Full Summary: Namikaze Minato never became a Shinobi of the Leaf. The Third Great Ninja War never happened. The Kyuubi never attacked. Uzumaki Naruto was never born. The ninja world as we knew it, inevitably changed. Namikaze Minato instead wandered the desert with his wife and child. However, some things could never change. Some things could never be stopped, only delayed. This is the story of that inevitability. This is the story of a desert child. A child of the sands. A wanderer. A nomad. This is the story of Namikaze Naruto. He is a born storm. A force of nature itself. His origins obscured by the sands of the vast desert; he is an unknown. Child of Namikaze Minato and Kushina, he begins his journey outside the blazing desert that is all he has known. He will find purpose in his life, he will find out why. Major AU.
AN:
When I say major, I mean major.
Pairings are undecided, but I have a few ideas... hint hint nudge nudge (for those that need more help, it means help me out here. I'm not much of a matchmaker.)
No YAOI!! I'll say it a thousand-plus times if I have to but no YAOI.
Disclaimer: This is based off the Naruto manga/anime series. I don't own some characters, ideas, and plots, HOWEVER, some aspects of this is of my own creation.
In Another Place, in Another Time…
Naruto hated the desert. He despised it with all his being for its hot intensity, for its irritating sand, and for harsh wind. He loathed the way it seemed to never end, that even at edge of the horizon, nothing existed but more of the barren terrain. He tolerated the wasteland merely because it was home. It was his home. Now it mocked him, it mocked the life he lived and the lives his parents had lived. The arid region had claimed their bodies, his heart and soul was torn apart and mutilated beyond recognition and beyond repair. Nothing could mend the gaping hole that was once him. He didn't live that day, he didn't survive, all he did was exist. That day his spirit broke, every piece spinning hauntingly into a sea of darkness. It was a day to be mourned; it was the anniversary of his birth and now his parents' demise..
The desert wind swept across the burning landscape, sending clouds of sand into the air. Few could perceive the world around them as the sandstorm swirling around them blinded them. Only a small number would dare to journey anywhere during such a ferocious storm. Those… desert nomads are the one of the rare such people. A family, a family was who trekked through this storm. The voyagers struggled against the raging sandstorm with little success. They had been caught in a seemingly endless sea of blindness and of blazing sand. No one would likely survive such a storm. No one would live past this storm, no one but the child.
"Some birthday," A child rasped out as his blond hair whipped against his face.
"Naruto-kun, don't lose hope so quickly," A red-haired woman chided. "The storm will let up sooner than you think."
The child, Naruto, grudgingly accepted that the storm would continue despite his wishes. "Doesn't mean I have to like it," he mumbled.
His father looked amused at the words exchanged between mother and child. "We should find some shelter soon! The village is only a few more miles northward!" he shouted against the deafening wind.
The group of three continued endlessly against the wall of sand and wind. Their white, thick clothing billowed as the currents bore down on them. The maelstrom of sand denied them their sight but the thunderous winds could not deafen them to each other due to their close proximity. Naruto struggled harder than his parents given his small frame. He hated this reality. He was too short and light and because of this, the wind opposed him the most. His parents strained against the wind mere feet away from him. Their forms were blurred but he could make them out slightly. Sand flew against his frail form forcing him further from them. He cried out sharply. Some had gotten into his eyes halting him in his battle against the great gales of wind. Naruto quickly looked upwards in an attempt to locate his parents… He couldn't see them…
His eyes widened considerably and frantically searched his vision for his caretakers. He shot forward fervently seeking them out. 'Where could they be?! They were just a few feet in front of me!' he thought panicking. He persisted in his search hopelessly. What he discovered stopped his heart cold. A scream. A scream of agonizing pain and torture. The blood running through him held no warmth, it held no feeling. He stood stiffly, his body unable to move in his fear of what might have happened, what couldn't have happened. Yet his eyes betrayed his desire, there stood before him laid his mother… and his father… Covered. In. Blood.
