The Fourth Hokage looked across the war torn village with eyes of chipped granite. A tiny baby boy rested in his arms. "Naruto - the village shall view you as a hero for your sacrifice!" His last pronouncement ringing throughout the clearing, the Forth fell, leaving the Sandaime to pick up the pieces.
The Sandaime sighed. The baby blinked. The gathered villagers and council officials shifted their collected pitchforks and torches nervously.
"About that," One particularly rustic looking man started, "that hero-ing thang… We ain't actually gonna do all that, right guv'nor?"
As the collective's attention shifted towards him, he shifted back a little. "What exactly," The Sandaime raised an eyebrow, "are you suggesting?"
Another man twisted his pitchfork nervously. "It izn't that we're all fans of child abuse, monsieur." The baby hiccuped, blue eyes wide. Fifty pitchforks and torches raised in unison to ward off its evil charms. "It ez just that, well, you can never really be lacking a someone to blame, and since the Whirlpool personnes are all gone now, and Hatake haz already s'est suicidé, we have been lacking a certain bouc émissaire to keep all of la culpabilité off of us, vous savez?"
The Sandaime wondered why this always happened to him. First Orochimaru goes crazy, then the Yodaime kills himself, and then here he was, ready to be shipped off to some tropical vacation senior home in a week, when all of these problems pop up.
A third man edged closer to the baby, reaching out with a pair of tongs. The Sandaime threw a quick kunai which severed his hands before pinning them to the ground. The now crippled man edged back, abashed.
A fourth man spoke up. "Ach," He spat on the new cripple, "du Schwein! Why is it that you do this! This baby is an engel, a gift from Gott! Just look at his blau eyes, his blond hair!"
The second man interrupted him. "Et iz a well known fact, monsieur, that many babies are born with the blonde hair and the blue eyes, but then their coloring darkens!"
The first man shook his pitchfork. "Yeah, that's true awight! I me-self had a young'un once born with the light coloring! Then it turned out me wife had been rutting with the neighbor, cuz he ended up all dark like hisself! I should'a known to be suspicious when she kept calling him over yon to bust up some chiffarobe."
As the men continued to argue, the Sandaime leaned over and finally picked up the child from the dead body. The morge men, too disturbed by the bright light cast by the group's pitchforks to do their duty, hudled in a corner, hissing when shadows were disturbed.
Using a voice he had perfected on his children, the Sandaime leveled a glare at the assembly. "Silence." He said.
The men twiddled with their pitchforks and torches nervously.
"Now," The Sandaime began, "before we make any hasty decisions, is there anyone else who wants to speak?"
Coughing slightly, a women pushed her way out of underneath the dead Yondaime. The assembled people gave a gasp.
"Sorry," She said. "It's not what you think." At their looks of confusion, she expounded upon her statement. "It's just, you know, behind every great man…" The men gave a sound of understanding.
"Now, I believe everything happens for a reason." The woman brushed dead germs off of her jacket as she stood up. "I think that we should live for today because yesterday is already gone and will never come back, and tomorrow may never happen." One of her hands clenched as it wavered towards the sky.
"I believe that what goes around comes around." As her hand continued to waver, the Sandaime realized she was making a stance. "I think that the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree." Her eyes were lit up with a burning brilliance. "I believe that god willing, and the creek don't rise, we can build a better mousetrap and the world will beat a path to our door." One of the men's torches had accidentally brushed too close to her face.
"I think that the eight hundred pound gorilla was thinking out the box." Her speech was reaching a crescendo, her red hair shining in the greasy torch light. The men and Sarutobi shifted. They didn't like so many words at once. "He who lives by the sword shall die by the swor-"
The rustic man broke down, his pitchfork lodged in the greater woman's throat. "I'm a sorry!" He bawled, thick tears getting caught in a thicker mustache. "It's just… people say that stuff so often, and t'ain't none of it mean nut'in!"
The woman continued to choke as the second man spoke up. "Cliches are the diable! Cette femme… To think that woman could spew out such vile things… It iz an atrocité!"
The Sandaime looked up at the sky, not to pray to the gods, but to notice that the sun was starting to come up. It had been a long night.
As the two men bemoaned the woman's failings, the cripple glanced around nervously before creeping up to the still moaning body. He tried to liberate her hands, but lacking hands with which to liberate, he settled for gouging out his eyes with a pitchfork. One could only stand being crippled for so long.
"Ach! Just because the Teppiche don't match the Vorhänge doesn't mean that it is not natural!" The forth man was angrily pounding his rather large fist against the wall.
That, the Sandaime thought, is enough. "Alright," The Sandaime said. "I'm tired, I've got arthritis, and this late night early morning damp isn't good for my bones. Let's take a vote and get this damn thing over with. I'm too old to be dealing with you whippersnappers."
The men shifted their feet, embarrassed.
"Now," The Sandaime continued, "All opposed to Naruto's hero-itage, please raise your damn hands." All but one of the men's hands went up. "All in favor?" The dying woman gave a twitch. Only one man raised his hand. "Alright then. I propose ritualistic beatings on his birthday, the tenth of October, drunken binge beatings every third Saturday of the month, and maybe a few rapings every festival that calls for fireworks, so we can get that contrast in. Does everyone agree?"
There was a general consensus.
"Ach!" The forth man swore. "Damn you Bastarde! You Arschlöcher!" He dropped his pitchfork and torch and stormed out of the group. "Don't you be expecting me to share any of my inventions with you damn Hurensohn!"
As the meeting simmered down, the morgue men finally collected the dead bodies, and Naruto gave off one more innocent coo, the Sandaime brushed the blood off his hands and wandered home through the demon-torn village. He absentmindedly drop kicked Naruto to the curb. The villagers were mostly happy, and it wasn't ever like something with a name as ridiculous sounding as auto would ever be any use in Konoha.