Rating: T

Warnings: Non-explicit past character death, Sasuke angst, bits of silliness, a badly written ninja spar, etc.

Word Count: ~5100

Pairings mentioned: Past alt-timeline!Sasuke/Kurama, Raidou/Genma.

Disclaimer: I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

Notes: This…opinion might be a bit controversial, but I think Itachi is a good person who made really stupid, destructive choices. He was thirteen at the time, so it's perhaps more understandable than the stupid choices other characters made, but still. I don't consider him this tragic, ever-noble hero; he was backed into a corner, made bad choices, and got fucked over. He also completely destroyed his little brother's psyche, and I definitely think he's to blame for a lot of the shit Sasuke pulls later. Just—one should be aware of my view before one starts reading, as I know most of fandom adores the dude.

Addendum: I've got the vast majority of this story plotted out, and it'll likely be around 20/25 chapters. I'm not an epic-writer, and while I won't rush through things I cannot stress enough how I will not drag it out unnecessarily, either. However, I'm currently collecting Naruto prompts and plot ideas for when backslide is done. If you've got something in particular you'd like to see, toss it my way. The only limitations are no OC-centric stuff (or even stories that are OC-heavy) and the understanding that I pretty much solely write slash. No promises, but I've already got two more long-ish Naruto stories started from prompts, and I'm more than happy to see what else I'm capable of. :)

backslide

Chapter Ten: Conflict

It's a bit of a surprise to wander into the Jounin Standby Station and see the now-familiar wealth of crimson hair. Genma pauses three steps into the room and blinks, but Kurama remains on the comfortable couch, papers scattered around him like the victims of a localized hurricane. Huffing out a soft laugh—because if asked Genma would have said that Kurama was the politely amiable but distant type, never one to socialize, and clearly would have been wrong—the tokujo changes direction and settles onto the couch across from the redhead.

"Having fun?" he asks dryly, watching Kurama mutter and chew on the end of his pen.

Kurama flinches, so slightly that most people would miss it, and then raises his head. He blinks at Genma for a moment, blue eyes almost dazed, before focus rushes back into them like a wave and they narrow sharply.

"Genma-san!" he says sharply, bolting to his feet. "Come with me!"

"Wha—?" Genma starts, but before he can even get to the second syllable Kurama has grabbed his wrist, dragged him to his feet, and triggered a shunshin. The world blurs with smoke and color, and half a second later they're touching down in a deserted training ground, Genma's head spinning slightly from the speed of the transportation.

It's only his long-honed instincts that let him dodge the lightning-swift hand-strike that would have caved in his nose if it connected, and with a huff Genma leaps back, putting distance between himself and the redhead. "Kurama-kun, what the hell?"

Settled into an unfamiliar taijutsu stance, Kurama blinks at him innocently. "I need your help with my training," he says, as though it should be obvious why he's grabbing random tokujo and then trying to rearrange their faces. "We both have a shift at the Mission Assignment Desk this afternoon, so you don't have missions and can spar with me, right?" He smiles, bright and deceptively sweet. "You're one of the fastest and most agile shinobi in Konoha. Please?"

That's blatant flattery—apparently Kurama is very enthusiastic about this training. Genma hesitates, eyeing the jounin suspiciously, and then sighs and shoves his hair back from his face. "Right," he says resignedly. "What are we doing exactly?"

The grin he gets in return is blinding. "Don't worry, you don't need to do anything specific. It'll all be on my end. Taijutsu, ninjutsu, kenjutsu, senbon—use whatever you like. Just try not to let me hit you anywhere."

Kurama takes a half-step back before shifting stances, his expression turning distant and a little vague, as though he's focusing on something complicated. Genma considers him for half a second, then mentally shrugs and takes his own stance. He's always up for a good, vigorous spar—one of the hazards of spending his formative years in close proximity to Gai—and he's seen Kurama in action. The man's good, so this will at least be interesting. There are far worse ways to pass a morning.

