a/n: canon compliant as far as i know, but i admittedly haven't acquired the gaiden beyond chapter two.
./ /1
He's been floating in and out of consciousness since being hauled out of the snow, but the first time he fully comes to he's met with a gleaming pair of black eyes and a grin that shines so bright he needs a moment to adjust.
"There you are," greets his unfortunate savior. "Welcome back to the world of the living."
He takes care when he sits up, the anticipated discomfort of doing so falling behind an inscrutable mask he's still grooming to perfection. The unfamiliar room smells like ointment and something warm and dusty that he can't quite place.
"Would you like some water?"
He glances back to Kumou Tenka and studies him without the blur of blood loss and blizzards to hinder the observation. There's a sleeping toddler sprawled across his lap, an uncanny nonchalance radiating off of him.
He gives a slow nod.
Tenka has a bucket nearby and ladles some into a bowl. Taking the bowl causes him pain and Tenka is perceptive to this, placing a supportive hand to his back. He drinks every drop, only realizing how thirsty he is when the first sip trickles down his sandpaper throat.
"You're in pretty rough shape," Tenka tells him with a mere shade of sympathy. "You have to stay put until your wounds heal, so it looks like you'll be here for awhile."
"It's just as well," he breathes, gingerly laying back down. "I don't have anywhere else to go. There's no clan left to return to and their features haunt me everywhere." Hair as pale as winter moonbeams, violets for irises, unmistakable attributes earned through the customary slaughter of his father by his own hand and time spent in a box of impenetrable darkness.
"Not here," says Tenka and the look of surprise Fuuma Kotarou gives him is genuinely unbidden.
"Here you're a guy who needs some help," he continues on, his grin softening at its edges. "And we're glad to give it."
. / /2
Soramaru and Chuutarou keep him company while he eats, the latter propped up on his brother's back, chortling and reaching for him.
"I think he likes your hair," Soramaru says, smiling gently.
"He'd be the first," he replies and continues eating. The rice is slightly undercooked, but it's warm and he would be rude to refuse.
Soramaru's brows pinch together like he isn't sure what to make of that, but he doesn't ask about it. What Soramaru asks, eyes traveling the layers of his bandages, is: "Does it still hurt?"
"Not really," he answers with a small, tight rictus and it could almost be true. He's still tender, though he isn't sure if it would be effective or counterproductive to play this up in the presence of Tenka. His infiltration is in its delicate infancy, he needs to tread with caution.
"But it has to be boring not being able to do anything, right?" Soramaru's brows quirk up. "I could tell you a story. I know a lot of stories."
"Bamboo," Chuutarou chirps.
"Yeah, I know." Soramaru reaches back and fondly ruffles the toddler's hair. "He likes the one about Princess Kaguya. But I know other ones too, like how jellyfish lost their bones, and the one about the kirin, and the one with the ningyo's secret, and the one..."
The child rambles on and lists about ten more that he can't keep up with, and on some level he is annoyed but he doesn't cut him off. He eats slowly, lets himself roll into the moment.
"I guess I wouldn't mind a story."
Soramaru grins– looking starkly like Tenka for one hot second –and then claps his hands together. "Alright. Which one?"
"Whichever one's your favorite." He shrugs the shoulder that hurts less.
. / /3
"Shirasu," Chuutarou warbles, hanging onto his leg with stubborn, chubby fists. Shirasu's been his name since they gave him the headband and it is one of the more frequent words that tumbles from Chuutarou's limited vocabulary.
He goes ahead and keeps walking toward the broom, rather accustomed to being clung on to at this point. He picks it up and begins sweeping idly, clearing the hardwood of dust and grim brush by brush.
Chuutarou remains a weight on his leg, apparently content just to perch whilst his brothers are chasing each other around outside, laughing and obnoxiously loud. Apparently Tenka trusts that Chuutarou will be safe in Shirasu's presence, and though this is definitely not incorrect or undesirable, it's still a judgement call that says a lot about just how facile these people are to immerse with.
He continues sweeping until Chuutarou starts tugging. "Shirasu."
"Yes?" He glances down.
"Up." Tiny hands release the fabric and reach high.
Breathing a soft sigh, Shirasu picks him up and balances him in the crook of his arm. Chuutarou yawns and snuggles his face into Shirasu's shoulder.
He drifts off and drools all over Shirasu's clothes, but at least the floor gets cleaned.
. / /4
The horizon is dark with dusk, a lone cricket beginning its song just a tad early. Tenka is sitting on the porch and Shirasu joins him. He's as silent as a shadow, but the twitch at the corner of Tenka's mouth shows that he sensed him coming anyway.
"I owe you everything." Shirasu has rehearsed this for some time, he thinks it's finally as imperfect and emotive as it has to be, implicit of his heart but straight to the point. He bows his head. "You saved my life, so you have my life, Kumou Tenka. I'm in your debt as long as it lasts."
Tenka blinks at him blankly and then his features twist, expression reminiscent of someone who's stepped in something highly unpleasant.
"Don't say stuff like that, Shirasu. We're friends."
