Chapter 12: A (Strange) New Normal-Jiraiya

Hiruzen puffed away on his pipe, taking his sweet time to reply.

Akira stood at attention in his office, fighting down the irritation of being forced to wait for something that was, in all ways, hers. It was truly a testament to how well Oishi's appointments were going.

Had this conversation happened nine months ago, she would have cussed him out and left the fucking room. Maybe kick over one of his plants.

"That cannot happen." He finally says.

Alright, fuck anger management. She was choosing violence, whatever the consequences.

"What do you mean that cannot happen? Those formulas are mine." Akira hissed.

Lord Third leaned back in his seat, emptying his pipe in an ashtray with little tapping noises. "That technique was originally made by Tobirama Senju, not Minato. Furthermore, The Flying Thunder God is an S-rank ninjutsu. You have yet to graduate the academy."

"Tobirama created the formula, by my father perfected it. Furthermore," she said the last word mockingly, "I'm not asking for the Second Hokage's formula, I'm requesting to have my dad's."

Hiruzen's eyes were piercing. "You aren't ready."

"Says who?" she challenged.

Another voice spoke up from the now opened door, "Says me." The bear of a man was holding the (evil) seal she had made as if presenting it to a judge in order to persecute her.

Akira turned, hand hovering dangerously over her weapons pouch. When she met the dark gaze of Jiraiya, her hackles rose. 'The fuck is he doing here?'

"Oh, this is gonna be great." She turned away from the white-haired man, arms crossing over her chest.

Leave it to the Sannin to decide to give a fuck about her at the worst possible moment.

Jiraiya scoffed from behind her, "Sit down brat, I'm about to take you to church."

"Sorry, my beliefs don't include gods, nor do they indulge shitty godparents."

Hiruzen spoke up when there was no response—but she could smell it in the air: the citrusy scent of shame. She had struck a chord in the Sage. Had it been anyone else and she might have felt bad.

"Jiraiya is the Villages resident Seal Master, you will treat him with the respect of that title." The Kage warned.

Akira let out a bark of laughter, "Just because he has a title doesn't mean I have to respect him. I owe none of you such a thing, least of all him."

The Hokage went to speak again, no doubt some more dumb shit about respect, but Jiraiya spoke over him, "It's okay, sensei. She's right. But I'm not here to coddle a prepubescent child throwing a tantrum. I'm here only as a seal master to talk about this." He shook the seal in air.

—an overload of information and experiences tearing through her brain and melding into memory—chunky bile clogging her sinuses and burning her throat—

There were still black stains on it.

Anger burst hot and destructive in her gut like a flaming inferno set to burn her alive, before spontaneously chilling into sedate numbness. "What about it?" she asked, voice icy.

"What was the reasoning you put into creating it and why?"

"Why should I tell you?" sneered Akira.

"Because it's an order!" Hiruzen shout, apparently reaching his limit.

'I am not your solider.' She wanted to growl. But she couldn't. That would have taken her down an unpleasant road; one she already had already begun paving out for herself.

It was funny, really, how two of the strongest ninjas in the village were ganging up on a nine-year-old over something that was hers to begin with. Almost as ridiculous as these fuckers putting up a front as if they cared.

She turned to her pathetic excuse for a Godfather, unrelenting and semi aware of how her eyes wavered between violet and red (something else she was working on). "Why?" a challenge.

Jiraiya stomped his was beside the Hokage's desk, slamming the seal onto the tabletop. "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation." He informed gruffly, finger tapping on top of the offending parchment, "seals designed for something as fragile as the mind are not meant to be made by a novice—Uzumaki or not."

"I'm not sorry."

"You could have died."

"But I didn't, did I?"

Jiraiya's expression morphed into one of sadness (?) "I find your lack of fear for your own life very concerning."

She shrugged, "We're working on it."

He paused, confusion clouding his expression, "We?" he repeated.

