The Leaf Saga: Chapter One
Warnings: Alternate Universe, graphic violence, adult themes.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
A Road in Frost Country
The hollow rumble of thunder was everywhere, overriding the relentless din of a storm that had built itself up into a full-blown squall. Rain pelted down from the inky haze above, a million little bombs of water that exploded against a narrow mud path and the impossibly dense forest that encroached upon it. Limbs heavy with dark green coniferous leaves shook lunatic limbs over top the narrow mud path, writhing as the storm blew whistling overhead. The hour was such that not even a hint of the sun's brightness touched the stormy forest, which swept across the lands with its impossible richness and density as far as the eye could see. Barring lightning strikes, the sole light in the land came from a lantern, affixed to a lonesome wagon, creaking and rocking its way down the muddy path. In the scant rays cast by the lantern, a single ox, laden in thick iron armor engraved clearly with Kumogakure's insignia could be seen pulling the cart which was of a simple, two-wheeled design, wooden in construction and topped with a stretch canvas roof. A nearby flash of lightning, followed quickly by a harsh boom and more hollow, rumbling thunder, afforded a brief camera-like snap of light by which the lonesome wagon's two occupants could be seen silhouetted within.
Inside the wagon a pair of men sat situated across one another on opposing benches.
Silence reigned.
The stench of fresh grief clung to the duo, most obvious in the rigid posture of the larger man and the dead eyes of the smaller. They were a mismatch, these two—one a tall, brown-skinned man with large muscles and light clothing; the other much shorter, with a lighter frame and skin-tone, obscured in large part by the dark garb he wore. The smaller of these two men was no man at all, but instead a boy, still early in his teenaged years. His head was wrapped entirely in bandages save for around his eyes, and where it covered his temple, blood soaked through, leaking free to run a slow, half-coagulated trail down his exposed neck. Most injuries had little effect on this one and vanished quickly, but this was an insidious wound, unique in its ability to hurt him in this slow healing way. His riding companion bore injuries too, hidden beneath his worn attire. The eyes that stared out from behind the mass of medical bandages were hollow and unfocused.
The larger of the two, a man by the name of Killer Bee, bore the uncomfortable ride with faux stoicism, watching in a rare silence as his traveling companion's juvenile frame shook noiselessly. Bee's teeth rested clenched behind his unaffectable façade. Each of his hands laid hidden, tucked into his sides as he sat arms crossed. Big, friendly brown palms itched to reach out and comfort his pupil, to rest their sure weight and warmth down atop a boy he knew desperately needed it. He looked at him and felt the depths of his own despair echo though, and when the faces of those so recently taken rose in his mind, like ghosts from the fresh graves he'd damned them to, Killer Bee was struck with thick, clogging pain. In the end, as the wagon continued down the long muddy path, and the rain and trees continued their frenzied song, and Naruto, his last surviving student, stared at nothing and shook and bled, he held his false calm and stayed silent. They were halfway through the Land of Frost now, having just passed Lightning Country's southern border into the evergreen territory that morning, and still had a full week's worth of trip left before they'd finally reach their destination, Konoha.
'Two weeks,' Bee corrected himself, as the wagon they were in fell in and out of a particularly bad pothole, jarring the whole cart and them along with it. The trip would take half as long were they allowed to run it, but their mode of transportation had been chosen specifically for them by his brother, the Raikage, himself. They were both still injured from… before, but Konoha had demanded—in no uncertain terms—the immediate return of their jinchuriki to them, and with the way the war was starting to turn, well, it was no time to be straining what few alliances they had. The Sand-Stone Pact had posed formidable enough a foe for Bee's tastes, but now with Mist entering the conflict, opportunistic batch of murders the lot of 'em, things were going to get much worse.
'God damn it,' he thought, the pain in his chest deepening as he foresaw his and Naruto's imminent parting. Bee knew what life in Konoha had been like for Naruto. It hadn't been pretty.
The thought of dumping him back in Konoha like so much rubbish turned his stomach, but there was nothing for it. Bee was needed on the frontlines now, and Konoha wouldn't tolerate his pupil's absence for a moment longer than was necessary, now that things had changed.
He just prayed the damn Leaf bastards didn't cause more harm than could be fixed—Naruto was a damaged soul, queer and out of place in this world of carnage. Bee saw in him a potential that far outshined any he'd known—himself included—but the world had been cruel to the boy, and in its cruelty robbed him the bulk of his fighting spirit. What was left was malformed and dangerous, and without the proper mentorship, without his mentorship, he feared what may come to pass. That cursed Hokage of theirs would care nothing of his reservations though and would probably be inclined to send Naruto off to fight as quickly as he could. Bee could only hope there would be those in the Leaf who'd oppose that decision. Shimura Danzo was as hawkish a leader as Bee had ever seen, but if the man had one redeeming quality, it was his ability to take counsel. Whoever they chose would be naturally worse suited to the job than he, but Bee supposed the most likely outcome of this whole debacle would see Naruto working in a new cell under a new sensei.
The thought almost curled his lip, but again, he held his composure. He was still in charge of Naruto for a while longer, and it behooved him not to ruin the good example he'd tried to set so far. When he returned home and was inevitably sent to the frontlines, he'd allow himself to cut loose. For now, with the agony of loss weighing on them both so heavily, he needed to stay strong.
Bee opened his mouth, determined to broach the subject with Naruto, to at least try and prepare his last remaining student for the coming difficulties, but for once, he failed to find his voice.
The wagon rolled bumpily on, its oxen driver unperturbed by the hellish weather beating down on them. They were still a fortnight from Konoha. Bee resolved to talk with Naruto later, but for the moment, held his silence.
Two Weeks Later: Haruno Residence, Konoha
Pink hair fell in damp tresses around Sakura Haruno's face, teasing at her cheeks and bare neck. She was naked, lying back in the tub of her upstairs bathroom, the water having drained away hours ago. Green eyes once brighter than gems and filled with zest now swiveled dully behind puffy red eyelids, peeking out through rose lashes to spy the empty sake container on the other side of the dark bathroom. It was tipped over. Its matte grey porcelain was chipped at the lip, taunting her with its dry mouth. She could still taste its bitterness on the back of her tongue, even as her intoxication was slowly replaced, the unmistakable nausea and headache of a hangover settling in fast.
