Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The truth is: Naruto could have been well-trained, powerful and popular.

Given the size of his chakra reserves and the amount of sheer bullheaded determination, not to mention the tailed beast sealed inside him, Naruto was always going to grow into a force to be reckoned with—but with the right encouragement, he could have flourished long before he proved his worth to the village. Could have built that strength on a solid foundation and healthy sense of self.

His parents may have died within the hour of his birth but Naruto is a child of Konoha, an important child at that, and the care he needs was well within the village’s ability to provide.

It would have been easy.

Naruto could have, should have, grown up happy and beloved. Except that is a lie, isn’t it?

The truth is, Naruto could be none of those things. Because Naruto, before anything else, above anything else, is a jinchuuriki—and no Hidden Village has use for an independent jinchuuriki.

So instead what follows are politics and posturing and maneuvering. And the people who should have cared—the ones who pretend they still do, even though they can barely bring themselves to look at the child and certainly don’t manage to see beyond the whisker-like marks drawn like faint scars on his cheeks—don’t or don’t care enough to intervene because sending him to an orphanage under his mother’s name is for the best, isn’t it.

This way, at least, the boy will be safe from a dead man’s enemies and from Danzo’s scheming. This way, at least, the boy won’t be raised to be a weapon.

It is the greatest kindness the Sandaime is willing to afford the only child of his successor.

So Naruto isn’t Root, doesn’t ever become Root, but he grows up ignorant, isolated, alone. Keep a child reliant on the few who have shown him kindness and it might give you a better, more effective weapon than if you train the emotions out of them entirely is not a thought any one member of the Council will ever admit to having thought. But.

If it hasn’t occurred to them yet, it will.

And maybe there is no one evil mastermind pulling strings in the background. Maybe there are just ten, twenty, several dozen and a hundred more people who make selfish, greedy, cowardly, calculated, justifiable choices.

The choice to keep quiet. The choice to follow orders. The choice to look away. The choice to sacrifice a single child for a greater scheme.

Maybe that makes it worse.

Naruto hasn’t decided how he feels about Konoha yet. He hasn’t decided a lot of things.

He slowly—for him—slurps down the last mouthful of his third helping of ramen and gently sets the bowl down on the table in front of him. Smiles at the Hokage—Sarutobi Hiruzen, Jiji, the old man with the kind smile and hard eyes, one of three people who is openly nice to him, if always for more than one reason—who is currently doing a very good job at trying to entice Naruto into signing up for the Academy. To start his career as a real shinobi.

Naruto wonders what would happen if he refused. He thinks of another Naruto just like him, alone in all the ways that matters, who has been told to be more human and less demonic because their humanity is the only thing that separates shinobi from weapons in the end by a different Sarutobi Hiruzen under startlingly similar circumstances.

—["What are shinobi if not weapons?" that Naruto had shot back with too much coldness, not enough heart, a few worlds to the left, and they broke him for that. But maybe that’s alright.
He’ll return the favor.
He’ll break their world.]—

He amps up his smile, as bright and carefree as he knows how to be, and agrees with the same childish enthusiasm that has spared multiple Narutos in worlds just a few shades off this one a similar fate.

"I can’t wait to be a real ninja!" he exclaims. "Better watch out, old man. I’m gonna be the next Hokage, believe it!"

Jiji smiles indulgently, a rare treat even in the face of some of Naruto’s best—most harmless—selves. "I’m sure you will," he says in the tone people take when they disagree with small children but don’t want to tell them that.

It grates but Naruto allows the uncharitable feeling to slide off his shoulders and down his back. It doesn’t matter what the Hokage thinks. Naruto doesn’t need anyone else to believe in him. He never has.

After all…

After all.

The truth is: Naruto—this Naruto—is never going to be Hokage of Konoha—this Konoha, as it is here and now. At some point something will have to give.

But not yet.

Naruto softens his expression into a cheerful grin—genuine for all that it is also practiced—and proceeds to educate Jiji on the very specific plans he has for various dearly needed changes in the village—from the amount of ramen available for Konoha’s lovely people to the weird shape of the Hokage’s hat that really, really needs to go—and allows himself to enjoy this peaceful moment.

He knows better than most, better than anyone can reasonably expect him to, that it won’t last.

It never does.

The truth is: Konoha has failed Naruto. Knowingly. Purposefully. In many ways, for many reasons and armed with even more excuses that he is sure he will get tired of hearing one day, once people realize that he understands enough about the way the world works to realize that he deserves an apology. He probably won't get them from the people who matter though. Not an honest one at least.

Naruto swings his feet back and forth and stares down at the village he has lived inside all his life from the top of the Hokage monument

—[sees wrathful flames consume the Hokage tower, almost completely hidden in an ever blackening fog of smoke and ash]—
—[sees a bustling street filled with haggling merchants and civilians going about their way, the odd one looking up and waving in his direction from too far away to make out their identity]—

and he thinks he doesn’t mind as much as he should.

The scales will balance out in the end. Naruto will make sure of it.

Chapter Text

At two years old, one of the orphanage’s caretakers—newly hired, with eyes hollowed out from grief instead of stress—suffocates Naruto with a pillow.

Through a stroke of what is either luck or more resilience than anyone likes to attribute to a small toddler who contains a demonic parasite, Naruto doesn’t die.

There’s shouting and then someone rips the pillow off his face and one of Naruto’s first clear memories is this: blinking into the dim light, with no idea what just happened or why his chest hurts so much. When he turns his head sideways, the people that he thinks should be there, vaguely senses must have been there moments before, are gone. 

[There is a small, blonde boy in the corner of an empty room, who is lying on a bed just like his. 

The boy doesn’t move.]

Naruto falls asleep watching the motionless boy. When he wakes up in the morning, he is dressed by a new caretaker he has never seen before. One who refuses to look directly at Naruto and smells so strongly of terror that it makes Naruto sneeze.

[Uzumaki Naruto gleams in the sunlight, the latest addition to a long row of names on the memorial stone.

An old man, head bent low. "I’m sorry for failing you, child."]

His caretaker almost drops Naruto in his hurry and the sad man tumbles out of view. Naruto doesn’t see him again.