Akira shot him a stupefied glance that danced between him and Hiruzen curiously. The older man looked particularly constipated. "Uh, yeah. My therapist and I. I started seeing him again after I was kidnapped—"

"HOLD ON—KIDNAPPED!?" Jiraiya bellowed, turning to his sensei. Killing Intent wafted from the Sannin in uncontrolled waves, "What the fuck have you been keeping from me, old man." He asked with a growl. Hiruzen's eyes shut slowly, head falling forward in defeat.

Oh. Ohh. 'He doesn't know.'

Akira fought a smirk—looked like someone wasn't keeping another someone up to date. She fell back to her previous statement at the beginning of this mess—this was gonna be great.

The blonde sat down in a nearby seat, legs crossed and head propped against her hand, elbow on the arm-rest.

"That was the other thing we needed to speak about," he replied patiently.

"Why wasn't I informed sooner?"

"There hasn't been time."

A sadistic smirk that could put the Grinch to shame slowly made its way to her lips. She wasn't sure how someone with an information network as vast as his hadn't found out sooner, but this situation suited her well.

This, she could work to her advantage.

"Actually," Akira interjected purposefully, "it's been eight months, three weeks and five days since that incident… Give or take." her unoccupied hand waved through the tense air along with her words.

"What?" Jiraiya breathed, voice laced in anguish.

Hiruzen let out his own burst of KI. It sparked against her skin and made her breathing come out a little quicker (she felt alive). "You are never in the village and I don't have the time to send you constant updates on village life. If that information was stolen by the wrong people—"

"SHE IS MY GODDAUGHTER!" the whitehaired man boomed once more, "All it would've taken was a missive to return to the village and you could've informed me yourself!"

"Your work is too important—"

Jiraiya began pacing, "My work means nothing if the people I love are all dead by the time I get back. No wonder she's acting like a sociopath and creating torture-oriented seals" he turned to her, "What happened? What did they do to you?"

All of her amusement fell at his sudden questioning, leaving her face blank. She hadn't told Oishi exactly what went down over the four months she was gone—and no one but Kakashi and her medic have seen her without the currently useless bindings.

Not even Mikoto or Itachi were privy to such details. Hell, if it were possible, she would erase it from Kakashi and his ANBU teams' minds.

Stealing herself—because she would get her way—the blonde pulled her loose-fitting tank top over her head. She wound the bandages under her sports bra, but they would still be easy to take off.

Shock crossed Jiraiya's expression; as if he was just noticing her unusual state of dress. She didn't blame him for that. Ninja, even in training, tended to have eccentric fashion sense to begin with.

Clenching her teeth, Akira held the Sannin's gaze as she sat forward and began unwinding the bandages on her arms. They piled onto the floor with every inch of scarred skin that was exposed. Some were almost fully faded away, but most stood stark against her pale complexion.

The large man made his way toward her, face ashen when she was left in nothing more than her sports bra. "No," whispered Jiraiya, eyes glued to her scarred skin. He fell to his knees when he reached her, hands hovering over her arms but not touching—which she was grateful for.

Sure, she was doing this to get her way, but some things she just wasn't ready for.

Akira watched as the mammoth of a man seemed to watch his whole life crumble away. Tears filled his black eyes and overflowed like rivers breaking through a dam.

"I'm sorry," he half-pleaded, bear hands carefully cupping her face. The act was achingly tender and caught her off guard. "I'm so sorry."

Akira lifted her chin as it began to tremble, jaw clenched. "I want to learn the Flying Thunder God technique," She insisted, letting all of the reasons why speak for themselves, "His formula is my birthright."

Jiraiya stared into her eyes searchingly before he nodded slowly. He took a step back and turned to his teacher, who looked rather fed-up. "Jiraiya—" The Third tried, voice exhausted.

"No." said man cut off, "I'm staying in the village for the unforeseeable future. Shikaku can take over the network while I'm gone."

"You forget Shikaku has a young son to care for—"

Another cutoff, damn he was on a roll, "I also want access to all of Minato and Kushina's research, including the ninjutsu scrolls they left behind for Akira to use. If you won't allow her to do it on her own, I'll teach her."

A tense pause followed by an even longer sigh. "I'll gather everything but we will speak further on this later."

The bear of a man nodded once more then turned to Akira, eyes softening. "Get dressed, we're leaving. I'll be crashing at your place for the night while we thoroughly go over the fragility of the mind."

