damned_institute | NIGHTSHIFT 21: Soccer/Recreational Field

Over the top of the wall surrounding Landels, snaky tendrils of fog began to flow into the soccer field. It sank to the ground, thickening the air and making seeing very difficult unbelievably fast, far quicker than any fog should be able to move. Soon, it was thick enough that a normal human would only be able to see a few feet in front of their face, practically blinding.

Somewhere off in the direction that Sasuke had been heading, there was a faint, soft sound--crying. It sounded like a little girl, totally despondent and left without any sort of hope in the world. She wailed and whimpered alternately, pitiful and afraid, but the fog shielded her from view. It was impossible to even make her outline out, and she really could have been anywhere from a dozen feet away to a hundred.

Sasuke was surprised to discover that he was wading through a sea of fog that hadn't been there scant moments ago. Genjutsu? He wondered, and frowned. Everyone in this place who knew what a genjutsu was had claimed a total lack of chakra, so it couldn't be.

He reached out with one hand until he found the wall, and then he heard the crying.

Oh, hell. It wasn't one of those --

No, it was a girl. Yohji had said something about this place not discriminating by age, and judging by the sound of the cry, he was right. But, fuck, they had little kids here?

Sasuke wasn't a meddler by nature, and his upbringing had taught him that kids were best off if they learned to fend for themselves. But the sound of the crying was coming from the same direction he'd been aiming for, and at this rate, he'd have to go towards her just to find his way back to the main building.

Still not ruling out genjutsu, he kept a hand on the wall and crept forward quietly.

The crying got a little louder as he moved closer, and then her form could just be made out through the fog. She was huddled on the ground close to the wall, with her face turned toward it. Her hair was matted and unkempt, and she wore a blue dress that was stained, singed and dirty. She didn't look up when Sasuke approached, in fact inching a little closer to the wall as though frightened he might hurt her.

It was a girl. A young girl, from the looks of it, and not in pristine condition, either. She was huddled into the wall and looked terrified. This place had no scruples about what they did and to whom, did it?

Sasuke sighed. Under any other circumstances, he would have just ignored her -- he'd had practice ignoring Orochimaru and Kabuto's test subjects, it involved looking in the other direction and sometimes holding his nose -- but he needed to pass her. His arm would actually go right over her head if he were to continue following the wall.

"Who are you?" He called, voice harsh because he still suspected something fishy, and because he didn't like having to deal with children.

She turned slowly to look at him. Really, on first glance, there was nothing frightening about her. Her lips were chapped and slightly bloodied at the corners, and her dark eyes were rimmed with the redness of lack of sleep. She appeared beaten, bruised, not quite right. Her wide eyes fixed on his, but she didn't say anything, though she did begin to tremble.

The girl definitely looked worse for the wear, and vaguely terrified at seeing him. Sasuke beat down another sigh and edged closer.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you if you don't hurt me," Although Sasuke wasn't ruling that out -- an example of how deadly someone could be at a young age was present in the very institute. Several of them. And Sasuke wasn't discounting himself.

"Who are you? And what the hell are you doing here?"

She stood, bracing herself with the tips of her fingers as she lifted from the ground. Standing, she was short and woefully thin, and with that ragged dress hanging on her, she looked more like a doll than a human being.

"I have many names," she said, and the trembling stopped. Each word was carefully enunciated and level, her tone much more adult than her appearance. "But who are you?" She took a step towards him. "I can tell you...if you prove yourself, I may let you live in turn."

Right. He should have known that anyone in this place wasn't normal.

If he proved himself -- if Sasuke weren't a shinobi, he would have laughed. She was tiny and ragged, and frankly looked like a strong wind would send her right over the same wall she'd hidden against.

Still, Sasuke knew better, and he drew into a better stance, shifting his uninjured leg until it found a good point of leverage.

"Sasuke," he said, and slid the fork into throwing position without apparent movement. "Would a better question be what are you?"

