1: Mister Left and Mister Right
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Full Summary:
There was always those bits of advice that stuck to a person, whether it becomes a central part in forming their identity or it just sits in the background, resonating, echoing, but never does it disappear.
"A ninja should always observe and be alert of his surroundings. Be subtle about it. You don't want anyone of the opposite side to notice and leave you in the shadows again."
Naruto might not be a genius, a prodigy or even a Nara, but, he's an Uzumaki and he'll learn.
If the deduction is an essential part of becoming a ninja, well, at least his adventures would never be boring. There will be pain and there will be healing and as long as he smiled, he just might have a fulfilling life.
A small figure sat on a mattress, eyes gazing at the larger, taller figures arguing above with their fingers pointing towards the one on the mattress. Minutes later, only one person remained; a short, busty woman with blonde hair and grey eyes and a scar running vertically on her right eye. The eyes were cold as she glared with no restraints at the small figure sitting innocently on the mattress. Pointing at the figure, the woman shouted at him, the receiver blinking incomprehensively at her. With a frustrated yell, the woman marched out of the room the door slamming behind her.
The sudden noise sprung tears in the small figure, his muffled sobs unheard past the walls of the room; he did not understand why the tall figures started patronising him, their shouts loud enough to send his ears ringing and their faces glaring in disgust.
Loud banging from his door snapped him from his sobs and he bit down on the sheet. Shifting, he turned his gaze at the small crack in the wall, the only view he would get to the world outside.
Over the following months he learnt a valuable lesson, though, it had taken a while for it to sink in with him still having a bit of trouble comprehending sentences spouting from other people's mouths. Their expressions were enough for him to find a highly plausible conclusion, not that he knew of those words, but, it would be described once he acquired a higher vocabulary.
The small child was starved for attention like every child his age but, for some reason, it was never given. They ignored the child with a determined will, his wails unheard, his questions ignored and his tantrums were disciplined.
The actions of the adults and the matron had given the children the incentive to follow in their examples, it was a cruel act from the children as they were still innocent and only following the adults'.
Currently, the children of the orphanage were let out for playtime, the adults watching over them. They, however, ignored the small figure sprinting towards the woods with children on his heels yelling at him.
The child was still very young compared to the other children that were let out, as those his age was kept in careful supervision as viruses his age was easier to catch and harder to cure, not that he knew, he was preoccupied with running away from the mean older children.
It was minutes later that his still developing motor skills kicked in, his feet had tangled itself mid-step and he tripped on air. Rolling with the motion with the breath knocked out of him he lay curled under the root of a tree hollow.
Breathing deeply, the child whimpered in pain, his tears falling on the dry leaves. The clouds had gathered some time ago and the tears of the sky began pelting the earth. The soft pitter-patter of water droplets landed on the small figure, their tears coming together as confused, pained eyes gazed at the grey sky.
Once the rain had let up the small figure began his trek back towards the illuminating orphanage door. Knocking hesitantly the small child waited for the door to open and stared distressed at the matron's sneer. His arm was grabbed harshly in a firm grip, his whimpers bringing a tilt of the lady's lip upwards.
Thrown bodily towards his room, the matron glared disdainfully at the child, her words reverberating from the walls even after she departed with a slam of the door. He was refused food and was only given a bowl of water once a day for a two weeks.
"Demon."
"Devil-spawn!"
The adults did not bother to hide their disgust as the child walked among them, some, if not most threw trash at him and purposefully tripped him. He did not retaliate, the last time he did, it had resulted in a brutal discipline as 'they' liked to call it.
"Get away from my children!"
"You're not needed here."
The eyes were cold, a burning fury filled with cold resentment fuelled just by his very existence. The children were worse, he wanted to blame and he had, for a while when he had not understood. Eyes with burning hatred at their negative emotions only made his situation worse.
There were times when the negativity was too much for his young shoulders and he had run, away from their gazes, away from their words and away from the environment; just away in general.
It was in one of his many runs that he had come across a foliage and it was this foliage that led him to his anchor only metres away from falling to his inevitable destruction.
The child had wriggled further under the tree growth; his pursuers had been persistent after one of the children had run to the adults when he accidently stumbled the child, crying and wailing at his scraped knees. They had demanded an apology as they advanced towards him, the child staring vindictively at him and once he did they started shouting and one of the adults had hit him across the chin and kicked him away. He had run then, away from them, their cruel laughter licking his heels like poison ivy.