His parents laid silent among the desert sand with their bodies cut in more ways than one. Their soulless, empty eyes stared toward something… a man. Thief, the eyes accused them, reaper of souls. His heart beat so loudly, each beat was a step further towards realization. His eyes fell upon the man's sword, a kodachi. A mockery. A blade made to defend now a weapon forged for the ending of lives. A sword of death and coated in blood. 'My parents' blood' he realized. He glanced at the man and the two met gazes. His brilliant azure eyes meeting the rustic crimson. The sand swirled along with the now silent wind. 'How? How could the raging storm moments before now be so quiet?' he continued to stare, taking every detail of the man that stood before him. He ignored his surroundings, seeming to perceive only the blood-stained sword and the wielder.
The newly-christened eight-year-old child intently studied the man. The man stood tall, taller than his father. He wore clothing dyed crimson and amethyst. He wore on his forehead a headband with a scratch engraved upon it. He realized then that the whole storm was a ruse. A mere play to ensnare the lives unfortunate enough to be captured in it. 'And we were the prey,' the boy thought, 'nothing more than prey to him.' His eyes finally turned to his guardians' corpses. Wounds that seemed not aimed to kill but to torture, a slow excruciating death. Their white uncut clothes were now tarnished with the color of blood and torn in several places. 'Dead… my parents are dead…' came the slow, numbing truth. It was undeniable. Their garments fluttered slightly as wind passed over them. They were dead… they could no longer speak to him, smile to him, laugh with him, and no longer look at him with love in their eyes. They were Dead… he couldn't hold them any longer, he couldn't touch them anymore, they were beyond his reach, just beyond it. They were Dead! MURDERED! BY THIS MONSTER!! He grasped his head tightly, trembling. Eyes filled with a sea of tears unable to be released. A sea of despairing darkness that quickly shifted to anger. He felt rage, pure unadulterated and primal rage. He grabbed his father's sword which rested beside him. Ignoring the voice that questioned where his father had obtained a sword. Then he charged…
…
…
...
'Don't,' came the voice.
He stumbled to the side for a moment. His anger seemed to vanish. And he stopped. The voice, it seemed so familiar, so warm and loving. 'Don't,' it repeated, 'What would they think? What did they teach you?' His knees fell hard against the rough sand with a silent thud. His parents… the tears finally started to stream from his eyes. His parents… they loved him. He loved them. They taught him. He learned from them. They spoke to him. He heard them. His head fell in shame. He ignored everything around him, everything that happened as he remembered the teachings of his parents. He clenched his fists tightly, gripping the sword harder, even as the man looked on in curiosity, a contemplative look in his eyes. 'Never hate, never seek retribution. And above all else… forgive,' came the ghostly whispers of whom he wanted to avenge. He knelt there in the sand as the hours passed. As the sun fell. And as that man left. That man whose eyes would forever carve themselves into his memory. That man with the bloody sharingan eyes.
He knelt there, for moments, hours, days, he no longer knew. He had been numb to everything surrounding him. Nothing reached his attention; he was unaware to his environment. The desert itself, even as expansive as it was, was ignored by him. The only thing that mattered was that his parents were dead. Gone.
His grip on his father's sword never wavered. The sword lay glistening in the sun, its reflective metal shining brightly. The polished steel had a yellowish tint to it; the hilt itself was simple, yet, elegant. It held a small, white, unrecognizable gem at the base of the hilt, which seemed to swirl with faint wisps of smoke inside it. The sword remained undisturbed and insignificant until the slight and unnoticeable shift in the wind.
The sword had quivered erratically at that single alteration. Naruto remained oblivious to the unusual quality of the sword and lingered in his mind, lost in thought. The sword drastically increased in pace, when it seemed not to work, a single word entered the boy's mind.
'RUN!!' shouted an urgent call.
That instantaneously roused the boy to his surroundings. He wildly explored the background. His eyes widened radically at what approached him… a sandstorm. One of a magnitude he had never witnessed before. The wall of sand loomed towards him at a brisk velocity. It easily towered even over the wall of the great Sunakagure.
