Part 3: The Sky

Battle armor is much heavier than training armor. It clunks loudly with every step, and clings to his body like a stubborn child. He briefly wonders if this is what turtles feel like and imagines the Senju and Uchiha as crimson and navy turtles running at each other. He chuckles under his breath.

"Oi, Uzumaki," Tenten's careful whisper snaps him back to attention.

"Sorry."

Neji peeks through the leaves of their hiding spot, colorless eyes strained so hard a few blood vessels protrude from his face. He shifts slightly to dab at the sweat on his brow. The order for Team Hyuuga had been simple: Intercept the reinforcement unit. Naruto bitterly thinks it should have been hide for four hours in bush, stare until eyes fall off. Neji is to warn them when he sees sign of movement—Hyuuga can see slightly further than the typical human if they strain their eyes hard enough, but the difference is a huge advantage in war—it would give them about five seconds more time to act. But currently, well into the fourth hour of kneeling in the undergrowth, Naruto's legs are falling asleep. Pinpricks run their way up from ankle to thigh and he curses. Next to him, Kiba grunts softly as he shifts to massage his calf. He wonders how Neji has held the same position for—

Two pale fingers lift—the sign. Naruto's hand goes to the pack sown into his armor's sash and he weaves his fingers around four shuriken.

"Six," Neji whispers. They're outnumbered, but just by two. Not too bad, but a small reinforcement unit means a strong one.

He can hear them now, footsteps falling closer and closer to where he crouched in the undergrowth, hearts falling closer and closer to their still ends. They're fast, but he is faster. Three. Two. One.

His arm swings, fingers releasing the shuriken, as his legs propel him forward and he leaps out just as the unit is racing by, taking them by surprise. The stars find their way into arms and calves uncovered by thick, navy armor.

"Fucking Senju," a dark-haired man hisses as he adeptly dodges the weapon by a hair's length—how?—and pulls his katana out to slash at his blonde assailant. A ring reverberates through the forest as their blades meet. This first single note meets Naruto's ears with the clarity of a crisp winter morning before everything dissolves into roars and clashing metal.

Never in his life has he fought with the intent to kill, but in this moment, with his katana still pressed against the Uchiha's, he feels the fury and grief of his father's death boil so thickly in his blood that he might explode. Die. Die. Die. He raises his katana, then spins and delivers a back-kick before slashing his blade down as his opponent lands. One of his fastest routines, but the Uchiha dodges with ease and runs his blade across Naruto's arm. He screeches in anger. Suddenly he understands why, even after all these years, the Senju have had such a difficult time defeating their warring clan.

Uchiha have the visual prowess to read into the smallest muscle shifts and predict your next move. Be spontaneous when you fight, Tobirama had told him when they departed the compound. And when focused on a target, they can aim with frightening accuracy. Never let down your guard.

Adrenaline races through him with such white hot speed he can feel it sear his veins with power. Die. Die. Die. He feigns a punch to the man's face, angled mildly to the right so that he would step to his left to dodge. The man does, but trips over a waiting foot. His back does not even hit the ground before Naruto slits his throat, his blade hitting more resistance than he had expected as it breaks through bone and flesh. The Uchiha lands hard against the forest floor, coughing and gurgling with his hands on his neck, blood seeping out from between his fingers the same way the river does whenever Naruto tries to grasp it—flowing, flowing.

When the glorious high of battle fades, Naruto sees. Deep scarlet. Flecks of black. The quieting gaze fades completely into grey darkness. He cannot recall why this all looks so familiar, but his stomach churns and churns until he doubles over and vomits onto the man's blue armor.

The sounds of battle have died down behind him, and soon he feels a hand rubbing his back. He straightens, grimacing at the sour taste on his tongue as he hastily wipes a hand over his mouth.

"First kill, huh," Kiba says quietly as he looks at the Uchiha man, dead like his five other comrades. Bodies still warm. They had just successfully completed their mission, but Inuzuka's face is as empty as Naruto feels inside. "There is no feeling in the world that can compare."

