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Entry tags:
Teamwork - progression - last two drabbles
Last two in the series of drabbles that goes from the battle at the Valley of the End to the beginning of Teamwork. The previous ones are almost all posted at ffnet (i'm taking my sweet time posting them. XD), so go look for them there, I'm too lazy to search my LJ for the links. :P
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jamjar (who just wrote an awesome collection of snippets on Naruto and jiraiya's travels during the timeskip. It's gen, and eeee.) and windshades for all the help. ^___^ Any mistakes left are mine, and if you can point them out, i'll be grateful ^__^
He wakes up on Sakura's roof. Well, the roof of the building where her parents live. He doesn't have a clue if they just have an apartment or if the whole building is theirs. He's never been inside. He doesn't really want to ask; what if her parents hate him, and tell her exactly why? He doesn't know how he'll deal with her knowing, even though he's aware that one day, soon, he will have to tell them.
It's still early; he slides down her wall and tries to look in, but she closed the blinds. He sighs, and prepares to jump off and go back home to get dressed, and almost gets brained by her blinds opening violently. He loses his balance and his hold on the wall. She grabs him by his shirt, and snarls, something about perverts and voyeurs and -- oh, hello, Naruto.
She stares at his clothes as he finds a hold on the tiny windowsill-thing that masquerades as a balcony.
"What are you doing here at this hour in pyjamas?" she asks, and pulls him all the way in.
He grins sheepishly and searches for an answer, not bothering to get up from the floor. The bottom of her robe brushes against his foot. Lavender. He wonders what she's wearing underneath.
"Couldn't sleep?" she sighs, and closes the window.
He answer only with a sheepish grin and a little laugh, uncomfortable with lying to her openly, and looks around curiously. He's never been in a girl's bedroom before. It's a nice little room -- a polished, tidy desk, a dresser, a mirror, a few posters on the walls. Rosy nail polish, a ribbon. Very girly. No shinobi gear anywhere in sight -- ah, wait. Kunai under the bed... but that's it.
"Say, Sakura-chan--"
She shushes him quickly, wincing. "Quiet! If my parents hear a boy in my room..."
"They'll think we're having a torrid love affair?" he whispers with a large grin. He doesn't bother dodging the slap that he knows he deserves.
It's not as strong as usual, though, and he blinks up at her, puzzled. "Sakura-chan?"
"Ah, no... nothing." She sits on her bed, back to the wall. He leans against the bed, watching her. She's hugging her knees, robe pulled tight around her.
"... Sakura-chan?"
"Are you... Naruto, are you... all right?"
He blinks at her, and for a moment, he thinks that she knows everything. She's watching him with such sad, horrified eyes.
"That mission..."
Oh. That mission. He's doing his best not to think about it too hard. It's over and done with. The most important thing is making sure it won't happen again.
"Eh. I'm alright."
Apparently he doesn't look convincing, because she slowly slides off her bed and sits down at his side, hugging her knees against her chest, twirling a lock of pink hair around her finger nervously. She's close; he can feel her warmth.
"You... I don't know what he showed you, what he did to you, but..."
"You were dead," he replies without thinking. "The three of you."
She doesn't say anything, she just slips her arm around his neck, slowly, hesitantly. He blushes a bit, gives her a crooked little smile. If he wasn't feeling so awkward, he'd be delighted. It isn't often he gets hugs from her. But she's being so careful, as if the littlest wrong gesture could set him off. Damn it, it's not as if he's Sasuke.
"... It wasn't all, was it?" she asks softly. "I mean, you -- you bit him."
I ate him, he thinks. Part of him. Sure, shredding was more cathartic than swallowing, but there were still a few missing bits afterwards. And he's less sickened by the act itself than by what it means for himself. "I went berserk," he replies bleakly.
She shivers. He wonders if she's afraid of him now. It hurts.
"... there was a cage, and I was alone, and no one cared. And when I remembered there were people who'd care..."
"It changed into something even worse, something that burrowed even deeper," she continues, nodding thoughtfully.
"... yeah."
There's more silence. And yet more silence. It's not natural, not between the two of them, and he hates it, but he doesn't know how to break it.
