Disclaimer: Can't say I own Naruto (c) Kishimoto Masashi, but I do own this story.
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I: Whose Shattered Dream
A quiet breeze wandered through Konohagakure, rustling the forgotten bits of debris lying around the village and offering a cool solace to anyone who needed it - but no one was outside. It probed the empty streets and the closed shops with curious questions whispering through the barely budding branches of the trees; only silence prevailed until the young wind settled comfortably in the creaking of a lonely old rope swing that was tied to a tree not far from the Ninja Academy. Perhaps, once a long time ago, a boy who had often taken ease in the arms of the reliable old swing would have enjoyed all the secrets the wind had to tell, but now, the swing remained empty in its lone existence, forever waiting for that boy to come back with his brilliant laugh and bitter smile.
Yet, past the nicks and cricks of hidden alleyways, past the uncharacteristically quiet Ichiraku ramen shop, up a rickety old building's stairway and into an unkempt studio apartment was the very same boy, his hair as radiant as ever in the morning sunlight and his eyes as blue as the near cloudless sky outside his closed window. His body lied on his bed in a dreamless sleep, awkwardly curled around a twisted tangle of a white sheet and a yellow blanket that knotted around him in an almost choking hold. At the bottom of closed eyelids, trembling eyelashes shimmered with crystal liquid being released down wet trails that were traveled down many a time before along pale, thin cheeks scarred by the last remnants of a demon. A short hacking sound tried to escape his throat, and the boy sprung up into a sitting position while struggling to disentangle the sheets and blanket about him. While throwing the offending fabrics off the bed, he coughed dry coughs that burned his aching throat before fully opening his eyes, blue as the sea on a sunny spring day.
Immediately, a sleeping slumped figure with black circles under his eyes leaped up from the wooden chair placed by the bedside to hand the coughing boy a glass of water from the counter of his nightstand. He patted the boy's back as he had done countless of times at all hours of the day and night during the past week. Worriedly, his eyebrows furrowed while he once again wondered when the pain would free this boy alas. After putting the nearly empty glass back onto the nightstand, the tired man was about to sit back in his chair when a flurry of yellow and pale peach lunged at him, holding his shirt tightly between clenched fists as if he were about to leave forever. A sigh escaped his lips, and he sat on the bed and gathered the boy into his arms as he had done repeatedly before, but it never seemed to be enough. His shirt was always stained with the trails of wet tears and before they could fully dry, his shirt would be stained with fresh marks of sadness. Comforting whispers he gave to the boy were hardly coherent to himself for he hardly knew what he was saying anymore; he hardly knew what to say after repeating the same actions over and over again.
The boy's head began to lean heavily into his chest, and he knew at once that the child had fallen asleep against him, crying, again. He carefully laid his head back onto his pillow splotched with moist stains and untangled the mess on the floor to cover up the sleeper. It was already morning and soon Konahagure would be waking up, but despite what hour it was, the boy in the bed would only continue to either cry or sleep. Sometimes, and it was not rare, he unconsciously did both at the same time. It was an ordeal trying to get the boy to eat or drink anything at all, for he barely had the appetite and was hardly awake enough to consume all three meals properly. Nevertheless, the man in the chair was at his side, either watching over him or preparing what little food he could get him to eat. The bags under his eyes never faded away and his hair was always up in the messy ponytail he constantly wore; his jounin vest was long forgotten as it hung on the same hook it had given home to for the week.
Iruka smiled fondly at the ramen poster hanging on the wall next to Naruto's bed. He remembered how the once annoyingly loud boy loved to eat ramen like each day was going to be his last. His energy was always full and never dwindling, his emotions always obvious although for the past few years, he had been a happy boy and nothing less. Iruka never had a true reason to worry about him although he did anyways. However, now that that had occurred, the one other event the whole village would never speak of again, Iruka could not help but spend all his time taking care of his former student who was the only person he considered as family. He had to make sure his former student, who resembled him in uncountable ways when he was a child, would be strong enough to continue with life, continue being a ninja, and rise above the pain. He had to be certain, beyond all doubts, that Naruto would recover and be strong enough to fulfill his only dream. For if he could not, Iruka would never forgive himself, but above all else, he would never forgive Sasuke.
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AN: So that's the first bit. Tell me what you think ^^;;
