Reborn

Obito hadn’t warned her about the lingering traces of people that would sway in the wind, rotting ropes and the call of crows as they feasted on their eyes. Thankfully, she had passed out cold but he was having trouble recalling how she fainted. No matter how hard he pushed himself, the events were a blur; a smear on the canvas, just out of focus enough to have anything be up for interpretation. 

That did not deter him from tending to her needs. While she remained unconscious on the wagon, he made sure to give her fresh water and kept her warm. Obito extracted local herbs to make into broths so she didn’t starve, but there was a limit to his knowledge and he was forced to acknowledge it on the fourth day when she continued to slumber. On the verge of panicking, he kept checking her breath to make sure she was breathing. 

It didn’t matter how many times he checked, the paranoia always tickled him. Obito focused on maneuvering the cart around the starved corpses of those who were unfortunate enough to get lost within the vast endless woods, uncaring in his treatment as long as she didn’t witness it. She couldn’t die on his watch, he refused. The buried mantra that had awoken from his slumber was relentless with its cruel drive.

Save her, Save Rin, Save her, Save Rin . 

His heart beat to this truth as he pushed forward, cart in tow. One foot in front of the other. Obito had to reach the location before anything bad happened, he had to save Rin. He had to. It was a different route from which she had most likely come across Wave, more hidden and supposedly safer but it opened the doors to views she would not want to be subjected to. Ever since she had called out to him, death had followed her shadow. Present and reminding him that everyone he cared about could fall prey to it. Obito resented it. He hatedithatedithatedithatedit.

A deep rattle snapped him to attention, letting him know she was waking up. Maintaining a steady pace as Obito silently trudged the cart forward, the path began to get rocky as less dirt trails appeared due to people rarely traversing this path through the forests. He knows they are still headed West, but it was not fast enough. 

 ☁☁

Heavy fangs scratch over her skin, the heat so intense she can feel herself igniting alive. The searing temperatures turn her molten skin brown, raw pink oozing out from her burns as she screams her throat raw. Thick smoke and heavy air make her voice hoarse as it suffocates her. A pair of hellish eyes- of spinning pinwheels of death and deformed foxes- rip her pathways to shreds ruthlessly as the fires cast their unholy light onto her weak mortal body-

WHEN Obito touches her, she doesn’t feel it. Her legs are splayed out from under her, oddly bent at queer angles that make her uneasy. Sakura lays flat on her bruising chest, the pressure from the ground prodding into her. Sakura isn’t necessarily focused on that right now because anything below her waist is dead. There is no semblance of feeling, her left leg is gently lifted into the air, but her feet cannot feel the cool breeze that rolls through the growing evergreen trees that sprinkle throughout the emerging border of Wave and Fire. She had hoped to abandon the wagon to save time but now it was out of the question. Sakura looks down towards her stiff bare feet, her new shoes having been taken off by Obito. Her legs cannot feel the tickling of the dry grass prodding into her skin or the cool surface of packed dirt that crunched under the pressure of her weight. Even the aggressive burning of pins and needles had faded since she had passed out from the pain of dragging herself during her tactical error in Wave. What had she expected? To be able to stand up and fight with her back in shambles? 

She had pushed herself too far and her body paid the price for it. Nightmares plagued her and Sakura had no idea how much time had passed since Obito had remained withdrawn since the incident. She was completely helpless and frankly, that scared her. Sakura had never been in this situation before and although kidnappings had been briefly mentioned throughout the Academic course, it did not bother to mention how to navigate a situation where supposedly dead Uchiha came back to life to have an interest in you. I mean how would you even begin to plan from there?

Sakura huffed in frustration. 

“Did you feel that?” 

Sakura’s eyes caught on to how Obito had taken her foot into his gloved hands and had taken the sharp cutting edge of his hidden kunai to press roughly into the bottom of her foot. 

