Vines: Blue Phoenix

They'd been at this since daybreak. The edges of the child's mouth were so dry and sore that his lips cracked and bled. His throat hurt and he couldn't shake a dry cough, but that was nothing compared to the searing sensation resonating from the back of his head and the tips of his ears. Every time he felt ashamed, he'd burn there until everything calmed back down.

This wouldn't. Already, his mother's face contorted into a frustrated expression. She'd start by furrowing her eyebrows together, as though his actions confused her. Then her eyes would narrow as she attempted to identify the root cause of her son's failure to meet her expectations. Next, she'd chew her lip as she inwardly debated saying something. If the fluke was particularly bad, her hands would fidget, too, indicating she couldn't decide whether to pat him on the back or shake him. By the time Uchiha Kazusa's upper lip curled back and Fugaku could see her front teeth, he knew she'd speak and it wouldn't be anything he'd want to hear.

"For heaven's sake, Fugaku," she groaned. "How do you expect the clan to recognize you as my heir if you can't get this right?"

This was easier said than done! This technique differentiated the children from the adults and she expected him to perform it at the ripe old age of seven. Sometimes Fugaku got the feeling that nothing would never be enough to impress his mother. She was the ambitious one, the fiery one–and all because she was the previous clan head's daughter. Instead of turning the reigns over to her husband, Kazusa kept it all for herself. The clan honored her as their current head, though she wasn't terribly liked.

'It's hard!' he wanted to scream at her. 'Can't you see I've been trying to do this all day? I'm tired. I want to go home and try this again when I feel better.' None of those words came out. Instead, the only thing he managed to utter out was a grumbled apology.

"What are you apologizing for?" Kazusa continued to glower, but at least she made the effort to lean down and look her child in the eye. "You're trying your best, right?" Fugaku took a deep breath, sucked in his bottom lip, and nodded his head. "You're sure?" Before he could even answer her, something else left Kazusa's mouth that always made her child cringe. "Do you know how old your oba-san and I were when we first managed to do this?"

If his father came up in conversation, Fugaku knew he'd see a bit more leniency from his mother. His father, despite being a late bloomer in almost everything, was now one of the strongest people in the clan. Uchiha Sarani believed in taking his time to grow into someone of great quality. He was more the sort to encourage studying hard rather than attempting to cram every last thing into one's head. Stressed shinobi rushed their results, only to come out of their efforts with nothing more than a hot mess.

If his aunt came up, Kazusa wouldn't be as lenient. Naho was his mother's lifelong best friend and revered by her as a pseudo-sister. No one in Kazusa's world sat upon a pedestal anywhere near as high as Naho did. Kazusa nearly deified her, singing Naho's praises every chance she could, and held her high as a nigh unattainable golden standard. If her son could emulate her beloved friend, no one would ever question his greatness or potential.

Already, Fugaku's heart wanted to sink into the pit of his stomach. "No," he confessed, glancing down at himself, thinking it unfair that he was being compared to one of the more infamous adults in the clan. "But I'm not–"

Kazusa's large hand landed on her son's head. She lightly ruffled his dark brown hair, watching it start to fluff up in the back. "No excuses," she told him firmly. "You're my son. Mine and your father's."

'Bet you wish you could've had a kid with oba-san.' Some things were better left unsaid. A dirty look would be enough. A scowl would be enough. He–

"I know we'll see flames come out of you before we go home." Kazusa's tone had grown softer, so sure. "Now try again."

…

Fugaku found out the answer to his mother's question later. Five. They'd both been two goddamned years younger than him when they mastered Gōkakyū no Jutsu. Not wanting to get into another argument with his mother, he'd worked up the nerve to interrupt his father and ask.

As hot-blooded and proud as Kazusa could be, Sarani was her perfect balance. The clan revered him for his ability to keep a calm and level head in any situation. Beyond that, he was a master strategist and well earned the respect of this family–and Kazusa's passionate adoration.

