House of Cards
R. Winters
Disclaimer: I don't even own a pair of earmuffs, so I certainly don't own Naruto.
I always thought Asuma was rather interesting, especially with his apparently estranged relationship with Sarutobi. And he seemed like he might have been a lot of fun when he was a kid. So, I give you a collection of short glimpses into the lives of our good Sarutobis. They had some good times before everything fell apart... it's mostly just fun so far. Hope you like it!
Chapter 1 – Earmuffs
At four years old, Sarutobi was positive his youngest son was possessed by a demon. Asuma was a running (rarely did he walk) disaster that even his students couldn't keep up with (not that all of them tried that hard).
The Sandaime Hokage looked up suddenly as the door of his office slammed open and that little abomination he'd somehow helped create entered with all the grace of a devastating thunder storm. The boy ran to his side, tiny hands immediately gripping the arm rest on his chair as he rambled on about something or another—his rushed words completely incomprehensible to his father.
It wasn't until the door slammed open a second time and an irate young woman stormed in that clues began to piece themselves together. Asuma's brown eyes widened to the size of tea saucers and he grabbed the first thing he could reach from Sarutobi's desk—which was, unfortunately, the large, triangular hat which the Hokage had set aside in the warm weather.
"I'm going to murder you, you little twerp!" The woman squealed shrilly. Sarutobi didn't like to guess, but the reason for her anger no doubt had something to do with the way her shirt was soaked down the front, the odd angles her hair was sticking out at, and the odd brownish-gray gunk splattered up her legs.
"I didn't do nothing!" Asuma shouted back, lobbing the hat at the woman in such a sloppy manner that Sarutobi wondered if his son would ever manage to become a shinobi. The hat, predictably, fell short, and the Sandaime could only sigh as papers went flying from his desk due to the quick removal of the object that had been sitting on top of them.
The fact that it didn't hit her did nothing to take the edge off the woman's anger and she held her hands in front of her in a manner that suggested the child's death would be caused by asphyxiation. She ran forward and the four-year-old yelped fearfully, darting around to the other side of his father's desk as the woman ran around the one.
"Dad! Help!" He yelped in terror—but one glance at the weary man was enough to tell him he wasn't going to get it, so the boy took off out of the room in a flash, his pursuer right behind him, the wind of their passing causing even more papers to flutter off of the Hokage's desk.
"Come back here, you little toad!" The woman cried fiercely as she raced after him to the door.
"Tsunade," Sarutobi interrupted tiredly, causing the woman to pause reluctantly, looking back at him with narrowed eyes and a cross scowl that threatened bodily harm should he try and stop her. The man sighed, "Don't scare him too much, he's only a little boy."
"Oh, I'm going to do more than scare him!" The woman replied scathingly, "I'll make sure that's the last time he steals one of my bras!"
Sarutobi stared dumbly after her, wondering what in the world his four-year-old son could be doing with Tsunade's bras. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he slowly rose from his chair and set about the arduous task of picking up his paperwork.
Hunkering down to work again, it wasn't difficult for the Third Hokage to drift off to sleep, with visions of tiny Asumas wearing gigantic bras as earmuffs plaguing his mind. He was almost thankful when, an hour later, a light, tickling sensation persuaded him to wake. The man was quick to dip his brush into a bottle of ink and affix his signature to the bottom of a scroll with a flourish, blowing on it to dry as the door opened once more.
"Hard at work, as always, sensei," the young, white-haired man commented as he stepped inside, "You should get out sometime, get some rest and fresh air!"
Sarutobi raised an eyebrow at his student, and gestured widely to his stacks of paperwork, "Are you volunteering, Jiraiya?"
