Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: The rating had to go up due to graphic gore and future violence, it may have to go up again I'm afraid, I don't know as of yet.
Note: If you left a review last chapter I replied to two of them in the end note.
PLEASE READ THE LEGEND
Legend:
There will be two perspectives starting at this chapter. Here is how I will organize it so that you know what's going on.
Naurto:
General text is regular.
'Thoughts'
Flashback(s)
Minato and Kushina:
Minato and Kushina's view will be completely in italics
'Thoughts'
Flashback(s)/Dream(s)
He sat there for such an inordinate amount of time, relishing the feeling of rain on his skin, soaking into his clothes, and representing his sorrows in a refreshing manner. He gazed at his reflection in a pool of water, he could hardly see the strong person he knew himself to be.
He was a free man, he was free to himself, but his father, his mother weren't. His father, he was a brave noble man, who cared for his family, his neighbors and his country, who cared for him regardless of his disgrace to him. His mother, a kind woman who would do anything for her husband, a woman who wanted the best for him though cruel as it may be, a woman who was firey at best and a demon when angered, but gentle and caring even then.
No, he was a free man, but his family needed help, he cared for them to much, he would not forgo their needs for his own.
Finally, with stiff muscles, and a tight chest he set out with a purpose, bare feet on the cold muddy soil he didn't care, his limbs were being filled by an inner fire that he knew lay beneath all of his doubt, all of his fear and uncertainty.
Their ancestral shrines' stone floors were cold, the tombs lay there like forbidding landmarks of a dangerous path he would never retreat from. He lit the incense and let it burn, something he commonly would eschew was praying, he didn't believe in higher miracles. Yet this once his hands clasped together and his head bowed with less than respect and more of determined defeat. Still he let his hopes for his family linger for a moment before he turned and ran into his home, his breath catching, but the tears he held back, knowing there was no place for them anymore.
The warm air of his home was no comfort now, he could easily recognize his father's memorial room of sorts, the sword still hung on the wall sheathed in its leather and silver casing. It was almost foreboding now, yet a feeling of anticipation lifted in him and he took it down with steady hands. He unsheathed the sword, and gently with his non dominant hand lifted a fine lock of his hair, beautiful, long and silken, it proved his worth.
The sword glinted in the moonlight, a fitting shine to a deadly weapon, it was without hesitation that he brought it to his hair and sliced. Close to his face cutting his bangs short, he cut close as he dared to his neckline.
It proved nothing anymore, it was simply dead hair on his floor, and he carelessly stepped over it as he moved to the old wardrobe. He moved the doors apart quietly, careful not to wake anyone.
There he saw his father's old armor. It was pristine, just as he remembered from when he was a child, eager for his father to show him training tricks dips and divots as he weaved around the garden with his smooth feet and quick pace, all with a large smile his eyes crinkled in happiness the love for himself, his family and who he was. He hadn't done such a thing for years, and until this moment he had all but forgotten his silent wonderings to the garden to watch his Dad train and be happy.
If he could bring something back for his father, if he could do that for himself, then all of the turmoil he knew he would undertake would be far more than worth the price.
The metal was famous in the army, they would certainly know who's family he belonged to. A gleaming white, with red flame designs licking at the bottom. The undershirt and pants were bright orange, they to had the red flames at the end of the long sleeves and long pants.
Dressed, he went to unsheathe his sword, his reflection just barely catching his eyes. The man he saw was his father's son, his hair so short, uneven, and spiked every which way, even the back of his hair -from what he could see- looked the same way. The makeup hiding his thin scars was gone, and now he could see them vividly, they almost stood out without his long hair dimming their appearance, with the armor he was no longer thin and instead stood like any alpha he had seen.
He felt no regret. He couldn't bare to. With a stern face and soft steps he entered his parents room. His father's back to him his golden hair splayed all over the pillow his breathing silent. Beside him his mother lay, her hair falling messily over her husband's sleeping face in clumps of red, she snored loudly. On their bedside sat the scroll he had seen the adviser give his father, he picked it up and replaced it with a cherry blossom he had taken from the garden. Smiling at his father, he pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead, and brushed his mother's hair off his face and away from his mouth, carefully as he could he guided his hand through her hair.
He left the room before the tears he felt could even spring to his eyes.
The night was cool, and even in his father's heavy war clothing it felt even more so. Still his steps never faulted, his path sure ahead of him. His horse was cautious, but as she was originally his father's mare she allowed him to mount, from there she recognized him easily.
It was for a moment that he stared at the mud road ahead of him, panic in his legs worked for him, and with a fierce cry he was off into the night, his steady mare knowing what to do even in his blind panic and rage. The wind was fierce against his face, and the harsh winds and rain stung his face and weighed down his armor. Still he rode, he had to be there by sundown, and he would need to rest for a night anyway, to prepare.
