Title: Intransigent

Summary: And as I take my final breath, the sea pulls me under (and keeps pulling, until I come back out the other side) - and Kurama Jin takes his first breath, with the imminent death of entire clans already clinging to the drum of his heart. [ semi si / oc ]

Characters:

OC, Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Shisui, Kurama Yakumo

Genre:

Adventure

Rating:

T for language and violence

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Notice: I wrote this in Microsoft Word, which has a different page width to most laptop/computer screens. Therefore, if you are on a laptop/computer, for the best viewing I would recommend changing the view to 3/4 view.

This can be done by going to the three lines (that should be just under the fic details) and that should open up the option to change to 'Full, 3/4, or 1/2', and selecting 3/4.

Thank you!

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"Hello?" Face wrinkling into a frown, she attempted to peer through the slats of the towering wooden gate that marked the boundary of the Kurama Clan grounds. "Anyone there? I have a package for…" quickly, she examined the bulky box tucked under her arm. "Kurama Yosono?"

Still nothing.

Huffing, she dumped the box outside the gates. Honestly, sometimes people were so rude to Genin runners, without any thought for what state the village would be without them. However, just as she straightened up (fully intending to file yet another complaint with her supervisor), she could hear the totter of feet from behind the gate.

"Sorry for making you wait." It was high pitched – a child's voice, she would've guessed. Slowly, the great wall of wood inched open, revealing a child hardly taller than her knee bowing apologetically. "Kurama Yosono is… unavailable. But I can take the package for her."

This was heart breaking. (Her friends had always mocked her for how easily she fell apart when it came to small, cute things – children included.) Yet this child looked so lonely, looking up to her with their big eyes and oversized clothing and no one in sight behind them.

"Of course you can, kiddo." Pulling a notepad out of her back pocket (with no small amount of distaste she noticed she'd crumpled it at some point) she poised her pencil. "I just need to get your name, for paperwork purposes." An edge of loathing had crept into her voice.

Ugh. Paperwork.

Yet, to her surprise, the kid's too-solemn face crinkled into a small giggle. "Of course. I'm Kurama Jin." Reaching out their stubby arms, she could feel her expression softening again.

"Here ya go, kid." Carefully handing over the package, she ensured they had a proper hold on it before letting go. (Although – she could almost swear there was something close to mocking in that smile.) "Where're your parents?" Really, she shouldn't be so suspicious. It was just a kid (with eyes that were dull, a smile that looked like it might be made of plastic - fit for a doll, not a human - and something closed off about their body language, at odds with their too-wide grin.) Just a kid - they weren't even in ninja attire, for fuck's sake.

"Oh-" She could track the widening of their eyes, the duck of their head. (The smile that still didn't feel entirely genuine.) "Kurama Yosono is my mama. She's still sleeping."

"Okay then, kiddo. Good job on being responsible, I guess." Still feeling a little off kilter, she gave a last wave back to the kid before jumping away onto the rooftops.

Strange kid.

(Yet there were more deliveries to do and more messages to run and in the end, she never remembered to ask about the lonely, slightly freaky kid she'd talked to in the morning.)

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Sometimes I felt I could drown in all the silence in the compound.

The Kurama were a noble clan; there right from the start, though the history books never mentioned them in any sort of detail. After all, their kekkei genkai only occurred in about one in twenty, and genjutsu was a 'support' skill. People just didn't talk about the supporting characters.

Yet, regardless of how they were glossed over in most recounts of the founding of Konoha, they'd been loyal supporters of the Senju before Konoha, before Hashirama, before the Senju had been strong enough to be worth writing about.

Even now they had only ever produced two traitors in their entire written history, which (on the infrequent occasions I interacted with the Kurama elders) was something of a personal achievement - and certainly a statistic to be fiercely proud of, as no other clan had such a low rate of defection. (They were so proud that they'd rather die rather than bring disrepute to the Clan name.)

And they were proud, alright.

Proud even in their death.

