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The rain never seems to stop. It pelts down, drowning the world with a familiar shaa that they’ve been buried under time and time again. It could almost be comforting.
Almost.
Only, it just reminds them of why they’ve gathered. All of Konoha had come together, as had the other villages, they’re sure, each to mourn their own. At the front stands Tsunade, solemn and still, dressed in all black like everyone else. All around the Memorial Stone.
They couldn’t carve the names of all that had passed into the stone, that wasn’t practical, but they still decided to hold the anniversary there.
The anniversary of the end of the Fourth Great Shinobi War: October tenth.
The same anniversary of the Kyuubi attack all those years ago (18, to be exact, but who was counting) and the forgotten birthday of one hero.
Uzumaki Naruto wasn’t planning on speaking at the anniversary. He’d woken up earlier than he’d liked that day, the sound of rain pelting against his window far from comforting. Instead, it left him feeling… numb. Empty. As if there was too much missing and he couldn’t quite pick up all the pieces.
He felt like he was drowning, choking on runny mud as it slipped between his lips and darkened his eyes. He couldn’t see, all he could feel was a rush of pain through his arm, his chest, at the base of his spine. But it was growing distant.
Soon, he would feel nothing at all.
It should scare him, this numbness.
The fear came as the rain continued to pour, drowning out the shouts of his comrades who had run off, leaving him half submerged in their muddy tracks.
Lost. Forgotten.
Sleep did not come easy. He choked until his final breath, eyes left open as shadows drifted across the world. Blurry, lost, confused.
The realization that one was dying was both sudden and fleeting. A heaviness to his chest, a pressure that left as soon as it had come.
There was no time to cry. No time to breathe.
And with a final, garbled exhale, he sank further into the mud, feeling that gritty texture on his tongue and how the ground seemed to swallow him.
It continued to pour, the thundering in the distance continued, the rumble of the ground as attack after attack landed in a battlefield he’d never see. None of it really registered.
Naruto drops his head in his hands, fingers dancing across his cheeks to wipe away the coming moistness.
Now was not the time. But he couldn’t really help the empty feeling that took hold of him and clawed its way through his chest. Couldn’t helped the choked sound he bit back as that feeling hit him.
Lost. Forgotten.
What was his name?
Naruto didn’t know most of their names and that, more than anything, makes his heart ache.
And so as they would commemorate those they lost. Names, people, brave shinobi who died, he alone would mourn those that were well and truly gone. Forgotten.
When Kakashi came knocking at his window, basket in one hand, umbrella in the other, he shouldn’t have been surprised. He simply slides open the door and hops of his bed, giving his sensei - sensei, did he still have to call him that? It felt weird not to - ample room.
Kakashi takes it as an invitation and hops in, quick to set the basket of fresh vegetables on his table. He doesn’t mention the empty cups of ramen scattered throughout. It isn’t nearly as disastrous as he knew the boy could be, so he could let it slide. After all, this wasn’t the time to berate him.
This wasn’t Kakashi’s first rodeo when it came to War, but it was the most intense. Obito, Rin, Madara, almost losing Naruto only to gain back his old student. Everything hit home in all the wrong ways and Kakashi was only recently finding himself feeling just fine.
He couldn’t imagine how his students were fairing.
Sasuke was still out trying to redeem himself, taking missions that were long and dangerous, avoiding the village at all costs while also being forced to check in more often than normal. Sakura was doing the best of them, used to blood and wounds from her training in hospitals and on the field.
He still caught her eyes drifting, gaze falling flat as she recalled something or another. Kaguya, Sasuke and Naruto rushing off to fight once more. Forcing Naruto’s heart to pump blood as he sat on the brink of death, feeling as desperate as Gaara had looked.
Kakashi wasn’t surprised to find that Naruto was hit the hardest.
Perhaps it was how he made his promise to protect and broke it so quickly. Or perhaps it had begun even earlier, when he’d first discovered that a war was happening right under his nose.
One with the greatest casualties ever recorded.
One being fought for his protection.
Iruka had mentioned something in passing one day as him and Kakashi had sat down for ramen. It was at Iruka’s request.
He took some time before mentioning, careful to make eye contact, that Naruto had felt it. The moment he’d stepped out, the Kyuubi’s energy flowing through him, he’d been hit full force with a battle hundreds of kilometers away. Iruka had no clue how the boy felt but he’d watched the emotions pass through his face, expressions too fast to identify.
