I was attacked by a plot bunny, and this happened.
I guess this goes with Asayuu, and before that one scene in Sutego xD; Not cannon to the fic, really, but it could be, I guess, if you want to think it is. I can't decide xD; It's late, I have to go study for a molecular genetics unit test xD;
Also, wow, it's been a while, hasn't it?
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto
It took considerable effort to run noisily. After however many years of training to perfect it, and years again to make it habit, muffling the sound of his footfalls was second nature– a decidedly Kirigakurean trait that simply wouldn't do now, and as the man wheeled around a deserted corner, he could only hope his pursuers appreciated the effort. Let them think he was a foreigner, lightning-nin, leaf ninja, anything but a native traitor who'd been rifling through their papers. Not that he'd found anything of interest. The white haired jonin glanced down at his bloodied shin, and would have sighed, if his pace permitted a wasted breath. It certainly hadn't been worth an injury.
The wind whipped icy flecks of snow off rooves and snowdrifts, snapping sails and rocking the hulls of the fishing boats as he raced along the dock. A glance over his shoulder showed a dark shape through the storm. The tracker swore under his breath, brought his pallid hands together, and drew together another form from the churning water beside him. The icewater figure continued full tilt along the water's edge as flesh and blood veered away, hurtling towards the gaping mouth of an alley.
The snow did nothing to soften the young jonin's fall as he clattered to the frigid pavement, ice scraping his palms raw as he rolled away from the street and into the shadows. Heart pounding traitorously in his chest, the jonin collapsed against the chilled brick, snow-dampened hair clinging to his face, leaving frozen smudges across his glasses as he pulled himself deeper into the unlit corridor.
A sound caught his ear that he could not explain as the howling of the wind or crashing of waves. He was sharing his hideaway with another. The crashing as the thing clambered through the abandoned junk and refuse heaped forlornly through the passageway indicated more than an alley cat, but far less than a man. The tiny sound that broke the stillness confirmed a child. "You're bleeding," the voice (hoarse neglect or abuse, but definitely a young boy's) informed him unnecessarily from its sanctuary amongst the frozen scrap.
"I've noticed," the jonin replied, and raised his snowy eyebrows when the voice grew bold enough to continue.
"You're hiding, aren't you? I'll shout. They'll find you."
A smirk pulled at the ninja's pallid lips. "I'd kill you before you drew the breath."
"You'd have to find me first," the boy challenged.
"I can hear you," the man replied evenly, drawing a thin needle from a holster strapped to his thigh. "That's more than enough." A tiny clatter of scrap metal as the thing settled itself, but no answer. "What's to be had from having me killed?" The jonin continued, his voice steady, listless. The pile of junk hissed a 'nothing,' and the white haired tracker quirked an eyebrow. "What are you after, then?"
"I want you to take me with you."
The injured mist nin sat up, turning for the first time, to face the hidden boy. "What was that?"
"I want to be a ninja," he repeated resolutely. "Take me with you."
"No," the jonin grit his teeth, and shakily forced his bloodied leg to support his weight. Using the alley wall for a humbling moment, he steadied himself, and shook his head solemnly. "You don't know what you're asking."
An icy drizzle fell between the captured snowflakes, beating down on the slushy ground, scrap and harbour with varying pounding sounds. He could hear the freezing drops bounce harshly from skin, both his own and the boy's.
"I want to be stronger," he answered finally, over the howling wind. "I don't want to scavenge, or beg, or live off of what adults are willing to spare for me. I want to be able to look after myself. I've never seen our country's shinobi freezing in the gutter. What more is there to it? Take me with you."
"You're beginning to try my patience, boy."
"I'm not afraid."
"Then come out where I can see you." There was a creaking of displaced rubbish, and the junk heap churned as the thing squirmed free of it.
Through the cold and the rain, a spectre crawled out of the darkness.
The tracker's heart caught in his throat, and he forced the icy feeling in his gut back down. The jonin clenched his fist, and forced his eyes to examine the far-too-familiar features with enough skepticism to note the strangeness of him. This was a street urchin, not a revenant.