Her startling blue eyes widened, those of a child with a secret. "That would be telling," she insisted, and then smirked. "I don't tell my secrets. You could tell me the same, couldn't you? What are you and what are you looking for, Sasuke?" She laughed a little, then added, in a sing-song, "Answer quick."

Kids were weird at best and creepy at worst. This one had surpassed creepy and gone straight to all-out disturbing. Still, if she claimed she knew something ...

"I am a shinobi," he said briefly. "I am looking for weapons, a way out, or information. In that order. What do I need to give you for any of those?"

She grinned. "A little information might just get you a present. In other words-tell me where I can find the most people, and I'll let you by. You might find something in the shed. You might not." She smiled sweetly, despite her self-appointed 'troll-under-the-bridge' position. "If you refuse to tell me, I'll have to punish you. For being a bad boy. You see? So pay the toll, and maybe I'll even favor you in the future..."

Of course, she had her own plans. But would she tell him this? Not likely.

The most people? Sasuke paused, reflecting. Last night he'd met a gaggle of people just outside the block of patients' rooms, hadn't he?

"You want to look inside the building," he said, not particularly caring who was delivered to this strange child. "Last night there was a big collection of people in the hallway outside the male rooms, between the living quarters and the cafeteria."

Something in the shed. Sasuke had been right, then?

She smiled. "Good boy. Okey-dokey, Uchiha Sasuke the shinobi. You can pass by." She promptly walked straight past him and into the fog, laughing to herself. "Oh! The boy got lucky. Someday, good boy, we'll have to talk. I have a secret we might share."

She disappeared from view with a giggle and a final call. "I'll tell them who sent me!"

Sasuke frowned, unease tingling along his spine. She didn't look dangerous, and she hadn't attacked him, but he felt vaguely uncomfortable nonetheless.

Well. If he'd just made enemies, so be it.

He made it a few feet further into the fog, and then whipped around, glaring into the space where she had been. Had he ever given her his full name?

His unease growing, he turned back towards his destination, holding the fork more tightly between his fingers.

The fog began to fade, eventually clearing out completely. By the time it did, the girl was gone. There weren't so much as impressions in the grass from where she had walked.

Sasuke shivered unaccountably as the fog dissipated. No, that hadn't been a pleasant encounter. Hopefully he'd at least gotten something out of it.

The shed could be clearly seen, now, and he was close enough to make a run for it without following the dubious cover of the wall.

Sasuke dashed.

[ From here (http://community.livejournal.com/landels_damned/51273.html). ]

Well, that was unexpected. Greed flashed Vincent a toothy grin as he too walked out the door and took a few steps in front of the long-haired man. He took in a deep breath of the outside air, stretching his arms over his head.

"Hahaha, now we're making progress!" The homunculus proclaimed, and though he realized that the fences here might not be so easy to scale as he would hope, this was still better than being stuck in the fucking hallway.

He threw his arms back down again, shaking them out and clenching his shielded fists in some kind of small triumph as he made his way to the opposite side of the lawn. There seemed to be some kind of tall wall, the kind meant to keep in prisoners. Kinda looked like the one around the Fifth Laboratory...

He had a feeling that if they were able to get over that, their troubles might be lessened significantly.

Schuldig raised an eyebrow, but was only too happy to let the other two men precede him outside. He was just as skeptical as Vincent was that the coast was truly clear, and he was perfectly fine with the idea of letting the other two run the risks first.

Once he sauntered out after them, and got the first breath of fresh air he'd had in awhile, he turned to survey the building they'd come out of - the other two were studying the landscape already, but Schuldig was interested in the building they'd come out of.

And the roof; he'd always had an affinity for rooftops. He couldn't see any way up to it from where he was standing, which was a shame; it was high enough that if he could get up there he'd have a hell of a view of the surrounding area.

The fog seemed to be emanating somewhere nearby, probably water, but the concrete, ivy-covered walls blocked his view of whatever was on the other side. Given the area they were in, though, his best guess was that it was still part of the compound.

They seemed to be in some kind of... field. A little uneven and rocky, but the grass was neatly trimmed and he could make out some kind of net thing in the foggy distance.

