Chapter 8: Reflections in Still Water
In which unspoken grief finds words, and the golden boy of the village finds strength in unexpected kindness.
Sunlight streamed through the large wooden windows of the Konoha guest house, casting soft, dappled patterns across the wooden floorboards and flickering gently over the tatami mats. Outside, the soothing murmur of wind chimes and the scent of sakura blossoms drifting in the summer breeze might have made the morning feel idyllic.
If not for the four displaced superheroes inside—who looked about as comfortable as a gang of lions stuffed into a rabbit warren.
Peter Parker, aka Spider-Man, sat cross-legged at the low table, hunched over a steaming bowl of miso soup and rice. He eyed it with suspicion.
"This looks like something Aunt May once made when she forgot what planet she was on," he muttered, poking it with his chopsticks.
Across from him, Rogue daintily blew on her green tea. "Considerin' where we are now, sugar, that's not even a metaphor anymore."
Wolverine—or Logan, as he was more used to being called—grunted as he tore through a stack of grilled fish like it had personally offended him.
"I don't care what planet this is," he said between bites, "as long as the food ain't poisoned and the tea's strong."
Susan Storm, ever the poised Invisible Woman, sipped delicately from her cup but couldn't quite conceal the deep crease of concern on her brow. "We need to talk."
"Oh good," Peter said, already wincing. "Because breakfast and existential terror go so well together."
Susan ignored the quip. "We're stranded. No way home. Reed's not here. No Tesseract. No sling rings. No quantum tunnel. No working interdimensional tech, unless one of you managed to build something with twigs and chakra while I wasn't looking."
Rogue gave a helpless shrug. "Not unless y'all want me absorbin' Naruto and prayin' he can poof us back."
"That sounds ethically dubious at best," Peter mumbled.
Logan leaned back, folding his arms. "So what? We're stuck. You telling me the kid with the glowing eyes and nine-tailed death fox doesn't have a plan?"
"He's got instincts, not strategies," Susan replied. "But we can't wait around for plans to drop from the sky. We have to think long-term. This world might be our home for a while."
Peter dropped his chopsticks with a sigh. "So we start prepping defenses. Like cosmic pest control."
Susan nodded slowly. "Exactly. Because if the Beyonder sent us here to fight—then we have to assume the things we're meant to fight are coming here."
"Big things," Rogue said quietly. "Celestial-sized. Thor-level at minimum."
There was a heavy silence. Even Logan paused, as if trying to imagine an army of god-tier space invaders and resisting the urge to sharpen his claws in anticipation.
Peter scratched the back of his head. "I've fought some seriously weird things in New York, but nothing that eats planets for breakfast."
Susan folded her hands. "Then we need to make sure this world can't be found. At least not easily. Some kind of planetary cloaking device... or barrier."
"Like a magical invisibility cloak for an entire world?" Peter offered, trying to lighten the mood.
"Precisely," Susan said, ignoring his tone. "Naruto says the biggest threat comes from a species that travels world to world planting... chakra trees?"
"Sounds like a Galactus-style buffet," Logan muttered.
"But that also means they're going to look for more planets," Rogue said slowly. "If they're not here yet... they might already be on Earth."
Susan's eyes narrowed. "Or watching it. Waiting. If they've already mapped out the chakra-rich worlds, Earth might be on the menu."
Peter paled. "You mean... our homes could be next?"
Logan's voice was grim. "Or already under attack."
The weight of that truth hung over them like a dark cloud. Suddenly, the cheery little guest house with its woven mats and pretty paper walls felt far too fragile.
Susan set down her cup. "We need a plan. A real one. We stabilize this world first. Set up defenses. Find resources. And once we find Reed or Strange—or anyone with dimensional access—we warn Earth."
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The morning mist had only just begun to lift from the streets of Konoha when the group stepped out of the guest house. The village, though still bearing the scars of war, buzzed gently with life. Children chased one another between shops, vendors arranged fruit with practiced hands, and shinobi patrolled with calm vigilance. Life was returning, slowly but surely.
Susan and Rogue had gone off with their assigned ANBU escorts—silent figures cloaked in masks and mystery—to explore the village and understand the people Naruto had fought so fiercely to protect. Susan had said something about examining chakra architecture, while Rogue claimed she just wanted to "poke around and maybe find a place that serves real coffee."
