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immoralimmortals · 6 months ago

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A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 53: Mr. Fear (2)

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Chapter Summary: Pain takes his role of God very seriously.

Author's Note:

The warnings for this chapter are religious discussions (alluding to Christianity in particular), suicidal thoughts, and Christmas-related depression. The song for this chapter is Mr. Fear by SIAMES. Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day is also mentioned.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You know

I'll never disappear

Now get me out of here

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Her leg still hurts from Hidan laying on it for so long. It’s been a couple of days since then… She’s starting to get concerned.

The woman swallows as she lays herself backwards on her favorite couch— that is, backwards from how she goes to bed, head on the opposite side, farther from the door. She massages the wound underneath the blanket, notes how the stitches— unlike medical grade sutures— have not yet decayed. They’re metallic, like staples but instead able to curve in and out of her body like thread. Eventually, she gives up with a sigh and pulls her hand from out of the covers. Nothing more she can do, at least right now.

...

She stares up at the ceiling, hears a distant clock tick. Tick, tick, tick. Time has been passing. Is that bad? Is it good? She’s still alive… She managed to still be alive.

The woman lays on the couch and feels the stagnation of time, exists less within her body and more sees herself out of it. She imagines how she must appear— small, cozy even. Her undone hair sprawls on the pillow, and her eyes seem tired but peaceful. One thing she doesn’t catch onto, though, is that the more she thinks, the more her fingers begin to fidget into one another, tug at the edges of her nails.

She did a good thing, and she’s paying for it. Fucking Christmas… That’s when it all started, in a way; at least when it started getting worse. It’s clearer now, giving it space and time...but that’s really when a downhill slope started to become a tumble into hell. Man…

Does she tell them?

...

No. She shouldn’t.

Telling Konan was already too much, if it’s making her heart so heavy.

She has a long way to go.

The woman closes her eyes and tries to think of something else, only half succeeding. She dismissed it a bit at first mention— honestly far too easily— but the leader...he’s a god…?! In her mind’s eye she sees him, the exact way he first met her: A hole in a tree that opened like a mere optical illusion. Inside, two orbs tinted purple with rings getting smaller and smaller until they were dots centering his eyeballs. They stared down, up so high as he sat on a wooden knot, perched like something halfway between a king and a predatory animal. He got close to her level and whispered she was free of wrongdoing— of sin, of necessary guilt, of danger. It’s nearly impossible how similar his traits are...to…

Well. You know who. The big guy upstairs.

...

Goddammit, she’s thinking about Christmas again. What did she do in a past life to deserve this? Did she kick Santa as a baby when someone put her on his lap? She exhales, long and loud in hopes of releasing the wistfulness penting up in her chest. It doesn’t get rid of it, though. In fact, it brings someone else around:

“Takara-chaaaaan!”

Her eyes crack open and he’s exactly as close to her face as he sounded like. Even mere inches away, the performer can’t see into the single hole for Tobi’s eye; he doesn’t give her long to try harder.

“Whatcha doin’, laying down like that?! It’s the middle of the day! Come on, lazybones, let’s go outside again!”

An arm overtop the blanket is taken and tugged, but it remains lax in Tobi’s grasp. It flops down when he lets go, brushing knuckles against the top of the living room rug. She frowns unwittingly, pondering her choices or lack thereof. She’s developed a limp recently, on the leg that Kakuzu had to stitch up, and it’s gotten worse and worse each time they’ve roughhoused in the snow… If it doesn’t get a break, it may mean a more permanent kind of damage, she fears.

“I’m sorry…” the performer begins, as she often does with an apology. “I—I’m not feeling very good. I...pulled a muscle. Or something.”

Tobi tilts his head with a small “oh?” from behind his mask. “Pulled it? Doing what?”

“I—” Oh...she can’t blame him. This conversation is hard enough as it is. How can someone with no face still resemble a sad puppy, leaning over her like that? “Don’t know. I just need rest.” And the woman closes her eyes in hopes that’ll get the conversation to end… However, the cloth on top of her begins to pull away...

