Could It Be I'm Haunted
Author's Note: This might be the weirdest thing you'll read of Jiraiya and Kakashi, but once the idea grabbed hold, it wouldn't let go…My next chapters will not be this…weird…as it's the only adjective I can think of. My style of JiraiyaxKakashi is probably slight AU to most people anyway.
Big big hugs and thankies goes out to Tahle…for previewing this. THANK YOU!!!!
Poe said: "We're doing everything we can, Blackwood. You're new to all this. Come along, we're going to Mr. Charles Dickens' place—"
"—to contemplate our doom, our black doom," said Mr. Bierce, with a wink.
(From The Exiles by Ray Bradbury)
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2: Anger
(Pickwick Paper No. 6)
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Fourteen.
There were a lot of good people at so young an age as fourteen. Sarutobi-sensei, Tsunadé, hell—Orochimaru, practically everyone from squadron Lafayette; except him…And even if he cut that age in half, the result was pretty much still the same. There were a lot of people he looked up to growing up. (After all, at seven years old, you can believe in just about anything—he could choose to believe in a tube of toothpaste just because it sat on the counter all day. It'd never go anywhere on you, so it was ok.) It was an often radical, turbulent time, full of heroes—most of them fallen. But they fell gallantly, they fell honestly; they fell for what they believed in. Who can say that? Jiraiya wanted to die like that. (After all, at any age, Death with a capital 'd' never scared him.
(But it does change you.)
Seven.
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A boy's feet shifted in front of the doorway.
Papers dropped from his arms as he slowly turned around.
You.
Me.
God.
He stared at this horrid outline. If Jiraiya were Jekyll, you were Hyde. And hide you did (remember, Ji counts the countable)—that bright idealist of his must have failed to detain you long enough. What, was he too busy doing yellow, flashy things? Well it's too late to be all concerincus about it—you've got to say something!
…
You…
Only he was different. He was little. He was small. Chisai. Kawaii. (Probably wondering why a big lecher was on his knees going through his father's things in his father's room—though he should not very well define him as lecher, that's rude.) … (Maybe Charles Dickens would do, especially since he could be holding long-lost Pickwick Papers or something.) … (Then again, when did Charles Dickens grow that long a ponytail…?)
His difficult task.
(Of saying a name.)
"'C'mere,"
He barely moved his foot: "Whoa whoa stop," Jiraiya gauged the distance. "That's fine," (Because it was.) "Now…turn your head—sideways—yes,"
But it was still him. Jiraiya moved his head aside, hiding a tortured grin. Expertly, he did not sound at all amused. "That's fine, as you were," He proceeded to gather up the papers, quite aware of this lonely figure staring skeptical in the doorway. It was the damnedest thing. Could it be he was…haunted? For a moment it was an out-of-body, déjà vu experience. He could see himself, below, calmly picking up the papers, not bothering to put them back in order, possibly suggesting that they had such an order to begin with. Jiraiya smiles as he looks back in the cabinet. For all he knows, a chuunin caught him in the act. "You know…" he mused. "You're supposed to ask me why I'm invading this formerly sealed cabinet," he said as he removed more papers.
"Sir…why are you invading that formerly sealed cabinet."
Ticked. Well Dr. Jekyll could certainly tell. "No, you're supposed to ask it like a question," he smiled, briefly, at the absurdity of it all.
He took his time. "Sir, why are you invading that formerly sealed cabinet?"
"Well it's not really a cabinet if it's sealed, now is it?" said Charles Dickens. "More like a secret cubby if you ask me," But he wasn't here to debate aesthetics. He could leave that to the artist.
They were silent for a moment.
"You know…" Jiraiya sighed, pulling out another yellow piece of paper. Maybe he was feeling generous to give him a second chance. He was already being a literary ass, so why not let the kid be sure of it. "There's pride, and then there's dignity. Given these two alone…life is pointless. Pride—a man's failing. Dignity—a man's idealistic gravity. These two together…come straight from the depths of hell," To himself, he shrugged. "Give a dog a bad name and you can hang him with it," He paused for a moment. "Yes I broke a seal here, but only of necessity," He smiled to the wall. "I'm on a mission from God."
Yeah, well, everyone is.
(Especially at the age of fourteen.)
Well if it was one thing he was made embarrassed by, it was the question. Obviously this guy had some kind of penchant for those goofy, interrogative phrases as well as some kind of spontaneous advent for the dissection of aesthetics—as well as all things moral. God somebody give that guy Fordyce's sermons to go please. One thing, thought, was brutally obvious: Master Jiraiya was a very very bad liar. So he wasn't completely sure yet as to how his father might have been connected with this man, but the young one would have hoped Jiraiya had gotten his ass kicked to some extent. And since he wasn't exactly sure yet, and since this guy liked those goofy, interrogative phrases, let's try it. "Then permission to ask a question," said the lonely figure. "Honestly."
Well Dr. Jekyll still had not looked once to the mystic creation. "By all means—" obliged Mr. Dickens. "Enlighten me."
"Who are you?"
Jiraiya turned to stare at Kakashi. And then he looked away in an instant: Jiraiya descended from high orbit and suddenly hated his life. Give a dog a bad name and you can hang him with it. Thirteen playful little words to haunt them both for the rest of their lives. Was he really still alive? He felt a faint sting of a papercut. Must be. Damn. (That just really, really sucks.) But he's a strong perverted sage. And you, you're just a remnant of the past getting some random, worn out advice. Once again, Jiraiya could turn the statements in on themselves and let them mean what he would want them to mean. "You know…" Jiraiya sighed, pulling out another yellow piece of paper. "There's things that are general…and things that are specific. What you just did was go with the general question to play it safe. Wrong choice. And you should remember never to ask leading questions unless you know the questions. Since you made a wrong choice, I will not answer your question," Jiraiya stuffed the last document in place. "But—however…" He closed the wooden doors as were and stood to face the figure. "I will say this…: I have just removed all evidence of the answer."
…
He always did love surprised looks, especially when they tried not to look as such.
"There. Now…" said the sage, finding it strange he still had the smile on his face. "What have you to say to that?"
He took his time. And in such a manner he hadn't seen in anyone since Sakumo, he further questioned, "Are you protecting your pride or your dignity?"
…
Jiraiya, just slapped in the face, started laughing.
Of course Kakashi didn't think it was funny at the time.
Oh but it was. Even after he stopped, Jiraiya was still grinning, genuinely still amused. It registered for one of those rare, lucid moments, of to whom he was speaking to. "You know, kid…" he laughed. "You may just prove them wrong yet."
It was only a couple days before he remembered hearing Charles Dickens's name mentioned again. Of course he'd heard it from sensei, but quite simply, that was that. For whatever the (possibly) weird doctor's intentions, pages were gone from the family name for good. Anger: don't you just love it when he takes it out on you. The real cheese of it all being to his benefit. (But it was years before he remembered their civil discussions...) Of course the eternal mystery was a little subdued by the simple fact that he knew the secret seal when he hadn't. (Probably adding insult to injury.) Oh well. Give a dog a bad name and you can hang him with it.
Wasn't that right, Sakumo...?
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Pickwick Paper No. 6 as written on May the fourteenth in the year of our Lord eighteen-hundred and twenty-seven by the tube of Sir John Toothpaste, M.P.C. who humbly stayed on the counter. Dedication goes out to good and dear friend Sir D.F. Floss, M.P.C.
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