Every road surrounding my house was stagnant, worn and abandoned as weeds poked through potholes and cracks that no one had fixed - that no one could be bothered to fix. Occasionally, an old veteran (you could always tell, by the way their eyes darted and their hands shook, still not entirely sure they weren't in a warzone) would walk past, however that was about as much traffic they received on a daily basis.

Everything in this compound stank of abandonment.

The elders always told me that I should hold my head up high, to be proud to be a Kurama - but what was left to be proud of?

Everywhere I looked, I could only see death. On the aging faces of the veterans, of the entire estates of houses left bare and abandoned by successive wars, in the hoarse coughs of Kurama Yosono that she liked to pretend was 'just a little bit of a flu'.

There is only silence.

Enough to feel on your skin, enough to taste on your tongue. (Enough to drown in.)

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I should know.

After all, I've already drowned once.

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I'll start from the beginning. (I have an entire journal written out, still lying on my desk, listing each event of my life with an almost obsessive attention to detail.) I fear I will be forgotten, lost in all this silence.

But that's not important.

On the 29th December, year 162 (from the formation of Konoha) Kurama Jin was born as the son of Kurama Yosono and Hiroshige. In a tragic turn of events, Hiroshige died on the night of the Kyuubi's attack on Konoha, just one of many Chuunin crushed by rubble while evacuating civilians, leaving the sickly Yosono and her two year old son to struggle on with no source of income, relying solely on the 'generosity' of the clan.

There was a small reimbursement for his death, of course.

(But so many people had died – a mountain of corpses – and there just wasn't enough money to go around.)

The Clan would, of course, love to help. Regardless of their good intentions, however, there are no iryo-nin in the Clan, and there is no money to pay for an external one. And as Yosono chose to not become a ninja – well, tough luck. Just looks like her child will have to watch her slowly sink into the grasps of death.

Once Yosono dies, I'll be transferred to be a ward of one of the many, many childless veterans, and the whole problem will be solved without them spending a penny. (They had already spent enough on all our utilities, on our food, on the occasional batches of medicine that arrived for Yosono, they argued. Yosono didn't become a ninja. We don't have to do anything more.)

They probably didn't think I would understand the full gravity of her impending death.

I wish I didn't, really.

Yet when I say I was born here – it is a little bit of a lie, I suppose. Not the part about being born, of course. I wasn't some kind of funky alien bacteria. Nevertheless, the term 'birth' implies that was the start of me. (However it wasn't, even if I really wished it was.)

I'd been born before, see.

I'd died before, too. (Waves swallowing me up, dragging me under even as my muscles burned from how hard I fought and I couldn't breathe-)

I didn't like to think about it.

It was so much easier to lose myself in the silence of the compound, or feel the soft rise and fall of Yosono's chest (just to check that she was still breathing), or indulge myself in studying Hiroshige's scrolls, fingertips brushing foreign symbols painstakingly inked onto the parchment.

(Anything, really, to forget about the roar of the ocean that pulled me under.)

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Skimming through the scroll one final time, I nodded to myself before placing my left hand on the wall, my right tracing through the well-worn scroll unrolled across the floor.

'BASIC CHAKRA TRAINING', its title proudly proclaimed, with an equally bold paragraph highlighting all the symptoms of something going wrong (and there were many, ranging from the most common 'chakra exhaustion' to diagnosing congenital chakra coil defects) as well as the direction of the Konoha General Hospital from the Kurama Compound. Alongside that was another warning, telling me that I really should have a spotter on hand to whisk me away for treatment in the case that something was going awfully wrong - since more likely than not, if something was going wrong, it would lead to muscle seizures, unconsciousness and potentially comas.

In the other room, I could hear Yosono's wracked splutters. (Something tightened in my own chest when I heard her gasping, wheezing, choking - her own lungs slowly failing, leaving her clawing for each breath.)

(Was that what I'd sounded like when I died?)

In any case, the scroll was clearly made to be read by children, and they couldn't realistically expect all the kids to bother getting a spotter before trying stuff they read.

I'm sure it didn't matter.

