The day of Sasuke’s funeral was the worst day of Naruto’s life.
He’d prayed for the sweet release of rain, but it hadn’t come. Instead, brutal sunshine shone over the proceedings like an interrogation spotlight -- harsh and intimidatingly bright. The day’s heat had made his heavy black mourning clothing almost unbearable to wear. Sweat was pooling around the steel plate of his leaf-marked hitai-ate, soaking the band that held it to his forehead.
All of the other shinobi present wore identical black outfits, but not out of respect for the charred and unrecognizable corpse at the bottom of the unmarked grave before them. Before he finally fell, Sasuke and his band of rogue ninja had murdered nearly fifty of Konoha’s finest, from irreplaceable jounin to a couple of academy graduates who had happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. The sorrowful color scheme was in their honor.
Naruto adjusted his monochrome jacket, trying to get even halfway comfortable. He and his ANBU comrades (sullen bastards, the lot of them) formed a human barrier between the grave and a crowd of angry ninja who wanted vengeance for their fallen friends, even if it was a useless gesture. Sasuke was dead, and nothing they could do would affect him any more. Regardless, Tsunade had ordered that there be a funeral, out of respect for the man’s origins and the now-extinct Uchiha clan.
Not everyone was in the mood for respect. “Let me at him and I’ll burn the sonuvabitch the rest of the way,” shouted a faceless voice from the mass of spectators. A few murmurs of agreement rose from others standing nearby; the crowd as a whole took a few steps forward. Naruto stared blankly at these people, most of whom he had known since childhood. He was finding it difficult to connect the faces he saw and acknowledged every day with these similar ones, only twisted by unfamiliar rage and pain. He both understood them and wanted to blast them all to pieces where they stood, simultaneously.
“We have orders to keep the situation under control, and we will use any means necessary to achieve that control.” Naruto was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. It certainly wasn’t calm inside his head. “If that means using our jutsu on you all, then so be it. This is your last warning.” The crowd’s noise dissolved into angry mutterings. One man stepped forward, apart from the rest, and Naruto’s heart sank upon recognizing him.
Iruka’s boyish good looks had faded with the events of the past few weeks. He was paler, with a constantly clenched jaw and a certain look in his remaining good eye that made it difficult to look straight at him without flinching. A jagged scar decorated the other half of his face. “Yeah, right,” he said in a harsh voice, barking an unconvincing laugh. “We all know you were practically in love with the guy, Naruto. Want us to leave and give you some alone time? Hmm? Is that it?”
“Iruka.” Naruto said softly, struggling to hide his own feelings. “I’m sorry about Kakashi. He was my friend too.”
“Hah. You know, Kakashi once told me that Team 7 was a bunch of useless idiots who didn’t deserve to graduate from the Academy. I argued in your favor then, but I see now that he was right all along. You really are useless.” A look of bitterness was plain on his face.
“You’re acting like a child,” said Naruto irritably, still not lowering his hands to his sides. “Kakashi lived and died like a true shinobi. I had nothing to do with it.”
The two of them were less than a foot away from each other now. Iruka was not a tall man, but he still towered over Naruto, who was feeling rather intimidated, even though he was armed and his former teacher was not. This is ridiculous, he thought. He’s just a chuunin-- you could take him down with one hand. So why are you so afraid of him?
“Are you so sure about that?” Iruka said in a whisper, never taking his eyes off Naruto’s. He repeated himself, louder so the crowd around them could hear. “Are you absolutely sure about that. After all, those gates were intact and untouched after the attack. Someone let Sasuke into the village. Someone on the inside. Who’s to say it wasn’t his oldest friend? Are you a traitor, Naruto?”
When Naruto did not respond immediately to the question, Iruka said it again, punctuating each word with an accusatory jab to Naruto’s chest with his finger. “Are you a traitor?”
“Take your hands off me.”
Iruka smirked. “You never answered my question.”
“Go home, Iruka. You’re obviously distraught and it’s affecting your mind. Take a break.”
For a long second, Naruto thought he would never leave. Finally, Iruka backed down. He stuck his hands and his pockets and walked away, but not before spitting into Sasuke’s grave. Naruto’s shoulders sagged as he released the pent-up tension in his muscles. He kept his head down, unable to watch his friend’s retreating form.
