AN:

Yeah, this chapter is finally out. Sorry about it taking so long, but with exams and work I've been fairly busy. Hopefully I'll be able to get more content out during May.

I'm not sure when Progeny will be released; I'm having a lot of issues with what I want at the moment. The fic is pretty much planned, but I can't seem to get the words on the page. My original plan for it was to store up chapters over summer and release them once every two weeks for a period of time, but we'll have to see.

If you're here to complain about me not updating what you want to read, please don't bother.

Hope you enjoy the chapter!

The haunted never sleep.

The ghosts of the past hunted Jaune. Never leaving his trail, they followed his scent, biting at his heels and drawing closer. He tried to sleep, but they forced him awake; he tried to run, but they pursued.

Even now, he could hear the pitter-patter of footsteps. Hot and feral breath brushed against his neck. Goosebumps cropped along his arms, forcing his hair on end.

In a situation like this, all he could do was rely on the advice of his father. It was almost like the voice whispered in his ear, sharing truths that he hadn't heard in ages.

'Whenever you're in a nasty situation, Jaune, don't forget to breathe.'

So that's what he did.

In and out, in and out, in and out - he couldn't smell anything bar the beast behind him: wet fur, rancid breath, rotten blood, stench of death.

'So, what is it you're doing exactly?'

The world turned on top of itself. The trees that bit into him as he ran, the gravel that shifted under his feet, the foul odor on his tail - all melted away, replaced by something simpler, something more human.

The library that he remembered seemed so drab in comparison to the midnight trail that he'd just lived.

'Are you done now?'

The voice was different from the one that offered him advice. Instead of the hard, yet loving, tone of his father, this was sharper and young. Breath steadying, he didn't make a move to meet it. Jaune remained seated, settled, rooted in his position, staring down at the book in front of him.

Why bother to greet it?

It wasn't real.

How could it be?

Hands struggling forward, shaking, fingers flipping the page of the book. He tried to focus on the words, tried to read them, to understand - they blurred. His head ached and he swayed in his seat. Vision narrowing and stomach turning and mind racing - the words grew and grew and grew. Dry ink of the page came forward in a rush, meeting his face, sending him to the floor. His body crumpled.

'Well, that was something.'

A groan escaped Jaune's lips. His eyes closed, lids irritated by the desert-dry texture.

How long had it been since he blinked? He couldn't remember.

Pushing himself up onto his arms, world shaking, his eyes met those of the spectre that haunted him through the haze. He fell, face meeting cold stone, the marble and his body becoming ungracefully reacquainted.

The clock of the library struck in the distance, signaling the hour. The light of the moon filtered through one of the large glass windows, but he couldn't see anything. The world narrowed, shrunk, compressed and flattened.

Only one thing invaded his vision.

'Finished?'

Jaune grit his teeth and ground his jaw. He thought about his situation, about how he could resign himself to his fate, or lay there like a slug and continue to play dead.

The second option sounded more appealing.

He rolled onto his back and pain shot up his shoulder. Eyes clamped, fists clenched, heart throbbed, body burned: he hissed, thoughts racing and stumbling over one another as he tried to understand.

Was it so wrong to want to be a hero?

Was it so wrong to want to protect those he cared for?

Was it so wrong to want to follow in the footsteps of his father?

'No, it isn't.'

One of Jaune's eyes cracked, opening, seeing the world - almost as if for the first time. A part of him that he'd never known before, scared and weak and defenseless, reared its head, killing any clarity that he'd tried to obtain.

Thud, thud, thud.

The rhythmic sound of footsteps grew nearer. He watched through the murk, vision narrowing down to a pinhole.

Whites, blues, and greens came together and faded off into bleak lines. Fog rolled at the feet of the apparition. It tore through the smoke, the sound persisting.

Thud, thud, thud.

He wanted to look away, wanted to stand and run, wanted to seek any vestige of hope - but all he could do was lay there and clamp his eyes shut.

"It isn't real. It isn't real. It isn't real."

He repeated the words over and over, like a mantra. Heart pumping faster and faster - footsteps growing louder and louder against the cold tile.

Thud, thud, thud!

And then, just as soon as it began, it stopped.

He raised his head, one eye cracking open. Was it too much to hope? Was he safe?

