Problems of Single Fathers

Minato Namikaze survives the fatidic night. Now, he has to juggle between his role as father, as Hokage and as prospect fighter for a war that might be brewing in the dark corners of history. The surprise comes from discovering fatherhood is the most taxing of the three. Chaos ensues.

I.

Kushina Uzumaki choked on her own blood. She never thought being impaled with her husband by the same monster she had imprisoned in her body would be the way she'd die. If Kushina had a knack for black humor, she might have laughed at the irony of the situation. Except she did not have such inclinations and, more pressingly, she was busy trying to convince her husband not to die.

"Minato, stop being a dunce!" she shouted. "You don't have to do the seal; I'm perfectly capable of that!"

The angry roars of the Kyuubi behind them and the desperate crying of their infant Naruto in front almost deafened her words. The ground shook bellow them as the beast stomped, the chains holding it clanging at its efforts to freedom. Kushina winced, her chakra being pulled in from within and her last remaining strengths depleting at alarming rate.

"Or maybe not," Minato said calmly. He was heaving. His body, maybe not as tattered as hers, still crumbling. His weaning focus barely managed to summon the altar needed for the sealing. "Your spirit splintered when the Kyuubi was extracted from you, and the sealings requires a whole soul. The Shinigami might not accept yours."

Her resulting scoff was bloody. "That's hypothetical guesswork!"

"This isn't the time for marital arguments," Minato gritted. "We're both dying and I need to do something before that!"

"This is exactly the time for marital arguments," Kushina bellowed back. "And you might not die! Tsunade-sama is in the village, she can treat your wounds if you just let me do the seal!"

"Kushina, I can't bet on that," he said. "Not when so much—so many lives—are at stake and I'm the Hokage."

Kushina inhaled through her teeth. Her lungs throbbed. She leveled her gaze on Minato's profile: his jaw set, the wrinkles of worry—a leftover mark of many acquired in the Third War—ceasing his skin, and his harsh blue eyes veiled the sorrow and the shame she knew to be mirrors of hers. A personal sacrifice—their life as parents, their son's happiness, their possible future—was nothing but pond rocks against the waves of the need of the masses. Tears stung the corner of her eyes.

Duty and love never messed well, she'd been told. Hokage wasn't just a profession, it was a lifestyle, Biwako Sarutobi, now dead to duty, warned her when the Fourth Hokage was proclaimed. There are sacrifices to be made down that particular road, always.

Kushina cursed. She'd knew but had dared to hope. She still did. Minato, she still believed, could prove her right.

You may not be able to bet, Kushina thought ruefully, but I can.

"Minato," she said. She smiled to herself. She hoped Minato could see the smile in her words. "I love you. I really do."

It might have been selfish. It might also have been stupid. This might have been, she thought in a moment of lucidity, why she never became Hokage herself. Kushina did not care. With the little strength she could muster, she took advantage of her position behind him and his surprise at her words to aim a clean strike to his spine. She watched as Minato passed out, body dangling forward.

Naruto's cries rocketed in volume.

"Shush, Naruto," she cooed. "It's okay. It's okay. Mommy's still here."

It took effort to stand still as the Kyuubi trashed, pulling and pushing. It took effort to bring her hands close together for the chain of seals necessary to do the unthinkable to her son. It took effort to talk, to breathe, to think. It took effort to live a bit longer, too, but Kushina did it anyway. She had to.

"I wish… I wish it hadn't been like this," she said, breathless. "I wish I could hold you one last time, but daddy's going to be there for you so he can do it for me. And there's so much I want to tell you… Oh, so much…" She winced while coughing blood and bile. "I hope— I hope you grow up well and strong, so eat lots and bath every day and study… although I can't really comment on the last. I hope you make good friends—few that you can trust are enough… And don't fall to the Three Prohibition for a shinobi… And find a good woman, like me, who will love you and you'll love… And listen to your daddy, he'll be there even when you're pain and sad and care for each other and… and…"

Her voice wavered. Tear stroke down her cheeks. Her fingers formed the last handseal for the ritual.

"Above all, I want to tell you I love you."

A mark appeared in her son's belly. Kushina recognized it for what it was and sighed in relief when she saw it complete and well formed. She slumped against her inert husband's back and watched an apparition took form in front of her. Bone white clothes, ash gray skin, a face so disfigured and twisted it reminded her of the Noh masks of her homeland, and a presence that was all-encompassing and all-powerful in the way it could drain the life of every corner of her being and their surroundings.

