This is just a one-shot that arose from a conversation on tumblr pertaining to the influence Yami!Naruto had on the real Naruto. Gonna be honest, I really love the idea of dark Naruto so this was a lot of fun to write. It does follow the canon ending up until the Boruto movie (where I added a little tweak ending just for closure), so if you didn't like it, that's alright, I just ask that you please be respectful. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Enjoy!
The first time you hear the voice, you are four-years-old and alone.
It's a happy voice, full of childish giggles and jokes to fill a book, and is a much welcome respite from the maddening silence you are so used to. He talks to you and you know he is a boy because he sounds just like you and for the first time someone is listening and that makes you so happy you think you might cry. You don't, of course, you've done enough crying to last two lifetimes, but the feeling is there and you don't have the desire to tell it to leave.
He becomes your friend. Your precious first friend who you can talk to in the dead of night and whisper all your secrets and desires to without fear of scorn. In return, he tells you funny stories about the orphanage matron – how she was cursed with moles by a wicked witch, and how she stole her talons from a dragon. Her voice is that of a harpy, the only thing she was allowed to keep when the gods cursed her to a mortal body, and though she no longer retains her powers, she still takes pleasure out of torturing children.
You believe this. You believe every word. Because you know how mean and cruel the matron is. She's locked you in your room and sent you to bed without food and won't even let you play with the other children. Monster, she calls you when she thinks you can't hear. Demon, she says when she knows you can.
Monster. Demon, the voice whispers in your ear, childish and playful and giggling at the words. You're not a demon. You're Naruto and you're a child, and sometimes children do bad things. But you don't do bad things, the matron does. Don't worry though, I'm here. I'll protect you.
Because you're my friend? You think in your mind, where the voice always talks to you.
Because I'm your friend, and friends keep friends safe.
Nice, you learn, is subjective.
A lot of people are nice. The grocer is nice to his patrons. The matron is nice to her charges. The teacher is nice to his students. But no one – not the grocer, not the matron, not the teacher – is nice to you. And you don't like it.
Heat bubbles in your stomach at every glare, at every harsh word, and every hand raised in anger. It's like an itch you just can't scratch, crawling under your skin until your arms bleed trying to get it out. The voice tells you it's right to feel this way. After all, what have you ever done to these people?
You don't deserve this, he tells you late at night as your stomach tries to claw its way out. You could do so much better.
I could? You ask, because the voice is your friend and he promised to never lie to you.
Of course, he says. And I can help you.
That night, you pull your first prank – dumping paint all over your classroom – and you've never felt so free.
When your teacher is dismissed two days later, you shrug and hope the next one is better. After all, a teacher who can't be trusted to keep a secure classroom has no business teaching children. It's not your fault he's gone.
You're seven-years-old the first time you fear the voice in your head.
He's been your friend for years. He's told you stories, and made you laugh, and taught you everything you know about pranking. He's been there when you were sad, and hungry, and angry enough to watch the world burn with a smile. He knows everything about you, from the tips of your toes to the whiskers on your cheeks, and you can't honestly say you know the same of him. To you, he is 'the voice,' 'the friend,' 'the storyteller.' He is every late night bump and every daytime stalker. You can feel his eyes watching you and once upon a time it was comforting. After all, no one else was watching over you.
But now people are. Not there's the old man with the cool hat and the nice people at the ramen stand that give you food when your stomach hurts from trying to eat itself. You like the looks they give you. There's a warmth behind them that you are unused to, but it is no less welcome in that regard. They give you pats on the head and it takes all your effort to ignore the whispers in your mind, saying, They'll forget you. Just you wait. They'll be just like everyone else. I'm your friend, Naruto. I wouldn't lie to you.
But you want him to lie to you. You hope and you pray that he is lying to you. Because you like the warm eyes and the kind smiles and the playful pats on your head that make the whole world seem brighter and happier. You like how they make all the angry people seem less terrifying and how they care if you aren't eating. No one but the voice has ever felt that way before.
You try to tell the voice about them. He's your oldest friend and you know from watching others that people can have a lot of friends, so you don't see anything wrong with it. But he gets angry.
Aren't I your friend, Naruto? He questions, his tone just sharp enough to unsettle. Where were they when the matron locked you away? Where were they when the grocer refused to sell you lunch? Where were they when your teacher failed you?
You hesitate, and you think. The voice has a point, you realize, but still you can't stop thinking about warm eyes and kind smiles and happy pats on the head. They weren't there, you admit and feel your friend nod in agreement, but they're here now. Isn't that a good thing?
