Year 14 B.K.
Thank goodness they're old enough not to have to sneak alcohol anymore. "I'm gonna be a father!" Too bad his tolerance is too high to make a difference. "A boy or a little girl who looks just like me!" 'Don't curse the brat', is what Jiraiya thinks as he drapes himself loosely upon a chair by the wall wishing he could just leave. Friends however celebrate good news with friends and… he'd done it the first time. However, sanctity of time aside Sakumo's blabbering was easier to take when he was sloshed too. How the twins are able to deal with this is beyond him since they seem sober.
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up!!", is what he finally says as his eye twitches dangerously and his hands begin to curl into claws. "Bet ya he loses it in five minutes tops.", says Hizashi the bastard. 'Well, at least one of them isn't sober or is that my bad influence?' The older twin rolls his eyes and pointedly looks elsewhere, "Betting is a vulgar activity far beneath me… besides he won't make it past two." Barely suppressing his rising level of killing intent along with an almost irresistible urge to twitch Jiraiya thinks one thing: 'They die… They both die - drunk or not.'
"…And I'll teach him to throw kunai and kick ass and fly and…" Twenty minutes later Jiraiya breaks out the duck tape and nin wire. Two minutes later three figures are unceremoniously hanging upside down cocooned in chakra reinforced duck tape covered in neon writing. The scrawls on the roughly identically sized wraps read as some very creative epithets, the other sheath has only one message which reads 'Congratulations Sakumo Hatake! Try not to fuck up bastard!' A line is beginning to form to take pictures with the cocoons. 'He dies', thinks one angry twin. 'He dies painfully', thinks the other angry twin. 'He dies after enduring hell on earth and then some', think the obviously unbalanced pair. 'What the hell does he mean fuck up?!'
Meanwhile somewhere further down the road carelessly shrugging off the feeling of righteous indignation Jiraiya almost reaches for his pack of his cigarettes, however the bawling out he'd receive from his gennin team much less Tsuande just isn't worth it. 'The Old man puffs like a friggin' chimney and no one says word one to him. Dammit I'm a hundred and twenty-seven! I can bungee-jump butt-fucking-naked without a cord or a safety net for all it really matters now!' Well, it does matter seeing as he hasn't actually changed anything yet. Sure he's trying to be a better teacher to Arashi's team without betraying whatever formula worked so well before, and he's keeping a better eye out for all the little details that shouldn't matter, but end up meaning the world. Literally.
On autopilot the dobe sannin ghosts through backstreets and ill lit alleys until he comes to a door set below street-level. Placing a hand to the strange rune circle upon it a brief display of phosphate light graces the dingy street. When it clears the twenty-something is nowhere to be seen. Shipping down the steps Jiraiya stops to be sure all his security systems are in place especially the ones blocking Sarutobi's view. A rather unpleasant business that. On the one hand the Old bastard couldn't say anything without admitting to spying on loyal subordinates thus lowering trust. On the other what truly loyal shinobi would need to block his commander's eye? His standing with the sandaime grows thinner with each passing day which is funny since Orochi is doing far worse things for far more selfish reasons… Favoritism sucks. Pleased with his setup he continues onward toward the main structure.
Jiraiya's lair sprawls underneath half a block of unrepeatable territory, but for all intents and purposes (like random Teammate Inspection Day) there is a central hub acting as his home. Three bedrooms, two baths, a study, a kitchen, a library, a living room, and a den. Hidden doors lead to storage rooms, labs, and hide-aways. Jiraiya has been very busy. Son he'll be busier still with Kakashi coming in September. He needs to get Arashi up to jounin soon so he can become Kakashi's sensei. More importantly he needs to slip in more information for Sarutobi beneath his Anbu guise of Windfall, that way later if he slips in some ah… incorrect info and Sakumo has to make a hard decision oh, well. Sakumo has to 'die' so Kakashi can become a royal bastard so Obito can die so Kakashi can get his eye. He has plans for that eye.
