Notes: WARNING: Naruto will be extensively OC at the beginning, that is your only warning, BUT that will change as the story continues, its necessary for plot I assure you.
Coruscating came the day, with a varnished cyan sky and puffed pure white clouds scintillating in the sun's radiance. Jiraiya had sat himself for a comforting afternoon; to be reposed upon the fern green grass spread over the fine valley above the Founder's Monument, cherishing immemorial memories that exceedingly few persons could attest upon. There was a slight breeze blowing the scent of blossoming jasmine and lilies into the air, along with the caressing warmth of spring's welcome. He sat up, it was a precious day, and an easy atmosphere for writing, he was within calming weather and even had the pronounced reminder of his past plainly afore his eyes, it would be ideal for the new book he had planned; a harrowing tale of his parent's lives, at least as much as he knew of their pasts previous to his birth, and even afterwards, therein as much as they had told. For all, his parents were two wondrous persons, he smiled to himself within a slight mockery of social comprehension; that was at least unto his biased perception.
With the drop of ink he only just touched his brush to paper, whence the rustle of leafs came to distract him- without a breeze to guide them. With only the most hidden of sighs made unto the disruption, his charcoal irises flickered in a near glare to the direction of the shinobi interrupting. A flickering of colour in pink told him all to identify the kunoichi, he fully turned to her as he stood, along with an age-worn grunt from the protest his legs made. His book pocketed, and his brush already in his pouch along with his fast-dry shinobi-classed black ink. It wasn't among his nature, but a frown had formed onto his lips for his want to avoid work upon a day of peaceful inclination. However, his disgruntlement was marred by the anxiety painted plain on the woman's visage, sweat coated her forehead, her brows were tilted down tension lines obvious above the bridge of her nose, teeth gritted within her scowl, her hands shook, and her entire body was tensed.
"Jiraiya-sama! It's Naruto!" That wracked his attention, swiftly away from his own selfish want for peace, his arms crossed and his thoughts boiled for possible problems, even as she continued; her voice was shaken and frantic obviously strained with concern. "He collapsed! We were just in a meeting and then he fell down! His heartbeat's erratic, he's got a fever and hyperventilating! Tsunade doesn't know what's wrong and-" At this point, her emerald gaze was flicking about as if in search of a solution, her head was twitching, biting at her lip, she was in fact near hyperventilating herself. To a point, Jiraiya could understand her anxiety, for the loss of Sasuke had seeped her into depression already in previous, another comrade would do poor for her mentality. Nathless, he was confounded by the information, Uzumaki Naruto had never before been sick, nor was it possible for him to be without an extensive amount of self-abuse. Withal, it worried him, on a primordial level, and he had to force himself into a calming demeanour afore the anxiety-ridden woman who'd informed him, as to not seem immature.
He put a large hand on her small shoulder, she was perhaps five-foot, therein at least an entire foot beneath himself. Still, he wanted to calm the poor panicking girl, she settled a little, regardless of her indomitable spirit the thought of losing another teammate must have terrified her into such a state. He offered a slight smile, showcasing the elder deepened lines within his cheeks for comfort, she breathed a deeper breath in return, and jumped into the trees with the expectation for him to follow- and he did. His concern for Naruto was heightened by the amount of fright Sakura-chan had displayed in front of him, but he kept reign over his own worry in order to appear the balanced figure, while in the presence of someone far younger.
She guided them immediately to the hospital, her steps fast and slamming a slight on the tile -luckily not to the point of making dents, he noted.- He was brought quickly to the fourth waiting room, where Kakashi was leaning against the wall, both his hands stuck firmly in his pockets. Jiraiya took notice from his knowledge of the man, that his mouth was thinned underneath his mask, as one eye glared fiercely at a shut-and-locked door. There was no book in his hand, and his attention wasn't straying, he was focused and worried. Sakura joined him, in which his similar black gaze flickered to her and then unto him as he entered. Jiraiya had no true idea of what was happening, though he could comprehend with Hatake Kakashi being highly concerned; it was not a simple circumstance. The sanin faltered inwithin himself, for all of his sparkling joviality, none presented itself with the fog overhung above the depressed room. His own coal gaze turned to the door Kakashi was fixated upon, his arms crossed for a self-comfort, as a sigh came out through his nose, he walked to the two members of team seven -ignoring with ire; the clank of wood his geta produced as inappropriate within the stifled silence of the room.
While Sakura sat, her hands clenched tight upon her pressed knees, her head bowed as her body shook. Both he and Kakashi stood, and Jiraiya could not force himself to sit under such a stressful situation, one of his hands was hugging his ribs underneath the cross of the other for a measure of stability. "What's the situation?" He knew only what the young kunoichi had told him, and that had hardly been extensive for understanding. The jounin breathed deeply, as they regarded each other without greeting, but he looked back to the door after just a glimpse.
