Disclaimer: -sighs- still don't own either sadly….
Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed :3
Chapter 5: To Them These Streets Belong
"That punk Naruto is desecrating the Hokage monument!"
"Like I care…it's not like I have anyone to go home to…"
"Yeah, that's "the" kid. And he's the only one who failed."
"Well that's good; we can't have him becoming a shinobi."
"Iruka is the same! He actually hates you! Nobody will EVER accept you!"
"If I had done a better job…you wouldn't have had to feel like this…"
"HE'S UZUMAKI NARUTO!"
His body burned.
It raced through him, starting from his neck, before coursing through the rest of his body. It was like liquid fire burning through his veins, alighting each blood cell with an individual flame. But he couldn't move, couldn't grasp the sheets, couldn't scratch at his skin, couldn't alleviate the pain in any way. His mouth creaked open the barest bit causing his already chapped lips to split and bleed. The salty tang of blood on his tongue made him whimper.
His eyes seemed to be glued shut and impossible to open, his eyelashes clumping together painfully. His parched throat let out another mewling cry. A sudden, hushed conversation burst into life somewhere to the left of him, and his body struggled fruitlessly to turn and listen. The shuffle of footsteps coming nearer caused him to freeze, and then a hesitant hand reached forward.
It took all his strength, but he managed to shoot his hand out, fingers grasping hard around a thin wrist. He peeled his eyes open, cursing at the forceful pull it took, and hissed at the abrupt onslaught of light. The light of the room was dizzying, and his head groaned as the entire place seemed to turn sideways. He released the wrist with a jerk, falling back limply to the bed, eyes sliding close. Already he was soaked with sweat from the slight exertion, and he tiredly swiped a trembling hand through the sweaty tresses.
"Do…do you need water?" The voice spoke softly, a current of nervousness running under their words. He managed a nod, and groaned as it made his head pound even harder. The footsteps receded slowly, before returning, and a gentle hand lifted his head, pressing the cool rim of the glass against his lips. His entire body crumpled in relief, hurriedly gulping the water down, spilling it over the edges of his mouth. Suddenly, the glass was gone, and in its place was some sort of cloth that wiped at his wet face.
"Shhh, not so fast, you'll make yourself sick." He grumbled; face craning out in search for the glass. It was pressed against his lips once more. The person's hand rested on his shoulder, rubbing circles into his sore muscles, the motion brought a haze of sleepiness over him, and his already closed eyes seemed to get heavier. They laid him back down onto the mattress, smoothing back the hair on his forehead. "I'll try to come again later."
"In front of everyone, Kaiza was put to death by Gatou."
"Do you have a precious person?"
"No matter what situation…a shinobi must keep emotions on the inside…you must make the mission your top priority…and you must possess a heart that never shows tears…"
"Do you really…DO YOU REALLY NOT FEEL ANYTHING?"
"A shinobi is still a human…we may not be able become emotionless tools."
"You and I together…ARE GOING TO HELL!"
"You've always been by my side; I'd like to be by your side…at the end."
"We'll name it, The Great Naruto Bridge!"
'Kyuu….it...it burns…'
'I know, I know! I'm trying dammit; I'm trying to stop it from spreading.'
'Pl…please…it hurts….can't….can't….'
The entire room was dark, and he could only just make out the vague outline of an empty room occupied by a single, equally empty bed opposite his own. A lone window cast flimsy, moonlit shadows arching across the room, revealing that he was the room's only occupant. He propped himself up on unsteady arms, mentally willing the room to stop moving. With a huff he gave up, falling back onto the bed. There was a rustling from across the room, and the sounds of a door opening. His eyes narrowed his hands automatically going down to the thigh holster that wasn't there. He cursed silently, balling his fists up so hard he felt his untrimmed nails cut into his palms.
The deep, harsher breathing of someone who was undeniably male sounded deafeningly throughout the room. He waited anxiously, the soft shut of the door ringing in his ears. His eyes strained, flicking around the room, only to be greeted with the sight of nothing and no one. His nostrils flared, the scent of someone else flooding his nasal passages. "I know you're there."
