A/N

Thank you all for the good reviews! And thanks for holding out with all the editing going on, but I was itching to get a beta and I got one and she's amazingXD Unfortunately I will not be writing that often because I got AP summer homework and summer school (sounds like a contradiction) as well as cosplay costumes to make. So it'll take a while for chapter four to be up, other than that the chapter is coming around pretty smoothly. And thank you all, again, you people are amazing (My grammar is in the goods XD).

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. And if I did there wouldn't be too many fillers.

Chapter Three

The young daemon's eyes remained on the oak wood floor while the white-haired man spoke to the familiar old man clad in a white robe and hat. Anko was by his side, a smirk lightly touching her lips, barely noticeable. Tensing up, the boy could barely focus on the conversation the two respectable adults and old man were holding. The eyes of this evil woman still laid on him, any wrong move could place him back in her care. He must not do anything to upset anyone that would put him back. The white-haired male placed a hand on his shoulder, his mind suddenly pulled out from his inner rant. He searched the one-fourth of the face that the man showed, his lazy onyx eyes still focused on the old man. The boy held back the urge to flinch, as well as the urge to run.

"So Uzumaki, Naruto," The Hokage-who dressed in a large cotton white robe that hid his frame-picked up a piece of paper and examined it. "You'll be refreshed on the basics of chakra and take the test that your fellow classmates already took. I'm sure you're ready since Anko has given you private lessons."

The daemon boy hid his anxiety. Lessons? What lessons did she give him? When she beat him to near death? Is that a fucking lesson?! He held his anger in, gritted his teeth, and nodded his head. The Hokage smiled, his old eyes softening.

"Good, then it's decided. Kakashi, I trust you will refresh Naruto boy here of some basic chakra techniques. Test him on the Shadow Clone Jutsu, will you?" The old man asked, a sort of lazy smile falling on his lips.

The young daemon wondered to his self whether the man was going to ask him how the Asylum was, how badly he had been beaten every day, or even about the 'treatment' there. Perhaps he wasn't even aware of what went on inside there.

"Yes, we'll do it immediately," The white-haired man, Kakashi, said.

The man bowed, the boy following his motion, and left, with the daemon on his heels. After a long while of walking through the round building in complete silence, Kakashi let out a large sigh.

"I'm rather curious on why you don't like your warden," He said in such a blunt way, the boy nearly falling over his own feet.

"Anko?" A lightning storm of anger fell inside his body. "She's..." Abusive! She used to beat me! She's hurting the others, help us! Help them! "Just a stupid-head."

Stupid head? What the hell in all that is ramen did he mean? He wasn't sure why he just protected her, why every fiber in his body still obeyed to her rule. Don't tell, don't tell, she would whisper in his ear every night when he first moved in the Asylum. Anko held the influence of a demon, whispered thoughts into her patients' ears, tried her best to break them in nearly every way possible. Never leave, stay with- Kakashi laughed, relief washing over him.

"Really now? Anko stupid? I guess she isn't the brightest, but I'm sure she's doing her best to care of her patients," Kakashi shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back a little, relaxed.

She's completely bonkers! Why would anyone let a psycho with a sadistic streak rule the local asylum?

"Yeah, I guess," The boy whispered.

Anko's doing her best to shut them up maybe. The unforgiving sun gave the boy a sort of headache; he felt obligated to tell the bright star to F-off, but kept his mouth shut. He did not need to go back to the asylum because he started to talk to un-animated objects. No, that would just be too ridiculous.

His fingers clawed the ends of his tattered white polyester shirt; he felt out of place in comparison to the other villagers. He still wore his asylum clothes while everyone else had colorful and easy-going clothes made for flexibility and the greatest comfort. He envied them a little, wishing he could be any one of them; even the villagers who looked a little plain wore more interesting clothes than he did.

There were so many people in the village, something that he never did realize. People with homes, people with families, people who smiled and laughed every day and without having to think about the constant threat of punishments. They lived day-to-day life in complete harmony and peace. They could do whatever they pleased because they had freedom. He laughed inside his head; freedom doesn't exist. Freedom was merely an illusion, each holding a different type of prison. In the asylum he was a prison of everything; he held no power nor could have the power of ownership. At least in this new prison-one of the ninja-he could at least sleep in his own bed without someone forced to strap him to his bed. Either way, a prison is a prison, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Do you want to check out your apartment and get things settled before I begin teaching you?"

