Monsters Come From Massacres

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It was the worst thing he ever had to do, and he knew there would never be a single thing that would measure up to the bile in his throat and the hole in his chest so deep he couldn't breath quite right.

The blood of his aunts, uncles, cousins, clanmates, stained his skin and stuck under his fingernails in a way that he would never be able to wash off completely. But he'd do it all again a million times if he could avoid his final target.

His little brother is only seven years old, he sought out their father's approval like a starved boy, and in a sense he was. Their father never gave his baby brother the same approval as him, and part of him was grateful his little brother never --would never-- have to do what he did to earn that glint of pride in the eyes of a cruel and apathetic man.

He had to remind himself that this was for the village, for all the other people and their treasured little Sasuke's of their own. If he reminded himself enough, maybe he wouldn't be crying weakly laying eyes on the final of the Uchiha, who looked at him with a horrified trust as if he were the hero and not the monster.

He was across the room in a second, and he scooped up the child, the small, small child. He was supposed to be a child too, he was barely even thirteen, but his seven year old brother clung to his blood-splattered shirt like a lifeline and shook silently. He felt himself shaking too as he slowly sank to the floor with his brother.

The death was instant, Sasuke didn't even have the time to comprehend it before the shaking stopped and he went still in Itachi's tight hold. Itachi, however, felt every millisecond as Sasuke fell limp rattle through his bones. "It's okay, I'm here, it's gonna be okay." He reassured the corpse that was once the only good thing in his life.

His breath was harsh and shallow, the tears that leaked from his red eyes were unending and wetting Sasuke's hair. He stayed like that for a long time, silently reflecting on every moment he ever had with his baby brother. Too few, he brushed him off too many times, he should have made time, he should have stayed with him.

Then he went still, and he brought up the very same kunai that he used to end the life of the last Uchiha. Because he wasn't an Uchiha, not anymore, not after all of this. He moved quickly, releasing his brother just long enough to carve deep slits on his forearms. He didn't flinch, he only went back to holding his brother tightly as the Uchiha blood was drained from his veins. As the world went black, he mumbled promises and reassurances to his brother he knew he couldn't hear. As his ears started ringing and his heart rate slowed to a crawl, he mumbled. "I'm sorry...Sasuke, we never got to...play like you wanted..."

--

The Uchiha tragedy was a devastating one, the clan prodigy suddenly going berserk and ruthlessly killing the entire clan and then himself. It was everywhere, even the academy, where Sasuke's former fanclub screamed and cried.

Naruto felt sick when he first heard, thinking that obviously the adults must be exaggerating, they always did that talking about how bad Naruto was so it couldn't have been that bad. He snuck into the clan district, which was covered in yellow tape, but he didn't believe it until he saw the bags. The blood stains. The smell alone of copper and death made him nearly barf up his scarce breakfast.

Then he saw a bag about half the size of the others, just big enough to fit the corpse of a kid he'd challenged to a fight just a week ago. He left before he could get caught, his head spinning and bile rising in his throat. A deep part of his mind that he didn't think was entirely his own purred at the sight and smell of streets ran red with gore. This urged him to get away faster.

He didn't stop until he reached the apartment he loved and hated in equal measure. He lied down in the middle of the floor, staring at the ceiling and processing in a way he could never replicate when it was on purpose. He knew now that the rumors were true, that part of town was abandoned by all accounts. He wondered as to why part of him liked seeing all that gore while the rest of him cringed and gagged like he probably should have done. Did that make him a sociopath? No, probably not, he wasn't even sure what that would entail. He ruled out that, still staring at his ceiling with a blank face.

When he was like this, time wasn't really a factor, he wasn't sure if he was there for five minutes or five hours, but when he finally got up to pee, he realized he should probably eat.

He ate, changed, brushed his teeth, and then tucked himself into bed. The part of town he lived in echoed arguments and yelling in the streets right to his window more familiar to him than a lullaby, but he couldn't sleep. He wasn't sure why, but the room just seemed colder than it should have been in the middle of spring.

He begrudgingly opened his eyes and looked at the time, not really having to squint much to see the clock hands in the dark. He glared at the hour hand pointed at the three before sighing, studying the cracks in his ceiling.

A slight movement in the corner of his eye had his neck snapping to the corner of the room, but there was nothing there. He tensed and curled himself more under the blanket. A chill ran down his spine, he definitely wasn't sleeping now. He didn't move from his bed though, all his attention focused on that one corner until sleep slowly took him.

He rolled over in his sleep, his blanket in tangles, and rays of sun seeped through his window. He was content to sleep in after only falling asleep four hours ago, but then a cold sensation, like an ice cold hand grabbed his exposed ankle.

He yelped and fell onto the hard floor with a thud, he looked down at his feet but the feeling was gone and there was nothing there. He sighed heavily, blaming it on a nightmare he couldn't remember and going to get ready for the day. He threw on his t-shirt and shorts, grabbing a piece of toast and heading to the academy.

The walk there was quick, he weaved his way through abandoned side streets and once he arrived he noticed he was the only one there. He was about to try the door when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him, and he snapped around, still a little jumpy from the events in his room. He looked up to see the annoyed black eyes of his newest teacher.

Umino Iruka was a barely familiar face with a sickeningly familiar expression, and due to lack of sleep Naruto nearly caved in on himself at the wordless glare. "We don't have class today, Naruto, we're taking the day in mourning of our late classmate." The shinobi said as if Naruto was offending him. "I had Kiba hand out letters explaining this."

"Well I didn't get one." He huffed indignantly, scowling and crossing his arms at the adult in front of him. The teacher sighed, pulling the child away from the door by the back of his shirt before heading in the doors.

Naruto blinked, sighed, and headed to his apartment. If he wasn't going to school, he might as well get some extra training done.

He locked the door behind himself and then went to his room, completely forgetting the strange night he had as the eyes of disgust and hatred echoed in his mind. He went to pushups in his room, not counting like he should but not really caring. "Who do you think you are?" He grumbled to himself, moving faster. "You ain't the star in some kind of tragedy. Grow up." He spat, glaring at the wood floor and pushing himself harder.

"I'm gonna be hokage, I don't have time to feel sorry for myself." He moved faster. "I need to be strong, crying gets me nowhere." He moved faster. "I need to be strong." He moved faster. "I need to be stronger." He moved faster. "I need to be able to protect my friends when I get them." The floorboards creaked weakly under his palms. "Sasuke's dead because I'm not even strong enough to protect one person." The lightbulb over his head shattered.

He blinked, snapping out of his rant. He sat up, letting the thin shards of glass fall off his back as he looked up at the light. He didn't know lightbulbs would just explode like that, and he got up to get a broom without a word.

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