The Shinigami, there to reclaim her soul.

"Take it," she whimpered. Behind her, once her chakra depleted to nothing, the Kyuubi roared as her chains disappeared. Her hand curled around her husband's cape. "Please, take it. It might not be whole anymore but it's still my soul. Please."

The Shinigami hovered over her, immobile. For one dreadful moment, Kushina thought the god wouldn't accept it—her soul. A searing sob wrecked her body. She had utterly failed not only Minato or Konoha, but also Naruto. For that one moment, despair took over her.

She looked down. Bellow the god's ethereal form, she could distinguish twin blond spots. At the very least, Kushina thought as the black spots on her vision took over the world, her last sight would be of the two men she loved most in the world.

And then, the Shinigami lunged.

. . .

Minato Namikaze woke up to blinding white and pain. He groaned, eyes scrunched shut as the fog of his mind thickened. It was hard work to make sense of anything, as if every neuron and cell of his body had gone on overdrive and were somersaulting over each other. The blackness was swirling, and the pain crossed every muscle and fiber. Eventually, though, something resembling coherency settled over the thrumming of his brain. At first, the world was nothing but sensations: he could hear a beeping sound, smell the antiseptics in the air and touch soft fabric. Then, through everything else, memories stampeded forward: the stranger who attacked them, the consequent Kyuubi running rampant, Kushina and him dying while protecting their son and—

I love you. I really do.

Minato gasped in surprise, eyes wide open to face, besides a terrible headache, what he knew to be a hospital room and a head full of white, spiky hair.

"Awake, finally," Jiraya the Toad Sannin said. He was perched on a stool next to a bed—Minato's bed. He looked older and somber and tired. "Not that I blame you with the wounds you had."

"Irgh…"

His throat constricted around the words, as if someone had dared to shove as much sand as they could through it. The pain multiplied, white spots in the corner of his vision danced. Minato winced and groaned.

"You've been out of it for almost a month, kid," Jiraya said. "Take it easy."

Jiraya helped him sat on the bed, handed a glass of water and pushed a button next to him. It had been long since Minato saw his teacher act so carefully, so unlike him. It made him, somehow, uncomfortable though not ungrateful. He heaved an exhale, taking a mouthful of water before regretting it. It cleansed his throat, of course, but it also felt like needles piercing his skin from inside out.

"Month…?" he managed to rasp.

"Well, not entirely. You'd been waking up the last two weeks, but not really lucid," Jiraya said. "Stomach impalement, heavy blood loss and extreme chakra exhaustion are not things to be easily shaken off."

Minato nodded idly. His brain was still trying to catch up, but the sounds of Kushina's last words and Naruto's crying before he'd blacked out had haunted all the way from his dreams.

"Kushina?" he rasped again. "Naruto?"

Whenever Jiraya had nothing but bad news he didn't wish to give, Minato'd learnt, his only telltale sign would be the thinning of his lips. It didn't take more than a second for fear to swell at the base of his stomach as Minato witnessed the slight whitening of his teacher's upper lip. The world swayed to the side, the lights dimming and his vision tunneling into a spot on the wall. Before panic could definitely settle in his bones, though, the door opened. Tsunade Senju trotted in, medical records in hand and a stern look only found on doctor's on duty adorning her deceivably joyful face.

She stopped for a second, taking in the scene with sharp and equally tired eyes, and sighed.

"You shouldn't be interrogating my patient, Jiraya," was all she said before approaching them. She set to a medical check with little more than an uneasy smile and 'how do you feel'.

"He's the one with the questions, Princess," Jiraya retorted half-heartily. He took a shuddering breath before facing Minato fully. "Naruto's well. He's in the next room, being watched over a nurse and three ANBU 24/7."

"He weighs 2'7 kilograms and is 48'3 centimeters tall. A bit less than the average for boys but undeniably healthy," Tsunade added, her hand on his pulse. She hesitated before adding, "Congratulations."

"The Eight Trigrams Seal is also stable. I checked as soon as I got here two weeks ago," Jiraya said. "The Kyuubi's been successfully sealed off."

Minato gripped onto the water glass. His mouth twisted in pain. He didn't dare look at anyone, fixated in the tubes going into his right arm.

"Kushina…did it…?"

"Yes." Jiraya said, voice heavy and dull. "I'm sorry."

"Ah."

