He felt… feelings. That was certainly new- a wash of sensation prickling at the edge of his mind, whispered words on the edge of his hearing he couldn't quite parse. That was fine- hearing something was better than hearing nothing at all. He hadn't thought he'd wake up again after the last treatments had started to fail- they'd told him he'd die…
Exhaustion crept up on him and he slipped quietly to sleep once again, dreaming of open landscapes and freedom, fantastical beasts which looked down at him with concerned eyes. He dreamed of being more alive than he'd ever been before- he dreamed of ancient energy and flowering trees ever stretched to the sky; of the gentle breeze that would brush through the forest outside of his classroom.
A thousand things he didn't quite understand, and some he did- mundane, and not. It was a good dream- of warm things, gentle susurrations and quiet embraces. Happyness. Emotion, implacable, wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.
For a while, he slept and did not dream.
…
"...they barely wake. Do you see…" a lilting, melodic language- different from English, but no less intelligible "...not supposed to be sick. How can a chakra construct get sick?"
A muffled noise- laughter, he supposed, or maybe someone just got punched particularly hard. "The great and noble Sage of-"
"Shut up, Hamura-"
"-reduced to a fretting parent." Ah. That sound was definitely someone getting punched, followed by a few more mumbled words. "I'll take a look-" a faint spike of intent-energy-potential, the sensation of being watched then- numbness. Silence. "I can't see anything particularly wrong- the chakra network isn't human, but I didn't expect it to be." That had been exhausting- he was tired, so… so very tired.
Something in that sentence strained to grab his attention- he got the impression that it was critically important, but he just couldn't bring himself to grasp onto that thread of mind, wakefulness slipping past, into placid rest.
He dreamed of a room- in turns too small and far too vast. The weight of all his memories- the bookshelf half full, fitted neatly with a side of random trinkets. Disgustingly mint-green paint, the color he'd always hated… scratches on the door, hanging posters and stacked textbooks. Beyond the open door a vast, empty plain stretched far into the distance.
A step-
The rest of his dreams were a blur, colors and impressions mixing together in bewildering kaleidoscopic echoes. In one moment of particular clarity he sat opposite a cat that blazed with blue fire, watching it speak and hearing no words. It felt… familiar. Familial, despite its inhumanity…
Weakly, he grasped that thought- there was something important about that thought. His eyes met the cat's heterochromatic pair, and then he was adrift again- asleep, undreaming.
"...unbalanced yin energy…"
"...knowing what to look for-" that prickle of knowledge that he was being watched- "It's a lot better than it was just a month ago. They'll probably… …soon."
Those weren't medical terms.
Those weren't medical terms.
It was the first thing that'd properly registered since he'd slipped asleep for what should have been the final time, which was frankly a bit embarrassing because the next thing that registered was that he'd been ignoring that pesky not human designation for- probably, if this man was to be believed- over a month.
He shifted, and the conversation paused, replaced by a quiet shuffling and the tense air of expectation. This was… really hard. In that moment, his heart went out to all those who didn't die and had to go through the torture that would be physical therapy. Experimentally he twitched his limbs, shifting his arms and legs and letting his tail flop down-
Tail.
He didn't have the brainpower for this right now, but- tail. Groaning softly- a concerningly deep sound compared to what his voice should have been- he pried open his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't.
Pros? Well… he wasn't dead.
Cons? Looking up at worried, amaranthine purple eyes and short horns, feeling the heavy weight of a- something- idly moving behind his back... he decided to go back to sleep. If he absolutely had to be Shukaku, the most idiotically tragic tanuki to ever walk the face of the earth, then he could at least do it after a good night's rest..
…
"Tag!" That was the first- and to anything else would have been the last- word he heard as he woke up in that strange vastness, an orange paw slamming into his side with the force of a truck and bowling him right into the side of a burning cat. "You're supposed to tag her, not-"
"Kurama you idiot!" Matatabi shoved him off with a hiss of rage, stalking over to whack the kitsune over the head. "Little sibling is delicate! Father said we can't play with them like that!"
"But-" Kurama looked about ready to cry. His brother. Kurama. He puffed himself up, tails floofing out behind his back. "They're here- we're not dragging them into the mindscape- they actually came in themselves! Plus, I'm the big brother, so I'm in charge."
Matatabi's flames flared half their height again as she leapt onto Kurama's back with a cry of fury. "Older by half a second!"
A smirk. "Still older-"
"Doesn't matter if you're a brat-"
"Uncle Hamura said not to repeat-"
Nope. Not right now. If this was what the young bijuu were like… well, he could see how Shukaku developed a complex. Watching the two brawl, presence forgotten to the side, he decided that he didn't need to deal with this right now and retreated from the shared mindscape. To think he had eight siblings now…He was fairly sure they didn't even realize he'd left.