He doesn't wait for a signal—they're clearly both ready—but launches himself across the gap between them. Putting his speed to use, he whirls and drops, sweeping out a long leg to knock Kurama off his feet. Without so much as a heartbeat of hesitation, Kurama leaps into the air, twisting nimbly to land on his feet behind the tokujo and striking out with a sword-hand. Genma easily knocks it to the side, dipping away from the follow-up and then trying a high kick. Kurama sways out of the way, letting Genma's sandal just miss his chin, and then darts away from a sternum blow.

"You really are fast," he says, apparently pleased as he drops into another stance Genma has never seen before. "That's perfect."

"Same to you," Genma offers with a grin, because it's rare that anyone but Kakashi can match him in a spar, speed-wise. This is looking to be even better than he'd thought.

Kurama leaps forward, and launches into a blindingly quick series of punches and kicks. Genma matches him, blocking them easily enough. The redhead's attention still seems divided, like he's concentrating on more than just their match, and Genma lands two hard hits on his ribs and one on his thigh before Kurama breaks away.

Pushing his advantage, Genma follows, using one of the combinations that always manages to knock Raidou on his ass. But Kurama is faster than Raidou, more used to relying on leaps and twists in his normal style, and he whirls away, vaulting right over Genma's head. Genma turns just in time to catch his arm and stop a blow to the throat, but a quick kick makes him disengage and leap back.

Kurama shadows him, right up in his face and too fast to stop, and it's been so long since Genma could go all out against another Konoha nin—ANBU, maybe, was the last time. He's grinning, heart bounding as they whirl apart and crash together, a blur of strikes and blocks and counterattacks, nimble footwork and agile leaps. Kurama's smiling, too, hair a brilliant dancing banner in the sun, eyes bright with enthusiasm as he ducks and weaves and strikes like a snake.

Genma matches him, because he can and it's wonderful, slips like a stray bit of breeze around hits that have the potential to break bones and then slides into a vicious series of blows as smoothly as water. Their pace is too fast to even think about using ninjutsu, let alone going for a sword or his senbon, but that's just fine with Genma.

And then violet light flickers and flares around Kurama's left hand, a startling break in their rhythm, and before Genma can recover and block that chakra-covered palm slaps against the bare skin of his forearm.

Instantly, the world blurs and then explodes into brilliant, blinding focus. The surge of sudden awareness forces Genma right to his knees as his brain tries to process the fact that his hearing, sight, sense of touch, and chakra awareness have all abruptly tripled. The rush of blood through his own veins is deafening, and the cool, gentle breeze feels like a hurricane whipping across his skin. There's so much chakra, so many sounds, and closing his eyes isn't blocking out nearly enough to be of use.

"Argh," he manages, and even that is deafening.

"Easy," someone murmurs, just above a whisper but nevertheless sounding like a damned bellow. "Just breathe through it. Sorry, I forgot what it feels like if you're not used to it."

Genma's mind is already adjusting, used to combat and the need to recover from anything as quickly as possible, and he follows Kurama's suggestion, focusing on his breathing until he can manage to open his eyes without crying out from sheer sensory overload. He's still in the middle of the training ground, on his knees with his arms up as though to defend from a blow, and Kurama is crouched next to him, blue eyes full of worry. On Genma's arm, glittering violet against his skin, is a complicated seal made entirely of purple light.

"That," he huffs after another endless moment, "was cheating, Kurama-kun."

Kurama has the decency to look abashed. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "I was going for a seal with a low impact, but I forgot how that one feels if you haven't experienced it before." He reaches out and lays a hand over the seal, then closes his eyes. A moment later, Genma feels it shatter like glass, chakra fading away as his senses drop back to glorious normal. Kurama rocks back to sit on his heels, expression repentant. "Sorry," he says a third time.

With a sigh, Genma settles himself in the grass, crossing his legs as the last bits of discomfort dwindle to nothingness. "Don't worry about it," he counters lightly. "I take it that was the point of the spar?"

