#Fū's personality would be his nightmare

[kikaichuno]

The only eventuality where Shino would come remotely close to tolerate someone like Fū would be for the simple reward of meeting Chomei, a massive and powerful bug. Otherwise he wouldn't want to be in a hundred miles radius of Fū's impossibly overwhelming presence.

[satan-chillin]

in this lifetime and the next

Zhou Zishu was no better during waking hours, sparing what he could in reminiscing about what he actually recalled from his random dreams of a faceless little girl. She was dressed in hues of blue, sometimes pink with a touch of red. Effortlessly, he filled out the blanks among her vagueness: dark eyes in the shape of almonds, a button nose, pinchable cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips; altogether, they would crinkle adorably when her face lit up with a beam or when she stuck out her tongue in impertinence.

Albeit on a young girl’s image, those were exactly two of Wen Kexing’s trademark expressions.

(Or, the times Zhou Zishu gets to witness how Wen Kexing handles children and catches extra feelings. ™)

Also available in Ao3

Despite Wen Kexing’s frivolity on matters that had been outside his two-decade revenge plot, in hindsight, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was good with children.

He raised A-Xiang on his own, in a place where he could have hardly taken care of his own barely adolescent self, and, all things considered, she grew up functional and eventually found a good man who cared and loved her. Soon, she would be a mother who wouldn’t let her children experience the same tough childhood that she had.

Zhou Zishu had seen Wen Kexing take care of the younger disciples, a couple of them orphans who had found their way in the Four Seasons Manor. Some were found by Wen Kexing the same way he had found A-Xiang, and while as the Manor Lord the last say would always be Zhou Zishu’s, there was of course no question of acceptance. He wasn’t heartless to drive away children in need of home and guidance, and he definitely didn’t have the heart to turn his back on what Wen Kexing considered important.

The first time he witnessed him interact with the youngest juniors, Zhou Zishu believed he was seeing a rare sight of Wen Kexing, the one capable of nurturing and caring selflessly for the vulnerable. He took them under his wing and let them follow him like a herd of chicks to his mother hen, instilling the fundamentals of values and discipline yet at the same time wanting to give them a chance in an unfettered childhood. He hadn’t had a proper one himself, he had said in that deceptively casual tone of his when he made a request to him to give the young ones half a day to spend in leisure alone. Zhou Zishu hadn’t been a child who played often—he was an odd kid—but he was a bit hurt that Wen Kexing had to ask this of him when he knew what the answer would be.

So, because he was a little frustrated and overwhelmingly happy at the tenderness and compassion Wen Kexing had for their disciples who might as well be their children at this point, Zhou Zishu flicked his forehead in reproach for needing to ask, before embracing him and inhaling the scent of his hair. They’ve never been good with words, that much was clear, but Zhou Zishu liked to think that they were making progress on that front. He still had a lot of things to learn about Wen Kexing, after all.

And about himself too, apparently, as Zhou Zishu came to realize one evening.

He woke up alone, and after wandering around the manor found Wen Kexing by the gardens carrying their newest unofficial recruit, a boy of almost five who seemed like a toddler given how small he was. Wen Kexing cut an ethereal image with his pale white hair under the moonlight, with a boy sleeping deeply in his arms as he hummed a faint tune.

Zhou Zishu had no idea how long he was standing at a distance, mesmerized at the serenity of the sight and sound. Wen Kexing turned to him with a curve of a smile on his lips, gesturing mildly at his burden. Zhou Zishu approached him as if in a trance, led by an ache that he dared not examine. Not yet, anyway.

“A-Chen can’t get back to sleep,” Wen Kexing murmured once Zhou Zishu was close enough to admire how natural he was with a slumbering child. “Nightmare.”

Zhou Zishu was half-tempted to ask whether he was woken up by similar reasons as well but settled with silence. Any words now would be poor enough to break this moment. He glanced at the boy’s unruly hair and did not resist the urge to smooth it down gingerly. How peculiar that he hardly felt self-conscious the longer Wen Kexing watched him, watched the gesture, that soft, fond smile of his not leaving his face.

He followed as Wen Kexing wordlessly led the way to one of the juniors’ shared quarters. Gently, as if he had done it several times, he laid the boy down and tucked him in without rousing him.