Vincent narrowed his eyes, listening for any sort of interrupt in the near-silence of the night.

It was the smell, though, rather than any sort of sound that reached the group first. A rotted, disgusting smell that was soon followed by very violent-sounding growling. It took a few moments, but soon the noises could be traced to several uncomfortably large shapes in the fog.

They were dogs -- or they had been, once. Now, though, they were somewhat doglike creatures, fur patchy and matted with something that was probably blood. Open lesions were easy to see on the creatures' bodies, open and rank. If one looked close enough, some appeared to be moving, more than likely with maggots or some other type of parasite.

None of the men got a chance to look closely for long, though, because as soon as they were visible the four creatures bolted for the group, the foremost lunging at the homunculus. Its wicked teeth were aimed for his throat.

"Talkative, aren't we?" Greed said dryly to his companions as he staunchly made his way to the other side of the field. After all, what the hell was looking back or looking around going to do when you had a viable exit right the fuck in front of you?

That was when he smelled it.

He sniffed the air, slowly stopping to a standstill, eyes narrowed as his head whipped left, then right, as he tried to discern the source of the odor. It reminded him of Dante's experiments, the dank stench of the Fifth Labs, the way his red-lined kind were supposed to reek in their first moments of unholy life.

Shapes emerged from the fog that rolled in towards them, and Greed inwardly cursed his diminished senses once more as he took a step back from the vague silhouettes.

Dogs...? No, even Dorchette didn't stink this bad.

"The hell..." The homunculus growled, backing away as he held his arms at his sides, now blackened from his fingers to his elbows. The process was a slow one, and now, in his time of dire need, the fact that he couldn't muster any more surface area for his shield to cover was disturbing, nearly frightening.

Now they were running. And lunging.

At Greed.

"SHIT!" He yelled, whipping an arm out to counter the thing's attack, and he realized too late that having a homunculus brain connected to human reflexes was something he should have anticipated.

Greed's claws managed to dig into the dog's flesh, and he managed to jerk his head to the side, though only enough that when the thing's teeth came down, it was into his shoulder instead of his throat.

Schuldig, facing away from the source of the danger and thus the last for the smell to reach, had less warning than the others. Greed's growl of confusion and alarm, just before the dogs launched themselves, was the first thing to get his attention and drag it forcibly to the matter at hand.

As arrogant as Schuldig was about most things, he held no illusions as to his fighting ability. He was fast, yes, and with the edge that telepathy gave him he could take on almost anyone...but his winning hinged on two requirements, one being that his opponents were human with reflexes that weren't highly superior to his own to begin with, and the other being that his opponents were creatures with decipherable mind processes(he'd never really gotten the hang of animal thoughts - he could occasionally catch the gist of an emotion, such as contentment or anger, but on the whole they were just too foreign to decipher or manipulate; anyway, he hadn't even sensed the presence of the dogs' minds before they'd attacked so he wasn't getting anything from them). It also generally helped if he had a gun in his hands, which he didn't.

So, that left Schuldig unarmed, looking at four apparently undead wolves (maybe they were just dogs, but their intent seemed to fit the wolf profile better, and really what the hell did it matter?) whose minds he couldn't read and whose moves he couldn't anticipate. The German didn't need his precognitive to tell him how this was going to turn out for them.

But hell, who said it had to be them? Greed was supposed to be a competent enough fighter to look after himself(as far as Schuldig was concerned, that was exactly what he was supposed to contribute to their partnership), and he had no ties to Vincent whatsoever...anyway, it's not like he could help whether or not he hung around to get mauled, aside from perhaps distracting one of them long enough to start gnawing on him.

Anyway, he had - just before turning away from the building - spotted a way to climb up. It hinged heavily, and precariously, on a somewhat rusted drainpipe, but Schuldig was a thin man and climbed like a spider. Besides, the things a man could do when he was desperate were amazing.

Already the farthest away from the attacking monsters, Schuldig all but evaporated into the shadows of the building, moving fast.