The moment is well suited; he's been sort of leading up to his huge revelation and she isn't pulling away yet, after all. He could tell her the truth. He could. He should.
He doesn't dare. He's too scared.
"So, where's all your ninja stuff?" he asks, so that he doesn't say something else.
She tenses, and then she shrugs, appearing uncaring, and he winces; way to go, Naruto.
"Oh, in that cupboard. I didn't want to litter my room with the stuff."
"But what if you gotta get something fast?" he asks, bewildered.
"Then I open the cupboard, it's not that complicated."
"... Oh." It doesn't sound very efficient to him, but he doesn't add anything; he doesn't want her to snap again.
She sighs. "Sorry, Naruto... My mom just doesn't like walking in and seeing shuriken and exploding tags all over the room. Besides it would look out of place here, wouldn't it?" she asks, gesturing at the tidy, girly bedroom. The bed sheets are pale purple, with a patterned trim; nothing fancy, but pretty and delicate. The laundry basket is empty, tucked away in a corner. The cupboards are closed. Even the papers on her desk are neatly piled up, kept in place with a glass paperweight -- a kitten, he thinks, frail and precious and yeah, definitely not ninja-ish.
It's all very Sakura, in a way -- tidy and girly. And yet, in a way, totally not.
"Do you study medical scrolls sometimes?" he asks, because even if she hides the weapons, there must be some traces of her job that don't conflict with the dainty/studious atmosphere.
She gives him a look, like she can hear his train of thought and isn't impressed. "They're locked away, Naruto. You're not supposed to let ninjutsu scrolls out where anywhere walking by could take a look. Didn't you listen to anything they taught us in class?" And she knocks her knuckles against his head.
"Ow! I leave my scrolls on my desk all the time," he mutters back, pouting.
"And on the floor beside your desk, and on your kitchen table, and beside your bed..."
She laughs when he starts looking dejected, and nudges him in the ribs with her elbow.
"Ah, it's alright, you don't have anything but basic scrolls anyway, right? You learned all your big techniques on the field. But the Fifth's own medical jutsu... well, it's not top secret either, but..." She shrugs. "I don't want to look for specific scrolls for ten hours. At least that way I always know where they are."
"Yeah right, you're just a neat freak," he teases, and can't help but grin when she scowls at him and threatens him with her fist. She wouldn't treat him like that if she didn't care, if she didn't trust. He never wants to let go of that.
She pouts, then reluctantly smiles. "Maybe I am," she admits with false annoyance. "But it wouldn't hurt for you to be a bit of one too!" she adds, bossy.
She pokes his chest with her finger. They're so close, and if he caught her hand and leaned forward, he could kiss her. That's a line he's not sure he can cross without consequences, though. What if she never wants to invite him back in her room because she doesn't trust him alone with her?
"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, and looks away from her because he doesn't need more temptation.
There are pictures on her wall, over her desk. A copy of the same Team Seven one they own, but other pictures too -- her parents, alone or together, or with other older people that he assumes are family; Ino holding a cat or being silly or wearing fancy clothes; a picture of Naruto himself and Lee during a pushup contest; other girls and boys he only vaguely remembers from the ninja academy, or doesn't even know.
"There's only one Sasuke up here, and that's when he was twelve," he comments, pointing at the board on which the bulk of them is pinned. That's just plain weird. She hasn't publicly proclaimed her undying love for the bastard in years, but he knows better than to assume that she doesn't have romantic feelings for him anymore.
Sakura blinks, then winces and looks down at her feet, sheepish and disappointed. "He hates having his picture taken."
"So you don't have any?" Okay, the idea of Sasuke and her dating isn't one of his favorites. But pictures are probably important to her, and, potential boyfriend or just teammate, Sasuke is important to her, too. Naruto narrows his eyes determinedly -- he's going to stalk the bastard and take a ton of them, just for her.
"Oh, I have a few. Of his back, usually," she replies with a weird little wincing smile. "And his shoulder, or his foot as he jumps off, or else there's a branch or someone's arm in the way..."
She reaches into her desk drawer, pulls out a slim book, opens it on her lap. Indeed, of the dozen shots she has of Sasuke, only two show more than a fifth of his face, and it's clear even these pictures are failures. Naruto snickers. "You'd expect him, of all people, to be photogenic."