It was a sedate pace, with Wen Kexing’s arm wounded around his, on their trek back. Zhou Zishu had no notion of the late hour, which, while knowing they both would have another early day ahead, he frankly didn’t care about. If he decided to pull him towards the direction of the same garden they came from, Wen Kexing would happily follow him, that he knew. Though with the full moon pleasantly out, Zhou Zishu had no idea who would be leading who, especially when he had the feeling of a man bewitched by an unearthly creature in white.

“Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu whispered, pausing to hold Wen Kexing’s hand to his lips in reverence. “Lao Wen.”

“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing whispered in return, none of his usual note of teasing. “A-Xu, let’s go to sleep.”

Gladly, Zhou Zishu let himself get lured away in the night.

...

They were quite known around town at this point; those two young masters from the local manor, as they were generally called, or the Manor Lord and the Second Master from a couple of traders who had dealt with them personally twice or thrice and knew them by their names. To the wizened elderly who lived for years in town and who did know better, they were dearly known as the xīn hūn fū fù.

Wen Kexing thrived in the odd bits of friendships he formed, from the tavern owner to the traveling peddler. He was a novelty, with his striking appearance of long white hair that contrasted against his dark eyebrows, the jut of his cheekbones, the cute button of his nose, and the fullness of his lips that Zhou Zishu had taken the time to familiarize with. A face Wen Kexing deemed once a treasure from the gods.

Zhou Zishu must have amassed a huge amount of good karma in his last life to be the blessed person to see it every day the moment he opened his eyes in the morning and when he closed them at night.

He cleared his throat, hoping he wouldn’t appear shameless to ogle at him in broad daylight among the present light traffic of people. The unhealthy amount Zhou Zishu spent on staring at Wen Kexing recently was a tad concerning, not to mention that he honestly had no idea what brought it on.

“A-Xu?” Rubbing a finger on his wrist, Wen Kexing leaned closer than was appropriate, imploring. “Is there something wrong?”

Whatever excuse Zhou Zishu might have given would fall short. To his luck, Wen Kexing looked past him, his attention abruptly captured.

There was a little girl by the post, hunched into a ball by herself and was close to unnoticeable. Wen Kexing was crouching by her side in an instant, coaxing her to speak with his kind murmurs of encouragement. Zhou Zishu felt useless standing there, not even sure what to do with his hands. In the next minute, short arms were reaching for Wen Kexing, and he obliged with lifting her to his level.

“A-Xu, this little guniang is A-Li,” he introduced. “A-Li, that’s A-Xu. You can call him da-ge instead of uncle because that makes him feel old,” he added cheerfully.

Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. I’m not the one with white hair,” he groused. A-Li, with her small fist, reached for a stray lock of Wen Kexing’s hair and held it in wonder, still sniffling. It was incredibly adorable, and as quick as a blink did the memory of that dream-like evening drifted at the forefront of his mind.

Seemingly catching himself, Zhou Zishu gestured silently at the teahouse behind them so A-Li could be seated. Wen Kexing cajoled her into speaking about what happened by cooling the steaming baozi and tea she was fed. It wasn’t long until she was talking about getting separated from her mother around the market that was merely two streets away.

A-Li had taken an immediate liking to Wen Kexing, hardly lacking in questions once her curiosity overtook her shyness. Wen Kexing listened to her patiently, finding the stories of a roughly six-year-old interesting. It helped put her mind at further ease before they went searching for her mother.

Zhou Zishu wished he could say the same, wished he could say that he wasn’t distracted instead by the way Wen Kexing smoothed A-Li’s hair, his slender fingers expertly looping on her braids and rearranging them neatly. Zhou Zishu could imagine him doing the same for A-Xiang all those years ago, perhaps not as deftly from a much younger Wen Kexing who kept tangling her hair on the comb and with A-Xiang protesting when he had pulled too hard.