…
Several months passed in fairly busy monotony, for the most part sleep mixed with a few brief moments of wakefulness. Slowly, so painfully slowly, he began to get up and move about- his body rebelled at the action, and he was relatively sure the few villagers that saw him were convinced he'd somehow managed to get drunk. At least they never had to get used to walking with a tail after a lifetime as a perfectly normal, non chakra-beast student.
The family visited often, if rarely in person- and they liked him well enough as the adorable little brother he was. Or, at least in Kurama's case, as a plushy ball of sand, just perfect for hugs and generalized torment.
The greatest part of those few months of recovery was- inevitably- Hagoromo. Father… infinitely patient, quiet and reserved yet perfectly firm, a glance able to quell even Son Goku's rage. He couldn't help but to love him despite that guilt, his open kindness and worldly magnificence, and the soft voice as he wove stories with the rising sunlight.
"Shukaku." He blinked, parsing the voice as he woke- feeling the faint sensation of a small hand nestled beneath his chin. "Son, the sun rises and the birds sing their songs. The wind whispers. Wake up." Gold eyes met rinnegan's deep gaze, and he couldn't help but smile. "Oh? Hello there, little Shukaku."
"...hello, Hagoromo."
"You can call me father."
Shukaku winced- there was still something… off about calling the legendary Sage of Six Paths father. He had a dad- perpetually punctual, never able to put down a book or a good cup of coffee, full of good humor at his job and distant bitterness at the mention of family. "I… sorry, father."
"You should have come with Gyuki to the wastes- Hamura was driving himself insane trying to fix the water table." He felt himself getting tugged into an embrace, small arms sinking a few inches into the sand of his form. "Shukaku. Son. I love-"
"I'm not." His breath picked up in a few sharp gasps, sand shifting in agitation as he tried- and failed- to cringe back from the surprisingly strong hug. "I'm not Shukaku." There. Simple enough- what was a secret to love? You didn't have to wait for betrayal if you were the betrayer first.
Hagoromo stepped back, solemn- not disapproving, just… curious. Patient. "Oh? Then who are you?"
"I- I was human." He was pretty sure there was supposed to be something about not telling people this sort of thing right away, but against those eyes that felt as if they could look through anything, against that soft embrace… "Nineteen years old, college student-" he paused, looking carefully for any sign of disapproval- for anything but the careful blankness spread across Hagoromo's face. "I… knew some things about this world."
"...really? What do you know about me?"
"Sage of Six Paths." Hagoromo nodded softly, "revered as a god-"
Hagoromo's eyes widened comically as he sucked in a deep breath, only to be sent into a coughing fit by the sand he'd inhaled. "A- a god? Me? If I had ever thought of breaking confidence in the first place, then this has convinced me otherwise well enough."
A glance passed between them- "Hamura will never hear of this. Promise." A smile cracked across his face and then they were laughing, peals of bright drifting through the effusive dawn.
"You always were the most mature of the children," softly, a murmur barely audible even to his enhanced senses. A hand reached up, cusping the side of his nose- it was so easy to forget sometimes the strength slung easily across his staff, clasped tightly in the gudodama floating behind him like so many black beads. "Shukaku. Son. I will never not love you, no matter what."
"...why?"
A sigh, so weary. "You are you. Others may not be so understanding, but is it not the duty of the father to care for the son? To reject your trust would be the height of cruelty. Now- tell me about this life of yours…" and for a while they spoke of cities to touch the sky, urban sprawls and global connections and peace.
Father and son.
…
Shukaku glared at the sand in front of him. Hands clasped in a careful seal, will focused to a singular purpose, he pushed.
The sand moved maybe… half an inch. If he was lucky.
A hoof pushed the sand- unfortunately much further than what he'd managed with his chakra. "Come on Shukaku. You promised you'd help me after you finished with your boring sand stuff. Please? Pretty-"
"Fine, Kokuo. Look, the chakra sharing ninshu is too advanced for either of us. Until we master some basic chakra exercises, father won't even consider teaching you."
"But you know everything." Kokuo glanced up at him with that particularly needy face he'd
perfected over the past odd year or so, and Shukaku couldn't help but sigh in fond exasperation.
Even if his relationship with most of his elder siblings was… politely distant… he at least had ever-curious Kokuo to learn with. "I don't know everything. I've just been putting a lot of work into learning from father- we both have a drive to see a world at peace." Kokuo pouted, and Shukaku deftly pressed his tail into his forehead.
Maybe he shouldn't be taking his familial advice from the person who'd slaughtered a clan who hadn't even been founded yet. Oh well- it was certainly fun watching his pout turn to an adorable scowl as he kicked at his sand- "You brat! Uncle Hamura brought that from the wastes-" with a cry of mock anger he threw himself at the horse.
"Hey! You can't even use your sand-"
Shukaku whacked him over the head with his tail, and was whacked by Kokuo's five in turn. "You can't use boil release either!"
