I stumble out of the house and hurry away but I don't get far before collapsing on my knees. My Father... my Father.

I'm choking and hyperventilating and panicking and my Father is the one who hired the ninja who killed Daisuke, who crippled Shun, who tore everything away from Sensei again.

I missed Daisuke.

I retch, sick to my stomach, but nothing comes up. My head is spinning and my heart is racing and I'm trembling and shaking and I can't get enough air and this can't be real this can't be real this can't be real. Everything is swirling and building up and it's all too much and the darkness is too great and everything just breaks.

My breathing slowly comes back under control as my mind fractures. Everything calms. The world settles down. A strange fog seems to descend upon me, at once obscuring my thoughts and providing a sharp kaleidoscope of clarity.

I missed team eleven.

I breathe in and out slowly. What had I learned from genjutsu? The mind was a powerful tool. What it believed... what it truly believed... was that mind's reality.

I wanted to see my team all together again.

Another breath, in and out. It's raining. The mud sullies my knees. I bow my head. The mud dirties my dangling hands. In and out. My hand's fumble along my weapon pouch for a long moment. It's full. In and out. The mud clings to me. I'm terribly dirty, stained with the earth. In and out.

Daisuke was dead.

In and out. I clutch a kunai, running a finger along its familiar edge before putting it away again. Shun was alive. Sensei was alive. I was alive. Daisuke wasn't coming back.

But we could go meet him.

Shun first. He didn't deserve to suffer any longer.

***

There was blood on my face.

The fact registers slowly as I sit in Sensei's dark hospital room, waiting for him to come back.

I raised a hand to my face and the fingertips come away red. I could feel it slowly drying on my face, cracking and flaking and turning to dust.

There was a rustle of curtains in the breeze and the sightest thump of somebody landing on the ground. I can only assume it's Sensei, returned from wherever he had gone in the night.

"Fuzen?" he sounds steady, very Sensei-like. So it was one of those days. "Sorry if you've been sitting here long. I just went to visit... y'know, a couple of stupid rocks."

Ah. So he went to Daisuke's grave. I can only assume he also went to his old friend's as well. And whoever else the poor boy's lost through the years; God knows the count was far too high.

No more.

Sensei walks slowly towards the bed, seeming to sense that something was off, something was wrongwrongwrong. I keep my head down, don't bother to stand from the chair and turn to face him. I know when he spots the blood.

There's a gasp and a faint moan of despair as he immediately assumes the worst. "No, no." His voice takes an eternity to reach my ears and make its way to my brain. When it does I slowly lift my head and lock my eyes with him. And then Sensei's hands are cupping my face, sifting desperately through my hair as he searches for a wound that was not there. "Oh God, Fuzen,  you're bleeding. Your father—you're bleeding, what did he—"

"It's not mine."

His hands freeze in their fruitless search and I know; I know that those three words have rocked his world, have twisted our future. The path was set now. All we could do was follow it.

"What do you mean, Fuzen?" he finally whispers. I blink slowly, lids heavy and no answer forthcoming.  "What do you mean?" Sensei's hands drop from my head to my shoulders, giving me a slight shake.

There's a long moment of silence, then, "We can all be together again."

"What?" I can hear the trepidation in his voice, I know that the knowledge is already there, deep inside his mind, peeling and tearing away the layers of denial.

I look up, and I can feel the glint of tears in my eyes. "We can all be a together again," I say. My voice is strange, ethereal; somehow both tremulous and convicted at the same time. Each word falls slowly, a hammer blow shaping my future, our future. "We can be together and happy."

"Oh God, Fuzen, what have you done?" the dread is apparent in his voice; he can't escape this dark shadow of foreboding.

I smile, desperate for him to understand. "It's going to be okay, Sensei," I assure him. "I'm fixing everything. It's all going to be okay."

"Fuzen." I look up into his eyes as he utters my name and he stiffens. He can see it there in my eyes, he can feel it there in his heart, and still he needs to ask.

"What have you done?"

The smile slips my face and a small frown replaces it. "I'm sorry, Sensei," I apologize. "I know it hurts right now. I know. So lonely. Always so alone. Why is it always you who ends up all alone?" His hands have fallen away from my shoulders as he stares at me, eyes pinned wide with the horror of life. "Not anymore, Sensei. No more."