If there was a ghost of anyone in him, it was an enemy, not a friend, he knew this all too well.
"Come," he sighed, when he found his voice again. "Follow me," and the ragged child followed after. The jonin paused at the mouth of his haven, glancing cautiously from side to side for any sign of his pursers. Seeing no sign of the enemy, he strode carefully into the empty streets. He made his way down the snowy road in search of a lit window, and did his best to ignore the wincing and pained grunts behind him as the boy was buffeted by the icy wind and rain despite his best efforts. As much as he filtered the sound through his soldier's heart, the thought of his own little one struggling similarly tugged as his reluctant heartstrings, and he took a begrudging step back, shielding the child from the wind with his sturdier frame. The boy he still couldn't quite bear to look at was unsteady on his bare feet, and he slowed his pace considerably.
He shepherded the boy towards a light and eventually pried a restaurant door open against the wind, letting the stray tumble inside. It was a small place, meant to feed passing fishermen, but it was warm, and he pushed the half-frozen thing towards a seat. He scrambled into it, shooting a look, that might have been scathing if he'd had the energy for it, in the older man's direction. The jonin strode towards the counter, failing to disguise his limp, and ordered drinks and a standard fish and rice dish from the astonished girl that appeared from the kitchen to answer the door. She clearly hadn't been expecting a shinobi, and after the frightened waitress fled back to work, he wondered if he shouldn't have left his hitai-ate and flak jacket at the table.
He stayed there, drumming his fingers against the counter, not quite ready to face the thing dripping icewater onto their table in a corner. His bit his lip and silently willed the girl to return with his sake if nothing else. It had been years since he'd needed a drink this badly, but neither his postponed mission or present company permitted getting as plastered as he desperately needed.
The sheepish civilian returned with their plates a long moment later, squeaking apologies for an imagined wait, and a pale hand removed the tray from her own. "I've got it." He assured, letting her retreat to the safety of behind the counter once again.
"Eat." he ordered, dropping the tray to the table with a clatter, and shoving a bowl of meat and rice towards the boy, sharply, before falling into his own chair and reaching for the much needed alcohol. He sat, and stared stubbornly– defiantly– at the bowl. "Go on. It's there."
He crinkled his straight nose in disgust. "I don't want anyone's pity."
"Then you're a fool," the jonin replied tersely, pushing the food further towards him, "because you're in desperate need of it."
Reluctantly, the boy reached for a set of chopsticks, and slowly brought a warm piece of fish to his mouth, revealing a set of inhuman sharp teeth. He was an unfortunate little stray: scrawny, and frail, showing a mixture of Lightning and Water country blood, but not particularly attractive by either culture's standards. He was corpse-like– A darker foreign complexion had been watered down with pallid blood, leaving him more gray than anything else, and the skin was stretched over a near-skeletal frame; dark, matted hair and darker eyes with dark circles beneath them, all a patchwork of bruises and mud.
The starved boy's resolve wavered as he swallowed the piece of fish, and he attacked the meal with desperate vigour, stopping after a few ardent mouthfuls to double over and cover his mouth to keep any to spill out a dry heave wracked his tiny frame. "You're just hungry," The man assured him dispassionately. "Keep eating. You'll feel better. Here, drink this, it's warm," and he prodded a cup of tea in the other's direction.
"Why are you doing this for me?" The boy asked suspiciously once his stomach had settled.
The pallid jonin closed his eyes, and folded his hands on the table. "I have a daughter your age," he confessed. "Perhaps I'm going soft. Do you not have any family to take you in? Or are you a runaway."
"No family here," He replied between mouthfuls. "No family anywhere."
"D'you have a name?" he asked with similar disinterest, removing his glasses and cleaning the smudges from them with cloth he'd pulled from his flak jacket.
"Do you?"
"Ah," he sighed, returning the lenses to his face. "Well then, nameless-kun, you must have some somewhere, or have had some at some point. Any ninja in your family?"