"Oh, shush, you don't look any better."
And she turns the page. She has pictures of him, too. She's even in some of them -- so she didn't take them. So she went and asked the person who took them for copies. He stares at one of Kiba and him all tangled up in a length of wire to stop himself from looking at her face; he knows he'd kiss her.
They look at the pictures, and they talk about nothing -- "hey, I remember that!" and "wow, now he looks stupid here" and "we should do this again". And he's happy. He's happy because she wasn't scared away by his berserk fit and she's acting like they're friends, real friends, not just teammates, and they're sitting so close and she's letting him. True, she might be trying to comfort him, or distract him from the bad memories, but... he doesn't think she could fake being this at ease with him, this ... simply content.
Eventually, her stomach growls, and he's surprised to notice that it's already six-thirty AM. It's going to be a bitch to get back home without being seen so he can get dressed -- a good thing Kakashi's always late, because Naruto himself probably won't arrive on time.
She blushes, sheepish, and opens her mouth -- presumably to apologize. And then her mother calls, and she bursts into action. Naruto jumps to his feet, eyeing the door nervously.
"I'm awake, Mom!!" she yells as she stuffs the photo album back in the drawer. "Relax, she won't come knocking yet," she whispers to him.
And then she stares at him, biting her lip. "Ah... maybe you could... You could come out through the window and then knock at the door and I could invite you for breakfast... Mom wouldn't say anything..."
Privately, he thinks that she would. But that Sakura would even offer... he doesn't remember being invited to share a meal with a family. Iruka-sensei doesn't count; he's living alone too. It's not the same.
"Thank you, Sakura-chan, but I don't think your mom would buy the old 'just happened to be in the neighborhood' excuse," he reminds her, and tugs at his pyjama pants, grinning.
She looks down at his pants and blushes. "Oh, right."
He would tease her, but there's another call from her mother and she yells back, even as she herds him toward the window so fast he stumbles. He's laughing silently as she opens the window, quickly scans the street and the other buildings for onlookers. Not that he can't appreciate how much she doesn't want to get caught, but she doesn't even look half that panicked during missions.
He takes a last, long look at her room, so pretty and tidy; and at her, so pretty and not so tidy, expression frenzied, hair in disarray, and so very kissable. He grins, and waves, taking his sweet time, and throws himself off the banister, narrowly avoiding her exasperated shove.
She shakes her fist at him as he waves from the next roof, and he bounces off, going back home.
He's... a little deeper in than a simple crush, isn't he. He doesn't really manage to mind.
+
It's weird how difficult it is to recognize the streets he thought he knew by heart, when he's a few floors over the ground. And yet -- Konoha. Konoha that he knows and doesn't, and people he recognizes because they're similar to people he knows and yet aren't.
It's a collection of snippets and flashes and bursts of scents -- things burning, blood and guts bared to the air, charred flesh. He flits from one to the next, a jumble of moments that don't follow any kind of linear progression.
And then something snaps into place.
He's face to face with an older version of himself, and he has never felt more hate than he does at this instant.
The fire in the streets dances with the fire in his soul. There is beauty in destruction, he has been told; but unless beautiful and entertaining are exactly synonymous, he isn't doing this for the sake of Art.
No, he's doing it because he wants to, and this is all the reason he needs. He could find excuses in the fact that he was born that way, that he does it because it is in his nature to destroy and disperse, but the fact is -- who the hell care about excuses. Not him.
Not the man with his face. Not the man who watches him with determination and sadness and a sort of heavy finality that vaguely puzzle him. And he wonders, even as he roars and lashes out, testing his bonds with the disdain of a dragon for a lizard, he wonders why that man feels that way and why the hell he even fucking cares about a human's feelings. It's just one more human.
A human who's come closer to stopping him than dozens of his peers together. He's going to regret hurting him dearly -- just wait until he gets free. And he will get free -- he never gives up. He will -- any second now...
The world fades out, and he screams as something is ripped out of him. Or he's ripped out of something. He doesn't care which -- it's red pain and then black -- not the soothing oblivion kind. It's the kind that's full of monsters, the kind that eats you alive.
