Something Precious

Chapter Sixty Seven

Naruto frowned worriedly down at his hand as they neared the rocky area where they believed Madara was hiding. He roughly rubbed at his calloused palm as if it was mearly a strange smudge that he could wipe away. It wasn't. The mark stayed tattooed on his skin long after he had rubbed it raw and the surrounding skin was a flushed pink.

"Is something wrong?"

Naruto started when Minato spoke. The man hadn't said a word since that first night unless it was comment on their position or something mission-related. He was worried that Minato was upset with him, but didn't really want to ask and so the painfully vivid silence hung over the group. Occasionally Rin would start up a conversation with one of her three travel buddies and sometimes it stuck for around ten minutes tops before they once more descended into the ever present talkless void of awkwardness.

"Yeah. I'm good. Just a little anxious. Facing him again will be. . . strange." Naruto replied to his fathers question. It was kinda true. He wasn't lying. Not really. The thought that in a short while he would once again stand in front of Madara sent shivers of apprehension down his spine. He was surprised he wasn't shaking.

He rubbed at the mark again. It was perfectly round and the size of a quarter. It was yellow and seemed to faintly glow, like a little sun on the palm of his hand. It wasn't really the mark that bothered him so much as why it was there. After he had come back in time - or, he supposed, after Sasuke died - the mark had slowly faded away, like it was dying without it's counterpart. Along with it Naruto had found his Six Paths power had dwindled out as well until he couldn't feel it any more. One day when he was training he tested out his theory and sure enough he couldn't enter six-paths mode at all. It had been like a serious punch in the gut. The kind that could snap your ribs like twigs and left you winded. More than ever after that, he felt cut off from his old life. Like it was just a horrible dream and none of it had been real at all.

He shook himself from his thoughts as they neared the nation's boarder. They were now half an hour out from their destination and Naruto wondered if he would be able to sense their chakra. It would certainly make things a lot easier.

Five minutes later, Minato called the group to a stop. They were going to rest for a few hours before completing the distance. But his ulterior motive was soon unveiled when he pulled Naruto aside, carefully out of earshot of Rin and Kakashi.

The wind whispered quietly through the leaves as Naruto leaned up against a tree, his casual demeanor was riddled with anxious tells, like tense muscles and guarded eyes. He wasn't sure he was going to like this conversation.

"So. . ." Minato began, sounding as if he was still trying to line up his thoughts into speech. But still, he captured Naruto's eyes, his own as intense as the Uzumaki's had ever been. No getting out of this one. "The other night when I was on watch, Kakashi woke from a nightmare. He described it to me. Do you want to know what it was?" his voice was hard. Not quite angry, but stern, something brewed behind them.

Naruto tensed further, getting an idea. "I don't think he would want you to te-"

"Tell you? Maybe not. But this is important. You mentioned that these. . . dreams Kakashi has been having are memories from your time right?" he didn't leave space for him to answer. He seemed to be gettingnmore wind up the more he spoke. Like a time bomb about to explode. His words were the number, counting down to detonation. "Well this dream was about a man in a white mask. The man who killed him. Do want to know who that man was?" Naruto only looked at him expressionlessly. He already knew. Of course he did. Minato spoke the name anyways. "Obito."

Naruto flinched and pushed up from the rough tree bark. "Minato, listen-"

The timer reached zero and Naruto could picture the brief tense pause before the explosion. Boom. Like a dam broke, the pent up feelings that had been brewing behind those eyes flooded dangerously to the surface. Now Minato really was angry, and yet the explosion wasn't quite that. No, it wasn't loud or destructive, but more terrifying. Like a poison working it's way through your veins, corroding and painful, silent and yet deadly. "Is this not something you think I ought to have known? That Obito could potentially grow up to be. . . what was he exactly? A psycopath? A murderer? An enemy? A threat?"