Not until several weeks later, when an old man wearing long, white robes and an odd hat steps through the door that encompasses most of Naruto’s world and slowly crouches down in front of Naruto. The old man is circled by even more shadows than Naruto has and when their eyes meet, he smiles.

He looks better when he isn’t so sad.

"Hello, Naruto-kun. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Naruto decides he likes the old man. He likes to see him smile.

There are consequences to sealing a giant chakra construct into a newborn child.

From the day Uzumaki Naruto is born the same volatile, corrosive power that has enveloped him from the moment of his conception lives and breathes and writhes underneath his skin. Caged and contained by one of the most complex seals fuinjutsu prodigy Namikaze Minato has had the time to develop and yet not perfect, nor completely sealed—for what use is a jinchuuriki without access to the chakra that turns them into living weapons of mass destruction? Even beyond that the seal is not flawless. Has been born out of desperation and hope on a foundation of once-in-a-generation brilliance and so, after the dust has settled, even the mighty Toad Sage is left guessing as he attempts to decipher his student’s work. 

He does his best. Confirms that the seal is stable and that any attempt to mess with it has a higher chance of destabilizing rather than improving it. A risk Konoha cannot afford to take so soon after the Kyuubi’s rampage—nor is it one Jiraiya is willing to take with his godson’s life on the line. Not without further research and a better understanding of the high-level sealing arts, too much of which have been lost in the wake of Uzushio’s destruction.

And so the seal remains as it is. Is deemed 'good enough’, even though there is a door left ajar that should have been shut. It means that Naruto should be able to draw on the Kuuybi’s chakra one day, when he is old and trained enough to do so, Jiraiya assures his sensei. It does not mean that the Kyuubi can simply take over.

In a sense, he is right.

That does not change the fact that a door opens two ways. It does not change the fact that parts of the Kyuubi, however infinitesimal, bleed over into the human child that has become its latest vessel.

Infinitesimal does not mean insignificant. 

There is no such thing as an insignificant amount when the line between human and cosmic force of energy blurs.

Naruto doesn’t have any particular opinion on food. He likes eating because it makes the gnawing feeling in his stomach go quieter—though it doesn’t ever go away because Naruto can eat a lot and the bowls his caretaker sets down on the floor a good three steps away before he leaves in a hurry are far from enough—but that’s about it. 

Some of the stuff he is brought tastes sweet, some makes the skin on top of his tongue curl a little. Most of it tastes bland. The same thing wrapped in different colors and textures.

No one explains what the different dishes are and Naruto doesn’t ask. He is young but he already knows that people don’t like it when he asks questions. Not even his shadows.

Thankfully that’s what Naruto has the blond boys for. Some of them are no help at all—crying and screaming, burning themselves in redredred—but some are brave and curious and have lots of people who answer their questions and explain things and sit down with them and play. Naruto always feels his stomach flip uncomfortably and something sick rolls up and down inside his chest when he finds one of them. But it’s nice to watch them, even if Naruto would like to have someone who plays with him as well. Being stuck inside his room for most of the day is boring.

Naruto slurps down his miso soup. [That’s what the man with the pretty white hair called it while he tried to convince the half-asleep blonde boy propped up on his hip to take a sip.] The room is quiet, aside from the bustling street outside. Naruto is still too short to look out of the window without climbing it though and his shadows always get agitated when he does that, so he decides on some less upsetting company instead. It’s still early, after all.

Decision made, Naruto crosses his eyes as he looks over the rim of his plate, not quite searching, not quite focusing and

["What’s this? What’s this?" the blond boy points so hard, he almost slams his finger through the bowl.

The woman rescues her plate with a laugh and shifts her hold on the squirming boy. "This," she says in a theatrical voice, "my dear Naru-kun, is the world’s greatest gift to humanity, the source of all that is good in the world. This is ramen."

The boy on her lap shifts forward and sniffs. His eyes are almost as red as the woman’s hair. "It doesn’t smell like Ichiraku."

"That’s because your father cooked it for me," the woman explains. "Wanna try?"

She’s grinning widely now, almost like she is about to play a prank. The boy squints suspiciously but opens his mouth obediently when she holds up a spoon for him.

"Eww!"

Only to spit the whole mouthful back out again—right inside the woman’s bowl. Who laughs so hard, she almost elbows it straight off the table.

"That’s awful!"

"Aw, come on, Naru-kun!" The woman cajoles once she has recovered from her laughing fit, though the occasional giggle still slips out. "It’s not that bad."

"It is! It’s very bad! It’s bad bad bad bad bad!" the boy insists. "Why do you eat it? You don’t like it either!"

"Because Minato made it for me." The woman’s amused expression softens. "It’s his way of telling me he loves me. That’s what ramen is, Naru-kun: love and happiness, shared with people you hold close to your heart."

The boy doesn’t look impressed. "Then why does it taste so bad?"

Another laugh, loud and unapologetic. "Because all the love in the world won’t make Minato a good cook."]

basks in the warmth of watching a blond boy be happy and cared for in a way that makes Naruto feel feather-light and too heavy at the same time.

When Jiji asks him during his next visit what Naruto would like for his birthday, Naruto shouts "Ramen!" before the old man has finished the question.

For some reason the answer makes Jiji sad. 

Naruto eats his first ramen—a huge take-away box with curious kanji he can’t read on it—locked up in his room in the orphanage, alone aside from the shadows who are more numerous today than on any other day, all but brimming with tension.

[there is a blond boy surrounded by angry grown-ups who are kicking and yelling and kicking and don’t stop—]

Naruto carefully angles his head away, focuses on the warmth seeping through the cardboard box, the steady focus of his shadows, the distant sounds from the festival in the streets that is almost enough to drown out the pained whimpers and wonders if this is what being cared for feels like. He wonders why the thought makes him want to cry.

The ramen doesn’t taste that bad.

He is wandering the streets, locked out of the orphanage again, as has been happening more often since Naruto has gotten too old to tolerate getting locked up in his room all day. It’s not fully dark yet but it has been raining heavily and the streets are mostly abandoned. 

Naruto doesn’t mind. He doesn’t have many good memories of crowds.

It’s no secret that people don’t like him.

Naruto trudges on, determined to at least find his way back to the little courtyard behind the old bakery, only a couple of blocks away from the orphanage. There is a little shack filled with dirt and tools so old, they look like they are going to crumble at the first touch—and usually do, when Naruto isn’t careful enough and brushes against one of them—but it’s dry and no one ever finds him there.

