Rating: T

Warnings: More or less a fix-it, ANTI-ENDING, bad decisions, past NaruHina, angst, vague depression, kid fic, etc.

Word Count: ~4200

Pairings: Past Naruto/Hinata, future Sasuke/Naruto, referenced past Jiraiya/Orochimaru (possibly one-sided)

Summary: Naruto turns his face towards the rising wind, puts Konoha at his back, and walks forward. (Sometimes dreams change. Sometimes children grow up. Sometimes it takes a little help to find your way back to who you used to be.)

Disclaimer: Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto was smoking, but Naruto's not mine.

Notes: This was inspired by a picture and a post on Tumblr (you can find the link in the AO3 version of this story), namely of Naruto dressed as Jiraiya and him being miserable before his inauguration. I just hate what Naruto became post-699, and this is my way of dealing with it. It will eventually turn into SasuNaru, because that's what flavor of trash I am.

Drag the Mountain Down

Chapter 1

Kakashi finds him in the aftermath of the dream, perched on top of the Yondaime's carved head as the moon rises. He's not looking over Konoha (and maybe that should be the first sign) but away. Away from the lights of his village, away from his small family, away from everything.

Still clad in his robes as the Rokudaime, hat dangling down his back, Kakashi takes a seat beside him on the day-warm stone, and says idly, "I thought brooding was Sasuke's purview, not yours, Naruto."

Naruto doesn't look away from the moon, nearly full as it sails between the tattered rags of the clouds, overwhelming the clearer, colder light of the stars. "Nightmare," he says in explanation, though it's not quite true. But then, Naruto's become good at half-truths and skirting just past actual lies over the past years, hasn't he?

Whatever the dream was, it wasn't a nightmare. It was hardly good, but not quite bad, either. More just…unsettling. Disturbing. It's making Naruto think, when for so long he's been trapped in numbing grayness that never lifts.

Kakashi hums like he knows, both what Naruto's saying and what he's avoiding. "The sun will be up in six hours," he says, and it should sound like a change of subject, but somehow it doesn't. He doesn't quite add are you ready, even though Naruto knows he wants to say it. Everyone asks him that, now.

Maybe he should take that as a sign as well.

"Ready for me to take that hat, Kakashi-sensei?" Naruto asks, trying to smile, but there's nothing of his heart in it. It's been so long since the last time he really smiled, and just trying to remember when that was physically hurts.

Thankfully, Kakashi doesn't call him on it, doesn't do more than smile knowingly. He glances down and over, past the carved image of Tsunade, past his own image. There's an empty spot on the mountain, already prepared, even though tradition dictates a month in office before the new Hokage's face is added to the monument. Everyone is happy about tomorrow—today, rather. Everyone is looking forward to it, prepared, ready for this final step.

Everyone but Naruto, it seems.

The memory of the dream sits uneasily in Naruto's chest, too heavy for something so insubstantial. He doesn't recall all of it, only bits and pieces, scattered fragments given meaning by their lack of cohesion more than anything. The part that stands out to him the most is a sad smile, weary dark eyes, white hair tangled and sun-bleached to an even fairer shade. He hasn't truly thought of Jiraiya in years, so why now? Why here, on the eve of getting everything he's ever wanted?

"Once," Kakashi says quietly, "I wanted to be just like my father."

Naruto looks up, because even now, so far distant from the past, Kakashi doesn't talk about his parents. His teacher's eyes are staring out at nothing, and one of his hands comes up to touch the cord that holds the Hokage's hat around his neck. There's a moment, and then Kakashi looks at him, eyes crinkling in a familiar smile that always has equal odds of being a complete lie. "Then I wanted to be his opposite, and follow the rules no matter what. And then…then I wanted to be a good friend, even if it killed me. I learned, even if it took me years."

He doesn't say anything more, just pushes to his feet with a muffled groan, and it's a stark reminder that Kakashi is getting old. Naruto hates it, suddenly and with a fervor he can't quite understand. Kakashi has been good as the Rokudaime. He's done more for Konoha that Naruto can name with a pen, some paper, and all day to make a list. But he's sad, and he has been for years now. Tired and sad and worn, and Naruto's breath catches in his throat at the thought and the pang it strikes in his chest.

A callused hand drops onto his shoulder, and Naruto looks up into his old teacher's face. Kakashi's dark grey eyes are warm, even though they're weary, and he smiles again when Naruto holds his gaze. "Your parents would be proud of you," he says, and it settles like a lead weight on Naruto's shoulders, until Kakashi gentles his voice and adds, "Naruto. As long as you make yourself happy, they'll be proud. It doesn't matter what you do. Just that you do what you want."

He squeezes lightly and then steps away, and Naruto turns his head, listening to the retreating footsteps as they head back down the path.