Unbidden, a different image presented itself in his head—or not so different, he supposed, not when it featured Wen Kexing but this time there was a different little girl in teal whose dark hair he lovingly combed and braided. Once done, she’d smile that familiar impish smile that spelled trouble and… and…

Zhou Zishu blinked, shaken out his reverie by Wen Kexing’s voice that told him they better start looking for A-Li’s mother before sundown. A-Li refused to part from Wen Kexing, hence her tiny hand clutching his as they walked. She was an observant child than expected, however, and had mistaken Zhou Zishu’s lingering stare in their joined hands as something else. She grasped Zhou Zishu’s palm, determinedly keeping him to her opposite side despite her wariness of him.

Touched at her consideration, who was he to deny her? And how could Zhou Zishu deny himself this peculiar but pleasant sensation that wormed in his chest upon realizing that it was something he could get used to?

It would remain in his thoughts, brewing for hours since their successful return to the manor, and by then Zhou Zishu would begin to have a semblance of understanding at the particular sentiment that tended to well up at the idea of Wen Kexing and children.

Later, there would be another silent inquiry on what was preoccupying him in the form of fingers intertwining with his. Zhou Zishu would rather reach from behind Wen Kexing, making a place for himself by his shoulder, against his skin a promise of an answer soon.

...

It was the dreams that caught him off guard, disjointed as they were that Zhou Zishu initially believed they were random images in his head as he slept, until they started to create an outline of a pattern.

There was always a child in his dreams.

The first occurrence could be explained by the recent incident with A-Li, and, sure enough, she was also there, merrily playing with another girl whose back was on him. Zhou Zishu already forgot the randomness of that dream once he awoke.

The second one did not have A-Li anymore, though the unknown girl was around, running across the yard that resembled the one in Four Seasons Manor. She was strangely distant from where he found himself standing, too far for Zhou Zishu to make out her features aside from her bouncing pigtail buns atop her head for every step she took.

When a similar scenario was shown to him for the third time, Zhou Zishu was surprised at the name that was at the tip of his tongue. He did not hear himself uttering it, though it was enough for the unknown girl to run towards him, anticipation building the closer she got. He tried not to be dismayed when he woke abruptly without seeing her face.

He was no better during waking hours, sparing what he could in reminiscing about what he actually recalled from his random dreams of a faceless little girl. She was dressed in hues of blue, sometimes pink with a touch of red. Effortlessly, Zhou Zishu filled out the blanks among her vagueness: dark eyes in the shape of almonds, a button nose, pinchable cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips; altogether, they would crinkle adorably when her face lit up with a beam or when she stuck out her tongue in impertinence. Albeit on a young girl’s image, those were exactly two of Wen Kexing’s trademark expressions.

It became a pastime of a sort, contemplating how Wen Kexing’s physical characteristics would look like on a younger appearance, leading him to remember Zhen Yan with an odd vividness. Ironically though, it wasn’t a memory of Zhen Yan that started to bleed into Zhou Zishu’s sleep—oh, the boy was almost identical to Zhen Yan, alright, but the shade of his eyes and the sternness that belied them were different. Different but familiar, a fact that had Zhou Zishu barely tempering down that powerful surge of clarity.

Both the girl and the boy were the perfect images of what his subconscious thought his and Wen Kexing’s children would look like—and Zhou Zishu yearned, had been for a while. He yearned as strongly as he had yearned for his zhi ji and living a peaceful life with him. He must have been a greedy man, to want more than what was already given to him against all odds.

Zhou Zishu already had his mismatched family with Wen Kexing in the form of Chengling, A-Xiang, and by extension, Weining, and yet he couldn’t help but long for an addition that was purely theirs, impossible it might sound. Zhou Zishu wanted a daughter who would inherit Wen Kexing’s grins and a son who would be as stalwart as Zhou Zishu.

It turned into a wish buried deep down, and lest it threatened to overwhelm him, something he would only allow on the surface during the moments he was around to see Wen Kexing with Chengling, their bond turned comparable to that of a father and son than that of a master and student; or when Zhou Zishu was privy to watch Wen Kexing fuss around a heavily pregnant A-Xiang, not exactly faring better than Weining when it came to keeping A-Xiang on strict bedrest and monitoring her diet with her due date closing in, much to her utter frustration over her husband and older brother.