Shutting my eyes, I attempted to picture what they told me to, my mind instantly focusing on the slight buzz of energy just below my skin that certainly had not been there before being reborn. (In my stomach, it sat – almost as if I'd swallowed a lake and it was still just sitting there.) There had been a companion scroll on unlocking your chakra, intended to be used alongside this one, and nothing bad had happened – if you didn't consider being overtly aware to the point of irritability of chakra running through my veins a bad thing – so this one was also probably okay.

Shifting uncomfortably at the sudden awareness of the squatter in my gut, I gave a little portion of it a mental push.

To my intense disappointment, nothing happened. (Of course, nothing would ever be that easy.)

Gritting my teeth, I tried again (more forcefully, fuelled by irritation at the vague instructions the scroll gave) and was rewarded by a numbing sensation that spread through my entire arm, even as I instinctively recoiled (the sensation of nothingness, as if I'd lost my body and was aimlessly falling down, down, down) and stopped prodding my chakra.

Clearly, I had done something wrong.

Scanning the scroll again, I was tempted to tear it. (Completely and utterly useless-)

-I needed to calm down. (In the companion scroll on unlocking chakra, it had reinforced the importance of patience and visualisation of the intended result to produce said results.)

Yet, of course, I blew up at the scroll before thinking it was something wrong with me. (It was always something wrong with me – I was unmotivated, sullen, easily enraged. Of course it was always going to be me.)

Snorting a little - at how pathetic I was, at how I refused to move forwards, to better myself - I carefully nursed my arm, attempting to ease feeling back into my fingers. After a few minutes, my arm appeared to have its full range of sensation back, and I attempted to channel my chakra once more. This time, however, instead of using force, I gave my chakra a destination, and visualised a thin layer of chakra between my hand and the wall.

Thankfully, instead of numbing my entire arm, the slight buzz began to focus on my hand, and my hand was firmly stuck to the wall. (Satisfaction rose in my throat, curling across my face in a self-satisfied smirk.)

Yet then an experimental tug to remove my hand yielded no results (and I forced down panic with a ruthless grip), and I focused on making it travel back into my stomach before attempting to remove my hand again – with this time, thankfully, the hand coming off the wall with minimal effort. (And I was still overtly aware of the hum in veins, in the humming all around me, like I'd walked into a charm of hummingbirds and they would not stop buzzing-)

Inhaling deeply (and wincing a little as Yosono was tormented by a particularly nasty bout of coughs) I lay back on the floor, feeling the cool floorboards under my cheek even as the hum of my own chakra melded back into the background.

Really, I needed to stop avoiding the question.

(Especially with this. I just used chakra. Civilians didn't use chakra.)

Did I want to become a ninja?

I suppose I was capable of it, if my little example of nature defying was showing anything. Though, if I didn't want to end up crushed against the side of a building by giant summoned snakes (that if my memory served me correctly, would occur in little over a decade – and that wasn't nearly long enough for my liking) I would have to put in work.

Lots of work (as I really, really didn't fancy being paste on the ground.)

Sighing a little, I stared up at the ceiling.

Honestly, I doubted I could ever muster up enough motivation to ever be strong enough to ward off a single attack. Not when it was so much easier to fall into old habits (to lean back and let time sweep me off my feet, as I did before, like I did now.)

Let's try another angle.

Being a ninja opened up an entirely new world to me. Chakra was such an intrinsic part of life here -and I could feel the bitter tang of jealousy whenever I thought about just becoming a civilian because they were weak. (Weak and fragile and so, so easy to kill without a thought – their bones like birds, snapping – and just like that, they were no longer a civilian. They were a corpse.)

I didn't want to be weak.

Nor did I want to be dead.

I suppose I could graduate the Academy, and just be relegated to the Genin Corps that did the courier service and menial labour. (Yet that would put chains on my freedom – trapped in these walls, because once I was a ninja I was too valuable to lose.) Just leaving was also out. If I wasn't good enough to fend for myself within the Village, I certainly wouldn't be good enough to last outside.

Alternatively – I could just drop out of the Academy in the last year. That way, I'll have most of my training, and wouldn't be expected to pull any Genin-level stunts – I could go and explore the world in my own time, without the bindings of the Village.

Certainly, the prospect was attractive.