Walking down one of a dozen rambling corridors Jiraiya counts his steps knowing these halls contain an ungodly number of fatal traps concealed masterfully. Only half-way to his destination and he can hear the muffled chorus of his current subjects. He needs Sakumo to 'die' without actually dying. Too bad he's a seal master not a medic. The methods he has are not elegant though they are somewhat clever. He can seal the soul in the body, seal the mind away behind a sort of dummy consciousness and purpose. He can place restriction seals to limit damage and slow the nearing of death. He can do all of that, the trouble is finding the right combo. Thus he needs guinea pigs; because sadly you can't make an omelet without a few broken eggs.
A few hand signs create a door in what should be solid rock. The cacophony of suffering before muffled now blasts out at hellish levels. Bodies hang from the wall, are sprawled on the floor, curled into themselves on makeshift pallets. Stepping in and dismissing the door he created Jiraiya reaches for the notepad and case folder for this group. Test subject Amara has died finally of her initial complication - infection. That is the biggest issue, even if he can solve the rest - how will he combat the sure occurrence of infection? The oblivion jutsu is a possibility, but he has yet to perfect it and Tsuande already distrusts him, will surely hate him once he moves against Orochi.
For an hour and a half Jiraiya checks off the living and the dead noting the corruption of flesh, the rate of blood loss, the onset and metabolism of infection. To these pain-wracked perversions of men and women before him he is the devil himself; a monster uncaring of their suffering - walking among them as though the stench of their unwashed bodies, untended injuries, blood - sweat-piss- and shit are nothing. A man vomits upon himself even as watery shit slides down his emaciated thighs. He has long ago bitten off his tongue in hopes of dying. Instead he is forced to swallow his blood or else spend hours coughing it up. There is a foot long incision in his gut where a cancerous fount of pus-laced blood and shit fed malignancy grows. He has been here for four days.
Jiraiya stops before the man: test subject Alex - a confirmed rapist despite being a priest. He has decided it is not wrong to revel in the pain he causes this man. He has decided that as all the people here are murderers, thieves, and monsters of the worse kind he couldn't care less about hurting them. Besides if he can perfect his skills then he can save Sakumo, can save everyone as he couldn't before. Finished recording the new data he pulls on a smock and moves toward a nearby tray for his tools, he really needs to know how far he can go. Seeing the emotionless gaze turned to himself Alex begins to moan his tongue less mouth agape in terror and despair.
A month later an unconscious, but sated White Fang is lying beneath him entirely unaware of the intricate work being inked and carved onto and into his skin. His white-haired friend is cursing his need to sweat as he carefully continues. Hopefully Orochi will not hear of this anymore then Sakumo's wife will otherwise he'll have to find another way to get close to the bastard. A year and a half of clandestine research is now being put to the test or will be once he finishes and wakes his subject. Clapping his blood-speckled hands Jiraiya gathers chakra and then lays his glowing hands on the master seal over Sakumo's heart.
Wrapped loosely in a burgundy robe Jiraiya watches as a steady hand lifts a polished tanto and holds it before a beautifully sculpted belly. The sharp point slides through skin and muscle like heat through butter arterial red bubbling airward to slide down creamy, moon-blessed skin. Is it wrong to be getting hard at this? The blade is pulled slowly, at least it seems slow, down and the red tide covers everything like a warm, scarlet coverlet. Visceral membranes are visible and Jiraiya grasps the chair he sits upon. It isn't fair, Sakumo is a beautiful man and his eyes are beckoning lips parted just so, legs parted just enough to drive one mad and the Voice that only one boy was ever meant to know is whispering to him again.
He jerks off in the cooling blood puddle once it's said and done. "Disgusting." A pinkish mess spilling over his hand, his thighs, his belly. Before he can think his hand is in his mouth and he's hard again wanting to be fucked or to fuck or something, anything. Subject Purpose is not too far away and he's big especially there. He wavers and weaves through cold, stone hallways pausing time and time again to reach between his trembling thighs to touch and toy. Waking up next to the golem man he's made all he can concentrate on is his aching anus and that his timeframe for retrieval is a little better then four hours and more then two is pushing it. He isn't eager to get up knowing Tsuande-hime will be passed out on his couch and he'll need to get pass her caked in blood and cum with a hangover like Hell. "The things I do for Konoha."