Except his shadows, but they don’t count. They follow him there, after all.

Right at the corner Naruto slows to a stop. There’s a streetlight to his left, illuminating the large display of a hair saloon whose owner chased him down the street just last week but Naruto doesn’t care about that right now. In the semi-dark, the glass looks like a window into a different world and Naruto is mesmerized by the blonde boy looking back at him, hair plastered to his forehead, mouth open.

Naruto slowly lifts his hand. Watches the boy in the glass do the same. And again. And again.

Oh.

That’s him.

The first time Naruto considers setting Konoha on fire—really considers it—he is five years old. He is standing in the middle of his own, empty apartment. Jiji has left hours ago, after handing him the key to the door, threatening the owner and reminding Naruto of several important rules now that he is old and responsible enough to live alone.

It sounds better than the truth, which is that the orphanage kicked him out. Naruto heard enough of the shouting match between the matron and the Hokage to know that much.

It’s okay though. He’s a little sad to lose his room because it’s been home for so long but Naruto doesn’t miss the persistent smell of terror mixed with disgust clogging up his nose. 

So he is a little sad and a lot overwhelmed with his new surroundings but not particularly angry. But when he tilts his head sideways, decides to fill this empty space with the only company he knows won’t ever refuse him—even though it also doesn’t acknowledge him—he sees

[A blond boy with burning red eyes, wrapped in a writhing aura of flames as dark red as the blood dripping from his clawed hands steps over the broken body of a masked ninja with no regard for the dead person at his feet.

Another ninja flickers into view, moving so fast they are almost invisible as they descend on the boy from behind. The boy flicks his fingers without turning, not even forming a proper sign, and the ninja is blasted through the wall of the closest building with a sickening crunch.

"Is that all you’ve got?" The sneer on the boy’s face deepens. "The great village of Konoha, unable to deal with a single child’s tantrum?"

More ninja join their compatriots on the ground, carelessly spread around like broken dolls by a kid that has lost all interest in them. There are civilians too, amidst the dead. Their lives end quicker but no less brutal.

"But then I’m not a child, am I?"

The boy growls from deep within his throat, an inhuman sound that vibrates through the air and freezes a couple of less experienced chunnin in their place. It is the last mistake they ever make.

"Naruto. Stop."

It’s not an order. Nor is it a plea.

The boy faces the masked man who has stepped into his path.

"Why should I? I am what you made me."

Around them, Konoha burns.]

something unexpected.

It is not the first time Naruto sees another Naruto snap. It is far from the first time he sees a Naruto kill. But every Naruto he sees is as old as he is—a child—and so these events always end the same.

With Naruto dead by the hands of the first competent ninja he comes across. This is the first one who is different. One who puts up a fight. Who succeeds. Who kills trained operatives—jounins, even—and makes it look easy. 

Naruto swallows hard as he watches the fight escalate. Watches the people who look like his shadows—ANBU guards, for your safety, the voice of a pretty blonde man whispers from several worlds to the right—fall to the boy who looks like him but is drenched in red. Feels his heart beat in his throat at the sight of silver hair matted with blood and a glowy eye that takes too much, swirling to life in defense of his team.

That could be me.

Naruto knows that. Has known it for a long time. But watching the battle unfold—watching this Naruto die only after slaughtering half the ANBU present and bringing down a building on top of the survivors for good measure—it occurs to him for the first time that he could do the same. 

This is the reason. This is why they’re so afraid of me. Because I could destroy the village and they couldn’t stop me until it’s too late.

And quieter, hidden in the deepest corner of Naruto’s mind.

Maybe one day they won’t be able to stop me at all.

Naruto sits down on the floor right where he stands. Anyone can get angry enough to kill someone. He’s seen it more often than anything else—usually the death of a Naruto at the hands of someone around him—so it was no shock to learn that he could kill someone as well. If anything it made sense.

But every time he watches a Naruto lose it, he is either killed for it or locked down and controlled in ways that make him wish they had killed those boys instead—knows in his heart that they will eventually, one way or the other, have only put off the inevitable to repay loss with even more suffering. This one is different. This one is killed because he wants to, because he leaves his opponents no other option. No chance to take him alive.

And…

There’s plenty of times when Naruto is angry. When the disdain and the fear become too much. When the insults are impossible to drown out and the doors slammed in his face, the too-high prices the merchants demand for dealing with a demon just aren’t worth it.

I want to burn this stupid place to the ground is a thought Naruto has had before. Out of hurt. Out of frustration. Knowing that it is an actual possibility, a real choice he could make, is different. Because that means not doing it is also a choice.

There is something about the weight of this realization—the freedom in it—that terrifies Naruto more than the deaths of the many, many other Narutos he has seen.

"Do you know who my parents were?" Naruto asks Jiji over a bowl of ramen the two of them share in Naruto’s apartment. Well, his sixth bowl, but it’s not like Konoha’s Hokage can’t afford it.

[His mother from a different world was right: ramen taste so much better when you share them with people you care about.]

He has gotten better at asking questions since, nowadays, he tends to know the answers. Which makes asking all the more important because the answers tell Naruto what other people want him to believe. One problem with asking questions that he hasn’t figured out how to fix though: the answers aren’t always ones you want to hear.

"Ah." Jiji’s face creases the way it always does when Naruto brings up a topic the old man would prefer to avoid. "I’m afraid that a lot of children were orphaned in the Kyuubi attack, Naruto-kun. It was quite impossible to keep track of all of them."

"Oh." Naruto slumps a little further into his seat.

The disappointment stings. Just the other day he has seen another Jiji take his Naruto aside and entrust him with the truth. He is both surprised and not that his own Jiji has made a different choice.

The academy is a joke. A cruel one that makes Naruto choke instead of laugh.

Whether it is good or bad luck, fact is, Naruto’s class is filled with clan kids. Clan heirs, even. And that means that the teachers barely bother to acknowledge the civilian kids in their midst. Never mind Naruto.