Yet then the stillness hanging in the air finally wormed into my mind, and sitting back up I stared at the wall separating Yosono and me. (She'd been silent for a while.) With no small amount of trepidation (and I shouldn't, since this happened all the time, and I knew I shouldn't care, that I should detach – but I did, and it burned-) I pressed my ear against the wall, almost crumbling in relief when I heard her chafing wheezes through the thin wood.

(I'd think about being a ninja later.)

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I looked in the mirror and hated myself.

(Hated my snub nose, my brown hair, my chubby cheeks and fingers because they were not mine and would never be mine; they were from a child I murdered, so much potential that I'd stamped out and replaced with my own self-)

And it didn't stop at the exterior.

If you cut me open (oh, and don't feel bad – it isn't even my body, after all; don't apologise to me) you'd see a heart blackened by lies and envy and greed, and I hated myself and everything I stood for, and I hated others for being successful, for doing so much more with themselves.

For moving forwards.

(Every time I tried to move with them, they clung to my skin and didn't let go – and I was disgusting, rotten to the core, because for whatever reason I didn't want to move forwards enough.)

So they left me behind. It was only right – I was toxic, dragging them down with me. And then I'd wallow in my loneliness, pretending I didn't perfectly well understand why they watched me with such contempt in their expressions.

Yet – I'd stolen a body, and it wasn't as if I could just hand it back.

This was a chance to start anew, right? (No, of course not - this was me you were talking about.)

Only now, there were two corpses being slowly, slowly dragged further into the grasps of everything I detested about myself.

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"Mama, what's our Clan's speciality?" It hadn't taken me long to capitalise on my typically 'cute' baby features to manipulate those around me and wheedle explanations out of unwitting adults, and so I accompanied my enquiry with a wide-eyed smile. (Sometimes I felt a little guilty for abusing such underhanded tactics; however, the feeling was easily banished.)

This world was too big (and cruel, and remorseless, and ruthless) for 'guilt'.

"I was never a ninja, Jin. I can't give you the best explanation." Her eyes darted to the ground for a moment. (Lie.)

Thought, the fact she was talking was already a positive sign. Sometimes she'd simply blank me out, as if I was nothing more than a particularly talkative piece of furniture. (On those days, I'd simply grit my teeth and make my own food, ensuring I slammed the door when going to sleep.)

"Ple-e-e-ase, Mama?" Purposefully, I stretched out the 'please', watching as her reluctance crumbled.

"Alright, Jin." Under her breath, I heard her whisper of "too cute for his own good", but I pretended I didn't hear. "Our speciality is genjutsu, and in particular, our family has always specialised in genjutsu combined with bukijutsu or kenjutsu, sometimes both."

Then she paused for a bone-rattling cough (that had my gut twisting with worry, though I quickly cut off my thoughts of concern. I've known she was going to die for a long time) before giving me what she must've thought a reassuring smile (and it really wasn't, but I let it pass without a comment), and carried on from where she left off. "We use genjutsu accompanied with those disciplines to make our own weapons indistinguishable from illusory ones, and can therefore take down even those that are more skilled in bukijutsu."

"Oh – but can't they do a, um," quickly slowing down my speaking, I ensured my hand motions were exaggerated. "'Kai'!"

"Only in area of effect genjutsu, where the chakra is in the surroundings." Briefly, my eyes narrowed. She seemed rather knowledgeable for someone who 'was never a ninja' and 'couldn't give the best explanation'. "When chakra is pushed into chakra coils – direct genjutsu – no amount of 'Kai' will get rid of it." An amused smile had curled around her lips at the 'Kai'. "Usually, they're easier to detect than area of effect, since many ninja notice even the most subtle changes in their chakra flow. But in the Kurama clan, we train extensively in genjutsu, and can make our own chakra almost, if not entirely, invisible to the target."

Then she paused again, her wheezes making shivers crawl up my back.

"With a lot of training of course." Slowly, her face had been losing colour over the course of the conversation (and sometimes she'd go as white as paper, and I'd wonder how long it would be until she tore) and she leaned back into the chair, dark circles under her eyes accentuated by her pasty skin tone. "And area of effect – well, you can work on that as well. It's all practice, making the genjutsu seamless, so that even when they're looking for the trick, they can't find it."

