I do not own Naruto.
No More Heroes
A screaming comes across the sky
He inches closer the to the fire, glancing at the people surrounding him with wide, suspicious eyes. Any one of them could be . . .
"Any one of them could be heroes," a voice whispers, too close to his ear. The dark-haired boy jumps, and his arm instinctively moves to hit the stranger. Fortunately—unfortunately?—he, too, seems to be familiar with attacks and easily dodges the blow.
"Heroes? They only live in stories," he mutters cynically, carefully pulling on the frayed hem of his shirt. He remembers it once had been a green shirt, with small black X's sewn on the bottom in a row. Now it's a dulled gray with bloodstains and dirt smudges covering its surface. It's torn from the branches and beating sticks.
"No, they don't!" the other boy exclaims, sounding indignant.
There's a long drawn out silence in which both boys turn away from each other, secret little pouts on their lips.
Footsteps, and everyone stiffens like one being. All conversation completely forgotten as eyes turn toward the opening of the cave.
"Hello?" It's a choked whisper; hinting at dry, dry lips and broken spirit. "Is anyone there?" Still, no one moves. It could be a dirty trick to get them to come out, and they won't. They've all been tricked all their lives, and they won't fall for it any longer.
Except for him.
"Over here," calls the chubby boy, leaning toward the entrance. "We're over—" Before he can say more, the dark-haired boy has pulled him back and his covering his mouth desperately. He wants to cry. They're going to find them now and he's going to die and he's going to end up like his parents and he doesn't want to no he doesn't want to. He hopes against hope against hope that the voice will wander off.
It doesn't. Everyone in the cave is cursing the boy for his heart, since they've all managed to forget their own. The brush shuffles, and the footsteps come closer, closer.
Girl. Blonde, tall, blue eyes. Dressed in clothes barely modest, looking like she hasn't eaten in weeks. They all manage to remember their hearts and reach out to her. They forgive the boy.
Except for him.
"She looks like them," he hisses, but no one wants to remember that. The men and women that shoved them from their land, from their families, she looks like the demons. Blonde, blue eyes, sharp angles. But she acts like they do, broken, sad and bitter. They can't turn her away.
"My name's Ino," she whispers when they ask, but she replies that she has no more answers than that. Either because she doesn't want to give them, or because she doesn't have them. It doesn't matter.
"Mine's Choji," he greets her with a bright smile, lighting up the inside the dreary cave from the inside, and brightening the people as well.
"Why does he sit in the corner?" She asks him, staring at the dark-haired boy in the back, who's constantly either glaring at them or staring down at the ground.
"No one seems to know. He barely talks, and especially not about himself. If you ask me, he seems more likely to betray us than you." Despite the words, Choji feels something for the boy, who no doubt has suffered just as they all have. He has reason to sad and bitter and angry, and no one in that cave can blame him.
The girl, though, has a different logic. Choji, hasn't he suffered
explosion getoutbeforeyou'recaughtinthefire run run run where's father
just as much as all of them? And yet he smiles like nothing has happened, with only a melancholy tinge to his face. This dark-haired idiot has no reason to mope.
"Who are you?" she demands of him, her hands on her hips and a frown on her brow. He slowly looks up at her, his eyes hard and angry.
"Excuse me?"
She snorts derisively. "I asked you who you are. Are you deaf, now, in addition to stupid?" One would have to be blind as well to miss the fury rising in his face.
"And who are you?" he asks angrily, rising to his feet. The cave has grown quiet, and despite their usual attempt to remain as silent as possible, no one is rushing to stop them. When she doesn't answer, he plows on. "You're one of them aren't you? The demons that come here and act like they know better than us because their weapons are better, because their hearts are colder, because their god is senile and lost."
"Well what are you? Savages that explain science with gods and kill each other over things you can't explain. If you would only let us teach you, O! how you could grow! You have no need for useless customs, because we have come to show you truth."
She shouldn't have said that. She is embodying what they all fear from the foreigners, their desire to conquer the native beliefs and age-old customs. They assume that all wish to become demons, but they're not right.
"My father's a minister, and he housed many of your people. Yes, it's true, many of my people see you natives as trash, but my family has never seen you in that light! Child-like, maybe, yes, but never monsters, never worthless. They . . . they found out and. . . and now . . ." she doesn't continue, and her words
rope treasonshelteringthesavagesandadulteratingyourblood hide snapping neck don't cry don't cry
dwindle into silence.