“No.” Sakura croaked. Cripple , the scorching voice stemming from her nightmares rumbled in her aching head. Her ruined manicured nails dug themselves deeply into the cold earth, gripping at dry dirt as the words carved themselves into her skin. Her limp legs and broken back had felt like deformities and Sakura had always prided herself on her vanity. The voices of the bandits’ taunts never left her throbbing skull nor the knowledge of being an easy target. 

You should have burned them all , the increasingly prevalent inner voice coldly whispers, trickling down her spine like ice water as the world she had once known was crashing down around her. Shame immediately followed the intrusive thought; the horrors of melting bubbling skin prevailed over the nasty wish. Her mind kept bringing back the memories of death and fire into sight, a perpetuating sense of unluckiness hitting her as she had faced the most amount of death she had ever encountered within the last week. 

“Don’t move.” Obito warns her as she is lying on her stomach. Not like I could anyway, Sakura almost snappishly replies but holds her tongue. His orange mask is now clean, a steady onyx stare carefully analyzing her reactions to his change in pressure with her foot. Sakura doesn’t feel anything, she couldn’t feel the cold kiss of steel, even as her right hand was clutched onto the discarded kunai she had lunged towards. The kunai had never left her grip, even as she had passed out. Reaching for the kunai had caused her to black out in pain, but she had already been lightheaded from the visceral gore that showered the river they were traveling besides. There were already too many smells and sights Sakura wanted to permanently forget, memories she didn’t want to touch for a lifetime.

In her dreams, Sakura desperately claws and drags her body through the gory battlefield, the smell of ruptured intestines sweltering under her nose as the dead leaves crunch under her raw hands. Sakura knows she needs to keep going, she must, because the corpses of the fallen are pulling her legs down into the ground to join them as she begs anyone (someone please, why can’t you hear me, please-) to save her. Her nails rip off the nail beds in her futile struggle to survive. The bandits don’t relinquish their hold, instead they begin to taunt her over the increasingly desperate wails that tear out of her mouth. Why isn’t anyone coming? Where is her team? WHY-

“How about now?” The voice is clipped, unknowingly breaking Sakura out of her spiraling nightmares that wished to be brought back to life. Green eyes flicker down to her feet. 

Soft, uncalloused skin had broken easily, eager to succumb to the fine blade, and with it, a steady stream of blood ran freely down, quickly reaching the mossy forest floor. It was a detached experience, Sakura distantly thought as she watched with feelings she couldn’t really identify. She could not feel the sting of the blade, nor her torn skin but her sight told her that she had been cut. Obito gently put down her foot, noticing keenly how there had been no bodily reaction to the kunai. Sakura couldn’t look away from her foot or the blade. 

Being paralyzed had been another memory Sakura hadn’t wanted to look back upon for a lifetime. Yet others reminded her of it shamelessly. Cripple, the dirtied bandit had snarled at her with a pleased grin. The bandit was dead, unable to speak anymore to any other living person, but his words had still rung true. Sakura was now a cripple. They sat in stilted silence, both unsure of what to say. Sakura still wanted to be a ninja, but reality was bluntly ruining any notion of it now. Because without her legs, how could she be useful to anyone? Would she ever get the chance to run though the branches again? (How would anyone believe her reaching Konoha like this?)

Tears stung her eyes once more.

Crybaby, the reptilian voice hissed out in disgust as Sakura couldn’t find it in herself to rebuke. Looking for a distraction to not focus on that change happening inside her head since the fall, Sakura latches onto a spiders web covered expertly between the long grasses. For a second, the glistening spider web that sparkled with morning dew drew Sakura’s eyes away from her ruined legs and broken back. 

Her emerald gaze peered at the struggling blood fly that had been attracted to the scent of death that clung to her soiled clothes, observing how the black spider clacked its pronged teeth with glee as its legs ferociously began to spin its web. For a split second, an unreasonable jealousy filled her head as she felt envy towards the creature that was able to move as swiftly as silk. The feasting spider could move better than her and had working legs. Sakura had nothing.  