But there was clear pain, of that much Iruka was certain.
Kakashi would have shrugged it off, saying that Naruto was strong and this was war.
But as the year passed, he found himself second guessing such a statement.
Everyone else seemed to move on, more or less. It wasn’t as if ninjas lived trauma-free (he was a prime example of that) but most ninjas found themselves facing the harsh truths of the world early on.
By the time the war rolled around, they’d all already experienced death and loss and pain. They knew how to deal with it. And yes, Neji hit hard, Obito as well, in Kakashi’s case, and seeing their old allies resurrected as enemies packed a punch, but they managed.
Naruto, however, hadn’t. Not really.
Worst of all, he didn’t talk about it.
Kakashi imagines that he might have spoken to Sasuke about it but he couldn’t be sure. The two didn’t really talk but they had an undeniable bond. Maybe they would have fought, getting out their aggression and pain in a less than manageable but surprisingly healthy way. But Sasuke was gone more often than not, avoiding everyone he could in the process.
Regrettably, that ‘everyone’ included Naruto. And the hurt that caused showed.
Hopping in through Naruto’s window, it was obvious. There were bags under his eyes - had been for what felt like months - and the smile that made its way onto his face was fake. So, so fake as it compressed the scars on his cheeks and didn’t quite reach his eyes.
And his face, typically so healthily tan, was almost white as a sheet, bags under his eyes more prominent than they had been previously.
It makes Kakashi’s stomach twist because Naruto could’ve fooled him. Could fool most anyone.
But he wouldn’t fool him. Probably hadn’t fooled any of his friends either; they were all trained, intelligent ninjas, especially Shikamaru.
When Kakashi speaks, he tries to go for one of his classic smiles but he’s watching the boys every move.
“They expect you to speak today.”
The boy doesn’t flinch, hardly reacts at all. Just slowly drags his gaze from the basket to the copy-cat ninja - was he still that? He didn’t have his Sharingan but some people still called him that.
Then, his smile falters, shifting into more of a grimace than anything.
“Oh.” The air grows stale after that. They stand there, sensei and student, the student having long surpassed him but the relationship stayed. It had become what Kakashi had always wanted, one of him looking out for his sensei’s son rather than as a bystander. That just makes it hurt more, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
Happy birthday, those were Minato’s last words to his son as the sun rose, gold washing over the remnants of that battle.
Was it right of him to say that? Would that cheer him up? It wasn’t as if the day was a joyous occasion and Naruto wouldn’t be fooled into thinking that.
It was a day for mourning, always had been and now it always will be. That had been stolen from him, too. A normal birthday. Instead, it was ripped out from under his feet and he’d been left, watching as the world around him treated the very day like a curse and him as the plague.
He decides to not wish him a happy birthday. Not for now, at least. Not after telling him that he was expected to say a few words at the anniversary of a war he was credited with ending. It didn’t sit right with him.
And so Konoha trickled in around the Memorial Stone, all in black, most with umbrellas.
Most of the ninjas, however, decided to stand in the rain. They let it soak their clothes and mat down their hair, plastering it to their cheeks and concealing any tears they might shed. It helped to ground them, the cold and the rain, the pressure of soaked clothing itching against their skin.
It helped.
Naruto was in the same state. His hair frizzed as the rain continued and the humidity fought its gravity. He didn’t mind, didn’t bother with it. But he stood a distance away from his friends. They stood in their clumps and Sakura had joined Ino, holding the girl's hand as she mourned for her father once more.
Naruto stood alone, waiting, hardly hearing as Tsunade said something or another, voice thick with emotions Naruto couldn’t quite feel.
The rain drew him further than he’d expected. He could almost taste dirt and mud and blood in his mouth, feeling how it coated his throat and filled his lungs, phantom but no less real.
Kakashi spoke, too. He was expected to be the next Hokage and he surely had words to say. He was a veteran amongst veterans, having suffered just as much as the next if not more so, Obito still fresh in his memory and the name still carved into the stone. It was admirable to watch him speak, uncaring of the rain that soaked his clothes, his mask, dripping heavily from his silver hair.
Then it was Naruto’s turn. He trudged forward, tried to roll back his shoulders and give off an air of confidence that he wasn’t feeling. They were still mourning, still sad, but it had been a year ago. It was a day that the community was just letting them feel that sadness again, but they’d gotten over it months ago, more or less. The wounds weren’t fresh but they still left deep scars that had yet to fade.
