Rating: T

Warnings: Slight language, mentions of past OC death, screwed up!Sasuke, slightly picking on Kakashi (for a reason), etc.

Word Count: ~4100

Pairings: Sasuke/Naruto

Disclaimer: I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

Notes: I tend to make up playlists for characters, rather than for a story as a whole. It helps me in adopting a certain character's headspace. For those who are interested, I've put up the ones I currently have for this story on my profile. Some of the music is fairly obscure, so I don't know that you can find all of it, but I thought it might be entertaining. It also gives a couple of plot hints, at least in terms of characters coming into play fairly soon. :)

(I know everyone wants Naruto POV on that last Sasuke-Youko conversation, and you'll get it. Just…next chapter.)

[Teaser: Next chapter is Lost Son Dissonance.]

Stormborn

Chapter Eleven, First Movement: Fugue for False Firsts

[Fugue: A composition written for three to six voices. Beginning with the exposition, each voice enters at different times, creating counterpoint with one another.]

Their first real meeting face to face—not glowing eyes in the darkness, not ominous voices and shadowy figures and the dim-dark of a sewer around them—comes three months after the first group of returning refugees staggers into Uzushio.

There are people in the village now, many of them, and Naruto walks among them and knows them. He remembers them. A girl who once sold flowers by the fountain before the Administrative Center, now with more white than brown in her hair. An old man, hardly able to walk unaided but sharp of mind and tongue, who once worked the Mission Assignment desk, and who looks at Arashi—Naruto, he's Naruto now in this life, more or less—with almost desperate eyes. A little boy he once carried on his shoulders, grown with children of his own. A woman, bent with age, who was once a child hiding behind her parents' robes at his inauguration.

And they know him, have known him since they first set foot in Uzushio once more, and Naruto will never forget it, an old man with once-blue hair gone snowy white with time, a Suoh who taught him how to throw a senbon as a child, picking his slow and careful way down the ramp of the ship to the newly rebuilt dock. He'd paused then—Suoh Tomi, who always had a gruff word of advice, a moment to spare for answering even the smallest of questions—with both feet on solid ground, and Naruto had stepped forward, his heart in his throat.

"I saw you," Tomi had said, voice creaking with age but gaze unwavering, leaning against a pillar as though it was the only thing keeping him on his feet. There had been pain in his eyes, pain and hope and the aching, tearing desire to believe. "I would swear before the gods themselves that I saw you fall, Arashi-kun."

Naruto had taken another step then, and another, and another, until he was close enough to curl a hand—strong, young, too young for the ache in his chest, the grief in his heart—around a shoulder unbent by age.

"Not forever," he'd murmured back, meeting the man's eyes. "Didn't you always say it? Uzushio will never fall, not when even one soul remains to hold her."

And Tomi had smiled, like a stalwart stone untouched by time. He'd clapped Naruto on the shoulder in return and answered, "We did, and a soul like yours is a fierce thing indeed, Uzukage-sama."

(No cheer from the ship behind them, no surge of voices, but…a whisper. A brief and mighty stirring just below the surface, like the retreat of waters before a tsunami.

Home, the people had murmured to one another. Uzushio. Uzukage. Home.)

So there are people, old and new, and when Naruto walks among them they whisper Arashi-sama and Yondaime and smile at him with their hearts in their eyes. And it's…good, because Uzushio is reforming around him, rising from the rubble with the help of many hands, and it eases the ache in his chest that's existed for as long as he can remember.

But he's not just Arashi. He's had another life to shape him as well, and he only has to look at Gaara—resolute, steadfast, his right hand as Haku is his left—to remember that. Only has to channel chakra and see the spiral seal, so simple but so complex, flare to life to remember just what it is that sets him apart now. Not his standing as the village's genius orphan, the next greatest Uzumaki, not the unwavering support of an entire city, but the Kyuubi.

A demon.

Demon brat, they whispered sometimes, in Konoha. No one was ever outright abusive, never laid a hand on him, but somehow that was…worse. Worse because the whispers never stopped, and a blow might have.

Naruto understands what he is. He remembers Mito and the handful of others, nine sacrifices for nine bijuu, and their strength both of chakra and of heart. And he looks at himself, at Gaara, and wonders just what it was that went wrong. Gaara's seal is unstable, the Ichibi riding too close to the surface, and Naruto's cost Konoha's Yondaime his life, but those are things well beyond their control. To be hated for that—it's like being hated for the color of his hair, or his skin.

Seven more, he thinks, stepping outside Uzushio's gates at dawn. Gaara is one step behind, grim and vivid in the rising light, wearing full shinobi gear even though lately he's dressed down to help with the reconstruction. Haku is just inside the gates, looking unhappy, but Naruto won't let him be present for this. Not with the amount of things that could go wrong. Not with the amount of power they'll likely be throwing around.