"Oh." For a moment, I turned her words over in my head. "How do they achieve that, then?"

"You don't need to know that, Jin." Giving a patronising smile, she gestured towards the window (and we pretended that her arm wasn't shaking from exertion at the simple movement). "It's a wonderful day outside. How about you go and play? There's the playground just down the road, or you can go to the one near Ichibei's house, but don't go any further."

"Okay, mama." Turning away and walking out the door, I finally let the scowl of disappointment twist my face. She gets my hopes up about the genjutsu and then refuses me access to it. Like dangling a bone in front of a dog. If she was too tired, she could just say so.

We both knew she was toeing the line of death, after all.

Walking outside, I surveyed the barren playground with a cool gaze. Much of the street was abandoned, their windows clouded with the grime of desertion. Perhaps if I'd been more of a social child (if the other kids didn't pick up on the deliberation of my words and sharpness of my tongue) I'd have walked eight doors down to the twins, Kei and Ken – but I wasn't (and I wasn't welcome anywhere else in the compound, for that matter.)

There weren't any other children on this road, and the veterans who occupied another four houses along the street were unfriendly to my plastic smiles, backhanded insults, distant gazes. Every time, without fail (and to my eternal displeasure), they would call me out on it - even if it was just walking down the street and I decided to be polite and give a smile.

I wasn't sure how they did it.

(Nevertheless, I was positive I was getting better at it - better at lying - and I still wasn't certain whether that was a good thing or not.)

Regardless. Yosono didn't have enough money to buy a home in one of the few remaining areas that were still densely populated, leaving only people who to some extent detested me as my neighbours – and even if I walked over to the other playground that wasn't quite as deserted, the other children didn't get along with me.

They never said it, of course.

On the other hand, they never said anything at all to me, which quite effectively betrayed their attitude - in an extremely childish fashion, naturally. (Whispering from the side of the playground, saying that I was weird – that I didn't understand their games, that I was always solemn and bitter and unfriendly.)

I'd brought it on myself, really.

Yet the damage was done – and there was no use crying over spilled milk. (Resent at myself twisted my features into something sour.)

Scuffing my shoes along the pavement, I walked along the road, going around the corner, seeing yet another row of abandoned buildings, gardens left untended and wild. (I shivered.) Almost like a ghost town (and you could almost feel them desperately clawing at your ankles, dragging you under-)

Abruptly, I shut down that thought train.

Continuing along the road (determinedly not thinking about the whispers of ghosts that hissed in my ear and clung to my back, to my skin) I finally recognised the main road – the road out, paved with what once must have been red and gold. Once, it would've been a bustling street, where the shops were still open, and sakura trees lined the paths, and the sun shone down on their smiling faces. Now there was only desertion; shut store-fronts, some still bearing notices about the Third Shinobi War cropping up and putting a spanner in operations - hell, some still had posters that, although faded and barely legible by now, were talking about the Second Shinobi War.

Eyes flicking over to the gate (the only thing that hadn't been ruthlessly beaten down into a pathetic imitation of its former glory, seemingly), it occurred to me that there was no one who went out this way anymore. A huge majority of members left had moved further back in the compound, and so used the back door to get to the Village centre in half the time.

There were no witnesses.

Could I just leave – like that?

Well, not 'leave' – of course, I'd turn back up at home at a reasonable time.

I suppose there was no harm in trying. If I failed, I'd be sent back and probably grounded – as I was before, essentially. In any case, people tended to protect wandering children – besides, I had nothing of worth on me. Nothing except the clothes on my back. They weren't even expensive clothes.

Having made up my mind (and perhaps it was rash, but I was desperate to get outside of these walls), I wandered to the main Gate, the familiar teak slats looming over me. On the right was an outpost for a guard, yet it was abandoned. (Just like everything else in the Clan.)

Pushing open the gates, I cringed a little, expecting alarms or ninja dropping down out of the sky.

Nothing.

