Much love to my supporters. I am very happy that there is interest. Love especially goes out to my new-found beta (at last!) Shuricel. Shower her with love and compliments. Our story now begins, do read and review! Oh and by the end of this I can guarantee you will know a thing or two about plants.

Age 3
Jin watched his son toddle through their yard. It was no short stretch to say Zetsu was different than the other village toddlers. His child was much more content playing in their yard than with the other children. His growth had been a strange one. Zetsu began speaking and wandering outside on his own much earlier than any other child on record in the village. The elders often paid friendly visits, but Jin knew they were probably hoping his quickened growth would lead to an early entry into the Academy. Jin considered this, but Ayumi would not hear of it already thinking that the Grass Academy started training kids to be soldiers much too young at nine.

Sometimes Zetsu said things that just didn’t make sense when he would come in ecstatic from hours sitting in the yard. He said he heard things. That he could hear ‘them.’ When confronted with trying to define the pronoun, his son just looked puzzled at his parents, as if the answer were obvious. It was times like this when he looked into his son’s eyes and felt the slightest twinge of fear and perhaps part of him knew that is why he would not mind Zetsu’s early admission to the Academy. Ayumi would never admit it, but he saw that look in her eyes sometimes too. She voiced other fears to him, mostly admissions of guilt. That Zetsu was maladjusted because they were often called away on missions despite praises of his blossoming intellect. What good was a genius with no compassion?

Zetsu on the other hand was completely immersed in his front yard. He wandered just past the stretch of his father’s watchful eye. He knew this and found often that he preferred to be alone, to listen. The green haired toddler slowly knelt in front of a budding dandelion, just staring waiting. He reached to touch the fluffy white seeds, but drew back knowing it was delicate, sensitive to space and could blow away in an instant. With a patience no other three year old could possess, Zetsu sat hand outstretched observing the dandelion. Time slowly passed by, his father grew tired, returned to the house and the sun made its gradually arch over the horizon. It was then Zetsu noticed something. The dandelion had wrapped itself around his hand. A voice.

Hello, little master.

The child gasped carefully untangling his hand, sending a few seeds soaring into the air while staring back at the weed in wonder. He managed to stammer hello back. This was the first time any of the voices had addressed him. He had begun to think perhaps they weren’t real.

“What do you want?” Zetsu asked sitting up on his knees examining the soil around the base. It seemed tilled and moist enough.

What do I want? You’re the one who called me.

This puzzled Zetsu. He did not remember doing anything. Little master? Another strange title. The toddler scooted away and somehow he knew the flower was observing him someway. He gave a short bow, hoping he was not offending it by leaving. But, he was too excited to stay. He had to tell someone and so he ran as fast as he could to the only people he knew to tell.

The furious barrage of excited knocks on the door signaled to Ayumi that her son had decided to return to home. She opened the door with a smile and nearly had the wind knocked out of her by her son barreling through the entryway. Cripes, she did not realize her son was part battering ram.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, MOMMY!”

She could not help but smile. It was rare Zetsu was this affectionate, or this normal. She tried to calm him down through his mile a minute talking. She carefully set him on a chair in their tiny kitchen as his legs swung excitedly back and forth in the air. Maybe he finally found some kids to play with, she wondered. She glanced to her husband who was leaning against the wall in their kitchen, raising a curious eyebrow at her; he seemed just as clueless as she.

“Mom, the plants. They talked to me today! And-and they called me little master and-“

“Zetsu, dear. You have a very active imagination. Have you considered becoming a writer?” Ayumi asked through a smile, while Jin’s face grew dark. Zetsu’s excited eyes simmered and his face moved from elation to seriousness.

“This wasn’t imagined. This was real.” Zetsu said with a firmness not befitting his age.

“Zetsu, please be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable. It’s you who doesn’t understand,” his gold stare was becoming cold. Ayumi resisted a shiver as she stared into her son’s gaze. She would not push this now.

“Fine. Zetsu fine. But, if this happens again, please don’t tell anyone else.” His mother looked down at her hands and twiddled her thumbs uncomfortably.

“But, why?” He observed his mother flinch. He knew that meant she had no go answers. His ability to read people improved daily.

“Zetsu,” his father’s voice boomed, “do as your mother says and go to your room.”

The boy’s eyes looked hurt. “But!”

“NOW!”

Zetsu stared icily at his father and stormed out of the room. But before exiting up the stairs, he said with more venom than he knew was inside him:

It was a pity to expect you people to understand.
That moment was the first time he saw it unmasked in his mother’s eyes, terror.

Even an untrained ear could have heard Zetsu’s parents arguing that night, which meant that their son heard it too even if neither of them wished it. He heard their talk of their growing apprehension of him, of their guilt for not being there for him, and their fear of having raised him improperly as both of them were shinobi. He listened to his mother’s suppressed sobs and his father trying to comfort her, but what he concluded was this: They both thought he was teetering on the edge of madness. They both thought he was crazy.

This was the last day Zetsu let Jin take him out on his tricycle, the last afternoon he and his mother laughed together while she tried to teach him how to throw kunai, but most importantly it was the last time he told them anything.