The man was quick to shake his head, arms crossing, "No way! I'm a free spirit—wasn't made for paperwork!" (Sarutobi was mournfully reminded of the pitiful excuses for mission reports that Jiraiya always managed to turn in a month late and sopping wet.) "You should ask 'Maru, it'd be good practice for him, anyway, since we all know you're going to pick him as the Fourth." Jiraiya rolled his eyes at this, muttering something like, "Although why you'd pick a jerk with a kunai shoved up his—"
"I suppose you're too busy, either way," Sarutobi interrupted, smiling faintly (because some things never changed). "I see you're hard at work on the last mission I assigned you. Where is Asuma, anyway?"
The white-haired man grinned unrepentantly, the red marks down either cheek curving happily along with the expression, "You can't blame me if I don't know! I was watching him, just like you said, when all of a sudden Tsunade started chasing us around, yelling and screaming, like always"—here he rolled his eyes again—"Anyway, we decided to split up and meet back up outside the bath house, but the brat never showed up." He shrugged.
Sarutobi frowned, a suspicious glint entering his eyes. "Jiraiya," he started coolly, "Have you been sending Asuma to steal Tsunade's... clothes for you?"
Jiraiya's whole face frowned in befuddlement, "Eh? Clothes? What kinda clothes, sensei?"
A light blush dusting his cheeks, Sarutobi replied blithely, "You know what kind of clothes."
The light haired nin appeared to be thinking hard for a long moment, then his eyes widened in apparent understanding. "Sensei! You wound me!" He cried dramatically, "To think that you would accuse me, the Honorable Jiraiya, of such a horrible thing! I would never use someone else to steal my dear Tsunade-hime's melon baskets!"
A large sweat drop formed on the side of the Third's head. He really had no idea where the boy got it from, such ridiculous metaphors. Shaking his head sadly, he opened his mouth to reply when his door was opened for the third time that day—this time far more gently than the times preceding it.
Student and teacher turned to look. Orochimaru stood in the doorway, face as impassive as always despite the wayward mess his hair had become. Under his left arm he held a flailing four-year-old boy, and to his right stood Tsunade, wearing a definite pout and glaring at said four-year-old.
Completely ignoring the woman, the young man stepped inside, and quickly deposited the flailing boy on the floor with a thud. "I believe this is yours, sensei," he stated derisively. Without even pausing for an answer he continued, "Jiraiya, Hatake's just come in with news from the front. You'll want to hear it."
And without further words, the man turned abruptly and walked out of the room, Tsunade in tow.
Jiraiya stared after him for a moment before crouching down in front of the four-year-old, grinning. "So, did you get the stuff?"
Asuma eyed him warily for a moment before smirking, "Yep."
The white-haired nin's grin widened and his eyebrows raised suggestively, "So, give it to me!"
"Can't," Asuma replied, his own grin wider.
Jiraiya's smile faltered, "What do you mean, you can't?"
"Threw 'em in a tree," Asuma replied proudly.
The man's smile was completely gone now, a scowl replacing it as his face heated up in anger, "You little..."
The four-year-old yelped at the growl and he raced past the man to his father's side, gripping the man's arm rest again while looking anxiously across at the white-haired nin. Sarutobi raised an eyebrow.
"Don't you have someplace to go, Jiraiya?" The Third questioned.
Jiraiya scowled at the boy for a moment longer before grumbling and slinking out of the room. Asuma beamed up at his father and was about to run off again when the man stopped him.
"Son," Sarutobi started, waiting half a second (which was as long as he dared to wait around the high-strung four-year-old) before continuing, "I think it's time we had a little talk."
Asuma blinked at him blankly.
"You see," the Third began, "While I understand there is temptation in Jiraiya's words, Tsunade's bras are her own property and, besides which, she could smash a little boy like you into jelly without even—" Sarutobi looked back down at his son only to break off, blinking in surprise to find that the little boy was no longer there.
The Sandaime sighed, turning back to his paperwork. There was something wrong with that boy, he had no doubt. After all, his elder daughter had never been such a handful (and the Third was positive such thinking was not due to his getting old, because, really, he wasn't even fifty, and was relatively young compared to the council elders).