Kurama nods. "Yes. I'm teaching myself how to transfer seals during combat, like the Yondaime could do with his Flying Thunder God seal. But when I'm focused on fighting, it takes a while to build up the correct amount of chakra and be able to visualize the transfer. Hopefully, with enough practice, I'll be able to cut down on the time significantly."

"Use a different seal and I'm happy to help," Genma offers with wry amusement. "What was that, anyway?"

The redhead gives him a sheepish smile. "Ah. That was a sensory enhancement seal I designed myself, for fighting in the complete dark. It amplifies everything threefold, so it's useful when you're otherwise outmatched, but using it takes some getting used to."

"I'll say. If my brain leaks out my ears, you're going to be the one to cover my shifts at the Missions Desk. And explain what happened to Raidou."

Kurama laughs, which is what Genma had been aiming for. "All right," he agrees easily, rising to his feet and offering Genma a hand. He smiles and adds, "It's been a while since I sparred like that. It was wonderful, thank you."

Genma lets the younger man pull him to his feet, then takes a step back and stretches. His muscles feel pleasantly sore and well-worked, but it doesn't seem like he overtaxed himself. "My pleasure," he answers, and then gives the redhead a crooked grin. "You should come spar with me and Gai some time. We're at Training Ground Thirteen every morning, as long as neither of us has a mission. Gai'd get a kick out of your style, since it's different from anything around here."

"It's one of Uzushio's," Kurama explains with a faintly sad smile and a slight shrug. "There are still some scrolls on it floating around; I'll see if I can't dig one up for him."

"He'd like that, taijutsu nutball that he is," Genma says fondly, because while being thrust onto a team with both Gai and Ebisu was in some ways a mostly-well-adjusted kid's worst nightmare, it turned out pretty well. He and Gai made chuunin together, even landed on the same squad most of the time, and Genma's become entirely immune to the man's weirdness after so many years. At this point, Konoha just wouldn't be Konoha without its Beautiful Green Beast.

Kurama smiles at him, reading the expression and the sentiment behind it with ease. "Thank you, Genma-san," he murmurs, and the lines of his face are soft, strangely beautiful even with the wide, stark scars. But then, Genma's always thought Raidou one of the most handsome shinobi in Konoha, so it's possible his taste is a bit skewed. "I appreciate you humoring me."

"Nah," Genma says easily, slinging an arm around the man's shoulders and turning them back towards the village. His stomach is telling him that it's well past time for lunch, and Genma's never been one to deny himself. "I'm always up for a spar, and I'm more than happy to help with your training. Just let me know for the next time, yeah?"

"Sure," Kurama agrees, letting himself be steered. "Our shift at the Desk starts in an hour and a half, right? Let's get lunch, my treat."

"Ramen all right with you?"

"Of course."

Genma laughs, and Kurama laughs with him, and even if civilians give them weird looks, dusty and sweaty and giggling in the middle of the street, that's fine. He stopped caring about that kind of thing years ago, and from the expression of easy joy on Kurama's face, he doesn't give a damn either.

Deadly shinobi still coming off a physical exertion high are allowed to giggle if they want to. And if that's not a rule, it should be, because right now the entire world looks ridiculously bright.

Sasuke watches Naruto's red-haired cousin dance through his katas, katana flashing like a straight, silver bolt of lightning as he twists and weaves. His feet are unwaveringly steady, his body entirely controlled, and his eyes are closed. Sasuke isn't arrogant enough to think that he hasn't been noticed, but he's being ignored.

That's…not usual, and Sasuke is torn between being grateful that this man isn't a pandering, sympathetic fool like the rest of the village and a surge of impatient irritation. Three days he's been turning the man's words over and over in his mind, trying to pick out the meaning, trying to see underneath the underneath even when for the past five years he's tried never to think too hard about his brother's actions that night.

But now, now he can't help but think of them, can't do anything else at all, and it's because of this red-haired man with his cunning words.

Or do you really think that the same brother who gave you piggyback rides when you were too tired to walk suddenly snapped and killed everyone for no reason?