The walls were high, but the ivy on some of them looked climbable. Vincent immediately ran as fast as he could through the wet grass, sandals long gone and pants soaked to the ankle. If they could just make it to the fence...

But when he realized Greed hadn't followed at all, he skidded to a squelching halt, straining to make out what was going on in the thick fog. The other man shouted; he'd been attacked. Vincent paused, hovering for an unsure moment and torn between seeking safety and dashing back into literally the jaws of wolves.

Then he saw the telepath, unfaltering even as his companion screamed in his mad sprint for the building and leaving them both for dead.

"Dammit," Vincent swore, and he ran back into the field.

The largest dog, the one that had lunged first, yowled in pain, but not before it managed to take a nice chunk out of the homunculus's shoulder. It dropped back to the ground, backing off for half a second before dashing for the man's legs.

Two of the dogs, meanwhile, turned to face the sound of another approaching person. All four weren't needed to take down a single human, so the two broke off, sprinting to one side before closing in on the newcomer and snapping at his legs.

Greed staggered backwards, one clawed hand clutching at his shoulder as he stared with wide eyes at his attacker. The pain was worse than it ever had been back home, and even as he jumped back when the dog went in for another taste of, he realized suddenly that the flesh of his shoulder wasn't growing back.

Even without the stones that Dante had drained him, even with Edward Elric's automail plunged into his chest, his body had never felt this useless and weak in a fight.

The homunculus didn't even have time to notice how his "follower" had quite literally left him to the dogs as he whirled around with his good arm and lunged at the thing with his carbon claws.

It was a rare moment indeed that Greed felt this sentiment and truly tried to abide by it: Kill or be killed, and if he didn't learn fast, it'd be the latter.

Schuldig found himself disappointed by the wall. He'd thought that the drainpipe he'd seen would hold up a little longer under his weight than it had - but then he'd also thought that the wall wasn't quite as high as it had turned out to be. Possibly in his alarm at the wolves he'd mistaken the height; whatever the case, he hadn't even made it a third of the way up before the drainpipe gave and left him without any decent handholds, forcing him to drop back to the ground.

Fortunately, however, the wolves didn't seem to be paying him any mind; he'd lucked out in that respect. Greed, bleeding now, had two of the dogs more or less occupied, and the other two had turned on Vincent, who (being somewhat stupider than Schuldig had expected) had rushed back to help Greed once he'd ascertained that Schuldig didn't intend to do it. Well, let him. Schuldig personally didn't want either man to die - Greed was an ally and Vincent's mind was bitter ambrosia - but nothing could have induced him to face down some slavering undead dogs barehanded. They were the fighters; let them handle it.

Although the wolves were more interested in the prey they already had, the telepath didn't feel like running any risks; with only some minor difficulties, he managed to swing himself up on top of the frame of the door they'd come out of. It wasn't exactly a comfortable perch, and it required a constant effort of balance(not that he hadn't done more extreme things, but never in this desperate of a situation), but Schuldig viewed it as a vastly preferable option when compared to being gnawed.

From his perch, he studied his companions' predicaments; he would have suggested that they run if it were a viable option, but Vincent had given up his chance and Greed, already bleeding, had never had one to begin with.

He tried, briefly, to force his way into the wolves' mind without any hint of success; they were as locked off as the minds of the staff, although he wasn't sure if animals that looked so undead had functioning minds to begin with. He'd have to find some other way to save Greed's ass...

He began sifting through the minds of patients nearby, wondering if he could call in some of Vincent's allies to distract the animals, if nothing else.

And immediately Vincent slammed his arm into the skull of one of them as it snapped at his legs, by now thankfully used to the shock that rocketed up his shoulder. Maybe this hadn't been such a fantastic idea.

Teeth sunk into his right leg and he nearly buckled at the sudden pain, kicking viciously at its source before diving into an evasive roll. Ignoring the sting of gashes in his calf, Vincent whipped around to face the onslaught with fists curled and an angry snarl.

But now blood had been spilled, and the prey seemed much easier to acquire. After taking a chunk out of the first man's shoulder, the biggest dog dove to the ground before springing back, aiming again for the throat of his victim. The second snapped at his heels, aiming to throw the homunculus off-balance for an easier kill.

