the village with everything she has because it wasn't supposed to be like this.

It's not the fact that she's dead that bothers her, knew from the moment she accepted that headband that this fate was going to be hers and no self-respecting shinobi would have it any other way.

But her son is important to her, and she had no idea that sacrificing herself for this village, for him, was going to sacrifice his wellbeing and happiness, too.

Kushina doesn't know why it takes Sarutobi four months to notice Naruto's worsening condition, wants to beat some sense into his old, withered head. The old man has always been soft to a fault, something she used to admire in him, but now she understands with perfect clarity why Danzo always cursed that quality in him. Naruto's old caretaker is replaced quietly, no punishment doled out, just transferring her son to someone he personally trusts.

It's not enough, not by a long shot.

It will never be enough.

Kushina watches the new caretaker like a hawk; the new woman is a little younger, and she doesn't neglect Naruto. She holds him gingerly, scrunches her nose as if he is contaminated, and sometimes she looks scared to be in the same room with him. But her fear of disobeying the Hokage is greater, and so she does her utmost to ensure that he is treated appropriately.

The woman even takes him outside while she's running errands, and Naruto marvels at the breeze ruffling his golden locks, the sun warming his face, the sights and smells emanating from the village, slowly recovering from where the Kyuubi brought it to its knees.

ANBU trail after them, unseen, a precaution she approves of because she no longer trusts this detestable village.

Kushina cries when Naruto smiles for the first time, and she doesn't understand how anyone could think poorly of her son, her precious baby boy, how they can't see how wonderful he is.

But the villagers do not get the memo.

Enraged is too soft a word to fully describe what she feels with every sneer, every cruel whisper that follows Naruto. The villagers spew their vicious vitriol, unaware that her son is the only reason the village is still standing in the first place.

This is the village she died for?

The village she and Minato sacrificed their son for?

Kushina weeps bitter tears, wants nothing more than to pay back Konoha's injustice ten-fold.

Because the people that welcomed her with open arms when she needed it have closed them to Naruto.

The baker that used to sell her Minato's favorite rolls? He drunkenly suggests that someone needs to kill the demon brat before he completely destroys the village.

The kind old lady that used to remind her of her grandmother and would invite her to tea? She curses his name for killing her son.

The shinobi she used to fight with, her comrades-in-arms, they either turn the other way or are indifferent to her son's treatment, his status as a pariah.

And that is unacceptable.

Naruto will never thrive in a village like this.

Kushina mourns, briefly, as her rose-tinted glasses are shattered, and she's left with the jagged, broken pieces of reality.

And then, like any adaptable shinobi, Kushina picks herself up, brushes the dust off, and searches for a way to protect her son. She refuses to believe that she is powerless, won't accept it.

She's a fucking ghost; there must be something that she can do.

Kushina tries everything she can think of for months. What she comes up with is a long list of all the shit she can't do.

Useful in its own way, but ultimately not what she's looking for.

Naruto celebrates his first birthday, alone, when she finally has a breakthrough.

Hand signs no longer work for her now that she's dead, but channeling chakra, specifically channeling a combination of earth chakra and the unique chakra that makes up her chains, that seems to do the trick.

Kushina was limited to only staying within a certain distance from Naruto, but then it feels like there's a hook at her navel, and before she can contemplate that even further she is whisked away.

The world passes by at an alarming speed, a myriad of colors that whirl around her and make her dizzy, heading straight for a vortex of swirling and colliding energy. The vortex promptly sucks her up and spits her back out, and she lands on the hard floor, as shaky as a Nara's baby deer.

Kushina pants heavily, closes her eyes to get rid of the nausea that is threatening to overcome her. She hasn't exactly eaten these past few months, and she doesn't know what will come up if her innards are successful in their rebellion.

"Can I help you?"

Kushina gasps, not expecting anyone to be able to talk with her. It's been so long since she's had anyone to talk to. She turns to see an older man staring at her expectantly. He is sitting behind a rich mahogany desk, devoid of anything besides a plain manila folder that is under his folded hands. He looks foreign, not as wrinkled as Sarutobi, has a full head of brown hair that is slicked back, starting to recede. His voice is foreign as well with an accent she's never heard before. The man is dressed oddly, formally, in black clothes that she has never seen before.