The lectures are boring. Some of it Naruto already knows. Most of it makes no sense. When he tries to ask a question, his sensei cuts him off with a glare that doesn’t manage to cover up his disgust and tells him Naruto is lucky to have been allowed to walk through the door, he will not be allowed to waste everyone else’s time with his pointless jabbering. Some of the other teachers are less vocal—one is even kind—but they all treat Naruto like he is stupid.

Naruto isn’t stupid. He acts stupid sometimes, and not always on purpose either. It’s just.. He forgets himself. Mentions things he shouldn’t know. Gets the truths of different Narutos’ lives mixed up and makes a mess of them.

But he is not stupid. When their sensei teaches them their first real jutsu, Naruto proves it. His henge is perfect on the first try.

[Feel out the shape of it, Naru-kun. It’s alright. Take your time. You don’t have to get it right the first time. There’s no rush," Kashi-nii’s warm voice murmurs from a world far off this one.]

The instructor tells him off for showing off and playing around, then proceeds to kick Naruto out of his classroom for cheating. He is loud and furious but Naruto isn’t fooled.

He sees the fear in the woman’s eyes. 

And. It is an old lesson but a well-ingrained one: Fear is dangerous.

["You’re not welcome here, demon."]

Naruto doesn’t manage any of the other jutsu. Not even a little. His startling success with the transformation technique is an exception, a freak accident. A couple of months later, Naruto figures out how to turn himself into a half-naked girl with huge boobs, which gathers too much embarrassment and outrage for the fear to take root—and finally silences the last whispers that of course the demon can reshape himself, lies and trickery come natural to it.

["Talent like that needs to be nurtured carefully," Councilman Danzo murmurs into another Sarutobi’s ear. That old man picks a bad time and person to finally start listening.]

No, Naruto isn’t stupid but he is a terrible student. He gets distracted half-way through his homework if he bothers to turn it in at all. He sleeps through almost as many classes as Shikamaru, with none of the private training to fall back on. He trips over his own two feet, overshoots, overreaches every single move their taijutsu instructor shows them. He talks back at teachers and plays silly pranks that make half the class laugh and the other half shriek.

The academy is a joke. So Naruto treats it like one.

Naruto is seven when the balance begins to shift. A change that moves so slowly, it will take close to a decade to unfold and yet.

If Naruto wasn’t Naruto, was one of the other Narutos, he wouldn’t have noticed what is happening. Even if he had caught on at some point, years later, Naruto doubts that he would have traced the origin back this far. There is too much happening, muddying the waters, and tragedies have a way of distorting the lenses of everyone. Even those who were never touched by it.

As it is, at seven Naruto has gotten used to watching other Narutos turn on Konoha. To lose themselves to the rage and the fear and the helplessness until the only thing they know is pain. And pain is like an illness. It demands to be spread.

What used to be murder has turned into slaughter as Naruto grows older. He has lost count of the number of ninjas it takes to bring the other Narutos down. Sometimes they do a better job because their Naruto gives them more time to prepare, but other times they just snap. Those are always the best. The worst.

Overall though, while the numbers of the dead and injured keep rising as he grows, the end remains the same: the Narutos die. The only question is how much of their village they take with them as they go.

Naruto regrets being unable to see those villages after, sometimes. He would like to see if they have a chance to rebuild. Or if one of Konoha’s many enemies strikes while they have the chance and those villages are obliterated for good.

Naruto is seven when the Uchiha clan is massacred in a single night by their own prodigy.

[An entire clan is not eradicated by a single hand, another Naruto murmurs to another Shikamaru fifteen worlds over. 

Troublesome, that Shikamaru mutters back. It is the start of a conspiracy theory that is going to reshape the future of their entire village.]

His Shikamaru sleeps through all their morning classes. Naruto nods at him on his way out of the classroom because his Shikamaru is a friend too, but they aren’t as close here. The Nara far more careful in their movements.

It’s a shame. But Naruto is used to letting go of unrealized possibilities. He works hard not to let them diminish the life he calls his own.

Two and a half months after that day, where a conversation could have happened but didn’t, after a mad scramble of a last-minute-plan to save one of Konoha’s founding clans failed with devastating consequences, he witnesses for the first time as a Naruto burns his Konoha to the ground until there is nothing left but ashes. 

There is only one known glowy eye left within his village’s, most villages walls now—and Hound is on far more missions than his psych evals qualify him for. Besides Hound is…complicated.

Naruto expects the many versions of his village to catch on to that weakness and perhaps some do. But as time passes, the Konohas that manage to stop their Naruto once he makes up his mind to make them pay grows smaller and smaller at a frightening rate.

Maybe one day, no one will be able to stop those hims. Any of the hims. It’s a scary thought. 

'I am what you made me.'

The words haunt Naruto long after the Naruto who spoke them into existence has been removed from his world with no marker and no grave to remember him by. Perhaps because he cannot help but wonder: What is it that this Konoha, his Konoha, is going to shape him into?

And is he willing to give the people around him so much power? What about what Naruto makes himself?

Naruto fails the genin test and officially learns that he is the Kyuubi’s container. He maybe forgets to be surprised. It is a good thing that the drama of Mizuki’s betrayal and Iruka’s heartfelt defense overshadows any reaction he may or may not have had. 

In this world, unlike most worlds, Naruto really likes Iruka.

Against the odds, Naruto likes his team. 

He is part of Team Seven in its most common formation; with Uchiha Sasuke and Haruno Sakura as his team members and Hatake Kakashi as their jounin sensei. A predictable match—not always the one with the best results but when they click, they are devastating—but one Naruto appreciates. There is always the chance that Jiji changes his mind and while there are better teams out there, ones more suited for the children they are here, there are worse combinations too.

Besides Naruto finally gets to spend time with Kakashi. Not Hound, occasionally watching from the shadows but Kakashi. 

His Kakashi is not Kashi-nii, hasn’t stepped out of Anbu until he was ordered to and has no clue what he is supposed to do with three grass green genin. His Kakashi doesn’t look at him directly, always keeps his gaze focused a little to the side unless Naruto leaves him no other choice. His Kakashi dismisses Naruto and Sakura both, focuses all—most—of his attention on Sasuke. 

But it is his Kakashi—the only one he has here—and Naruto delights in finally getting to know him. Just a little. As much as Kakashi lets them.

