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There is something fundamentally wrong with a village that hates a child. A village of tens of thousands, and there were barely a handful who were willing to love, who were willing to reach out to the little jinchuuriki.
Konoha had failed Naruto in almost every way that counted, and really, it’s not a wonder that some would wish to tear down such a thing, would think it was better to raze and build anew than to try and fix.
People liked to say that it takes a village to raise a child, but Naruto proved that spectacularly wrong. It took three. Four, if you counted Naruto himself. People didn’t usually count Naruto, but that was often a mistake.
But Naruto loved that broken system Konoha like in another life he would have loved a mother and a father. And maybe it would have been healthier for Naruto to spend that love on people instead of an idea and a plot of land, but that isn’t this story.
The villagers spat at, swore at, and swatted at Naruto. They pushed him down, kicked him. They called him a monster, a menace, and a demon. When Naruto looked at Gaara and thought they weren’t too different, he wasn’t wrong.
But he also wasn’t giving himself enough credit.
There was something special about Naruto. Some spark, some light, some drive. It wasn’t strength. It wasn’t genius.
But it was something.
Naruto was more than his father’s looks, more than his mother’s attitude, more than the chakra of the kyuubi. He was more than the sum of his parts, more than what was done to him.
When Naruto was little, he didn’t know why the other children wouldn’t play with him. When the adults of the village talked behind his back, whispering and muttering, he didn’t understand. When he was run out of restaurants, thrown out of stores, chased away from every public space that could have, should have given him comfort, Naruto had no idea why. They called him a monster, and he learned that word to describe himself before he knew what the definition was.
Children are cruel. Adults are cruel. Villages, full of loving people who are strong and brave and kind and caring, are cruel. Little kids who have to teach themselves how to read, amazingly, are not.
It happens like this:
Naruto, tiny and huddled, makes a promise to himself. That someday, he won’t have to feel like this anymore. They’ll love him, they’ll respect him, they’ll take him seriously, and they’ll look at him- he won’t ever have to feel small again-
Naruto makes a promise, a nindo, a way of life. He swears that he will never go back on his word. No matter what promises he will make, he will keep them. Most children, woken up in the middle of the night from a frightening dream, have the soft voices of their parents reassuring them. It’s okay, it’ll be alright, everything is fine, you are safe here with me, I promise-
Learning to trust is a basic stage of child development.
When Naruto wakes up, trembling, sweaty sheets wrapped around his legs, there is no one. There is only his own voice, echoing around the room. Everything’s okay, it’s safe, I am here, I promise-
Everyone knows Naruto keeps his promises. No one knows that the first hundred, the first thousand, are made like this- muttered whispers pushed out into the darkness, a little boy desperately trying to reassure himself.
Before he ever told anyone he would become Hokage, Naruto whispered it to himself in the mirror, again and again, until he could say it confidently, until it came out without a flicker of self-doubt, until he believed it.
When they laughed at him for his high ambitions it didn’t faze him because he had already seen the same doubt in the mirror, and had watched it disappear. Naruto had hope. He didn’t have a whole lot else.
Naruto is heavy with kept promises. They don’t weight down his shoulders, they keep him grounded, keep him solid and dependable.
There are some, who when learning there is a man who is above all loyal not to a person, not to his orders, but to his word, are terrified. It’s an odd, funny sort of fear.
They might just believe him a little bit.
There are others who hear Uzumaki Naruto swear that he will not give up on them, that he will save them, that he will not accept defeat.
They might just believe him a little bit. It’s an odd, funny sort of hope.
It happens like this:
There were suddenly people who, while maybe they didn’t like him, tolerated his presence. They were a team, a set of people he was supposed to trust with the back of his neck exposed, people he was supposed to protect, people who were expected to trust him.
Maybe they didn’t like him, but they didn’t kick him off the team, and that was enough. It was an incredibly low expectation, but it was better than what Naruto was used to, so it was wonderful. It was amazing and lovely and heady and more than a little confusing.
But it was his team, his people, and there was nothing in the world that would keep him from them. He would allow nothing to destroy them, would allow nothing to turn that fragile trust into fear and loathing and betrayal.
Somehow, eventually, they even begin to act like a team, learning to trust each other. Learning each other’s movements and habits and strengths and favorite foods.
They learn how to fight together, how to live together, how to survive together.
They learn how to mourn together.
Naruto learns what happiness looks like in Sasuke’s cold guarded eyes. He learns which words will make Sakura hit him, which ones will make her sulk, and which ones will cause the softest of flinches. He walks the fine line between pissing his teammates off and letting them trust him, and sometimes the line disappears and he does both anyway. Somehow, miraculously, they stay. (Until they don’t).
Everyone on that broken team has a different idea of what the word family mean, but sometimes Naruto thinks it means this: silent reassurances and tiny smirks and someone to eat dinner with. It’s beautiful and it’s soft and it’s fragile, and it’s all that Naruto has ever had.