He'd come here for a chance to get away and hide from the ghost that gnawed at the crumbling remains of his sanity. The library once held the light of the one that followed, the one that badgered, the one that plagued his very being. The beast all but disappeared, leaving nothing - not even its scent.

Now, not even the light from the sun cut the dark of the early morning.

Was it morning yet? He wasn't sure.

His legs remained weak, unable to stand, but he looked up, finding the clock. Light from the moon filtered in through the large and ornate windows, reflecting off of the surface of the glossy floor.

"Ten past two?"

His jaw slackened.

Two days.

Two entire days he'd been awake.

He took hold of the chair next to him, yet he couldn't pull himself to his feet. Arms quaking and body trembling and breath hitching - Jaune Arc fell once more to the cold tile below him. It wasn't worth the effort to try to stand now.

His eyes closed, but before the embrace of sleep took hold, he could see the face of the one that brought him so much fear.

Naruto Uzumaki stared back at him - a reflection meeting itself.

Yet even now, Jaune couldn't tell if he was the shade or the one looking in the mirror.

'I'll see you after you rest a bit. We still have a lot to talk about, y'know?' His head tilted to the side. 'You'll only be gone for a bit. You won't be able to run from me forever.'

And as the last light faded, the little that the moon offered, the words of his haunter played over and over in his head, rolling in his mind.

The strongest of his fears were realized.

After all, why would the greatest hero wish to break bread with the greatest fraud?

Blood and water made different sounds when they hit stone.

Each time the red liquid struck the ground, he could hear how defined it was - every drop carried a weight to it that further contrasted it from the sound that he knew as 'normal'.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

His eyes drifted from the crimson pool to the person above him. His face fell, a gasp left his lips, and his hands clenched into tight fists.

He spoke, words forced out in a barely audible whisper.

"Why?"

Sasuke Uchiha - his best friend and rival - stood before him, needles protruding out of him like he was some sort of pincushion.

Mirrors of ice surrounded them at every angle, but in each one the reflection of Sasuke stood out. From the iron liquid at his feet to the senbon in his neck, there was so much to take in, so much to understand.

But there was one thing that caught Naruto's eye, one thing that stood out to him more than anything else.

The Uchiha fan.

It was something that he was familiar with. For years now he had stared at Sasuke's back like it was a wall for him to climb, digging his nails into the caulk - the beds busting and bleeding - Naruto tried to climb higher in a chance to match his friend.

But the one time that it mattered, the one time when he couldn't fail, he had done just that.

His eyes watched Sasuke's back, just as they always did - the red and white seeming so high, so unreachable.

If only he'd been stronger. If only he'd tried harder. If only he hadn't been so weak!

"I always hated you."

A cough bubbled from Sasuke's throat, feet slipping and sliding on his own blood. He stumbled and fell backwards.

He wasn't sure when he moved, but Sasuke was in his arms, body devoid of heat. He spoke, his voice cracking as he choked back a sob.

"W-why me?" he questioned, hands trembling. "I never asked for any of this!"

The fire in Sasuke's eyes died. His face was so pale - so deathly pale - but even now that stupid smirk still pulled at his lips. "I don't know… My body just moved on its own."

Jaune's eyes widened. The pulse at his fingertips stopped. Short and ragged gasps left his throat. The one time he couldn't afford to fail, and he had done just that.

His rational mind rolled in on itself. A part of him kept yelling that this wasn't happening, that this wasn't real, but none of that mattered. This person in his arms - this cold, lifeless, and dead person - was all too real.

A voice spoke. One that he'd never wished to hear again.

'Yes boy, use my power.'

The world bled red.

Anger - hot and fiery and fevered - took hold. He tried to fight back, but every time he breathed he could taste malice. It entered him, corrupting him.

The rage was toxic; the rage was addicting.

"I'm going to kill you!"

He had never spoken with such conviction. His voice warped, layered, but he paid it no mind. No, something larger was in front of him.

He locked eyes with the boy in the mirror. The executioner of his best friend stood before, beside, behind, and above - but he knew which one he wanted. The rat was right there, shaking in his ice hole, hiding from his hunter.

The chase was on.

Naruto - no, Jaune - rushed forward, low to the ground. This person, this vermin, needed to die!