Kakashi stopped before another intersection of people, his body half turned to him. The boy nodded his head vigorously. A nearly visible smirk showed through Kakashi's mask as he led the boy down the lesser traveled road. People glared at the boy. A couple of girls dressed in the brightest clothes and jewelry turned to one another, eyes locked on him, and whispered to each other. No doubt, it was about him.

The village had very sharp building shapes. Most built like tenant buildings with sharp corners in a box shape while others were more rounded, like the Hokage's mansion. Most of the buildings had lost their color; washed away from a few years of misuse. Laundry hung from thin black lines all over the town, colorful towels decorating the small alleys between each apartment. Farther away from the main streets, there were fewer people and older homes. Old apartments with rust building on their pipes and peeling paint met him; he could smell the familiar scent of iron and wet asphalt. He came to find his home, an old apartment building with stone colored walls and old pipes, the paint long gone from its walls. His home sat on the top floor, the window cracked as if someone had tried to break in, but to no avail.

Kakashi let him go, and he was home. Kakashi bid his good byes as the boy went inside, and made the boy promise he would swing around the training grounds. Then the older ninja left the daemon to his peace of mind. He remembered living here, how the scent of fresh wool and laundry filled his home, his tiny bed, and the tiny kitchen. Strange, years ago it had all seemed so much bigger. His finger gingerly brushed over the white fridge, prying the door open with little force. He wasn't surprised that everything was cleaned out. The only foods left for him were a few dried strips of fruit placed on a paper plate. Why would they put dried fruit in the fridge?

There were bottles with rounded edges containing water and milk below the fruit. Yummy. He got curious about why they basically baby proofed his entire house, but then allowed him to have breakable plastic bottles, and on top of that let him be a ninja. Hm, they were not as smart as they looked. He sighed, taking a water bottle and a slice of dried apple. Afterwards, he headed back to his closet to pull out some clothes. He pulled out many small articles of clothing, finally finding a large black t-shirt and an overbearing orange tracksuit that could fit him. He didn't bother to check himself out in the mirror before he left; he knew he looked rough. He left his orange jacket open, hoping that he wouldn't get too hot while training.

A wave of paranoia washed over the daemon boy. Why did they leave him to himself? Could they be watching him from some disclosed place? Did they want to let him go because they're doing a psychological experiment on how a patient would react in the world? He shook his head and hurried through the village. He wanted to be free of the crowds as quickly as possible. The people made him claustrophobic. They closed around every side of him, like the hands that grabbed his limbs and chained him to the wall. The flash of that memory made him jerk as he stopped moving completely in the middle of the crowd. People thankfully ignored his presence and moved around him while his head dropped and his heart rate increased rapidly. A hand snaked out from the crowd and landed on his shoulder. He felt his heart cease its beating, if only for a moment. He pivoted around, grabbed the hand and forced it shoulder blade down, holding it in a way that if he had to, he could pop the attacker's arm out of its socket in one swift jerk.

"Woah, woah! Calm down, Naruto! It me, Kiba!" The boy in the grey hoodie said.

Naruto let him go, backing up slightly. Distance is good. Distance is safe. The boy took a good look at Kiba, noting the large grey hoodie with fluffy edges that framed his face with a white shirt underneath, grey baggy pants and ninja shoes completing the sort of I've-done-drugs-and-I-know-where-to-buy-some look.

"Kiba...?" The boy nodded in response. Right, Kiba. The only thing closest to a friend that he had. A little bark exploded from the hood, along with a small ball of fur, a head popping from the hood. A dog. Sitting on Kibas head. The young daemon clenched and unclenched his hand.

"He's happy to see you," Kiba laughed, his hands on his hips. He seemed so proud.

"This is Akumaru, he was born a year ago. He's my personal teammate." He pointed a thumb at himself and he wore a toothy grin. A sudden urge to punch the pride out of the boy filled the daemon boy, at which he quickly squashed. Years of being behind bars with a bunch of crazies taught him a little something about what happened to prideful people.

"Cool. Wish I had a teammate," The boy tried to mirror the other's snarky smirk.