Sakura doesn’t like him and Sasuke dismisses him as irrelevant, which is interesting. Sometimes when they argue with each other, when they have worn each other down until even too-good-for-this Sasuke gets dragged into the childish fights, Naruto can see how it could work. How, with just a little less vitriol, they could be more than anyone imagines.

They aren’t though.

Naruto doesn’t know why. It’s hard to tell if the sole difference between the worlds are people’s individual choices because those choices are cumulative. They build on each other and affect each other—and not always in the ways one would expect. But he thinks it is fair to say that here and now, none of them are the best person they could be, for each other or themselves.

Still. Naruto likes his team.

He likes Kakashi, who is perpetually late and never gives a straight answer. He likes Sasuke, who snarls and grumbles and has absolutely no idea what to do when confronted with genuine kindness that doesn’t come with an army of rabid fangirls. He likes Sakura, who sometimes forgets to pretend who she thinks she should be and gives even Kakashi pause with the creativity of her threats.

Most of all, Naruto likes his team for the people they could have been. The people they are somewhere else.

["We’re family. You’re not getting rid off us now, idiot."]

There is a cage inside his mind. Naruto can’t say he is surprised. The Kyuubi has to be somewhere, after all. This is not what he expected though. 

In his defense: the only times Naruto has seen anything resembling the Kyuubi, he has seen himself drenched in a corrosive red, his shadow drawn out into a massive hulking creature. This being, pulsing with blind rage and bitter hatred, is different and yet Naruto knows immediately what it is he is facing.

"Hi," he says because he has never met the demon fox. Has never watched another Naruto meet his demon either. "What’s your name?"

The fox roars. Throws himself against the bars hard enough to make the entire cage shake but not budge.

"As if I’d tell a worthless sack of meat like you!" rings in Naruto’s head long after he wakes up.

It sounds like a challenge.

"You're Kurama, right?"

The Kyuubi’s shock is worth getting kicked out of his own head. And the splitting headache that lasts the rest of the week.

The more Naruto interacts with Kurama, the more aware he becomes of the fox. And the fox of him.

The first time Kurama is awake while Naruto watches another Naruto fight one of the other Chunnin hopefuls, he only realizes the fox is there because he feels a sudden wave of confused disbelief that is not his own.

'What in the Sage’s name…?!'

"Haven’t you ever watched other yous go about their lives?" Naruto asks curiously as the other Naruto beats his opponent. 

'…you’re one strange brat.'

When Naruto’s name finally gets called in this world, he has already watched every possible pair-up. He doesn’t need the edge to beat Kiba, but it doesn’t hurt to know what his classmate has learned since they both left the academy.

'You’re a walking talking cheat sheet,' Kurama grumbles in his head. He sounds almost impressed.

Kurama is the first person Naruto shares his ability with. The only person too—insofar as an intangible fox demon sealed inside his stomach counts as a person. 

Naruto has never before considered telling anyone about the worlds he sees but it is kind of nice to have someone else to talk to. To snort at the jokes Naruto makes that aren’t really funny. To snark back and forth with when people lie and lie and keep lying and Naruto can’t be bothered to explain to them that he already knows and could they please stop playing these stupid games. 

Sometimes having Kurama in his head, snarling insults at the world around him, is the only thing that reminds Naruto to keep playing his part.

'Hatred should come easy to you, brat. You’re not so stupid as you make it seem. You know the depths the scum around you is willing to sink to. The things they have already done. Or would have done, if given the chance.'

Naruto pauses. It hasn’t occurred to him until now but they have never talked about this, have they.

"I do hate them," Naruto admits quietly. "I love them too, but that doesn’t erase the hatred. That doesn’t mean it isn’t there."

'Then why keep up this farce?' And maybe this is just another one of Kurama’s attempts to tempt him into becoming the Kyuubi’s puppet but Naruto can feel the genuine confusion behind it. The bafflement. Kurama is a creature of hate, of course he doesn’t understand.

Some days Naruto isn’t sure he does.

"Because no other me has." He is not explaining that right, is he? Naruto shakes his head. "I mean, I already know what is going to happen if I give into hatred. I’ve seen it many times over. This," he gestures at their surroundings, "I haven’t seen. Laughing. Making jokes. Forgiving. Offering a hand or a chance. And sometimes people surprise me. Sometimes they accept."

Not always. Not even most of the time. But Naruto doesn’t mind that. He doesn’t care enough about the repercussions if he fails, if he falls, to stop.

'Hmpf. If you cared that much about your precious village, why not tell that crazy sensei of yours about the robed freaks?'

"Why should I?" Naruto frowns, confused. "I’m not trying to save the village. I’m just trying to do something new."

As long as he doesn’t get stuck in the paths treaded by a hundred other Narutos, he doesn’t mind where the road leads. And. Maybe there is another part to it, one that Naruto doesn’t like to look at too closely. One that lingers on the outer edge of a dark tunnel filled with sewage water that whispers 'Who are we to fix Konoha’s problems for them?’

Spite isn’t hatred, is it?

"How can you do this?" Sakura asks. "How can you just forgive Sasuke?"

She hasn’t argued against Naruto’s suggestion to go after Sasuke one more time. Not until the others have left to prepare for their upcoming mission at least. Now though she is facing him with hard eyes and an edge of incredulity that does nothing to soften her stance.

It gives Naruto pause. He doesn’t know this Sakura, his Sakura, as well as he does other versions of her. That makes their interactions awkward sometimes, makes Naruto unsure of the lines between them. In the end, he settles on honesty because it is the only answer he has to give.

Because he doesn’t like lying to the few people who matter to him.

"Because someone should."

[Another Naruto kills his Sasuke.]

[Another Sasuke kills his Naruto.]

[They are evenly matched across a surprising amount of worlds.]

The words hang in the air between them for a long moment. A declaration and a confession in one, even though Naruto doesn’t mean for them to be. He is not sure what this Sakura reads out of them either.

Sakura shakes her head. "Some things can’t be taken back."

This is not the Sakura who chose her team over the village. This is not the Sakura who turned her back on Konoha without hesitation. This is not the Sakura who loves Sasuke like a brother, who would do anything to get him back. That is fine. Naruto already knows how those stories end and he doesn’t wish any of them on his Sakura. But. Just like he holds onto her as much as he can, he is not willing to let go of his Sasuke either.

