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The prodigies of past generations were all formed by the hands of misery, and that fact alone is enough for Naruto to justify his actions.
Kakashi won't know, won't realize before it's too late. He's too absorbed in his own misery, in the guilt and regret that all but drowns him. It's always been that way. Naruto tried to save him, once. Tried to show the man the world beyond his broken eyes. It didn’t work then, and won't work a second time around either.
Not when the conditions have changed so drastically from what they were. Not now, when Naruto’s eyes are just as broken. They used to be blue, like the brightest of skies. They're like whirlpools these days. The reflection of a fallen nation half a world away. And isn't that beautiful, in itself, to face the same fate as the village he never had the chance to be a part of, but that's so very much a part of him.
He won't save Sasuke. He loved him, at one point, but he'll never admit it and even less act on it. It was a toxic kind of affection to begin with. He still has his memories, even if the bad ones heavily outweigh the good, and a hole in his chest that no one but the raven-haired boy can fill. However, his feelings for Sasuke are left in another timeline. In another dimension. In an alternative future he refuses to claim again (and somehow that makes it so much easier). It's a thing of the past, whatever they had.
Naruto laughs the first time he meets his father, this time around. Doesn't know how to handle the situation any other way. Doesn't know how to function like a living being. Doesn't understand why he has to act the part. When the presence of the man in front of him feels nothing but violating. When the air filling his lungs and the beating of his heart are the only signs of him being alive.
So he laughs. He laughs at his father, who's a stranger in every sense of the word, even if he isn't one. At the situation he fails to grasp. At the emotions he refuses to name—a sound so ugly and bitter and hysterical.
He recognises his own mindscape. Knows it like the back of his hand. Prefers the darkness that swallows him whole. It might not grant him the kind of peace that death would, but it gives him the illusion of it. It's safe and comforting and familiar. More so than the outside world, than the sorry excuse of an apartment he lives in. It embraces him like a lover and welcomes him like a home.
So Naruto isn't surprised when he finds himself stuck there again. Doesn't as much as flinch when faced with the nine tailed beast once more. Insanity would be a blessing at this point, just to have something to blame it on. But he's too aware of his own reality. Too aware that he lives in a world with things that can't be explained and creatures that should only exist in storybooks. So he isn't surprised when faced with a complete stranger. Is just as displeased about it as the fox, albeit less feral.
A man whose very existence he refuses to acknowledge, and even less who he claims to be (for he refuses to give that man any parental title). A man who should be dead. Who will continue to be so, to him, even after knowing he isn't. But Naruto is no fool. Or maybe that’s precisely what he is. For he knows very well that the man is his father, feels it in every fiber of his being, but he doesn't care for any of it. Can't allow himself to care. Wishes he was ignorant enough not to (Naruto has always been a bad liar).
Naruto can't stand what he sees in the mirror, hasn’t been able to since he met his father. He's the spitting image of him, so very much so that Naruto has to consider if it's some cruel twist of fate. A version of what could've been. His father used to be a leader. One of the greatest among the generations of hokage. He deserved the hat and cloak, wore it with pride, even if his time in the seat was short-lived. With the confidence and arrogance to rival that of a king. With the ability to gain the support and trust of the common folk. But Naruto isn't a leader. Never was in his past life and certainly not now, when that dream is nothing more than a dull ache in his chest. Destiny is bullshit, fate fucked him over and hell is a place where dreams go to die.
It isn't the resemblance in itself that fills him with disgust, it's what it makes him remember. How a single glance at those features makes him recall memories that can’t possibly be his own, but continues to play inside his head like a broken record;
Of a woman with violet eyes and body drenched in blood. Of a man with tear stained cheeks and shaking hands. How his mother gave up her life so Naruto could live. How his father's soul left his body long before he was even dead. So desperate to join his wife. So eager to leave his newborn child. So clever to seal a demon inside his own kin. Inside his child instead of his dying wife, to take it with her in death. If he had only been a bit faster. A bit smarter.
And isn't that ironic; to be so slow and so dumb, when one is considered the fastest shinobi alive and the prodigy of his generation.
It's funny, really, how his father is stuck in some twisted kind of limbo. Far from being dead, but not quite alive either. His soul forever attached to the seal on Naruto’s stomach. A creation of his own making. A death sentence written by his own hands. To imprison a demon, only to be faced with it again.
CarrotCakeSimp Thu 24 Apr 2025 01:45AM UTC
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