Title: On the Edge
Genre: Naruto / Angst / Slash
Disclaimer: Naruto and its characters do not belong to me. They belong to Masashi Kishimoto.
Author's notes: Inspiration struck after i read the manga up to chapter 316. So yeah...beware of spoilers woven into fiction. That, and the fact that this is my first contribution to the Naruto fandom. Haha.
Readability's a 75.7, so it's cool, considering it's a 10-15 minute piece.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Three years… Had it been so long? Three years since he deflected to the Sound, three years since he defeated Naruto, three long years.
He knew that time passed quickly, especially when his world was centered on his need for vengeance and training with Orochimaru – had made that observation in the first month he was there, yet…he couldn't help but be surprised that it had been so long.
When he saw Naruto and Sakura in the lair, he was…frightened – not that he showed it. Meeting them again was like tearing apart old wounds – wounds that should have closed and scarred but for some reason, did not. It made him feel oddly fragile, and yet he was not. He himself knew how powerful he had become. Even Orochimaru only had a vague impression of his power, though he trained with him daily.
They asked him to go home.
He wanted to laugh. There was no home, he wanted to reply. Home ceased to exist when Itachi soaked his hands in Uchihas' blood, ceased to exist when he broke his arm with a mere flick of a wrist and shattered his illusions that he was strong.
He was weak, and that was why he accepted Orochimaru's offer. His sole reason for living was to kill that cold-blooded bastard. Why couldn't they understand that?
Orochimaru was powerful, and he could give him power. Why didn't they see that? Didn't they understand that power attracted people, attracted him?
Apparently, they didn't. That was why they came to seek him. He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to feel, and more so, he didn't want that false sense of security he always felt with them.
Team Seven.
They made him think he was strong. They made him feel safe and secure. And worst of all, they made him feel at home.
In a twisted sense, he wanted to thank Itachi for shattering that illusion so early in his life. It meant that he wouldn't waste time in that soft cotton place and grow up. After that confrontation, he understood what it meant to be an avenger.
He did not have power. Thus, he had to seek power. And so he did.
Then Naruto came along – with a technique he never encountered before and defeated him. He wanted to cry for the sheer pointlessness of it all.
He had sought power in Orochimaru to become stronger, only to be defeated by a technique that Naruto created in a week.
Three years.
Three years and he was still weak, still unable to defeat Naruto, and miles away from defeating Itachi. Disgust rolled in his stomach and he resisted the urge to throw up.
Why? How long must he seek power, how much more powerful must he get before he could defeat that man? What must he do?
The sky was a fiery orange and red, exactly like he remembered Konoha's sunsets to be. Somehow, sunsets in Sound did not appeal to him – for some reason, they had always given the impression of the dying. It made him shiver…and feel strangely cold.
Konoha though…her sunsets were warm and somehow nostalgic. He wondered if his decision to leave three years ago was a right one to make. After all, Naruto had defeated him with a week-long old technique.
Yet…if he was indeed wrong, that what had he been doing? How much time was wasted?
Three years.
His eyes widened in horror. Itachi…how far away was he? Would he ever be able to meet him eye to eye and not tremble under the weight of his Sharingan? Would he ever be able to fulfill his promise to his clan? Would he be able to avenge them?
No.
His mind plunged into despair and he curled into a ball at the edge of the cliff, hands gripping his head. Cold crept down his spine and he shivered.
What would his father say?
Nothing.
His father would not even spare his worthless, un-filial son a glance. After all, he didn't even have the power to right the wrong his brother had done. He couldn't even defeat Naruto. How did he ever think about defeating Itachi?
He wasn't good enough.
He would never be good enough.
Anger tears threatened to leak from his closed eyes and he tried desperately to hold them in. He must not cry. He was already weak enough and he didn't need this added display of weakness. He couldn't afford it!
A strong arm enveloped him in an embrace and he allowed himself to lean into the presence, still preoccupied with suppressing his tears and his useless emotions of despair. He needed to get himself together. He needed to be strong.
But he wasn't strong at all.
An involuntary sob escaped his lips and he felt the presence hold him closer. He was weak. That very thought made him bury his face in that muscled chest, trying to hide the tears he knew were streaming down his face.
At the back of his mind, he could almost hear Itachi laughing at him, scorning him for his weakness and his inability to hate passionately. And he could see his father's forever retreating back – not his face, never his face, those precious glances were for people worthy of them and he was not.
And he probably never would be.
The tears came freely now and he released his fierce grip on his head to clutch at the soft fabric of the person's shirt. The person held him tighter, a solid support for him, unwavering and silent in his time of need.
As he succumbed to the darkness, he spared a moment to wonder who his protector was.
HNO3: Hm...i can't decide if i should weave this intoa multipart or just let it remain a one-shot. The nameless protector thing seems kinda cool. Haha. Anyway, feedback is very welcome.