But they would fade.
Naruto wasn’t quite sure what he’d said, he hadn’t really thought of it. He talked of the scars of the war, of the people they’d lost, droning on for not too long but long enough, trying to lighten everything up without undermining the day’s importance.
The heavy hollowness of his chest refused to leave. Instead, it pulled behind his sternum as Naruto remembered that today was his birthday.
He’d almost forgotten.
The realization left him startled and he abruptly shut his mouth. Thankfully, he’d reached a point where he could end. If he hadn’t, he would’ve received more worried glances.
But the abrupt snapping shut of his mouth caught his friends off guard. Mechanically, he bowed to the stone, to Tsunade, and headed back to where he had been. In the front.
Eyes bored into the back of his head, his neck prickling at the familiar sensation.
They stayed like that. Naruto, being in the front, didn’t really sense the crowd dissipate. Instead, he stared at the stone through his blond fringe, eyes raking over the names over and over. Some he knew, most he didn’t. He stood there long enough, almost meditatively out of pure muscle memory. Breathing in and out and not permitting too many thoughts to cross his mind.
If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he could handle that. Thinking, feeling, existing in a reality that was just too... too much, for now. He just needed some time, that was all.
And then a rush of power tingles over his nerves. Familiar and warm and unwelcome. It’s thrums beneath his skin and around his eyes and he knows he’s been standing for too long.
Suddenly, he can feel everything.
And by everything, that included everyone.
The only people left were the ninjas, the people that had fought and had lost. Tsunade stayed there, speaking in hushed voices with Kakashi and a few others. His friends had crept closer, their sobs choked and ringing in Naruto’s ears.
He could also feel the people in the village. It wasn’t too far away and he followed their movements, how they began to go about their day. Many stayed home, a decent chunk were at the cemetery. All in mourning, auras dampened by more than the rain.
“Naruto, are you okay?”
The words are muffled and, honestly, Naruto doesn’t quite catch them.
He can feel everyone. Again. The chakra pours in and it’s unwelcome and he can’t breathe as easily as he could before. Instead, he’s left with nausea pooling in his gut and images flashing behind his eyes.
There were more people before.
Now, he feels their absence as clearly as he felt their disappearance.
“-ruto? Are you-”
A hand lands on his shoulder and he snaps. It’s pure muscle memory, that of him twisting the hand before spinning around the person, pining their arm behind them and pressing, his other hand on their shoulder.
They stand their, silence broken only by the rain and distant gasps.
When Naruto blinks water droplets from his eyes and sees the bright pink, he recoils, hands flying away and eyes widening.
Sakura turns to face him, one hand rubbing the wrist he’d injured.
He doesn’t look at her face.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, throat pinched and voice tight. “I - sorry.”
“You okay?” He doesn’t answer, isn’t really sure who even asked, but soon he’s surrounded and he senses their chakras more than he sees them. It’s a blur of blues and grays, swirling around him, auras tense and unsure.
At least they aren’t stiflingly mournful.
He can focus on that. It’s better than the depression emanating from the village.
“Why’re… sage...”
He reaches out blindly for the aura in front of him. It’s soothing and he isn’t quite sure just who it is but that doesn’t really matter. There’s a pressure and soon his hand’s being held. Not long after, there’s a pressure against his chest and around his body, warm and not as compressing as the coil of anxiety that he’d woken up to.
He wraps his arms around them. Tight, but gentle, as they are with him. And he sticks his face in their hair, feeling how it sticks to his cheeks and itches his skin.
He doesn’t care. Just holds himself there for a second and breathes. In, out, in, out, following the pattern being drawn into his back.
Words begin to meld into something coherent. Someone moves him, he thinks, but he isn’t sure until suddenly he’s sitting. Those arms are still around him, soothing and gentle, whispers reaching his ears.
“Breathe, you’re okay. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four, five. Out, two, three, four, five, six… seven...”
This time, Naruto obeys seamlessly and he presses his forehead into the crook of their shoulder.
They’re smaller than him, he realizes, and as he blinks and takes in reality, he finds his vision overtaken by pink.
Oh, he startles and practically rips himself from Sakura’s grip-
Or, he tries to, but she’s strong and holds him steady, a firm hand on the back of his head that had been carding through his messy hair.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” She says but he can’t really answer her just yet. His eyes are blown wide and he sees the others.