'Empty,' she thought, although the word GONE had actually come to her mind first. It was the last of her parents' supply, a meager lot though it'd been, and the unavoidability of what awaited her outside the smooth chill of the empty bathtub now that the rice wine and whiskey and blackberry brew were all gone loomed heavy and close.
The temptation to just lay there forever was like a drunken lover, holding her prisoner with needy limbs and slurred words. Her eyes began to droop again until, spurred on by a wave of self-loathing, her body jerked, and she abruptly sat up. Fingernails once grown long in vanity had turned to talons in her dereliction and now gouged bloody crescents into her palms as she tensed, eyelids clenching and hands fisting as too many emotions flowed through and ravaged her. Pain spiked behind bloodshot eyeballs, and a shiver ran through her. Her stomach threatened to revolt.
"Come on," she cried out to herself, only to go immediately still in the next instant. Her fists relaxed and her eyes peeled back open slowly. There'd not been a single word spoken in her parent's house… in her house, for an entire month now, and her own mouse-like chords struck her as unfathomably loud and offensive. A feeling of deep wrongness switched places with the marrow in her bones. The world was not right, would not be right, ever again. She listened carefully, jaw lightly open, for anything.
There was nothing.
With a quiet click, Sakura's teeth snapped closed.
When the silence had been restored, she climbed to her feet and wrapped an overly fluffy white towel around her gangly nakedness. A little blood leaked out of her cut palms and stained it where she touched, transferring crimson stickiness to the pale skin of her breast. A frustrated sound gurgled in her throat, but scared to bleed noise into the empty dwelling once again, Sakura managed to hold her calm and silence. With a second's concentration, the green glow of medical chakra sprang to life in her palms, lighting the dim bathroom and sealing her wounds. With a mental command, it vanished, and she left to get dressed. Five hours of drunken haze would have to serve in sleep's place—she could see the night's sky giving way to morning light and knew there wasn't much time left. If she didn't hurry, she'd be late, and on her first day as a proper graduated kunoichi no less.
Sakura's jaw set at the idea. She may have become numb to most everything else following her parents' slaughter, but in the singular case of becoming a kunoichi of Konoha, her ambition had only grown, multiplied, even, as the drive to prove herself was murdered and replaced with the need for revenge. The need to solve their murder was all that drove her now—the need to solve it and avenge it. And supposing she didn't find out who was responsible? Supposing she never learned which symbol was carved into the murder's hitai-ate? Sand, Stone, Wave… they were all likely suspects, and like corpses on her table, she'd dissect their cold dead bodies and find the answer. She was a weak girl. She was a stupid girl.
But a squeamish girl, she was not.
Uchiha Compound, Konoha
Sasuke Uchiha sat and watched the sun peek over the horizon through a spider's web. Its silken strands spanned the gap between an oak tree's hefty limbs, framing the sky beyond. Morning dew still clung to the web in droplets and sparkled in the dawning sunlight like diamonds. He could see no spider haunting the web from here despite his active Sharingan, but he knew it couldn't be far—breakfast, as it was, had been served. Bound within the clinging web was a luna moth, beautiful and elegant unlike the bulk of its kind, with gorgeous green wings and a tapering arrowhead's shape. Their arrival in Konoha was traditionally associated with the village's springtime celebration.
His mother had loved them.
It twitched and writhed against its prison, unintentionally drawing out its new master with its delicious suffering. The spider that came was barely half the size of the trapped moth and ugly. Brown like rotten bark and cursed with a thousand uneven hairs, the spider was slow in its approach, either out of caution or glee or some other factor, Sasuke could only guess. When finally it reached its new prisoner, however, it struck with great speed, sinking its dripping fangs into the moth and then backing off in the blink of an eye. He knew nothing more of arachnids than which ones to avoid and fear, but he could tell that this one, at least, had a venom purposed for something other than instant death. Fully-matured Sharingan eyes missed nothing, and even as the moth's wings grew still, and the spider moved to begin wrapping it within inescapable silk, and the ANBU woman's mouth stimulated him to orgasm, his stolen essence captured expertly within a medical container, Sasuke saw that the moth still lived. An almost imperceptible expansion and collapse of its cocoon told him of its continued breathing, of its continued living.
The woman between his legs wiped a spot of drool from her cheek and cupped his scrotum, painted fingernails digging into the sensitive skin. His lips pulled taught in a wince as she formed half a tiger seal, and his legs fought not to seize as the fuinjutsu around his genitals reactivated. He continued to watch the moth breathe as she reattached her mask and left, as wordlessly as she'd come—as they always were. He didn't acknowledge her either and instead remained as he had been, watching the moth, not bothering with returning his softened member to his pajamas just yet. Three black tomoe spun in his eyes like triplet corpses, floating endlessly in a whirlpool of blood. One of his hands began to shake entirely of its own accord, but not even as he pinned it still with its twin did his cursed eyes lift. Only after the moth had finally perished, its tiny form stilling at last as it suffocated, did he allow himself to blink, looking away as the spider closed in once again and began eating the corpse.
With revulsion thick in his veins, and a shake working up through his body that spawned in his toes and climbed till his head was bowed and his fists were balled and shaking, and stinging salty tears filled his closed eyelids, Sasuke nevertheless managed to dredge up enough willpower to touch his filthy privates and return them to decency, the throbbing ache in the pit of his belly a never-ending reminder of the seal around his manhood. Hate, black and oily like bubbling tar, surged through him. Aimed in every which direction, he was possessed by the feeling and indiscriminate in his unkind thoughts. He hated himself, for being so pathetic and weak—too weak, as he'd always been, to control his fate. He hated this world, and especially this cursed village, the wickedness it served and the smile it served it with... More than anything, he hated his brother, Itachi, the dead fool. He was the architect of all Sasuke's suffering, had engineered it no matter his intent, so masterful in his craft that even years after his death, new punishments for Itachi's sins were still being visited upon him.
Sasuke's shoulders, bouncing till then with inaudible sobs, gained a twisted quality in their movements as quiet laughter began bubbling up. Nothing was especially funny, but there was something undeniably amusing about the irony of it all. Itachi had explained it all to him that night, ANBU armor still wet with the lifeblood of their parents and clan: to prevent the Hokage from starting the next war, he would deal a blow so severe, and in doing so, spare him the horrors...
