The first time Naruto is waylaid by an angry mob, he prays for a miracle. But it never comes.
It is the first time anyone, let alone a whole group, has come after him with the intent to harm him. It is the only time such an incident occurs, but Naruto doesn't know that. Neither does the Hokage, but that will change.
It is October tenth, and all throughout Konoha everyone is celebrating. They are partying, mourning, feasting, remembering, dancing, knocking back the booze and making sweet love, and Naruto finds this so very, very loud. He doesn't get what all the ruckus is about, but he's heard the villagers talk about the Fox and how the Fourth Hokage—bless his soul, they intone—destroyed the infernal beast. On one instance, when the sun had set and the sky was starting to darken, he looked out his window and saw a posse of men and women set fire to an effigy of the Fox. They whooped and cheered, spat into the flames and kicked dust and the first dead leaves of the season, and Naruto promptly shut out the noise.
He knows how rowdy people can get, how drink and party-fever can loosen tongues and inhibitions, so he remains in his little studio apartment milling about, toying with a set of shuriken and kunai he scrounged from the dumpster behind the building, attempting to and failing badly at making origami birds to pass the time, and taking the occasional glance outside his window to see if anyone else is burning straw foxes and pissing them out in the back alley.
Although the village is enjoying themselves to a night of revelry, Naruto finds it best to stay put inside where it's safe and away from whatever foolish antics some of the more inebriated folk might be doing. Perhaps if things were quieter, less rowdy, he would entreat himself to a big heaping order of Ichiraku's finest ramen; after all, a person only turned eight once in their lifetimes, and he wanted to make the best of it while the night was still young.
That idea soon bears fruit upon opening the fridge and discovering he was clearly lacking in the instant cup noodles. Displeased but not discouraged, he scrapes together what little money he has stashed away and, once he's certain the alley is empty, slips out the window and down the fire escape.
Everything is a blur after that. He recalls keeping to the shadows, making sure he picks up his feet and put them down as quietly as possible. He recalls skirting along the roads, passing by crowds mingling at food stalls and game stalls prepared during the weekend, and his stomach gurgling for piping hot broth and filling sustenance. His hand brushes the thin lump of folded money pressing against the tight confines of his pocket, coins rounded lumps and tinkling lightly as he moves to make himself small and not be known.
He can't afford to be seen. He can't stand the thought of being noticed, of someone pointing him out among the throng of humanity and bringing the collective stares of man and woman and child toward him.
Not tonight, he thinks. If the powers above do exist like some shinobi believe they do, they'll be kind and merciful and allow him to get his meal, beat a hasty retreat, and indulge himself in peace and some semblance of muffled quiet.
It's October tenth and Naruto is eight years old. Other than Old Man Hokage he doesn't have any friends. The adults may glare at him and say hurtful things under their breaths when they think he's far out of earshot but the kids are just as bad if not worse. The kids try to pick fights with him, they try to make his day miserable, and while he's more than capable of giving them what-for in the form of scrapped skin and bruises it's the most he can do before he's forced to hightail it and evade their angry parents. There's not much the old man can do—he's a very busy man and the village is his first and utmost priority—but at least he is nice and offers to pay for his portion of food when he deigns to travel abroad on his breaks away from the office. Naruto wishes the Hokage were here to spend time with him, but there's supposed to be some kind of vigil later in remembrance of the victims lost to the Fox's attack and he's needed to see it through; and as much as that bothers him, Naruto knows better than to dwell on it for long.
It's October tenth and he's not sure how it happens, but later on, when he's leaning back in the hospital bed swathed in bandages and his body is wracked in agony and he can barely move, he thinks that maybe—just maybe—he made too much noise. Maybe strayed too far from the cover of the shadows cast by the glow of the streetlamps. None of that matters now, but he was seen. There were men and women, young and old, seated around a bonfire of, what else, comprised of a poorly constructed effigy of the Fox. There were drinks, too, sake and liquor, smokes being passed around, but the stench wasn't as all-powerful, cloying but not thick, and just as he reached the end of the fence and ready to breathe a sigh of relief it happened. It happened, someone saw him, they looked as with one mind, and he froze.
He froze. He froze for a second, but a second was all it took for them to get up and give chase. And Naruto ran, Naruto didn't look back to see whether or not they were grabbing their empty bottles or pulling out their kunai but he was positive they were. Naruto let his feet carry him, guide him, lead him away from them, he didn't care where as long as it was away from them. They shouted, they cursed, they brayed for the blood of the Fox, and they were relentless.
And a part of him wishes he could remember if his feet betrayed him and made him fall or if some fellow, ninja or not, got lucky and the missile he or she lobbed struck true, but he falls nonetheless. He crashes to the ground and they are on him, kicking, punching, spitting and screaming. He curls up in a ball and covers his head with his hands and shakes with the beating of their assault and the beating of his heart as he waits for it to end. It goes on and on and on and he wonders how much longer it will last, wonders as a foot collides with his gut and knocks the wind out of him if it will last forever and if this is the end and where he will go when it does end. He lays there and endures, endures and suffers, and when the pack has finally expended their energy and rage and grief on his body they walk away, content and fulfilled. Some return to kick him for good measure. Others hawk phlegm and gods know what on him. He isn't sure, but he thinks someone may have gone as far as unzip his fly and relieve himself all over him.