“Maybe I can help—”

“NO!” She sits straight up in a panic. There’s no way he can see her injury— no WAY! Black gloves back off, palms raised as the man jolts away from overturning her covers. Then it hits her exactly what she’s done...how over the top that reaction is for what she wants Tobi to think is happening.

“Shit—” No, no don’t even say THAT out loud! “I— I’m sorry. I’m...cranky. I’m sorry.”

“Takara-chan…?”

“Please let me sleep. I— I don’t want to be...like this...anymore.”

And though this time there is no interruption when she turns away and closes her eyes, that doesn’t mean this conversation is over. Obito stares at her a moment— or rather, several until her facial muscles finally begin to relax— and he begins to decide what it is that needs to be done.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Just trust in me, my dear

No cure is coming near

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You spent a lot of time with her yesterday.”

Konan doesn’t let her steeled expression waver as Madara stands in front of her closed door, even when he uses his real voice. “More than usual,” she stipulates. “Maybe ten minutes, at most.”

“An hour if you include that time watching us in the snow,” the mastermind adds.

She narrows her eyes ever so slightly. “I suppose so,” she admits. “I figure this fact is of use, somehow?”

“Indeed,” the orange mask nods. “What did you talk about? Her attitude has shifted since then.”

...

“She...inquired about angels. I explained my status as Pain’s right hand.”

“And she said nothing of herself?”

Konan treads lightly, unsure of what this information is for, how he intends to utilize it. “She mentioned angels were an important symbol of a holiday. A holiday around this time of year.”

He snaps his fingers in realization. “Of course—! Konan— I have a task for you...since it seems you’re the one with a foot in the door.”

What can she do but accept?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

How long you'll call me insincere?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“She’s been this way all day…” Kisame murmurs, just around the corner of the living room and its accursed, girl-holding couch. “Itachi-san…? Do you think…?”

The named man exhales lightly through his nose, dark eyes gazing downward. Could she be in another decline? Another of these bouts of mental illness? But she can talk fine… She just seems...downtrodden. “Perhaps. But it isn’t the same.”

She can hear them— of course she can, they’re hardly out of sight— and she wonders if that’s on purpose. But no matter their intent, can’t tell them the truth. It’s too embarrassing at this point. It’s stupid...but it’s not. It’s so easy...but it isn’t. She WANTS it to not matter...but it does.

So it’s just easier to not confront it at all.

She closes her eyes. Maybe she can just sleep until it’s spring again. How’d that song go? It was about death and waiting until things feel better… Maybe if she tries to remember it, it’ll help her pass through this...

“I agree,” Kisame continues. And goddammit, the woman’s too nosy to not open back up her eyes and continue to snoop in. “Itachi…?”

There’s a long, long stretch of quiet. Being nosy is a trait as easily punished as it is rewarded. She can imagine anything and everything in the absence of talk. But then, an interruption:

“Ah, Konan-san…”

“May I speak with you a moment?”

“Sure.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I'm not here to fulfill your parody

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She can’t quite decide if engaging with it is really helping or not. Either way, these memories are hard to let go.

She HAS to get up sometime, if for nothing than to go to the bathroom and remind people she’s alive. It takes a while to work up to, the awareness of the very likely possibility that someone will stop her, talk to her, and she won’t know what to say. Her mind attempts to work through what to do if that happened, but it isn’t enough to calm her down.

...

She’s hungry.

...

She remembers the times she failed to die and why.

...

She gets up.

The sun is down, early as it does in this season, and candlelight guides her way.

...

She walks in the kitchen. There’s a loaf of bread in a paper bag. She unties it and sees there are no further pre-cut slices. The knife glistens, mirrors a warped reflection of her face as the handle is held in her numb hand.

The knife goes in...across...and out of the food, and she manages to only use the blade for that. She didn’t have any urges, these few days, but the memories are enough to make her worry, to think "just in case"...

