So, I accidentally stumbled across this prompt on blackkat tumblr and the idea just fascinated me. I hoped I have done it justice.
prompt: If there was one thing he had learned from the scheming powerhouse that was Obito Uchiha, it was that no one would suspect a loud, bumbling idiot.
Orochimaru remembered dying. Which was, well, seeing as compared to all the creepy things he had seen or done over the years, had not been that much weird at all. However, he knew something was different. It was the way he could not open his eyes or move his limbs. It was the way he could not feel chakra any longer, which in itself was impossible. Every being had chakra. He had studied it, eat its' knowledge and studies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Experimenting it in every possible way in how he could use, how it could be applied. Had tweaked and turned his body into one glorified being that was him. That was suitable for his name and skills.
All of that, he could no longer feel.
Time passed, and he remembered more. Remembered every sin he had ever committed, remembered every disappointed frown his sensei and teammates had bestowed upon him. Remembered fighting a war just for the sake of his once estrange student, whose body he had failed to take over, whose arrogance still amused him oh so greatly. Lastly, he remembered his sons. Perfect experiments which he had created, his pride and joy. Whose lives, now that he could remember, he had sacrificed for.
Orochimaru had no regret, really. He had lived longer than anyone of his generations was capable of, had outlived some of the most brilliant minds – silver hair and an infectious laugh, the smell of wolf and pack, of longing and of something that could no longer be. He was the only one left who could still vividly recalled each and every war that had happened.
He would miss his sons, Mitsuki and Rogu, certainly. They who had brightened up his day and quieted his head, where equations after equations continued to assault his mind. He just wished he could have seen Mitsuki grown up, what he would become with his sun next to him side by side. He wanted to tease and spar with Rogu one more time. So that he could again feel pride overwhelming him every time his son executed the moves he had been taught flawlessly.
By the time he escaped from his reminiscent, it was almost time. Time for what, though?
Push.
Come on now, you are doing great.
In. Out.
Push.
Oh.
Oh my, how ironic. All those time, years after years searching for proved of reincarnation. Losing time, blood and sanity just to find something, anything, to prove that it existed, that it could happen. Someone up there was probably laughing themselves sick at him right now.
How cold.
...
Sister Mary sighed tiredly. It was one of those days. Days which disasters after disasters followed her like a lost puppy. 'They really need some new helping hands around this place' she thought with a grimace. Forty-two kids and still counting, only herself and five other sisters to manage everything. The funding was low, the faculty was old, this old church slash orphanage was falling apart day by day and people just kept dumping child after child on the steps of this place (one of these days, sister Mary swore to herself, she was going to had a talk with all those kids' sperm donner. If you could not handle responsibilities, then be more careful. The least they could do is use protection, Lord helps her).
Luckily, most of the kids were very well-behaved. The older kids helped out whenever they could without her prompting, which made her felt grateful (and sad at the same time. They were all wonderful children, really, it made her unhappy every time a child had to grow up faster in order to survive).
Speaking of which, her eyes accidentally landed on one of her charge, Orochimaru.
That boy, she thought warmly, was such a particular child. He never cried, never whined, never clamor for attention unless it was absolutely necessary. Ever since he was abandoned on her doorsteps. No letters, no names, no explanations. Just a bundle in a basket. Was left and abandoned in the middle of a snowy night.
Those eyes, sister Mary thought, knew too much, saw too much. She had always believed and lived by the saying 'the eyes are windows to the soul'. His eyes, lilac with a tint of gold, always shone with intelligence, of amusement, and of curiosity. He looked at the children around him with a morbid sort of disgust and amusement like he could not believe he was being subjected to this torture that was called babysitting and making friends your own age (too cute, sister Mary chuckled fondly). His black hair, glinted with a shade of purple, was long and lovely. Sometimes, whenever he helped out around the place, he would put it into a bun, and well, it was no wonder many boys here had had their first crush on him. Lovely, she believed, was an understatement if one wanted to describe Orochimaru. Despite how sometimes his gaze would make her blood crawl, her instinct would yell at her to look away, to run, was a good kid. One that, sister Mary was certain, would one day leave this dump and would never look back.