More importantly to a boy Fugaku's age, his father knew what to say and do to calm him down. No matter how heated an argument or sharp a retort as Kazusa threw his way, Sarani had a presence to him that made even the end of the world sound unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

"Don't let this bother you. Your mother and I were the first generation of Uchiha children to grow up in this village," he explained. "Your auntie, too. Those were dark days. Children didn't have time to act like children. Everyone grew up too fast." He knew he had. And he'd lost so many loved ones along the way.

"So why does she want me to do this so bad? We don't live in the dark ages anymore." If it were up to him, he'd revisit the fireball technique at a later date. Two days in a row and he hadn't mastered it yet. "She needs to cut me a break. I'm not like oba-san."

To that remark, Sarani let loose a long sigh and put the pipe down. "Fugaku, I'm not like your oba-san and neither is your mother. No one is like your oba-san."

"Then why–"

"Your mother wants you to do everything your aunt can because she admires her strength and wants to see that same strength in you. We all want to see you excel, but I'll talk to your mother about easing off a little when she comes home," and he'd pray the whole time that she hadn't found another stray cat along the way. "After all…"

And here came the biggest thing he hated about his father. Kazusa was direct, but Sarani had it in him to be a grand master of passive aggression. That man could crush someone with very few words.

"It's too much to expect you to do this."

…

A bright and vibrant fireball left his mouth at long last, but it came at a great price. Fugaku practiced the move at every free moment for four straight days. His dry cough turned into a bloodied one, his face caught so much heat that he suspected he'd singed his nose hairs, and it hurt too much to talk. Even swallowing liquids was painful, but growing boys still had to eat.

But no one was there to witness the fruit of all his hard labor–or so he thought. He panted, wheezed, and coughed up red flecks until he felt like he'd pass out. And yet Fugaku grinned because he'd done it! And since he did it once already, then he could take some time, show his mother, and–

"My…someone's been practicing. Very nice. Very nice indeed."

That wasn't Kazusa's roar of approval soon to be accompanied by a hearty thump on the back. Sarani wouldn't have said anything at all, were he there. He'd just smile in proud, glorified radiance, and tell his son on the way home that he was full of surprises. His spectator was neither person. Fugaku recognized the tall, willowy silhouette even before Naho stepped out of the shadows. "My daughter can't do this yet. You're leaps and bounds ahead of Kaede."

There! Take that, legacies! He was already leagues ahead of perfect auntie's progeny!

The seven-year-old beamed over Naho's praise, feeling some prideful color flush into his face. Excitedly, he walked closer to his aunt, hoping for some physical sort of reward for a job well done. She'd kiss his cheek sometimes or pat his back. Other times, she'd sneak him candy and tell him to keep it a secret from Kazusa.

"Do you think you did a great job?" Naho asked, tightly smiling from crimson-painted lips. She always dolled herself up and dressed fancier than any other lady in the clan. Seemingly every outfit she owned was a tightly-fitting, high-collar dress, not that Fugaku could figure out why. Happily, he nodded along. "It was a rather impressive fireball. I'm sure your parents will tell you that when you show them later."

What his father told him earlier rang in his head: Your mother wants you to do everything your aunt can because she admires her strength and wants that same strength for you. To hear he'd impressed Naho was a huge boost for his ego. She was going to endorse him and tell his mother and father what he could do, wasn't she?

But his aunt did something else. She gave another forced smile and stood upright. After brushing herself off and poising her slender body for perfect posture, she turned her attention toward an old metal gate and performed the all-too-familiar hand-signs.

What Fugaku saw next caused his mouth to hang wide open in disbelief. From Naho's lips came a blue fireball so bright that the boy's eyes hurt from looking at it. The gate melted as though it were made of ice. Everything in Naho's path turned to ash and there he was, proud of a basic fireball. This time, her pursed smile split to show her teeth. As a hoarse and raspy snicker left her lips, so did smoke.

"Don't become complacent just because you did it right."