Deprived of their spokesperson, the crowd slowly began to melt away, dispersing in small groups of two or three, and the simple ceremony was completed without any more trouble. Naruto knew his reputation had taken a serious blow, though -- he’d even caught one of the other ANBU looking at him strangely and then shaking his head in disgust. If he’d been three years younger he might have punched the guy and asked him what his problem was, but he knew it would only make things worse. It seemed like everything he did these days only served to make things worse.
After it was done he left the group to their tasks with an explanation or a farewell. Lady Tsunade would probably yell at him later for abandoning his duties, but he didn’t much care. The streets around him were still filled with piles of trash and rubble, and fewer people were out and about, though mid-afternoon was usually the busiest part of Konoha’s day. A thick layer of dust hung in the motionless air. Naruto’s stomach growled suddenly. He hadn’t realized he was hungry until just now. When was the last time he’d eaten? He couldn’t remember.
Maybe a bit of ramen will cheer me up, he thought hopefully. It had been a while since he’d visited Ichiraku’s. A sudden image blossomed in his mind of a happily smiling Iruka handing him a heaping bowl of noodles; he pushed the thought away. No use dwelling on the past.
The familiar red and white sign still hung outside Ichiraku’s, beckoning hungry travelers inside. It was torn in one corner, and dirt obscured two of the letters, but even so the sight of it made Naruto smile. His smile disappeared as soon as he pushed back the awning and stepped into the shop and saw a tired-looking young woman cooking ramen instead of Teuchi’s familiar face. She looked up as he sat down and gave him a half-hearted wave.
“Hey, where’s the old man today?” Her face went blank and he immediately regretting saying it.
“My father is... not here anymore.” Ayame turned without further explanation and went back to her cooking. Naruto noticed that she gripped one of the pot handles so tight that her knuckles had gone white, and that her other hand was shaking. He thought about apologizing, but didn’t know how he would go about it. More than Konoha’s shinobi had paid the price of Sasuke’s defeat. Hawk’s members hadn’t deliberately targeted civilians, unlike Orochimaru three years prior, but with such destructive jutsu collateral damage was unavoidable. Naruto ate his ramen in silence, staring down into the noodles without actually looking at them. It was too salty and he no longer had any appetite. After a few bites, he pushed the bowl away and stood up.
“You ought to eat more, Naruto. You need to keep up your strength.”
He turned to find Sakura sitting there on the stool next to him, dressed in a plain gray shirt and dark pants instead of her usual Haruno clan outfit. It was strange to see her in casual clothes, although she was still as beautiful as ever.
“I’m not hungry,” he said, dropping his gaze to the table.
She coughed. “I heard about what happened at the funeral.”
“You weren’t there?”
Sakura shook her head. “No. Lady Tsunade had work for me. Besides, I didn’t think I would... be able to see it.” She shrugged dismissively. “You know what I mean? It’s a shame.”
“Yeah.”
Ayame came by and asked Sakura if she wanted something to eat, but she shook her head and reached over for a bite from Naruto’s discarded bowl. She made a face. “Too much salt.”
They walked out together with no further conversation, leaving the quiet shop and a confused Ayame behind. The heat had begun to dissipate some, enough that Naruto no longer noticed it. As they reached the Hokage’s headquarters, she paused and looked back at him, as if to make sure that he was still there.
“What are you doing tomorrow, Naruto?”
He was taken aback by her interest. People tended to ignore him now; either out of spite or out of fear. It was a familiar feeling -- he supposed, in a way, that he deserved the hard feelings. Just like he’d felt as a child, when he had no idea about the monster that slept within him, how he’d felt that he must have done something horrible to make everybody hate him. This time, though, he didn’t have the friends that saw through that and believed in him anyway. Sasuke is dead, he thought to himself, as if reciting a mantra. Kakashi is dead. Konohamaru, Lee, and Kiba are all gone. Iruka despises me. Tsunade barely tolerates me. Somehow, in some way, this must have been my fault.
He looked up when she touched him on the shoulder slightly; a questioning gesture. She was concerned for him. “It’s not your fault,” she said, reading his mind.
“I can’t help thinking about it.”
“That’s because you have nothing to do. You have nothing else to keep your mind off of it. It’s no wonder you’ve gotten stuck in a rut.” She smiled, then, and he couldn’t help but match with one of his own. “Come visit me on a mission tomorrow. It’ll be just like old times.”
“I’ll be there,” said Naruto, glad of the invitation. An early evening wind blew through the streets and rustled his spiky blond hair. He watched her as she disappeared down the alleyway, then sighed and turned for home. It was something, at least.
Having just one friend was still better than having none.
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