Even a nine-tailed fox can't do much against a God of Death. He rages, and prepares to abandon a tail in exchange from his life, like he did the last two times the stupid humans managed to press him that far. It's not as if he can't gain it again later.
... except... he's not dying. He has never had to endure such pain, but he's not dying. He's not dying, so he can't trade -- and the God of Death laughs at him and doesn't say a word, and then -- and then...
and then he's screaming, because he doesn't understand -- cold, and afraid, and hungry, and alone, with sole company a crumpled, cooling body curled around him. And he's alone in the cold, threatening dark with no way out, and he's just been torn from the safe dark warm place, from his mother -- he screams and screams, unable to cope with the pain in his stomach, the pain in his soul...
and then he's torn apart again.
Ages in the dark -- small eternities. The next flash of light only comes a few years, a few centuries later. He's not yet crazy. But he's at his breaking point -- he howls and rages against nothing, and then the sickly green light comes and he can almost catch a glimpse -- angry voices, insults he can't understand, though the tone is clear enough. He's going to kill them -- he's going to tear them into pieces and piss on their remains, hunt down their wives and children...
Darkness again.
But at least he has something to hope for, now.
Naruto wakes up with the taste of blood in his mouth, a tenacious memory. He knows he's going to wait a few hours before he joins his team; he can still feel the echoes of that crazy, obsessive hate the fox clung to for so long. He's already forgetting the details, though -- besides that face, the only things that stay are a feeling of powerless outrage and the memory of endless dark. He opens his blinds wide and then curls up at the foot of his bed, basking in the morning sun.
Well, at least now he knows he's going to grow up to be reasonably hot, even if he doesn't have these narrow, piercing eyes.
He thinks of asking Jiraiya what he is, really, in regards to the Fourth Hokage. But in the end it doesn't matter. He's called the Fourth's legacy by some, but he's himself. He received his own legacy from the man, and now he makes his life with it, that's all. It doesn't matter when or why. These are the facts, as they are now. He has enough on his plate without trying to shoulder the past as well.
He's here and now with his fox and his team and the people he loves and those who hate him. It doesn't matter what a dead guy was thinking, and what a herd of morons is still thinking matters even less.
He's here. He's now. That's enough for him.
Thanks to
jamjar (who just wrote an awesome collection of snippets on Naruto and jiraiya's travels during the timeskip. It's gen, and eeee.) and windshades for all the help. ^___^ Any mistakes left are mine, and if you can point them out, i'll be grateful ^__^He wakes up on Sakura's roof. Well, the roof of the building where her parents live. He doesn't have a clue if they just have an apartment or if the whole building is theirs. He's never been inside. He doesn't really want to ask; what if her parents hate him, and tell her exactly why? He doesn't know how he'll deal with her knowing, even though he's aware that one day, soon, he will have to tell them.
It's still early; he slides down her wall and tries to look in, but she closed the blinds. He sighs, and prepares to jump off and go back home to get dressed, and almost gets brained by her blinds opening violently. He loses his balance and his hold on the wall. She grabs him by his shirt, and snarls, something about perverts and voyeurs and -- oh, hello, Naruto.
She stares at his clothes as he finds a hold on the tiny windowsill-thing that masquerades as a balcony.
"What are you doing here at this hour in pyjamas?" she asks, and pulls him all the way in.
He grins sheepishly and searches for an answer, not bothering to get up from the floor. The bottom of her robe brushes against his foot. Lavender. He wonders what she's wearing underneath.
"Couldn't sleep?" she sighs, and closes the window.
He answer only with a sheepish grin and a little laugh, uncomfortable with lying to her openly, and looks around curiously. He's never been in a girl's bedroom before. It's a nice little room -- a polished, tidy desk, a dresser, a mirror, a few posters on the walls. Rosy nail polish, a ribbon. Very girly. No shinobi gear anywhere in sight -- ah, wait. Kunai under the bed... but that's it.
"Say, Sakura-chan--"
She shushes him quickly, wincing. "Quiet! If my parents hear a boy in my room..."
"They'll think we're having a torrid love affair?" he whispers with a large grin. He doesn't bother dodging the slap that he knows he deserves.
It's not as strong as usual, though, and he blinks up at her, puzzled. "Sakura-chan?"