Shirasu expected a response like this, nonetheless he keeps his head lowered. "As a shinobi, I'm born to serve and bound to honor certain principles. You saved me, so you can use me as you see fit."
Tenka clicks his tongue in disapproval and then his fingers are in Shirasu's hair, ruffling reproachfully. "I don't want to use you. But it'd be nice if you could do the dishes tomorrow."
After a beat, Shirasu raises his head.
"Do you take anything seriously?" he sighs.
"I was being serious," insists Tenka. "I hate doing the dishes, you know that."
. / / 5
"Do you need help getting down?" Shirasu glances up to Soramaru as he hangs the clothes on the line to dry. The kid had been climbing a tree and found a perch about five or six meters up. Which was all very well and good, only it'd been over a half-an-hour and he has yet to come back down.
"No," Soramaru calls down. "I got it."
"Alright." Shirasu continues hanging up clothes, the breeze carrying the scent of soap.
Soramaru's startled cry pierces the atmosphere a nanosecond before Shirasu sees him fall.
He flickers over and leaps to catch him, landing nimbly with one knee bent. Soramaru stares up at him, mouth gaping like a koi's, startled eyes frozen in wide onyx moons.
"Are you okay?"
Soramaru blinks slowly, processing what just happened. He then bobs his head. "Yeah. Thank you, Shirasu-san."
Shirasu can tell he's shaken up and embarrassed, so he sets him down and breathes a sweet proposition.
"How about I make us some dango?"
Soramaru brightens tentatively, nodding in agreement as a smile unfurls.
He gently pats his head. "Okay. It'll only take a minute for me to finish hanging up the clothes."
"I'll help," Soramaru declares, trotting over to the basket. He's too short to reach the line, so he takes the clothes out and hands them up to Shirasu to do the hanging.
The dango is done by the time Tenka and Chuutarou come back from getting groceries, and it's a pleasant un-surprise, because he foresaw this and prepared extra.
. / /6
It's actually an accident that he sees Tenka undress. His intention is to clean out the bath, and it's just poor timing on his part because Tenka's about to take one.
He pauses, mouth falling open at the sight of the scar running down the compact back that he himself inflicted. Such would be the natural reaction of seeing such a thing and after two years of growing into this role it is subconscious to react naturally. Tenka peers over his shoulder through the curtain of his hair. It looks incredibly soft when it's down.
Silken soot.
"Sorry," Shirasu murmurs, dipping his head as he steps back.
"It's alright," Tenka replies and then, in a softer breath, "You can ask."
"No." He lifts his head and spares a frown. "I don't want to cause you pain."
A snort of laughter. "I'm far from fragile, Shirasu."
Shirasu tentatively reaches out and brushes his fingertips down the length of pink-white, slightly puckered tissue. Tenka allows the touch, doesn't even stiffen but watches all the while.
"Deep," he says simply.
"It could've been worse." Tenka exhales heavily and then smiles a smile that's maybe a bit too precise.
Shirasu smiles back at him fondly and then opens his own layers to showcase the permanent trace on his torso of the wound Tenka helped heal, the one that was necessary to get him here and the closest to fatal Kotarou could get without ending him. Imperative measures for a believable performance, worth it for his bloodline, worth it for himself(ves).
This is all going to work in the end. Success is a steady stretch over the horizon, but its promise is as absolute as the clan.
The clan is temporarily cast aside as Tenka runs over the scar with warm fingers, his gaze soft. He opens his mouth then closes it without a word.
Breaking into a grin, he pulls away and hops in the bath, unapologetically splashing Shirasu.
. / /7
Three days of nonstop rainstorms have left the ground marshy and the air damp.
Chuutarou is visibly dismayed, his features crumpled and head hanging. Shirasu can't blame him. After all, he's been cooped up for three days.
His glumness does not escape Tenka's attention. Little concerning his brothers ever does.
"What's wrong?" Tenka affectionately pokes him in the cheek.
"The weather," he replies, crestfallen.
"What do you mean?" Tenka says in disbelief. "This weather's perfect for frog hunting!"
Chuutarou's demeanor changes instantly, stars in his eyes. "Yeah!" He springs up and scrambles to the shoji.
"Don't catch a cold," Shirasu warns.
"I won't!" And then he's outside, running like the wind, mud splattering clothes Shirasu is going to have to scrub later.
Tenka gets up, a buoyant noise trilling in his throat. "Join us, Soramaru, Shirasu. Whoever catches the biggest frog wins!"
"No thanks," Soramaru mutters. "It's freezing out there." He's only ten and already grown into his practicality.
"I have to finish dusting," Shirasu says by way of polite refusal.
Tenka cackles, his gaze flashing gleefully. "I wasn't asking!" He grabs them both by the wrists and drags them out to the petrichor, and even though Shirasu could dig his heels in, he chooses not to.
./ /8
"Spar with me." Tenka's grin glows with star shine as his brothers snore inside.
Shirasu considers. Following an errand, he's already dressed in Fuuma attire.
"I have chores in the morning," he says although he's already made his decision.