They know Naruto isn't vomiting over the blood he spilled, but instead over the brief feeling of glory he had while doing it. It is as if he had been thrown back to the first time he laid hands on Tobirama's bokken, when he spun and slashed. Like the fight belongs in him.

He is tucked into a bush, noisily relieving himself, when the great fox spirit suddenly materializes before him. An indignant squawk comes out his mouth as he stumbles back, barely tucking himself into his uniform before he slips and lands squarely on the ground.

"Oi," he huffs, glaring at the scarlet spirit. "A warning would be nice, y'know. How'd you even get here anyway?"

The forest is mine, gaki. I go where I please. The spirit strides to where the blonde heir is sprawled out and takes a seat before him. But more importantly, this is for Sasuke.

"Sasuke?" His golden head flips side to side as he searches. "Is he here?"

No. A chuckle, one so low that anyone else would have mistaken it to be a growl, vibrates through the trees. I am here—alone—to accompany you and keep you safe.

Naruto scratches his head, laughing nervously, "Look, Kurama. I, uh, appreciate the gesture and all but there's no way I can just walk around camp with a huge nine-tailed fox."

Do you take me to be a fool? Kurama stands up, his great tails billowing out behind him like a blazing fire. Naruto, despite himself, cowers back at the display. I've figured out those markings on your face, how you know me and how you can see me even when I do not wish to be seen. You're Uzumaki, aren't you? That means I can do this.

Kurama leans down until he has his nose pressed against the blonde's abdomen. In one quick motion, he dives into him and disappears. Naruto screams.

Shut up. I don't plan on going deaf anytime soon.

"Where the fuck are you?" He slaps at his stomach. "Oi, Kurama—"

I'm in your subconscious, you idiot.

"Wait, what? In my head? Are you going to, what, just listen and watch everything I do because that's kind of weird, like really, really—"

Don't make me regret this, Senju no gaki. A sigh of exasperation. I'm here to help. Trust me.

Naruto shut up.

Naruto watches pink eyebrows curve in concentration as Sakura runs her fingers over his wounded arm. She presses the skin around the wound and frowns. "How old is this?"

"A couple hours," he mirrors her frown. "Why?"

"It's—," she shakes her head. Peers closer. "It's already scabbed over. Closed. You sure this is the right one?"

"I know where I've been cut, Sakura-chan," Naruto leans over now to look at his own arm. Blue eyes widen. It looks old already. "What the—"

How?

"Poison?" Naruto suggests. He ignores the way his heart prickles with fear.

Sakura shakes her head, cropped pink hair flying around her face. "Doubt it. The skin around the wound is perfectly fine."

"So I'll be fine?"

"Seems so," she says. "Certainly odd, but I'll apply some ointment and bandage it anyways. Let me know the moment something feels wrong."

Naruto nods at her, relief settling into his tense shoulders. He trusts her with his life.

Life is a funny thing, Naruto realizes. It glows strong on its own—stubborn—but one quick knick is all it takes to snuff it out. He watches the branches of the trees sway and wonders how quickly life could be snuffed from them. He sees a bird and imagines the brightness of its eyes fading. He closes his fingers around his neck. One cut is all it would take. He wonders briefly if he can break his own neck with his own hands. Is it possible?

His mother is quieter nowadays. She had wrapped her arms around him when he returned, and in that moment they both knew that their lives had changed. He now thinks 'warrior' is a fancy name for 'cold-blooded killer.'

Water flows in curves around his toes as he dips his feet into the river. He wonders if life could be snuffed out of a river. He imagines the lights of the Senju compound going out one by one in the night. He wonders if life could be snuffed out of the stars.

And me—would I go out with a scream, or a murmur?

A pebble hits him lightly in the back of the head, and Naruto responds without turning back.

"I won."

"Won what?"

"The bet." He turns into Sasuke's familiar gaze. "I came back."

"Hn."

"You waited."

"Hn."

Sasuke sees the new shadows in his friend's blue eyes. He settles down by Naruto, sitting so their shoulders touch, and watches bits of the sun flicker in the river. When Naruto wonders aloud if life could be snuffed out of the sun, Sasuke cuffs him in the back of the head.