"No," Sensei whispers. He says the word as though it will negate the world, negate the world and it's horrors and its hurts and its terrors and its pains, its unfairness, it's cruelty, it's indifference.

He says the word as though it will bring Shun back to life.

"I'm sorry it hurts right now. But tonight we'll all be together again. You'll see Daisuke and you'll see Shun and you'll see that old friend, brother, partner of yours. Don't worry, I'll come soon after," I give a small smile. "Won't keep you waiting too long."

Sensei stumbles backwards, unable to support himself. He lands awkwardly, knees folding beneath him as he kneels on the hospital floor.  Sensei raises shaking hands to his head, eyes unblinking, staring as he tries to shield himself from the world. He grips his hair, tears shining in glassy eyes. "No, oh God, oh God, no, no. Not again, not again," he begs under his breath. "Please, not again."

"It's okay, Sensei, it's okay," I comfort gently. "Don't cry. We're all going to be together and we're all going to be happy and we're all going to be okay."

Sensei looks up to me as I sit in the hospital chair, expression tortured. My expression softens as my heart does. "Oh, Sensei," I murmur, placing the kunai in hand across my lap. Sensei's eyes are drawn to the small movement. "Life has been so hard on you. No more."

"Shun," Sensei rasps.

"He's already waiting for you," I smile kindly. "Let's go meet them."

I slip out of the chair and kneel on the floor in front of Sensei, pressing my hand into his cheek. He stares at me, eyes agonized. Silence descends upon us.

"You're so young," he finally whispers. "You're  only sixteen."

"So were you," I point out.

Something in his eyes, in his soul, in his very being seems to shatter and break and fold in on itself and disappear. He suddenly pulls me in for a crushing hug, shaking violently. His tears fall like the blood that had dripped from Shun, like rain washing me clean. My hand clenches around the kunai, ready to deliver one final act of mercy.

The only sound that leaves my lips is a trembling gasp of shock as a blade, held by Sensei's hand, sinks into my chest.

Sensei pulls back, one hand supporting my head as he slowly lowers me to the floor, my legs shifting to the side, out from underneath as he brings me down. The floor is cold and it's hard to draw air.

Sensei's grief is raw and ugly. I'm staring at him, both shocked and betrayed and incredibly, incredibly thankful. I raise a quivering hand to his face and touch his cheek lightly, ignoring the tears that coat my fingertips and wash away the red stains they had held. "Thank you," I breath out. My hand falls back, curling on top of my stomach.

His tears are not silent. They do not fall down his face and leave no trace. His sobs are loud, clawing at his throat and ripping from his mouth and tearing through the air as his shoulders heave and mouth twists and nose runs and tears carve paths from his eyes.

I draw in a shaky breath as something, some darkness that had been festering and rotting in my mind for far too long, unclenched and released its hold on me. Sensei freed me. The kindest man I ever knew.

My eyes shift from Sensei's face to the ceiling. I somehow stare beyond the tiles. "I can see him," I whisper to Sensei. "Daisuke, I mean."

Sensei's hand cups my face and tangles through my hair. "He had the brightest smile. His laugh—do you remember his laugh? It broke through the world like a bird's song in spring. He was so beautiful."

Strength is slipping from me.

"You were the best," I falter, voice failing for a moment. "You were more than we could have ever asked for."

"I failed you," Sensei cries. "I failed you all."

"No," I reassured him. "Never. You were always the victim of this world."

There was no pain, oddly enough. I was aware of the blade sticking from my chest but it didn't quite hurt.

"It's always you," I can't seem to draw the breath necessary to laugh at the irony, at the cruelty. "It's always you who's left behind. I'm so sorry, Sensei."

Sensei rubs his thumb over my cheek, eyes staring and scanning as though he could memorize my face.  "They're waiting for me," I stare up, knowing that Sensei couldn't see what I did. "I hope they forgive me for everything. I guess it's time I stopped making them wait on me."

Fresh tears pour from Sensei's eyes and I turn my gaze to him once again. "We'll be waiting on you," I whisper. "But take your time. Don't rush. We'll understand, y'know. But don't take too long...

"Slowpoke."