The other two, unfortunately were not having such an easy time. One of the unlucky creatures got beaned in the skull and stumbles stupidly for a moment or two, completely disoriented and probably slightly brain-damaged. The other, not sparing a moment's attention for its packmate, circled his opponent warily, for now that strange arm had been made clear as A Weapon and he didn't want to put itself in a position to get hit with it.

FUCK, two of them now?! The hell was this?!

Greed couldn't do anything but stumble backwards as fast as he humanly could, left arm useless at his side from the wound in his shoulder that now bled down his arm and mingled with the red of the ouroboros on the back of his hand. Lot of good that damn insignia was doing him now, reflexes and senses feeling all the more mortal and sluggish as he realized the first mutt was coming at him again.

Greed didn't have much time to think as he threw himself to the ground to avoid another blow from the rotting thing, though he realized only a moment later that he'd only put himself right in the path of his second attacker.

"Shit!" He hissed through his jagged teeth, chest heaving hard as he attempted to pull it from the ground, and it was all he could do to whip out his clawed hand towards the thing and try to get its eyes.

Schuldig swore, quietly but colorfully, in German. Maybe it was a result of his distraction - there were evidently a number of patients being attacked tonight, and the sheer amount of terror and pain was as deliciously difficult to ignore as a blowjob; his mind was practically marinating in it - or maybe his powers were weaker than he'd realized, but he couldn't seem to get anyone's attention. So much for calling in reinforcements.

On the other hand, that meant that he'd done everything he could ~~short of being down on the ground and getting ripped up with the rest of them~~. He was free to simply observe; he might not like watching a potential ally ripped to shreds but the sheer agony of Greed's mind right now was worth luxuriating in, at least if Schuldig had nothing else to do.

It was circling him, searching for weakness and opportunity to strike while the other one fortunately stumbled around dazed. There was absolutely nothing Vincent could do except wait pensively with gritted teeth for one of them to move. If he took a step from his guarded, defensive crouch while the "wolf"'s muscles coiled with potential energy, that would be it.

He flexed his real fingers.

It was a standoff, and dogs were far less patient than prey that was already bleeding. If he wasn't going to move, he would have to be made to move so that a better opening could be found. The attack didn't come from the front, though.

The homunculus was putting up more of a fight than the dogs had been expecting, it seemed. There was a loud yelp as one of them was caught across the face -- whether blinded or simply injured was hard to tell -- and the other seemed to think that its current target was far more trouble than it was worth. Rather than hang around and risk further injury, it turned to study the other group for about half a second before realizing what was going on. It moved quickly, positioning itself outside of the crouching man's line of sight before making a running lunge for the neck.

Greed allowed himself a breath as one of the dogs pulled back, injured by his blow right where he'd wanted it to be. It was with a weary smirk and shaky legs that he staggered up and let his violet eyes follow the other dog as it rushed over to some other form of prey...

The smirk dropped from Greed's face as he realized who the dogs were ganging up on, and the sides of his mouth turned into a full-out snarl as his eyes darted up to the form of Schuldig clinging to a drainpipe like the fucking pussy he was.

Greed might have known to turn away from the dog he assumed he'd incapacitated had he not been the kind of man used to not having to watch his back--not in a literal sense, anyway. In any case, he wasn't dumb enough to hang around a fight he couldn't win, but if he left now, he'd be just as bad as that little bitch above the doorframe...

"Shit," he grunted, not so much rushing towards Vincent as trying to rush towards a point near him until he felt like he could actually score a hit. "We can't fucking take them on!"

He turned toward Greed's voice just in time to see the wolf leap for his throat, and Vincent's leg gave underneath him with the impact. He hurtled to the ground, cold dew seeping through his clothes, and he just barely managed to seize its jaws with both hands, squeezing. The flesh on his real hand bled from the sharp teeth under it.

He was such an idiot.