Feeling slightly underwhelmed, I wandered out onto the road (carefully sliding the gates back to their original position), something catching in my throat when I caught sight of people hurrying past. It was almost surreal, after spending so long seeing nothing but emptiness.

Then I saw the destruction. (It had only been a year or so after the attack. Of course they wouldn't have rebuilt everything.) Tearing my gaze away from the rubble of homes and storefronts, I headed in the direction most people seemed to be heading, taking a note of landmarks to lead me back home afterwards.

(The wreckage of a family home – shattered glass and photographs stained beyond any sort of repair. What remained of a bench, the little brass tag denoting a dead person's name warped and illegible. A huge chunk of concrete lying out on the pavement, graffiti covering most of the bottom half in names indistinguishable from each other.)

Swallowing down my pity, my sorrow, everything that that bound me to the skeletons of things that were dead and gone and that I was stupid to even think about, I began walking – at first, to escape the rampant destruction that littered the Kurama Clan's neighbourhood, and then to shake off the irrational sentiment I'd developed towards the wreckage.

Since cutting off feeling was, of course, so much easier than trying to feel.

And I'd always gone for the easy way out.

It wasn't as if there was a purpose, or destination, to my little excursion. Feeling myself making some kind of progress, though, was enough, and gave my mind time to wander away while still being somewhat grounded to the paths under my feet.

There were a few people who gave me strange looks, undoubtedly, yet then they spotted the clan symbol on my sleeve and averted their eyes. No one wanted to deal with the ancient clan indignation that one of their members was accosted by some civilian who didn't know any better.

Either that, or they just didn't care enough.

I'd put my money on the latter.

When I saw that around an hour had passed, I began making my way home, navigating the unfamiliar, winding paths. Now the throngs of people were dying down – they had homes to get to, families to dine with, evenings to spend in relaxation and peace; and I would never admit I was jealous, because of course things would never be as perfect as I made them out to be-

-yet that didn't stop the spike of bitterness when I saw little groups of civilians walking home, sometimes with a child in their arms, sometimes just standing, chatting together. At peace. They were happy with this, with being trapped by these walls.

(I just - didn't understand. After all, the world was so big, and we were so small – yet they didn't even try.)

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Yosono sometimes liked to tell me about her old friends.

They used to do the same thing; back when the Kurama Clan still somewhat filled the lands it had originally been allocated. Met up, gossiped about anything and everything, found some solace in each other's company.

I was so happy, and at this point, gasping sobs were forcing their way out of her throat. Everything was going right.

Too bad that they were all dead.

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I think it's about time I apologised for something.

Sorry, Yosono. You were a pretty shit mother. I suppose though, it really wasn't your fault, and that's why I'm sorry – for pretending that I was your brilliant, beautiful baby boy. For making you take care of me, when I didn't deserve a thing.

For not being the child you dreamed of.

Then you were dying, slipping through my fingers like water, and I couldn't bear to try and hold on to you. Not when I knew you were having your own meeting with death shortly, not when I could probably count the number of months left on my stubby, little fingers-

-and I regret that now.

There are many things I regret, though, like not insisting the Clan gave you help, because god knows their coffers were stuffed to the brim with gold as old as the clan itself (and how I could fall for something so blatantly obvious – and how much I detested myself for not even thinking-) and, if we ever meet again, I'd love to get to know you.

Not as your child, no. That was doomed to failure.

However, I'm sure you were a wonderful person. Strong enough to take care of me, enduring without a tear even when you knew the reaper's blade was pressed against your neck, even managing to smile at the abomination of nature you had given birth to. (Stronger than me, that's for sure.)

As for the Clan?

I guess they tried, as well. To a much lesser extent than they should've, and so I will not say that I'm sorry for slandering them (after all, I'm really not) but the successive wars had not been kind to the Clan, and their resources were stretched thin. Extremely thin. After all, I've seen the paperwork. (Overall, the Clan was reduced to a mere fifth of their original size, before the First Shinobi War - a shadow of its former self.)

They were struggling, and didn't have the time to deal with a civilian and her toddler.

They tried.