They are not quite the people he loves, not quite the people he wants them to be, but they are the only versions of themselves he has and Naruto refuses to give them up without a fight. Not when no other Naruto has ever gone down this path. Not when Sasuke might still change his mind—because every offer extended is another chance—and it is within Naruto’s power to extend that hand.

Not when Naruto will take any excuse he can get to get out of Konoha for a while. He hasn’t been back for long yet it has been far too long already.

"True," Naruto nevertheless acknowledges. "But we all decide for ourselves what those things are."

"That’s what scares me," Sakura admits. She is still staring at him as though Naruto is a puzzle she cannot quite put together.

Naruto doesn’t evade her gaze. "Are you coming or not?"

"You’re too kind for your own good," Gaara says apropos nothing, as they stand sight by side in his make-shift office. "Kinder than this world deserves."

Spoken from another jinchuriki, even a former one—an ally in more worlds than not, a rare dear friend in this one—the words, the acknowledgement matters more than it would otherwise have. Naruto allows the ever-present grin to slide off his face. Allows the words to reach him.

I see you, Gaara means to say.

Perhaps he does. He is certainly one of the few who tries and Naruto cannot help but honor that.

"I don’t know," he muses. Shoots a glance at the war council locked into a heated debate in the adjourning room, where the leaders of their respective forces make the best of a terrible situation and come up with what plans and maneuvers they can. It won’t be enough. It never is, at this point. They are too late in the game and the board has been stacked against them from the start. "Am I?"

Is this kindness?

Gaara pulls his lips back over his teeth, a hint of Shukaku’s inhumane bloodlust in the shadows haunting his eyes. His voice, in contrast, is soft. "You haven’t given up on your village yet."

It is an observation, not a question. 

Naruto inclines his head. Doesn’t argue the statement. Doesn’t argue what the 'yet' implies.

They understand each other. 

When the Forth Shinobi World War comes, Naruto fights for Konoha. He is one of the village’s brightest, most promising stars. A loyal shinobi through and through, as anyone will confirm.

A success story, from beginning to the end.

"You’re a credit to your village, Uzumaki Naruto," one of the Raikage’s advisors simpers, while everyone is busy trying to get the formalities out of the way without looking like they are one wrong hand movement away from killing each other. No one, not even A, is in the mood for yet another war. "Konoha has taught you well."

Naruto looks the woman straight in the eyes, smiles as bright as the midday sun and says without a trace of irony: "I am what my village made me."

In the back of Naruto’s head, where no one other than him can hear, Kurama laughs and laughs and laughs.

Chapter Text

"What’s wrong?" Naruto asks into the oppressive silence between them.

Sakura snorts. Shakes her head. "What isn’t?" 

She is not looking at him.

Naruto frowns but doesn’t speak up. The silence lingers, heavy. Fills with something he cannot pinpoint. Sometimes it feels like the people who are actually his make the least sense out of everyone he sees.

"I just…" Sakura sighs. "I don’t understand. How we got here, you know. One moment my biggest worry is getting Sasuke to notice me and the next we’re at war with half the world. For the world." She waves her hands around as though trying and failing to wrap her head around the sheer enormity of what they are facing. "How did it get this bad? How did we let it get this bad?"

Naruto shrugs. He could say 'I don’t know' but that would be a lie. He could say 'Trust me, things could be worse' but that would lead to more questions and eventually different lies. None of it would make Sakura feel better, anyway.

Thankfully, she seems to get a hold of herself quickly, if the eye roll in his direction is anything to go by. "Look whom I talking to. You’re like the most immovable person I know. Nothing ever touches you, does it?" She sounds a little bitter.

"Uhm." Naruto tries to think of something to say that won’t get him punched through a couple of trees. He fails.

"Forget I said anything." Sakura shakes her head. "I’m just angry."

Well, yeah. His Sakura is always angry.

"It’s fine," Naruto settles on, which has the benefit of being true. This is Sakura’s first potentially world-ending event. It is only fair that she gets to break down over it. Naruto has done that too, the first ten or a dozen times. "Get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch."

"Right." Sakura drawls in that I-cannot-believe-you-have-survived-to-this-age-with-how-much-of-an-idiot-you-are tone she has perfected over the years. "Sleep."

Naruto doesn’t get it. But Sakura stands up after a couple of seconds, ruffles his hair as she walks around him like she only wants to hit him a little, and curls herself up on her bedroll, so Naruto lets it be.

And if it feels a bit like a missed chance, well, he has plenty of practice letting those slide off his back. Unlamented and unmourned.

Over the years, the academy remains as useless as it was when Naruto first started—even if Iruka-sensei actually puts effort into teaching everyone, not just the clan kids, even Naruto—despite the numerous rants that have ensured that Jiji is well aware of the issue. Maybe the old man doesn’t take Naruto’s complaints seriously. Or maybe there are more important things the Hokage has to fix.

Either way—Naruto could train by himself.

He is not a clan kid but he has something even better: access to hundreds of other Narutos in other worlds, who are taught so many fascinating things. Narutos who grow up with their parents to watch out for them and teach them sealing and how to shape their chakra into awesome chains and how to sneak around the guards without getting caught. Narutos who are raised by Kashi-nii, who learn a hundred jutsus they probably shouldn’t know before they become genin and then a couple more he really shouldn’t, in those worlds where Kashi-nii is particularly unhinged. Narutos who grow up with Jirayia of the Sannin as their weird but caring uncle, who has never learned what is appropriate for a child to know and isn’t about to start now. There are even a handful of Narutos who are raised in the ruins of Uzushio, who grow up with the knowledge of what it means to be an Uzumaki in their bones.

There are plenty of things Naruto learns every day by watching different Narutos go through their lives but that is not the same as practicing the signs, the seals, the movements. To really use what he knows is possible, Naruto needs to train.

And he could.

Maybe—given everything he knows about Konoha and the world beyond its borders—he even should. Naruto is a target and a weapon both and he needs every advantage he can get his hands on to stay ahead of all those who seek to use and or kill him.

But. Why become a better killer, a greater monster, when Naruto has never been particularly interested in killing other people? Why be more effective at skills he hasn’t chosen and a path that has been decided for him by the very people who can’t be bothered to ensure that he can buy his groceries in peace? As far as Konoha is concerned, Naruto is plenty of a monster already. 