My sweet spring child , her merchant mother would once say as they anxiously looked at her pressed shinobi garbs as Sakura dressed for training and frowned, what do you know of death and duty?  

I knew nothing. Indignation burned and crackled in her chest, biting her tongue until it bled. She was an adult now, Sakura reasoned with herself, schooling her train of through from derailing any further. According to the Shinobi Creed, that meant she was not allowed to cry nor show any emotion that could be disgraceful for her station. 

A quick mental flash of Sasuke's corpse blinded her.  

Why was it that each time she abided by the rules, something died? Crying was for children, Sakura chanted to herself, willing the tears to recede. Sakura couldn’t afford to cry right now, not when she wasn’t alone. Not when Sasuke would have been strong enough to figure out a solution to salvage this situation.

Her mother had been right to worry for her, Sakura bitterly realizes as the glamourous stories of legends and honor vanquish into smoke. Bandits did not care for honor. Businessmen shit on it. Enemy ninjas laugh at it. There was no such thing as a beautiful death nor breath-taking courage in battle. Just desperation marred with the salty tinge of sweat and blood. 

Sakura wonders if Sasuke was the exception, beautiful and noble-looking compared to the horrid deaths she had since experienced. But even he wasn’t spared. Death was an ugly affair, and its circumstances were often lied about. No one cared to explain how people shit themselves when they died or that they swelled with toxic fumes during decomposition. How they begged for their lives to be spared. For that, Sakura almost felt something akin to anger for being lied to. The Academy had discussed death and even had a unit on it, but it was not enough to prepare her for the aftermath of battlefields. Death had been portrayed as glorious, heroic even. 

It was nothing of the sort. 

The fallen kunai was still clutched in her spazzing grip, her right-hand twitching relentlessly as she had to constantly re-grip the hilt. The only form of protection Sakura had left now that her pouch was lost to oblivion. If Obito noticed her reverent grip on the kunai, he didn’t comment on it. But Sakura noticed how they seemed to sink into themselves ever since he had massacred the bandits in front of her. Was it from shame? Sakura wondered, but if so, why? 

Since opening her eyes to the rhythmic swaying of the wagon, the air was slightly warmer compared to the typically chilly days of Wave and the stench of despair had begun to dissipate. It no longer stung her eyes from the wretched waves of shit, death and poverty. Yet Sakura knew that they were not yet close to the heart of Fire country as the sun had remained hidden behind the clouds. Sakura had grown wary of Obito, the way he moved reminded her faintly of Kakashi. He must have been at least a jōnin. Her situation was quickly worsening.  

Obito had yet to show his hand. The thought of it alone made her sweat with nervousness, and oftentimes she had to bully the steel into her spine for her to ask for water or bathroom breaks alongside the less traversed trails. Sakura no longer knew the trail they were on, but Obito seemed to know them like the back of his hand. Sakura understood the logic, to avoid questions and further interactions with bandits it was wise to not travel on the big roads. But it also stood to question, why would a rogue ninja help a Konoha ninja such as herself get back home? 

The question left her uneasy. Sakura didn’t have many answers and the more she stewed in her thoughts, the more places she went in her mind, and none of them were bright places. They were now removed from civilization, and Obito had assured her that the possibilities of them running into others would be very low. It should have given her some comfort, instead it made her feel tense. The rolling nausea of her flipping stomach drying out her mouth. He was partially correct, there was no civilization in sight within the thickening growth of the forests as they made their way out of Wave towards the border of Fire.

Would they even make it along the outposts that were stationed across the borders? 