"You're going on that team with the Uchiha boy and the Haruno girl, right?"

"Yeah, after some training, and that is if I pass the Shadow Clone test." The daemon crossed his arms over his waist, lowering his gaze to the ground.

"Hey, so everyone's been bugging lately. What's the, you know? What's it like?" The boy looked up and hugged himself tighter.

"It's like..." Choking to death, dying slowly, being forced to carry a stone on your back for at least seven years, not being able to tell what day or month was, or even whether it was night or day because the drugs are so strong. "Jail." Again! He yelled at himself internally. Protecting hell? Why?! Why?

"Oh, well after all that training and testing stuff, do you want to go get some Ramen later?" The dog boy tilted his head, looking like a pup.

"Um, I don't know how late it will run," He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Doesn't matter."

"Yeah, but I really..." He shook his head. "I don't like..." People? Society? Being in public? "Being out too long. It messes with my internal clock."

"Right." Kiba shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded at the newly released patient. "Well, good luck at training, and hey! If you train hard enough, maybe you'll be just as good as me."

The boy smiled and shook his head before he headed back on his way. Too bad that he couldn't be as clean or healthy-minded as Kiba. Oh well. A daemon cursed with the inevitability of hell, and that is just what he had to endure. Slightly paranoid, he found himself in the training grounds, his head craned to look over his shoulder every few minutes or so. Fear at its finest. He sighed, finding the small field rather empty with an exception to a few large logs that stood up. A large tree line circled around the field, surrounding it with immediate thickness. He wondered what it would be like to just go and run off into the woods, never to be seen again. He would live off the comforts of nature; eventually he would find another village and live there instead. Then he wouldn't have to fear anymore, he wouldn't have to fight, and maybe people would respect him.

A warm hand gently seized his shoulder, the boy nearly doing a back flip in response. He took a fighting stance, his body facing his attacker. Oh, Kakashi. He relaxed himself as the older ninja's hands were held up, his eye closed.

"Didn't mean to startle you," He rubbed the back of his neck. "We should get started on the basics of chakra, I'm sure you know them."

The young daemon crossed his arms around his chest, shook his head, and gazed at the ground his Sensei stood on. The white-haired ninja almost let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed a small white notebook from his pack. He had prepared it if the boy needed a refresher on chakra. When the Hokage spoke about the boy's knowledge, he would've guessed that the boy would be some sort of great prodigy. But knowing the Hokage, the quick-witted ninja wasn't about to let such a judgment pass without taking an extra step. He handed the little note to the small boy, his small features scrunched together in distaste.

"I have to read it?" The boy frowned.

"Yep, then practice your chakra and try some basic hand signs. Afterwards, we'll get started on the Shadow Clone jutsu and get you up to speed on basic ninja training," Kakashi yawned, finding a place to relax, and sat under the shade of a tree. "Begin."

The young daemon sat down, reading the packet. He hadn't read actual books in so long, the characters took forever to decode themselves. He decided that he would rather look at the pictures and skim them, like when he had to build furniture for his home. He put his hand in the same place as the little person, concentrated on the movement within his body. A short burst of energy came, shivering up his spine, but slowly drifted away. He frowned, trying to stay on that same level of concentration, but it didn't seem to be working. Was he doing something wrong? Obviously.

He relaxed his body and focused on the energy within his self, paranoia rising in his chest. He became hyper-aware of everything, other nature things like plants or squirrels suddenly becoming the enemy. He fidgeted every time something skittered across the forest floor, or when crunchy leaves fell on the grass. A soft pat on the shoulder caused him a mini heart attack as he ran forward, feet drawn open in a battle pose. Nothing. He drew his arms up and focused on his surroundings, his eyes searching for any movements. Another touch sent shock waves up his spine, and he did something unexpected. His hands formed a shape as energy filled him, then poof! Another Naruto popped up beside him, except it was rather weird looking. Its half-pale half orange-colored skin nearly blended into the orange jacket, its blob-like face grew into a creepy smile. He didn't concentrate on the blob, instead on the attacker. No, it was only Kakashi.

"What do you want?" The daemon growled, his copy groaned.

"Just thought you needed a push," The sensei lazily smiled and leaned back on his heels.