The dog made a loud, startled noise, tossing its head as well as it could and bearing down on the hand in its mouth with as much force as its powerful jaws could muster. The second dog started to circle, looking for an opening to attack. There was no sign of the other two.

[ from here (http://community.livejournal.com/landels_damned/51273.html) ]

As Naruto opened the door, Gaara followed him outside. It hit him with the air. The smell of soil. His irritation became too high. Abruptly, he stepped in front of him, turning to face the ninja from the leaf. There was a commotion not far off, but he ignored it. The sounds were filtered into the back of his focus; he bored his eyes into Naruto, bright hair and brighter personality.

His arms crossed over his chest. "Go back."

It had been barely one day ago that he had been Kazekage, and before that, accustomed to having his demands met by fear. He did not know refusal before this place, and his tone was empty of anything but the strength of the order. No, not quite empty. Gaara, emotional shell as he tended to be, had an edge of vehemence, his eyes lit with something like frustration.

The last time Gaara had been anything like afraid was when Naruto Uzumaki crawled to him on his chin. Now, there was dirt all around. Ground. Fresh air. He was afraid to try, already knowing. Already knowing it wouldn't move, it wouldn't grind, it wouldn't become sand. The fear tasted like bile in his mouth, and Gaara hadn't tasted bile since he was six and kneeling in front of Yashamaru's body. It was disgusting.

"Go back." He said again, to make it clear, very clear to the ninja. "I will get you a bat. Go with Uchiha Sasuke."

Outside. Like an animal kept caged for too long, instinctively he wanted to bolt. Thoughts of Konoha, and would he ever see it again.

Naruto was about to take a step, but was surprised by Gaara's blocking their going forward. He raised his eyebrows at the sand ninja, who stood very plainly in front of him and-- yes, stared him down. There was a flicker of something complicated in his black-ringed eyes, but it was neither inviting nor soft.

Gaara told him to turn around, not once, but twice. He couldn't read pride as well as he could feel it, and felt instantly like a child being told to retreat-- for the repetition, for the assurance that he would receive his bat, and for being told to go back to Sasuke, who had a less than one percent chance of waiting around for them anyway. For being told every step of the way.

Naruto's brows furrowed, a flash of quick anger. He opened his mouth and demanded simply: "Why?"

Stubbornly, the blond mirrored Gaara by crossing his arms over his chest, making every intention to stand his ground clear.

Gaara was not sure what he had expected. No, a lie: He had expected the blond to agree, to turn around, to go back. To listen. All previous experience had hinted, not at all subtly, that Uzumaki Naruto would do the exact opposite of any demand given. That seemed to be the case, and it proved true now.

The logic of it, of taking the sum of encounters and deciding on disposition, was simple enough. Keeping to cool logic proved strangely difficult, and that in itself was another irritation. Naruto's question was a fair one, but Gaara could not see it as anything but impudent. As if he, Gaara, had some right to order him around when he saw fit. His eyes narrowed further, but he did know better than to retort, simply, because I told you to do it. The reason, however, was hard to find. Hard to express. The mix of unfamiliar, maddening emotions.

He glowered at Naruto, and then at the ground, as his chin dipped down in consideration. Why? Back up.

"I do not need your help." Gaara lied, knowing it was a lie and hating that knowledge. It was strange. He had never needed to before, if this was need. Gaara had never lied before. "I do not want it." Truth. Comfort level marginally returned, but nowhere near enough.

"I did not ask you," he continued, his words clipped and slightly awkward as he worked his way to them. But never unfirm, never rooted in anything but steel, but conviction. And if he meant more, it was, I cannot be useless. Words he could not say, a pride he could hardly define but in these words meant for repelling. His fingers twitched on his arm and nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing happened. It shouldn't have been disappointing; they had admitted all this indoors. Gaara wanted to close his eyes, might have, if not for the need to stare Naruto back inside and away.

"Go back. I have this." The demand again: Gaara was not the type to plead.

Naruto held the stare and the glare, attempted to look twice as fierce as all that. It was only when Gaara lowered his head, just for a moment, that he felt his anger refined into something more difficult to grasp.