After A-Xiang bore triplets, Zhou Zishu’s wish stopped being a well-kept secret anymore. It would be forever burned in his mind, perhaps, the picture of Wen Kexing carrying the second of A-Xiang’s babes and lulling him to sleep, awed and adoring like he might cry in happiness.

“A-Xu,” he called for him with a notable giddiness, not even glancing up from the infant. “Look at this baobei. He’s the most well-behaved among his brothers. I think he likes my voice.”

Likely, Zhou Zishu mused. Wen Kexing did have the kind of voice that children find mellifluous. Zhou Zishu idly traced his finger on the babe’s forehead, to his wispy hair, then back to the line of his tiny nose until it was blindly grasped by small fingers.

“A-Xu, try carrying him.”

He was not given a chance to respond before the infant was passed to him. Though alarmed at the sudden transfer, he cradled the babe’s neck at the crook of his elbow with Wen Kexing’s support. Zhou Zishu froze when the baby hiccuped and sniffed, and promptly eased in relief when he did not react to him.

It was a tad difficult to scowl at Wen Kexing when he was looking at him in delight, with a wide grin and a wistful look in his eyes. Zhou Zishu grumbled half-heartedly, though there was a telltale heat creeping up his neck. Sighing, he rocked the babe slightly. He might as well practice knowing A-Xiang and Weining would require all the aid they could get in handling their three newborns.

Weining was the one who was run ragged taking care of his three sons and a recovering A-Xiang who had more complaints of getting distressed over a finicky husband than the three babes she had to feed thrice each. Weining was glad to have Chengling’s eager assistance in bathing and cleaning the three, and with his terrible job at babysitting—or generally keeping the three children entertained, really, else they would wail the house down and, consequently, their own father—the task was up to Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu. Wen Kexing could be quite creative, especially when it involved Senior Ye who had stopped by a week after the birth without knowing of it before coming. Suffice to say, Senior Ye was roped into assigned duties as well and was not able to escape them for another month.

By the end of each day, it would all be the five of them thoroughly exhausted, Chengling and Weining more often than not passed out. Zhou Zishu would also find himself fighting to keep his eyes open late at night before remembering that Sanyu was the one who would wake past midnight and would cry if not rocked in his bassinet.

Tonight, though, he was beaten to it by A-Xiang who stood by their cradles. Her previously wan complexion began to shift into a healthier one these days after several long rests. She hovered by her sons, gracing them with an affectionate smile. She might no longer be the childish young woman Zhou Zishu met years back, though traces of her youth remained, merged with the kind of maturity that was motherhood.

A-Xiang has been around with him for as long as Chengling, and Zhou Zishu couldn’t help but think that one of his children had grown up too fast in front of his eyes. Soon, it would be Chengling, and a part of him knew he would rue when that day came.

“Why are you still awake?” A-Xiang demanded once he caught him by the door. At his startled blink, she pulled him away to close the room behind her. “They’re fine. I made sure Sanyu won’t bother his brothers. And us.” She huffed. “If you say you don’t mind, I’ll kick you.”

“Okay.” Zhou Zishu cracked a smile. “And you? How are you feeling?”

“If A-Ning and gege have to tell me to sleep again, I’ll take my children and run away with them in the mountains.” She harrumphed. “They keep telling me to rest when they need it just as bad!” she exclaimed, her fondness and concern unmistakable. “Old man Ye at least is happy to see me up and about.”

“Yilian peed on Senior Ye once,” Zhou Zishu told her. “With his trauma, he’d rather pass the kid to the mother.”

A-Xiang glowed with pride before eventually bursting into fits of giggles that had him chuckling as well.

“That old man better stick around for a few more decades. I want to see his reaction first to your and gege ’s children!”

Zhou Zishu choked in his own spit, coughing harshly. A-Xiang took pity on him, patting his back somewhat roughly; smacking him, actually—and was that a triumphant smirk?

“What? You think I don’t notice you sighing longingly when gege’s holding a kid? I am very observant, Zhou-ge.” She reveled on his dumbfoundedness, beaming. “Besides, if it wasn’t for me, you two won’t be together.”

Zhou Zishu wouldn’t exactly attribute that to her, but whatever. “You noticed,” he muttered.

“You’re not being subtle anyway,” she said. “So why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?”