"Don't do that!" His tone was sharp.

The lazy ninja raised his shoulders; he slowly let them fall, and proceeded to shove his hands into his pockets.

"It's alright; I think that's it for today. You need time to…improve. We'll pick up more on this tomorrow," The older ninja tilted his head, a slightly kind smile on his face. The daemon simply nodded, kicked the copy so it would disappear, and turned around to head back home.

"Hey," The boy stopped. "Some of your classmates are looking for you, shouldn't you go see them?"

The young daemon shook his head. "I'm just going to go home."

"They want to meet you at the old ramen shop."

That caught his attention. "Ichiraku's?" He turned around, nearly drooling at the thought of finally getting the most delicious ramen he ever put in his mouth.

"Yeah, better get there quick, don't want to disappoint them."

The boy shook his head; he didn't want to go to town. In town, he is vulnerable. In town, he could be hurt and sent back to the asylum.

"They don't care about me."

The white-haired ninja didn't move or give off any reaction. He seemed to not be surprised by the young daemon's decision.

"Tell them I won't be going." And with that, the boy walked away, completely exhausted. He wasted a lot of energy today. Back at the asylum, he wouldn't move around; sometimes not even moving for days at a time.

When he got home, he locked up his windows and his door, panic taking control. The young daemon sat in the far corner of his bed, pressing deep into the wood. His head racked with thoughts, anxiety burned his stomach. What could he do without those restraints that kept him from himself? What about his medication? Could he be free of those wretched hallucinations at last? He started to laugh hysterically. Curled into a tight ball, tears leaked a little from the corners of his eyes. Hands gripping the sides of his body, he trembled, feeling a wave of coldness wash over him. The cold soon turned to ice and settled within the pit of his stomach.

He used to receive drugs for this feeling, pills for chronic depression. He smirked at the memory of first taking the pills; he was so weak and fragile, his little body mangled and beaten. It didn't take any force to shove the pills into his mouth, nor did it take anything to pour water from a cardboard cup into his mouth and make him swallow. But then came the hallucinations. Their first appearance frightened him. They looked like distorted squirrel rag-doll things. Little skulls and beady black eyes stared at everything around them, dark crimson dripping from their twisted, naked bodies. He nearly gagged. Those things didn't do much, just appeared and circled around him, existing as if only to protect. But he knew better and kicked the dolls, and found out that they fought back. The things bit him, the pain hitting every sensitive part on his body. After this little incident, they started to force medication for Schizophrenia down his throat. The medication either worsened the hallucinations, or worsened his depression. It was always either or, no balance or happy ending.

A heavy sigh left his body. He moved to the other side of his bed and relaxed on the mattress. His eyes searched outside, the bright moon shining over the stilled town. Not one person was out, not one person made a sound. There were no cries or screams from patients; a noise that he had grown accustomed to at the asylum. And he didn't receive any beatings to "teach him how to respect his elders" or "to keep him quiet". He felt like crying, but decided against it. If he cried, he would look all puffy and pink in the morning, then they would start asking questions. And then they would ask him if he was okay, and patronize him until he told him about the heavy depression. Then he would be sent back to the asylum just in case; so that he wouldn't harm himself.

There were too many ways were he could be sent back to the asylum. He acted like he walked on eggshells to make sure he wouldn't be put back in that hell again. The boy got up from his bed, sauntered into the bathroom, and flicked on the light. Familiar fluorescent lights burned his eyes as he looked at himself in the mirror. He took off his orange jacket and his black shirt, eyes scrutinizing his body. He wouldn't be able to show anyone his body either, as too many scars zig-zagged over his pale skin. Tiny pink scars went horizontally from his ribs to his hips; it looked like he did it himself. More scars went vertically from his belly button to his chest, and what looked like claw marks scratched his collarbone to his shoulders. These marks were made around three years ago when he attempted to escape from the place. He turned around and grimaced as he saw the large whip marks lashed down his back. Each held painful memories. He shook his head; he couldn't let anyone know of any of this, lest he wish himself a death sentence. Anko would put him in the iron maiden if he ever told. He physically shivered and put his black shirt back on. No, no one can know. Not his friends, sensei, not even the Hokage. A heavy weight fell inside of him. He wondered much longer he had to live.