She cared for all these children that were currently living under her care, really. But, ah, sister Mary was old. She had been doing this jobs for decades now. She had seen good kids, those who could have had a bright future, turned into drug dealers; smart kids, whose minds were the brightest, had had no other choice but to sell their bodies and sanity so that they could survive and live another day. She had learned her lessons. This church would always be welcome you back – she had said, had promised every single kid that wanted to go out there and make a future, a living for themselves – you would always have a place here. However, those who had gone, those who could not be separated from their pasts, never returned. Because of the shame, because they had thought this old church was no longer their home, or because they had thought she would be disappointed in them once she had known they had failed. All those children, those who could have had a bright future.
Orochimaru, something told her, understood this. Knew all about it and more. That was why she knew, even though it was unbecoming of her to chug an entire bottle of wine, he would not judge. Sister Mary was not a saint. She was tired, she should be retired, ought to leave somewhere far away (probably near the beach, she had always been fond of the view there). Let other poor soul crumbled and broken from watching and understanding the ugliness of humanity.
Silently, eerily, he sat beside her, brought out a bottle of sake she still had no idea where he got from, and share with her. They sat there, under the night, where the moon shone dimply with no stars in the sky, simply enjoying each other company.
...
All he could saw was red. Red of the flame that was currently swallowed the place which he had called his home for these past fifteen years. Being burned to the ground by an unknown group of people that were currently kidnapped all the kids left and right. Ah, he distantly thought, he knew this method. There were two main group of people that would want to kidnap children: for slavery and for experimenting. Judging from their appearance, he was willingly leaning towards the latter.
Orochimaru used to be a being of science, after all. He understood what was necessary in order to achieve his goal, in order to achieve his purpose. He understood well.
Nonetheless.
These people were burning down HIS church. Where, however by an unfortunate method it was, he had been disposed on. This place had taken him in without a thought, had become his home. Where children always clamored around him with awed and for protection. Where the sisters always smiled genuinely at him without disgust and thoughts, sincerity radiated off of them whenever he helped them taking care of those chores that never seemed to end. Where, whose porch he sat under at night, watch the moon and the sky with a company that would not be at all frightened and revolted of him. Where he had felt content, had accepted that, maybe, just maybe, living a civilian life was not that bad after all.
Gone.
Everything was burning down in flame. The children were taken one by one (he could still hear their yelling, crying out for help; could imagine their faces, frightened and scared and lost). The sisters, he had heard gunshots, killed. And sister Mary, he thought blankly, was currently trying to protect him with all she had left.
Sister Mary, the person who he had come to so fond of. Who had had a glimpsed of who he really was, but still stuck around. Who had genuinely enjoyed being in his company. Whose arms were currently wrapped around his delicate-looking body, trying to shelter him from the flame that currently surrounded them. He laid there, stupidly, numb despite all the chaos that was happening around him.
He had naively thought this serenity would last, had carelessly been ill-prepared.
"How dare they?" – his voice whispered raspily. Sister Mary's body still shielding him from the blaze. 'How dare they destroyed what had been his!'.
He had been content, he had begun to accept this new life in this new universe. Where none knew what he was capable of. Where he was not a wanted criminal. Where nothing from his past could haunt him any longer.
'Blood' – he swore, sensing that he was starting to lose consciousness – 'There would be blood.'
'There would be blood.' - he swore with a vengeance.
He was Orochimaru, the Snake Sannin, and he would be damned if he let these insects get away with destroying what had been his!
The last thing he registered was sister Mary's cold body on top of him, still holding him in a tight embrace. It was as if even beyond her grave, this old lady still hopelessly trying to protect him from this world cruelty forever.