Victorious, Akira hurriedly gathered her bandages and started the lengthy process of wrapping herself. She was shocked when warm fabric fell over her head, shrouding her in scents of the earth, ink and oil.

Understanding he didn't want to be in there any longer than she did, the blonde wrapped the red haori around herself in a way that kept her upper body covered (and most of her bottom half).

It dwarfed her in size but it would do.

Jiraiya stayed at her place much longer than one night.

When they arrived at her apartment, the Sannin had been impressed by the cleanliness and organization of their surroundings.

She refrained from explaining how she stayed up most nights cleaning and reorganizing because she was too paranoid to sleep. Or how she sometimes napped with the shower running, a kunai clenched tightly in her fists, so it wouldn't be so quiet. (Bad things tended to happened during silence.)

After the promised lecture that lasted for four-hours about delicate brains and the unknown effects of her specific torture seal—and the additional three-hour lecture that came after when she explained in detail what it had done (his disgust at the black splotches on the paper was priceless "You were just going to let me keep touching it without knowing?!")—he had fallen asleep on her much too small couch.

The next morning, he took her couch shopping, complaining how stiff his neck was ("Bet it wouldn't hurt at your house." She'd objected). Which also became coffee table and ninja clothes shopping.

Because everyone knew the best seals were made on coffee tables and her clothing was too plain. His words, not her own.

He picked out a dark wooden kotatsu—also known as a coffee table with a built-in blanket and heater—with a black quilt. She ignored his complaints about the quilt not being red.

Apparently wearing his dirty haori once was enough for the idiot to decide it was her color. She would have to pass.

The only color she allowed in her house was in her room; the comforter a pale blue with stylized clouds and orange sheets. There were various pictures tacked up on a corkboard of team Minato, her and her parents, her with Obito and hidden on the other side was the picture of Kakashi, Rin and Obito she had taken so long ago when she won that poker game.

Everywhere else was kept monotone, and a loud pervert would not burst into her life again and 'fix' that. (He still put up a colorful picture full of frogs on her living room wall. She was too lazy to take it down.)

Even when they were picking out clothes, they had a differing of opinions.

"I'm not wearing that." Akira remarked, continuing to look around what she called the 'Ninja Walmart.' It was exactly as it was named. Everything a ninja need was there—though none of it was particularly custom.

Things purchased there weren't great quality, but they were cheap. Most of their customers tended to be academy students and genin.

If you wanted something that let you stand out as a ninja, you'd have to go to a specialist. Clothing, gear, rations and especially weapons. You could get a kunai at Ninja Walmart, but it would need extra sharpening and was more prone to breaking.

Kunai made-to-order directly from a blacksmith? They could last a while if you didn't lose them first.

Jiraiya frowned, inspecting the shirt he held up, "I think it's cool…"

Her nose crinkled, "I'm not dressing up like you. People might get the wrong idea and think I actually respect you."

"Like a kunai to the heart." He mumbled, putting the offending outfit away.

In the end Akira decided on black skin-tight long-sleeved shirts that had extra fabric over the tops of the hands and around her middle finger to keep them in place. Her morning routine would go by much quicker now that she didn't have to constantly cloak herself in worn-out bandages.

She still opted for her usual loose black capri ninja pants, with fancy black wrappings to cover her calves.

Tears gathered in her eyes when she put on shoes that actually fit. Her funds were much too strict to go out and splurge on new clothing.

"How do they feel?"

Akira wiped at her misty eyes before the offending liquid could fall. "Good." She sniffled, fingers tracing over the seams.

All-in-all, Jiraiya didn't seem to mind burning a hole in his pocket and she wasn't too proud not to accept free things.

It felt… Nice being taken care of. The hurt of being abandoned was still there, but for once she held a miniscule of hope for their relationship.

Akira sat on the stair of the genkan—the entrance hall of her apartment where all of the shoes were stored—deciding if she wanted to wear flipflops or her ninja-sandals.

Her destination was quite a ways away, but she wasn't going out to train. She shrugged, grabbing the sandals. 'Doesn't hurt to be prepared.'