14BK - September 9th
"Uncle Sensei? Is he gonna be alright?" Well, it's no surprise where Naruto got his odd nicknaming kick from. Although Arashi is right to question Sakumo's mental integrity what with the man literally bouncing off the walls. If they let him he'll start skipping laps around the ceiling. "Oi, jackass - sit down. Being a git won't make the kid pop out quicker." No effect as the soon to be father continues his oddness ignoring the large, white-haired man and his little blond charge. "Asshole." The waiting room is pink with baby blue accents and a "lovely" palsy green carpet. 'One well placed fire ball and…'
The door opens causing a lost of concentration in a certain ceiling walking git. Once he's back on his feet the lump on his head glowing menacingly the nurse informs him that it's a boy. 'Duh.' All, but shitting rainbows and smiley faces the 'fearsome' White Fang skips joyfully down the hallway effectively weirding out everyone that sees him. Men in masks don't skip merrily much less joyfully. "Uncle sensei? Does having kids make you retarded?" In defiance of the posted signs Jiraiya Noninuzka laughs himself red in the face as his student's bright little face screws it's self up into a mask of bewilderment.
A few minutes later still chuckling with tears in the corners of his eyes he walks into the interesting scene of Sakumo ducking and dodging his wife's prodigious aim. The items hitting the wall leave holes the size of dinner plates. "Stay away from me! It's because of you I had to go through this! Impotent Infidel! Get back!!!" The blonde hiding behind him quietly declares he is never having kids to which Jiraiya replies by laughing harder then ever right before receiving a hard thrown radio to the mouth. The sight pauses Sakumo long enough for him to earn a hit too. While the nurses fuss over the two Sora introduces her pretty new baby boy to his future sensei. Kakashi promptly shit on Arashi.
9BK
It's a long five years with war posturing as skirmishes along all borders. The Toad sennin sits upon a building roof across the street from the Academy just like the day he waited for Arashi. Unlike Arashi who was borderline schizo on graduation, little Kakashi is cool, calm and collected - aside from the way his eyes dart around in search of his favorite people. Flashing around on his forehead is his shiny new headband, strange seeing as the brat is five this fine august day. A brief 'slip' of control allows Kakashi to find him. The little wanker actually bowls him over with the speed he exhibits. "Look jiji-san I beat the sannin record." By one stinking month. "Yeah, whatever brat I'm only thirty so stop calling me old man. Now if you want a celebratory dinner before I change my mind you'll move your butt midget." Even with the mask it's easy to see the face-splitting grin. 'Damn Sora you shouldn't have died - again. Sakumo always was a social fuckup, who else would put a kid in a mask?'
In a one-sided race Kakashi blasts past the closest thing he has to an uncle. The white-haired man is busy rebalancing his checkbook pleased by all the lovely zeros. Icha Icha is still a best seller and his newer Ai Ai Alt. is quickly rising to the top. Thankfully he's been smart enough this time to write under an alias complete with hedge. Belatedly he realizes 'Kashi is impatiently waiting at the teahouse his mother loved. If he isn't mistaken Orochi's aunt runs the place. Nice enough lady, a little too snake-like and more then likely a holder of grudges. She'll hate him dearly when he kills her nephew. People are always so ungrateful. Last time she'd been the first to tell him she'd wish he'd kill Orochi.
As little Kakashi drops his mask (a hard won battle involving a solid month of fighting and a six-month silent feud with Sakumo) to 'attack' his eggplant soup the happy, innocent expression on his face is almost, almost enough to make Jiraiya feel guilty. Even now Konoha's White Fang and his team are walking into a situation they can't handle. Soon he'll have a choice to make - abandon the mission or abandon his squad to die and complete it himself. Last time he did what he had to do and if Jiraiya is correct he'll do the same this time. He'll never recover from whatever choice he makes and so little Kakashi will suffer the consequences… alone. This afternoon will be the last o f it's kind for a long time, if not ever. "Jiji-san? Jiraiya-sama? Are you okay?" Jiraiya's wistful face morphs into a comforting smile all the more effective for all the cobweb tatters of sadness that cling to it. "Don't worry everything's fine."
Watching Arashi and Kakashi interact is both better and worse then it was before. It doesn't help that he seems to be avoiding the both of them. At night he weaves together a tight genjustsu to fuck with Sakumo's mind not that he really needs to bother - Konoha's populous does it for him. Sometimes walking through events already lived and seeing things for what they actually are he can't remember why he ever cared for Konoha. It's getting harder to care as he watches a proud man stumble about his empty rooms slowly surrendering to demons mostly manufactured by the man supposed to be his best friend.