A twist of night-cool air rushes past him, not from the human-hectic depths of Konoha, but from beyond it, beyond the mountain. It smells of earth and green and distant places, and Naruto closes his eyes and breathes it in.

He thinks of Jiraiya, of his smile, of the way he loved Naruto so much even if he only rarely showed it. Thinks of two years spent always traveling, always moving; of the hundreds of people, shady and respectable alike, that they met on the road. He still remembers it, even nearly twenty years distant, the feeling of going to sleep under the stars with every muscle aching from training and the feeling of advancing, growing, getting stronger.

A part of him wants to go find Sakura, who's still one of his best friends. Surely she'd understand, except that Naruto knows she wouldn't. Sakura has Sarada, and she's given herself over fully to being a mother, even if Sasuke has left her. All the others of his generation have settled, had children, moved forward.

So why does it feel so much like stagnating, to Naruto?

His breath hitches, and he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his crossed legs and burying his face in his hands. His hair itches uncomfortably against his fingers, cut too short, but he hadn't cared enough to protest when Hinata was doing it. He hasn't cared about a lot of things in a long time.

Sitting here, so far away from everything, it's simple to look back. Twenty years ago he was a lonely, unhappy child, so determined to make people see him. And—that brings Kakashi's words into perspective, doesn't it? I learned, even if it took me years. He means he learned which dreams were important, and which mattered, and which he wanted to keep. Which he could live with for the rest of his life, and which could be discarded as the dreams of a child.

Naruto wonders, suddenly, when the last time was that he had a conversation with his son, or his daughter. How long has it been since he asked Boruto about his day, or Himawari about her dreams, or Hinata how she feels? As long, he thinks, as it's been since he smiled without having to try. Maybe longer, even.

Naruto sighs, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He never wanted this for himself, for him to become some grim, unsmiling person. He's always stayed cheerful, no matter what, always looked for the best in every situation and used his determination to forge a path where people say he can't go. And now, looking at the past few years, he thinks he might hate this detached, dismissive man he's become, who barely knows his children's faces, who hasn't kissed his wife in months. Who doesn't want all of this, and the thought is startling in its truth, vibrating through him like a struck gong.

In all honesty, Naruto has already achieved his dreams. He's strong enough to protect, called a hero, respected by the village that once hated him. He's one of the greatest shinobi of his generation, his friends are alive and happy, and he's saved as many as he can.

Becoming Hokage was always about the strength of the position, and the acknowledgement that came along with it. To a lonely, hurting little boy almost universally reviled, it was the pinnacle of respect and a heroic life. Here and now, he wonders how he managed to forget the weight of it, the age it added to Sarutobi's features, the lines it put in Tsunade's face, the tired curve it gave Kakashi's shoulders.

Naruto doesn't want that. He's never cared to hold that much responsibility, can't even carry of it enough to be a decent father or a good husband. The shinobi world is more peaceful now, but there are still conflicts, still squabbles and disagreements that Naruto has no patience to settle. For the past two years he's been learning just what the Hokage's office means beyond a hat and a figurehead, and now, looking back on it, not a single thing has appealed to him. Not the ceremony of it, the politics, the power, the accountability. It would feel like chains, and of all the many wants in Naruto's thirty years of life, all he's ever truly wanted has been freedom—from expectations, from the destiny of suffering that being a jinchuuriki implies, from hatred he never earned, from the fear of losing those he loves.

In a little under six hours he's going to take the hat, take those chains, and wear them for the rest of his life.

He thinks, again, of Jiraiya, of Ero-Sennin. Of gruff, unpracticed kindness and a hope that could have held up the world beneath a tired exterior. Thinks of his dream, of reaching out a hand towards Jiraiya's back as he walked away, larger than life and brighter than the sun, and left Naruto behind, forgotten, in grey nothingness. His stomach rolls sickeningly, and Naruto presses a hand over his mouth, uncertainty and nerves turning to nausea that has no real cause. He gags a little, dropping his head, and tries to take deep breathes through his nose.

Gods, but this isn't how his inauguration as Hokage should go. It should be happy. If he can't smile now, can't summon up even the smallest edge of joy at finally standing at the pinnacle of his dreams, what was any of it even worth?

And—that's enough to make a decision, isn't it? Because he isn't happy and he hasn't been in years, and even now the foggy grey sameness overwhelms everything that should be an accomplishment and weighs him down. It's like he's drowning, sodden clothes dragging him towards the riverbed as cold, murky water closes over his head, and he's not Naruto like this. There is nothing left, here and now, of the boy he used to be.

Maybe that's a part of growing up, of getting old.

Naruto hates it. He can't stand it, can't accept it. And if there's a way to find that bright core of himself again, the part that has always made him who he wants to be—

He'll find it somehow, because living like this isn't living at all.