"There are some things you just can't snuff out—they're loud and often annoying." He pauses, then adds, "Like you, usuratonkachi."

Naruto jams his elbow into Sasuke's ribs. Sasuke shrieks and shoves him into the river.

Seven months in, the Hyuuga Team had successfully completed thirteen missions. Sometimes they intercepted Uchiha units, but most times they acted as reinforcements to the other teams in Jiraiya's unit. After his first kill, Naruto had locked a part of himself away, tucking it in the shadows as the rest of him flourished into a great Senju warrior. Rumor has it that in battle, he glows, able to deflect even the sharpest katana with his bare hands. Clad in his red armor, he looks like everything. He had gone through over seven years of rigorous training to be a protector of his people, but more importantly, to be a killer. One that could silence an entire unit of Uchiha within minutes.

Naruto did not speak of the fighting whenever he returned home. Sasuke sits with him by the river often, skipping stones or counting ripples. He is thankful for it. Sasuke had once jumped him from behind—just for the fun of it—but in a breath's moment, he had him thrown to the ground. Sasuke had yelped and then Naruto had jerkily let go of the arm he twisted against his back. He had apologized profusely—Oh, Sasuke, I'm sorry so sorry, please. I thought you were them and I—and looked at his own hands and cried. Sasuke couldn't use that arm for two days, and Naruto refused to look him in the eyes until Sasuke had punched him across the jaw. Now we're even.

They both knew they weren't.

"Jiraiya-sama would like to see you," Neji says to the blonde as he stuffs a pack of food pellets into his pack. He regards his team member with lilac eyes, watching him stare off into space as he turns a smooth pebble over and over in his palm. "Anytime before we head home would be great, Naruto."

"—huh? Oh—yeah—sure thing." Naruto quickly pockets his lucky pebble and exits the team tent. He scans the battle camp, and hops over to his toad-loving general. "You summoned?"

"Ah, yes. Just a moment," Jiraiya angles his head towards the blonde but keeps his eyes fixed on his scroll as he finishes his mission reports. He sighs as he sets down his brush and begins to fan at the wet ink on the scroll. "You are becoming a fine Senju warrior, Naruto. Thirteen successful missions—no easy feat."

He nods at the compliment.

"As you may know, your team is set to head home within the hour. However," the general clears his throat. "Hashirama-sama and I have been discussing some things. We believe it would benefit you greatly if you were to do some individual training for the time being."

"Individual training?" His brows come together in confusion.

"With me," Jiraiya replies. "We would leave within the hour as well, but not for the compound."

"Then where?"

"Around," a battle-worn hand waves in lazy circles. "We'd do some traveling for a while. New locations, new mindsets. Hashirama-sama says it'll be good for your head."

Naruto licks his lips. He likes the sound of it all, but a weight tugs at him—a need to go home, to go to the river and throw a few pebbles and laugh at the dumbest things and press an onigiri into waiting hands. To return to the normalcy—or the remnants of normal in a world of war, where children are taught to hate as soon as they can speak and trained to be assassins as soon as they can run—that enveloped his life with its warm, comforting grasp. But that is impossible, he realizes. His father will never return to him.

"Kaachan," he says. "I should probably go and see her at least, before I leave. You can't possibly want to steal her only son from her without a goodbye, ne, Jiraiya-sensei?"

A generous smile flashes his way. "Already been arranged. She'll be here any minute with the supply—"

"Naruto!"

And suddenly he is swallowed into familiar arms, breathing in the warm scent of home. Something lodges itself in his throat as he croaks, "Kaachan."

For a brief moment, in his mother's arms, Naruto lets himself be taken back to a time where his life was simpler. Dinner was never a quiet event in the main Uzumaki household, with unconfined laughter bouncing off the walls as Naruto danced around with his underwear on his head, clumsily scrambling away from his tomato-faced mother only to trip on the long, sprawled legs of his father, who had laughed so hard he was on the floor, half-choking on a grain of rice and half-suffocating from amusement.

