Hidden Depths

The boy sits by himself on a lone swing, remaining still and silent.

I've only ever seen him from a distance. Even now, I only watch him from afar. I prefer it that way. I don't want to get too close to the boy, nor does anyone else. Who would want to?

His hair, blond and in spikes, covers his eyes. He sits in the shadow of a tree, but I have no doubt that in the sunlight, it would appear to practically glow, even though I'd think that he couldn't buy the shampoo he needs for that. Is that where our tax money is going? Keeping up the boy's hair quality? There's nothing I could really do about that—civilians, even as a whole, have less power than half of the shinobi, in part because of fear—but I can wonder if it's true.

He doesn't look as scary as I thought he would look. I, and everyone I know, have always assumed that he would look, at least a little, like what he truly is.

The boy looks like a child, but I know that underneath the innocent exterior lies a fearsome, raging demon.

Oh, I trust that the Yondaime's seal is the best that he could offer, and that the demon is almost completely bound to a human body. Almost completely. I don't know much about seals, but I think that even the Fourth couldn't make one perfect for this one demon. I heard that seal cost him his life, so maybe it could be that strong. But there was no way to practise it—I don't want to think about how it really is possible, because the Yondaime would never do what I'm thinking—and nobody had expected the demon attack in the first place. I know the demon is fighting the seal too, with all of its power—how long will the seal last? Another ten years, perhaps, or will the demon escape tonight?

Or is the demon already free, but simply biding its time? I have no way of knowing.

Daringly, I take a step forward. I don't have amazing speed like those ANBU do, but I pride myself as a fast runner. Besides, if my legs can't take me to safety, getting closer won't make a difference. I'll still die. I take another when he doesn't react, then one more.

Step.

Step.

Step.

The boy shifts on the swing, and I freeze. My body is tense.

He remains in his new position and I relax. This is exciting, somewhat, but a dangerous kind of excitement. It's the kind that stupid teenagers get when they do something that they've specifically been told not to. Sometimes they die for it. Will I die, too, because of a stupid decision like this?

Step.

The boy shifts again, but I keep walking after only a small flinch. Step, step, step. His head moves slowly as he begins to look up.

Another step, but this time it's a step back.

His hair falls over his face as he determinedly stares at the ground. I can't see his eyes. I'm grateful, because I'm terrified of what I would find.

Two steps forward.

Pause.

Three steps.

Pause.

One step.

"What do you want?" I freeze in the middle of another step, and I could swear I jumped. My heart races, thumping loudly in my ears—I'm just about ready to run—but I can't help but feel a little incredulous. That a demon would sound like a petulant child is something I never would have guessed, even though I can clearly see the body he currently occupies. He looks like a child, too young or innocent to harm anyone, and had it been anyone else, he might have been someone I could care about.

The boy still refuses to look up.

I can't bring myself to speak.

There is a long moment of silence. To my surprise, I am the one to break it.

"You're that boy…" I remember the name, but I'm not going to pretend to be familiar with him. I don't even think of him by name in my mind. He's the boy, the demon, nothing more.

"I am." The swing creaks as he crosses his arms, letting go of the handles. "You don't have any weapons."

I shake my head, although it's doubtful that he can see me. I wonder how he knows. He had avoided eye contact before, but he would have been able to see the lack of any ninja gear on my body. But how could he know that I'm not using the ninja illusion magic, or concealing the weapons?

"Are you going to try to beat me bare-handed, then? Without backup? You can't threaten me without looking scary, you know." I have no idea what the boy is talking about. No, that's not true. I do have an idea, and though it's a vague one, I feel pretty sure I'm right. I remember what it is that my colleague said to me, once.

"I had to chase him away with a broomstick." She shuddered, hugging herself. "I was so scared, you know, I thought he was going to attack Ichirou in his sleep, and the only thing I could do was try to chase it off. The d"—she cut herself off, giving me a meaningful look, then continued—"the boy ran off, so he was obviously just playing with his prey. Taunting us, we're prey too. I… I can't wait for my husband to get home. He'll know how to protect us. The boy knew that we didn't have anyone to protect us, so that's why he chose yesterday. I don't know what I would have done if he was really intent on attacking. The boy was staring right up at Ichirou's window when I saw him through the window. I almost had a heart attack right there."

But the demon isn't intruding on my property—or is he giving me a warning?

"N-no," I finally answer when I can find my voice. Of course I wasn't trying to beat him. I wouldn't dream of it; I'd probably just scream. If I could think at all in that situation, maybe I'd try to run and only move onto the screaming part if I was caught alive.

The boy is the one to not answer, this time.

I wonder what would happen, if we talked. I don't think I'd be able to, if the boy would even humour me, but I can think about it. What would I say to start a conversation, though? I don't think I can.

But I don't have to. The boy does it for me.

"Do you hate me?"

I don't have to think before answering, but I forget to think about whether or not I want to. It is definitely not the smartest thing to say. If he becomes angry, as the demon he is, I could be killed. And in any other child, it would hurt them deeply, and saying my answer aloud would be unthinkable.

"Yes. I do."

"Why?"

I can't tell him the real reason. If I am to die from a violent act, it should at least be from the enemy. Not the people protecting my home. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?" The boy is still resolutely looking away. His voice, however, wavers. "If there's no reason for you to hate me, then why do you do it? Is it my fault?"