"Ah, no... nothing." She sits on her bed, back to the wall. He leans against the bed, watching her. She's hugging her knees, robe pulled tight around her.
"... Sakura-chan?"
"Are you... Naruto, are you... all right?"
He blinks at her, and for a moment, he thinks that she knows everything. She's watching him with such sad, horrified eyes.
"That mission..."
Oh. That mission. He's doing his best not to think about it too hard. It's over and done with. The most important thing is making sure it won't happen again.
"Eh. I'm alright."
Apparently he doesn't look convincing, because she slowly slides off her bed and sits down at his side, hugging her knees against her chest, twirling a lock of pink hair around her finger nervously. She's close; he can feel her warmth.
"You... I don't know what he showed you, what he did to you, but..."
"You were dead," he replies without thinking. "The three of you."
She doesn't say anything, she just slips her arm around his neck, slowly, hesitantly. He blushes a bit, gives her a crooked little smile. If he wasn't feeling so awkward, he'd be delighted. It isn't often he gets hugs from her. But she's being so careful, as if the littlest wrong gesture could set him off. Damn it, it's not as if he's Sasuke.
"... It wasn't all, was it?" she asks softly. "I mean, you -- you bit him."
I ate him, he thinks. Part of him. Sure, shredding was more cathartic than swallowing, but there were still a few missing bits afterwards. And he's less sickened by the act itself than by what it means for himself. "I went berserk," he replies bleakly.
She shivers. He wonders if she's afraid of him now. It hurts.
"... there was a cage, and I was alone, and no one cared. And when I remembered there were people who'd care..."
"It changed into something even worse, something that burrowed even deeper," she continues, nodding thoughtfully.
"... yeah."
There's more silence. And yet more silence. It's not natural, not between the two of them, and he hates it, but he doesn't know how to break it.
The moment is well suited; he's been sort of leading up to his huge revelation and she isn't pulling away yet, after all. He could tell her the truth. He could. He should.
He doesn't dare. He's too scared.
"So, where's all your ninja stuff?" he asks, so that he doesn't say something else.
She tenses, and then she shrugs, appearing uncaring, and he winces; way to go, Naruto.
"Oh, in that cupboard. I didn't want to litter my room with the stuff."
"But what if you gotta get something fast?" he asks, bewildered.
"Then I open the cupboard, it's not that complicated."
"... Oh." It doesn't sound very efficient to him, but he doesn't add anything; he doesn't want her to snap again.
She sighs. "Sorry, Naruto... My mom just doesn't like walking in and seeing shuriken and exploding tags all over the room. Besides it would look out of place here, wouldn't it?" she asks, gesturing at the tidy, girly bedroom. The bed sheets are pale purple, with a patterned trim; nothing fancy, but pretty and delicate. The laundry basket is empty, tucked away in a corner. The cupboards are closed. Even the papers on her desk are neatly piled up, kept in place with a glass paperweight -- a kitten, he thinks, frail and precious and yeah, definitely not ninja-ish.
It's all very Sakura, in a way -- tidy and girly. And yet, in a way, totally not.
"Do you study medical scrolls sometimes?" he asks, because even if she hides the weapons, there must be some traces of her job that don't conflict with the dainty/studious atmosphere.
She gives him a look, like she can hear his train of thought and isn't impressed. "They're locked away, Naruto. You're not supposed to let ninjutsu scrolls out where anywhere walking by could take a look. Didn't you listen to anything they taught us in class?" And she knocks her knuckles against his head.
"Ow! I leave my scrolls on my desk all the time," he mutters back, pouting.
"And on the floor beside your desk, and on your kitchen table, and beside your bed..."
She laughs when he starts looking dejected, and nudges him in the ribs with her elbow.
"Ah, it's alright, you don't have anything but basic scrolls anyway, right? You learned all your big techniques on the field. But the Fifth's own medical jutsu... well, it's not top secret either, but..." She shrugs. "I don't want to look for specific scrolls for ten hours. At least that way I always know where they are."
"Yeah right, you're just a neat freak," he teases, and can't help but grin when she scowls at him and threatens him with her fist. She wouldn't treat him like that if she didn't care, if she didn't trust. He never wants to let go of that.