"I know you're there."
Harry froze, his footsteps faltering, eyes widening as he stared at the wild blonde before him. His blonde hair was rumpled and flat in places, random spikes of hair making a futile attempt to stick up. His starved face glowered from the dark, the usually tan pigment of his skin almost ghostly pale, making the whisker marks on his cheeks stand out even more. His eyes had an almost feral quality to them, snapping around the room restlessly, before landing sharply on his exact position. They narrowed further, the blue depths disappearing into barely there slits, and for just a moment, Harry felt like a trapped animal about to be eaten.
And then it passed like nothing, the other's eyes softening the slightest bit as he gazed at the still invisible Harry. His voice was barely audible when he spoke.
"Reveal yourself now, or I'll do it for you." He was sure the words were meant to sound threatening, but they came out tired and strained. He shifted uncomfortably under the cloak, before sliding it off his head. The boy looked like he was about to jump out of his skin at the sight of Harry's dismembered head floating through the air, and he muttered some strange word Harry couldn't understand.
He gulped, shuffling his feet as he gazed at the blonde, who weakly quirked a questioning eyebrow at him. "I…I just…." But what could he possibly say? Hi, my name is Harry, and I had dreams about you being tortured by Voldemort, wanna tell me all about it and why they're so interested in you?
Because that would just go over so well.
"Kid?"
The blonde's eyes bored into his own, making him feel even more out of place. He cleared his throat, taking a deep calming breath before plowing through.
"I know what happened to you!"
The blonde started, blinking rapidly before pinning him with an odd look. "And what do you mean by that?" But despite his casual tone, Harry could see the tightening of his fists, the slight crinkling of his eyes, the tense set of his shoulders. And suddenly the room felt absolutely suffocating, and he clawed breathlessly at his throat, his knees trembling, and then that same feeling again, like he was some poor trapped animal clawing at his cage in an attempt to flee. He slid to his knees, gasping and croaking for air, the Invisibility Cloak falling to the floor, and he dizzily noted that the blonde had gotten out of the bed, and was unsteadily making his way towards him.
Small, rough hands gripped his hair, jerking him back, and a clawed hand was pressed against his throat. "And how would you know that?" His voice, it had sounded so weak just a second ago, was now deep and harsh, and he felt a shiver go down his spine. "Well?"
His tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth, denying the passage of words. His entire body trembled, and for one embarrassing second he was afraid he'd wet himself from the utter, overwhelming feeling of death the smaller boy exuded. And then, just as quickly as before, it was over, and the blonde was staggering away, clutching his neck, a choked whine rising in his throat. Harry scouted away, pressing himself to the bed, sweaty hands pulling his wand out, and God, why hadn't he done that in the first place, and pointing it at the panting blonde who'd somehow managed to move all the way across the room in a matter of seconds. The blonde, who'd already looked pale before, was positively stark white now, his body shaking with an all out tremor, desperately supporting himself on the other bed.
"I'm…I'm sorry…" Harry could do nothing but gape, his mouth working soundlessly as the blonde made move to come closer.
"Don't! Don't move!" He immediately halted, outstretched hand faltering. His entire visage seemed to visibly droop, his blonde head hanging down in shame. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "What...what you said…and I just panicked…"
Harry had never seen anyone panic like that in his entire life.
Silence pervaded the room, and neither seemed sure of what could possibly be said after that. Finally, the blonde sighed, slowly, almost hesitantly, moving toward Harry, his hands held up in a sign of peace as he moved nearer. Despite himself and the screaming of his common sense, he lowered his wand.
He slid down next to Harry, leaving a good amount of space between them, hands going up to rub at his face. "Kid…" he started, before trailing off, obviously not sure where to start.
"Harry." His blue eyes turned to him, furrowing in confusion.
"Huh?"
"My name is Harry, Harry Potter."
The blonde blinked, before a small smile slid across his whiskered cheeks.