A single slice of bread is set on the plate, and she listens to the world she’s in. Silence. It may be late enough that everyone is asleep. She didn’t see Deidara curled up nearby as she often does at night, but he has no obligation to be there. She convinces herself she should be happy if he’s given up on her and started to sleep alone in his own bedroom. That’s what would be the selfless thing to want.

Anyway. Point is...maybe she can finally have a real moment to herself as a moving, living human being. Maybe being alone yet with freedom will help. She exits the kitchen and walks towards the dining table—

A gasp, one she soon hopes couldn’t be heard.

A strike cuts her heart as she sees him. Orange hair, headband around it...even if he’s not facing her, it’s unmistakable. The man who claims to be God, who has so much in common with the one that haunted her whole life. He’s sitting there, all on his lonesome, apparently. As she stands frozen in place, that position of his continues; maybe he doesn’t know she’s here…

What a relief.

The woman tiptoes back to where she came from, planning to find another place to be alone.

...

And then she’s back. She doesn’t want to be alone anymore, not at all it turns out. She just wants the absence of effort that interaction requires. She’s willing to give it a shot, and hopefully he will understand. As unlikely as that would be, she’s just that desperate. You can only try.

Foolish mortal she is, even after considering the consequences, the sinner cannot keep from the allure of a god.

Wordlessly, she steps into the room, just behind the Akatsuki leader, a woman's shadow falling over his back. A pause is allowed, so he may dismiss her if he so desired. And then, as best as she can, she tries to sit down and eat without shame, like she would have if he wasn't there.

He doesn’t speak as she sits at the perpendicular side of the table to him. He glances over...she keeps her eyes down...and then his purple-gray targets go back forward. That's all there is to it. He looks ahead as if he sees nothing; if he’s a god, does he see everything right now? Is that what he's doing...? Konan said he was everywhere, or at least teased that sort of ability. ...It’s not her business. The less the stranger has to think about it, the better. She doesn’t want the wrath of a second god; The first one, after all, evidently found it suitable to make her his plaything.

Another bite, another bite...and she’s done. One last swallow and then follows an exhale of relief.

“May we speak?”

His words don’t feel as abrupt as it should be, even after being aside him so long without a single comment prior. Maybe the woman’s more numb than she thought she was. “Y-...yes, sir?”

He doesn’t look away from whatever it is, whatever is secretly in his vision as they, in person, are locked on a spot on this wooden slab they share. Even so, with the world on his shoulders, somehow he makes time just for her. “I suspect something may be...amiss.”

...

“What tipped you off?”

“Your silence,” he says. “Your stagnation.”

Ah, shit. Of course it was obvious.

...

“I don’t feel very good,” she half lies.

“Then I ask you to share your pain with me.”

Her eyes widen with surprise. He doesn’t shift, not at all, even as he states something so inviting, so...personal. Maybe she misunderstands…?

“My leg hurts,” she answers, being literal. “I’m just trying to rest, is all.” But her interpretation was right the first time.

“That isn’t all, is it?”

...

“Miss Takara...do I intimidate you?”

...

“No,” she lies entirely.

“I wouldn’t blame you if I did.” It is increasingly apparent he is allowing her to try again.

...

“Yes.” … “But...it’s not your fault.”

Well, that’s unexpected. He blinks, finally. “Oh?”

...

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

...Ah. He had hoped too soon. His eyes close. “As you wish.”

...

Perhaps that’s his cue that she’s free to go—

“Before you leave—”

Ah shit, she thinks, freezing mid-stand from her seat.

“Keep an awareness,” he bids. The only motion he makes in the whole interaction happens; he dips his head ever so slightly. “Whether you believe it or not in your heart...remember this in your mind:...”

And now he pins the Rinnegan right at her, full attention, nothing else he'd rather see.

“I will only show you mercy.”

Words intended for kindness just make her gut twist, but she can’t tell him that. Her head's already under the water. “Thank you, sir.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

How come my song becomes unreal?