But it’s his, and that’s what really matters. It’s his, and that means that he will fight to keep it.
Mine. He promised, pale blue eyes looking fiercely into the mirror.
Mine. He promised, eyes flashing red for the smallest of seconds.
Mine.
When Sasuke leaves, this is how it feels:
Like someone has reached into his throat and shredded the delicate flesh there, like someone had reached in and pulled out something important, something vital. It feels like betrayal, sticky and cold and poisonous.
It feels sickening and foreign and unwelcome, like worms and expired milk churning in his stomach.
The kyuubi, for all its height and strength and anger and intimidation, has never made Naruto feel small. Not like this.
It’s wrong and frightening, and out of control, so Naruto does the only thing that can overcome the weakness in his gut. He makes a promise.
Sasuke runs away and Naruto makes a promise to bring him back from the gates of whatever fresh hell Sasuke finds, to defeat any demons Sasuke makes deals with.
He makes a promise to Sakura, his distraught teammate, because of course he’ll bring Sasuke back, of course everything will be alright. Of course soon they would be together again safe. Because Naruto keeps his word, Naruto does everything in his power and more. And more.
He follows Sasuke to the ends of the world, and nearly dies for his efforts. He is nearly killed for his efforts, and he makes another promise as a familiar hand sticks through his torso, carving a deep bloody gorge, furious eyes locked onto his own. He sees pain and desperation and fear and hate, and makes the promise no one made him.
I will not give up on you.
When Sakura told Naruto to stop searching for Sasuke, she thought it would work. She thought that if she pretended the memory of their third teammate had faded from her heart, Naruto would give up. She thought that if she pledged her love to him, Naruto would soften the sharp desperate look in his eyes. She thought he was trying to bring Sasuke back for her. Because he was loyal to her.
He was loyal to her. But it wasn’t Sakura’s withheld love that keep Naruto always yearning, always looking, always one foot tensed to rush ahead in hope. It wasn’t for love of Sakura. It wasn’t for love of Sasuke. It was because he had made a promise and goddamn what could he keep safe if he couldn’t even keep his word-
She had given up on Sasuke, but it felt like she was giving up on Naruto.
And that was unacceptable.
Naruto was used to people never believing in him. He was in fact, a pro at being ignored, a pro at moving forward despite the fact that no one thought he could.
He was not used to trust, and he was even less used to losing that trust.
It was unacceptable. So Naruto did not accept it. He ignored Sakura and kept looking, kept going. Naruto was also a pro at not understanding what limits were.
But limits apparently don’t understand Naruto either, because he does it, eventually. He brings back Sasuke, despite everything- despite bad blood, despite family, despite revenge, despite betrayal. Naruto bring him back, and keeps his promise. Because everyone knows that Naruto keeps his promises, because somehow amazingly that’s what he’s become known for. There are worse things to be known for, Naruto knows. Much worse things. By Kami he knows.
And Naruto has his family back, but somehow in the meantime, it’s grown. There are more people he can trust his neck with, there are more people who will listen when he speaks. They are former classmates, and former teachers. They are ninjas and they are civilians. They are of Konoha, and they are of outside. There is no rhyme or reason to the people Naruto befriends, but he still does it, and it stuns Sasuke a little. Sasuke, who did not see the progression, Sasuke who still remembers the little boy who would rather scream than be silent, who would rather be despised than ignored.
Naruto does the impossible, again and again and again, turning enemies into friends, turning desperation into hope, turning hate into love.
Maybe it’s a new found maturity. Or maybe Naruto would have been so convincing, so inspiring, when he was younger, if only someone gave him a chance to be. If only someone had listened.
But that is not this story, so people see the progression. A boy turns into a man, a boy who had to yell to get people to look at him, a boy who would rather people hate him than be indifferent. The man Naruto turns into is not just looked, he is looked towards. The man Naruto turns into is listened to when he speaks, and not just heard but listened to.
It’s a little bit crazy, and sometimes Naruto wakes up not believing it. Sometimes he thinks it’s all the daydream of that little boy who no one would talk to, who no one would even look at.
But somehow, amazingly, it’s not. It’s reality, and by Kami there is nothing he wouldn’t do to protect it. He makes a promise because that is the only way he knows how to trust.
Well, maybe not the only way, now. He trusts people, trusts their words, trusts their actions. There was no one to rescue the little boy, but there are people now, who calm the insecurity and doubt still present in the confident man Naruto has grown to be.
There are people to trust, people to know and love and hold on.
He promises, to himself and to them, again and again, that he will protect them. They are wonderful and loved and precious to him, and he will never let them forget it.
Naruto kept those promises, each and every one. Konoha sleep soundly and warm in the arms of her protector Naruto; strong and solid, reassuring and ever-present.
Everything will be alright. You are safe. I am here.
I promise.