“Have children! Your silly boy will love brothers and sisters, you know.”

While he recognized A-Xiang as an adult, Zhou Zishu still preferred not to talk about this with her. He thanked whoever deity was out there for the dimness outdoors or he wouldn’t hear the end of it if she noticed his flush.

“It’s… complicated.”

“Is it?” A-Xiang retorted, unconvinced. “Huh. You’d think you two old men already have the babymaking down to an art—”

“A-Xiang!”

“—that it’ll come easier for you two.” In a fit of insightfulness, she asked, “Did gege tell you he doesn’t want them?”

“No. I mean, it’s not a subject we’ve discussed so I don’t know if it’s something he’d like to have or not.” There was a large possibility of Wen Kexing not wanting them, in spite of how he was with children in general. “And in case you missed it, we’re both men.”

“So far, the only problem I see is you’re not communicating with gege.” A-Xiang lifted a finger to his face before he could protest. “Now, about the obvious one, have you already searched for ways?” She must have seen how lost Zhou Zishu was feeling, given the way she stomped down her foot. “You’re telling me you have access to that armory but have not once thought of checking it for answers? Zhou-ge...”

Zhou Zishu raised his hands in surrender. “Alright. Alright, I see your point.” It was beyond seeing her point, in fact; so he was an idiot for not thinking about it before letting himself imagine various scenarios of illogical proportions, what about it? Zhou Zishu’s head was buzzing with possibilities.

A-Xiang tugged on his sleeve. “Talk to gege, okay? Don’t assume what he’ll say. You know him better, but I’ve known him longer. He’ll listen no matter what.”

...

In the end, it was Wen Kexing who sought him first, slipping next to Zhou Zishu in a late afternoon and laying his head to his shoulder. A bit of tilting and Zhou Zishu was nuzzling a head of white hair, his arm wrapping automatically around Wen Kexing’s back.

“A-Xu, do you think we’ll be good parents?”

“Chengling turned out alright, and A-Xiang isn’t so bad.”

Wen Kexing grinned lazily. “Chengling was already a sweet boy before he became our disciple first. A-Xiang… yes, she isn’t so bad.”

Zhou Zishu snorted. “I thought I’d hear a stellar compliment to the person who raised her. You did well with her, Lao Wen, now it’s her turn to do her best to her own children.”

“I did what I could for her then, but this time, if...” Wen Kexing trailed off, inching closer to Zhou Zishu that he was practically on his lap. “If I’m given a chance to raise another child, I'll give my all a thousandfold.”

There was no room in Zhou Zishu for doubt, though it warmed his heart to hear the words aloud. “We’ll have a spoiled kid, won’t we?” he asked lightly.

“That’s a given, of course. No child of ours should lack for something.”

“Ah, they’ll be a menace.”

Wen Kexing pouted. “A-Xu’s a tiger parent so he’ll handle their discipline, but you can’t stop me from pampering them with their father.”

“If they turned out to have your personality, get ready to deal with them. I have practice, but you don’t,” Zhou Zishu pointed out, tucking a lock of Wen Kexing’s hair behind his ear delicately. He paused with a thoughtful frown. “If it’s a girl and she inherits your features, I’m not looking forward to fending off suitors.”

“Who says you’ll fend them off alone? I’ll join you.” He made a grimace. “But if she turns out to be a great beauty because of you, we better prepare against a horde of—ow!”

Zhou Zishu swatted his thigh playfully, settling him comfortably on his lap. “Laying it a bit thick there, but yes. We won’t marry her off until she’s thirty.”

Wen Kexing nodded sagely. “And not until the person who wants her hand has proven their capabilities against the both of us.”

“Individually or together?”

“Both.”

“... She’ll be an old maid, Lao Wen.”

“And she’ll still be our daughter no matter what, A-Xu.” Gratified, Wen Kexing loosely wrapped his arms around Zhou Zishu’s neck. “But we can divide the responsibility equally if she has a protective brother. He’s going to be skilled in martial arts and leadership and beautiful like his father; strict when the situation calls for it but is a perfect gentleman like his other father.”

“Lao Wen.”

“Hmm?”