"You're killing me, Naruto" the general had wheezed, his body still trembling with laughter and his face so red it almost looked purple. "This is how I'll die."

If only.

Kushina holds her son's face and strokes the whiskered cheeks with delicate fingers. "Your grandfather told me about his plans for you. You should go—it'll be good for you."

But Naruto understands what she is saying underneath those words. Go travel. See the world and not the battlefield. At least I know you'll come back to me.

"I'll write you everyday," he says.

"You better," she laughs, her bright hair flowing in the wind like the wisps of an undying flame. "Or you'll be in big trouble when you come home, young man. Take care of yourself and oh—Jiraiya here has some bad habits. Don't you pick up any! But don't give him a hard time though. Always eat a lot and wash up every day, okay? I don't know how many people you'll meet in your travels, but make lots of new friends. Make sure they're good to you, because no one takes advantage of my son! Train lots so you don't get rusty, and—and—"

Naruto pulls his mother back into a hug, wrapping his arms around her frame as tight as they could go, "I know, kaachan, I know."

The heated water of the spring blankets him in comfort and warmth as he lets out a deep breath of air, bringing his head back and resting it on the edge of—

"Heeheehee!"

His head snaps up at the giggle to find his general squatting by the wooden divider meant to separate the men and women. He rolls his eyes. He had rummaged through Jiraiya's notebooks the other day and returned red-faced. Jiraiya and his so-called research.

"Oi, Ero-sennin! The divider's there for a reason."

"Hush, hush. This is for my research. For the greater good."

"Perv."

"Hush."

Thankfully, Jiraiya saves his research for when the sun goes down. Naruto had tried to help him once. At first it had been fun, but then his curious eyes focused on a woman bathing herself in the corner of the pool. He watched her run a cloth over her light skin and shift her fingers through her dark, shoulder-length hair. She tossed back a long bang, and the light of the moon caught it briefly as it curved around her head, turning it to an almost-blue. And then it dawned on him who this woman resembled, and he screeched, face so red it almost burned, stumbling back until he landed clumsily in the spring. Kurama threw such a fit he nearly blacked out.

When the sun is high and hot against their backs, they travel. For the first time in Naruto's life, he touches sand. He holds it, feels it run through his fingers as if it were alive. It crunches under his feet and digs itself into his shoes. There are hills and mountains—for as far as he can see—coated in just that: sand.

"I take it you've never seen sand before," a husky voice speaks up from behind him. An accent of the south. Naruto turns from where he is mindlessly stabbing at the ground with his katana and finds a boy staring at him with eyes like emeralds and hair like fire.

He straightens cautiously as the other boy regards him with eyes rimmed with shadow, like jewels in a cave. "Yeah, first time."

"Hn."

A pause.

He suddenly bursts into laughter, throwing his head back so the sun catches his golden strands in its warm grasp. His chest tightens with a strange longing for home and his dark-haired friend. His arms come around his abdomen, holding him together, holding holding holding because he might break apart just then. "Sorry—ha—sorry, you just reminded me of a friend back home."

"A friend?"

"Yeah."

Sapphire meets emerald, and the fire-haired boy does not think he has ever heard a laugh as sorrowful in his life. "I'm Gaara."

"Naruto."

And that is how he makes the first friend of many in his travels—tucked away, ankle-deep in sand, behind a broken mountain.

The porcelain is cold against his skin as Jiraiya pushes the ornate pottery into his hands. He looks at his general, confused.

"Your father's ashes," he says. "Your mother gave them to me before we left. Minato wanted to be thrown to the wind. And this feels like him, doesn't it?"

"It does," Naruto says, running his fingers over the engraving of his father's name.

The old man sighs. "Your father was a man of peace. A good man, pushed to fight for the people he loved. His legacy is yours now."

Naruto watches Jiraiya walk away, giving him some time to himself. Over his head is the bright, bright sun and underneath him is a patch of new grass on the edge of an old cliff. The ocean crashes into the rocks below, grabbing at the earth but only coming away with crumbs each time. His hair ruffles against the salty breeze.

A man of peace.

He can hear his father's laughter as he releases the ashes into the wind.