I don't own Naruto, but it means a lot to me.
"I said hold still!" Sakura hisses. The punch she throws into the blond, former Hokage's ribs is laced with enough chakra to demolish a boulder. Naruto gives only a mild yelp; a child being slapped on the wrist.
"What kind of doctor are you, huh?" He cries, waving his free arm like a futile meat shield. Sakura rolls her eyes, but she doesn't miss the bruise her impact made rabidly roiling, deep purple fading to tanned flesh in mere seconds before her eyes. She can feel the grip on her pen tighten, and her nails dig into her palms.
"A good one." She informs him, returning to her clipboard and ignoring her patient's further unnecessary outbursts. "Certainly, a better one than you deserve."
Naruto's head swivels, a groan erupting like a wounded creature.
"Mahhh, Sakura-chan!" He moans in protest. "You know I'm your favorite patient! Don't be so mean."
Sakura snorts, pushing her rolling chair away and busying herself into her charts.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, blondie."
In an instant, Naruto is chuckling again and not complaining. His protests, like his attention, are remnants of the past, left behind in the staggering excitement that is the present. He flexes his arms, and his muscles roll out in long, rough coils. He opens his mouth, Sakura expecting him to prod her again, say something loud and obnoxious and exactly like he always does - but he doesn't. Instead, the blond gives a long, quiet sigh. His posture shifts, straightening, and the child-like grin that had been etched to his face slips. He's still smiling, but the energy is calmer, more reserved. Sakura wants to say tired, but the thought of Uzumaki Naruto being tired is so foreign her mind can't process it.
No, this is the difference between a fifty-year-old and a thirteen-year-old. A man, standing where she remembers a child. Or maybe she just wants to remember.
"So," he says, reaching across the bed and roughly pulling his shirt back over his torso. "Same old, same old?" He asks the question, but Sakura can tell that he isn't really asking. He's not really listening, and she doesn't really have to answer. Not when they both know it's the same.
"Naruto..." She begins, but the blond gives a low laugh, as though he found some humor in it all.
"Sakura," he interrupts, "It's fine. Really."
"It's clearly not."
"I said it's fine."
"You need to talk to someone about this. You can't-" Sakura urges, taking a step in. Naruto whirls and a crackle of crimson chakra cracks in the room. For a fraction of a second, a tidal wave of pressure pushes against every cell in her body. She feels like she's drowning. Inescapable, unending energy. Oppressive and flowing and overwhelming.
Naruto inhales, and the pressure recedes. It doesn't disappear. Just recedes. Back in the bottle.
"What good is talking to someone?" his voice shakes as he continues. "There's no support group for this kind of thing. I can't exactly empathize."
"You have Gaara."
Naruto's teeth grind in his jaw and his eyes narrow into the distance.
"It's not the same."
"Not the same?" Sakura counters. "How is it not the same —"
"Gaara didn't have all nine tailed beasts in his gut." He snaps. There's a silence creeping in, the chasm beneath the blond's feet swells. Sakura hesitates for just a moment but refuses to relent.
"You won't talk to Bee."
This time, Naruto rolls his eyes with an audible scoff.
"First off, you don't even like talking to Bee because he won't stop rapping." He replies, waving a dismissive hand through the air. "Second, again, same problem as Gaara."
She's desperate now.
"Or Lee, Or Sasuke, or someone, Naruto." she pleads, because the hurt on his face hurts so much it's hurting her. "You can't just -"
When his eyes meet hers, they're red and angry and it's like his pupils are starting to slit.
"I can't what, exactly?" His words are a growl, a cornered animal snarling from its cage. Angry and scared and alone. "Oh, hey! Hope everyone's doing well. By the way, the idiot might be functionally immortal. Nothing big, just a little freak mutation via demonic overexposure. I'm gonna outlive even your grandkids and have to watch you all wither and die just so I can be alone again. By the way, when's dinner?
There's so many answers to that, and a part of her wants to just shut her door and let herself cry until she couldn't think anymore. Naruto continues.
"Yeah, I think that'll go over great." He almost spits as he paces the floor. "Every year you guys look older and older but I'm just here like everything's fucking fine because that's just how things are for me. Good ole, Naruto. Parents are dead, master is dead, friends are either dead or dying, but l'll never get to do that either."
Naruto exhales so deeply, she feels her own chest rattle. He shakes his head, and the laugh that comes out is dark and wrong from his lips.
"Yeah," his whisper is haunted, and it lingers in the air like a cloud. "That'll go great, so don't tell me what I can't do."
There's a thunderous crack, and Naruto jumps back in alarm. Sakura's hand is embedded into the wood of her desk, spider-web cracks and splinters radiating from her fist as it glows an ethereal green.
"Are you done?" she demands, her fists curling, and her eyes meet his own with a verdant intensity. "Because you need to cut it with this one-man pity party and talk to the people who love you like a normal, functioning adult."
She can tell he's flustered by the way he opens and closes his mouth multiple times before finding a response. There were three, maybe four people on the planet who could stand up to him when he gets like this.
"So, I'm not allowed to be upset?" He growls. Sakura is defiant.
"No."
"No?" His teeth bare, and Sakura notices his canines still look gnawed and extended. "What do you mean 'no'?"
"You're not allowed." She answers, gaze like steel.
"I'm not allowed to what? To feel? To be emotional about this eternal punishment that seems to be lining up for the rest of my life. I'm not allowed to be upset?"
"Not like this, you're not." Her voice drops to a whisper. "You're allowed to be upset, but not like this. Look at yourself."
Naruto's eyes shift, and his gaze catches his own reflection in a nearby mirror. He flinches like his visage is a knife. The growing pressure that had filled the room pops like a lifeless balloon.
"I'm not..." he tries. "You don't..." Once more, with feeling.
He scans the room, eyes locking into a nearby couch. He grabs one of the throw pillows and slams it into his face.
"MMMMMMMMMHHHHHHFFFFFFFFFF" Is the reply she hears unleashed into the fabric. Years of frustration and loss and the fear of being alone filtered by a forest-green throw pillow with tasseled edges. It's two more screams before the pillow falls from his face and their eyes meet again.
"I want you to know." She informs him, "that is exactly how we teach six to ten year olds to help cope with hard emotions."
His laugh is weak, and it's a dumb joke, but there's less anger in his shoulders, now. Less hate. Just exhaustion.
"I have fought ninja and bandits and people who claim to be gods." he says. His voice is so soft. So tired. He's not the Hokage anymore. He's just a scared, lonely thirteen-year-old boy. No real friends, no real family. Nothing in his hands but a state sanctioned kunai.
"I don't know how to fight this."
She's across the room in a single movement, and her arms wrap tight around his waist. He hugs her back, and as she feels the fractured and broken breathing against her chest, she realizes he's crying. It's okay, because she's crying, too.
If you haven't read 20 Times Uzumaki Naruto Didn't Die, I have to highly recommend it. It's a much better story that does a better job of exploring the brutalities of immortality. I loved that theme, but had a message slightly different with this piece.
- Free Drinks