She pouts, then reluctantly smiles. "Maybe I am," she admits with false annoyance. "But it wouldn't hurt for you to be a bit of one too!" she adds, bossy.
She pokes his chest with her finger. They're so close, and if he caught her hand and leaned forward, he could kiss her. That's a line he's not sure he can cross without consequences, though. What if she never wants to invite him back in her room because she doesn't trust him alone with her?
"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, and looks away from her because he doesn't need more temptation.
There are pictures on her wall, over her desk. A copy of the same Team Seven one they own, but other pictures too -- her parents, alone or together, or with other older people that he assumes are family; Ino holding a cat or being silly or wearing fancy clothes; a picture of Naruto himself and Lee during a pushup contest; other girls and boys he only vaguely remembers from the ninja academy, or doesn't even know.
"There's only one Sasuke up here, and that's when he was twelve," he comments, pointing at the board on which the bulk of them is pinned. That's just plain weird. She hasn't publicly proclaimed her undying love for the bastard in years, but he knows better than to assume that she doesn't have romantic feelings for him anymore.
Sakura blinks, then winces and looks down at her feet, sheepish and disappointed. "He hates having his picture taken."
"So you don't have any?" Okay, the idea of Sasuke and her dating isn't one of his favorites. But pictures are probably important to her, and, potential boyfriend or just teammate, Sasuke is important to her, too. Naruto narrows his eyes determinedly -- he's going to stalk the bastard and take a ton of them, just for her.
"Oh, I have a few. Of his back, usually," she replies with a weird little wincing smile. "And his shoulder, or his foot as he jumps off, or else there's a branch or someone's arm in the way..."
She reaches into her desk drawer, pulls out a slim book, opens it on her lap. Indeed, of the dozen shots she has of Sasuke, only two show more than a fifth of his face, and it's clear even these pictures are failures. Naruto snickers. "You'd expect him, of all people, to be photogenic."
"Oh, shush, you don't look any better."
And she turns the page. She has pictures of him, too. She's even in some of them -- so she didn't take them. So she went and asked the person who took them for copies. He stares at one of Kiba and him all tangled up in a length of wire to stop himself from looking at her face; he knows he'd kiss her.
They look at the pictures, and they talk about nothing -- "hey, I remember that!" and "wow, now he looks stupid here" and "we should do this again". And he's happy. He's happy because she wasn't scared away by his berserk fit and she's acting like they're friends, real friends, not just teammates, and they're sitting so close and she's letting him. True, she might be trying to comfort him, or distract him from the bad memories, but... he doesn't think she could fake being this at ease with him, this ... simply content.
Eventually, her stomach growls, and he's surprised to notice that it's already six-thirty AM. It's going to be a bitch to get back home without being seen so he can get dressed -- a good thing Kakashi's always late, because Naruto himself probably won't arrive on time.
She blushes, sheepish, and opens her mouth -- presumably to apologize. And then her mother calls, and she bursts into action. Naruto jumps to his feet, eyeing the door nervously.
"I'm awake, Mom!!" she yells as she stuffs the photo album back in the drawer. "Relax, she won't come knocking yet," she whispers to him.
And then she stares at him, biting her lip. "Ah... maybe you could... You could come out through the window and then knock at the door and I could invite you for breakfast... Mom wouldn't say anything..."
Privately, he thinks that she would. But that Sakura would even offer... he doesn't remember being invited to share a meal with a family. Iruka-sensei doesn't count; he's living alone too. It's not the same.
"Thank you, Sakura-chan, but I don't think your mom would buy the old 'just happened to be in the neighborhood' excuse," he reminds her, and tugs at his pyjama pants, grinning.
She looks down at his pants and blushes. "Oh, right."
He would tease her, but there's another call from her mother and she yells back, even as she herds him toward the window so fast he stumbles. He's laughing silently as she opens the window, quickly scans the street and the other buildings for onlookers. Not that he can't appreciate how much she doesn't want to get caught, but she doesn't even look half that panicked during missions.
He takes a last, long look at her room, so pretty and tidy; and at her, so pretty and not so tidy, expression frenzied, hair in disarray, and so very kissable. He grins, and waves, taking his sweet time, and throws himself off the banister, narrowly avoiding her exasperated shove.