Standing up Akira made sure she had her keys and journal—something Oishi insisted she try out last week. It was supposed to aid her in processing her emotions in healthy ways but in reality, it ended up being a short story book and quasi-sketchbook.

"I'm heading out." Akira called over her shoulder.

Jiraiya perked up from his writing at the coffee table. "Where you going?"

She turned to him, confused. "Out."

"But where?"

That was something she was still getting used to. Before, there had been no one to answer when she came home and left. She mumbled.

"What? Speak up. Not everyone has freakish hearing."

Akira huffed in annoyance, "Therapy." She stressed with a roll of her eyes.

His eyebrows drew together pensively, "Hey, no need for the attitude." Jiraiya replied mildly.

"Yes, Sir."

He rolled his eyes before humming thoughtfully.

'Nothing good happens when he's thinking.'

Their gazes met. "How about I walk you there?" he inquired.

That gave her pause. The Sanin had been squatting on her couch for a month and not once had he asked to do such a thing.

Well, there was that one time he walked her to school, but that had ended on a bad note. After she got back from a long day of dealing with a million questions from starry-eyed and envious children alike, they had agreed never to do that again.

(The stiff goodbyes and awkward head pat when they parted was particularly painful. It was enough to make her bodily cringe when she thought back on it.)

Against her better judgment, she agreed.

The walk there was oddly uneventful. Everyone was too star-struck with The Jiraiya of the Sannin to even glance her way. Which was pleasant. All of the glaring and poorly vailed whispers got old fast.

As they rounded the corner of the building, they came across a familiar face.

"Oishi," Akira smiled, jogging ahead to meet up with the wheelchair-bound man. He looked haggard, with bloodshot eyes and dark bags hanging under them. "It's not like you to be late."

The Yamanaka smiled as she came to a stop in front of him. "Ah, if it isn't my favorite Uzumaki. And Jiraiya. It's nice to see you."

She crossed her arms and scoffed, "If you met my brother, you wouldn't speak such blasphemous words."

"It's been a long time, Oishi." The Sannin greeted cheerfully.

"Mm, yes. I'd say around three years." He noted pointedly.

Disregarding the strained atmosphere (that was in all likelihood partially her fault), Akira stood between the two. Which wasn't that helpful seeing as she wasn't quite wall-sized.

"May I?" she nodded to his chair.

Attention back on her, Oishi nodded with a warm smile, "I am feeling rather tired today, so by all means."

With his permission Akira positioned herself behind him and began pushing. She wasn't tall enough to see over his head so she leaned slightly in order to know where they were going.

"You look it." Was Jiraiya's blunt response.

Continuing to looking ahead, Akira glared into the distance. 'He could try not being such an ass.'

Oishi just chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah. For some reason I've been having troubles going to sleep. It's silly, but I keep feel like I'm being watched."

Beside them Akira was able to see her Godfather nod in understanding. "That's shinobi life for ya. Everywhere I go I feel like I'm being watched." He wiggled his eyebrows, "Could be all the ladies ogling me, though."

"I doubt that." Akira drawled.

Jiraiya leaned into her view with a wounded look, "If it weren't for you following me around everywhere, I'd have half the villages women in my bed—"

Her face scrunched in distaste, "You'd probably have half of the known sexually transmitted diseases, too." She mumbled.

Oishi palmed his face. "I don't think this is a healthy conversation to have with a child, Jiraiya." He admonished.

The sage's lips formed a small 'o', "Sorry… Sometimes I forget she's only a brat." He laughed.

"Me too." Akira smirked.

"No wonder you were able to create a working seal on your first try." Said a stunned Jiraiya as he leaned back further into my new cozy dark gray couch, hand going to the side of his head.

"This isn't normal?" inquired Akira nervously, pulling at her fingers.

"Absolutely not. Now, tell me what this one is for."

Once he had found out her aptitude for seals and how she was able to 'hear' different formulas Jiraiya had gathered as many of his different seals as possible for her to 'read'.

Akira rolled her eyes as the tall man shoved a piece of paper in her hand. He looked like someone who was given a new toy.