I can't help but feel a something, though I can't quite place the emotion, at his words. "No, it's not," I say before I can stop myself. I don't believe what I'm saying, but the boy doesn't seem to notice.

"Th-then, why do you hate me? Why does everyone hate me?" He reminds me of a teenager, thinking that the world is against him. There's a difference, though, because I agree that it probably is. "I don't want this, I don't want this hate, I don't want to be hated!"

This is where I know that it's just a daydream, because I could never bring myself to say these next words. These words would be from someone greater than I am. They keep slipping out, unguarded, almost as if it's natural… perhaps it's the demon's influence, or so I could believe if I was the type to think such things.

"If you don't want people to hate you, fix it yourself. It's your fault if they don't like you, and even if it isn't, it's nobody else's responsibility to fix your life but your own."

"You don't hate me, then?" Hope—pure, desperate, painful, hope. "You don't really hate me?" He probably knows how false his hope is, but it's probably his last resort. Even dream-me can't comfort the boy. I can't bring myself to, even when it's a better and mentally stronger version of me.

Could this really be an innocent child I am saying this to?

No.

"I'm sorry." There is a strange feeling around the area between my cheeks and my eyes. It's difficult to explain, but I recognise what it is. Why would I cry now? I have nothing to cry for. This is just a demon to me, maybe a little more, but the part that's more than a demon—just a boy—isn't enough to draw feelings of love or compassion. "I do hate you. I don't want to, but I do. I know, in my head, that there's no reason to hate you, and it's not your fault, but when I look at you, the hate is too strong. I'm sorry. I'm not a ninja. I can't hide my emotions, or suppress them."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't want to hate you, but I can't help it. I'm asking you to make it so that I can't hate you any more. This cold fury, this hate… it tears me apart when I look at you, because I hate you but I don't want to. I'm asking you to change that. If you prove that you're not a demon, if you show me and everyone else that you're stronger than us mentally, and you don't hate us after all we do to you, we won't hate you any more."

They're just words. Maybe. I don't know anymore; these words seem to just be forming themselves. I don't think that this is how I really feel; I don't think about the boy too much. I try not to, at least. I know that I have never thought about him, or my hatred for him, this way before.

"But it's your responsibility to get rid of the darkness in your soul, not mine."

His words ring true. I can't really say anything to that, except: "I'm sorry. I'm not strong enough."

"Then… I'll be stronger." My eyes widen at these words. Although I suppose that it's what I was hoping for, I didn't really expect it. His voice is a lot stronger than I thought it could ever be, and for a moment, I almost entertain this thought as a possibility. "I'll be strong enough for you, and the rest of the village, and I'll take on everyone's burdens and help them with it. I'll be Hokage. Then… then nobody will hate me, right?"

It doesn't sound like a spontaneous decision. Has the boy seriously been considering ruling over Konoha for a while? That's proof enough for me that he's not just a normal young boy, as he appears to be.

I think about his last question. He doesn't want to be hated? He might just be spinning lies as we speak, appearing unthreatening so that he could pounce when I least expect it. There's no point to that but a bit of amusement, but if it attacked Konoha just for fun, I probably am just a plaything to it.

I answer anyway. "There's always somebody who will hate you." Thinking it over would reveal my words to be truer than I had intended it to be, but at the time I only mean that I don't think I could ever do otherwise. I continue, not knowing if I'm lying or not. "But that will only be from your own actions, if you do it right."

"I don't want to be hated by anyone."

The boy looks up at me, revealing bright blue eyes. Not red.

He reminds me of the Yondaime, a great man who rose quickly to power and fell that much faster. I think I see traces of the Yondaime in him, but it's only his physical qualities, I'm sure.

His eyes stare at me, and I can't help but stare back. I remember the Yondaime, the way my soul was uplifted every time he spoke to the masses. His charismatic personality drew many people in, and I had been looking forward to seeing how Konoha would prosper under his rule.

The boy's eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing into a glare. I flinch back as his mouth shifts into a scowl, his strange cheek-marks seemingly twisting with it. His eyes, still his eyes – somehow, it's hard to look away. I see the demon, now, glowering at me with malice and hatred, overlapping the image of a young boy defiantly standing up to a perceived threat. The demon is snarling at me.

His mouth twists into a sneer, showing the sharp white teeth of a predator, and I hear a low, rumbling growl. I flinch.

The demon roars, raising a claw to crush me where I stand.

I turn, eyes wide, and flee. Screams fill the air, and the scent of blood and smoke surround me.

I look back, and the nine-tailed demon fox is towering over the clearing, standing over piles of bodies. A child yells at me to stop and turn back, but I'm no ninja. The part of me that wants to turn back and help a poor, innocent boy is drowned out by my instinct to survive.

Maybe this is all a dream, I think. I wish this was a dream, but every part of this seems so real. It feels real. There is sweat running down my face, the metallic tang in my mouth, screams and roaring flames, the scent of burning flesh, and I can clearly see the demon when I turn back. The sky is red. The demon is here.

My feet hit the ground hard and fast. I keep running.

Betaed by NaiteShyde, whose great plans for certain lines were foiled by the limited formatting we can use. The single instance it was used, well, it's his fault.