He paused and eyed the steaming cup before him pensively. "My father..." he paused, rocking the tea carefully between his tiny hands as he waited for it to reach a drinkable temperature, "My father might have been."
"You didn't know him," the tracker answered, something constricting guiltily in his chest. "Could your mother not tell you about him?"
"She didn't know him either." The knot in the blue eyed man's gut wound tighter. "Besides, I only came here a few months ago. I lived in a village north of here, in the mountains." This time, he winced visibly, enough for the boy to take note, and raise a scant, sceptical eyebrow to demand an explanation.
"I've been there," the jonin struggled to regain his composure. "Nice little place."
"What were you doing there?"
The mist ninja smiled grimly. "I killed a man. Not long after you were born, I'd imagine." He shook his head again and diverted his attention to the rain spattered window, and tried to ignore the boy in favour of the stormy docks. "What brings you all the way down here? That's quite a trip."
"Work," he replied simply, and the jonin suppressed an echoed chuckle as he brought his own less kid-friendly drink to his lips.
"How old are you? Five?"
"I'm nearly seven," nameless-kun snapped indignantly. "I'd thought the fishing boats might want me."
"No such luck?" The child shot him a scathing look and stabbed at his meal sorely. "Keep trying with the fishermen," the jonin advised.
"They say I'm too small," the boy shot back, popping a final piece of fish between his pointed teeth. "I've heard the ninja academy in Kirigakure takes boys my age. That's true, isn't it?"
The jonin sighed, and glanced listlessly back towards the contemptuous little thing. "Occasionally," he admitted. "But honestly, what would a brat from the mountains know about shinobi? Keep asking the fishermen."
"I know the Mizukage is a failure." The jonin's eyes flickered wider momentarily, but then the condescending smirk returned and the boy's scowl deepened when he was urged to continue. "We're starving. In the mountains, here, everywhere. It's just you ninja who get fed and paid."
"Mizukage sama's responsibility is the hidden village," the blue eyed jonin responded patiently. "Everywhere else is the Daimyo's problem."
"The Daimyo's a puppet." The darker boy spat back. "People talk, I hear them. The Mizukage has the country by the throat."
The mist ninja inclined his head, impassively. "I suppose you think you could do better." The boy met his eye squarely, and nodded. "Ambitious little runt, aren't you? It takes a certain kind of person to survive the academy, let alone become kage. I'd worry about that, first." The jonin rested his head against his folded hands, and suppressed another sigh. To be wasting time in post-middle-of-nowhere was bad enough, but debating politics with a seven year old was a bit much. "Impressive," he admitted, and a humourless smile tugged at his pale lips as he stood, and fished through his pockets to set the proper amount of coins on the table. "Perhaps you'll prefer the next."
The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and slid out of his seat to follow. "Next?"
The jonin nodded as he started his way towards the door. "I've said too much. If you are determined to find your way to the academy–Stop, that's not for you," the would be student's hand froze where it hovered, an inch above the money on the table, and his arms folded irritably across his chest as he hastened after. "I'd suggest you wait a while. Things in the hidden village might be a bit... hectic, for a while. You see why I can't take you along." Nameless said nothing, but watched him carefully as he made his way towards the exit and stepped back out into the cold.
"Wait." The jonin paused over the threshold, hand rested against the door to keep it open against the still bitter winds. "You said you had a daughter my age," he began brazenly, "so tell me, will she be made a ninja as well? Is she 'a certain kind of person?'"
"I'm working on it," he admitted. "She isn't, not yet."
The boy smiled, smugly. "But I am?"
"Who's to say?" he answered dully, "my daughter's success is my own business. A street urchin without so much as a name is no concern of mine. Do as you like." The man glanced over his shoulder for one final gut-wrenching look at the boy he had yet to convince himself was a stranger before stepping out again into the storm, and darting homewards as quickly as his bloodied shin would allow.
So yeah :) hope you enjoyed it~ It's been a while, I'm sorry if I'm a bit rusty xD;