A/N: Wow, my first piece of writing in months. This is just my musings as to how Jiraiya originally reacted to a certain someone's death.
Warning: spoilers for manga chapter 350, mild language.
Disclaimer: Hah, I wish. ;;
Burn
The polished ceramic sake cup descended down onto the bar counter with an audible clink. Jiraiya coughed and choked a little, feeling more than a slight burn in his throat. Strictly the sake's fault, he told himself. It's always the sake's fault. He nodded emphatically at his inner testimony, bleary eyes staring into the empty cup.
"Jiraiya-sama, Orochimaru is dead. He has been killed by Uchiha Sasuke."
Jiraiya refilled the sake cup, willing the voice to recede into the crevasses of his mind.
"Orochimaru is dead. Orochimaru is dead. Orochimaru is dead."
"He's dead…dead….dead…."
Shit. He tipped his head back and took in the sake in one gulp, swallowing heavily.
"He had been killed by Uchiha Sasuke…Uchiha Sasuke…Sasuke…"
He shook his head to try and physically shake off the voice. He was only rewarded with a case of vertigo. He sighed, letting his head hang a little in defeat. After all these years, holding onto decayed hope, pursuing his former teammate. And for what? To bring him back? That was ludicrous now. But back then, he had pleaded with his teammate, his former-the term sound foreign, even now- teammate to come back. That he could still redeem himself to Konoha. It was ultimately futile, and Jiraiya idly thought of all he could've done in the time he spent chasing after former memories that would never resurface. He could've been writing more novels, training, or pursuing Tsunade. They could've had a chance together.
It was all for nothing though, since Jiraiya's selfishness rose above everything else. And now, half of his former team was dead and gone and there was no technique that could turn back time so that he could have a chance to fix everything. Regret didn't sit well with him. In fact it made the burning in his throat burn more insistently. The damn sake, it was blurring his vision too. He shook his head and cleared his throat. He then poured the last of the sake in the ceramic cup, and half raised his hand lethargically in a signal to the bartender. Said bartender walked over silently with another bottle of sake and was gone before Jiraiya could nod his head in thanks. He lifted the cup, brimming with hot sake, in the air. A silent toast to Orochimaru, to sensei. A toast even to Tsunade and himself. Hell, they needed it, since now the two had to live on for all four of them. Why did it have to be them, of all people? They were both so unreliable, in the grand scheme of things. Jiraiya sighed. Since when did he shoulder such a burden? He set the sake cup down a little too hard, the steaming liquid spilling over the edges like a tsunami onto his large fingers. He withdrew his hand and hazily looked at it, wondering why the burning wasn't in his fingers, but in his eyes. He sighed again before downing the sake, feeling the burning in his eyes, his throat, his chest, until it was damn near suffocating him. Let it suffocate him, for all he cared. It might make the burning go away. He afterward set the cup down on the counter, listening to it contact with the wood with an audible clink.
Jiraiya hangs his head, and wonders why the burning is so ironically making him feel like he's drowning.