Sakura could not deny protocol once more, but she was relying entirely on the whims of a dangerous stranger. The situation called for an uneasy alliance, for Sakura would not be able to survive in Fire's evergreen jungles with her broken bones. For now, she had to rely on Obito. Another dry cough rattles her lungs, it forces Sakura to curl into herself to stop the painful contractions in her chest. Her throat is sore, recovering from the dryness that had settled in the adam of her throat, the scratchiness slowly driving her insane. Sakura lays her head onto the cold ground, random patches of grass wildly springing free from the dark soil. 

She thinks of the naked desperation on his ruined face, the indented wounds causing a ripple effect across his skin. They didn’t look like burn marks, she would know by now what they looked like. So how did he get them? Was he tortured? She quickly discarded the thought, it was treason to try and reason with a rogue ninja. 

If he was one.

 Sakura couldn’t afford to be placed on the same boat, she had a team to get back to. A family. Sakura had to do something.  

You can’t even look death in the face, the ice-cold voice foreign and mean spat at her. Sakura was able to suppress the flinch this time. Bits and pieces of herself were being remade, in ways she mourned and didn’t like at all.

 ☁☁

A bored, bitter and underpaid assistant sits uncomfortably in an old squeaking office chair residing in their ill light office within the Hokage tower. The room is cramped with file reports and stacks of both organized and unorganized papers as a large desk is consumed with smudges of red ink, stamps and open boxes. The shredder besides his desk had been hard at work since he had stepped into the office, a constant grating sound that pounded on his nerves and most likely his predecessors. Haato dully flickers through the reports he is tasked with sorting out and assessing before putting them back into untouched, tidy piles that go into sealed boxes. 

Basically, he is a glorified fact checker. Even that title is a stretch , Haato scoffs unhappily as dust kicks up from throwing a stack of boring folders into the small brown boxes meant for the Archive. The Archive was the nice way of saying it, it was an old neglected crypt that everyone threw their paperwork at. It was a waste bin with a purpose, Haato loved to call it the Trash Pit, where everything goes to die. The moldy dark crypt was where all military documents were sent before finding the shelves to rot in. Hardly anyone ever used it, unless the Hokage specifically needed to read old mission reports and outdated information, which they hardly ever did, because all the important information was kept on their desks and then properly disposed of. Other than this, the Archive also held birth and death certificates, shinobi registration data within the village alongside any civilian matters that the Hokage had to keep an eye on. So the Archive since its founding had become saturated with useless, empty material. 

It made Haato’s job all the more mind-numbing and painful. He went on to reach for the next stack of unimportant information he has yet to scan over and stamp according to which document it was slated for. Once, when he had been green and driven with purpose to create change Haato had requested for a better organizational system. The harsh and brutal dismissal quickly killed all hopes he had for bringing change. It had been pointless to ask the higher-ups to have a more organized system since it’s what he was paid for. A genin-level salary for a shinobi corps member responsible for organizing the information system. It would have been laughable, but for Haato it was disillusioning. Konoha didn’t appreciate him enough, it had chewed him up and spat him out just like all the rest. He should know, he stamps the death certificates. This job had opened his eyes to how replaceable he was. How futile it was to try and overcome the system, because as far as he could tell, no one had. The flaring bitterness overcame him during the long stretches of monotony at times, but what other work could Haato commit to in his aging years? 

Self-loathing steadily ruining another soulless day of his, Haato flickers absentmindedly through the profiles he had been given impassively today. A never-ending stack of papers that would never see the light of day again. He should have been the Hokage with all the paperwork he does, Haato snorting harshly at his own thoughts while rolling his eyes as he continues to sort stacks of paperwork into more organized stacks that no one but him would appreciate. Haato would be the last set of eyes to ever lay upon sets of paper that got treated better than he did. Haato pushes down the resentment and continues. It’s mindless work. His absentminded guidance to stamping, sealing and then discarded folders and papers to put into bland brown boxes began to take over again. Until a slightly thicker than normal folder lands in front of him. The lightbulb flickers, alerting him to change it soon, which annoys him. Haato darkly curses under his breath as he sharply shoots the shitty fluorescent lightbulb a withering glare before opening the tan manilla folder in front of him.