You never understand my melodies

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wake me up

When September ends

The song is mumbled on the back of her tongue again. There’s no end or beginning. It's worse than an earworm; those only get words or notes stuck in your head. This is one of those times you can feel the song go all the way to your bones. It's etching into them, piercing with the full intent of melancholy and grief for what was. She imagines the way she looks now, and it's not as quaint as last she did this mental exercise. What she is within now is as messy as her apartment on the days she couldn’t get out of bed. Only made sense; she’s hardly gotten up this week.

Ring out the bells again

Like we did when spring began

Wake me up

When September ends

It’s been silence. Not even just quiet, but— no one. Nothing. It’s a ghost town. No sounds, no talking, no doors open or shut. She only just noticed, but it's been this way for a while. Maybe even as long as she's been thinking of that song.

...Is she asleep?

That possibility finally enough for her to get up once again. She looks out into the hallway, peeking from her room of refuge. A look side to side... Nothing.

Is this...

...A dream?

She steps up the stairs, and so far the old pictures of strangers who used to know this home are the only faces she sees.

“Hello?”

It’s empty.

Knock knock. “Hidan...?”

The doorknob wiggles— unlocked. A creak of the door and his room is empty.

Knock knock. “Kakuzu...?”

Empty.

“Kisame?”

“Itachi?”

Knock knock, knock knock.

“Deidara?”

“Sasori…?!”

Open door, open hatch. Creek, creek.

“Konan?!”

Even hers...it’s empty.

And what does that leave? Is it worth it? There’s only one room remaining, and it’s looming right behind her back.

She turns around, and her heart is racing. Where is everyone?! If THIS room is empty too— if even the Leader has gone and she hasn’t noticed—!

And as she reaches for that final knob...her fingers twitch. It’s like a force field is there. Everyone else she has at least some level of report with...at least SOME semblance of a relationship so as to justify entering their personal space, at least peek her head in.

With the man named after suffering itself...she has no such thing except his word.

There’s a dizziness in her head. Sometimes...when you stop experiencing the world— in the way fleshed out and full, good or bad, as social humans do—...different things in your mind are disproportionate. There could be an easy explanation of no one being around, but nothing feels reasonable with her anxiety. There could be a reason she sees shadows, hears something besides herself...but it feels so real…

Cough!

Like the ring of a bell, the door ahead calls, beckons her curiosity. Her hand finally lunges forward to pull the knob—

And someone else gets to her first.

“Miss Takara.”

Caught red handed by the leader himself. Those circles of orbit under his stricken headband stare. She begins to stutter. Shit. Shit! Oh SHIT!

“You’re not in trouble.” And to prove it, he lets her go. But shouldn’t she be, she thinks?! “What are you doing?”

The woman staggers backward, holding herself by the shoulders, knees pinning together. It’s almost like if she makes herself small enough, she can hide, but they both know that’s not how it works. Her face tinges pink, so pink you can even tell with the lights off. “Everyone was gone and...I... I got scared.”

...No. He doesn't look mad. Come to think of it...he's never been mad at her. No matter what dumb thing she did. Maybe it shouldn't be a surprise that all he has for her is patience. “Apologies...I should have considered you could be active before our return.”

She blinks, confused as hell. “Return…? Where’d you guys go?”

“Procurements,” he explains, as if that means anything to her. “And preparations.”

All she can do in this state of being is stare at him like a wide-eyed idiot. But the icy touch of his hand on her cheek wakes her up in a snap. Her breath hitches and her spine snaps up to attention.

“Please...join us downstairs, in your piano hall...when you are ready.”

He slips by her without a word, and half of her feels like her face was just cradled by death. The other still feels like this is yet another dream. As such, the traveler lingers still near the final door.

But Pain stops at the end of the hallway...and his eyes again target at her. It’s hard to stay in place when such a force asks you to follow.