She shakes her fist at him as he waves from the next roof, and he bounces off, going back home.
He's... a little deeper in than a simple crush, isn't he. He doesn't really manage to mind.
+
It's weird how difficult it is to recognize the streets he thought he knew by heart, when he's a few floors over the ground. And yet -- Konoha. Konoha that he knows and doesn't, and people he recognizes because they're similar to people he knows and yet aren't.
It's a collection of snippets and flashes and bursts of scents -- things burning, blood and guts bared to the air, charred flesh. He flits from one to the next, a jumble of moments that don't follow any kind of linear progression.
And then something snaps into place.
He's face to face with an older version of himself, and he has never felt more hate than he does at this instant.
The fire in the streets dances with the fire in his soul. There is beauty in destruction, he has been told; but unless beautiful and entertaining are exactly synonymous, he isn't doing this for the sake of Art.
No, he's doing it because he wants to, and this is all the reason he needs. He could find excuses in the fact that he was born that way, that he does it because it is in his nature to destroy and disperse, but the fact is -- who the hell care about excuses. Not him.
Not the man with his face. Not the man who watches him with determination and sadness and a sort of heavy finality that vaguely puzzle him. And he wonders, even as he roars and lashes out, testing his bonds with the disdain of a dragon for a lizard, he wonders why that man feels that way and why the hell he even fucking cares about a human's feelings. It's just one more human.
A human who's come closer to stopping him than dozens of his peers together. He's going to regret hurting him dearly -- just wait until he gets free. And he will get free -- he never gives up. He will -- any second now...
The world fades out, and he screams as something is ripped out of him. Or he's ripped out of something. He doesn't care which -- it's red pain and then black -- not the soothing oblivion kind. It's the kind that's full of monsters, the kind that eats you alive.
Even a nine-tailed fox can't do much against a God of Death. He rages, and prepares to abandon a tail in exchange from his life, like he did the last two times the stupid humans managed to press him that far. It's not as if he can't gain it again later.
... except... he's not dying. He has never had to endure such pain, but he's not dying. He's not dying, so he can't trade -- and the God of Death laughs at him and doesn't say a word, and then -- and then...
and then he's screaming, because he doesn't understand -- cold, and afraid, and hungry, and alone, with sole company a crumpled, cooling body curled around him. And he's alone in the cold, threatening dark with no way out, and he's just been torn from the safe dark warm place, from his mother -- he screams and screams, unable to cope with the pain in his stomach, the pain in his soul...
and then he's torn apart again.
Ages in the dark -- small eternities. The next flash of light only comes a few years, a few centuries later. He's not yet crazy. But he's at his breaking point -- he howls and rages against nothing, and then the sickly green light comes and he can almost catch a glimpse -- angry voices, insults he can't understand, though the tone is clear enough. He's going to kill them -- he's going to tear them into pieces and piss on their remains, hunt down their wives and children...
Darkness again.
But at least he has something to hope for, now.
Naruto wakes up with the taste of blood in his mouth, a tenacious memory. He knows he's going to wait a few hours before he joins his team; he can still feel the echoes of that crazy, obsessive hate the fox clung to for so long. He's already forgetting the details, though -- besides that face, the only things that stay are a feeling of powerless outrage and the memory of endless dark. He opens his blinds wide and then curls up at the foot of his bed, basking in the morning sun.
Well, at least now he knows he's going to grow up to be reasonably hot, even if he doesn't have these narrow, piercing eyes.
He thinks of asking Jiraiya what he is, really, in regards to the Fourth Hokage. But in the end it doesn't matter. He's called the Fourth's legacy by some, but he's himself. He received his own legacy from the man, and now he makes his life with it, that's all. It doesn't matter when or why. These are the facts, as they are now. He has enough on his plate without trying to shoulder the past as well.
He's here and now with his fox and his team and the people he loves and those who hate him. It doesn't matter what a dead guy was thinking, and what a herd of morons is still thinking matters even less.
He's here. He's now. That's enough for him.
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And the way Naruto and Kyuubi are mixed up in the dream. Wow. Love love love.
