I've updated to fix some of the mistakes in my early chapters. To everyone reading this story for the first time, hello, welcome, and I hope you like cars at least a little bit. To everyone joining me again, great to have you back.

I've been having a time and a half trying to write on Habits or really anything, including this, so forgive me if I'm a little slow. I'm doing my best to make each chapter worth the wait, though.

I'm normally quite against AUs, but this story begged to be written. I think you'll find all the characters you know and love, along with some you hate, intact aside from the whole "ninja" part.

Burning Leaves

Everything else in the world seemed silent compared to the roar of twin engines as they swung down the road, hugging the mountain curves. Both vehicles were jet black to blend into the night, but each bore it's own identifier on the hood; one a trio of red swirls, the other a classic yin-yang. Aside from those emblems, the cars were all but the same inside and out, from the model to the tires to the horsepower. Even the two drivers were alike: both men were calm, cool, collected men, barely over twenty, their long hair pulled back in ponytails.

The only reason she cared who would win that night was because one was her brother, and the other was not.

That night, though, everyone would lose.

What happened was unclear; perhaps it was as simple as a blown tire, or maybe their brakes finally gave way after ages of abuse, despite their loyal maintenance. Certainly, it couldn't have been error on the part of either man, as both had been driving - and racing - longer than legally possible.

Cause aside, the effect was simple, obvious, and horrifying. One second the white was trying to pass the red at a turn, their side mirrors just inches apart. The next, both had launched off the cliff, tearing straight through the guardrail.

If there was a boom when the cars hit the river thirty feet below, she never heard it. Her own terrified voice overwhelmed everything else, echoing through the December air:

"NEJI!"

The scene, that night, everything was gone, replaced by pale walls and the backlit outline of a window. Only her scream remained, and the pain in her heart as she shivered, struggling to catch her breath.

Wordlessly, a pair of arms wrapped around her, pulling her into their owner's warm, strong chest. She whimpered, nuzzling into him, eyes shut tightly as she struggled to stop crying, her body tense with fear.

"It's okay, Hinata," he whispered. "I'm here. It's over."

Tonight it had been exactly seven years since her brother had died in that accident. It was probably about the right time of night, as well. The nightmare had stuck with her almost every night for the first year, and had scared her out of even driving to school each day for some time. Thankfully, it only came once a year now, but that night was always the hardest...

"Naruto... I miss him..." Her words were a raspy whisper between rough breaths.

"I know you do, sweetheart. You're safe though, so his memory can live on..."

She nodded quietly, sighing against his chest and letting her back loosen slightly. It was true; she did live on, and partially as Neji's legacy, though she knew she was just his shadow and always would be. After his death, she'd shied away from the sharp curves and lightning reactions of drifting, but her love of cars and speed had remained. Instead, she raced along straightaways and down the freeway, for the sheer pleasure of it and the occasional small bet; it was nothing more than a time-killer to her, no matter how much it was in her blood.

The big money, the big races... she left those to Naruto. He had a love of speed that ran so deep, people called him a demon for it. His car had been tweaked time and time again in the three years he'd owned it, and they worked together as a perfect team, enabling him to out-drive and outrun anything. His nearly insane speed and laid back demeanor had drawn her to him, and she loved nothing more than to try to keep up with him, or to just sit back and enjoy the ride as he sped down the highway. He made it look so safe, so easy, that any knowledge of the risk could just float away from her mind on those rides.

But he'd never known Neji. He'd heard of him, of course; he'd been a legend in his own time, famous perhaps even before getting his license. No one who raced within fifty miles of Konoha didn't know of him, and everyone considered him "the man to beat". But Naruto had never actually met her older brother, never knew what kind of person he was or how close and protective he really was to Hinata. Those things, he only knew by her own words, and she felt for certain that those could never do him justice.

Her hand wrapped around the teardrop pendant hanging from her neck, and his arms grew tighter at the motion, knowing another wave of tears was coming. Just days before the fateful race, she'd turned 16, and he'd given her one half of a yin-yang necklace for the occasion. The black half hung from his keychain, even as it was removed from the mangled wreck.

That half now hung from the mirror of her own car, so that he'd always be able to enjoy racing...

She cried, and he held her until she fell victim to exhaustion. He tucked her back in and laid back down to try and sleep again himself, though he quickly found himself wondering how the race's other victim was faring that night.

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Across town, the crisply silver Spyder weaved through the one way roads of downtown. He was on his way out, on his way up to the foothills, to that spot, because it was that night. He went there at twice a year, every year, regardless of how many other times his ventures took him there.

He had no fear of the police, even as his tires sprayed tread across an intersection, bringing him onto the freeway. His dad was a Sheriff, and even if his knowledge of tonight's trap locations was incomplete, no one was about to pick him up, especially not tonight. They knew better.

And even if they tried, Sasuke could out run them without even trying.

He crossed over into the median, mirror and tires just inches away from the concrete divider, the glowing outline of his windshield skimming over the seats again and again, faster and faster as he accelerated. Eighty, ninety, one hundred… He didn't lay off the gas until he was going over one twenty, and even then he was still speeding up gradually. He dove between what few cars were on the road tonight, not because they were in his way but because it was good practice. Anything to stay sharp. Anything to remain the best.

And he was, of course, the best. His brother had been the best, too, so it was only natural for him to rise to the top, to beat this city at its own game. When one fell, the next needed to take up the legacy.

His only regret was that he couldn't beat the one who'd taken his brother away from him seven years before. Of course, the bastard had died in the process, so he felt somewhat satisfied.

Not wholly so, though. But not even being the undisputed best in the city satiated him.

Which was why, time and time again, he found himself back on that road, winding his way in and out, with or without an opponent. He'd beaten everyone who'd challenged him to that track – for some reason people found it funny, even ironic to ask him to race there, like a joke that never got old. But somehow, it wasn't good enough.

Maybe because he'd never found a challenge. They were all just too weak, too slow.

Maybe he wouldn't be happy until he followed his brother's fate completely. He wasn't sure. The thought did cross his mind on occasion, though, and more often than he'd ever admit. It was as though he knew it was his fate to be taken by the mountain as well.

He screeched to a halt at the top, tires sliding on the thin layer of gravel covering the poorly maintained road, and stared down at the hairpin turns and cliffs, to the river far below. The bridge across was the finish line.

One hand dropped to the gearshift as his eyes locked on his watch.

Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine-

Gas.

Pedal to the floor, let up, clutch, shift, and pedal to the floor again. He didn't have enough speed to need to skid around the first turn, but at the second, he pumped his hand brake, drifting 90 degrees and hammering the gas as he straightened out. Another shift, then three more quick turns, on and on down the hill. The whole track was five miles long, and took twenty minutes doing the speed limit.

He could make it in under four.

Several turns later, he slammed the parking brake on and stared at his watch.

00:03:16.78

There had been less than forty seconds left in the race when Itachi's car had been shoved off the road.

He stared down the cliff for at least a full minute, then backed up, making full use of his car's tight turning radius on the narrow road, and headed back up to try again.

That time, he crossed the bridge with a time of 4:08. Pathetic. He'd have to try again tomorrow night.