She brought her attention to the seal, eyebrows drawing together in concentration. Delicately, she added the tiniest amount of neutral chakra into the seal in order to get the job done faster and breakdown the multilayered seal.

Having a little more control over her chakra had changed her life. Instead of having to run her fingers along the dried ink of seals, all she had to do was channel chakra into the characters and their uses popped up in her mind.

She could also do the substitution jutsu, even if it took her too long to use properly in a fight. It was progress.

"It's a suppression seal," she began, head tilting to the side. She glared, "…for tailed beast chakra."

Jiraiya's eyes were big as he whispered "incredible." Under his breath. He cleared his throat. "I mean, now explain to me how it works."

"I've explained enough seals, show me the goods, 'ttebane!" she burst out, throwing the parchment back at him.

"Sorry, sorry." He leaned forward to the coffee table, a scroll suddenly in his hands. He opened it gently and tapped a finger to the center. Waving off the large puff of smoke, Akira gawked at the large box sitting on her table.

She reached out to it, but Jiraiya grabbed ahold of her wrist. Her head snapped to look at him, breathing out slowly through the adrenaline.

"Are you crazy? You can't just open it."

"Okay, Boromir. Please, tell me the secrets of opening the mysterious box." She drawled.

His face scrunched, "With…the key?" he said as if talking to a child (which he technically was, but who was she to point that small detail out?) and pulled said key from a cord on his neck.

"Oh, for the love of…" Akira smacked a hand over her face and groaned, taking the offered key with a glare. He chuckled but let it go. She turned to the large box.

In all actuality it was more of a chest than a box. It was a beautifully lacquered dark wood with metal fastenings on the edges. Definitely something Papa would own.

With a deep breath, Akira inserted the key into the hole and twisted. She hissed when an electric current shot up her arm. Letting go with a jump, the box clicked and opened. "The hell?"

Her Godfather was rubbing his chin, watching in deep thought, "So that's why the old man gave it up so easily. It would've only opened for you."

"Not Naruto?" she asked offhandedly, pulling back her sleeve to make sure the zap hadn't permanently harm her in some way. The last thing she needed was more scars.

He shook his head, "No. It only works with specific samples of people's chakra. There wouldn't have been enough time for Minato to add Naruto. My guess is only you, him and Kushina were the ones inputted."

She nodded. That would explain why no one could have trained Naruto to use the Flying Thunder God technique. Couldn't learn something that was locked away forever with ninja-magic.

Akira inspected her bare right arm and huffed out an irritated breath. "Seriously?" she said aloud, exasperated.

"What?"

She rubbed her left hand along her smooth skin, marred only by her scars. "It took all of the hair off of my forearm." Grumbled Akira.

Jiraiya chuckled into a fist, earning him another glare.

Ignoring him, she refocused on the chest and slowly opened it. Two compartments rose with the lid, stacked until fully open. There were notebooks and scrolls neatly stored on the deep shelves.

In the main part of the chest was a small box—wooden and about the size of a shoebox. She took it out and opened it, revealing a very thick scroll labeled 'Kunai.' Her eyes were wide. "All of his kunai." She breathed excitedly, tracing her fingertips along the words written in her father's handwriting.

"And all of his seal work." Jiraiya added warmly, picking up one of the notebooks that had 'Rasengan' written on the cover in swirling letters. It was very well used.

Akira put down the box and took the book labeled "Flying Thunder God."

She opened the first page and something slipped out. She picked it up, curious. When she saw what it was labeled, a slow smirk tugged on her lips.

"I don't like that look," said her godfather hesitantly, "what is it?"

A snicker, "The Second Hokage's original formula."

He frowned. "I don't know if I should take it away from you like the Old Man wants, or to just let you go for it."

She gave him puppy dog eyes and an exaggerated pout, "But you wouldn't take away a little girls only line to her dead Papa, though, right?"

His gaze wavered. He cursed. "Fine, fine. Whatever, I saw nothing."

Akira let out a victorious hoot, setting up her fathers work on the exposed areas of the coffee table while bouncing.