Minato was a calm man, and his dreams were normally restful, the cries of the dead haunted him on occasion, but he slept peacefully when he remembered for what or rather for whom he had done such things for, their pain, their begging, their cries hurt his ears. Stung his innermost senses as a human being.
But it was nothing, nothing, compared to what it would have sounded like if it had been his child's or his wife's screams. It wasn't justification, it was peace of mind, and he no longer felt the weight of guilt with that decision.
Something was tightening his chest as he slept.
He was once more on the battlefield, the body's piling up at his feet as he slashed at their throats and heard their gurgled last breaths. He stared at the mass of bodies before him, that same pain in his chest increasing as he stared at what he'd done, knowing he had killed for his family, for his country and his friends. Didn't take away from the fact that so had they, they had lives wives and husbands, children and friends who were awaiting their return eagerly, but would never see the day because he had killed them.
It wasn't right, it wasn't justified, it was simply one view against another.
Because of him those survivors would go back to their home and they would relay the horrible events of this day, and the friends and children of those he had killed those they had killed would seek vengeance for those they had loved, search for understanding in hatred and burn in pain from the inside out. Knowing he would be the one to help light that fire was a painful burden he held reluctantly.
Someone stood beside him. They were close to him in the chaos of war their clothing somehow didn't fit in with the scene yet he couldn't fathom why. They were covered in blood just like all the other's, but he couldn't make out the person's face, they had none. They moved gracefully amongst the corpses, long hair behind them stained with blood and the gore from battle.
Golden hair brightened the sunset of the grass plains.
His eyes widened, and his scream pierced the air with it's scale, his son!
Naruto, his precious Naruto turned to him, but blood flooded over his clothing it was going to drown him, sink him in the filth of death and corruption. He moved as quickly as he could, years of experience let him reflectively weave around the bodies, but his leg gave up on him, the speed took it down and it cracked painfully.
He woke to find himself on his bedroom floor, his bad leg bent painfully underneath him. He hissed at the pins and needles sensation as he moved up. His eyes stung with the beginnings of tears. He had never dreamt of his son in the war, in truth, it frightened him. Not simply with the knowledge that he would have to experience such things again. Gazing too the window he found that it was still night, his son would be sleeping soundly by now, still with recent events begin what they were he wondered how true that could possibly be. Often he would go to Naruto when he woke in a sweat from his nightmares, he had never minded before, he often ended up crying right along with him.
Slowly he moved his bad leg, the pain was extensive, he had landed quite badly, the dream had shaken him from his security. It was with great trepidation that he looked to the scroll on his bedside, the fear for battle he had long since left behind in the waking hours returned.
It was nothing!
No, nothing! Nothing compared to what panic filled everything he was now, the pain he had felt was no longer there, his mind was absent the cherry blossom sitting oh so innocently there. An apology he had seen before too many times when Naruto had been too afraid to face him as a child.
He moved as quickly as he could, his lame leg didn't deter him as he ran, ran like he hadn't since the war, there was no pain, but it moved oddly, the beak and fractures in his bone caused it to bend in strange ways and he noticed that with a glazed eye. The doors to his old war room opened and slammed against the wood around it. The wardrobe was empty, and left wide open, there was vast quantities of golden hair on the floor jaggedly cut. A quick futile glance to his right showed him what he had already known, his sword was gone. Preyed from the walls sturdy surface, like his son from his protection.
Minato gasped in a sob, and ran once more to the outside, the ground was indented with hoof prints, the rain had stopped already and the soil was in the midst of drying. Meaning his son had left while the rain had still fallen. The blond sputtered, his breath catching, but he had no time, and his leg was fine, he had to catch him, he had to stop him.
"Minato!" He stopped, Kushina was there, hold him back in a grip stronger than any alpha he had ever battled or met. She was… in the way.
Not thinking clearly he lashed out, his fist swung his breathing was no longer normal, and everything was moving so quickly around him, and his wife was stopping him from protecting his son from death! Because Naruto couldn't handle war just the same that he couldn't he was-
It never impacted
"Minato! Stop it! You'd only doom him!" Every sense returned to him, the world around him cleared from it's blurred rushed state.
His son's smiling face, brighter than the sun itself brighter than anything, brighter than Heaven's light. Comforting huge impromptu hugs, and warm greetings, gentle kisses on his cheeks... Gone.
His leg collapsed from under him. How could he live without that? Knowing and understanding his world was marching into his death with a smile on his face? He couldn't bare to think it.
Review Answers -skip if you wish-:
dreaming of rocketships: Ah, thank you very much for your compliments, and uh sorry, I tend to stick to things I'm good at, and angst -unfortunately- is one of them, anyway hope you'll like it later on.
TigrezzTail: Thank you! The one thing I wanted to get right was the description. The inspiration to write this fic came from some ItaNaru works by Heatherstar16 who wrote some Disney related fic's with ItaNaru as the main couple, and while I love her stuff, the description didn't sit right with me. I'm glad you like it.