We all tried, really, but sometimes (despite your best intentions, your hardest efforts) things just don't turn out like how you hope they would.

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Over time, Yosono spent less time interacting with me, retreating into her room with trembling limbs and choked breaths and tears streaking down her face from the strain of just being alive, of surviving.

I would say living, but I couldn't call the thing that Yosono had a life.

So I studied more – learned complex kanji with the help of storybooks, dictionaries, and guides; indulging in fantasy to distract my mind from the dead air that was gradually stifling me, albeit more subtly than it was strangling Yosono. And I messed around with chakra, too - spinning leaves on my fingertips, just about managing three steps up the wall before sliding down, putting genjutsu on ants to make them dance to my own tunes; the songs that used to blare on the radio during long car trips, the songs I barely remembered and that terrified me. (I was losing myself - and every time this thought came back to me, I'd spend the next day desperately attempting to claw back some semblance of my old life.)

Regardless.

Every once in a while – when I was positive Yosono wasn't waking for a while - I'd leave the compound and run.

Feel the air burn in my lungs, watch the pavement pass under my feet, hear the steady thud of my heart and the hum of people and remind myself that there was more than the lull of the compound, the stillness of 'home' – that I was still alive, breathing, with a world at my feet.

However, this time, I didn't fancy exercising, and instead of seeking the strain that running gave me, I leisurely wandered around the outskirts of the Village Centre, where shops began popping up, and the roads widened, and the number of people began racking up. From there, I allowed myself to be swept up by the flow of people-

-until a smell caught my attention. (Blissfully sweet, like sugar, the smell so pungent I could taste it running down my throat.)

Tilting my head a little towards the scent, I saw a dango shop, painted in muted purples and full to the brim with smiling children – and reaching my hand into my pocket, it was disappointingly empty, save for a rubber band and what felt like bits of gravel. (Well, of course it would be. The Clan had no money. Yosono had no money. Or else she wouldn't be slowly dying.)

Besides, I was an adult, despite physically being a child. I needed to show self-restraint – there were better uses for money than splurging on sweets. And hey – starting the dieting young wouldn't go amiss. (For a moment, a resentful smile marred my face, before I hastily replaced it with apathy.)

Forcing myself to walk past, I studiously ignored the rumble of my stomach.

It wouldn't be fair to ask Yosono to give me money; after all, she should probably be bedridden and have someone caring for her, judging by the wheeze of her breaths and the off-white colour she seemed to have recently adopted. Nevertheless, she still sometimes read me stories, occasionally giving me a hug and kiss and whispered sweet nothings in my ear to lull me into sleep, and always provided a roof over my head.

Sometimes the caresses were a little half-hearted, and her mind would wander to the past and forget about me (and forgot that without her, the house deadened and swallowed me whole), but she was trying her best.

That didn't change the fact that 'home' felt more like a glorified grave for Yosono and Hiroshige.

I was just selfish, though.

'Lonely'. Hah.

What a shame, I feel a little bit lonely. (While there are children starving, suffering – and I complain about not getting enough attention.)

"Hey – kid with the green shirt!" Blinking a little, I looked at my shirt (not that vibrant – more of a mint green, I suppose) before looking around at the crowds. On all the other children were rich browns, reds, and pinks, as was the current fashion of Konoha. (Internally, I frowned at how much I stood out.)

They meant me.

Turning around with no small amount of trepidation, I saw two vaguely familiar faces. Uchiha, certainly, judging by the symbols plastered on every inch of fabric. One I would estimate to be around six (his mask of indifference making my skin crawl) while the other was certainly older – nine, maybe – with a more good-natured look on his face.

"Hello." Staring straight back at them, I carefully monitored the flow of people around me, ready to run if necessary.

"Hello – I'm Uchiha Shisui and this little statue-" the smaller twitched at his description "-is Uchiha Itachi."

Ah.

That was probably why they seemed familiar.

Remember (don't do anything stupid, stick to what I already decided upon) my plan was to keep a low profile, so no one would care so much when I dropped out in the last year. That meant leaving no impression on these two key characters. (They are not human. They run on pre-set lines, like a train running along tracks. It just so happens that these lines run straight off the side of a cliff – and I cannot stop a train hurtling down the rails at 180 miles per hour.)