Needles flew, and he roared. He bolted towards the mirror, towards his goal - but the image faded and left nothing in its place.

His opponent moved.

He turned, body shifting, eyes watching. Where was he? Where was he where was he where was he? A change in the air, a shift in pressure above and behind was all he noticed before his shoulders erupted in pain.

Jaune grit his teeth, sinking his canines into his bottom lips, face contorting into a silent snarl. This? This was nothing.

Pushing outwards with something that wasn't quite physical, the needles dislodged themselves, flying away, spinning erratically. All reflections disappeared, his prey ousted.

He dashed, crushing the ice with his fist, eyes darting, searching for his kill. A fraction of a second was all he needed to dodge the attack coming from above. Spinning away, he slammed his hand onto the ground, stopping his motion.

The masked face of his opponent turned towards him before he tried to sprint back to his mirrors.

He wasn't going to get away!

Jaune raced, hands pushing off of stone, frame low. He was so close. Ten feet away, five feet, one foot. His hand snapped forward, catching hold.

He yanked, jerked, wrenched the arm that he'd caught, pulling it, sending his fist into the face of his catch.

The clean response of his fist tearing through the porcelain mask was oh so satisfying.

The body flew, turning and tumbling, crashing through one of the mirrors. It struck the ground and rolled, the cracked remains of the mask falling away.

He inhaled sharply. The scent of blood that hit his nostrils forced a growl. Slow and steady. His nose caught something else, something familiar, something that he couldn't quite remember.

Only when his fist approached skin did he realize why.

His fist froze, pale knuckles inches away from Haku's face.

"Why did you stop? I killed your precious friend, yet you can't kill me?"

And just like that, the anger surged - dulled, but still present. His fist collided with Haku's face, smashing him to the ground.

He looked down at the person below him.

Could he do it? Could he really kill someone that he cared about?

The worst part was that he didn't think he had a choice.

Pyrrha Nikos hated her insecurities.

She tried to hide them and put up a front, but she knew that they crept through. She was the invincible girl. It was a title that she hated, yet it also gave her a pretense that she almost appreciated.

Almost.

Nothing was perfect, and she knew that her armor had cracks.

She also knew that hers were showing.

Her heavy footsteps echoed as she climbed some of the many stairs of Beacon, ascending two (sometimes even three) at a time. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the many corridors, and her feet carried her faster and faster - only one thing on her mind.

Where was he? Where was Jaune Arc?

He'd never come in last night. She had waited, and he never came. She stayed up all night, yet he hadn't appeared.

Something gnawed at her then.

The hallway before her narrowed, thinning as it extended before her in a long stretch - never ending. Her legs pumped, heart throbbing.

When did she start sprinting?

She couldn't breathe - she couldn't breathe. She stopped, hunched over, almost falling. Her hands braced themselves on her knees and she tried desperately to get a grip on herself.

Inhale through her nose, release through the mouth. Repeat. It was a practiced action, one that she always used to steady herself before combat. It was calming, therapeutic in a way.

After all, familiarity brought comfort, and what was more comforting than an action she had done hundreds of thousands of times?

Just like every other fight, she would win this one.

Her back straightened, body bending upright. Eyes opened and mind cleared and senses sharpened: an air returned to her, one that she was glad to have back. She strode forward, footsteps once more echoing throughout the halls of Beacon.

She would find Jaune.

There was no question about it. Her newly-found team had existed for less than a week, and she would not allow a fracture to form between them.

Not now, not ever.

Her pace was sharp, but something seemed wrong. It gnawed at her, ate at her, and as she traveled through the halls, she could feel it.

The halls held an almost haunting quality.

She wasn't sure what it was, but the temperature drop. Her body tightened, and senses sharpened:

She could smell the disinfectant used to scrub the tiled halls, see the darkness that never ended, taste the tension in the air, and she could hear -

- something heavy hit the floor.

She didn't think; she didn't fret - she moved.

What was that sound? What just happened?

She heard it again, more quiet, but still present. She stopped before the large oak doors of the library. The sound... it had come from there.

Brow furrowing, her hand pushed aside the already opened door.

She was met with an abyss. Shadow curled out, tainting the walls, floors, and tile around her - latching out like tentacles, dragging everything into the ceaseless void.