He heaves himself to his feet, heavier than he should be, and takes a step towards the path. Then he stops, and turns. Takes another step back towards the edge, and leaps.

For an endless moment, he's in freefall. The air whips past him, billowing his clothes, stinging his eyes, and then chakra whirls out around him like a buoyant cloud, cushioning his landing. He drops to the ground at the base of the mountain, beneath the faces of the six Hokage, and lands lightly on his feet. Not reckless, exactly, but not what an adult should do in anything but an emergency. It isn't nearly enough to make Naruto smile, but he doesn't feel quite so much like curling in on himself for the moment that the lightness lasts.

He skirts the busy streets as he makes his way into the village, moving through the more circuitous alleys that weave a maze around the edges of Konoha's walls. The people here are scattered, few and far between just after midnight, and though a handful of shinobi nod respectfully, they don't stop to talk as Naruto heads for the Nara Clan compound. There's a guard at the gate, but she smiles at him and lets him through without demanding his business, and Naruto manages to smile back at her, even if it sits awkwardly on his face. He waves off her offer of escort, aiming his feet towards the lighted main house.

Shikamaru is the one who answers his quiet knock, looking as alert as he ever does despite the hour. He takes one look at Naruto's face and then pulls the door open all the way, stepping aside so Naruto can enter.

"It's late," he complains, though it's clear his heart isn't in it.

"Sorry," Naruto says, and means it. "It's important, though."

Shikamaru stares at him for a long moment, assessing and curious, and then sighs through his nose. "Of course it is. I need coffee for this."

Naruto snorts, but follows his friend into the brightly-lit kitchen, blinking away the spots it leaves on his vision. Papers and reports are spread out across the main table, along with a mug long since gone cold and the remains of a half-finished meal. Shikamaru shuffles through the paperwork, ordering it carefully and setting it out of the way, and then nudges the chair across from his out a little and waves Naruto into it.

"You're really choosing now to do this?" he asks grouchily, his back turned as he sets up the coffee pot. "So goddamn troublesome."

This time, the faint smile that crosses Naruto's face is real. Small, halfhearted, but unforced and still fond. Out of all the people in Konoha, he thinks Shikamaru might understand him best, or at least have observed him enough to realize. "Sorry," he says again, though this time he doesn't actually mean it at all. "You…know?"

Shikamaru shoots him the mildly scathing look that's his equivalent of an incredulous flail, if only flailing didn't take quite so much effort. "Some of us," he says, "remember how to use our brains, and haven't forgotten that ninja are supposed to be observant."

Naruto supposes that's why Kakashi noticed, too. Look underneath the underneath, and all that. Even as Rokudaime, it's easy to forget that Kakashi is actually a genius, and probably smarter than a good percentage of Konoha combined. "I'm sorry to ask you," he starts.

"Shut up, Naruto," Shikamaru tells him, not unkindly, and turns to set a mug in front of each of their places and the coffee pot between them. He pours a generous amount into his cup, then passes it over, and Naruto does the same. "Of course I'll help. But…you know you're going to break Hinata's heart."

Naruto winces, but more for the fact that it doesn't hurt as much as it should, the thought of damaging someone who loves him. "Hinata loves the person she thinks I am, not the man I am right now. Me being gone—I don't think it's going to be all that different than me being here. That's one of the reasons I'm going. I just—don't want her to keep clinging to something that died a long time ago. Better to cut things off before they get even worse."

Sharp, dark eyes survey him for a long moment before Shikamaru nods, accepting that. He shuffles through his papers, pulling out a blank stack and a pen, and starts writing. "You're leaving her everything?"

That doesn't even require thought. If Naruto can't be the husband or father he should be, at least he can make sure Hinata, Himawari, and Boruto don't have to worry about money or housing. "Yeah. I'll be fine. They should have it."

Shikamaru's pen doesn't pause. "Do you want to give her the papers or should I?"

"I wouldn't ask you to do that, Shika," Naruto protests, and that's true. This is all a part of his mistake, of him getting stuck on a path with nothing he truly wants at the end of it.

"But I would," Shikamaru says mildly, still not looking up. "After watching you the last few years, I would."

If that doesn't say everything Naruto needs to know, that Shikamaru would willingly put himself in the middle of an incredibly troublesome situation just to make sure Naruto actually got away, that he truly went through with it, Naruto doesn't know what would. He huffs something that might be a laugh, running a hand over his shorn hair, and offers, "I need to say goodbye."

Shikamaru doesn't try to talk him out of it, doesn't attempt to tell him that he'll change his mind eventually. He simply nods, puts down his jaggedly messy signature, and then pushes pen and document across the table, carefully avoiding the coffee. Naruto takes it with a certain amount of resignation, but the words Notice of Request for Divorce across the top don't pain him the way they should. Trusting Shikamaru's contract to be as thorough as always, he only skims it briefly before he adds his own signature, then rolls it back up.