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Oh, this was beautiful! I adore how you write Sakura (un-useless - so many fics make her a whiny little prat - I always thought she had the ability to kick total ass) and Naruto too! (deeper - not a bumbling moron - again the form he takes in many fics - something I disaggree with)
I <3 it, it was boo-tiful.
*showers you with roses*
YAY!
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#^___^# ♥
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And the detail about the kyuubi exchanging a tail to avoid death, that's a cool thought.
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ahh, the tail thing happens often in legends ^_^;
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I loved, loved the second piece, showing how the Kyuubi felt about it and with a connection to the forth - and Naruto's perspecitve on it, is just so absolutely Naruto.
And the first piece was really fun to read. =D
Did the person that take all the pictures of Naruto's name start with a... H?
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... I don't know, but that's more than likely. such a cute little stalker. XD
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I liked Kyuubi vs. Yondaime, too. *counts* Eleven-Tails? XD Clearly you do not fuck with a thing like that. Great detail to suit Kyuubi's character. I also liked what Naruto thought about the dream when he woke up, between the lingering hate like a hangover and his musings about the Fourth.
Woo this totally made my evening. It's just a shame I'm not doing any of the work I need to be doing. ^^'
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hah. I don't think you CAN be any higher than a nine-tails, really. XD I wonder how many times he could have gone back to eight and climbed back up?
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Should be "answers only".
True, she might be trying to comfort him, or distract him from the bad memories, but... he doesn't think she could fake being this at ease with him, this ... simply content.
i know there was one more, but i can't find it now. beh.
but omg, loving!awkward!Naruto and Concerned!sweet!Sakura, so cute together. you made me drool for them to kiss and left me wanting more. *rolls over* so cute. *licks*
o_o fix up the last part, sounds a little weird in my head. maybe "this...simply being content." or maybe "this...simple contentment."
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HAHA!! no kissies yet.
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ICON. ;_____; shinyyy
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The Sakura and Naruto interaction: I like it. It show sides to both that are often ingored by the fandom, and the way they interact is so nice that I find myself wanting to squeal. Naruto's happiness that she doesn't hate him, and her acceptance of him makes me sigh with joy.
Kyuubi and Naruto tangled up dream: I was impressed with how you were able to slide from one point of view to the other and not mess up the flow. A little jealous as well, but mostly in awe. And Naruto's little bit at the end, about him growing up hot, that made me snigger to the point of almost wetting my pants. Not a good thing, but yet again, impressive.
Sorry if I'm sounding all fangirly again. I suck at anytype of critical review that isn't my own stuff.
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because i'm evil? ö_ö
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My house has an evil aura, my computer is villianous and inhuman like a horcrux, my good plot bunnies are constantly being caniballized by the evil ones and all that...
I couldn't help but come to the dark side, they offered me cookies!
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I like the POV you sketched - Kyuubi's memory with the hint of Naruto's perceptions.
And that first one, that's just too good for words.
Only...can you hook us up with the link for the first part where Naruto goes Dahmer on that genjutsu dude? I tried looking for it and had no luck...
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http://www.livejournal.com/users/askerian/202020.html :p it was just one page back.
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Oh, and the album was such a nice touch.
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thanks! ^^
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http://img515.imageshack.us/img515/6683/kabutochibi20rc.png
http://img482.imageshack.us/img482/7443/heatherchibi1tt.png
There you are.
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Mountains of squee for the first one. It was just so much love, and emotion, and friendship, and team-seven-ness (even though Sasuke wasn’t really THERE, he was there). Just the right balance of amusing, serious, and cute.
-
God, that line was just perfect. Made me sniffle. Just the underlying currents of emotion…. Worked really, really well.
And the second… yay Kyuubi and Naruto melding and the frightening, disturbing dream imagery. I like the run-on lines. Gave it tension, and depth, and a sense of desperation. Kudos to you. And LOL, Naruto cheering for the fact that he’s gonna be hott. (And he IS. You can tell.)
No mistakes that I could spot.
Muah. Yay, fic. *glomp* ^^
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And the second is just gorgeous. Excellent point-of-view work in that second one, especially with the shifts and Naruto being the fox, seeing the fourth, being himself. Just really nicely done.
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#^____^#