"I totally could!" Shukaku glanced at him with barely constrained incredulity, eliciting a quiet huff. "...if I wanted to. Yeah. I could boil you right up if I wanted to!"
"No you couldn't."
Kokuo deflated a bit. "Yeah, you're right. Dummy." A few rough minutes of detangling followed, until they were both sitting by the edge of the river as noon slipped past. " What are you going to even do with sand? Like… make a desert?"
"I'm sure uncle would appreciate the help with the wastes, but no." He grinned, and it was sharp. "I have a plan."
…
"Fuuinjutsu?" Hagoromo arched a brow. "Are you sure?"
He bounced softly on his feet, trying not to look too excited. "Of course I am. Its potential is limitless- and I could apply seals so easily with my sand. Just… shape it right, then- seal!"
"Unlimited potential to lock away junk and blow yourself up more like it. I hope you understand that my sealing knowledge is… rudimentary at best."
Shukaku hoped his gaze appropriately conveys the sheer incredulity he felt in that moment. "You sealed the Juubi. You sealed grandma into the moon. How can you be bad at sealing?"
He only smiled softly, serene as ever floating above his ring of gudodama. "Your uncle and I built both prisons off a storage seal. Gamamaru was an absolute annoyance about giving up the only stable seal he could get working." It took an expert to see his subtle tells, but Shukaku had spent the better part of three years with him and could recognize the faint exasperated fondness around his eyes, the subtle… embarrassment? - the Sage of Six Paths did not get embarrassed. An embarrassed father was like a calm Son Goku- halfway between a dream and unthinkable. "If you think you can do something great with seals, then I'll teach you. I'm sure you'll far outshine me one day."
"Some of the things they could do with seals in the future were frankly insane. There was one barrier that could contain the Juubi."
Hagoromo's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Impressive. How about this- you bully Hamura into fixing the chakra transfer spike with me, and I'll get him to join us for fuuinjutsu lessons before…" he paused, then shook his head. "I'm certain it will be a fruitful endeavor-" but Shukaku could still see the faint lines of stress across his brow.
Perhaps…
It meant nothing.
…
Four years later Hamura bade them farewell from the mountaintop, the shimmering green light of the tensingan drifting around the forms of a hundred loyal Ootsutsuki vassals. He stopped by the bijuu, running a hand across each of their faces with a weary, so gentle expression. "I'll see you again one day, children." He stopped by Shukaku, tugging him- or really, his leg- into an embrace. "You too, kid. Keep working on your seals."
Tensingan met the gaze of rinnegan, and disappeared in a flash.
Shukaku had never seen his father's stress lines deeper. For once, he looked his age.
…
Kokuo paused at the entrance to his rough-hewn cavern, scoured out of the rock under the- slowly- increasing strength of his sand. "Hey… can you help me with that… chakra sticking? I really want to get to the transfer!"
Shukaku paused, looking up from where he'd been grinding fuuinjutsu ink. At the rate he was going, he wouldn't be able to use his sand in seals for years. Bijuu sized reserves were a pain- he'd thought that, being made out of chakra… but no. He wasn't so lucky- practice it was. "...sorry. Not today."
Kokuo scowled softly, and walked away.
…
Ten years after he'd first opened his eyes as Shukaku, during a particularly warm spring morning- as cherry blossoms danced on the wind and the others- father included- finally managed to see the obvious, Ootsutsuki Hagoromo was engaged to his 'not a girlfriend, I swear.' Wise indeed.
She was a nice woman- calm, collected, and always willing to interact with them even when their squabbles drained lakes and shattered trees. Cheerful, too- Matatabi was never afraid to take her to the sea or the border of the wastes when she asked, and even Isobu opened up a little over the following years.
It was a nice time. Peaceful, for the most part, as people rebuilt after the Juubi's rampage. There was an air of mundane peacefulness to the mountain glens, vast open plains and dense forests. Things settled into a rhythm of normal.
Matatabi would run, and run, and sometimes take her with.
Gyuki tried and failed to sing like his mother.
Isobu would watch as she wove small white garments, and demurely pester him for questions whenever he managed to put down his latest attempt at fuuinjutsu.
Shy, prideful Kurama kept his distance, always watching.
Son Goku broke stuff- as per the usual.
Chomei dreamed of the day she'd fly.
Kokuo pestered him, and then Hagoromo for training with his chakra, and managed an impressive level of control after a while, even if the chakra transfer technique still evaded him-
And Shukaku who knew the tragedy unfolding before them in the million untraceable patterns that made fate, dedicated himself to being ready.
…
Ootsutsuki Indra was born on a cold winter's morning, to the excited eyes of nine immortals and their father not-deity, and the tired gaze of a mortal woman who felt the bite of Kaguya's Infinite Tsukuyomi far too heavy on her bones.
Ootsutsuki Asura was born ten months later to the solemn gaze of Shukaku and Hagoromo, and the pasty, too-pale zetsu white of a mother who'd given everything for her children.