Perhaps, the voice says as if to placate you. But I suppose we'll never know. You'll see. They'll leave you soon, too. And then it will just be us again. You and me against the world, right?
Uncertain, you nod.
Right, you say, and try to ignore the tightening in your chest.
Good, he replies. Let's go out. The landlord keeps losing our rent.
Your head it silent for the first time in years.
There's no tickle in the back of your head and no whispers to accompany a faceless friend. He's gone, you think to yourself, repeating the words over and over again as if doing so will make it more real.
But it's already very real, horrifyingly real, and you are terrified by how much relief it brings. For days, you sit in your room cold and shivering. It's as if you've lost a security blanket, like the rug has been forcibly ripped out from under you only to find that the floor is gone too. The old man comes by to visit you sometimes, asking if you're okay and if you need anything. You shake your head no because the old man is nice and you don't want to scare him away. He might think you're ungrateful if you ask for help and you don't want the old man to leave. You don't want to be all alone again.
The silence is deafening. You only have vague memories of this silence, memories kept happily at bay by your friend's constant chatter. But your friend is gone now. You've locked him away. He scared you. He scared you with the things he said, with the things he made you do.
You can feel the damning paint on your hands from the teacher you got fired.
You can smell the scent of ink from a fake letter to a formerly engaged, now single, man.
And you can hear the cries of an injured bully you tricked into practicing near a restricted training ground.
You're not a bad kid, you tell yourself. They deserved it, you say again. And yes, this is all true. They did deserve it; you can't think otherwise. But you have a new goal now, and getting back at the people who wronged you doesn't fit in to it.
You want to be like the old man now. He's nice, and warm, and the villagers love him. You like that. You want to be wanted like that. But your friend scoffed. He told you everyone would leave. He made you do bad things to people.
Hokage, he sneered during their last conversation. What makes you think they would ever let a monster be Hokage? They won't accept you. They'll never accept you. Demons don't become heroes.
Maybe demons didn't. But you are Uzumaki Naruto, and you will be Hokage. The voice growls and you can tell he's going to yell at you, but you stop him before he gets the chance.
Friends don't call friends 'monsters'.
And you lock your friend away.
The silence is deafening, but you find it's easy to fill the void with loud chatter. You don't care that people glare at you for it. Anything is better than the whispers.
You don't remember your friend now – not in the ordinary sense, at least.
It's been so long since you last thought of him that you chalk him up to loneliness and an overactive imagination. If anything, the whispers belonged to the Kyuubi, taunting you and trying to find some method of escape.
It doesn't matter now anyway. The village loves you. You have friends, real ones, ones that don't whisper plans of revenge into your head. Whatever scheme the Kyuubi had thought of was foiled and you don't have to worry about it.
You ignore the fact that the voice didn't sound like the Kyuubi's.
And you don't think about how it sounded all too much like your's.
He has a face and a name now.
His face is yours and his name is too. He has your blond spikes and a lazy walk. He can imitate your mannerisms to pinpoint perfection and even his grin mirrors yours. He saunters out of the waterfall as if he owns it, and you suppose he does in a way. You want to run. He frightens you down to your core and you wonder at why that is. After all, in all the ways that matter, he's you.
But there's a darkness to him. It follows his movements like a shadow, leaving just a faint echo wherever he goes. You remember this. You remember the shadow in the back of your mind, how it tickled and got you to move when you just wanted to stay down. You want it to go away, but you know you can't do that. You've never bowed to fears before and you won't start now. You look him in the eye, the red sending a chill down your back.
It's like looking in a mirror and not liking what you see.
He smirks.
"Long time no see, friend," he says, his words real and casual. You don't say anything in reply and this only seems to amuse him. "What? No 'hello'? We haven't spoken in so long. I missed you."
You don't say a word.
He snarls. "What? Have you become such a coward without me? I knew you wouldn't last."
Finally, you speak. "I am not a coward." And for the most part, you believe this, even though doubts niggle at your mind. Sasuke flashes before your eyes, as does Hinata, and Jiraiya, and Haku, and Zabuza.
Their names echo through you and it takes a moment for you to realize the whispers aren't in your head – they're being spoken, aloud, by the last person you would ever want to utter any of their names.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was that supposed to be a secret?" Your old friend taunts. His voice is trying to be playful and failing and you can't believe you ever fell for it before. It's all you can do not to punch him. The shadow shrugs. "My bad. Of course, I'm surprised you don't remember, Naruto. You never could keep a secret from me."