He is greeted with the profile of a fairy looking creature, a youthful girl who had recently graduated from the Academy. Haato recognizes the pride, the nativity of thinking they were going to change the world and make it a better place with their service. He sees it in the sparkle of her wide jade eyes and cheeky dimples. Her bouncy smile as a prideful sheen makes her more outstanding due to her unique features. Haato quickly glances over to the folder's name. 

Haruno Sakura.  

Then he sees the pile in which he had grabbed it from. 

It unsettles him for a very brief moment due to the rarity of such a casualty during peace times before he exasperatedly sighs, reaching out to the large red ink pad that comes with a worn-down stamp. Haato faintly remembers having a fun time when he graduated from the academy, but then he got slotted into the sea of genin corps and had never progressed much from there. Giving up on the hopes of ever progressing he had settled into office work, hoping to find a different sort of purpose. Haato had mistakenly thought he was jaded then, but years of working at a monotonous job such as this had killed any youthful hopes he had for his future. 

What a shame, Haato thinks as he looks at the profile picture of Haruno Sakura. Then he roughly stamps the KIA sign over the sugar-sweet smile framed in her profile, watching the red ink seep wetly into the paper, not even giving it time to dry as he already flits his attention to the next one. Haato closes the file and proceeds to move on with his day. 

There isn’t much thought given after that.  

☁☁

Obito uses the kunai to begin digging a shallow hole into the fertile ground, hung corpses hidden from plain sight now that night had fallen. He had noticed her growing discomfort at the liberally displayed bodies and had promptly scouted for areas for them to rest for the night. The sound of dirt hitting against the ground made her think of gravesites. Maybe he was planning on ditching the dead weight. 

“Why are you digging?” Sakura rasps, prodding for possible clues as to why they have stopped. Obito pauses for a moment to glance at her. Tilting his head, he looks puzzled by what she is asking. Her wavering heart beats out an unsteady rhythm, an apology ready before Obito speaks. 

  “This is a common technique to use when starting a fire and not wanting to be noticed. You see this?” He asks, Sakura is propped up against the tree as he points his kunai towards the narrow hole filled with pieces of dry wood. “ Once everything is burned, it is easier to cover it up since you built the hole. To reduce smoke, you also should try to stick with dry wood rather than random debris or wet wood, which can create loud noises. This is a very common technique.” 

 Sakura's ears burn at the indignation. Does he think she is dumb? Feeling his heavy focus drill into her head, she looks up at him to once again see how puzzled he looks. She grits her teeth, nerves sparking despite trying to play calm. 

“Wait one moment.” He says, stretching up to stand. Sakura notices how tall he is, but that could be because she is resting upon the tree. She waits a few minutes, straining her ears to hear anything in the woods before she strikes. With renewed urgency, urging her trembling hands to still, she lifts the kunai to the dull unwashed strands of her sand-crusted locks and begins to cut as inconspicuous as she can. Taking the long strands of hair from the back of her scalp, Sakura devises that this should be enough to send a message and leave behind a possible trail. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough to create a sign in the woods of her presence. Collecting the stiff strands of hair in her clumsy grip, she tries to create a knot to tie it all together.  

Her heartbeat pounds like a drum, nervously biting her chapped lips to will her twitchy hands to obey her so she can create the tight knot. She needs to leave some trace of her behind, to prove that she is alive. In case a search team is deployed. The first attempts don’t go well, causing the tremors in her hand to increase. 

Damn it! Sakura thinks, glancing up rapidly between her failed attempts. He could be coming back at any moment. 

Her hands continue to shake as she hisses in anger, fingers too clumsy to do a basic knot. Sakura unconsciously bites her lip hard, copper exploding against her tongue. The pain finally allows her to loop the thin strands of hair together. A small smile graces her face, as she looks around one more time to reach behind the tree to place her hair around what feels like rock. 