Sasuke buried his face in his hands, lips pulling back to reveal teeth. Oh, but the irony was exquisite, was it not? On every single account the genius had been dead wrong. Sasuke would become a full-fledged ninja today and be immersed in all the war the world could offer soon thereafter. Itachi's 'sacrifice' hadn't amounted to anything, and in sparing him he'd simply provided Konoha and its Hokage a focus upon which to vent their frustrations. It was from this tragic hilarity that Sasuke learned the most valuable of all the lessons Itachi had to teach him: no matter how hard a person tries and no matter what they sacrifice, the world cannot be fixed. Theirs was an existence of titanic gears and ancient cogs, fit together in the earliest days and maintained in the deepest parts of the human soul, and no amount of suffering, no mass of dead flesh, would ever, ever be enough to jam its pitiless machinery.
Sasuke's laughter came to a choked end, and for a moment, his three-tomoe Sharingan seemed to waiver. All humor fled him, and in its place, rage suddenly seized him, digging its curved teeth into his soul and shaking, shaking like a hound, until Sasuke was sure he'd go mad if he didn't do something. Blood boiling, he lurched to his feet, bared torso filling as, with a great, wheezing gasp, he sucked in an impossible gulp of air. There was stillness for an instant, and then, all at once, he spat out a screaming, horrible inferno, gushing flames of orange and white and blue that descended upon the lonesome oak tree across him like a murderer on their first victim. The spider and the moth and the web binding them were turned to ash in an instant, along with all the tree's leaves and smaller twigs. From there the branches caught, resisting the fury-eyed teen's flames for only seconds longer before coming undone as well. The trunk proper was next, and in no time, that too was ash on the ground and smoke in the wind. Only when this was so did he cease channeling his ninjutsu, his breaths harsh and uneven.
Crackling charcoal and the pleasant scent of oaken smoke filled the silence.
Sasuke's lips were blistered from the uncontrolled technique, and the hate in his guts was none the lesser for the effort. He was an animal caged, and the jitteriness in his bones seemed to have put down roots.
Still... as he stared into the last of the flames, taking care to observe the blackened flakes of ash as they stirred in the wind, he was able to find some semblance of serenity, hiding back in the dark corners of his mind, twisted, mean thing though it was. It was true—there was no stopping the cogs of this world from turning, turning, turning inside the great suffering machine. There was only one way off this ride, and Sasuke had sworn to forsake that path at all costs, which left only one option: if he couldn't halt the machine, couldn't escape it, couldn't fix it, then he'd just have to destroy it—burn it, and everyone who got in his way, back to dust.
The intoxicating cocktail of bleak emotions swirling inside him slowly drained, leaving clarity in its wake. It would take time, but strangulation had turned Sasuke patient.
If the accounts he'd heard were to be believed, the average time from graduation to deployment was barely three months. It was just as well, in his mind. He'd need help getting his flames hot enough for what he had in mind, and there existed no finer forge than open battle. Singed lips tweaking in an unpleasant smile, Sasuke Uchiha dressed and left the overgrown ruins of his clan's compound and began off for the academy. The journey of a thousand miles, as they say, begins with a single step. It was time to become a shinobi.
Shinobi Academy Rafters, Konoha
The Konoha of today was different to the point of unrecognizability from the Konoha of fourteen years ago. Take the academy, for example. The changes in Konoha's academy, implemented by Godaime Hokage Danzo Shimura fourteen years ago, saw sweeping changes in the way Konoha shinobi were formed. Not only had the old building been replaced—torn down and rebuilt into a full-on compound—the methodology itself had been entirely restructured. Beginning much earlier at the age of five, and lasting until fourteen, theirs was a long and exceedingly comprehensive curriculum designed to produce a superior grade of ninja. Some early critics had called it an indoctrination machine, but the loudest among them had gone mysteriously quiet soon after, and no more was said against it. What could be said about the program was such: genin these days graduated with traditionally chunin-level capabilities and were already far-enough along in their training to have started the process of specialization. For example, Sakura, having tested into the Medic Program at twelve, already had two years of solid experience practicing and honing medical techniques under her belt. While lacking hours as a field-deployed combat medic, realistic drills and extensive time served in Konoha's hospital provided her with as solid a base as was possible. Similar specialization programs were implemented and fleshed-out over the years, including a specialized Tracker Program, Infiltration Program, Assassination Training, the Vanguard Program, and more. Sasuke had been part of the Vanguard Program, which focused on cultivating raw combat proficiency and devastating high-damage techniques. He, like Sakura in the Medic Program, had excelled under the new system.
Of course, for every gain, there is a cost. Some of those mysteriously missing early critics had cited concerns over the weakening of the 'Will of Fire', that decades-old Konoha mantra embodying the themes of teamwork and kinship, which some believed had been the driving force behind Konoha's greatness to begin with. And it was true, to an extent: the graduates of recent years had gone on to see compelling success in the field but were undeniably missing something that'd been present in the squads of generations past; Konoha teams these days tended to act more as squads of soldiers, rather than as members of a family. Once more, this breaking-down of the squad-kinship dynamic had been pointed to as evidence of the Godaime's intentions—his view that a shinobi should love his village above all else well known by this point. Still, it was a spectrum, and while the average had shifted towards the individual as a Konoha shinobi and away from them as a member of a family, there were still relatively new teams that had spent their entire time in the academy under the new regime, and who had gone on to form unbreakable bonds with their genin squad. When this behavior was not actively opposed by the Godaime, Konoha's shinobi ranks relaxed. They were an adaptable bunch, and so long as teams were not actively being torn apart by the Hokage, they did not mind the changes being implemented. They produced effective war fighters, and in these times of war that's what was needed above all else.
Or so the sentiment seemed to go.
Kakashi, hidden in the rafters of the aforementioned Shinobi Academy, had his own reservations about the new way.
Hidden from the five senses, and with his chakra suppressed to an adequately low level, Hatake Kakashi silently observed the three teenagers below. Team by team had been assigned and summarily collected by their jonin until only his batch remained. He'd shown up long ago, an hour before any of the academy staff, even, and had been watching ever since—this year's crop in general, but especially the three teenagers he was to oversee.
What he saw worried him.