That left Peter and Logan behind.
They sat on the wooden steps of the guest house porch, watching a pair of young genin sparring in the nearby training yard, their movements earnest, if a little clumsy. The soft rustle of trees and distant clang of kunai on steel filled the space between them.
"You ever notice how quiet it is around him?" Logan said after a while, his voice low, almost lost in the breeze.
Peter blinked, adjusting the mask slung around his neck. "You mean Naruto?"
Logan nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a toothpick. "Yeah. Kid walks into a room, and people go silent. Not out of fear… but reverence. Like they think he's already carrying enough."
Peter sighed. "He is carrying enough. More than anyone should."
Logan tilted his head, eyes narrowing in the direction Naruto had left earlier that morning. "Still. There's somethin' he's not tellin' us."
Peter turned to him. "You think he's lying?"
"Not lying," Logan said firmly. "Just… not talkin'. And I've lived long enough to know the difference."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"The way he acts—it's classic. Grief mixed with responsibility, a dangerous cocktail. He's trying to protect everyone by keeping them in the dark. Probably thinks no one else can carry what he knows."
Peter didn't reply immediately. He looked down at his gloves, thinking of all the times he'd tried to do the same—keep secrets, carry burdens alone. How many times had it backfired?
"Do you think it's about the Otsutsuki?" Peter asked at last.
Logan's jaw tightened. "That's part of it. He said they're dangerous. Said they consume planets. But if you watched his eyes… he wasn't just talkin' about some monster with a tree fetish."
Peter frowned. "You're saying there's more?"
Logan gave a grim nod. "More than he's told us. Maybe more than he can bear to say. Whatever it is… I think it's worse than anything we've dealt with. Worse than Thanos. Worse than Galactus."
Peter swallowed. "Worse than all of that?"
"I've seen fear before," Logan muttered. "Real fear. Not the kind that makes you run—but the kind that makes you stay, even if it kills you. Naruto's got that look."
Peter was quiet for a long moment. The genin's sparring had ended, and the village noises now seemed a little more distant, like they were sitting on the edge of something unseen.
"If you're right… then Naruto might be walking into hell alone," Peter said softly.
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The sun had begun its slow climb toward the clouds, casting a warm golden hue across the thatched rooftops and glimmering off the silver trim of the Hokage monument in the distance. The village of Konoha stirred with life, and the faint scent of grilled rice cakes wafted on the breeze. From their perch on the guest house veranda, Peter and Logan watched the morning unfold, two strangers in a world not their own.
Peter dangled his legs over the edge of the porch, absently twisting a kunai between his fingers. "So…" he said, glancing sideways at the older man, "why tell me all this? You don't exactly seem like the oversharing type."
Logan let out a short, gravelly grunt. "I'm not." He paused, then added with a dry smirk, "Lucky you."
Peter chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll consider it a compliment. I think."
Logan leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice was quieter now, more contemplative. "It's the kid. Naruto. There's somethin' about him. Reminds me of you."
Peter blinked. "Me? I don't have whisker marks or a glowing fox demon inside me."
"No," Logan agreed, "but you've got that same look in your eyes. Like you've seen too much, lost too much—but you still find a way to crack a joke and try to save everyone. That kind of weight? It leaves a mark."
Peter's smile faded slightly, the laughter lingering only in his eyes. "You mean the part where I try to pretend I'm not falling apart inside while webbing up bad guys and babysitting the multiverse?"
"Exactly," Logan said, his voice rough but not unkind. "You get him. You could get him. That's why I'm telling you. You're the best shot we've got at talkin' to him without pushin' him further into the dark."
Peter tilted his head, considering the thought. "You know… that's not the worst comparison I've ever gotten. At least it's not Deadpool again."
Logan snorted.
"But seriously," Peter continued, his gaze shifting to the distant Hokage monument, "I don't mind. I'd like to be his friend. Honestly, he's already done more for this world than I think most of us ever did for ours. And I've never really believed that friendship was a small thing. Sometimes it is the thing. The glue. The net. The reason we don't fall."
Logan gave a low hum, approving.
Peter nudged him with his elbow. "So, what, you're assigning me as Team Multiversal Heart now?"
"You volunteered," Logan grunted, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
Peter laughed. "Well, add it to the resume: Superhero, Photographer, Multiversal Spider-Guy, and Emotional Liaison to Reclusive Ninja Legends."