"What are you?" You ask through gritted teeth.
The shade smiles. "Haven't you figured it out? My, you really are stupid without me. I'm you, Naruto. I'm your anger, your cunning, your disgust and fear and loathing. I am everything that made you 'you'." His face contorts with rage and you find yourself taking a step back. He clenches his fists. "And you locked me away."
He aims a punch right at your face and you're not fast enough to dodge.
The first few months after the war ends are surreal.
You lose count of the number of funerals you attend and you get so used to wearing black that you hand in your old orange jacket for a newer, blacker one. It fits you now. The child you were wouldn't recognize the adult you've become. You cock your head and snort. Well, the genin you were wouldn't recognize the adult you've become. You're pretty sure the child you wouldn't be surprised at all.
The whispers are back and you can't tell if that's a good thing or not. At the very least, you know how to drown them out. You have friends now – real, true, good friends. The village loves you, the world is at peace, and it's easier to pretend like you don't believe what you hear in your head.
But sometimes the whispers get too loud and you can't lock them away anymore. He's a part of you now, as much as when you were a child and he knows just where to hit you to deal the most damage.
Neji, he whispers into your ear every so often. Sometimes he speaks of Jiraiya, or Nagato, or Yahiko, or even Shikaku and Inoichi, but it's Neji's name he says the most.
He uses the name like a kunai, stabbing and twisting it into your chest until you can't even look at Hinata sometimes for fear of what you might see. How many times can you apologize before she finally remembers what you did to her cousin? It's bound to hit her some day. Until then, you're content to walk with her and be her friend even though you know it's coming.
Neji, he taunts again, and the cycle starts all over.
Of course she didn't stay, you hear in your head.
You're floating, though you can't determine why or where or what happened. All you know is that it's dark. There's a faint throbbing above your heart, but it's easy to ignore and you're content to remain here and float. It's soothing and nice and you don't have to face the world that way.
But the voice won't be denied. He keeps talking, and, for some reason, you keep listening.
You really are gullible, Naruto. To think, you actually believed she loved you. You think she really would have wanted to stay with you? You're not good enough for her. You're not good enough for anyone.
You almost got her killed, remember? She stood up for you and you let her down. Pein ran her through just as easily as paper. A stab right to the chest. It's a miracle she survived. If not for Sakura, she wouldn't have.
And let's not forget Neji. You remember Neji, right? You got him killed. He saved your life at the cost of his own. Died right in front of her. Her beloved cousin. How could she possibly love someone who couldn't even protect her – couldn't even protect her family?
"Stop," you croak, your throat is scratchy for reasons you don't know.
You only get a mild chuckle in return.
Oh no, no, Naruto. We're just getting started. After all, monsters don't deserve love.
It's painful not being beside her.
You've only been married a month and already you don't know how you ever survived without her. You wake up just to see her smile and go to sleep just to hold her close. Everything about her makes the world seem brighter, and if all you had to do for the rest of your life was make her happy, then you would be the happiest man in the world.
Of course, you do have other responsibilities, as she does. You are both shinobi – powerful, important shinobi and you have your duties to the village. While missions are no longer as treacherous as they were, they still have their dangers and you can't help but worry whenever she's gone for long stretches of time.
You know it's pointless and that she can take care of herself, but you've always been one to hold on to your loved ones with both hands grasping and clawing. You're so used to them slipping away that it's a hard habit to break. But you do it. For Hinata you would do anything,
It doesn't stop the whispers, though.
The voice is loudest when she's away. He's always there, sitting in the back of your mind, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He can't hurt anyone – at least no one but you – and Kurama helps keep him at bay, but he is as much a part of you as anything and he can't just be forgotten.
He won't let you forget him.
Maybe she won't come back, he whispers in your mind's ear. After all, the world is a dangerous, dangerous place. People like violence and war. They're not just going to stop because you say so. And so what if the Big Five aren't fighting anymore? That says nothing for the other villages. All it takes is one slip, and she won't come home.
Shut up.
Why? It's the truth, he stops, and you can feel his eyes examining you. Unless, of course, that's not your fear, and why would it be. After all, I know all your fears. I am your fears. Any number of shinobi deserve her more than you. And it wouldn't take much for them to convince Hinata.
You clench your fists. Hinata wouldn't do that.
A nod, agreement, if only to mock him. You're right, of course. Hinata wouldn't do that. She's too kind. But would you really force her to stay and pity you?
You don't reply, partially because you don't want to think of it and partially because you can hear the front door opening and it's like music to your ears.