There is no possible way that what happened that night could be anything else. What other reason would there be for Itachi's words? What other reason for hurling Sasuke headlong into that tortuous vision? For telling him he was too weak? But—

But at the same time, Sasuke cannot help but wonder, cannot help but obsess over the thought that there might have been something else behind it. Itachi loved the village, loved it even more than his family, so why do something that would have him declared a missing-nin? Why leave?

Sasuke isn't sure that Naruto's cousin will have the answers, doubts it strongly, but he has to at least ask, because what if he does?

The katana hisses, steel over silk as it slides away, and Sasuke glances up to see the man walking towards him, silent and graceful. He's shed his shirt and jounin vest, and Sasuke can see that the tattooed seals on his arms continue over his shoulders and down the line of his spine, dark and stark against skin tanned to a deep gold. His expression, when he looks at Sasuke, is open and warm but not expectant, kind without being cloying,

"You're either here for a kenjutsu lessor or some answers," the redhead says almost casually, leaning his katana up against a tree and picking up a bottle of water. He swallows a few mouthfuls, then dumps the remainder over his head with a sigh of relief. His hair, pulled up into a high tail, whips back and forth as he shakes water from his eyes and adds, "Somehow, I think you want the answers, no matter how much fun kenjutsu is."

Sasuke hasn't done any training for fun since the night Itachi murdered his clan. Silently, he crosses his arms over his chest and fixes the man with his most expectant glare.

Naruto's cousin simply smiles at him, light and free, and drops to the ground, starting his cool-down stretches. "I've met several Uchiha," he says willingly enough. "Your brother was one of them, and I'll admit he played the villain very well. But the heart is a funny thing, and if you've got enough experience looking, it's easy to see when someone's heart isn't in their actions. Itachi seemed that way, to me, so I did a little digging."

"Why?" Sasuke demands, the word bursting out of his throat before he can stop it. He grits his teeth in frustration, but the confused fury beating in his blood pushes past the block with ease. "Why would you bother?"

The red-haired man looks up at him for a long moment, his blue gaze steady. Then he sighs and leans back on his hands, turning his eyes on the gathering clouds above them. "Because of what he did to you," he says at length. "Because I know how it feels to be betrayed by the person you love most, but to keep loving them anyway."

Sasuke wants to deny that he loves his brother even now, wants to shout and scream and tear into the man for even thinking such a thing, but his voice is trapped somewhere down in his chest and he can't even begin to speak.

Kur—the red-haired man seems to hear the objection anyway, because he casts a faint, sad smile at Sasuke. "There are always many sides to everything," he says almost gently. "You know one, Sasuke-kun, but what will you do if there are others?"

He's shaking, Sasuke realizes numbly. There's a fine tremor running through him, shaking him from head to toe, and it's ridiculous, because Sasuke hasn't shaken from mere words since that blood-drenched night half a decade ago. He's stronger now, maybe not enough so to kill his brother but still strong, and this shouldn't—

But it does, and Sasuke sinks slowly to the ground, fisting his hands in the fabric of his pants as he tries to keep himself under control.

"He still killed them," he rasps, almost unconsciously. "Even if he had a reason, he still killed them all. I don't—I can't—"

Slim, strong fingers curl gently around the back of his neck, gripping carefully, and Kurama pulls him forward, letting Sasuke's forehead rest against his shoulder. The bare skin is warm, and the lines of the seals are almost dizzying this close up. "I know," Kurama whispers, and the ache in his voice makes Sasuke think that he really does. "He's your brother, but he still did something horrible and unforgivable. He took everything away from you, and regardless of his reasoning that wasn't right. I'm sorry, Sasuke."

Those three words are something that Sasuke has heard countless times since that night, repeated again and again by stupid, toadying bastards who just want their chance at having influence with the last Uchiha and his fortune and power. But coming from this man, with his scars and his lost village and his perpetual smile, it almost sounds honest. It almost sounds real.

Sasuke doesn't pull away, even when Kurama carefully loops an arm around his shoulder and cards cautious fingers through his hair. The jounin smells of sweat and metal and the faintest hint of mountain winds, different from anyone who's ever held Sasuke before, but that's…comforting. Kurama isn't an Uchiha, and somehow, for some reason, Sasuke wouldn't ever want him to be. Just—being Uzumaki Kurama is enough.