There was Sakura Haruno, the recent orphan girl, sat near the front. She wore a simple red tank-top beneath the Medic Program uniform—a kind of black apron-dress hybrid meant to assist in field operations of the life-saving sort. Made of a kind of rubbery composite, it had thin plates of treated steel interwoven in the back, to protect against sneak-attacks while applying aid or operating in the field. The whole thing was hydrophobic to avoid extensive blood-soaking, and looked very similar to an apron, save for the armored back portion. Riding just above the right breast was a white plus, the Medic Program's symbol. Her pants were of the same material, though unarmored, and ended in standard issue combat boots.
If he were just going by her attire, Kakashi wouldn't have been so concerned, but…
Her pink hair was messy, her eyes were circled with fatigue, and, even from his place hidden in the rafters, Kakashi's sensitive nose could detect the remnants of alcohol on her breath. She'd done a serviceable enough job donning a mask of placidity upon arriving earlier that morning, fooling the bulk of her classmates, but even just using the one, she was still a swirling mass of pain in Kakashi's eye. Her file listed her as having a razor-sharp intellect, with a focus on memorization and deep-systems comprehension. Already she had shown well above-average aptitude in the medical field, and a talent for trap-making.
She also, apparently, had quite the temper.
Her core aptitudes were listed as average, with slightly stronger taijutsu and slightly weaker ninjutsu. Her genjutsu was fine. Kakashi could think of a thousand and one ways to cultivate her skills and zero to heal the hole in her heart.
Had he that skill, Kakashi would have used it on himself years ago.
Next up was Sasuke Uchiha, also an orphan, also deeply troubled. He wore a black, long-sleeved shirt embroidered with the Uchiha clan crest, and over it, the olive-green camo vest of the Vanguard Program. Littered with pouches stuffed with various implements of death and destruction, the vest also bore the institution's emblem on the right shoulder—a flaming skull. His pants were dark and ended in boots that, like the rest of his clothing, was heavily durable and especially fire retardant.
He had taken up residence near the back and was staring out of an open window presently. Kakashi might have mistaken his look as an absent gaze if not for the slowly spinning Sharingan the boy had active. Whatever he was looking at, it had held his attention for an hour now.
In all that time he only blinked twice.
There was stiffness in his muscles, and a quality about his gaze that Kakashi could identify with, if not fully articulate. It was not a good thing. As for his file, Sasuke Uchiha was supposed to be the top of this graduating class. Speed, strength, smarts, he had them all in spades, with the thoroughbred instincts of a hundred generations of warrior ninja coursing through his veins. He was more than proficient in the core curriculum taught at the academy, but truly shined when using his lost clan's techniques, especially the fire ones. His Sharingan was fully matured and his reserves had stretched wide enough that he could use it excessively—something it seemed he'd taken to doing, if his hour spent staring out the window with his eyes activated was anything to go by. It probably wasn't fantastic for his psyche to spend so much time looking at the world through the warped lens Kakashi knew the Sharingan to be, but then, he figured in this case, his concerns were tantamount to drowned men complaining about rain.
The boy, he could already tell, would be a handful.
Which brought him nicely along to the final member of his little team: one Naruto Uzumaki, the son of his sensei and Konoha's resident jinchuriki—and one of Kakashi's greatest failures.
Only recently back from an extended two-year stay in Kumo spent under their jinchuriki master Killer Bee, his return was marked by tragedy. Kakashi knew what it was to lose friends and teammates and allies of all kinds—almost none had had the impact on his life that losing his genin team had. One by one they'd been taken from him, and little by little he'd changed as a consequence. Only his father's suicide had carved a larger slice out of his heart.
And speaking of carved-out-slices, he could see now the proof of what he'd been told weeks ago: while Naruto's nature as a grand demon's vessel granted him impossible healing and regeneration, someone had figured out a way to hurt him all the same. Where once the boy had had a head full of wild blond locks half a foot long, he now wore his hair shaven down to a buzz—a necessary action taken by Kumo's medic nin to treat the pair of deep furrows sliced into the boy's head. He imagined it must have been a gruesome wound to fight around in the field, despite the rather innocuous scars left behind—the demon's doing no doubt. Starting mid-temple and ending a few inches further straight back on the side of his head, the two lines that ran were hardly noticeable against his skin, and only as obvious as they were because of the pattern they cut into his hair, the uniquely damaged tissue forever unable to host new follicles.
He was an awkward boy. Kakashi knew he ought to count it a miracle the kid wasn't stark raving mad or a serial killer, but he still felt disappointed. For all that his face bore the mixed features of his parents', landing on the border between handsome and pretty only because of his intimidating new scars, Kakashi could find no hint of his beloved sensei in those dead eyes, no reflection of the Red-Hot Habanero in that sullen stare. He sat now as he had since arriving earlier that morning—silent and reserved. Being new would have meant the class's interest regardless, but being Uzumaki Naruto, Konoha's Kyuubi, meant blatant stares and whispers. The boy's chosen garb didn't help in the matter either—a simple, loose-fitted black kimono with the kanji for 'Nine' on the back in white, and black training pants. No shirt. No socks. No shoes. No hitai-ate. Kakashi understood why the boy wore what he did, but still… it was very conspicuous.
Naruto Uzumaki's file was both better than he could have hoped for and worse than he'd dared imagine. The bulk of the information in his file had been entered either by Killer Bee or Kumo's Raikage. Information from his decade spent under the Godaime's control was tellingly absent. Still, some of the data points that were provided gave Kakashi hope: according to the reports, Naruto was quiet and reserved, but also reasonable, and more compassionate than anybody had a right to expect, all things considered. He'd formed real bonds with his previous teammates, and had sustained his wounds trying to protect them, nearly dying in the process. Like Sasuke and Sakura, his file had touched on his intelligence in a positive way, specifically on his aptitude for creativity and quick adaptability. Kakashi approved of all these qualities and hoped they had not been irreparably damaged by the boy's recent tragedy.
The rest, however…
Naruto's training focused heavily on tapping into his potential as a jinchuriki, giving little time for him to hone his fundamentals.
The results were mixed, to say the least.
The report had grown rather dense in covering this aspect, but the highlights included his ability to manage up to a four-tailed state, an enhanced sensory system (hence his current layered stealth jutsu), an atypical summoning contract, and, the two that truly disturbed Kakashi, unfettered communication with the demon sealed within him, and a susceptibility to fits of youkai-fueled rage.
