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Title: Artificial

By: Grammatical Dictator

Rating: T

Genre:
�
Pairings: On the Naruto Side -- I'm not sure, but I'm leaning toward ItaxNaru, and on the FullMetal side, a definite EnvyxEdo…

Warning: Crossover between Naruto and Fullmetal Alchemist manga-verses.� Possible Shonen-Ai, minute chance of m-preg.� You have been warned!

Claimer: I own some aspects of this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or FullMetal Alchemist.

Summary: A tragic accident took Naruto's arm, now; he sets out to make a new one.� Edward Elric lost and arm and a leg in an attempt to bring his mother back to life, and had to have them replaced with automail.� After an odd occurrence, Edward and� Alphonse Elric, as well as a certain Homunculus find themselves within the gates of Konohagakure no Sato…

Word Count : 2,500

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Artificial

Chapter One: Circumstances

It had been a few days since the 'accident' that had taken Naruto's right arm. Still, the shadows of the memory haunted the boy's young and fragile mind. The 'accident,' as the villagers and Shinobi that had 'witness' the occurrence had told the Sandaime, was tragic. Apparently, he had been walking down the street, or rather running with a sharpened, stolen blade in his hand and had tripped on a rock in the middle of the path, falling onto the blade and slicing his arm off. This, of course was total fabrication, in reality, the occurrence that had taken the small boy's arm had been much more brutal, and much bloodier.

It had been in the still, cold silence of mid December. Cold, sharp, needle-like rain fell from the ebony clouds in sheets.

A small boy was trudging about, he no older then eight years old with the appearance of a boy of merely six. He sauntered sluggishly through the empty streets with a melancholy grimace marring his tanned features. His saffron hair was weighed down by the water falling upon him, and his eyes, deep pools of lapis lazuli, shown with dejection and odium. He wore a shapeless black t-shirt, tattered and stained, and a pair of shorts, equally as worn. This boy was the village's pariah, a demon among demons, who was not truly such. Merely, he was an outlet for past anger and hate. The villagers had become foolish in their time of mourning, and had taken their sadness, anger, and hate out on an innocent boy, and even after nearly a decade, no one had forgotten, and he remained an outlet for such emotions, like a human punching bag.

The boy's name was Uzumaki Naruto, a young orphan and the jailer of the legendary Bijuu, Kyuubi no Kitsune. The foul beast had been sealed within his naval by the villages' beloved hero; even though all of the younger generation believed that the beast had been killed rather then sealed. Naruto, though, despite the greatest efforts of the Sandaime, knew of his burden, as well as his somewhat royal heritage. All of this, though, he kept secret from the rest of the village, the less they knew, the better off he was, or so he believed. You see, Uzumaki Naruto had somewhat of a photographic memory, something that was rather useful for a Shinobi, should Naruto wish to pursue such an occupation. From the exact moment he saw light to that very point in time, he remembered everything, in fine detail. Granted, the hours after his birth were a little hazy, but he remembered his mother's face, and his father's face, and their voices - as well as most of the words they had spoken in the hours leading up to the sealing of the Kyuubi. Most clear in his mind, though, were his father's last words - "You will be treated as the hero of this village." Those had been his father's last words, his eyes shining with love for his newborn son, and a small train of blood dribbling down the elder blonde's chin as the lay dying with this son laying bundled up upon his chest, blue staring into blue. It was bull shit, for the boy had been treated like anything but a hero, but Naruto did not blame his father. In fact, he had admired his father's sacrifice, it had been a valiant cause and he had willingly sacrificed himself for the cause, and Naruto wished to follow in his Father's footsteps and become the Hokage as well. But Naruto feared that his father's and his own sacrifice had been in vain, and had been lost on such unworthy people, for the Villagers did not seemed to have faith in the Yondaime's sealing of the Kyuubi, and had not honored their beloved leaders final request.

Naruto was currently homeless, wandering around the village with no destination in mind. An outsider would have thought that such treatment of an innocent orphan was brutal, but to the villagers, it was common sense, for every adult in the village knew that the boy was a demon and anyone who dared to help such a child would be killed along with their children and grandchildren.

Naruto heaved and sigh and leaned against a white-painted fence, closing his eyes to rest a little. He had not slept properly in many days, for lack of proper place to do so. He would resume his wandering in a few minutes, for now, he just wanted to rest just a little, besides, there was no one around… was there?