It couldn't be helped. Before Landel's, any interaction with the suna-nin wasn't exactly positive, nor were they on, technically, good terms. He learned only of Suna's cooperation after Sasuke's defection to Sound, but hadn't witnessed any of it. Only appreciated it after the fact.

Watching Gaara speak took the edge of his anger for some reason-- nothing he entirely understood, mind you. It was as if he was asking, but telling, but asking. Naruto's arms unfolded, if a bit reluctantly. "Hey," he started, hands fumbling onto his hips, posture indignant, but not as formally so. "Did you ever think that maybe I need your help?"

He pouted. "Sasuke's gone by now. If I go back I'll be alone."

It wasn't a way for him to be secretly brave; honestly, whatever his intital intentions had been, Naruto didn't want to turn back now and wander the corridors by himself. With things like ghosts and Phil Atio and who knows what the hell else was in that place at night.

The intensity of his glare, of the stubborn hold of his arms together, wavered in the face of Naruto's loss of posture. The face-off was short-lived, and there seemed little point to unnecessary rigidity. Gaara would be caught further off-guard by what Naruto said.

A more vocal, casual speech familiar Gaara might have asked him if he was kidding. His eyes said enough, widening a little, disbelief strong. No, Gaara had not thought of that. It was completely illogical.

"You don't need my help," he said, as fact. "I cannot do anything. I am useless." Facing it. Grinding in the truth, like so much soil that would not. It made him nauseous, it was frustration in every inch of him, but said as if a commentary on the weather. As if Gaara ever commented on the weather. (Except when all forecasts indicated a blood rain).

He did remember his initial stance, and amended that statement. "I can get the bats. Uchiha Sasuke is upstairs." This alone, of Naruto going upstairs by himself, was not the same as that other loneliness. It did not strike Gaara as being a problem.

Still, he lacked that earlier conviction. Naruto's expression was stupid, but also remarkably effective in wearing away his platform.

"Wrong." Naruto corrected him immediately and loudly, pointing a finger to emphasize. "People are worth more than their skill levels in taijutsu."

He was not a coward, but he was, sometimes, incredibly clingy. As much as he wanted to stay with Gaara because it would reassure him that the sand ninja was not alone, it was also reassuring to stay. How could he explain that?

"Hell, he probably anticipated that we'd go running upstairs and went somewhere else to lose us." Actually, Sasuke was an asshole, but he wasn't stupid. Two other shinobi with bats couldn't hurt, even he had to recognize that. Still. "Well, that's not the point. Where ever Sasuke is, I still want to go get my own bat."

There was plenty of space on this field. Gaara was still standing right in front of him, so he tested walking around the other ninja. In the distance he could hear what sounded like some kind of scuffle-- instinctively he was drawn, but had to scold himself. Bad, no. No chakra. Bat first.

Naruto didn't quite stride over to the shed with complete and utter confidence-- he did peek, once, over his shoulder, to see if Gaara would finally accept his decision.

Gaara blinked. Naruto was loud and pointing, and Gaara might have argued: Yes. They are also worth ninjutsu and genjutsu, and without those, they are useless. They became unable to be needed, and abandonment was nigh. If they could not then destroy, being useless, what was the point?

Naruto had a way of plowing on, and Gaara found himself giving in. It was not the time or place to launch into an extended debate, and Gaara disliked speaking.

He kept his mouth shut, lips pressing into a thin line. He doubted the Uchiha had gone that far, but the important part was the bat. Gaara nodded, and keeping his focus well away from the unresponsive soil (the back of Naruto's neck was a good spot, until the shed became primary), followed.

Gaara did feel slightly put out that he, the Kazekage, had had his decision over-ruled by another ninja. As consequence, he moved forward to initiate opening the door. He did not examine the outside of the shed, only noting the door and its damage, including a forced lock. No doubt Uchiha Sasuke's work. Nice and convenient. He walked inside.

[ walking on in here (http://community.livejournal.com/landels_damned/57240.html) ]

NIGHTSHIFT 21: Soccer/Recreational Field

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