There are seven more of us, and I have no doubt our situations are at least similar.

Naruto has his faults, but cowardice has never, ever been one of them. And now, with so much riding on him, with so many people depending on him, how can he shrink back from something like this? It could hurt them, but it could also help them, because Naruto has no doubt that Kiri is still a threat, or that some other country will see Uzushio as easy pickings.

They're still a small village, still vulnerable. But Naruto will not let Uzushio fall again.

The northeast coast of Whirlpool Country is a barren, rocky place, uninhabited by all but the most stubborn fishermen and a few scattered souls. It's here that Naruto leads Gaara, picking his way around weather-worn boulders and storm-tossed driftwood until they're at the very edge of the land where it falls off into the ocean. The wind is still night-cool off the water, and a few scattered clouds cling to the brightening horizon, but from the cliff to the edge of the forest behind them, there's no other life.

Naruto takes a slow, deep breath, and leaps up to sit cross-legged on the top of the nearest boulder. "You're ready?" he asks Gaara, who touches the side of his gourd and nods once. Naruto offers him a smile, as bright and brave as he can make it, and closes his eyes, letting the outside world fall away.

It's a tunnel like the one leading to Uzushio's heart that greets him, wide and dark, but a soft sort of darkness, with seals that flicker and flare on the walls. He spares a moment to look them over—minor genjutsus, mostly, anchored in place with fuinjutsu to make them long-lasting and more powerful, all directed at serenity of mind and peace of heart. Mood modifiers, Saehara-sensei used to call them. Influences more than attacks. And there are many of them, all subtly different but following a definite theme.

Still, it's a good sign, this place's appearance. Naruto smiles, brushes his fingers over the nearest seal, and heads down the hall, towards the wide double doors at the end. This place looks like the Uzushio's heart—a secret, but a good one. Something to protect. Something to save his village.

He pushes the doors open and steps into the cool white light of the circular room, and laughs softly, because he's not the twelve-year-old he should be right now. His hands are his own, the ones he remembers from his last lifetime, right down to the scar on his palm that Fuyu gave him in training, which never quite faded. His hair is a familiar weight over his shoulders, bright blond bleached pale by the sun, and his hitai-ate is around his head. Naruto knows without looking what the symbol will be—the right one, and he loves Konoha too, but it's not his the way Uzushio is.

There's a sound in the darkness, and when he looks up from his study of his hands there are sharp eyes on him, a huge form curled within the shadows. Naruto can only just make out the whisper of nine tails across the stone as the Kyuubi pulls himself to his feet.

"You're not that brat," the Kyuubi growls, eyes narrowing. "Who are you?"

"But I am," Naruto corrects, and his heart is beating a tattoo in his throat. "I'm more me than I have been in twelve years. And you're the Kyuubi. Mito-sama never spoke of you much."

That gets him a harsh, growling laugh, and the Kyuubi steps forward, out of the shadows. Naruto holds his ground, feet planted and eyes on the bijuu, greatest of the nine.

"Of course she didn't," the fox scoffs, stalking around Naruto in a tight circle, though he never comes closer than the outermost ring of stone. "Why talk about a burden, a prisoner? Why talk about the one that she enslaved?"

Naruto meets the Kyuubi's eyes as squarely as he can, given the differences in their sizes. He knows the story, as well as anyone. All of Uzushio did, because Mito was one of theirs. "If she hadn't, Madara would have kept controlling you," he says softly, but firmly. "He would have used you to destroy Konoha, and then he'd have probably moved on to all the other villages as well."

"You think that matters to me?" the fox roars, lunging forward only to come up short as the pale grey floor flares with light, holding him back. Naruto doesn't move.

"I think it should," he says evenly. "It would only have created more hatred, more fear."

The fox scoffs, resuming its circling. "You say that as if I feel anything but loathing for you puny humans," he growls. "Humanity is a disease. If I had it my way, I'd wipe you all out."

Naruto takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and lets it out slowly. "I used to hate the people of Konoha," he whispers, a confession he's never made to anyone else. "But hate is so dark. If I hate, and they hate, then there's never a chance for anything different. Only more and more hatred, piling up on top of itself. I don't want to hate people, and I don't want to hate you. You're the strongest of the bijuu, and older than I can imagine. You must be so wise, and…I'm not. I'm just human. But I want to protect those precious to me, and I think, if you help me, we can both stop the hatred here." He opens his eyes, looks up at the warily silent Kyuubi, and smiles. Grins, because he can imagine it, a future of peace and hope and home, and whether the Kyuubi helps him or not, that's what he'll always strive for.

"I'm Naruto," he says, a peace offering, a hand extended across the vast gulf that separates them. "Uzumaki Naruto. Or Arashi, if you'd rather call me that."