He hears congratulations and oaths being passed around, a loud, ululating belch, raucous laughter.
Then, at last, it's over.
It's over, and everything hurts.
And he remembers, quite vividly as a matter of fact, during that encounter praying for a miracle. For somebody to step in, maybe the Hokage, maybe those mysterious, elusive Anbu he's always heard about, maybe a random stranger who just happened to spend the night in Konoha and witnessed what was going on. For his body to rebel against the onslaught and fight back, punish them with the might of the gods and send them scattering, scared and bleeding and crying for their mothers. For him to be whisked away from all the pain and unfairness and wake up elsewhere where no one knew who he was and treated him as any decent human being should to another and start anew. For anything or for all of those options to occur, if only to get them to stop and leave him alone.
But it never comes.
Maybe the gods didn't see it fit to intervene for some odd reason or another. Maybe they felt particularly cruel that night, kicked back, and watched the show. Maybe they weren't there at all, off on some errand or save someone else in more dire straits than him. Or maybe they were never there to begin with, but he doesn't know. He's eight and sore and tired and doesn't particularly care anymore whether or not they were present or the miracles would've occurred. It's done. It's past.
But it still hurts. He's done nothing wrong. He's just trying to get by like everyone else, but merely being in their presence and breathing the same air as them counts as the worst crime of all, and he can't help but wonder, with an equal mixture of anger, sadness, and confusion, why things are the way they are.
When word reaches the Hokage about the attack the following morning, he assigns a rotating cell of Anbu to observe and protect Naruto from afar at all costs, and intervene on his behalf should any more trouble arise. He calls in the Konoha Military Police and has them track down every individual involved to be charged and judged for breaking the decree, having received the details from Inoichi's mind reading.
It takes the rest of the day and the afternoon of the next for most of Naruto's serious injuries to heal. He doesn't understand why the old man's face grows pale when he shows him he's able to walk with ease; he's always been able to bounce back on his feet in record time. Well, better that than telling him the incredibly weird dreams of the Face trapped behind the bars of a cage, snarling dog-like as it splashes dank sewage from its constant thrashing. It yells at him to tear off the seal, just tear it off, all he has to do is rip it off the bar and it will be free. Free to run, free to stretch its cramped legs and unfurl its tails and lash out at the puny, foolish mortals that dared to contain him.
…It was probably a bad idea to stare at the burning Fox effigies for too long.
But it's not such a bad idea, he thinks as the old man escorts him back to his apartment, to remind everyone he's just as much a citizen of Konoha as they are. That this is his home, he has the same privileges, he is entitled to do whatever and say whatever he pleases and not get the crap kicked out of him for it.
They don't have to like it. They don't have to like him, but he's here to stay. He's eight years old, he has his whole life ahead of him and he doesn't know where he'll be a year, maybe five, hell, even ten years from now. At the very least he wants to go through the Academy and graduate, become a ninja and give back to the old man who's managed to give him a somewhat decent life (even though things could be a lot better). Maybe he could even strive to become Hokage, let everyone know that he wasn't some insignificant little bug to be stepped on, let them know he mattered, let them know he wasn't going anywhere and to suck it up.
Gods or no gods, he'll make his own miracle. He'll announce it to the whole world if it comes to that point, but for now, as he hauls the paint bucket up by its handle, jams the brush down the front of his pants and pushes open the bedroom door, he is content to take it one step at a time.
A/N: I never understood the stories that begin with the angry mob. I figure that, later on when Naruto is able to utilize his wind affinity and the Kyuubi's chakra and everything else, he's got enough at his disposal. Why add things like bloodline limits, dojutsu, or have a person or another beast sealed inside him to what he already has? To me, that's making him even more incredibly overpowered than he'd eventually be in canon, and if there's a story where he's that godlike and just curbstomps his opponents left and right over the course of the story without having to at least struggle to earn that victory then it's not as exciting.
What I do understand is that there is an appeal to those particular ideas, and I'm not adverse to the idea of an OC or someone from the Naruto canon or another fandom who helps raise Naruto and deal with Kurama if the connection between chakra and, say, magic from that person's world doesn't conflict with each other (unless it must absolutely warrant some degree of suspension of disbelief). Always nice to see how said person or Naruto experience a different world unlike their own and how they make adjustments to it.
Another reason I wrote this fic is because I find it hard to believe that, even if canon!Naruto had been harassed and hounded by angry mobs, the Anbu - or the Military Police - would jump in right away and stop the villagers before the situation escalated. They wouldn't stand a chance against trained, elite ninja, and if they're going to give Naruto shit AND skirt the boundaries of the decree, they'll do their damnedest to keep that vitriol on the down-low.