Senses on high alert, their footsteps, louder and heavier than a child's as they shouted false concerns. He had learnt that they had no concern for his being beside disciplining him and scurried deeper in the undergrowth as the noises got closer.
A hand appeared on the corner of his bush and he dug desperately behind him, wanting, wishing for a shield against another session. His fingers had latched on a stick or a root and he tried to pull it, it was better than nothing, it might distract them.
The child wasn't expecting the immediate fall or the sudden darkness that surrounded him and it took a while for him to scream in fright.
Landing harshly on the ground, the figure blinked the spots away and rolled from the impact. Coughing, he reigned in his breathing and attempted to stand, tripped and landed in mud from the recent bout of rain.
Shakily, the child ventured away from the hollow of the tree and only minutes later found a river containing marine animals he had seen in books when he could glimpse them. Peering over the edge he swallowed his first look at his appearance; the adults never let him be near any reflective surfaces.
A pair of eyes of all shades of blue gazed back swirling like the sky reflected in the water; he could not determine the shade of his hair as it was completely matted in mud and his face caked in it. Trembling hands cupped the clear water, the mud washing away, staining his skin a darker complexion. Bringing the water to his face he rubbed the mud away enough not to be completely clean and did the same to his hair, it became a very light shade of brown.
He kneeled transfixed at his appearance and had just begun to completely clean himself away when a rustle from behind had him jumping in the river. He turned with trepidation, eyes guarded and lips in a stubborn line.
Two tall figures of dark hair with equally dark eyes and different hairstyles gazed back at the child in bemusement. The child had never seen figures like them before nor the attire did they wear as if it was normal. They both wore a mesh undershirt with sleeves in varying length between them, black shirts, dark green bulky vests, black headbands with silver metal and an insignia of their village; black pants for the one on the left and dull brown on the one on the right, the child decided to name them that.
Mister Left had black ankle high sandals of sorts and black bandages up to his knees. He had identical pockets on either side of his legs, a tanto of sorts across his back and a pouched belt. Mister Right had silky hair tied in a low pony, the tail short from the band.
Mister Right had white bandages halfway up his calf, navy ankle sandals and the same accessories as the Mister Right. He had thick spiky hair, the shade sucking in all the light from the surrounding area and softer eyes than his companion.
The three stood frozen fixing each other with cautious gaze and silence was broken only when the child sneezed.
Eyes widening, Mister Right reacted first and pulled him from the water apologising too fast for the child to comprehend. Mister Left rolled his eyes and nudged his companion away, and pulled a blanket from a hidden bag the child did not see and draped it across his shoulders.
The two figures had crouched to be at a somewhat respectable height, even though they were still indescribably towering over the shivering figure.
Mister Right nudged Mister Left, "I think he needs to clean up."
"Hn."
"Hn." He replied, rolling his eyes.
A flicker of the eyes and a grunt.
"Hn." Mister Right turned his attention at his only confused audience. "Don't mind grouchy here, I was wondering if you'd want to clean up the mud?"
Blinking and still confused, the child shook his head negatively.
"Hn."
"Well, there's not much I can do." Mister Right began to stand, "Come on grouchy; let's spar."
Mister Left didn't bother to reply but followed, leaving behind the small child. Watching them walk away, the small figure followed a few metres behind.
Their eyes flickered behind them at their lost puppy, their conversations consisted mostly with varying degrees of grunts and the occasional sentences from Mister Left.
Upon arriving at well-hidden, well-secluded clearing the two tall figures separated, Mister Left sending a look at the small figure following them. The child followed the gaze to his left and looked back as Mister Right shook his head and nodded.
"Hn." He said.
Not knowing how to translate that, the child walked to the indicated spot and sat, snuggling in the warm blanket.
That day, the child learnt what spar meant and the destructive force they threw at each other. He never interrupted, didn't utter a sound and remained where he was in case they attacked him. He had no idea what they were, only that their headband had something to do with it and their hands blurred so fast that he could not make out what it was that they did with their fingers.
Deciding to just sit back and watch the barely visible spar, they were going too fast for his age and experience.
Three days later he came back covered in mud and the two taller figures continued their spars as he watched from the sidelines, occasionally capturing the words thrown at each other.
Chapter 2 Overview
Bonds and Chains
The Orphanage may have disliked his existence, their eyes digging holes in his soul, but, at least he had Mister Left, Mister Right and the kind Jiji to protect further deterioration of his very being. His introduction to Chakra, the vulnerability of a leader and maybe the compassion of the innocence and naivety of a child was enough to hold himself together.