“It was science,” Tobirama huffs, turning his glare on Madara. “You left your DNA all over me, Uchiha. I was hardly about to pass up the opportunity.” Obito debates clamping his hands over his ears and humming loudly. He did not need to know that in any shape or form, oh god.

Maes wakes up in the Elemental Countries after his death, and promptly gets into trouble. Genma gets him out of it.

“You know,” Zabuza gets out on a laugh, “I didn’t think you had it in you.” Kakashi shoves his knee up higher, slams into him so hard it makes Zabuza gasp. “I'm not the one with it in me,” he says mildly.

“What,” Kakuzu says flatly. The redheaded witch who foiled his assassination sips her tea, for all the world like Kakuzu isn't trussed up like a sacrificial offering at her feet. “I said my husband thinks you're handsome,” she repeats, as if that will remove the sheer insanity from those five words. “I tried to kill him,” Kakuzu says incredulously. “I stabbed him in the chest.”

“What is that?” Tobirama demands incredulously. “Your way out of this system,” Kushina says cheerfully, and Tobirama suddenly understands far better why she’s hanging on his arm like she’s going to physically pin him in place.

“Somebody what?” Hidan demands. “Killed three of the elders and tried to kill the headman,” Fū reports cheerfully, and grabs his arm as he wheels around, flinging herself up onto his back. Hidan grunts, staggers, but keeps moving, and Fū locks her knees around his ribs with a laugh. “Fuck, someone else got to them first?” Hidan complains. “I had dibs!”

“There you go,” the voice says, and the hand on Omoi's shoulder loosens. “Okay, how’s the rest?” “Awful,” Omoi mutters, but he drops his hand, lets his eyes slide further open. “I'm going to be the first Sentinel to zone out on dewdrops and then B will be so ashamed of me he’ll shave his head and move to Kusa.”

Zabuza fishes a dying Konoha nin out of the Nakano. That one action is the falling stone that kicks off an avalanche.

“You want me to what?” Hidan demands. “Meet my team,” Asuma repeats patiently, like that’s going to magically change it into a good idea.

Kurenai looks thoughtful. “So you want help picking someone who will annoy him?” “I want help picking someone who will give him an aneurism,” Asuma corrects, because he’s always been a fan of go big or go home. “Pissing off the mayor seems like a bad idea,” Raidō ventures after a moment, but he’s already looking around the lunchroom, scanning for targets. Asuma snorts. “I'm not pissing off the mayor, I'm pissing off my father,” he says. “Despite what he wants to think, there is a difference.”

Shisui's breaths feel too loud in the quiet of the room, like they’re coming too fast. It’s like he’s panting, like he can't get enough air, and it makes his head spin. His whole body is shaking, overheated, burning up from the inside, and he has to catch himself on the edge of the sink and lean there, gasping for air, acutely, exquisitely, awfully aware of every inch of his skin. Behind him, a page turns, crinkling, and there's a quiet hum.

Obito recognizes the divine messenger immediately.

Kakashi is enjoying this a hell of a lot more than he thought he would, and he had high expectations going in.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel like they don’t fit right in his mouth. What are you supposed to say, really, when someone gives you a piece of their spirit-form? Especially under these circumstances. Shisui wishes treason came with some kind of manual. Maybe a book full of helpful hints. When plotting to overturn decades of hatred and stop a war by lying to the whole world, be careful not to offend the man giving you his teeth to wear as earrings.

Kakashi has a lot of work ahead of him if he wants Tsuna to survive, but at least the company is agreeable. And cute.

Tobirama follows Hashirama to the river with a thousand points of light burning in his head. He leaves with one as all he can see, a bonfire, a conflagration. Uchiha Madara sets a match to his life with the simple fact of his existence, and in his wake Tobirama is left standing in a field of ashes.

Agen digs his fingers into the silver-veined bark, smiling a little. Pushes upright, flicking his hair back behind his shoulder, and pulls his outer robe off, draping it over a branch. “A trooper in distress,” he says, stepping forward. “I believe Jedi are supposed to rectify such things.” Two pairs of dark eyes snap to him, and Fives's widen with glee. He wriggles harder under Echo's pinning weight, like a landed fish, and cries, “General Kolar, help! I'm being overrun!”

This, Fox thinks, staring up at the fabric of the tent above him, is absolutely not what he remembers from before he closed his eyes. Right along with the realization comes the desperate, sinking sort of feeling that what he was most afraid of happened again. One step down the hallway in the Senate, heading somewhere, and then—

“I presume,” Mace says with a flicker of amusement, ghost-white fluttering in the corner of his vision, “that that relief isn't solely for my own benefit.” Ponds has the decency to look chagrined. “I'm glad you're safe, sir. When the droid hit you…” He pauses, meets Mace's eyes, and his expression is a little rueful, a little grim. “Not everyone took it well.”

Quinlan can’t take it anymore, and if he sticks around for one more minute, he’s going to have a reaction that’s entirely inappropriate given the discussion that’s happening above his head.

Everyone is whispering that a Jedi saved the Mand'alor’s aide.

It’s probably a bad sign that Cad Bane, of all people, is judging his life choices.

“Those are some thick gloves you're wearing,” Quinlan observes, light. “And here I thought the weather was actually behaving today.”