NOT CANON. I'd already written like half of this before found out that there was ANOTHER clan m*acre. Since I think that one is enough, Scarlet's just going to be Uchiha, sorry. ¯\_(￣▽￣;)_/¯ Also, it's not comedy, or shipping.

Scarlet wasn’t dumb. Those adults would pat his head, give him a cookie (which he later threw), tell him how cute he was, and the moment he turned his back, the moment they thought he was out of earshot, they’d be whispering amongst themselves about his traitorous parents, how his father had abandoned a mission vital to the clan in order to bring his sick wife home. Ninjas weren’t supposed to have emotions- They were supposed to be like so many ants, working only for the collective benefit. And then there was his father. Trading who knew how many lives for just one.

It was more common a story than you would think- Ninjas were only human after all, and it was basic human nature to be selfish. Newspapers informed of countless tragedies, but no one cared until their own loved ones were endangered.

His father was ostracized within the clan. Outside, the rest of Konoha didn’t care so much- the mission had only been vital to the clan after all- but they still looked down on him. And Scarlet could not remember the last time his mother had stepped foot outside their house. Some unnamed disease picked up during the mission had left her chronically bedridden, sometimes barely able to speak, let alone move. When his father had taken her to the Konoha hospital, the doctors had been baffled. What could strike so quickly, and last so long? To this day, it remained a mystery. They hadn’t been able to afford in-patient care, so they just took her home and cared for her as best they could.

And then, some of the clan members decided they didn’t want Scarlet’s parents around anymore.

They came in the night- as cowards often do- wielding their instruments of death. Well, they only really had to take care of the man. The woman was almost dead herself, and the child was not long for the world with no one to take care of him. It would not leave the sick woman to fend for herself, they were confident of that much, and orphans died every day. It’d be just another body in the shinobi village. They crept along towards the wooden house, one of many in the vicinity.

This stain on the Uchiha name would soon be gone.

The door slammed to the floor, splintering in all different directions. They scoured the house, j*rked the covers off the beds where the foul traitors were sleeping-

But there was no one there.

Scarlet ran for his life- that was all his father had told him to do. No explanation was given. It was a night like any other, until it wasn’t. The sheets were yanked off of him, and groaned sleepily at the sudden chill that raised bumps on his skin.

“Up, Scarlet,” his father had whispered roughly in a voice much unlike the warm, friendly one Scarlet was used to. Something was wrong.

He swung his legs off the bed silently, eyes alight with concern.

“Downstairs,” His father muttered.

He crept down the steps, wary of every shadow. His heart beat fast, but he kept his breathing measured. A creak sounded from the kitchen, and Scarlet swept himself into a dark corner.

Silence. Then the creaks got louder-

Scarlet swung a fist blindly around the corner.

“Oof!”

‘Score!’

“Scarlet?”

“...Huh? Taro-kun?”

“Yeah! You guys gotta get out of here,” his kind of but not really friend whispered.

“Why-”

“Alright. Let’s go.” His dad appeared carrying his unconscious mother in his arms. Nothing else.

“Good luck,” Taro told them.

‘For what?’

“Thank you, Taro-kun. And to your granny as well. I thought we were alone, but there was still… someone who cared,” his father’s voice seemed to get a little stuffy- Maybe it was Scarlet’s imagination- “And you better get out of here before they come. If something were to happen to you just because you helped us…”

“Got it! Thanks for worrying! Now get GOING!” Taro grinned, saluting with two fingers and whipping back into the night.

So they ran. And ran. And ran some more. Until Scarlet’s legs burned and his body trembled. Until he felt almost like he was floating until his lead heavy legs slammed back to earth, and he scarcely felt that he could draw them back up again. Until his throat was raw and coated with mucous, and every breath burned a freezing trail.

But his fear of being left behind was greater than the pain, and he gulped those painful breaths that gave him what he needed to keep going. A mindless rhythm took over his body.

‘I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die…’ Not that he thought he was actually going to die, but it kept him moving, I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die...’

“Scarlet, stop.”

‘I’m gonna di-” A hand yanked him back. His legs flew forward, and the sweat-soaked mesh shirt choked him for a moment.