Her keys jingle in that special chord only she seems to be able to pull off and within moments she's in your arms. You don't care about the scent of sweat or the dirt or the grime. All you can feel in her tiny form close to you and you swear it's the most beautiful feeling in the world.
The voice is silent.
Nightmares aren't fun, and you know this because you've had far too many over the course of your lifetime and you're pretty sure if you never have another one again it will be all too soon.
This night's is particularly bad, not that you can really remember what it was about. The only thing you do recall is the faintest shadow of a whisper but it's enough to leave you crouching over the side of the bed with your head in your hands as you try not to vomit. It's a near thing. Somewhere, you register movement near you, but you're shaking too hard to do much about it.
A warm hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you flinch, violently, forcing the warmth away. You want it to come back, but are too shaken to beg. Luckily for you, your wife knows you too well and it isn't long before her slender arms are wrapped around your shoulders.
"Tell me," she says, and even thought you don't want to, you can't deny her anything.
The whispers fall from your lips like poison and you turn away so as not to get any on her.
You don't deserve her.
You're not a hero.
You're a failure.
You could never be the leader people expect you to be.
She would be better off with someone else.
How can she possibly love a monster?
She listens patiently and quietly as you speak, and when you're done and folded over with exhaustion, you feel her shift.
For one painful moment, you think she's going to leave.
You start when warm hands cup your face and suddenly you're looking into pale lavender eyes – eyes brimming with emotions you are almost too scared to name. She smiles, softly, and brushes your lips with her thumb.
"Whenever you hear him, think of me. Think of lying here beside me. Think of my arms around you and my heart under your fingers. I will never leave you, Naruto. I love you with everything I am. I always have and I always will. And no one, not Toneri, not Madara, not that voice, will ever change that."
You look at her with wonder in your eyes, asking what you did to ever deserved this woman, and she seems to understand. Her arms move to wrap around you and you sink into them. You can feel her heart under your fingers, beating steadily in time with your own, and you bury your face into the crook of her neck.
It's not the end, the voice will be back, but just for a little while, you're content to pretend.
What does an orphan know about being a father?
He raises a valid point, loathe as you are to admit it. What does an orphan know about being a father? For all your father-figures – Iruka, Kakashi, Jiraiya – they weren't there from the beginning. They didn't raise you. They taught you, and trained you, and loved you in their own unique ways, but they came at the tail ends of your own self-upbringing – an orphanage upbringing with some heavy undertones of emotional instability.
Not exactly the type of thing you want to instill on your child.
You didn't learn how to read until you were six, remember? You were so far behind in school. I wonder if the child will be, too.
You grit your teeth and bear it, even though you know it's true, and think of Hinata, your wife with the widening waistline and glowing face. She looks radiant, you think.
You're a jounin now. How are you going to be able to balance missions with a child? Will the baby even know who you are?
'Yes,' you want to scream, but the word doesn't come because you're not sure and you want this baby to know you so badly it hurts.
What if you die on a mission? Oh that would be spectacular, wouldn't it? Leaving poor Hinata all alone with a newborn. To think, you didn't know your father and your child wouldn't know you.
They'll know me, you can't help but reply, and a bemused laugh is your response.
Are you sure?
But you're not sure, and that terrifies you.
Hinata continues to grow with your child over the months, and it's hard balancing your growing excitement and anxiety. You spend your time preparing everything possible: the room, the clothes, diapers, bottles, security, monitors, toys and more. You're determined for this child to have everything you didn't.
Your mother died in childbirth. What would you do without Hinata?
You refuse to answer that.
The months continue to pass and before you know it Hinata is clutching your hand telling you to take her to the hospital. You stare at her for a second, uncomprehending, before grabbing her and running faster than you ever have in your life. What follows next are the most nerve-wracking eighteen hours of your life. It's all you can do not to scream with your wife as each pain hits her. She clasps your hand tightly, and her face is twisted up in pain, and you wish for nothing more than to take it away from her.
Oh, now look at what you've done.
But Hinata thankfully doesn't give you time to think about the voice because she's clutching your hand again, and before you know it she's not the only one yelling.
There's a cheer from Tsunade and Hinata's grip relaxes and you can hear a high-pitched wailing from your left that wasn't there before. The world stops and you don't know what to do.
You hear, "It's a boy!" and Hinata laughs, tired but happy, from the bed. Somehow, you get your head to turn.