And while they’re not staring at him, they’re still there, waiting.
And if their expressions are anything to go by, they’re not going to just let him walk away as if nothing happened.
“How troublesome,” Shikamaru drones as he meets Naruto’s gaze, “did you really accidentally go into sage mode?”
“I don’t know if that’s stupidity or talent. Maybe both,” Ino says after a moment and Naruto has no words. Thankfully, they don’t expect his response. Instead, they opt to talk amongst themselves while periodically checking in on him.
For that, he’s thankful. It isn’t until the orange has faded from around his eyes and their chakra signatures drift into what’s normal that he slumps. Sakura seems to notice because she pats his back before leaning away. He let’s her and balances himself, taking in a deep breath and he tilts his head up.
Ah, he muses, eyes finding the blue of the sky, it stopped raining.
And in the sun that breaks through the still looming clouds, he smiles. Something real and genuine that catches his friends off guard. It crinkles around his eyes and his sigh is both heavy and relieved. And God, if it didn’t feel good to just breathe again. It was like a breath of fresh air, something crisp and cool as it filled his lungs larger than he thought possible. Another exhale, this one lighter than the last, more controlled. He can feel it filter feeling through his limbs, that previous static numbness being overwritten in one fell swoop.
“Are you okay now?” Sakura asks and he lifts his head to meet those bright eyes. They’re darkened with worry and it makes his stomach twist because it’s his fault. It’s all his fault.
“A-ah, ya! I’m okay now, believe it!”
She doesn’t, not if the pinch between her brows is anything to go by. The heavy sigh behind him is also enough of an indication.
Uh oh.
“Uh huh,” the lazy drawl makes a shiver of fear rush down Naruto’s spine. When he turns, there are fewer people than there had been.
Shikamaru, of course, being one of them.
“How much-” Hinata stops herself. She’d forced herself to stay, it seems, but when Naruto looks to her she eeps and hops back. Only, then she breathes and steels her nerves. He’d be proud of her if he weren’t being cornered. “How much do you feel? In - in sage… mode?” It makes sense, he supposes, that she'd understand how overwhelming sensing chakra could be.
The question makes Naruto’s heart drop but he just sends her a smile. It’s one of his blinding ones, the one that makes her stutter and blush and turn away from him.
Or it should. But while her face does flush a bright red and she does look away, she doesn’t run.
“Not that much, it’s just chakra signatures, ya know?”
“Then,” Shikamaru speaks up and his eyes are narrow and sharp, making a lump form in Naruto’s throat, “how much did you feel? Back then, with the Kyuubi’s chakra and everything?”
He’s smart. He’s too smart, but Naruto always knew that. He always knew that the laziest kid in the class was just bored, too intelligent to be captivated by long repetitive lectures on topics he already knew about by day one. He knew that.
But the question still catches him off guard and his mouth goes too dry to speak.
He tries, he really does, if only to keep up some semblance of normalcy. Only, when he opens his mouth, no words come out. He tries again, licks his lips and chews on his tongue because dammit, dammit, dammit, nothing comes out. It’s stuck in his throat, somewhere between his buzzing thoughts and the heart beating in his ears.
He swallows. It’s heavy and thick and he winces because he’s really not playing this off.
He’s better than this.
Naruto sucks on his bottom lip as he realizes that not only are they not letting this go, they’re also not throwing him a lifeline. They’re just waiting as if they know that if they do anything, he’ll use it to run away and not face what he was just forced to.
“You-” he clears his throat and ignores the heat of his cheeks. His inhale rattles his lungs and he winces at how meek he sounds, so weak and insecure and broken.
And oh does he sound like he’s cracking at the seams.
“You know how many people died?”
Shikamaru narrows his eyes at that and Sakura shifts. Hinata’s eyes fall and dammit he knows she’s thinking about Neji.
Honestly, Neji hadn’t crossed his mind just then. He watched Neji die. There wasn’t any weird overlap; he had been weak at the time, depleted of chakra, so he knew what happened and it didn’t sink into his bones as if he’d felt it. It hurt but it was different.
“I mean-” he laughs. It’s a choked sound and he runs his fingers through his spiked hair, shaking out the little water that hadn’t been absorbed. “Of course you do, it was… it was...” the next exhale is heavy and he can’t stop him smile from dropping. The muscles of his face relax and it's terrifying. Terrifying how he can't hold it up, can’t help how his shoulders slump and his eyes burn. “There were…” a tear slips past as that emptiness returns. It coils around his lungs, cold and unsettling and he’d much prefer numbness over this. Over facing reality like this. “So many people got left behind, ya know? A lot of people, they just… died. Forgotten.”