“Guh!” The hand released him, and Scarlet fell to his knees. His stomach convulsed, bile rose in his throat. If his stomach had had anything in it, it would have come up, too. His dad winced.

“...Sorry. But we’ll rest a bit. There’s a river a little to our right. We’ll take a break, get a drink, and move on afterward. I know you want answers, but we’re not quite safe yet. Soon.”

Answers could wait if he was on the verge of DEATH, Scarlet thought. He wanted to know, of course, but that voice was a small one against the roar of physical needs.

‘GET UP,’ it shrieked, ‘GET UP OR YOU REALLY WILL DIE.’

His hips creaked with protest as he slowly pushed himself upright.

‘WATER.’

His face radiated heat, his head swam. The roar dulled to a wordless, high pitched whine. Suddenly, the ground came up to meet him.

*SPLOOSH*

“Eh!?” Scarlet tried to cry out, but only bubbles came out. Where was he? The world was a cold, dark blur, specks of material flying past him. What the actual f-

His dad pulled him out of the river by the back of his jacket.

“Drink.” he said shortly, and walked back through the trees aways to where Scarlet could see the bundle of blankets that was his mother, their packs, and a small pile of twigs and dead leaves. The water slid down his face, warming with the heat of his skin. His father wove a few signs, and he stared, transfixed, as fire flowed from his mouth and neatly set the twigs ablaze.

A calm set over him. Little waves lapped at his back and washed around his body, splashed onto his face. Droplets trickled over his lips and into his mouth. His breathing slowed until he could maybe have not been breathing at all. Either way, it was fine. He didn’t really feel a need to breathe, anyway. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from that fire, though. A shout sounded, but Scarlet couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

His father shot up from where he was feeding the fire, and whipped kunai out of his leg pouch. So shiny. He couldn't tear his eyes away. Orange flashed in the metal as they flew from deft hands. Those dancing flames.

Two dozen blades flew at the lone target. As skilled as the man throwing kunai was, he couldn’t block them all. He flew backwards as several shuriken and other weapons peppered his body. Ouch. That had to hurt. Where was he, again? His eyes shifted around the place. Why was he wet? Why was everyone being so loud? Couldn’t he just watch his favorite show in peace? No… it was snowstorm, wasn’t it? ...No, Scarlet had a feeling that was a joke… Then again, when was his favorite show Yule log? ...It wasn’t even close to Christmas, and anyways, there wasn’t any music. Just loud people. Were the neighbors having a party agai-

Alarm coursed through his body, and he jolted upright… before promptly falling again. His body was so, so weak. He stared at his hand. It was trembling.

What the heck? That man who died… wasn’t that his father? Why couldn’t he do anything??

‘MOVE. WHY ARE YOU SO USELESS?’

The roaring voice was back. The water had revived it a little, and now it was ready to kick some but*. Rather, it was ready to kick Scarlet’s but*.

He heaved himself upright, staggering to a thin sapling that was closest to him and propping himself up against it. It slowly bent towards the ground. But he couldn’t stay there. Wobbling from tree to tree, he slowly made his way towards where he had seen his father impaled by throwing stars. No one stopped him. They must have left, their mission being completed.

He was stuck to the tree with blades. It would have been almost funny if it weren’t so horrifying. He tried to cry out. It left his mouth as a raspy cough.

“Father… Dad…” he croaked, stumbling to the body and tugging at one of the knives that had gone so far through his body that they had gotten stuck in the tree behind. His father’s head was bowed, eyes closed, gravity slowly bringing his body down and the knives just as slowly cutting further upwards.

His nose burned and eyes blurred with the effort of holding tears back, but they spilled down his cheeks anyway, mixing with the river water already on his face.

“Uh!” he grunted as he pulled the knife out, falling to the ground. Blood sprinkled his clothes, spread across the microscopic fissures in his skin.

Was this actually a nightmare? One of those false awakening type deals?

If he closed his eyes and opened them again, would his alarm clock go off? Would he hit the snooze but*on and go back to sleep for five minutes? Would he barely make it in time to his friend’s house for training, and laugh with him when asked if he’d overslept?

A boy could dream.