"We don't know. He fainted, Tsunade-sama declared he needed to be brought immediately to the hospital, and he was brought to that room. They started working on him immediately." Jiraiya allowed himself a nod for a response, there was little for him to say, the three of them were concerned for his abrupt collapse, Tsunade was working upon him so he had the best chance of recovery; but without knowing the cause, a sickness could not easily be fixed, especially if it had been a well-hidden assassination attempt, Naruto could still die. Then there was a click from the door Kakashi had found intrigue upon, and Shizune stepped out wiping her forehead with a worn cloth, in grace, no tears stained her cheeks- so Jiraiya was hopeful his student hadn't been lost, however, her eyes were red-rimmed, and she was breathing heavily for exhaustion.
"We managed to stabilize him, but he's in a coma. As for the cause, Tsunade-sama is assuming a type of poison that Naruto-kun's body could not fully expel on its own, but that's just a theory, and we're looking into other possibilities." Relief draped over them all, Jiraiya felt his own drop his shoulders from their tense posturing -one he had not fully released they were in, as Shizune also smiled for the information. Beside him, Kakashi breathed out a large sigh of relief, and Sakura wiped her face while muttering a 'stupid, worrying us like this,' to herself, Jiraiya smiled for the obvious concern still tainting her voice. Comatose, and not dead, it wasn't a means for high victory, but the former was much preferred to the latter. Tsunade stepped out, appearing further worn by the stress she'd just managed, but she did not speak to any of them, rubbing at her neck and sighing greatly she departed. Jiraiya choose to say nothing to her grim silence and walked into the room instead, neither of team seven joined him, they followed after their Hokage in seeking answers.
Jiraiya sat down on the one chair beside the bed of the sleeping teen. Naruto seemed normal as he were, hair dishevelled- his headband wasn't keeping it back from his forehead, his ridiculously long eyelashes were resting on tanned cheeks, and his own natural resting smile was carved without strain onto pinkened lips. Indeed, he looked to be sleeping, just as he had heard those in comas did, there was hardly a movement from the boy, just the rise and fall of his chest. The white sheets were covering him almost delicately, but his small -omegan- hands rested lightly overtop in contrast, poised almost traditionally over the each other, only slightly moving with his breaths. Jiraiya found himself slouching forward upon his chair, elbows resting on his thighs his fingers tightly clasped together, simply thinking of what could have happened. His eyes strayed to the seal Naruto possessed, hidden by the sheets, pondering if the Kyuubi could be responsible in some way, somehow.
Jiraiya sat back, already emotional for the potential loss of a precious student, it was luck that Naruto hadn't perished like so many of his others. Then he had an idea, it was not much for a sleeping-man.
Still, he pulled out his brush and ink, his blank book, placed the ink on the bedside table, and readied the brush for writing. Long when they had been travelling, the blond had been enthusiastic, jumping up and down, he had asked with a glimmer in his eye if Jiraiya could tell him of his past, of his childhood, of what parents and family were like to have. At the time, it had jarred him, crushed so deeply into a pit of memories so far inclosed within the borders of his mind that he had refused, glared at the blond for the question, and left the inn in misery for himself as his past had haunted around his head. Now a year had passed, and he had managed -under extensive self duress; to look upon his history and not be pained by grief, guilt, and mourning. For that day, back when Naruto had been so young and unrefined, when his jutsu could hardly form spheres: Jiraiya had been encaptured by a disturbing apparition which the sun had made; for as it shone down from the window's open plain, it had glittered upon Naruto's sunflower hair to a glow of luminescence, made his eyes shine with all seven shades of the Hidden Mist's seas, and he had seen for a moment the image of his mother's golden visage. Naturally, he had blinked in his shock and the illusion had gone, it brought forth the desire to remember his mother for all the good he was and not for all the bad which followed.
Thus he had decided to write about his parents, his mother and his father both, regardless of their colourful… history. A tale of their lives in with his own, telling of all their woes, adventures, and even the romance which they had shared- one wracked with drama and passion. For as he knew from experience, his father's name was presently drowned in social stigma, and his mother was widely unknown; he wanted for them a better telling, one of truth which would due them their long-awaited justice. He smiled towards Naruto's sleeping visage as he put his brush to paper.
"How about I tell you a story?" He got no reply of course, but he still chuckled, his brush easily sweeping across the page. Something warm settled within his chest in thinking of his parents, as his writing danced upon the page, and it encouraged him to write further; there were copious amounts to delineate of their rapturous tale- for in candour he had nary spoken of his origin, from his own melancholy childhood, to the truth of his mother and father's chaotic youth. For many minutes he sat in still silence staring to the image of his student's inert visage, the placid expression he bore, to the gentle manner in which his hair spread over white with a brightened glow against the pillow. Contemplation ran over his mind as he straightened and leant back in his chair, feigning nescience against his own recollection, breathing in as deep as he might, to regain his own controlled mentality, crossing his legs and putting forth a grin. Notepad resting on his legs, still blank- however ready for a story. "I don't really know how to tell you about my parents, they were complex people- hated nowadays. My mother used to tell me about his youth, moreso than my Dad could. So I'll tell you their story from his perspective- so pay attention brat."