He would have liked to have spoken with Naruto's previous sensei, Killer Bee, about exactly what all that entailed, but hadn't been granted the opportunity. By the time he'd been informed of Naruto's return, the Hachibi container had already left, forced to go back to his home country and aid in the battles cropping up on the new eastern front. Kiri nin had been making things difficult for Konoha along the crescent coast to the south, but Kakashi knew the bulk of their offensive was being leveraged against Lightning. As a peninsular country, Lightning was in for a long and brutal fight against the sea-trained foe.
Focusing back off of Naruto specifically and considering his new genin as a unit, Kakashi killed a sigh attempting to rise, and steeled himself. There would be little time for his beloved drama and theatrics with this bunch. They were too damaged to be left to their own devices; their potential, too valuable an asset to Konoha to ignore; and they were all far, far too close to this damnable war, which was quickly exploding out of control, to be anything but the center of his focus from now until either this war ended, he died, or they did.
They were rougher around the edges than a bunch of rusty saws—in urgent need of a care and help he did not have the ability to provide, and which the world was not interested in allowing. Injustice painted them all with its shadow. He would visit even more upon them. His job demanded it. Still, in a world that had exerted crushing pressure down upon them already, one in which the name of the game was bend or break, Kakashi could respect the fact that these three had not yet broken.
Dropping his concealment jutsu saw Naruto's head snapping in his direction, they boy's cool blue eyes wide and penetrating. Dropping to the front of the room an instant later saw him gathering the other two's attention as well. In each of their eyes he saw a preparedness to kill and hardened himself further.
'For all that I admired you resistance to breaking,' he thought, 'there are consequences to bending too far as well.'
He held faint hopes that when all was said and done his team would not end as twisted as his instincts screamed they were now.
"Sorry I'm late," he began, no hint of apology in his easy, bored voice. There would be little room for whimsy, but some things were too much a part of him to carve out. "I got lost on the road of life."
He'd just have to do his best.
Shinobi Academy Rooftop, Konoha
When Team Seven's new sensei suggested a change in scenery, none of the genin assigned under him had any trouble following him up the Academy's wall to the roof. Water-walking, never mind wall-walking, was a mandatory part of the curriculum.
Naruto, despite never attending a day at the Shinobi Academy, had long known the skill as well. No matter how exacting the Godaime's expectations for Konoha's fledgling ninja were, they paled in comparison to the crucible Naruto had been put through.
Not crucible. Hell—that's what it was. Torture, of both the literal and figurative flavors. Yum.
The roof was a simple affair—a wide, flat expanse of sunbaked concrete with benches and picnic tables arranged about. It was a popular destination for academy students on their lunch break but was deserted now for graduation week. The sun was approaching its zenith in the blue Fire Country sky but lacked the excessive heat it would gain as spring turned to summer. Messenger hawks flew overhead. The concrete was warm against his feet. It should have been beautiful, but…
Naruto missed the overcast skies of Kumogakure. His face was blank but his heart ached dreadfully. His appetite had completely deserted him these past two weeks, and the gross lack of food left him feeling weak and dazed. Restlessness hid beneath his skin like a parasite, infecting him with unease and a dread that never quite made it to his face. The scent of the air here was enough to trigger memories, not just in his brain, but in his bones and in his blood. They were wholly unpleasant.
Despair though he may internally, reality remained unchanged—after almost two years, he was back here.
'Konoha,' he thought, squinting eyes shifting from the sun to the carved mountains to the village below. His memories here were weighted heavily towards the negative, with enough tipping over into full-blown horrible that he'd have been happy never to step foot here again.
Despite his best efforts, he found himself dwelling on the circumstances leading up to his return. The twin scars on his temple hurt, like the ones in his soul—one for each of them…
The black and pink heads of hair walking ahead of him were briefly brown and blue.
He had no right, not after failing them as he had, but God, how he missed them.
Tamako-chan... Mai-kun...
For the briefest moment, he'd actually believed Bee-sensei's promise. A family of his own...
With a blink, they were gone, brown darkening to black, blue flipping to pink.
Never again.
'Pay attention, boy,' the grand demon sealed within him murmured, its voice a crumbling mountain of rumbly bass and ancient command. Naruto's nose was filled with the scent of rotting flesh. Kurama was awake. 'The human speaks.'
Naruto blinked and did as his partner bid, shaking off his inattention and listening in.
"—Kakashi Hatake, and I will be your jonin sensei starting today," was the first Naruto caught. It seemed he hadn't missed much.
The man, Kakashi, was perched atop a picnic table across from the bench they'd sat on. Naruto was in the middle, with the Uchiha kid on his left and the pink-haired girl on his right.
'Sasuke and Sakura,' he reminded himself.
Kakashi paused, allowing them a moment to size him up, before continuing. "Let's start with some quick introductions, break for lunch, and then meet back up. Training Ground Five's ours till we deploy. You three are to meet there every morning at seven unless I say otherwise. I do not tolerate tardiness." A lone grey eyebrow rose in challenge. "Any questions?"
Naruto's lips thinned at the hypocrisy, but he said nothing. His pink-haired teammate, face set in a tired scowl, spoke up instead.
"We three are to meet there at seven?" she parroted back pointedly, bloodshot eyes narrowed.
Naruto wasn't sure how, but despite three-quarters of the man's face being hidden either behind his face mask or slanted hitai-ate, his brain had no trouble interpreting his sensei's smile just via the crinkling of his exposed eye.
"Exactly right, genin! And, if there are no other questions, let's try and get through introducing ourselves quickly. We'll be learning more about one another after lunch, so there's no need to over-share just yet. Just give us your name, likes, dislikes, any hobbies you might have, and whatever your dream or goal is for the future. Stuff like that. Who's first?"
Naruto didn't even consider volunteering. He felt like a stranger in this village. He was a stranger. Lightning Country had become something like a home over the last two years, and even that wasn't quite right. The decade he'd spent here before that had been… unpleasant, to say the least. Sasuke and Sakura had spent the last nine years schooling at the same academy, so even if they weren't friends, they at least knew each other to some degree—he'd spent his time in Konoha bouncing from tutor to tutor to tutor. Each had been assigned to him by the Godaime, each had tried to draw out the Kyuubi's power from within him, and each had failed. Their methods had ranged from conventional to silly to perverse to cruel to downright evil; there was really only one way—Bee-sensei's way—to draw the demon's power out in a useful manner, which of course was why, after ten years of bashing his head against the wall, the Godaime finally agreed to send him off to their ally to the northeast.