What is good enough for the village is good enough for him.

Besides… Competency comes with its own pitfalls. And Naruto is not afraid to die. 

He has known since the first time he watched a Naruto who did not escape Root that there are far, far worse fates than death.

No. If Konoha wants a weapon, they can damn well put the effort into training him. Since they don’t bother, Naruto takes it as tacit permission to skip his classes when he isn’t in the mood, to neglect his studies when they fail to catch his interest and to focus on planning his next prank instead. 

His shadows have grown too complacent lately.

The first time Naruto watches a Jiji die, he is three years old. He cries because that Jiji has been kind to his Naruto. He cries because that Naruto suffers once the protection of the old Hokage is gone. He cries because he sees one of the few people who has ever smiled at him be killed by a man he trusted.

Naruto’s own Jiji dies when Naruto is thirteen.

The attack is no surprise. In almost every world where the Sandaime still lives, the Chunnin Exams in Konoha go off-the-rails for one reason or another. An invasion doesn’t even scratch the top five worst case scenarios Naruto has been steeling himself for. The Hokage’s death isn’t guaranteed but the probability is significant, given what Naruto has observed of the competition so far. Especially with Orochimaru’s proven involvement.

When his Jiji stops by to wish him good luck before the third task, Naruto looks up at the old man’s fond expression and wonders whether this is the last time he is going to see it. He opens his mouth, a crazy, curious, trusting part of him contemplating what if, and he

[remembers the Jijis who have welcomed their Naruto into their family]

[remembers the Jijis who have sat their four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve year old Naruto down and explained to him why the village despises him so much]

[remembers the Jijis who have pushed their sealing experts to find a way to seal the Kyuubi into a new jinchuuriki so that their Naruto would be free to live his life as he wishes]

[remembers the Jijis who have ensured their Naruto is raised by trusted friends of his parents, loved and cared for and sure of his worth]

[remembers the Jijis who have died to protect their Naruto, more often than not taking the identity of the Kyuubi container to their grave with them]

[remembers the Jijis who trusted their Naruto with the truth of his parentage, who answered his questions and gave him stories to get to know his parents by]

[remembers the many, many more subtle ways in which different Jijis have tried to ease their Naruto’s suffering]

[remembers the rare Jijis who put their Naruto before the village out of sentimentality]

grins widely and says the last words he will ever exchange with his own Hiruzen Sarutobi, cocky and brazen and utterly unapologetic: "I don’t need luck, old man."

The first time Naruto hears of an Uchiha massacre, he is five years old.

There are plenty of worlds without any Uchiha, of course. Once Naruto bothers to check he finds that there are even some where the Uchiha have never existed at all, though in most they have simply died out at some point. Sometimes during one of the Great Shinobi Wars. More often during or immediately after the Kyuubi attack.

But Naruto is five years old the first time he witnesses a world just a little wobble away from his own lose their Uchiha from one day to the next. An entire clan, massacred inside their compound. Empty buildings and hastily cleaned-up streets are all that is left to remember them by and over the months and years even those disappear under thick vines and lush foliage as nature reclaims the grounds that humans are no longer there to defend.

As is the way of the worlds, hundreds of new splinters are born in the wake of such a major occurrence and Naruto—who is still too young to start the academy—has plenty of time to watch them unfold.

He sees worlds with survivors struggling to cope in the aftermath. He sees worlds where the attack fails. He sees worlds where the Uchiha pull off a coup and the shape of Konoha changes accordingly. Most often, he sees worlds where the clan falls not to a hidden enemy in the shadows—Danzo’s Root more often than not—but to the sword of their own lauded prodigy Uchiha Itachi. Sometimes he kills everyone of his blood and then himself. Sometimes he takes a good chunk of Konoha with him. Often he leaves a handful of survivors. His brother Sasuke is always among them.

By the time Naruto runs into his own Uchiha Mikoto for the first time, he is almost seven years old and there are far more worlds without an entire Uchiha Clan than there are with one. It is a coincidence that their paths cross that day and even though Naruto has never met his version of Mikoto, he finds himself slowing down. 

Hesitating.

There are worlds where Mikoto is the closest thing to a mother that Naruto has. There are worlds where she has adopted him in the aftermath of his mother’s death. There are worlds where she raises him as her own. There are worlds where she is forbidden from doing so and all but spits in the face of the Hokage’s orders, circumventing the spirit of the law in a hundred different ways.

There are worlds where she is killed for it. Worlds where her entire clan dies for it. Worlds where their Naruto dies with them.

They are not bad worlds.

Naruto watches this Mikoto, his Mikoto, a complete stranger wearing a familiar face, hurry along the main road, distracted by whatever errand she means to complete and he

[thinks of the ever-thickening tension within the village]

[thinks of the many, many bloodbaths he has witnessed]

[thinks of the versions of the woman that have gone out of their way to be kind to him]

[thinks about how this Mikoto has never once slowed down and given him a second glance, never reached out, never tried]

doesn’t stop her. 

The first time Naruto sees a man in an orange mask he is seven years old. 

He may have appeared before that point, truth be told. Wearing different masks and disguises or no disguise at all. He may have killed Naruto—the faces of his would-be, could-be, have-been murderers have long begun to blur together, too many of them familiar, too many of them watching him even now, no matter how often Naruto fumbles and jokes and laughs—but if he has, he hasn’t made himself memorable enough to stick out.

This one does. Not because he kills his Naruto. He doesn’t. Naruto notices him because he shows up out of nowhere and proceeds to slaughter the Anbu and the regular shinobi who are close enough to get caught in the crossfire with ease and he should have killed that Naruto. He really should have.

[One of the Anbu falls by his hands, dead before he hits the ground, and everything stops. The madness. The whirling chaos. The screams.

There is a blond boy scrambling backwards, coughing, struggling to breathe. He is the only one moving.

On the ground, there is a cracked porcelain mask in the shape of a dog.]

But he doesn’t. Now that Naruto is paying attention, now that more worlds in a similar state pop up, this is one of the few who stops.