There's a long moment of silence before it's broken by a sharp snort. "'Storm' or 'fishcake', really? No third option?"

And Naruto laughs, bright in the soft darkness, and steps forward towards his personal demon—his hope for the future, for his people's future—with a smile.

Youko is bright and curious and clearly restraining himself, but his eyes are alight and his smile honest as they meander through the market. Sasuke isn't entirely certain why he's still here, since he got the information he came for, more or less, and Youko does indeed have an entire ANBU squad following him. But at the same time, he's all too aware. Youko is a connection to Naruto, an immediate and existing one when for years Sasuke has been chasing half-formed ghosts and halfhearted whispers.

"Ah," the blond sighs as they finally make it to a less crowded area, several steps back from the press, and lean against the wall together. "It's so different from Uzushio. I'd forgotten what it's like to be elsewhere."

Sasuke looks out over the crowd, trying to see what Youko does, but can't. "Different?" he asks after a moment, because here's yet another tie to Naruto. His new village must be…easy to love, if he hasn't come home once in almost seven years.

With a low, thoughtful hum, Youko tips his head back, bells chiming softly. "It's…beautiful," he says at length, and the curve of his smile is clear despite the mask. "Our Shodaime raised the land that Uzushio is on from the sea, and then pulled most of the stone for the buildings right from the ground. He and a handful of others made the city with chakra, pulled it together in the space of a month, and it's…easy to tell. Uzushio was built with more of an eye for beauty than most hidden villages have. Lots of columns and curving paths and different city levels overlooking the bay. It's…gorgeous." He laughs, and Sasuke can hear it in his voice, the wonder, the awe, the almost desperate edge of adoration for a collection of buildings. He can't understand it, but he can hear it as plain as day.

Youko sweeps a hand out in front of them, encompassing the market and the streets beyond, and says, "Konoha is…busy. There's so much life here, and Uzushio is similar. But…different, too. Smaller, definitely, and the air feels strange here in comparison." His smile is warm, if a little helpless as he gestures, clearly at a loss for words. "Just…Konoha is painted in green and brown—earth tones. Uzushio is blue and red and gold, sea and sky and sunset."

Sasuke…doesn't understand. Can't comprehend what it is to talk about a place with such barely-hidden devotion. He likes Konoha, is fond of it, appreciates it as a place to live and grow, and of course he'll fight to the death for it, but that's more for the people there. Youko talks of Uzushio as if the village itself is a person to defend and cherish.

He's thought of leaving, before. Just up and walking out the gates, dismissing everyone here and striking out on his own to find Naruto—or his brother, in his darker moments. Konoha holds no permanent attachments for him, no inescapable ties. It's Sasuke's village, his home, and there's a certain amount of pride that comes with that, but not nearly as much as Youko shows in his own village in the space of a few words.

Before he can say anything, though, a whisper of familiar chakra touches his senses, and he glances across the busy market to see his first teacher slip out of the crowd. Beside him, Youko goes very still and ever so slightly tense, but Sasuke supposes that's understandable. After all, most foreign shinobi have nightmares about Kakashi of the Sharingan coming towards them. And Youko said himself that everyone in Uzushio is a returned refugee, of the city by way of somewhere else, so it's possible Youko has even crossed blades with Kakashi before.

Kakashi makes a show of looking around before spotting them, but Sasuke isn't a stupid twelve-year-old genin anymore, and he doesn't believe it for a moment. Hatake Kakashi is a master at playing the fool, but underneath that, he's observant and canny and powerful enough to be one of Konoha's single greatest weapons. Having the man teach him everything he knows about the Sharingan—and in the process revealing that the perverted, eternally tardy man has a Mangekyo Sharingan—opened Sasuke's eyes to that fact very quickly.

"Yo," the Copy-Nin says cheerfully as he approaches, raising a hand in a lazy wave. "Entertaining our guest, Sasuke?"

"Hn." Sasuke folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes at his former jounin instructor, able to guess the reason for his presence. Kakashi has been nearly as obsessive about finding Naruto as he has, after all. There's no way he'd have missed the connection with Uzushio.

Kakashi gives him a long, speaking look, then turns one eye, crinkled in a smile that's likely entirely false, on the blond nin. "Hatake Kakashi," he says brightly. "Welcome to Konoha."

There's a split second of hesitation, just enough to be noticeable, and then the other shinobi inclines his head. "…Uzumaki Youko," he answers slowly. "You are…Sakumo's son."

Kakashi goes very, very still and very, very quiet. He says nothing, but even the fake smile drops away, to leave a wary watchfulness in his visible eye. Sasuke, for his part, is equal parts guarded and impressed. Four words to put one of Konoha's greatest off balance, four words and half a moment's contemplation. That's…a very effective battle tactic.