This time the world didn't crash; rather, it came into focus. It was worse. The colors sharpened, the details he'd been too tired to notice now clear. He could distinguish the expressions on the two Sannin better, concerned and with grief. He could also notice the wound of his stomach with renewed clarity. And unhealed few scratches on his arms. And his chest, where was no injury but still hurt at his heart's every beat.

This world—this story— was real, and it was undeniable.

His son was a jinchuriki and his wife was no more.

It was irreversible. Finite.

Another glass filled with a lame white liquid invaded his field of vision. Minato stared.

"Drink," Tsunade ordered. His answer was automatic. It tasted like medicine. "Hiruzen will be taking over as Hokage for the time being. You're relieved until recovery. You'll heal well, there was no irreversible harm to any system, but it will take time and rest." Her sentences were punctuated by scrawls on her documents. She only looked up at the end, her honey eyes assuaging, almost pitying but not quite, much like all the other professional doctors he'd ever met. "Take that time to be with Naruto."

Minato nodded futilely. His thoughts scrambled. It was strange. Usually, ideas and opinion always bombarded him nonstop—a never-ending parade of feelings and notions that would hold him awake until late hours of the morning. Now, there, everything was unfamiliarly empty, like wading through thick, dark waters with no land in sight.

There was a part of him that felt sluggish, lethargic and whispered him to lay down and sleep again—perhaps forever. The bigger part, however, screamed at him for something else.

"May I see my son?" he asked.

Tsunade gazed him critically. Her mouth pursed. "I'll bring him to you," she said.

Once she had left, Jiraya's stance shagged. The edge on his shoulder banishing under the weight of his worry. He levelled a look that was in equal amount shame and resignation.

"I had been poking around," he said carefully. "No one knows what truly happened that night, but I'll bet it was no simple accident of birth, was it?"

Minato gulped, the words slow in taking form, an unmade puzzle one had to decipher.

"No. We… We were attacked," he said. He saw the Sannin ready another question. A shake of his head stopped him. "It wasn't Iwa, nor Kumo."

"That's worse," Jiraya lamented. "An unknown enemy's always worse."

"I'm…" Minato frowned. He knew he was something, but he couldn't pinpoint the sentiment. Sorry, perhaps, for not knowing better? "I'm—"

"I know," Jiraya interrupted. "It's alright."

It wasn't, but the platitude was welcome. So was the calloused hand on his shoulder. It helped to ground him. It helped to feel more than just empty.

"I'll be back tomorrow. Give you some time while I report to my dear teacher in the meantime." Jiraya gave one last squeeze, stood up, headed to the window and shot a shaky smile in his student's direction. "Take care."

Minutes later, Tsunade came back with a soft pink bundle in her arms. In it, Minato found the sleeping form of his son. He was a restless sleeper if the way his limbs spammed every minute was anything to go by. That almost made him laugh.

"I give you half an hour," Tsunade said not unkindly. "You still need rest."

Minato watched her go, the door softly clicking shut, before his full attention fixed on the small baby in his trembling arms.

"Hey, Naruto," he said. He was ashamed to admit the words broke midway. "I'm very happy to see you again."

He traced the three pairs of marks on each cheek, a side effect, he mused, of being the son of a jinchuriki himself. Otherwise, he looked healthy. Minato hadn't been able to take a good look at his son the night he was born, but now he did, he noticed. The skin was rosy, the belly full enough. He breathed in and out without issue. There was a tuff of blond, spiky hair atop his head he had to inherit from his father. The high cheeks of a healthy redder color, too, Minato noticed, were his. The boy's lids fluttered for a moment and behind them Minato recognized the sky-blue eyes he himself was well-known for.

On the other hand—

He also had his mother's round face, and her button nose, and her wide eyes—all of them coming together in a perfect cacophony that screamed of Kushina, painfully familiar and pretty and gone.

I love you. I really do.

Minato hold onto his son tighter, almost desperately, and cried.

. . .

The funeral was private. The day was cloudy and the mood somber. Not many people attended. Too many were still nursing their wounds or dead or working so the fragile stability Konoha stand on didn't crumble down at the wake of their village's greatest tragedy. Minato was at the front, bounded to wheelchair for the time being with Naruto in his arms and wide breath of empty air around them.

There was no body in the casket. It'd been cremated long ago next to the rest of the deceased that numbered in the hundred. Minato understood the reasons—a month was a long time to keep a corpse without wasting resources much needed elsewhere—, but some part of him still lamented there was no body to say goodbye to. The ceremony was, therefore, mostly for himself.