He ran towards the body of his mother and clutched at her necklace. The one object that he could not lose. He hastily set it around his neck and, holding his father's sword tightly, ran. He ran, not looking back in fear that should he, he would be consumed by the encompassing cloud. He darted forward at an incredible pace, his survival instinct pushing his small body to the limit. 'FASTER!' thought two voices simultaneously. He pushed his body further as the storm enclosed on him. He ran faster, yet it didn't seem to be enough. Just as his vision was obscured, the vague outline of a village came into view…
He was falling…
His body descended into a sea of shadows…
He was falling…
It was cold…so cold…
He couldn't breathe…
Why couldn't he breathe?
His drop from above seemed to slow as he reached the bottom.
He tried to suck in air…
Sand entered his lungs painfully, cutting his parched throat.
It was hot now. His body seemed to have been set ablaze by fire. He screamed…screamed as the sand sliced at his flesh. He was coughing deeply, yet he continued to screech in his suffering. 'WHY??' Why was he suffering so much? Why was he being tortured? He heard voices, but he couldn't make them out. Why? He directed his question at them. Why were they hurting him?
"…an…sthe…c… ear… g off. Get san… out…his lungs… NOW!!"
He couldn't comprehend their words. Why was that man yelling? Why couldn't they stop hurting him? Why wouldn't they leave him alone? Alone…that's right, he was alone now… his parents had died. Why did they die? His breathing evened out as the sand was removed from his lungs. Why were they killed? He breathed heavily, but evenly, tired from his cries of pain. Why was he left alone? His body became tranquil as he finally rested. His mind slowly succumbed to unconsciousness, however, one drifting thought came across his mind… Why?
The sterile white halls were silent with the exception of the slow steady beeps of a heartbeat monitor. Quiet shuffling could be heard as a traumatized boy slightly stirred and eventually woke. His eyes squinted painfully at the blinding light as he raised his arm to shield them.
Where am i? His bleary eyes blinked as they adjusted and studied his surroundings. Confusion evident in his movements, a patiently waiting attendant approached him slowly so as not to startle him.
"You're in the hospital," the young woman voiced, giggling lightly at his shock. "That's what most patients do when they wake up you know; wonder where they are."
Naruto stared at her puzzlingly for a moment before awareness arrived as his sleep swept away. His eyes lowered as his last memories played out before him. Depression seemed to exude from him, sending an aura of gloom to those around him.
"Hey, hey cheer up, it's not the end of the world. Whatever's wrong can't be that bad. Even if it is, brooding on the problem isn't going to solve it."
He glanced up at the professionally-dressed woman briefly before giving a slight, hesitant nod. She was right. He'd be wasting away his life, forever lingering in a horrible past. He had to move on. But... "It takes time," came his raspy and uneven voice.
His words were so quiet, the attendant barely heard him, but she understood. Smiling, she said, "You're right. It does take time. Moving on doesn't happen overnight, but talking about it is a good step forward."
His gaze fell upon her for a moment before falling downwards once again, seeming to disagree. Silence reigned for a few moments and the woman made to speak up. She was interrupted, however, by his quiet voice. "It's cold at night," He rasped out, surprising and confusing her at the same time.
"In the desert," he clarified, "it's cold. I know it's cold, but I couldn't feel it, not with them there." His voice cracked noticeably near the end.
"Them?" the girl muttered questioningly.
"My parents."
Realization flooded the young woman mind. That's why he was alone, she pondered sadly. Her thoughts remained unspoken, allowing him to continue.
"We were in the middle of a sandstorm. I got separated from them for a few minutes," he closed his eyes again, struggling to get out the words trapped in his throat. "I-I don't exactly know what happened. I had gotten sand in my eyes and when I looked up, they weren't there. I looked for them and ran to find them. And when I did..." he trailed off, unable to continue. He felt a surprising warmth around him then. Looking up, he realized the girl had hugged him. Incapable of holding his tears any further, they burst forth as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.
After a few minutes, the separated, wiping away tears.
"Korasaki Aeomi," the brunette girl voiced.
"Namikaze Naruto," the azure-eyed boy replied.
Review if you want, I don't care if you don't. . Probably because I'd be a hypocrite if I did. But I value any input you have, and if you have suggestion (they are only suggestions, I don't have to adapt my stories to your ideas) I may consider them. Updates will probably be slow throughout the school year... o.e stupid AP classes.