This diversion is how Nagato manages to hold in another coughing fit until she’s out of earshot.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You know

I'll never disappear

Now get me out of here

Just trust in me, my dear

No cure is coming

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She walks down the stairs. Has she been so catatonic as to miss this…? Step by step down, the surroundings reveal themselves. There are...candles. More than before; certainly she didn’t light any. Still...even more than what's necessary...it's like a literal path, how they line the walls. Pain waits for her again, and over his head is...an angel. It’s like the one she made earlier, but better. Real origami, like Konan can make. The leader watches her eyes lock on it, and he only continues to guide once they come back down to him. As promised, they are going towards where she has given them her music.

It’s about time someone gave her something, in turn.

A sad girl steps into another dream. So many, many flames… Candles on every surface that could hold them, and angels and paper roses hanging from the ceiling. The woman with a matching flower pinned to her bun steps forward once Pain goes aside. It could be a painting. It could be a movie. What—…?

“You may dismiss this,” the lord’s angel tells her, as the traveler did when she gave the first present this season, “If you so wish. But I hope this will be...sufficient.”

The performer’s lips part but she says nothing. Everyone stands together, the celestial ones in front, orange hair and blue centered among the others. The zombies, the shark and magician, the artists, even the strange dual-colored spy… Just all standing there...just...for her…?

“What’s the name of this holiday, Takara-chan?” the last man says, Tobi peeking in from behind. “We’ve got the gifts, but not the name!”

“...You,” the stranger stammers, breathless and shaking, “Got...me…?!”

Satchels, and boxes, and bags… Every person in a black and red cloak is holding something. The reality hits her all at once, and her eyes go wide, wide, wide. It’s less like she’s surprised and more like she’s scared to death. A million things are running through her head at once— calculations and sentiments and ideas of what this does or does not mean and what she should or should not do. One thing is evident over all, regardless of it all:

“I...didn’t." Shame chokes her throat. "...Do anything...for you guys…” So she doesn’t deserve this. So this shouldn’t be happening.

“Perhaps not today,” Pain speaks for them all— and indeed, none stand to disagree, “...But you have given us more than enough. We’ve heard of your festival, and we want to partake...that is, if you will so allow. Share with us, Takara. To give also means one must eventually take. This exchange has been prepaid by your favor."

Give...take…?! All she’s done is take, and all they’ve done is give…! She told Konan about Christmas— barely, even— and they’ve gone out of their way to try to bring it to her— the best approximation as they could with what little they had. They thought she was SAD to miss it! They did all this for HER! Give, take?! Why?!

...

But she knows why. It’s so hard to ignore when people love you, even when you want to. Even when you try to hide from it. That's something well-ingrained in this story by now.

...She sniffles.

...She tears up.

...She cries.

The group watches as little by little, the woman from another world loses herself. Her knees hit the floor, and her mouth is covered by her hands. One could say she’s broken...but the god knows better. The way she quivers, the way she refuses to make sound even if to scream would be of use… The stranger is holding it all in; has been.

The Akatsuki like shepherds under the North Star witness as their leader steps forward and kneels down to her level. A hand on her shoulder. It trembles with the effort it takes to not cry out from the bottom of her lungs. Even now...she won’t give in.

A line is crossed, as that won't do.

God takes her into his arms. It isn't fathomable at first. Someone like him...holding her? A god? A god and his men who are out to redeem the world? All that and...there's space for her. His chest is so cold, can't even hear his beating heart but as seconds pass it begins to retain her warmth.

"Let go," he whispers, only for her ears.

...She weeps.

Her voice echoes in his empty rib cage, vibrates the metal rods that keep the corpse together. The lost, lonely traveler may finally accept his mercy, share her pain. Almost a shame that Nagato cannot feel her there, not the way his vessel does. He tries, but he's tried before...and that is simply something he can't do.

His bed feels colder than usual, but that is what it takes to be God, perhaps even enough of one to live up to her expectations.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You know

I'll never disappear

Now get us out of here

Don't fight with me, my dear

Why can't I be in here?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#nagato x reader #nagato x oc #obito x reader #konan x reader #technically this is an everyone chapter but not all of them talk lmao these are the ones that matter #aswtn fic #songfic #akatsuki x reader

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