He could only guess their reasons, but neither of his teammates volunteered either. Sasuke wore a resolute scowl, and Sakura, a hybrid tired-distracted frown, her arms crossed over her chest.
Kakashi's sigh came out muffled—his face mask's doing. "Fine, fine. I'll go first. My name, you already know. My likes…" here he paused, favoring them with a more serious look than before. Naruto got the feeling the cyclops was trying to decide whether or not to mess with them some more. In the end, he didn't. "I like to read," he said simply. "I dislike most people. Hobbies? Reading again, I suppose. And, well, this," he said, arms spreading and motioning to them. Sakura laughed once through her nose, although it was more of a huffing exhale than a true laugh, and Sasuke sneered. Naruto kept his face resolutely unaffected. Kakashi's eye did that crinkling smile thing again, although there was something somber about it this time. "My goal right now is to help each of you reach your own. That, and of course, keep you all alive—but I'm assuming those two things overlap quite a bit, mm?"
He'd said it as a joke, but this time, all three of them wore carefully blank expressions. There was a quick second of unexpected intrigue shared between the three genin, where each shot the others short, inquisitive glances. It grew awkward fast though and ended abruptly with a fake throat-clear from Sakura, who took the growing silence as her cue to go.
"My—ahem, my name is Sakura Haruno," she said haltingly. "I look forward to working with all of you," she added, flashing a weak smile their way. Something about it struck Naruto as very worrying. "I like reading too, and uh, working at the hospital, and fishing in the Naka River with my... I-I mean, j-just fishing in the river, actually..." Sakura's voice trailed off, her eyes growing distant. Then she blinked, and was back, a light blush dusting her nose and cheeks the only tell of her lapse. "I don't really have any hobbies besides that, unless you count studying and training. I-I do like to keep busy though."
There was more silence, and once it became clear she wasn't going to speak again of her own accord, Kakashi piped up. "Dislikes? Dreams for the future?"
Sakura's blush darkened further, and her head bowed. For a moment, Naruto thought she may still refuse the question, but then a quiet, sad sound leaked from her pale throat, and she whispered her answers: "I hate Kirigakure and I hate Sunagakure and I hate Iwagakure and my dream is to make them all so, so sorry for what they've done. That's all."
The light blush on her cheeks grew unsightly and red, and Naruto found himself unable to look away. Even as she stared down at her feet, her back hunched and her arms straight, resting balled fists atop knobby girl knees, his eyes remained glued. This close, he could smell the peppermint of her toothpaste, and the sweet remnants of sake hidden beneath it on her breath. Micro-thin veins colored the whites of her eyes bloodshot and clashed beautifully with the dazzling green of her irises. Her pupils were dilated, and he knew she meant what she said—didn't just kind-of sort-of want it but lusted after the opportunity. He tried to imagine feeling so strongly about anything, tried to imagine what it must be like, to actually know what you wanted…
God, she's pretty…
Face warming, Naruto abandoned his blatant stare, turning away from the girl in short, jerky movements till he was sat facing straight. His features remained passably unaffected, but he knew extra color lived in his cheeks—he could feel the warmth. Kakashi didn't act like he'd noticed, although he must have, leaning in as he was to rest a comforting hand on Sakura's shoulder. Sasuke definitely noticed, and favored him with a nasty look, lip curled back in condemnation.
Embarrassed, Naruto's shoulders hunched inward. Sasuke turned away.
Beside him, oblivious to the byplay, Sakura let out a sniffle and offered a meek and formal "Thank you for your kindness, Sensei," before sitting up straight. Her eyes were green like the first leaves of spring and filled with liquid emotion, but no tears fell. She took a second to master herself, and a moment later, looked passably unaffected, save for the sorrowful glint that lived on in the shadows of her face.
Naruto tried not to stare.
"Welcome to Team Seven, Sakura-chan," Kakashi said, voice warm and paternal. Looking towards him and Sasuke, he then asked, "Who's next?"
Dreading his turn, sure that he would make a fool out of himself, Naruto was relieved when the Uchiha beside him spoke up.
"My name is Sasuke Uchiha," the dark-haired teen on Naruto's left said. He had an even worse look in his eye than Sakura, and Naruto found himself wondering if anyone in Konoha wasn't messed up.
"I look forward to working with you all," he said, though it was clear that was only true in the loosest sense, if at all. "I like to train. I dislike," his lip twitched in a momentary snarl, "everything else. I have no hobbies. My dream for the future…" His eyes did not activate the Sharingan again, but all the same, a certain intensity filled their dark depths. "I," he continued carefully, "want things to… change. That's it," he reaffirmed, nodding. "I want to make things change."
Naruto felt sprigs of intrigue take root. He was a scary guy, unfriendly and even shorter spoken than himself, but it seemed Sasuke too had a definite goal he was working towards. Naruto was jealous of his new teammates' sense of purpose.
Sasuke said no more, and Kakashi didn't push, just eye-smiling and nodding. "Welcome to Team Seven, Sasuke-kun."
"Hn."
"And that leaves us with you," Kakashi said, crinkly eye turning to Naruto at last. "How about it?"
Naruto's fingers played at the hem of his kimono, bare toes fidgeting with nerves. He did not like to talk much, especially to strangers and never about himself. He had no idea what to say. Likes? Dislikes? He was a jinchuriki. A tool. He didn't do things, things were done either to him, or through him—it was hard to say what he liked when for the longest time there hadn't been anything about life he'd enjoyed. There were some things, new things, that he had discovered and learned to admire, but… What if this was a test? What if the Godaime had put Kakashi up to this, to learn what his weaknesses were—to exploit and manipulate him once again? There were more direct avenues available to the man, but Naruto had long since learned that the Godaime was not the type to move in obvious ways, even when it seemed that way.
Especially when it seems that way…
He searched the tall jonin's face for any hints, but between the concealing garments he wore and the level expression in his eye, Naruto couldn't tell one way or the other.
"Answer superficially then, boy," Kurama growled from the back of his soul, "but answer. Your dithering tries my patience."
