Bring him back to his home, Kushina begs voicelessly, keeping her eyes on her son's beautiful golden hair. Bring him home, be it Uzushio or Konoha, but bring him home when he is lost.
Kushina is dying. Her chakra is fading with every breath she takes, her soul getting lighter without the weight of life to hold it up.
Bring him home. Where my son truly belongs.
Briefly, she wonders if Konoha will accept her son, but dismisses the thought as her heartbeat begins to dim.
Where my son truly belongs.
~~~~
He wakes up to his black-eyed teammate, his quiet stare prompting him to open his eyes. The other boy looks at him, grief-filled, empty and just a little anger hiding behind his mask of calm indifference.
His teammate wordlessly points at the file, asks for an explanation, and he finds himself worn down by sorrow, not for the first time this week.
In hushed, whispered words that spell out secretive sentences, he tells the story of how he found the profile of his elder brother. He offers comfort, tells him to redirect his anger someplace else, or better yet, let it go, and to properly think his family's massacre over. He tells him that it is fine to be hate his brother, after all, he was the one who killed them, but advises him to leave space for him brother to explain.
His teammate looks at him with astonished onyx eyes, a sheen of salty tears running down his cheeks, and he feels just so hauntingly hollow at the sight that is just so familiar. He remembers a little boy waking up to a too big apartment and leaving a wondrous dream, in the face of a world that leaves him abandoned, and his heart clenches uncomfortably.
Softly, he extends an offer, telling his teammate that his door will always be open.
The other boy looks at him, wipes away his tears and smiles half-heartedly, a better expression on his face than a frown, and thanks him, standing up and turning away.
He is left alone in the near empty hideout, mulling over thoughts of his beautiful mother and wondering if she ever loved him, then casts a look to the mouth of the cave and begins to pack up his things.
The wind is waiting outside.
~~~~
For the first time in months, the wind takes her time to sing to him. He sits on the rooftop of his newly reconstructed apartment and admires the unchanging glow of the night-suns scattered in the dark blue sky, the wind brushing softly over his long sleeves.
This time, it's words of encouragement. It's coaxes to return home, to a place he's never known, a place he's never seen except for the times he dreamt about the sand under his feet and the waves sweeping against his toes. He learns about the tall, mighty pillars that curve through the grand city, painted in gold and blue and all the bright, warm colors. He meets the magnificent bridges branching out and connecting the great marble buildings, the hard ash colored cement under those bridges feeding a growing island.
This time, those words feel like they're directed to someone. To a prince of the sea and sun, to the ruler of the waves and leaves.
The recent uncovering of the Whirlpool Princess only served to secure his place in his mind.
He was the prince of whirlpools and leaves.
~~~~
The chunin exams were over, but it left behind it a gaping void eating away at his soul. Another dead, another gone. He could see the people weeping, see the villagers drag the cold, lifeless bodies of their loved ones from the rubble the village had been reduced to.
So many nameless shinobi were added to the memorial stone, the dry stroke of each character carved into stone, all of them lost to him.
Was it like this when his parents died?
His heart seized a little, the space in his chest too tight for it to move. His breath hitched but he didn't cry.
Why couldn't he cry?
Didn't he love the Third, just like all the other citizens of the Great Leaf?
Wasn't the gruff old man the one who provided him with monetary support and a place to live? A place where he could sleep all he wanted, fish whenever he felt bored and run in the sun when he felt sad?
The gruff old man who took one look at his scarred hands and told him it would be fine?
Then, why couldn't he cry?
His breath was coming out in short, ragged huffs, too much oxygen entering his body and too much carbon dioxide leaving. He fell to his knees before the polished marble towering above him, inscribed with names he didn't even know.
Cry. Cry. Oh, for the love of the Flame, why couldn't he cry?
He loved the old man. He loved him. He was so kind, so loved, so bright and warm and everything he ever wanted to be. Why. Couldn't. He. Cry.
He dimly noticed a solemn sage standing behind him, and a teacher pityingly wrapping a bag around his nose.
As the sun rose with the dawn of a new day, he let his breathing calm and traced the name of the whirlpool girl with his eyes just as tears slid down his whiskered cheeks.
Uzumaki Kushina.
He let out a bitter laugh when he noticed the name of one Namikaze Minato beneath his mother's. His teacher kept a gloved hand on the small of his back, and stayed with him until he decided to stop staring at names cut into stone.
Sarutobi Hiruzen was dead.
And he was left alive.
~~~
He went to visit his teammate after he finished helping with rebuilding. When he saw the girl passed out on the foot of the bed, he volunteered to carry her home. His teammate looked up, face pale and gaunt and cheeks hollow, but managed a small smile. He thought it suited him.
When he returned, his teammate confided in him, telling him about the cursed seal on his neck. He felt his heart seize again. He vowed to learn more about the sealing arts as best as he could, promising that he would one day remove the cursed seal. When he was awarded with a tiny grin, he felt himself soar.
His teammate was now his friend.
His first ever friend.
And he didn't know if he could bear telling him that he would be leaving very, very soon.
He paused, hesitantly opening his mouth to speak. The words were stuck in his throat, clammy and wobbly, and his friend only just managed to make out the gist of his garbled sentences.
He would be leaving.
After he found the renowned medic, he would be embarking on a personal journey of his own, to look for the home he lacked. Instantly, horror would fight with anger and pain and happiness.
He would be leaving.
~~~
When he returns with a giant of a sage and a beautiful woman, Black's heart drops to the deepest pit in his stomach and dread pools in his chest. He finds it so hard to breathe and it just feels like he's dying.
If he staggers out of his hospital room to deliver a bone-crushing hug at four in the morning, it's just because his arms felt a little itchy and his legs needed a stretch.
YOU ARE READING
Of Whirlpools and of Tides
Fanfiction'Save him', Kushina prays to spirits of sand and water. Of salt and shine, the ones that she remembered from stories of old. 'Save him, my child of waves and gales. The crown of leaves and sun. Save him, my darling son.' As she feels herself slippin...
