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Six years later and he stepped into the village.

The shinobi posted at the gates couldn’t believe it.

It had been six years since the mission.

Six years since they’d stopped looking for a body.

Six years since even the most steadfast lost hope.

Six years since people started to move on.

As he trudged through the village, a wave passed before him. Whispers went from ear to ear. Curious at first, disbelieving. Then awed. Then ecstatic.

He was back.

He was back.

He wandered as if in a dream. Guards, other shinobi, carefully guided him through the cheering crowds. He was hugged continuously. He vaguely wondered why Sakura-chan was crying so hard as she clutched the front of his jacket.

He was taken to the Hokage’s Tower. Tsunade-baa-chan was so shocked that she didn’t move for the longest time. She was crying too.

He didn’t know why.

Then she pulled him into a great hug and held him against her, her breast heaving with sobs. She asked what happened.

He told her.

He told her about the mission. About how he’d rescued his team only to be captured himself. He told her about how he was tortured. About how he refused to break.

About how he broke.

He told her about how they had promised him to the Akatsuki. About how they got greedy and hid him away. About how they panicked when one by one, the Akatsuki fell.

He told her how they sent him far away, half dead and lost. He told her that he had walked for six years in a daze. He told her it was because he had made a promise.

He had told Iruka-sensei that he’d be back for ramen.

Then he asked where Iruka-sensei was.

And she told him.

She told him about how Iruka-sensei never gave up on him. She told him about how he waited at the gates everyday. About how when others started to doubt, he smiled and assured them.

She told him about Iruka-sensei accompanying every search mission they sent out. She told him about the search missions Iruka-sensei went out on by himself without permission.

She told him how when they finally had a funeral, that Iruka-sensei didn’t attend. About how Iruka-sensei never went a day without visiting the front gates. About how he’d stand there even in the rain.

She told him about the last time he had stood there during a storm.

She told him about how sick Iruka-sensei had gotten.

She told him about how tired Iruka-sensei had been.

She told him about how in the end, Iruka-sensei just didn’t have the will to get better.

And then she told him about the funeral they had carried out two years earlier.

There were more questions.

He answered them all. He told his story to the council. He told it to Tsunade-baa-chan again. He told it to his former sensei. He told it to the interrogator. He told it to the medic nin.

He was in the hospital for a week. And then he was allowed to go home.

His friends all wanted him to stay with them. But he wanted to go home.

Their apartment hadn’t been touched since Iruka-sensei passed. It still sat alone and dark, like some great pet dutifully waiting for the masters that would never come back.

He walked inside, smelling the dust, the cobwebs, the rust. And lingering sickness. A dead scent. And also the smell of Spring.

Iruka-sensei had always smelled like Spring to him.

He went to his room first. It was the same. Iruka-sensei hadn’t touched it. He probably spent the last of his life occasionally peering into this room, making sure it was exactly like its occupant had left it.

Because of course Naruto would return.

Naruto always kept his promises.

He walked through the apartment. But it felt like a stranger. This wasn’t home. Iruka-sensei had made it home. Iruka-sensei had been his home, his world. And now Iruka-sensei wasn’t here.

Naruto went into the next bedroom.

Iruka-sensei’s scent still lingered, mixed with death.

The bed was ruffled, as though Iruka-sensei had just woken up and went to the bathroom. He’d be back any moment now to make it up again.

Naruto stared at the door waiting.

Then he made the bed himself.

He sat down. Then lay down. He stared at the ceiling for hours, for days. He couldn’t tell.

He wanted to go home. And this wasn’t it.

Iruka-sensei wasn’t here to make it home.

He laid his head back against the pillow, breathing in Iruka-sensei’s scent. A crackling of paper caught his attention and he shifted a hand under the cushion. It was a little folded note, overlooked by others.

The edges were yellowed with age. But the script was unmistakable.

I waited as long as I could.

Naruto clutched the note. It was for him. He knew it was.

He held it close to him.

Then he closed his eyes.

And then Naruto went home.

They held the funeral the next day.

They buried him next to Iruka-sensei.