"Uh," she says, because grace is something she was not born with, "where am I?"

The old man continues to stare at her, blank and unimpressed. "Have you forgotten everything from your orientation?"

"Orientation?" she asks weakly, feels so out of place and a little on edge.

He narrows his eyes at her. "Have a seat," he says, gesturing to an empty spot in front of his desk.

She blinks, and an intricately carved chair appears. She stares at it for a moment but decides it's not the weirdest thing she's seen. Kushina gets off the floor, dusts herself off, and takes a seat.

"I don't know what's going on," she admits.

"Yes, I'm beginning to see that," he says dryly. He opens the manila folder, scans the contents with a furrow in his brow. "Did you not attend your orientation on the twelfth of October?"

"You are the first person I've talked to in months," she says with a twinge of longing. "I haven't been able to do much of anything."

He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Then how did you end up here?"

She shrugs hesitantly. "Chakra?" She didn't mean it as a question, but her uncertainty colors her voice.

The old man's face lights up a little in understanding. "Elemental nations," he says as if that explains everything.

"Yes?" She's obviously from the Elemental nations, but isn't everybody? What kind of crazy fuckery did she chakra her way into?

The old man clears his throat, puts down the folder. Kushina's trained eyes catch sight of small, squiggly words, and she mentally curses the man for writing in code instead of kanji. "I see you've had quite an epidemic just a few months ago," he says factually, as if he's talking about the weather. "It looks like a…giant demon fox, what you call the Kyuubi, was unleashed upon your village?"

"Yes," she says, even though this is already old news and not a secret kept from the rest of the nations. "My…my husband and I died to protect our son…and the village," she adds on, and if she bitterly spits out 'village' like a curse, nobody can blame her.

"I see that." He sighs, stares at the folder again before returning his gaze to her. "Well, I believe it is safe to say that you did not receive your proper orientation, and someone has been derelict in their duties."

Kushina frowns. "I guess," she says. "Look, I was just trying to—"

The old man clears his throat, interrupting her. "You are dead," he deadpans. "Take a moment to come to terms with it, let it sink in." And then the bastard doesn't even give her a moment, continues, "Now that you are dead, you have a couple of options ahead of you. You can be judged and placed in an appropriate afterlife now, or you can continue to linger on the mortal plane to watch over whatever unfinished business you feel you have. What will it be?"

Kushina stares at him, narrows her eyes. "I need help," she says, anger and desperation evident in her tone. "Please, I don't know what to do!"

"It sounds like you're going to want to go with option two," the old man says contemplatively. He grabs a pen, starts scribbling notes down in his file. He doesn't even flinch when Kushina slams her hands on the table.

"I died for them!" she screams. "I died for them, and the only thing I want is my son to be cared for! But that fucking village is blaming him for the fox, and i-it's partly my fault. The fox…it was my burden to carry." She cries, shakes as sobs wrack her body. "But I was t-too weak to stop the masked man, and he took the fox from me. Minato didn't have any other choice. And now our son is paying the price…"

The old man's eyes narrowed sharply. "I'm going to ignore this outburst from you," he says lightly, but there's something sharp in his eyes that Kushina recognizes all too well, and she knows that provoking this man is probably the last thing she wants to do. He leans back in his chair, regards her with cold, curious eyes, like she's an interesting specimen. "Minato," he says thoughtfully, glances at the file again. "Your Hokage who traded his life to seal the fox into…your son?"

"Our son," Kushina says softly, tears still running down her face.

The old man makes a small noise of acknowledgement. He stares at her sharply. "What is it that you want help with?"

Kushina sniffles, wipes away her tears. "The village isn't treating Naruto well," she says. "We died for them, and all we wanted was our son to grow up healthy and happy, but…I've spent the last few months watching, and they're…they blame him for the Kyuubi. It's not his fault, but they're blaming him, and he is the reason why the village still stands today, maybe even the only hope for the world. I need…I need to protect him. Please, I don't know what else to do."

The old man says nothing, regards her with a calculating gleam in his eye. An awkward silence descends upon them for a few moments, makes Kushina fidget in her seat, and then the old man waves a hand.