"You know they're going to shortlist me for the position," Shikamaru says, and when Naruto glances up the other man is watching him again, calculating and careful. I don't want to steal your dream, he doesn't say.

This time, Naruto's smile is very close to genuine as he pushes to his feet, scroll clutched in one hand. "Yeah," he confirms. "Asuma said you'd make a good one, didn't he? Maybe you should prove him right."

"Troublesome," Shikamaru mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but Naruto can see the smile he's trying to hide. "See you later, Naruto."

"Goodbye, Shika," Naruto answers, and pretends he doesn't see the realization that crosses Shikamaru's face at the phrasing. He offers one last halfhearted wave before he walks out, slipping the contract into pocket, and heads towards his apartment.

It's not home, and he realizes that for the first time. Not anywhere to stay, and it's more than time he faced that.

It's nearly dawn when he hears the first sounds of stirring in the apartment, and looks up from where he's sitting on the couch. It's made up, the blankets he's been using for the past few months neatly folded and set aside. That likely should have been a sign as well, since he and Hinata are more like strangers sharing the same space than husband and wife, but Naruto has managed to miss a lot over the years. This is just one more thing.

The bedroom door opens, then clicks quietly shut, and Hinata slips into the living room, still straightening her dress and brushing her hair back. She startles a little at the sight of him, then smiles warmly. "Naruto, you're up early. I'm sorry, I'll have breakfast in just a minute."

Naruto takes a deep breath as he rises to his feet, and feels his heart twist a little as her smile falters in surprise. How long has it been since they've really made each other happy? They must have once, right?

"That's all right," he says, and tries to smile back. It's so much harder than it should be. "I'm not going to eat."

She blinks, pale eyes filling with confusion, and takes a step back, studying him a little more carefully as worry bleeds into her features. "But it's your inauguration, Naruto. I'm sure a good meal—"

"I'm not going to become Hokage," Naruto says as gently as he's able, and Hinata freezes. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, and even though he's spent hours trying to find the right words, he still has absolutely nothing. "Hinata, I—I'm leaving. Today. Now. I don't even know who I am anymore, and it scares me. I'm—I've become the kind of dad Boruto and Himawari shouldn't have to deal with, and I'm definitely not the husband you deserve."

Maybe it's telling that Hinata doesn't protest. She wraps her arms around herself, but doesn't try to reach for him, and even though he feels like he should comfort her, Naruto doesn't. Hinata is strong. Maybe she thinks she needs him, but after the last few years, Naruto can say without hesitation that she doesn't. He's been worse than absent; after all, if he was gone, she could move on. All he's done is linger, caught up in a grey morass of unchanging dullness, and drag the rest of his family to a standstill as well.

"Oh," Hinata says, voice small, and her next breath trembles faintly. Her gaze falls on the paper sitting on the table, and clearly she knows what it is before she even reads it. "All—all right. Will you…" She trails off, takes another breath, and finishes, "Will you say goodbye to the children?"

"Yeah." It sounds tired, even to Naruto's ears, and he has to look away. Now, looking back at the last ten years, he wonders how any of this is a surprise at all. They might have been happy at first, but Naruto has been sleeping on the couch for a long time now, and Hinata no longer smiles at him and kisses him sweetly, the way she once did. "I'll go wake them up. I need to go soon."

Hinata manages a nod before her hands come up to cover her face, and she turns away, hurrying towards the kitchen. Naruto aches somewhere deep inside, but not as much as he should. Not as much as it would take to convince him to stay. What he said to Shikamaru is true; Hinata loves who she thinks he is, and Naruto doesn't even know if that man—that boy—exists anymore. Even if he does, Naruto doesn't think they can ever go back to what they were. Too much time has passed, too many things have happened, and there's no changing that.

With another faint sigh, he heads for the kids' bedrooms, hoping those conversations will go better than this one did.

A henge is enough for Naruto to slip out of the village unnoticed, and the guards barely even glance at him as he walks past, too busy checking a merchant's paperwork as she tries to hurry them along. Naruto even waves, and gets an absent nod from Moegi as she answers the woman's demands. Then he's out the gates with the road before him and the sun rising above him. He walks, not quickly, not slowly, but at the steady pace he remembers from so many years ago, and thinks again of Jiraiya's back in front of him, moving away.

There's still a heavy, empty sort of bleakness in his chest, entrenched like a stubborn infection, but there are no walls to close in on him, no looming buildings and approaching dread. Only the road before him, the pack bumping against his spine, the thud of the bare earth beneath his sandals. Naruto takes a breath, raises his face to the sky that's dawning clear and blue, and closes his eyes, taking in the warmth of the first slanting rays of sunlight slipping across the forest.

Then he turns his face towards the rising wind, puts Konoha at his back, and walks forward.