The first time Naruto hears the plan of the Infinite Tsukuyomi, he is eight years old. There is a world, just a few steps to the right, where the masked man—Tobi others call him, Obito he introduces himself—appears in front of Naruto two weeks after his birthday. He steps out of a shadow in the side street near the market that doesn’t always mind selling Naruto food but does mind on that day. He kneels down in front of Naruto, right there in the dirty street, and he reaches out.

He wipes the blood from Naruto’s cheek, where a broken beer bottle has almost cut his face in half before the skin has knitted itself back together.

Maybe that is why that Naruto doesn’t fight when the stranger takes a hold of his hand and whisks him away into a strange otherworld and then later into a cave where a statue that smells of evil awaits them. Maybe that is why he doesn’t struggle, not even when Obito explains why he has kidnapped Naruto in a calm voice. What the execution of his plan is going to mean for Naruto, who has a tailed beast sealed into his belly. Maybe that is why that Naruto smiles as that Obito kills him, as quick and efficient as the sealing process allows. Which isn’t very.

It is still one of the kinder deaths Naruto remembers.

He never forgets that.

Even countless more vicious, more painful deaths at other Obitos’, Tobis’ and Madaras’ hands later, Naruto never forgets that the first thing that Obito, the first Obito he has gotten the chance to know, had done was reach out and comfort instead of harm.

Naruto is eleven and still not a genin the first time he looks slightly beyond the trees on the other side of the training field and sees a Naruto survive the sealing process. He has seen the ritual get interrupted before, of course, just never successful enough for his counterpart to live. That Naruto does, though. That Naruto gets to see his perfect dream.

That Naruto dies within days, fading away without noticing.

It starts a trend, as most significant occurrences do, and within a couple of days Naruto notices more and more Narutos who survive or escape the sealing process in some away. Eventually, as is bound to happen, one Naruto escapes the genjutsu as well.

Naruto is eleven and still not a genin the first time he sees an entire world end. 

Three weeks later, he watches a Naruto become the Juubi and bring about that end himself. And then again. And again. And again.

Naruto is twelve and a half by the time he observes a Naruto survive past the end. Four hours of breathing poisonous fumes still count, right?

Two weeks shy of his thirteenth birthday Naruto squints into the sunlight and sees a Naruto not just survive the end of the world but rebuild a life worth living in its aftermath. He sees a Naruto who has Tobi by his side—not Obito, that Obito died with their Kakashi-sensei as he usually does—and Konan and Sai and enough leftover pieces of Konoha to hammer out an entirely new foundation. This Naruto doesn’t become Hokage—there is no Hokage—but he has friends and allies and sometimes he even smiles.

Naruto likes to watch this Naruto more than most.

The first time Naruto meets his own Obito—who is called Tobi and calls himself Tobi, as he tends to do in the second stage of his plan—he is sixteen years old and closer to finding Sasuke than he has been in months. He takes one look at the man who appears smack in his way with an unsettlingly cheery "Howdy!" and Naruto

[knows all Obitos who call themselves Tobi plan to bring about the end of the world, most often through the Infinite Tsukuyomi, though sometimes through good old-fashioned genocide]

[knows Obitos who still have their original eye can use Kamui]

[knows over half of the Obitos have mokuton and all of them are some of the deadliest shinobi in the world]

[knows this Obito, like so many Obitos, is leading the Akatsuki from the shadows]

[knows some Obitos who call themselves Tobi turn into allies later on, approach Naruto from the shadows or are convinced in an open confrontation if his conviction burns bright enough]

[knows most Obitos who call themselves Tobi hate Kakashi-sensei and all of them break with his death, whether that happens by their own hands, through Pein, Zetsu, Itachi, Kaguya, Danzo or Naruto himself]

[knows that this is the beginning of their own end of the world in one way or another and that he has a dozen ways of stopping the avalanche before it can be set in motion yet]

stumbles back with a startled shout and wide eyes and he plays along.

Naruto tilts his head back to look at the pale white moon lighting up the night. He doesn’t look at the dozens of other Narutos who are seeing a similar but not identical sight. For once he is not looking beyond that which is here, which is his in a way none of those other Narutos will ever be.

Tomorrow the fight against the Akatsuki will start for real. Tomorrow they will enter the endgame.

He thinks about actions and inactions and the responsibility in both. He thinks about possibilities and probabilities. He thinks about kindness and cruelty. He thinks about forgiveness. He thinks about the things he can control and the things he cannot.

He thinks about the many worlds in which there is no Konoha, the many more in which there will soon no longer be a Konoha. He wonders whether this world, his world, will become one of them. 

His Konoha would not be the most deserving of such a fate, Naruto acknowledges. After all, it could have broken him and it hasn’t.

But.

It could have loved him too. And it hasn’t.

He cannot help but wonder if the same bare-bone efforts Konoha has put into keeping him alive and content—not happy, not independent and definitely not free but content—will be enough to save this world now. 

I guess we will find out.

'You’re a nightmare, kit. You know that, right?’

"I learned from the best." Naruto grins at the grumpy silence that doesn’t hide Kurama’s fondness.

'Try not to get yourself killed too soon.'

"Aw, are you gonna miss me if I blow us up?" Naruto asks lightly. He refuses to make promises he isn’t sure he will keep and going by the lack of his usual insults, Kurama has recognized the evasion for what it is.

'Maybe I will.'

The admission stuns Naruto. "You’re not gonna try and change my mind though, are you?" he asks after a moment.

He doesn’t think Kurama could, is the thing. At the same time though, no one else knows him like Kurama does. No one else understands. No one else sees what he is doing, what Naruto is truly capable of. If Kurama told him he is going too far…

But the fox simply snorts. 'And what, talk you out of your vengeance in defense of those puny humans I couldn’t care less for? Have you met me? No. I’m just saying. If this is as far as we get, it’s been one hell of a ride, kit.'

"I’d miss you too, you stupid fur ball."

With a welcome warmth settling inside his chest, Naruto shoves aside the half-formed ideas on seals he was never taught, the adjustments to their plan that he knows will likely be needed, the cruel but effective tricks that, in this world, aren’t in his nature. No, Naruto isn’t going to use anything other than the skills his Konoha has given him. Brute force and talk no jutsu will either be enough or his world will become one of the many worlds that are not saved.

Putting the bare minimum of effort into a world-wide war might not be a winning strategy but it is all that Naruto is willing to give.

Fair is fair.