Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. I'm too poor.
Author note: Just a short little one shot I thought of when I got disgusted trying to find something to read. Maybe if I hadn't already read all the completed non-yaoi stories I would have found something. Oh well. Nicole you forgot to tell me the name of your story. Review and let me know if it's angtsy enough.
Abused
When he was three he got kicked out of the Home, as the children called it. He heard the older children laugh as he fell down the side stairs and his few meager belongings were thrown over him. His two changes of clothes landed in the muddy puddle left by the carter who delivered fresh produce every day. A battered cup hit him in the head and the worn plate slapped him on the butt. But he only sighed and gathered up his things. An aide handed him a small knapsack to put them in and, as he went to tuck them all inside he found someone had put in his battered broken toys and favorite story book. Since the Headmistress was still watching him and pointing at the road he hid his small smile and turned away. She screamed at him, "Don't come back. Ever." He obeyed.
When he was four he was beaten near to death for sleeping in a park. He didn't know the person that beat him but it wasn't the first beating he had suffered. Nor, he knew, would it be his last. He suffered in silence not understanding any of it but figuring, since there was nothing he could do to stop it, it was best just to keep going. One day at a time. He found the entrance to the sewers and explored them fully. No one was down there but he quickly identified the places where people might come and stayed away from those areas. He found a dry ledge and moved onto it. He hid his knapsack in a dark corner and only ventured out after dark. It was days before anyone realized they hadn't seen him but down in the sewers he didn't know his absence had been noted. He didn't know he was being hunted.
When he was five he was caught out raiding a dumpster for whatever was still useable. He took broken furniture, strips of cloth, food, bones. Whatever he could salvage. But that night the moon was too bright and he was seen, dirty and filthy as he was. Instantly he'd been recognized and the chase was on. He didn't lead his pursuers back to his haven. Instead he ran all around the village trying to shake them but the mob grew in numbers and in strength. Finally he was cornered. He was beaten and stabbed multiple times. Slashes adorned his face and arms, belly and legs. Even the bottom of his shoeless feet told the tale of the kunai attack though none but he and his attackers would ever know of it. Bones were pierced by the sharp weapons to leak soft calcium into his bloodstream. Internal organs were pierced as well but only the sounds he couldn't conceal were heard from the child. What skin wasn't leaking red blood was either black, blue or even a sickly greenish purple color. When the mob was sure they'd killed him this time they wandered away. He waited and crawled into the shadows until he could once more go home. Home to his sewer.
When he was six he was blamed for a fire and treated to the taste of acid burns. They had once more caught him out looking for food and grabbed him before he could escape them. Something he had gotten pretty good at over the years but hunger had dulled his senses this night, allowing them to capture him. They drug him to the curbside drug store and treated him to a face full of acid. They threw vial after vial of the burning liquid on him. As he writhed and screamed he heard again the laughter he always heard. Cackles from people he had never met were accompanied by blows meant to pay him back for crimes he had never committed. He had figured it out by now and knew why they hated him. He was born the night their hero died but he still didn't know how he could have done anything about that. So, though he screamed in pain, only in his heart did he cry. Tears, real tears never did any good and he'd given up trying to stop the attacks once they'd begun. Now he just suffered through making as little noise as he could until it ended. When they were done his blue eyes were ghostly grey and dim, the sight forever gone away. Again he made his way back to his sewer home. This time he decided never to leave it again. He'd paid the last price he was willing to pay.
When he was seven the villagers found him. They came to him bareing the stench of his watery home. This time the brave souls weren't content to just use their fist, feet and knives on the small boy. No, this time they injected the acid into the cuts they made and watched as holes grew from the inside of his small body. Laughing and chanting, they sliced and diced chunks from him and tossed them aside to feed the rat population. Fingers and toes, ears and nose joined the slime that ran through the sewers. His blood flowed freely from the missing apendentures. Only when he was bleeding too freely for them to find more unblemished skin did they stopped and moved off. Their victim vowed in his pain, as his nose, fingers and toes grew back, to leave. He'd follow the sewers and get away and never come back. He didn't know someone was looking for him to offer him a way out. Nor would he have cared. For him he didn't believe there was a way out. There had never been a way out.
When he was eight he'd found a cave outside the village. He lived in there with his small knapsack of belongings, wearing rags of clothes he'd found in the dumpsters of the village and long since outgrown. Though he was blind he could hear amazingly well. His sense of smell was keen and what he couldn't hear or smell he could sometimes taste on the air. He learned to trust in his other senses to tell him what his eyes no longer could. He'd learned to plant seeds and harvest them. Not well but he got some food from the seeds he'd planted. He'd also learned to hunt small game. He could throw a spear and be reasonably sure he'd hit what he aimed at. Maybe not hard enough to kill it but still hard enough to bring it down. A rock would finish the job. The animal skins lined his cave floor and gave him a warm but smelly place to sleep during the day. He still prowled at night when the rest of his kind were sleeping. For this one year, he was beating free and he smiled as he congratulated himself on making the right decision.
But when he turned nine it all went bad. His cave home was found and they were waiting for him as he came in with his kill. They beat him down and tore his rags. Beaten and bloody and still too small to really hurt them back, he could do nothing as they took turns in teaching him to run away. Without a stitch of clothes to cover his small person, it's not surprising they raped him before drugging him. He was brought back to the village he so hated. They left him tied spread eagle on a frame designed to allow no secrets for him in the center of the courtyard of the Hokage Tower. The word Demon etched in acid on his chest and again on his back and a small piece of his anatomy was forever missing left on the fur covered floor of a rocky cave for the scavengers to find.
He was cut down and treated but the scars remained. Demon written in acid on his body, a bag between his legs, eyes that could not see more than shadows. The Hokage gave him an apartment but things did not improve and it wasn't long before the boy found his way back to the shadows. This time he found a place only a very few even knew existed and he hid there. Never ever did he leave for any reason whatsoever. It didn't matter what his body needed or wanted. He stayed in his cave. He lived on the plants the voice told him were there and learned to catch the fish from the lake. He'd long since learned to swim and that washed away the dirt and grime of his meager existence. Since he'd never been to school he didn't know how to read or write or do his numbers but he didn't need to. Of what use were written words to him or numbers either? The picture book and knapsack of belongings faded into fantasy memories that seemed to belong to someone else. Small animals would venture into his cave never to see the light of day again but he stayed small and thin. Never quite starving but never quite full either. His rugged existence led to wiry muscles and an animal cunning and he honed his skills until if they came for him again it would not be he who got hurt. The voice taught him how to fight back and he listened with hate in his heart.
By the time he was ten and they came for him once more he was ready. In vicious snarling attacks he tore them apart. Bloody pieces of what used to be people were found littering the ground all around the village when people arose from their slumber. Some were never identified but others were a surprise to the ignorant village. Ninja of great skill were among the dead having under-estimated what a pissed off, hate filled ten year old could and would do to a full grown adult. Business men thought to be honorable would never again make a backroom deal. Drunken fools would never again spend money they didn't have keeping a barstool warm and flirting with a used up once pretty girl of the night. It made no difference to the boy in the cave. Theyhad made their last mistake and now they would answer to Kami for the error of their life. As the village buried the pieces of the rampage, some swore they heard the Yondaime's head singing a nursery rhyme.
Over the years to come many would try to find out the mystery of why the Yondaime's head was singing but no one who ever found the answer lived to tell the story. The blond haired mistreated child had finally found his safe haven and the strength he needed to defend it no matter who came calling. Uzumaki Naruto was safe inside his father's head.