Pyrrha steeled herself. She was the invincible girl. She didn't have time to fear something like the dark.

She stepped forward.

The seconds faded into minutes as she moved through the library. Her eyes darted back and forth, attempting to adjust to the little light of midnight.

It was then that she saw him.

On the ground - body limp, looking dead - Jaune Arc lay there trying to get up. Even across the room she could see him strain, see him rise, see him fail.

She moved forward, unsure of her step. No longer did the heavy footfalls of the hall resound in the quiet library, but soft and timid movements. She tried to draw nearer, yet something ate her; she tried to help him, but something stopped her.

Jaune's eye cracked open, brilliant blue revealing itself.

Yet, even now, something seemed off.

No, something seemed wrong.

The light of the moon lay heavy on the ground, but she found herself cloaked in the shadow that opposed Jaune. It was a divide, one that separated the two of them, contrasting as night and day.

But when he barred his teeth like some sort of cornered animal, she felt something unclear. It poked at her, nettled, yet she didn't understand. His eye closed and her heart calmed.

What was wrong with him?

She carried herself forward. One step, two steps, three steps: Pyrrha noticed his eye (the one that she could see) open before clamping shut.

"It isn't real. It isn't real. It isn't real."

He spoke, mumbled to himself more than anything. He continued to lie there, the words coming forward in a rush, falling over one another.

Pyrrha watched him. Hey brow furrowed, and she drew a hand up to her face, biting on her lower lip. "Jaune? Are you alright?"

Her words came out in a whisper. She raised such a question, brought it forward, and left it out in the air - yet she was afraid to hear the answer, afraid to hear if he would even respond to her.

Jaune ignored her, continuing to repeat: "It isn't real. It isn't real. It isn't real."

She took several more steps forward, stopping short just in front of the light, afraid to progress any further. Jaune looked like some sort of cornered animal. Eyes darting, hands shaking, teeth gnashing, body clutching - he panted, ready to lash out at anything that came near him, anything that hunted him.

He tried to stand.

Perhaps it was some fleeting moment of clarity. Perhaps it was something else. He rose on shaky feet, attempting to stand, and fell back onto his face, the table and chair flipping over with him.

Pyrrha wanted to move, wanted to help, but something that she was unfamiliar with, dark and foreign, made itself known.

Fear.

Never in a million years did she think that she would fear Jaune - fear her team leader. But here she stood, with knees locked and hands quivering.

The pale light of the moon faded away, the gap between the two of them disappearing. She took a short step forward after his head hit the ground. His breathing slowed, and his consciousness faded.

"Jaune?"

When she heard no reply, a breath - one that held so tight in her chest - released. She moved forward, taking his arm and wrapping it around her shoulder.

"Don't worry Jaune, everything will be okay."

She wasn't sure who she was talking to. Something bit at her chest when she moved a hand up to wipe away a tear.

She had to remain vigilant; she had to remain strong.

After all, she was invincible.

'We Shinobi are simply tools. What I wanted was his blood, not him.

I have no regrets.'

Jaune thought about the words, mulled them over and over in his mind. He stared at the sword (buried and tarnished and abandoned) with one thought: Kubikiribōchō would sit atop this hill, and much like its user remain here - forgotten.

Was it better to live alone and hated, or die with meaning - with purpose?

Not even he knew.

Wind passed by, tousling his hair. It was cold. Much like his friend; much like Haku.

'He was a boy as pure as the snow.'

Too bad Haku was now just as frigid.

The dirt and grass of the hillside was too low a place for him. He was so pure, so beautiful, and he deserved something more.

He deserved so much more.

But Jaune knew, these gravestones would wither away with time. Wood would crumble to the dirt and breathe life anew, but Haku and Zabuza wouldn't even exist except as memories in Naruto's heart.

But even then, that would fade.

Was this the fate of all Shinobi?

Was it so wrong to be a hero?

Was it so wrong to desire to protect his friends, desire to protect those like Haku, desire to protect those he cared for?

The question struck him in its depth. It was if the world stopped.

The stream quieted, the birds hushed, and everything halted for his question. Even through the silence, nature itself screamed at him.

'Find the answers yourself!'