A sharp, barking laugh. "What's the death of one of your people against the deaths of thousands of ours?" he answers coldly, his expression stolid. "Do you expect pity from me? I'm glad your family is dead. Less of your people to plague us."
The sound of a slap reverberates in the cave. The dark-haired boy grips his cheeks with one hand, his cold, dark eyes glaring at Ino silently. Her breath is coming out in heavy puffs due to her anger. "You say our hearts are cold? I, too, grieve for your family, for your people's deaths. May God have mercy on your soul."
"May your god send me to hell if heaven is where your people go."
——
The week pass, the group is generally accepting of this strange girl. It's true, she is accepting of them, but that the same time her belief that they are wrong is painfully obvious, She refuses to join in with their prayers, calling them satanic, and even going as far as trying to stop them from praying.
Even so, she listens raptly to their stories, especially the ones told by Choji. On their travels, the chubby boy-gone-man has grown to be their official storyteller. Many, he says, were told to him by his grandfather, and him by his father, on and on.
The only one that pretends not to listen is Shikamaru. Though he has opened up a lot, or at least relative to how open he was at first, he still refuses to believe in heroes. Where are those heroes now, he'll say, and Choji will have no answer for him.
"Aren't you cold, Shikamaru?" Choji asks him. Winter has come upon the land like an angry buffalo, quickly and far stronger than one can stand. Choji and Ino are both sharing one of the many blankets, which they've managed to round up and use.
Shikamaru glances at them carefully, his eyes shielded. Why should they ask him? He knows full well that he's been more than rude to them, particularly Ino. Even so, when the redhead and the blonde look at him, he knows that they're completely sincere.
Not one to freeze when there's space under a blanket, Shikamaru moves over and allows himself to be placed in between the two of them. Immediately, he's engulfed in warmth, and his eyes almost close automatically. He hasn't done anything like this since he was six years old with his
lookaprettyone scream moan grunt scream Mommy?
mother. He shivers just being reminded of her fate.
He's so intent on his thoughts that he almost cries out when an arm comes around his shoulders. Touch. It's such an odd concept; how it can make one want to cry and smile at the same time. Shikamaru doesn't pull away but gently leans into the bulk of the boy (man?) instead.
Ino, not wanting to be left out, takes Shikamaru's cold, cold hands in her warm ones, and nestles into Shikamaru, half-expecting him to push her away and walk away disparagingly. He doesn't though.
He pulls a hand out of her grip to wrap his arm around her waist tentatively.
The eye of the storm. It's calming in all the death and horrible horrible tragedy to have normality. They can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel. It can't last much longer, can it? Soon, they will tire of this chase, and peace will remain, leaving three grown children to themselves.
They've never spoken of it, but they've all thought about it. Choji's good with planting and hunting and cooking, as is sort of expected, Ino knows how to make clothes and how to teach and care, like she was raised and expected to be. Shikamaru's the brains, the constructor of plans and of defenses. They'll fit long after this hound-and-fox chase is over.
Gunshots in the distance. Heavy footsteps, fleeing birds. All three of them are suddenly wide awake, and jumping up in surprise. The foreigners. They're coming.
The others are running, rushing a panic as quickly in the opposite direction. Choji and Ino rush to follow when Shikamaru grabs their wrists tighten, halting their progress.
"Tell the others to find somewhere to hide. Hide well, and stay there a day. Then keep going." His voice is demanding and sharp, like it always is when he's decided on the best possible plan.
"Tell them yourself," Ino cries, trying to pull Shikamaru towards the fleeing people. He shakes his hand and lets go of the two, backing away slowly.
"I can't. I . . . " His voice cracks dangerously and turns away, running towards the approaching enemies.
"No! What the hell is that idiot doing?" She rushes forward, ready to overtake the dark-haired man and pull him back, but Choji's already holding her back.
"We have to go, Ino. . ." he whispers, dragging her behind him as he begins running after the rest.
"No! Choji, you can't just let him go! He'll be killed!" Choji's grip is strong, despite his appearance, and she can't get loose. She settles for demanding an explanation.
Choji only pauses in his panting to give a simple one.
"He's proving to himself that there really are heroes."