A rattan broom with a curved handle that's lying against the far walls at the kitchen catches my eye and I clench my jaw with determination. Yes, a weapon. I take a couple of tentative steps over the edges of Hatsuga's and Keiko's futon, towards the kitchen. Towards the broom. I take it firmly in my hands, preparing myself for the worst.

What if it's really someone dangerous? No, don't think like that. I'll just take a peek to check. If there's anyone suspicious lurking around outside, I'll immediately wake my entire family up to deal with the intruder.

I take a deep breath, broom upright between my fists as I slowly shuffle my way towards the door. One step. Two. There's a tiny opening between the doors that I can see outside from. Holding the air in my chest as steady as I could, I stop right at the genkan and press one of my eyes closer in between the small crack between the shoji doors to take a better look, steadying my body with both of my hands so none of my movements make extra noise.

The cold autumn wind cuts right across my face. All I see is the starry night sky and the normal scenery that I usually see at the front of my house, a dirt path, a wooden fence. A sakura tree that Father has planted outside so that he can enjoy his yearly spring tradition of viewing and admiring the blossoming flowers.

And- Wait! A sharp smell enters my nostrils. It's a putrid kind of smell, the kind that just goes up into your nose and makes it burn inside. The same scent that I clearly remember smelling when I pass the local izakaya in the evening. Yuck. I cup the front of my nose and my mouth or else I'd just gag and throw up. Possibly alerting whoever it is outside to break into the house and look for the source of the noise.

It's strong. Super strong. And super disgusting. Did I say that already? Right.

It seems that it's coming from even lower than I expected, almost like if- I let my eyes drop slightly, down the pathway and even further down to the engawa. I spot familiar dark-reddish hair and a small gourd container just laying there by his limp arm. He's sprawled himself over the engawa, one hand reaching out towards the gourd. His finger tips barely touching the cork.

It's not... It's not a bandit.

It's Father. Smelling of something strong. Passed out. Flushed face. He must be drunk. Where did he get the money to drink?

I've witnessed a similar thing back in my dream before. Drunken rambling. Things being thrown then breaking and crashing. Unabashed cursing, all sorts of bad things being spat out in streams of mushed up words and slurred murmuring.

And the violence. At the back of my mind, I faintly remember a dark shadow embracing me in their arms as he lashed out at me. Hitting, punching, thrashing. Whimpers that just sounded so tortured, so in pain with each collision of fist against flesh. A warm embrace. Ghost-like whispers of prayer. It's going to be okay. I won't let him hurt you. I won't let him hurt you.

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My body freezes in place. Cold. Cold running through my body, my arms, my legs. I can't breathe. No air. No-

An unconscious shudder runs down my body. These memories aren't mine. I shut my eyes tight, adjusting my grip around the broom handle as hard as I can. A deep breath. In. Out. It's not real. Not real. Father wouldn't do that, at least he wouldn't hit Mother like that. They both love each other very much. You don't hit the people you love.

Another deep breath. It takes me a while before I can finally calm myself down enough to put the broom down somewhere it won't fall down and make a big noise. And wake my family up. Sleep is important. We can't do our jobs properly without enough sleep.

First, to deal with Father's sleeping body. A futon. I slowly creep to the futon closet and slide it open, looking within for a spare blanket or something I could use to cover him up so that he won't catch a cold. I'm not strong or big enough to drag him into the house without making a ton of noise so, I'll have to think about other ways.

Ah. Father's blanket. I try my best to pull at the edges. I'm not that tall so I can't really reach the very top unless I stand on my tippy-toes. Even then I can only reach the very edge of the thick folds. It doesn't budge. I clench my fists and stretch as far as I can and pull again. Something heavy fwumps on me and I tumble to the tatami floor.

Nobody stirs from their sleep, even after the loud sound the futon and the blanket made.

Good.

I peel the layers off me and drag it towards my Father's prone body. It's really heavy in my small arms, the weight of both the futon and the blanket is almost suffocating. A small child carrying a disproportionately large bundle and waddling his way towards anywhere would be a sight to see for sure. I clench my teeth and do my best.

I didn't get very far. Halfway through (that's like about five steps) I end up dropping the bundle on the ground and dragging it to the door. I slide the door open carefully. Father's arm, which was laying against it flops on the floor, making me jump. Eyes darting towards Mother and my siblings. Phew, okay. Still asleep.

"Goddamn them dogs of Konoha," Father slurs his words, the hand that isn't near the gourd reaches out behind his neck to give it a quick scratch. His hair falling over his face. I still, eyes trained on him, "They can't- They can't take, " He makes a sound like those pigs that Hisao's family keeps, "Can't take my other two boys away from me." He curls his fingers into a fist and slams it onto the wood of the engawa. The sound of flesh hitting wood is muted from the blanket that I throw over him as soon as he lifts his arm.

Don't make so much noise, Father. Please!

"Always. Always. Wars. Left and right. Bloody wars," Father's voice is rough and bitter at this point but it's muffled by the weight of the blanket, "How many public enlistments must we go through before- Before they'd be satisfied? Taking my boys. Taking my crops. How long until they staqrt taking my girls too?"

I still again. But Father, girls can be shinobi too. Why- Why are you angry? Isn't it good to become shinobi and serve your country? They're heroes! I swallow those words. Father's drunk. He won't be able to listen to what I'm saying to him. I throw the futon mattress over him. A double covering, in case he becomes sick. I'd prefer to drag him inside where it's warmer but, I'm not big enough. Not strong enough.

"Nngh. When..? When will the wars ever end?" Father chokes a sob from underneath, "When will I see my sons again?"

Maybe Hatsuga could if I woke him up. I glance at my brother's sleeping figure over my shoulder then shaking my head deciding against it.

I turn to look down at Father. He's drinking because he's sad not because he's angry.

My eyebrows knit together. I hope one day Father doesn't have to drink because he's sad anymore. I've never seen him like this before but this doesn't look good. Passing out in front of your own house isn't good either. I try to place Father's arm underneath his face so he'd have a more comfortable way to sleep in. And so he won't have weird red marks on his face when he wakes up.

I spend some time adjusting the blankets so that Father can sleep warmly.

With heavy shoulders, I walk back to my corner of the room and quietly settle back into my futon. Trying my best to fall asleep.