For a moment, just one brief moment in a clearing empty of all but the two of them, Sasuke feels like he can breathe fully, without the weight of hate to drag him down. He draws in a breath, another, like fire down his throat, and closes his eyes. Kurama's hand settles in his hair, gentle and kind, and Sasuke keeps his eyes shut, trying to hang on to this feeling. He's been an avenger since that bloody night, has lived solely to kill the person he once loved best, and he's tired. The mere thought that there might be a reason he doesn't know, an explanation for the obliteration of his entire world, makes him feel empty and aching inside.

He loves Itachi, but he loathes him.

He doesn't want a reason, but he does.

(He wants it more than anything.)

(He's never wanted anything less.)

Sasuke doesn't cry, doesn't sniffle, never even moves, but Kurama knows grief—knows Sasuke's grief—when he sees it. The boy doesn't move away from Kurama's embrace, though, stays within the circle of his arms with an unspoken and unacknowledged sort of gratitude. Kurama says nothing, either, just holds him the way no one has since that night five years ago.

He's thrown Sasuke's world into turmoil and knows it, knows the effect such things will have on a boy who has never looked at the massacre as anything but a tragedy enacted by one person. Sasuke has never not blamed Itachi, and Kurama knows that even if Itachi is declared innocent, Sasuke will have a very, very long way to go before he can even begin to forgive his brother.

But that's all right. A slow march towards forgiveness is far better than having any chance for it ripped away without warning. At least here, there's a slim chance for Itachi's return and a greater one for his survival; as long as that remains constant, Kurama will be satisfied.

(He's always been aware of how much Sasuke—both his Sasuke and this version—worshiped the man, but nevertheless he can't bring himself to respect Itachi. Perhaps he was given an array of bad choices with no good ones to be found, maybe he was backed into a corner with no way out, but still. To kill his entire clan, regardless of Obito's then-less-than-sane assistance, to willingly kill so many—Kurama can't like him for that. Surely, surely there was another choice. Surely one could have been made that did not shatter Sasuke into so very many broken pieces.)

Sasuke takes a breath that shudders ever so faintly, and Kurama tightens his arm, pulling him just that much closer. The body pressed against him is so slim and frail, a child's yet-developing form, and Kurama finds it hard to connect this grieving boy with the strong and steadfast man he left behind. The vast majority of his heart belongs to his Sasuke, dead and forever gone, but…

But there are other pieces left, smaller though they might be. Naruto has already claimed several, and Genma and Raidou, the Sandaime, and Yugao, and certainly Sakura and Kakashi. It's only right that this Sasuke, different as he is, receives his own piece.

"Sleep at my apartment tonight," Kurama offers on a whim. He feels Sasuke stiffen in his grasp and chuckles, because his Sasuke or not, the thoughts behind those sharp-dark eyes are easy enough to guess. "It's not pity, Sasuke-kun. My best friend in the entire world was an Uchiha, and I know he wouldn't have approved of you living in the compound alone. Just for tonight, humor me and let me respect his wishes. I promise I won't even make ramen for dinner."

Sasuke huffs, but he still doesn't pull away, and his forehead stays resting firmly against Kurama's shoulder. There's no sound for a long moment, and then he mumbles something. Very likely it's something Kurama was never meant to hear, but enhanced ears pick it up regardless.

"Ramen…isn't that bad."

Kurama grins to himself, relieved and pleased, and a little triumphant. Not so bad indeed.

Omake (beware of silliness):

"You're going to have Kurama spar with Gai? Genma!"

Genma simply grins at his partner, glancing away from the pot of miso he's stirring. "Come on, Rai, I've got a feeling about this. Just trust me."

Raidou gives him a black look. "Genma. The last time you said that, we were arguing about which bundle of senbon you had poisoned. You stuck one in your mouth and spent the next twelve hours debating the state of Fire Country politics with your nightstand, in between attempts to fly. Izumo and Kotetsu still twitch whenever you start talking about colors."