This much, Tenka knows.
"Spar with me anyway."
No sooner does Shirasu rise to his feet does he have to swivel back from the elbow aimed for his throat.
Tenka is not using his fan and he is not using his kunai. If they used weapons they would most certainly kill each other. They might even kill each other like this.
Tenka is undetered and drives his opposite fist toward Shirasu's stomach. Shirasu flips onto his hands and kicks out in a fluid cartwheel. On his feet once more and fingers curled tightly inward, he smashes the heel of his palm to Tenka's chin.
Tenka stumbles back, unsteady. Shirasu follows through with a kick under the ribs but Tenka grabs his ankle and twists, sending him ground bound. He recovers himself just in time to avoid another strike of that formidable elbow. He counters with a swing that Tenka deflects, chin stinging as the miss gives the latter an opening.
It goes on like this for hours as the night withers away to hints of sunrise, their finesse exchanged for sloppier blows and breath catching in ragged puffs. They could go on for days if they were serious.
But they aren't serious tonight and they stop when they're both panting bloody and bruised on the dew slick grass, limbs sprawled and heads together.
"A draw?" Tenka chuckles breathlessly.
"A draw," Shirasu agrees.
Another star disappears as the sky lightens.
"I'm exhausted," Tenka declares. He sits up and pokes Shirasu in the cheek. "I want a piggyback ride to bed."
"No."
"Please?" He pokes Shirasu again.
Shirasu snorts and bats his hand aside. "Fine."
. / /9
He's fallen ill. His throat grieves as though he's swallowed a nest of angry wasps, there's a chill beneath his flesh despite the mild mid-spring weather, and he finds it's getting increasingly more difficult to focus as the day goes on, a piercing throb between his temples. Even so, he carries out his duties as he normally would.
Soramaru's training too hard again, panting with exertion as he strives to overcome Tenka's shade. Shirasu decides it's time to bring him tea.
"Take a break," he rasps. "You've been at it all day."
Soramaru looks like he's going to argue for a moment, jaw set stubbornly, but then his expression shifts, a brow dubiously raised. "Shirasu-san? Are you alright?"
Shirasu doesn't have time to answer as he unwillingly yields to a combination of the virus and his own overexertion. He collapses undramatically, tea tray slipping from his hands as he topples forward.
...
"Hey, Shirasu! Shirasu!"
He comes to hazily, met with three worried Kumou faces. "Did the cups break?" he asks, vaguely embarrassed for the lapse in grace and cross because if they did, it's just another thing he's going to have to clean.
Tenka ignores the question entirely and palms Shirasu's forehead with a hiss. "You're burning up."
"Naturally," he laughs, giddy fondness shaping his lips. "I've been embraced by the sun." Because Tenka truly is the sun of these cloudy lands, the rule and the warmth.
The brothers exchange alarmed glances, no doubt thinking him delirious. Perhaps he is a little bit, because right now he swears he can see Tenka's heliacal light and muses that maybe, just maybe, there's a sliver of him that will regret extinguishing it.
"I'll get the doctor." Soramaru's face disappears and Shirasu can hear him bolt.
"Chuutarou, get a cloth and a bowl of cold water," Tenka instructs.
"Yes, sir." He scampers off and then Tenka lifts Shirasu with ease, nearly cradling him as he carries him back inside. Shirasu sags limply. He only shivers, feeling wretched now that he's succumbed.
Tenka lays him down on his futon, pulling up the blanket and then slipping his haori off and draping it over him as well when it's not enough to take his chill. His headband is removed, sweaty fringe falling in his face only to be combed back again by gentle fingers. "Hang in there."
"The sun," he mumbles, letting his eyes close. He's wrong. There's no sliver of him that will regret blacking out the sun, no, he'll do anything for it. The Fuuma gain everything with it. But if he wasn't a Fuuma, if Kinjou Shirasu were a real person, that person would love Tenka unconditionally. He'd love all of them unconditionally, he'd love every square of this shrine with every fiber of his being.
But of course people who don't exist can't love anything.
"Here, Shiro-nii." Chuutarou plasters a cool cloth to his forehead.
"Thank you," he breathes, even though he's still feeling too chilled to find comfort in the sensation.
Tenka's hand is in his hair again, stroking back consolingly. Shirasu almost falls asleep to the motion when Soramaru returns out of breath.
"Sensei wasn't in," he declares, voice fluttering with anxiety.
"Good," Shirasu says mostly to pacify Soramaru but also because that man has always rubbed him the wrong way. "I'm fine."
Soramaru looks doubtful, but he nods anyway. "Are you hungry? I can make you something light."
Shirasu has no appetite whatsoever but he sits up and leans on the shoulder Tenka offers, smiling agreeably. "If I knew you guys were going to take such good care of me, I would've gotten sick a lot sooner."
"Well, of course we are," Chuutarou says. "You're always taking care of us, Shiro-nii."
"Mm...Yeah." Something in his chest tightens. He feels lightheaded all of a sudden and it must be noticeable because Tenka eases him back to the futon.