The banter lightened the mood, but a deeper understanding passed between them. This wasn't just about Naruto or Peter. This was about something bigger—about holding onto humanity when gods and monsters tried to tear it away. About leaning on each other when the world demanded they stand alone.
The wind picked up, brushing against the paper doors behind them. Somewhere in the village, a bell rang, and the clatter of feet followed—children heading to the Academy, shopkeepers raising awnings, shinobi setting out for patrol.
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The Yamanaka compound had always been a tranquil place, a haven of serene order nestled in the heart of Konoha. Its gardens were carefully curated with floral arrangements that danced in the breeze, their petals unfolding like whispers to the wind. Evening sunlight spilled over the koi pond in gilded ribbons, dappling the smooth stones and painting the water with liquid gold.
Naruto arrived with the kind of quiet step one wouldn't expect from someone who had once broken into the Hokage office via the window just because the door was locked. But today, he walked like a ghost—an outsider in a world trying to heal. The war had ended, but not its echoes. And some griefs, like the one that hung over the Yamanaka clan, refused to fade just yet.
Ino sat cross-legged by the pond, her back straight but her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, betraying the fatigue of sorrow. Beside her, her mother sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap. They weren't speaking—grief often didn't need words—and their silence seemed deeper than the stillness of the pond.
Naruto paused a few paces away, uncertain. The part of him that had grown up with rejection told him to leave—this isn't your place, Naruto. But the part of him that had stood between Madara and the world whispered that he had to say something. Even if it was just thank you. Even if it was just I'm sorry.
He was about to turn and vanish the way he came when Ino's eyes, blue as a storm-swept sea, lifted and met his.
For one suspended breath, neither of them spoke. Her expression was unreadable at first—calm, controlled, but underpinned by something deeper. Pain? Bitterness? He braced himself for both. After all, he now wore the eyes of the boy she'd loved since they were children. The same boy who had never returned her affection. The same boy Naruto had outlived.
"Sorry," Naruto muttered, his voice rough and hoarse like wind scraping over stone. He couldn't look her in the eye anymore. "I didn't mean to— I just wanted to check on you. I'll go."
Her answer, when it came, was not at all what he expected.
"You tried your best, Naruto," Ino said, her voice firm yet gentle. "There's nothing to apologize for. I trust you, no matter what others say."
Naruto froze. He had steeled himself for a thousand reactions—cold glares, cutting words, even the kind of silence that weighed heavier than a slap. But trust? That caught him off guard. His heart gave a lurch, surprised by the warmth of it.
Ino still wasn't looking at him. Her gaze remained locked on the pond, but her words were unwavering. And in them, Naruto heard something he didn't realize he needed: validation. Not just as a hero or a soldier, but as a person. As someone who had made a horrible choice for the sake of the greater good—and feared it might be misunderstood forever.
He stood silently, staring at her for a long moment. The gentle wind rustled through the garden trees. A few fish broke the pond's surface, sending ripples over their shared reflection.
"People are scared," he said at last, his tone heavy but calm. "They think I took Sasuke's eyes for power."
Ino's hands curled into her lap. "People are always scared of what they don't understand," she replied, almost absently. "They used to say horrible things about you, remember?"
Naruto laughed softly—just once, a brief exhale of wry amusement. "Yeah. Guess some things never change."
"But you changed," she said, her voice suddenly stronger. "You made them believe in you. You made me believe in you."
For a moment, silence returned. This time, it felt like something sacred—an invisible bridge built over grief, between two people who had both known too much loss.
"Thank you, Ino," Naruto said quietly. "Your support... it means more than I can say."
He bowed, low and sincere, and began to turn away, giving her space.
But just before he left, he heard her speak once more, her voice softer now, almost a whisper.
"Sasuke wouldn't have wanted people to fear you. He trusted you with everything in the end. So do I."
Naruto's steps faltered, but he didn't look back. He simply nodded, more to himself than anyone else, and walked on.
As he left the garden behind, the golden light fading into the quiet of evening, Naruto's heart felt just a little lighter. The village's scars would take time to heal, as would his own. But perhaps—just perhaps—not all burdens needed to be carried alone.
After all, even the heaviest weights are easier when someone reminds you that you're still human.