In a cloud of black smoke, a man appears. He has dark, chocolate skin, warm brown eyes. He's dressed in that similar foreign, oddly formal wear that the old man is.

"What can I do for you, Death?"

Kushina damn near swallows her tongue, pales a little when she realizes she was probably talking to DEATH this whole time, slammed her hands on his fucking table, and was it possible to die again? It can't be, right?

"Inform my mistress I have need of her," Death says quietly.

The other man nods. "It shall be done," he promises, and then leaves in the same manner he arrived.

Death waves his hand again, and this time a plate of dango appears before Kushina. "Eat," he says.

She has no need for food, but she doesn't dare go against Death. She bites into the dango, surprised by just how much she's missed it. A soft sigh of pleasure escapes her, and Kushina happily munches.

It's not a particularly long wait, but then again time means nothing to the dead. Death does not engage her in conversation, and Kushina doesn't particularly feel like filling in the silence like she normally does. Instead she thinks of Minato, feels a deep sadness. The last time she saw him was the night of their deaths, not exactly something that she likes to think about.

And maybe it's a good thing he's not here. She doesn't know how he would feel about the village, about the way they're treating Naruto. Kushina imagines he would be saddened, bitterly disappointed, or maybe even a little angry. She knows their son is important to him, that he loved Naruto as fiercely as she does, but she's lying if she says she's not the slightest bit concerned that his love for the village would overshadow that, would make him forgive the transgressions against their child.

There's another cloud of smoke, but the figure that appears in it is not the dark-skinned man from before.

It's another woman. Her long, inky black hair is tied in a high ponytail, bangs stopping just above her eyebrows. She's pale, almost unnaturally so, with high cheekbones, almond-shaped green eyes that are brighter than any she's ever seen, full lips that are colored scarlet, bloody red. Her clothes are not that unusual, resembling the Hokage robes, but cut in a way that emphasizes the way her waist tucks in and her hips flare out, black with red and gold accents.

It's the shoes that really stand out to Kushina; close-toed, black with a slight platform, silver buckles crisscrossing. They make a dense tap tap as she walks, a noise Kushina recognizes—the shoes are heavier in the front, likely reinforced with metal.

Stylish, yet functional.

The woman doesn't look like a kunoichi, but Kushina knows that appearances can be deceiving. It's how she killed most of her marks as a chunin, after all.

"You needed me?" Her voice is a little on the husky side with an accent like Death's.

Death stands up, bows a little. "Mistress," he intones, and Kushina might be imagining it, but he sounds like an odd mix of mocking and respectful.

The woman gives him a bland look. Then she notices Kushina in the room, and her eyes widen a little. She stares at Kushina, so much shock and amazement and longing on her face that Kushina feels a little uncomfortable before she settles into a composed expression.

"And you are?" the woman inquires.

"Oh, uh, Uzumaki Kushina," she says, hesitantly reaches out a hand for the other woman to shake, unsure if it would be welcome.

Her worries are for naught, however, when the woman accepts her hand, shakes it firmly. "Hari," the woman says, staring into Kushina's eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, it's just…you look remarkably like my mother."

"Oh!" Kushina's eyes widen, and then she laughs, loud and awkward. "Sorry, I only have one child. A little boy, his name is Naruto."

Hari smiles. She turns to Death, cocks an eyebrow at him. "You needed me?" she repeats.

Death nods his head, hands her the file from his desk. "She didn't get her orientation," he explains. "And yet Reginald signed it off on the twelfth of October stating she did."

Hari's eyes scan the file. "I highly doubt you called me for reapers falsifying documentation," she says dryly.

Death hovers over her shoulder, points at a certain spot on the file. "This case is, perhaps, one he should not have lied about," he replies blithely.

Hari's eyes widen as she reads, flutters back and forth between the file and Kushina, not unlike Death had.

It makes Kushina nervous.

"Is something wrong?" she asks loudly, her voice high as she fidgets with her hands.

Hari snaps the file closed and puts it on the desk. "Your son, Naruto, is a Child of Prophecy?" she inquires quietly, an almost tender, sympathetic look on her face.