Youko folds his arms, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his deep green kimono top as though he hasn't a care in the world, but he's a shinobi. It's more than likely he's carrying weapons in there, and knows just what sort of dangerous ground he's stepped on.

"That's not," Kakashi says softly and at length, "the first thing most people say."

Youko's eyes crinkle ever so slightly, and he inclines his head, the bells chiming softly with the movement. "I'm older than I look," is his reply. "I met him several times, and regardless of what people say, he was a great man. Very strong. Our Sandaime was fond of him."

That eases a small portion of the tension from Kakashi's shoulders, but not much. "Uzumaki Arashi—my father mentioned him," the Copy-Nin acknowledges with a faint nod. A pause, a beat, and then he visibly uncoils, clearly forcing himself to relax, and the idiotic eye-smile comes back. "Maa. I like your mask."

Sasuke's face meets his palm, and he has to strangle a groan.

Thankfully, Youko just rolls with the incredibly unsubtle change of subject, though an amused smile is clearly curling his lips. "Thank you," he says with mock gravity. "Yours is very nice as well. I had considered bandages, but they don't have quite the right…flair."

Kakashi beams at him, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I was headed to lunch," he offers cheerfully. "Would you two care to join me?"

Sasuke's stomach chooses that moment to remind him that he had skipped dinner in favor of hitting the bar last night, and breakfast this morning in favor of escaping Ino and Sakura's clutches. It gives a loud rumble, but Sasuke refuses to be embarrassed, stalking past Kakashi's stupid snickers with his head held high. "You're paying," he threatens, leaping up to the rooftop in a quick bound.

The sound of bells follows as Youko mimics him, and Sasuke wonders how the man can ever win a fight with those things giving away each of his movements. Perhaps he's simply fast enough that it doesn't matter, but it still seems like a foolish risk.

There's always someone faster, after all.

"Ramen?" Kakashi suggests, joining them on the tiles and heading off without waiting for an answer. Sasuke rolls his eyes, knowing it wasn't a suggestion at all, but rather a conscious decision to pick the cheapest place possible, and follows. After a moment Youko falls into step with him, thoughtfully silent with his eyes fixed on Kakashi's back, and Sasuke is curious as to the history there. There's surely something, with Kakashi's reaction being what it was, but he's never heard anyone mention Kakashi's father directly. Hatake isn't exactly a common family name, and the only other use Sasuke can think of is Hatake Sakumo, Konoha's White Fang, but Sasuke only has the most basic knowledge of him and nothing in regards to his family.

Of course, until yesterday Sasuke had never even heard of a Hidden Village in Whirlpool Country, so he supposes that it's possible he's lacking in some areas of his education.

But he won't pry. Kakashi is…complicated.

(He remembers, a month and a half after Naruto's disappearance, that he played a prank. It was an impulse, a mad idea, but the woman who was his target had always been especially rude to Naruto when they pulled weeds for her; bringing Sakura and Sasuke cookies and lemonade and conveniently forgetting the blond, ignoring him and sneering when she thought Kakashi wasn't watching. It had always made something tight and hard form in Sasuke's gut, something like indignation or anger, or maybe simply disgust. So when she had passed him in the street and smiled at him, smiled when there was absolutely nothing in the world to be happy about because Naruto was gone, he'd pranked her. He'd pranked her and run, heart in his throat as he fled, half-expecting to look back and find an ANBU on his tail with every step he took.

He'd ended up a tree at the edge of the village, huddled deep in the branches and shaking like he never had from a mission. Shaking and at the same time fighting laughter, because what the hell was he doing? He, Uchiha Sasuke, youngest son of the Uchiha Clan Head and self-proclaimed avenger, had played a prank.

And he'd liked it.

It had been satisfying.

Something had moved above him, but he hadn't reacted beyond raising his head from his arms. Kakashi hadn't looked at him, hadn't moved his eyes from his book at all, but he'd said, "Do you remember when I said my best friend's name was on the memorial?"

Certain this was going to be a lecture, or another try at sympathy, Sasuke had turned away without answering.

Kakashi had simply hummed in response. When he spoke again, his voice was warm and fond and all the things Sasuke was entirely unused to hearing from him. "His name was Uchiha Obito, and he was…ridiculous. Always late, always giving the most ridiculous excuses as though we couldn't see right through them. Always cheerful no matter what the situation was."

That had made Sasuke look at him, heart in his throat again, and he'd tried to swallow it down enough to speak. Had failed, but…that was fine. More than fine, because he couldn't find the words regardless.

"Uchiha?" he had asked at last, and… Kakashi having one Sharingan had made an awful, tragic kind of sense then.

Kakashi had nodded. Hadn't looked at him, but answered with a clear smile, even through the mask, "Yes. Obito."

And maybe it wasn't good. Maybe it wasn't even better. But it was…enough, if only for the moment. A memory and a reminder and just…

Enough.)