Naruto had cried, and cried, and cried until there was nothing to cry about at the end.

"At least the twerp has a good set of lungs," Jiraya said. He fondly petted his godson's head and chuckled to himself.

"He does," Minato conceded. The last two nights he had insisted on taking care of him himself only to wake up in the middle of the night to a crying babe. It was disorienting and tiring given his condition. Minato still insisted. He studied the gear his once jounin leader wore. "You're leaving already."

"Yes," Jiraya said. "If what you told was true, something or someone's started moving. And if they almost succeeded already, that's no good for us. We need to prepare."

Minato nodded. That did not surprise him. It was expected.

"Our dear Senju Princess, though," Jiraya continued, "has decided to stay around even when things settle."

That, however, did surprise him.

"Really?"

"Yep. Surprising, right?" Jiraya laughed. "Woman has no attachment to this village or the Senju legacy anymore, but I think this time it'd hit too close to home with some random attacker shitting all over her grandfather's work."

Minato scowled. "Language."

"He isn't two months old, Minato."

"Children start developing their language skills since their birth and even before," he said. "I read it somewhere."

"Uh. One learns something every day." Jiraya patted him in the back. Knowing him, he probably didn't particularly care. "Anyway, I'll come by when I can. With more intel if lucky."

"Please, do," Minato breathed. His legs itched. Naruto was getting restless. Somewhere, the enemy was regrouping. His teacher—practically family—was leaving. All around, it wasn't the best day. He glanced at the memorial. It could be worse, he guessed. "I will try to get back on my feet by then."

Jiraya grunted. "I wouldn't expect less from you."

The proceeding moment was familiarly calm, even if subdued, Minato thought. Years of knowing each other made the silences matter—like a blanket in a cold night. The day could have ended like that and, Minato believed, it'd have been as worthy as saying anything. Pity was, then, that there was always something to discuss, to worry, to question about.

"How do you feel about the Old Man's Secrecy Law?"

Minato couldn't say he hadn't expected it. He did. He had just willfully ignored it.

"It's the best method to avoid giving Iwa and Kumo a new reason to rekindle the war when we are in such weakened state," he recited. It was easy. He'd thought about this long and hard. He had repeated those words until he convinced himself. "If they discovered the Kyuubi was not only sealed in a child, but a child who's also their worst enemy's son, they would surely do something dangerous if only for revenge."

Jiraya exhaled, hands massaging his nape. "That's not all I meant."

Minato hummed. The silence stretched. In the distance, crows cowed to the setting sun. Naruto stirred against him, trying to find the most comfortable position in his hold. Minato faintly smiled at him.

"…I have noticed," he said eventually, hesitantly, "how some have been… reluctant when Naruto is around." There had been no mistreatments, much less outright abuse, of course—only hesitation tempered by the trust people had on him, who proclaimed there was no reason for concern. And they always came around, with time. Still. Behind the curtains, the obvious stared at him. "People are afraid of him and the Law's to stop any rumors from escalating, isn't it?"

"The people have been reminded of the horrors not seen since the days of the Warring States," Jiraya said solemnly. "And fear, if unchecked, can breed into hatred. Naruto's just an easy target—easy to see him as the beast rather than the jailer."

"Which means I have my work cut out for me," Minato said. It was a harsh admission to make. The village he swore to protect wary and fearful of his own son and he needing to make heads of it on top of everything else. Harsh, but steps needed to take. "I know. That won't stop me."

Jiraya's face softened, the wrinkles around his eyes making him look, somehow, livelier. His big hand settled on Naruto's head, the act almost grandfatherly, then on Minato's. Sometimes, the old man tended to forget his student was no greenhorn boy anymore.

"No, it won't," he said gently. "If there was something good Kushina instilled in you is her sheer stubbornness."

The grin bloomed without bidding before quickly wilting away. "She did."

"She was an incredible woman." Jiraya's voice was wistful, almost nostalgic, and it sounded wrong when talking about Kushina who had been alive, in Minato's memory, just a couple of days ago.

He closed his eyes.

"She was."

A/N: Despite what this chapter may make you think, this is going to be a lighthearted, feel good fic overall, sometimes even humorous (or my version of humor anyway). It's just the beginning point is a rather bleak moment in the story.

Also, as witnessed in this chapter, I don't care much for the finer points of canon. I just wanted to give Minato a better reason to sacrifice himself than 'lol I wanna' so I did, half-assed as it may be.