Apparently, in thinking that, Naruto had jinxed himself, for a drunken 'war hero' stumbled around the corner, almost falling several times. He was an aged man of nearly seventy, bald and of wrinkled skin. His eyes were far set, one a sightless misty white color with a huge, scarred gash across it, and the other an ashen gray. His face was scarred, and he was garbed in the clothing of a poor drunkard - mere rags, and a tattered old Hitai-ate, the metal plate covered with nicks and scratches. He was a rather large man, more then six feet tall, and overweight as well. As he advanced forward, stumbling over his own feet, he noticed the small boy leaning against the white-painted fence post. Blond, with tanned skin and whisker-like scars marring his cheeks… the Demon-brat. Though drunk, that one though was clear in the drunkard's mind, a large, half toothless grin spreading across his fat face. This would be the perfect chance to kill the little demon, and not one would notice, of course, nor would they care - and he would be considered a hero once again.

The man stumbled not-so-stealthily toward the resting boy, and grabbed Naruto's neck with his enormous hand, squeezing slightly. Naruto's eyes snapped open, cerulean orbs wide with fear. His small, childish paws attempting to pry the burly man's hand from his neck. He gasped for air, but such an attempt was quite in vain, for it only made matters worse, as the air was forced out of his body. The man sneered.

"D'un wo'ry, boy. I wo'wn ki' ya' yettt. You mad' me suff'r, so I make ya' suff'r, jus' like mee…" the elderly man slurred, tightening his grip on the blond boy's neck, before snapping his hand downward and hurling the boy to the hard ground. On impact, the boy's right forearm shattered, and he allowed a cry of pain unleash from his throat.

Such a cry was almost loud enough to wake the dead and many civilian and Shinobi that had been about at such and ungodly hour came to see what had happened, in worry that someone had been attacked. However, upon arriving on the scene, the newcomers began to crowd around the fallen blond, sneering and snickering at the boy's obvious pain. Many began to join in on the small boy's torture, brandishing whatever weapon they could get their grimy hands on - sticks, stones, swords, shuriken and kunai were just a few on the list of the items the mob wielded. And the attacks began.

It had seemed like hours before the beatings ended, and day had almost come, and the raining had just about stopped, currently it was now just a small drizzle. The crowd had dispersed, and now, six or seven Shinobi, three civilians and the old war hero Drunkard that had initiated the seemingly endless torture were all that remained. The Drunkard stepped foreword, toward the boy, putting a long dagger from within his layers of foul-smelling clothing. With a sneer, he crouched down in front of the blonde and unsheathed his blade. With his other hand, grabbed the boy's hair and yanked up his head. The boy grinded his teeth to keep from yelping out in pain. The Drunkard put the blade to his throat.

"Hmm… I cou' jus' slice off yer' 'ead, and en' it quick, bu' I' rath'r not. I' rath'r ya' suff'red a lil' long'r…"

Slowly, agonizingly so, the Drunkard, with a slightly shaky hand, moved the silver blade down towards the boy's right shoulder. Intoxicated and with a sneer etching over his old features, the old man move his other hand from the boy's head, letting it drop to the wet ground and jerked the boy's right arm up. He placed the silver blade a mere few centimeters above the boy's shoulder and pressed the blade into the boy's skin, causing a thin trail of crimson to roll down the blade and drip into the muddy puddles below. Quickly, the Drunkard yanked his dagger straight through the boy's upper arm, through flesh, bone and muscle, taking the whole arm off with one quick, jagged cut. An unearthly scream tore through the boy's body, and seconds, if that, later, the boy's painful world went black.

The Drunkard tossed the severed arm aside, not caring where it laded, and trudged off, hoping that the boy would slowly suffer, bleeding to death. The rest of the crowd disappeared shortly after, silently hoping the same.

When Naruto awoke, he was in immense pair, and his vision was slightly blurred. As he attempted to sit up, he dully noted a few things. One, he was soaked to the bone with rain water and his own blood, though most of the latter had dried, two, it was very painful to move, even the slightest, and three, he was missing his dominate arm. In his former arms place, there was nothing but a stub. The stub, however was not bloody was one would expect of one who had just had their arm cut off. The Kyuubi, it seems, had done his job and healed the blonde, however, although its power was almost infinite, not even the most powerful of all Bijuu had the power to reconstruct human limbs, so, ultimately, he was left with but one arm, his subordinate arm, to boot. Naruto's blue eyes scanned his surroundings. Nothing had changed, it appeared, and his attackers had not even tried to move his body, and had just left him for dead. Dryly he noted, his arm lay about five feet away, cut away raggedly, and now, beyond repair or reattachment. He sighed dejectedly.