'Hai,' Naruto thought apologetically, manually reclaiming his squirming digits, forcing himself to be still. Looking from one face to the next, he introduced himself quietly. "Hello. My name is Naruto Uzumaki. I look forward to working with all of you. I like…"—stories-nature-Kurama—"ramen."
Kakashi's lone eyebrow crept upwards, while Sasuke and Sakura blinked.
"I dislike"—shinobi-pain-killing—"tight clothing. And shoes. They hurt my feet." Hobbies? "I enjoy cooking. That's like a hobby, right?"
Quietly to his side, Naruto heard Sakura whisper to herself, "He likes to cook?"
Rubbing the top of his foot with his big toe, Naruto shrugged. "I have no dreams for the future," he answered, completely honest. A sad, slightly more open look graced his delicate features. He scratched a lone finger along his scars. "I don't have any kind of ambition like you three." He gave a light shrug, the look dying back to dead. "Sorry."
The silence following him was palpable, with all three other members of Team Seven staring at him. He was pinned, stuck in the middle of Sakura's disbelieving look and Sasuke's unimpressed one. Nerves back on the rise, his fingers found the black hem of his kimono once again. Kakashi's blank expression didn't help things, the most diluted hints of disappointment like a ghost, haunting the edge of Naruto's psyche.
"Uh, welcome to Team Seven, Naruto-kun."
His shoulders hunched. He knew well enough that his answers were inadequate and not what these people—driven, purposed group of nin that they were—had been hoping for from him. He was 'Konoha's Kyuubi!' they'd be thinking. Shouldn't he be more… more?
He likes to cook?
His big toe came back to rub pointlessly at the top of his opposite foot. A crease worked into his brow. He knew, okay? They'd rather he be bloodthirsty, rather he be cold, rather he be a patriot or a slave or a monster, rather he be something, anything more useful to them than just some boy. It was what every shinobi he encountered felt, deep down. He was a jinchuriki, wasn't he?
'It's not like I chose this,' he thought bitterly, listening with half an ear as Kakashi quietly dismissed them for lunch, instructing them to meet back at Training Ground Five in an hour. The jonin disappeared in a whooshing shunshin, with Sasuke a mere second behind him.
Sakura lingered for a moment, looked at him, and then failed to stifle a yawn big enough to pop her jaw. She slapped her hands to her mouth, cheeks heating once again, and promptly shunshined away as well.
Naruto was left alone on the Shinobi Academy roof, a small humor mixing in with almost overwhelming resignation and gloom. A few minutes passed in silence, until he sighed and stood.
'This is for real, huh?'
The unmistakable scent of rotting bodies, and then: 'What ails you?' the Kyuubi asked, alien feelings of curiosity washing around his ankles like low-tide waves.
Naruto shrugged, a small, false smile on his lips. 'It's like the last two years never happened.'
'How so?'
'Tamako-chan, Mai-kun… Even Bee-sensei, in his own way. They're all gone, and I'm back here. Alone.'
More alien feelings washed over his ankles, this time most resembling offense. 'Truly?'
Naruto smiled, settling a hand over the black swirl that appeared on his stomach. Touching it like this, their ability to commune was increased, and emotions flowed even more easily. He pushed the warmth and gratitude he felt through the seal. 'No,' he thought softly. 'But you know what I mean.'
A low rumble vibrated through his soul—a contemplative hum emanating from Kurama's titanic form. 'Konoha is as unpleasant a setting for me as it is for you, boy, but are you certain the present will mirror the past? If your mistreatment before was done in a bid to unlock my power, surely our pact now means there is no more need for such things. Your being assigned to a squad proves as much.'
Naruto's lips curled into a light grin. 'You're being uncharacteristically optimistic, partner,' he thought, finally leaving the abandoned rooftop. He chose a more leisurely method than his teammates and simply walked down the side. Naruto barely knew Konoha despite the time he'd technically lived here and wasn't sure where to go for food.
'Just 'cause he knows better than to waste time with that stuff doesn't mean the alternatives'll be much better. Did you see the way they looked at me? They think I'm worthless just 'cause I don't have any grand aspirations like them. Is wanting to live really so disgusting? And what's wrong with liking to cook? Would they've been happier if I had added 'people' to the end?'
Kurama's nose twitched in a single snort. 'I suspect not. Is this why you fret? Because you fear their opinions?'
Naruto slowed, reaching the ground one bare foot at a time. 'No, I—'
'Boy.'
Naruto's lips pursed into a pout, the look sending his already fine features tipping over into the feminine. He set his feet to walking without much care, negative thoughts swirling. Kurama had a very… particular sort of personality, and was often impossible to read, even though he and Naruto spent a great deal of time talking about all manner of things. Still, in some respects, he was perfectly consistent. Intolerance in the face of deception was one example. Self-indulgent whining was equally unwelcomed by the fox.
Naruto's lips unknotted themselves, falling again into placidity. 'I miss my team,' he said instead of answering Kurama's question. 'I want them back.'
To this, the fox held his peace, letting Naruto mull and form his thoughts in silence. As he did, their wandering lost its aimless quality and his bare feet led them towards a scent on the wind, all but unconsciously.
They were still some ways away from the source when Naruto continued.
'I know they're gone,' he said, and the grief pouring into the seal was enough to crease Kurama's brow. 'Forgive me,' Naruto quickly apologized, allowing the seal to fade and his hand to hang limply at his side.
He thought of his old team, and then his new. 'I know they aren't them. I know. Nobody could replace them... But partner, it had felt so nice, once we finally came together. Once we all got over ourselves and learned to accept each other. It'd been so nice—even if it was short…'
'You desire companionship with your new team,' the fox diagnosed, neither accusation nor judgement in his eternal voice, just observation and fact.
Naruto's thin shoulders bounced in yet another shrug, loosening his kimono's fold. He was normally adept at blending into crowds, no matter the fact that he really should stick out, but the movement drew the eyes of a woman walking towards him down the alley. He'd been out of Konoha for two years now, but his was not the most discrete get-up, and by the time they were within talking distance, her eyes were wide with recognition.
"Uzumaki-sama," she greeted, pressing clasped hands to her waist and bowing.