“You do realize we’ll be fending off nuisances on both fronts?”

In their present proximity, Zhou Zishu could see the manic gleam in Wen Kexing’s eyes at the prospect of, well, not so much of a fight but definitely a challenge. The faint glow of the setting sun reflecting off of Wen Kexing did not help one bit with Zhou Zishu’s overflowing endearment.

“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing called, touching Zhou Zishu’s forehead with his and leaving a hair’s breadth. “Since I met you again you make me wish for things I used to dare not even think,” he whispered. “So ask me.”

Zhou Zishu readily complied. “Lao Wen, will you have children with me?”

He took Wen Kexing’s smile for the answer that it was and closed the rest of the space between them. Zhou Zishu learned that he was an entranced man, in this lifetime and the next.

...

He could name each flower that bloomed all year in Four Seasons Manor, though at the start of spring there was a single flower in the shade of blue that Zhou Zishu did not recognize.

Soft, fragrant petals met his skin, and the scent lingered even as he threaded his fingers through Wen Kexing’s flowing mane of white.

Later, Zhou Zishu would dream of Wen Kexing surrounded by the very same blossoms, their smell and hues of blue mingling with white, and at a distance, the breeze carried the faint sound of children’s laughter.

[cyb-by-lang]

OSF AU - All the Little Children (7/?)

Part 7: Wherein we have a small time lapse, another terrible parent appears, and a pack of preteens consider preventative measures.

Content Warnings: Jerks threatening children, violence, aftereffects of child abuse.

Fū ran.

It wasn’t the way she liked to travel. It wasn’t even her third favorite way of getting around, not really, but she’d figured out fast that flying where normal people could see her was a bad idea. It was an even worse idea in Gray Terminal, where every fifth person was either one of Naruto’s informants or desperate enough to take a shot at her.

And one of Naruto’s clones had sent out the call.

“The others are in trouble!”

Fū didn’t get any more details than that. She knew Naruto had been spending more time with the ASL group—brothers, now—and trying to train them up for the next appearance of the evil old grandpa, and Gaara had too. Heck, she’d been planning on hunting down a bear and presenting it for dinner once everyone got back from stealing things.

Only something was wrong, and her boys needed backup.

A series of Naruto’s clones led her deeper and deeper into the dump, ducking past passive piles of trash that were probably older than she was. Every thirty meters, a puff of smoke or a pointing finger would let her know where she had to go. With Chōmei bouncing in the sling on her back, a knife in each hand, and a burning anger in her gut, Fū was ready for a fight.

A Naruto clone appeared out of nowhere, looking like a beggar. But no beggar had his birthmarks, stretching across each cheek. “Hang on, Fū.”

“What’s going on?” she hissed, even as she let him pull her through a more complicated route among the trash heaps.

“There’s like a million city guards there, not to mention a pirate crew,” Naruto’s clone whispered back, “and enough of ‘em have guns that we’re waiting on Gaara.”

Fū frowned. Naruto’s clones weren’t bulletproof. At times like this, a little detail like that was a lot more important than it should’ve been. Still, as she felt the slight roll of the dirt underneath them, she knew it couldn’t be that long before Gaara acted. He’d gotten a lot better at making “trained” fighters cry since they’d started really training together, because he didn’t want to ever end up being beaten up by Garp again.

Heck, that was why Fū had knives now.

“The original me is with them over there,” the clone went on. “So we’re gonna do this hard and fast, and on cue.”

Fū gave this some thought, then peeked out at the crowd surrounding their friends. With Ace and Luffy on the ground, and Sabo held in the air by one of the scruffy-looking pirate guys, Naruto didn’t have enough leeway just yet. Not with a gun pointed at his head.

“All right,” Fū said quietly, “but can I call dibs on the big guy with the busted teeth?”

“Bluejam?” The clone crouched under a piece of what looked like canvas. “We don’t care. Just don’t touch the big top hat guy. That’s Sabo’s dad, and we need to give him a piece of our minds.”

Fū nodded, stalking around the base of the trash heap. Wait, if she could get a good vantage point… Frowning in determination, she turned and started to slowly climb up the side of the heap like it was some kind of fortified hill. There was definitely enough junk here and there to count as enemy traps, but she still clambered right up to the top.

