Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, and this writing is just for my own amusement, and hopefully yours as well (you can send a review if you like it).
AN: This is a Naruto and Kakashi family fic! Because I've always wanted to write one, with lots of angst. But, since my writing is not so great, there will probably be a lot of mistakes and cliché, feel free to point it out to me. I could always do with some constructive criticism.
"Where is that demon?"
A whisper. But he can hear it through the silence and snores of the other children (but he sleeps alone in the orphanage, because none of the other children will stay near him at night, the grown-ups don't allow it as if he might contaminate them).
"How the f—should I know?" Another voice, but the same disgusted tone. "There're a million brats in here."
"Just keep looking. That monster is impossible to miss." Grumbling, but the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor. They are searching the beds, looking for someone, something for which they bear no good intentions.
The boy listens, frozen on his futon. He cannot move though he knows it is him they seek. It is fear, or despair, keeping him still. They still have not found him in his small corner of the room, unable to catch sight of his curled body through the darkness of the night.
"Are you sure about this?" the third voice pipes up with a nervous tremor.
"Yes. We have to do it tonight, when the Lord Hokage is away on a diplomatic mission." the first voice answers harshly. "We're doing the village a favor by getting rid of this monster."
A shiver goes through the boy's body; he has learned by now to recognize the voice of those who would do him harm with more than just words.
A rustling movement above him, "Hey, I think I found it!"
Fearful blue eyes look up into the scarred face of a hardened shinobi, filled with surprise that cannot hide the contempt. A headband, hitae-ate, glints slightly in the dim light from the window. The shinobi's eyes meet his, and the boy feels a thrill of fear down his spine.
Those dark eyes scare him because they are full of malice and madness, triumph and desire to hurt. The eyes dip into a frown upon meeting his. He opens his mouth and a whimper, some inarticulate sound of fear escapes.
The shinobi scowls, "Shit, he's awake."
He cannot make a sound, and he clutches the teddy bear tighter, as if it could save him, wake him from this nightmare.
"Do something to fix that then!"
The first voice returns in a panicked whisper, and he feels rough hands on him, something covering his mouth and nose, a feeling that he should shout, make a sound, or something, anything.
Instead, the darkness creeps back as he blacks out into oblivion once more.
He is running, aching, fleeing.
The branches grab at him, the roots trip his feet, and the darkness tries to steal his soul, but he runs from it all, dodging the scratching boughs, stumbling but never falling.
Behind him, their voices are harsh, angry, full of bloodlust. His head aches where he thinks he hit it on a rock when they threw him down, and his chest aches where he knows they kicked him and his heart aches because he realizes that they will kill him if they get the chance.
But there is a voice in his ears, no in his mind, which guides him because it does not want him to die. It is like the voice of a demon, but he listens because he wants to live, stubbornly, like the sapling on the bare face of a cliff, hanging on by a mere inch but reveling in the life because it is so close to death.
He runs and runs because he doesn't want to die; despite the fear and the hatred, he still clings onto a miniscule hope, like the teddy bear that is clutched in his arms, that some day he can prove himself to everyone, and maybe they won't hate him anymore.
Miraculously, their voices dim, their footsteps fade, until they are inseparable from the surrounding noise of the forest. He is utterly alone, but safe, at least, from shadows deeper than the darkness surrounding him.
His foot lands in cold water with a splash. It is a small creek, low and winding. When his foot slips on a mossy rock, and he plunges headfirst into the water, he is too tired to get back up. The water is cold, and biting, but it numbs the cuts and bruises.
Lying there in the shallow water, he stares with half-open eyes at his outstretched hand, which is bruised and sore like the rest of his body, wondering why they all hate him. Something in him breaks silently, and a warm and wet tears flow from his eyes and into the water, becoming a part of the stream.
Run, monster. There's no one here to help you.
There is something white in his hand—the teddy bear, sopping wet and with the happy, stitched smile on its fuzzy white face (given to him by…). He buries his face in it, and the warm, familiar scent in the fur reminds him of something almost happy but he cannot remember so he stops trying.
So, should I continue with the story or give it up because it sucks?