"Potentially," Kushina says just as quietly. "It could have been my husband, Minato, but…well, he died with me. We were…we were protecting our son."

Hari looks like she just took a hit to the face. "I'm sorry," she says earnestly, genuinely.

Kushina studies her. She doesn't just look sympathetic, doesn't look like she's offering perfunctory condolences. No, she looks like she has true understanding, the kind of intimate knowledge that only comes with experience. "Thank you," she says, bows slightly.

"It seems their village has not been treating her son with the decency that he deserves," Death says smoothly. "Now where have I heard of that story before?"

Hari looks at him sharply, her eyes narrowed in a glare. She doesn't hold it for long, maybe a few moments, but then it dissipates, melting faster than ice on a hot sidewalk. "Why is it always a prophecy?"

Kushina swallows thickly. "My son," she says, licks her suddenly dry and chapped lips, "he means everything to me. Minato and I, we died for him, for the village. And they spit on our sacrifice every time they glare at him, every time they suggest he be put down like an animal, and I can't take it." She hisses out the last few words, angry and furious and betrayed, because she fucking loved that damn village, sacrificed everything for it. "I don't know what to do, but I can't do nothing. I can't let my son grow up thinking he was unwanted, unloved, worthless. I just can't!"

Hari swallows just as thickly, sighs softly. She runs her hands through her ponytail, tugs on it a little as she digests Kushina's words. With a wave of her hand, a chair pops into existence and she sits down in it, crosses her legs, props her elbow on the armrest, and rests her chin on her fist.

"What a shit show," she muses.

"Please," Kushina begs. Pride means nothing to her where Naruto is concerned, nothing at all. "Please, there must be something that can be done."

Hari regards her carefully, purses her lips in consideration. Her eyes flutter over to Death who is watching with a knowing glint in his eyes. She drums her fingers lightly against her chin.

"I suppose it can't be helped," she says, stands up and claps her hands.

"Wait," Kushina cries, feels the panic clawing at her insides. No, she can't just…just look at her plight and deem it helpless! She just can't!

"I'll go to your village myself," Hari says, snaps her fingers. The file on the desk opens on its own, and a quill whizzes across the room and starts jotting notes in that squiggly code that Kushina can't read. "Death, you will be in charge of handling the reapers and making sure everything goes smoothly."

"Nothing I am unused to," Death agrees, smooths non-existent wrinkles out of his clothes.

"I…I don't understand?" Kushina looks between the two of them, a hesitant, small flame of hope starting to burn inside her. "You'll help?"

Hari walks to her, grabs her hands. "I'll help," she says softly.

Kushina breaks down, sagging in relief. "Thank you," she cries. "Thank you so, so much! I can't…I don't know how to repay you!"

Hari reaches up to brush away a few of the redhead's tears. "I was a Child of Prophecy," she admits quietly. "And I grew up feeling unwanted, unloved, and worthless. I cannot, in good conscious, stand back and do nothing while someone else goes through the same thing."

Kushina envelopes Hari in a hug, squeezes as hard as she can and cries into Hari's neck. She is relieved beyond words, doesn't know how but feels just so sure that she can trust Hari.

Hari doesn't complain, pets Kushina's long red hair. "It'll be okay," she whispers. "I'll find your son, and I'll make sure he is treated well. You have my word."

For the first time in months, Kushina feels like everything is going to be alright, like things are going to turn around for the better.

"I will make all of the necessary arrangements, Mistress," Death says.

Kushina pulls away from the embrace, quietly apologizes and wipes her eyes. "Mistress?" she questions.

Death smiles at her, a hollow smile with sharp teeth and mischievous eyes. "Oh? You didn't know?" He gestures at Hari, says, "This is Hari Potter, the Mistress of Death."

Kushina just…sobbed over the Mistress of Death. She turns to Hari, mortified, and stammers out another apology.

Hari waves her off, uncaring and grins. "Never mind that," she says. "I have some preparing to do if I'm going to go to the Elemental nations, and you have a son to watch over. Now, keep in mind, time runs differently here than in your village, so don't be alarmed if your son is a little older now."

And before Kushina can even say anything, the Mistress of Death snaps her fingers, and Kushina is whisked back to Konoha in the blink of an eye.