So – just be unassuming. (They will become bored with you. You are not a prodigy, not from a big clan, not a talent to your name.)

"I'm Kurama Jin." Neatly bowing (as my mother had always instructed, because the Kurama were dignified and elegant and that meant I needed to be polite and restrained at all times) I gave what I knew was a soft smile, bringing out the dimples in my cheeks. "Is there any reason why you approached me?"

"Oh, nah, not really. You just looked kind of lonely." At Shisui's simplistic reasoning, I raised an eyebrow. "Hey – don't give me that look. You did. Oh – uh – you aren't one of the, erm, weird Kurama, are you?"

"'Weird Kurama'?" I made air quotes with my hands. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, err; you know how once in a while, you get someone with the – uh – weird version of your Kekkei Genkai?" Now there was uncomfortableness written across his face, and although Itachi's expression remained stiff, his eyes glittered with mirth. "Like – most of you are fine and that's cool. But there's weird ones as well?"

"I would suggest, Uchiha-san, that you never become a teacher." Came my cool reply (and of course I knew exactly what he meant, but I didn't want to drag this out any longer than strictly necessary). Giving another short bow, I began to turn again. "It was nice meeting you two."

"No – wait, do you went dango?" I froze, aborting my turn away from them mid-way. "I'll buy some dango, yeah?" The sweet scent caught on my nose again, and my stomach rumbled. (The irrational hunger hit me again.) "Your stomach definitely agrees, in any case." Now there was a slight teasing lilt to his speech.

God, I was hungry.

(How long had it been since I ate? I made myself some egg fried rice yesterday, at about noon, didn't I?)

Yet – I couldn't. (They were going to hit the ground and crush everyone inside, and I was not getting on this train.)

"I'm fine, Uchiha-san." Primly, I gave another bow. "I'll be going now."

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I didn't look back.

(Something in my heart clenched at the fact they were going to die – and I could do something, could say something – yet I stamped on that idea as soon as it came up.)

I didn't want to die.

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(Yet, perhaps if I'd taken a moment to glance back, I'd have seen the curious glint to their eyes.)

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(A/N):

I have tried to stick to canon, but there's a very large black hole of information when it comes to both the Kurama Clan, as well as Itachi / Shisui's ages (most information is within bands, eg. 6-7 years old, which isn't very helpful lmao). If there's anything that's inconsistent then please tell me since I only do so much research before just saying 'fuck it' and putting something vague down lol

Please tell me what you thought of this! I will take all criticisms on board to try and improve this - I started with a lot of inspiration, but I began losing direction towards the end rip :')

I kind of know that I need to get from A to B, but the story seemed incomplete without the journey as well (and maybe side stories C and D as well lmao) sO;; I am struggling a little.

And honestly, that interaction with the Uchiha felt like pulling teeth out. I had to keep reminding myself that they were Very Important People and so I needed to include them even when my brain was like how about we just forget they exist haha;; but now it's done so I hope to utilise them in the name of science and character development ;)

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Recommendations: (theme - SI/OC fics)

And maybe then you'll know me too by XxZuiliu

For once in his life, he will be selfless. Even if it will still be in his own selfish way, by his own selfish standards… well, he's never been particularly good at letting things go. Why would this be any different? [SI/OC, Male!OC, Uzumaki!OC, Third War, AU]

Runner by CompYES

"Mint is extremely invasive. Mint grows and survives, even when starved and poisoned. Better not to plant it at all." Second SI/OC quick fic, inspired by "Catch Your Breath" and "Forethought."

THE KIDS AREN'T ALRIGHT by bitter avocado

Some things are too terrible to grasp at once, and other things - naked, sputtering, indelible in their horror - are too terrible to ever really grasp at all. "I am not disappearing," she realizes after a story-long moment. Semi-SI OC.

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Please review with your thoughts! Or just review in general! I don't mind! I'm pretty happy with anything really haha

Thank you!

- raiwai