Naruto’s clone popped below her, but everything else was so loud that no one else would’ve noticed.

And though Fū hated it, she stayed still while Sabo’s jerk of a dad said all kinds of terrible things about Ace, Luffy, and Naruto. She tried her best to keep her eyes on the back of his head as he talked, even when one of the pirates hit Ace hard enough to splat blood almost a meter away. Even when Bluejam threatened to kill everyone.

“Sand Drizzle,” said Gaara’s voice, as his favorite jutsu material ripped its way out of the ground and grabbed everyone’s legs to keep them from moving.

While the sand flowed and the adults in the area wasted time asking questions or yelling, Gaara stepped forward from behind another mountain of trash with his hands making the Bird seal. The sand near a few people’s legs exploded in a shower of blood and bits, and Naruto, Ace, and Luffy could finally get to their feet as their captors were a lot more busy screaming.

“Nice timing, Gaara,” Naruto said amid the noise, before reaching up and idly swiping a spot of blood from his cheek. When he saw the mess, he flinched. “Shit, was that really necessary?”

“If people try to kill my friends, they die,” Gaara responded in a low voice. “It’s an easy choice.”

Fū stood up on top of the heap, barely holding back from recreating Chōmei’s wings. With one quick leap, she landed just next to Sabo’s shoulder as sand snaked up to encase all of the Bluejam Pirates and the city guards. He’d grown a little bit in the last few months, but only just barely reached her shoulder if she ignored his hat. But his shoulders were unbowed.

“Sabo, make them cease this at once!” Sabo’s father shouted, looking down at his son like he’d never seen him before.

“Gaara,” Sabo said, while Fū rested her hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to let them go?”

Gaara blinked slowly, his green eyes focusing in their direction. “Do I look like a merciful person?”

“No,” Sabo admitted, “but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to be.”

Ace, after concussing the pirates who’d been holding him and Luffy hostage, strode up to where Fū, Sabo, and Gaara were thinking. Naruto and Luffy followed in his wake, but Ace spoke first, “Sabo, you were gonna sacrifice yourself, weren’t you? When he threatened us just a second ago?”

“…If—If I could make sure you were all safe and free, I’d give up everything,” Sabo replied, looking up at what he could see of his father’s face. The man was almost entirely buried in Gaara’s sand by now, with his ears blocked and only his eyes and nose still showing. “I-I’d even go back to…him.”

“But you don’t have to!” Luffy latched onto Sabo’s waist, resting his chin against Sabo’s stomach. “Right?”

“No. Not ‘cuz of him, and not this guy either.” Naruto scowled. Naruto said in a low voice, glancing over at the captive pirate. “Bluejam’s the toughest pirate around here. So… Fū?”

Fū clenched her fists, walked right up to the big, smug jerk who’d been threatening to make Naruto and Ace and Luffy disappear, and kicked him square in the chin even through Gaara’s sand. Her second kick was a roundhouse that made Bluejam’s head whip around to the side, spitting more teeth he couldn’t really afford to lose.

It didn’t make her feel any better.

But she’d called the first attack. And no one hurt her friends.

“Don’t think he’s gonna be a problem anymore,” Ace said, scowling. He hefted his pipe. “But I can make sure they don’t follow us just as well as Gaara can.”

“Thorough of you,” said a totally new voice, which made all of them freeze. “But not necessary.”

All of them looked up slowly, to where a strange woman sat on an overturned mattress. She was dressed in a jacket and loose pants that didn’t look like they’d come from anywhere near Gray Terminal, with a sword hilt poking over each shoulder Her hair was jet-black and shoulder-length, unruly enough to almost cover the diagonal scar running across her face. Her expression was ice-cold, eyes glowing amber in the midday light, and the spiky-shelled creature on her lap had a glare that matched it. And three separate tails.

“Isobu!” squeaked three separate Tailed Beast voices.

“Kei-sensei?” Fū heard Naruto say, but as though from a long way off.

Fū trembled.

Gekkō Keisuke. The Tidal Blade. Butcher and war machine, and a living nightmare Shibuki had always told her to run from rather than fight. And she was already well within striking distance.