Shakily, the blonde stood, staggering as he attempted to walk, but he made his way, albeit, very slowly, toward his destination. It took what seemed like hours, but Naruto had finally made it. There, he stood, half-dead, in front of the Hokage tower, a small smile crossing his lips before he collapsed, from exhaustion and pain, right in front of the door.

It had been another few days before Naruto awoke again. This time is was in a much safer environment - for most, anyway, the Konoha General Hospital. He lay in a hospital bed, garbed in a white hospital gown, staring at the white ceiling of his hospital room and trying to ignore the heavy scent of chemicals that filled the hospital air. Naruto's door opened to reveal the withered old Sandaime Hokage.

The Sandaime was nearly sixty years of age, wearing his red and white Hokage robes and hat. His eyes were a sagely gray, and his hair, or what was left of it, was stark white. His face was coved in wrinkles and his head dotted with liver spots. From his mouth, extended a long pipe.

"Ah, Naruto, I see that you are awake?" the elderly Hokage said, advancing toward the boy's beside. Naruto looked up at the man and nodded.

"I was told that you stole a sword a few night ago, ran off with it too, unsheathed at that. You tripped and fell upon the blade, yes? Or, at least, this is the account of the ANBU that witness the crime." Naruto stared at the elderly Hokage, had he really gone senile of something. Naruto sighed, cheerless cerulean eyes looking down at his nub of a right arm.

"I didn't do anything," the blonde whimpered dejectedly. "I did nothing."

"Please clarify that, Naruto." the sagely Hokage said, staring at the depressed boy.

"I was resting…" Naruto murmured, his eyes still focused on his arm, "I didn't do anything to him…" Tears began to well up in the boy's eyes.

"To who?" questioned the Hokage.

"H-he grabbed my throat…" Naruto choked a sob, "I… I couldn't d-do breath…" The Hokage listened intently to the boy's story, wondering what had happened that had made the young, normally happy child so fearful and depressed. "H-he threw me a-at the g-ground… I-it hurt… I-I could h-hear my bone snap…" Tears trailed down the blond boy's whiskered cheeks. "I -I screamed, a-and more c-came… a-and they h-hurt m-me…" By this time, the boy was practically bawling, "And… and then h-he, p-put his k-knife at m-my n-neck… He- he g-grabed my a-arm and he c-cut it off…" The blonde look down. "I-I didn't do a-anything… w-why?"

"Naruto…" the old Hokage whispered sadly.

"W-why…? I didn't d-do anything! C-can't t-they see…?"

"See what, Naruto?"

"T-that I am n-not the d-demon that t-they t-think I-I am…" The Hokage stared at the boy, wondering if someone had told the boy of his true inner demon. "C-can t-they n-not see that I-I'm o-only the jailer o-of the b-beast? A-and w-why d-do they c-choose to i-ignore my f-father's d-dying wish?" At this, the withered Hokage stared with wide, gray eyes at the boy.

"H-How do you know of that?" Naruto smiled sadly.

"I remember," Naruto murmured, "I remember the day of my birth with surprising clarity. My memory is detailed, of every event that has occurred in my short like… I remember my mother's voice, my father's face… even the dying Shinobi of the leaf, and my father's dying words… and… how my mother died..!"

To say that the withered old Sandaime was surprised, would have been an understatement, but his expression remained solemn.

"You really have been through a lot, haven't you, boy?" And with that, the elder man turned and left the small child to his musings.

"I guess I will never be able to achieve my one goal," the blonde murmured in dazed depression. "I won't ever become a Shinobi at this rate…" And with those solemn words, the child sunk into restless, un-blissful sleep.

In a different world, an older boy sat, musing his current situation. He a young state alchemist on a mission. Nothing would stop him - not injuries, not protest, not even Winry… not even love. He found himself blushing at the last part.

"Err… Ed?"

The boy looked up to see his walking-tin-can of a brother, and the sole purpose of his mission - Alphonse Elric.

"Uh? What is it Al?"

"You're red, are you sick?" This statement caused the older, yet smaller boy to light up to a darker shade of crimson. And he stuttered out a forceful "no."

"Whatever you say, Nii-san…"

Edward Elric rose to his feet. "C'mon, Al."

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Err... Gram is back with a new story Lovely lovely lovely!

Well, probably not...� But whatcha think, Reveiw Please! � If you do... I just might give you a cookie.. and if not, i'll abandon this poor story TTTT

Note: Will I update my other stories?� Probably not.� Heh heh.� Most likely, I will delete them, or leave them to rot.� I'm lazy --;

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