Forcing bile back as he experiments and improves his genjutsu Jiraiya tells himself that this is needed. That with what he learns he'll be able to advance his plans. Plans he needs now because he's come too far to run away. So for a month he builds greater and greater mind traps for his friend, brother and sometimes lover until finally he feels Sakumo is weak enough for his version of the curse seal - the Purpose seal. It's tiny, invisible except when activated or in the presence of it's creator, and what will drive Sakumo through his paces for the next dozen years. It's first task is herding Sakumo to his 'inevitable' demise. The day after he applies the tattoo he is called away for an extended mission in rock.
7BK - Feb. 29th
The baby he holds is barely a weight in his hands. Cradling it like a final gift the trim young man in the white, wolverine -fur coat knows he is damning himself yet further. For all the sins this child might have grown to commit, surely he is innocent now. One long finger traces an angelic face. The semi-blind eyes open ; they are a murky amethyst and for a moment a blond youth sits beside him pondering the merits of blindness. "Ero-sennin', the husky voice made gruff by weariness and strain, " I don't want purple eyes." Rising from the green, green grass he lowers the baby into the cool, clear water while golden leaves gently fall in the breeze. When he can't feel any more motions to breathe he lifts the half-breed from the stream and lies it on it's on little pyre. The fire dries the corpse soon enough and sooner still there's only ashes mixed into dirt as Jiraiya tides up to leave. In four months Sakumo will 'die'. There is still so much to do.
7BK - July 15th
Hidden in the woodworks Jiraiya lies stretching his senses to follow the drama above. The sound of bare feet heavy with fatigue treading away doors opened and closed quietly. The same weary tread returning and a negligible weight settling on the floor. A scratching sound like pen on paper (who'd thought the aggravating git could be so traditional) followed by breathless waiting and then steel meeting flesh. A sound of something thick and fluid sounding quickly, heavily and then slowing, thinning. A sensation of quiet punctured only by soft groans and sighs. A clock tics loudly marking the time before a legend dies. A clatter and a deeper resigned sigh. A heavy thud as a weight meets the floor.
The scent of iron, copper, and blood-soaked wood. A dampness as the spreading puddle permeates further. A heaviness of atmosphere like at a empty slaughterhouse meat, organs, shit, and piss. Underlying all of it is the quiet workings of a dozen, dozen little runes set in strange patterns. Lulling the suffering man to sleep, slowing his breath and heartbeat to nearly nothing. It's a long afternoon waiting for Kakashi to return and weep. A long afternoon of counting down to the sounds of whispers and a child's breaking heart.
Shaking himself like a dog the former super-prev watches the chunnin as they run toward the morgue grey bag slung between them. He'd thought they'd never leave as more and more footfalls gathered round to gawk at the mess. Lying beneath the floorboards as Sarutobi puttered about above him he'd nearly lost it waiting to be called out all his plans gone to pot, but finally they cleared it all up while Sarutobi played caring grandfather to Kakashi. 'Although', and the still-freaked sannin smirks, ' I don't think sweet grandfatherly men are suppose to curse like that...heehee.'
Chunnin are generally stupid little things only a little better then a gennin and so it wouldn't be exactly hard to string them up tied and unconscious…but then there'd be no body. All the work he has undertaken only to fall to impatience? Surely not. So instead he tracks them like a fairytale wolf until they leave their burden in the cold, lonely morgue. Phasing in with a man-sized load on his back the seal master locks down the room before unzipping the grey bag. The face he looks upon seems entirely lifeless, yet the Purpose seal calls out to his own Master seal. Switching his own burden for the still living legend Jiraiya pauses to admire his handwork… you really couldn't tell the difference. Tsuande wakes on the morrow with a headache like hell's fury and an aftertaste in her mouth of dusty wine. She can't account for the missing hours or the blood caked on her hands.
End Chapter Two
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For the record it's only going to get more complicated from here on.
Next time in Chapter Three:
Comrades, Death, and The creation of a Jinchiruki