"You can call me Hisoka*."
Sirius Black's heart felt heavy as he listened to Remus Lupin, Moony, his best friend, tell them exactly what no one wanted to hear about the blonde boy lying unconscious in one of the many upstairs bedrooms of his ancestral home.
"Can you be so sure?" Tonks whispered, her hair flitting between unimagined colors, revealing her agitation.
"I can smell it all over him."
"So is he…?" Remus frowned, the worn lines on his face becoming even more pronounced. "No, I can't be sure, it wasn't the full moon, but Greyback is so," he paused, searching for the right words, "beastly, so intertwined with his wolf, that even while he was not transformed being bitten would still have some sort of affect. Whether it's a complete transformation or not I cannot say, it's too soon to possibly tell."
Sirius sighed, squeezing his temples in thought.
"What can we do?"
The werewolf's eyes dropped to the ground, a hand rising to absentmindedly touch his shoulder.
"Nothing."
Harry wasn't sure what time it was when he finally returned to his own room, but from the light creeping in between the blinds, he must have been up half the night with the blonde.
Hisoka….
Tiredly, he sagged into bed, pulling the curtains shut, and tried to ignore Ron's loud snoring from across the room. Hisoka's blue eyes flashed across his mind, and he flushed uncomfortably as he recalled falling asleep on the small blonde's shoulder before he left, practically clinging to Hisoka like he was some sort of giant blonde teddy bear. They hadn't talked much after their introductions, silence hanging between them like an invisible wall. They'd merely sat there, uncomfortably reveling in the other's presence. What little words they had shared had been stilted and constricted. He recalled their brief conversation, and blushed at how awkward and ridiculous the blonde must have thought he was.
"What exactly did you mean earlier?"
Harry sputtered, bumbling through his words as he tried to somehow piece his explanation together. It had sounded so good in front of the mirror this morning…
Hisoka gave him a slightly amused look, patiently waiting for Harry's face to cool down and for his tongue to untie itself.
"I…I dreamt about you." Hisoka stared, a light blush coloring his whiskered face.
"You…uh…had dreams about me?" Harry choked on his spit, coughing roughly, at the sudden clarification of how his words must have sounded. "NO! Gah, I mean YES, just not…not like that!"
Hisoka chuckled at the look on his face and his fumbling words. "Breathe Harry, I was just kidding…" If possible he blushed even harder, looking down, suddenly finding his socks incredibly interesting.
What? They were pretty awesome socks…
So, studying his socks intently he told him everything, the dreams, the feelings, the sickness that curdled in the pit of his stomach whenever he pictured it. A sympathetic hand squeezed his shoulder, and he was shamed to realize that tears had started to gather in his eyes. He had no right to cry, all he'd done was see, Hisoka had had to go through it…
"Hey now," his voice was surprisingly kind, "there's no shame in crying."
As if taking cue from his words, his eyes spilled over completely, sliding down his face in rivers of salt. Hisoka's arm wound around him, pulling him close, and it was the soothing, the utter gentleness, that made him fall apart.
Naruto stayed silent as the woman with the name like the muffin bustled around the room. She clicked and clucked, muttering to herself abstract medical words to herself that he couldn't even begin to decipher. She sorted through the various bottles that she'd brought with her on a cart, separating them into individual piles in some sort of order that must have only been known to her. Finally, she clapped her hands in accomplishment, turning to Naruto with a kind but firm smile on her face.
He got the distinct feeling he wasn't about to enjoy whatever was coming.
An hour later an extremely drowsy Naruto re-estimated the level of dislike he held for all things that came in liquid form from the muffin-lady.
"And now, we will begin the tenth question"
"You'll soon find out why it's called the forest of death."
"No, I just get excited when I see red blood."
"A final word of advice…DON'T DIE!"
"There's no way a coward like you is the Sasuke I know!"
"You alright, scaredy cat?"
"When your emotions are heightened…the power of the Kyuubi overflows…"
Reviews would be lovely-Cherry
Hisoka*-means secretive