"Good afternoon," he greeted back with a nod and an awkward smile. He pretended not to notice the quiver in her voice, or the terror in her eyes. The people of Konoha had suffered greatly the night of Kurama's rampage fourteen years ago, and no amount of pressure from the top was going to erase the fear and hate so many of them held in their hearts. Naruto knew there was only one way to overcome their hatred—knew it well, thanks to Bee-sensei—but just… couldn't. The endless positivity and constant effort it would require… maybe when he had been very little, or maybe in another life, but not here. Not now. The desire to be liked lived on in him, but as a flickering flame, rather than an inferno. It required only the barest of kindling. The tiny intimacy he'd enjoyed with Team Bee had been plenty, plenty, plenty enough for him—he would have never ached or complained once for more, so long as they stayed.
But they had gone.
He walked past the woman without another word.
'Am I a fool?' he asked the demon in his soul, eyes spying his destination in the distance. The word ICHIRAKU hung printed on a tapestry sign. 'Having people to cherish, who cherish you back… it isn't something that's meant for me, is it? That's why Team Bee was torn apart. That's why it hurts so much. Would it be better if didn't try to get along with them? If I just… closed up? Kept my mouth shut and followed orders until they're done with me? Wouldn't that hurt less, in the end?'
The stand—Ichiraku Ramen, it was called—used a series of square canvas dividers as a combination doorway/wall, with each square section painted a different menu item's name. Pork! Shrimp! Miso! and others were displayed in bold red kanji, swaying lightly in the springtime breeze. Naruto lifted the section marked Veggie! with the back of his hand, and slipped in silently, still waiting for Kurama's response. He was Naruto's constant companion and trusted confidant, and he valued the old demon's opinion above all others.
Even as he claimed a stool and placed his order ("One extra-extra miso ramen, coming right up, Uzumaki-sama!"), the elderly chef's features unfalteringly pleasant even as he recovered from the surprise of recognizing him, Kurama held silent. He was not the type to speak without care, rather unlike Naruto himself, and could not be rushed.
Life, and especially his fifth tutor, who after hearing of the methods associated with sage training had theorized bindings and immobilization were the key to unlocking the Kyuubi's chakra, had taught Naruto patience, very much so by force. He was content to wait, and tucked into his meal when it was served, sure that when he was ready, the old demon would speak.
More than halfway in, he finally did.
'Humans are fragile creatures, even in the best of times.'
Naruto, a thin bundle of delicious broth-soaked noodles dangling from his mouth, gave the equivalent of a mental nod. 'And these aren't exactly the best of times.'
A low rumble of agreeance. 'Correct. Loss is a constant threat, and the crux of your dilemma. Should you close yourself off, the pain will be lessened, but loneliness will hold you as its captive. If you open your heart however, you agree to exist at the extremes—content when those you cherish are around, but destitute, should they ever leave or be taken. This much, you are aware of.'
Naruto dabbed at the corner of his lips, staring into the salty depths of his lunch. A distorted reflection stared back. He bit his lip with sharper than human teeth.
'And partner, it's so hard in the first place. People are so confusing. I don't think Team Seven likes me very much to begin with. Team Bee was uniquely comfortable with me being... y'know. Normal shinobi can't handle working beside me. They're too fearful. Too hateful. Even if I decided to try, I'm sure I'll fail.'
Another titanic hum, and a few more silent minutes, and then, 'What you say is true. All of it. In your position, I would simply close myself to them, and treat them as tools to serve a purpose.'
Naruto bowed his head, delicate chin touching lightly-defined collar bone. He knew it made more sense, but…
'That said,' Kurama continued, the sensation of being closely considered filling Naruto's chest, 'I am not in your position. You, boy, are in your position. And you are ningen. Human. Born like the rest of your kind with an incomplete soul—one that not even I can fill. You can survive on your own, but like this, you will never be content. You will never find purpose.'
Naruto's breath hitched. His eyes stared dully ahead, unblinking.
'That is the difference between us, boy. You are a malcontent creature—unable to find meaning in simple existence as I do. Prone to desires and susceptible to your fears, you long even for that which you have never had.'
'What are you saying, Kurama?' Naruto asked, hand surreptitiously pressed against the black spiral once more on his stomach.
'Do you miss your mother?' he asked suddenly, but with the same calm voice. 'Your father? Your lost clan? If you could have them back for but a single day, would you?'
Naruto's fingers began to shake, and so he made a fist. 'Yes,'he thought without hesitation. 'Yes. Of courseI would. Of course!'
There was a shifting in his soul, and Naruto knew without seeing that the mountainous demon had risen to its paws. 'Then listen, boy. Calm yourself and hear my words. No matter your choice, pain will lay siege to you for as long as you live—it is in the essence of this world and not something that can be avoided so easily. I would have thought you, at least, would know this much. I tolerate your flaws because you are honest with me, and because I too know what it is to be a prisoner of circumstance. Our pact is forged as steel could only hope to be. We are partners. However, a human soul can only be content when paired with its kin. Should you commit your heart to isolation? If that should truly be your question, then allow me to answer your first: yes, Uzumaki Naruto, you are a fool.'
Frozen shock slowly melted, leaving a small, soft smile in its wake. Naruto pushed these warm feelings through the seal, until Kurama turned away from him to lay once again, grumbling all the while. Smile widening, he moved his hand from the seal and stirred the lukewarm remnants of his ramen, pondering over the elder demon's words. He had a peculiar way about it, but there was no mistaking Kurama's words of encouragement as anything else.
He never said it would be easy—and even now, with his partner's purposed counsel ringing in his ears, the grief of loss weighed on him—but Naruto still felt ten times better than he had. The fear of opening himself up, of being rejected, or worse yet, of being accepted, and then having that taken away once again… There was no way he'd have decided to risk it on his own. Better to carve out the bits of himself that yearned for such dangerous things and just survive—right?
But if Kurama thinks there's a chance…
He slurped down the rest of his ramen broth, savoring the flavor.
Ichiraku Ramen, huh? It's pretty good.
A little paradise in hell—that was all he really needed.
'Thank you, Kurama,' he called into his soul. A short hum filled him in response.
He paid his bill and left the stand. The sun was still high in the sky. With a belly full of ramen and a weak flame in his heart, Naruto set off for Training Ground Five.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading the first chapter of TLS. I have two more chapters finished, the first of which will be added next weekend with the second following a week from there. After that, please be patient as I work to continue the story. I would love to hear your impressions and/or any constructive criticism you may have. I will try to address any direct questions that come in as promptly as my availability allows.