Genma doesn't even have the decency to look abashed. He just snorts. "So that's why they bolted from the room when I was trying to pick out a new couch. Cowards."

Iruka, who's wandering around Genma's apartment for no real discernable reason beyond throwing dirty looks at Raidou, pauses in the doorway long enough to add, "At least you didn't mention butterflies."

That makes Genma blink once at him, long and slow, before he shrugs in clear dismissal, clicks his current senbon against his teeth, and smoothly changes the subject. "I just think that someone like Gai would be a good influence on Kurama. Gai is—"

"No," Raidou interrupts. "You are not allowed to have any sort of opinion regarding Gai, ever. You left three small children alone with him once. For three days."

"Genma had a mission," Iruka says, narrowing his eyes at the tokujo as he slides into the kitchen and takes up a defensive position in front of his surrogate mother. Genma just rolls his eyes, mutters something under his breath that might be and they call me the mother hen, and otherwise ignores the younger man.

Raidou isn't about to let the point drop so easily.

"You were twelve," he reiterates, just in case Genma missed the whole point of his objection. "I am absolutely astonished that the village was still standing."

"Gai is easily manipulated, if you know the right trigger words," Kotetsu chimes in cheerfully, ducking through the doorway with Izumo on his heels. He stares grimly at Raidou in brief but heartfelt warning, then whips around and goes to give the blond tokujo a hug. "Genma! Is that tuna I smell?"

"I swear you're part Inuzuka, brat," Genma says with fond tolerance, looping an arm around what parts he can reach and hugging back, even as Izumo throws himself into the group hug and the two younger men attempt to squeeze the life out of him.

Raidou sympathizes. Genma is very nice to hug. It's still aggravating, though, especially when Izumo—who he used to think was the levelheaded and sensible one of the trio—gives him a dark glare over Genma's shoulder. He rolls his eyes and points out, not petulant at all, "I still think that spar is a bad idea."

Genma waves him off, clearly unconcerned. Which usually means it's just the type of thing Raidou should be concerned about. "You didn't see him today. That kid could beat me at speed if he paid attention, and his taijutsu's impressive and unpredictable, Gai's favorite combination. Besides, everyone in Konoha should know Gai."

So they know when to run, Raidou very carefully doesn't say. Genma's weirdly protective of Gai, even though the jounin is probably one of the least likely to need such a thing.

Then again, Genma needs to get a plaque reading RESIDENT SHINOBI DEN MOTHER and just hang it outside his apartment. Or around his neck. Really, either would work.

But, granted, Gai was his genin teammate, and that kind of thing forges undeniable bonds. Genma is also one of the few who never even bats an eye at the man's antics—whether from his sheer iron unflappability or immunity through longtime exposure Raidou has never determined—and can easily translate from Gai-speak to something a little more universally understandable.

"Fine," Raidou sighs at length, because even he knows when to back down sometimes. "But if this whole thing blows up in your face—"

"You'll be there to say I told you so," Genma finishes for him, entirely unruffled as he sets the plates on the table. "I know."

The three chicks are all giving him nasty looks now as they slink into their positions around the table, overprotective—as ever—in the face of anyone even attempting to argue with the man who took them in. Raidou sighs to himself as he picks up his chopsticks, resigning himself to a meal of dirty looks and conversation where he can't get a word in edgewise. In this kind of situation, aren't the step-kids supposed to live in fear of bringing their new parent's wrath down upon them? And why is this even his life? Aren't they all adults here?

Then a gentle hand touches his shoulder, and he glances up just in time for Genma to brush a soft, glancing kiss over his lips and set his dinner down in front of him. "Eat up," he orders with a smile, and Raidou knows he looks besotted and stupid right now—Aoba has told him many times, at length and in great detail—but he doesn't care.

This is family, and this is peace, and maybe just a little, he can understand how Uzumaki Kurama is still able to laugh and smile here, even after the complete destruction of Uzushio.

Konoha is far from perfect, but it's still home.