And just like that, nature restarted anew - seemingly satisfied with the conclusion he drew. He snorted, crouched, and went for one of the snacks that they had left. It seemed like such a waste to throw away food.

"What are you doing? That's bad karma!"

A slap on the wrist was all the warning he got. Sakura shot him a glare, her expression turning downwards. "But Kakashi-sensei, were those two correct about ninja?"

Kakashi shifted from left to right, placing one of his hands on the back of his neck. "A shinobi isn't supposed to pursue his own goals."

He leaned against a nearby tree, eye hooded. He looked tired.

Perhaps he was tired - tired of all the missions, tired of all the fighting, tired of all the death that followed him like uncleanable filth. It stuck to him, clung to him, and never came off no matter how hard he tried, how hard he wished it wasn't the case.

Jaune had never thought about it before, but he knew that Kakashi had seen a lot.

He'd shown them as much that day at the memorial stone.

Maybe if Jaune had put more stock into his words then, Haku would still be alive.

"Becoming the country's tool is the most important thing, that's the same for the Leaf Village," Kakashi said, standing upright and glancing at the grave.

He didn't seem bothered by the sight.

Why should he be?

Jaune had no idea how many times Kakashi had seen something similar.

"Each and every ninja has to live while dealing with that issue. Just like Zabuza… and that boy."

The leaves of the trees swayed in the crisp wind of the morning, but this time it didn't feel as biting. Staring at the flowers on their graves, Jaune's hands clenched and unclenched. Eyes hardening and knuckles cracking and back straightening - he decided, no resolved.

"I'm going to be a ninja in my own way."

The words weren't loud, yet they carried throughout the clearing. The water roared, the birds chirped, and the forest itself came to life.

Jaune steeled himself, walking away from the grave-site.

It was time that the world prepared for Jaune Arc.

It was time that the floor prepared for Jaune Arc.

One second he was floating in a sea of endless white, and the next he was falling. His head hit something hard, immovable, concrete - his brain jolted and shook.

Even through the light pain, he couldn't help but think how close he and the floor were after the last couple of days. If this kept up, he'd have to buy it a drink.

He struggled to rise. His legs were lead; his feet were stone. The wall was his crutch, and as his nails bit into the caulk, he rose, climbed higher. The red of the brick and the white of the room might have created an air of nostalgia, but it wasn't a good feeling.

He hated the familiar climb.

Grinding his teeth back and forth, he clashed with the wall - fighting against it, surging to new heights. He faced forward and leaned back, the wall his only support.

He stared at the white tile.

It was different than the white that he remembered; it lacked the red stain that he couldn't forget.

After all, even the heavens had cried - cried for Haku. A death so cold for the warmest of hearts wasn't fitting, yet it had happened all the same.

Tight knuckles struck hard stone.

They cracked, broken and bloodied. Why was he so weak? Why couldn't he protect anything?

'Why don't you do something about it?'

The voice was a whisper. It sounded familiar, yet so distant. He looked up at the light, and as his head throbbed and pulsed and pounded, he remembered.

He remembered two lives: in one he'd dreamed of becoming a hunter, and in the other he dreamed of becoming a leader.

Yet in both he had fought for acceptance, fought for what he desired but never had.

In both lives he was a failure.

He wasn't Naruto Uzumaki, but now he understood their connection. If one became a hero why couldn't the other?

He looked down at the gnarled skin on the back of his hand and began his crawl.

Naruto might have walked away from Zabuza's and Haku's graves, but Jaune dragged himself along the wall.

Inch by inch, foot by foot - each movement stabbed him. The entire time he could only think of one thing about his rise, about his change.

It was a fitting start.

AN:

Huge shout-out to my Beta, Enbi. She's amazing and she was able to teach me so much about writing. She just published a KakaSaku novella on her profile, and even though it isn't finished, I highly recommend reading it for some of the best Kakashi characterization that I've ever seen. Even if you don't like the pairing, I implore you to read it; the writing is phenomenal.

(edited) Also, this is late, but I'd like to give a shout-out to Infamous Storm as well. He's been helping me with Progeny, and he also gave me some sound criticism on this chapter. He's a great guy that makes great content, and you should go check him out if you want.

Review if you desire.