He's perfect. That's the first thing you think about. Sure, he's red and crying and needs a good wash, but you've never seen anything so wonderful in your life. You watch as Tsunade wraps him up in a lose blanket and hands him over for Hinata to hold while she finishes up.
Your wife's arms are weak and she's obviously tired, but you'd never know it from the way she holds him. She's going to be a wonderful mother, you can already tell, but your own fears of fatherhood have only doubled in the last few seconds.
"He's beautiful," she whispers, and you can't help but nod.
"Yeah," you breath out, entranced.
She turns to look at you. "Do you want to hold him, daddy?"
A breath catches in your throat.
Don't drop him, the voice whispers, and you almost can't ignore it, but Hinata looks so happy and Tsunade is beaming and you really do want to hold him.
Shaking, you hold out your arms.
It's like nothing you've ever felt. For the first time in months, your mind is calm. The baby weighs almost nothing compared to what you're used to, and yet you feel as if the world is resting on your shoulders. It's a good feeling, you decide. One you never want to lose and hang the person who tries to take it from you.
You reach down and brush your lips to his forehead.
"Welcome to the world, Boruto."
Don't ever wish for something, you might just get it.
You're hard-pressed to disagree. Being Hokage has taken a toll you didn't quite expect. You knew there would be paperwork. You knew there would be more responsibilities. You didn't know you would be setting up a camp bed in your office.
It's no wonder Boruto can't stand you. What type of father doesn't see his family for two days when they're in the same village?
Shut up, you hiss in your head, trying to pay attention to the document on your screen so that you might be able to finish it on time and actually get home for the first time in days.
Oh, that's right. You do want to get home early, don't you? Now what's tomorrow, again? I can't seem to recall.
You press down a little too hard on the key, creating a line of characters you then have to delete. You grit your teeth. Hima's birthday.
Oh that's it! You missed it last year, didn't you?
No, I didn't.
You might as well have. Three hours late to her party. And to think, she was just so happy you came at all.
Don't you have something better to do?
Like what? He taunts. I'm you. I'm just here to remind you. What's the matter anyway? No excuse? What happened to 'I'll be home early tomorrow,' or 'It's just one day,'? Have you finally run out of lies to tell yourself?
They're not lies.
Could've fooled me. Of course, you're not fooling anyone else. Hinata might tell you Boruto still loves you, but we both know the truth. Your son can't stand you and I think we both know why.
Stop. Talking.
Why? I'm only telling the truth. I know how much you hate when people lie to themselves after all.
Please, and there's a note of begging in your voice you tried to keep out. Please stop talking.
Mercifully, he does.
Your family is the most precious thing in the world to you.
You're thirty-three years old and your twelve-year-old son has just done something so stupid and reckless that the only reason he could have pulled it off as well as he did is because he takes after you too much for your liking. A part of you wants to get up and scream at Sasuke and the other Kage for even considering taking him along on this suicide mission, but you refrain if only because the boy is warm in your arms and yelling might disturb him.
The last thing you want to do is disturb him.
He's alright, Naruto. He's safe, you hear in the back of your head. The voice is soft for the first time in years and you can almost remember why you thought he was your friend.
I'm not your friend, the voice scoffs. I'm you. That's quite a difference.
But you're not up to arguing semantics with yourself, not when Boruto is whole and warm and safe in your arms. Gods, he could have died. These were not opponents for a genin, even one as talented as your son.
We're going to have words with them later.
You can't help but agree. You might not have jurisdiction over the other Kage, but you do have it over Sasuke and that has to count for something. Boruto is twelve!
"Dad?" Your son's voice washes over you like a balm and instantly you're looking down at him. His eyes are droopy and he's obviously suffering from chakra exhaustion, but otherwise he seems alright.
You smile. "Hey, you gave me quite a scare there, bud."
Boruto grins, bashful but proud, and he looks so much like his mother. "Heh, m-maybe you could help me on the s-size."
"I'd be happy to," you say, quickly picking up on the stutter you know from experience only comes from extreme exhaustion.
"Good," the boy nods. He grips your collar tighter. "H-hey dad? Can we go h-home now?"
You smile and lean down to kiss his crusty brow. Taking a deep breath, you inhale his scent - fresh grass, sugar, and a liberal amount of sweat. "Yeah, yeah we can go home now."
"Together?"
"Together."
Together.
Well, I hope you all enjoyed it! Please leave a review so I know what you think, but I ask that you kindly don't flame. I appreciate constructive criticism as they help writers grow, but flames serve no purpose. Thank you very much for reading and have a wonderful day/night!
~Alabaster Ink