A violent crunch of broken bones rings out against the camp ground. Uncertainty floods her system as she immediately makes eye contact with Obito. Did he see? Does he know? Without fire, Sakura can barely see Obito in the dark but the longer she looks at him the more she adjusts. She notices that in his gloved hands is a dead crow. Obito then decides to say an odd thing. 

“Don’t pay attention to the crows,” Obito warns her, “all of them are liars.”

☁☁

Their feet hardly touched the ground, soaring through the winds with covert urgency. They had no need to talk to one another, their heart beat to the same rhythm and they drew breath with the same pair of lungs. A monster with many heads, there was no beginning or end to their consciousness. The camouflaged trio hardly spoke a word to one another, the mission all on their minds. Weaving deceptive circles and confusing arcs to throw any potential trackers, they had made it within an appropriate time frame. Not too soon to be linked to Konoha but not late enough where the situation could spiral out of control.  

It had taken them five days to get to Wave. 

Soon, they would need to take rest and form an official plan. Wave hardly hosted any shinobi, which made their jobs both simple yet tedious. They would not have to fear being scouted by other foreign entities if their information was still relevant and civilians would be easy to spot beforehand. All commissioned masks were discarded, it would stand out too much in the barren environment. Familiar smells of death met to greet them, the night skies were leached from color to reflect the somber, grim mood that had seemed to penetrate the very land itself. The grass was dry and yellow, a mixture of skinny and large trees scattering the open fields. Their village could hardly be called that, the shacks that hosted the starving were losing their structure. Trading had suffered, but the development of the bridge would have fixed all of that. 

Mockingbird killed the train of thought, it was not his place to think further upon things that were of no importance to him. Looking at his mute comrades, Mockingbird flashes covert hand signs to slow down. They had been circling the village for an entire day, memorizing the rundown dirt trails that wove itself into ruined districts that had fallen to shambles. His teammates immediately flashed before him, bored.

“Are you sure the Hokage said this mission was of the utmost importance?” Cricket yawned, pretending to pick their ear as they hunched forward. Mockingbird opted to not bite the bait, as Cricket’s sole purpose in terms of socializing was to piss off his teammates. Despite how grating his presence could be, Cricket was an amazing infiltration and espionage artist. 

Mockingbird glanced at the third member of his team, Turtle. 

“We are a clean-up crew.” Turtle calmly states, their voice modulated and hair hidden underneath a hood to obscure any sense of identity. Piercing blue eyes, contacts most likely, remained on him as Mockingbird shifted slightly to show his disapproval. It was not wise to be so blunt with what they were sent out to do.

“It doesn’t matter what we are,” Mockingbird reminds them, tattoo burning underneath the commissioned wraps of bandages and fabric, “we do what we are ordered and nothing more.”

Cricket looked displeased with his bland order while Turtle retained an airy calm. Mockingbird closely watches their expressions, in case he needs to report back to the Hokage of any negative sentiments or possible allegiances. Disapproval within the Hokages elite guard was unacceptable and Mockingbird would put an end to any obstacle facing the head of their village. 

“You need to have some fun,” Cricket drawled, poking Mockingbird's shoulder, “being such a hard-ass all the time must be boring.” 

Mockingbird flares his nostrils.   

“You will collect the deed.” Mockingbird ordered Cricket, perhaps out of pettiness, whose bored face never seemed to change despite the seriousness of the situation.  

“You will make sure that all bandits in the area are dead, and begin to dispose of the bodies. Leave no trace, there shouldn’t even be a wisp of evidence behind that ninja were ever here.” Mockingbird tells Turtle, who is already flickering away. 

“I will inspect the bridge, if there is any chakra residue I will notify both of you immediately. Go to your posts, update me with whatever information springs up. We are running against the clock.” 

With a lazy salute, Cricket turns on his heel and walks to the edge of the thinning woods.