They don’t seem to get it and Naruto could cry from relief. They also don’t ask and he almost smiles at that. Is almost able to race away because yes, he spoke, that should be enough.
Then a hand lands on his shoulder. Steady and comforting, and it squeezes, the warmth seeping through the chill of his soaked clothing. His head snaps up and he meets Shikamaru’s gaze. It’s soft, understanding, a certain sadness creasing his brows as he slowly lowers himself to Naruto’s eye level, resting on his haunches.
He nibbles on his lip and that makes Naruto hold his breath. It catches in his throat because Shikamaru’s at a loss for words. Shikamaru, of all people. The smartest person Naruto knows. And he’s reaching for something in a void that Naruto won’t help him navigate.
He breathes and Naruto can’t look away, not when his friend’s trying so hard. He doesn’t miss how another hand falls on his other shoulder, Sakura helping to ground the blond.
“Did you feel them die?”
The question sucks the life from his lungs and he - he stops breathing. His mouth snaps shut and he holds his breath and he can’t look away but he doesn’t want to make any eye contact because - because-
Because he’s an open book. He’s never been good at hiding what he was feeling. It’s why he so often lets his eyes screw shut when he smiles and laughs. It’s easier. This time, however, he can feel how broken he must look, how his eyes must seem foggy and gray, how his lip trembles and how the bags beneath his eyes seem to sink deeper.
Half buried in mud, waiting for a release, choking for air and on blood and waiting, waiting, waiting.
For no one.
For release. Precious, blissful release.
Naruto wasn’t sure if it was blissful. The release left him feeling empty more than anything. A loss of something that he could never get back.
He can’t get the words out so he gnaws on his lip. And he nods. It’s a short, small movement, a confession he can’t quite articulate.
He had no right to feel so broken over this, he really didn’t. It wasn’t - the war was his fault, in a twisted way. And sure, the ten tails and all that, that wasn’t on him. That was something the Akatsuki had been planning since before his birth, but the war? The casualties that were kept hidden from him.
The people that he didn’t feel die, the people that left the world without anyone being there for them?
It was a weight that had been pressing down on him over the past year. A birthday present that left a sick, sour taste in his mouth.
He nods again, eyes finally falling, hands shifting to grab each other. His fingers entwine and it feels weird and unnatural, as if his hands aren’t his own.
Drowning, they were drowning.
“Naruto-”
“But I’m fine, really.” He couldn’t even fool himself. The words sound choked and they crack on their way out. It’s so bad that he flinches and sags.
They weren’t going to let that go.
The hands don’t move away from his shoulders and the others move closer, keeping enough of a distance. But their warmth reaches him and his head falls further.
The tears come slow at first. It’s in the tremble of his shoulders, in how he bites his lip so hard his canines pierce the soft flesh, filling his mouth with the metallic taste of-
Iron.
Like that blood-soaked mud that had coated those soon-to-be corpses, leaving them to die as they gurgled on a mix of their own blood and the enemies. A disgusting combination, one that they didn’t have the energy to think about.
They were dying anyway. What was the point?
“-ruto!” The shout pulls him back and he reaches.
He has to. He’s falling, again, and he doesn’t like it. His eyes are burning and he feels a new wetness to his cheeks and he reaches to fast he almost hits Shikamaru in the face. But the hands are there and they’re holding his arms. He can’t be sure how many people are around him but he lets it happen. He lets their soothing touches keep him grounded. Their soft words brush his ears, and while he can’t be sure just what they’re saying, he knows they’re trying to comfort him.
And they’re succeeding.
If he weren’t sobbing, ugly with big tears rolling down his cheeks and struggled gasps hitching his lungs, he might have smiled.
And they watch him just break down. On the anniversary of that final battle, on his birthday, forgotten in the mess of their mourning. Crying over something they couldn't begin to understand, something that hadn't even crossed their minds.
Something that had clearly been eating him alive.
A feeling of failure washed over them as they realized how badly they messed up, how horrible they had been, to not think of really checking in on the blond. The blond that always checked in on them.
They had been fooled.
Never again, they vow as they watch the blond slump and cry, lost in memories that weren't his own but still so vivid. Never again.