She put her hands over both seals and focused. What felt like only minutes passed before Jiraiya tapped her on the shoulder, a cup of steaming tea in his outstretched hand. "Drink this."

"Oh, thanks." She took it, noticing how drained she felt. It smelt of jasmine. She smiled into the cup as she carefully too a few sips. She put it onto the table and sighed, stretching out her body and humming at the satisfying cracks, "how long has it been?"

"Three hours."

She paused, staring blankly at the wall. "Damn."

"I've never seen you so focused on something before. It was nice. You looked like just like your dad."

A small bashful smile. "It was a lot of information to go through." She admitted.

"And what did you find out?"

"Well," she propped her chin on her palm, "There are a lot of similarities in the basic construction. Papa added his own signature to the third sequence, and some speed sigles to the 10th and 12th layers; making it faster and only able to be used by him unless he wanted you to.

If I replaced his with my signature, added some distance throughout the layers and a combustion layer under the first, even if someone could read seals like me, the papers—or ink—or would explode from the foreign chakra before they could even start." She kept mumbling as she snatched one of her own notebooks and began jotting down her ideas.

"… Just how many seals have you made?" he asked, stunned.

Akira glanced his way with narrowed eyes before going back to her book. "I dunno… You gonna snitch?"

"I think I'm in too deep at this point."

She relented. "Well, you know about the obvious one. I've also made three others."

"And what do they do?"

"Three-layered explosion tag—big boom. Only used that one once. Everyone thought it was a fire jutsu gone wrong. Also made a two-way storage scroll—but it doesn't work properly."

He paled. "You were already messing around with space-time formulas? Who the hell has been in charge of you?"

She gave him a funny look. "Uh, myself? The Hokage comes around every other month to drop off my checks. He doesn't like to stay long."

That hard look was on his face again. "I see. Kakashi?"

She turned away, pursing her lips, "Haven't seen him since I got back. Sometimes I'll think I saw him, but I turn and he's never there."

"… Naruto?"

Akira scratched at a spot on the table, ignoring the familiar longing in her chest. She placed her hand over it after realizing it was an ink stain. "I get visitation whenever the Hokage is feeling generous."

"And how often is the Old Man generous?" he grumbled, leaning back in his seat.

Her fingers curled into a fist. "Not often. I, uh, plan on filing for custody as soon as I graduate."

They sat in silence for a while longer, both lost in thought.

Jiraiya was the one to break the silence. "What if I got custody of him?" he asked softly.

Violet eyes snapped up to him, taking in his tight-lipped expression. The question hung in the air.

It was possible. Technically, as Godfather, he could easily gain guardianship of Naruto and not even the council could reject his parental right.

But Akira was a realist. If Jiraiya were to go through with such an action, he would be stuck in the village until Naruto became a legal adult.

That would be almost a decade away from his information network. A decade of missed information that the village needed. And while Akira held no love for the place she was born, her brother would.

There were too many factors that would make such an idea impossible.

It didn't stop her from imaging it happen: coming home from school to her little brothers wide smile and warm hugs and her Godfather's relieved smile. The house would be a mess of crayons and papers filled with lewd stories.

She would clean and make dinner while Jiraiya struggled to give Naruto a bath. They would all get ready for bed and the toddler would kick up a fuss and demand for a bedtime story.

But that was the things with dreams. They very seldom came true. And in this reality, there were dangers both in and outside the village walls.

The fact he would even consider it made her eyes cloud with so many emotions. "Thank you—"

Jiraiya stood up with a smile, "I'll go to the Hokage tomorrow morning and—"

"—But no."

He froze his movements wide-eyed. "But…"

Akira shook her head with a wry smile, "If you adopted him, everyone would know who exactly he's related to. It sucks, but its best he stays as an unknown orphan and far away from me until I'm powerful enough to protect us."

"Kira…"

She wiped away a few tears and got up from the table. "I'm gonna get ready for bed. There's a test tomorrow and I need to be well-rested to pass."

They both knew she would pass regardless, but he let her go.

That night, she dreamed of what could have been, yet it still ended fire and innocent blood staining her hands.

Akira woke up screaming (and never stopped).

A/N: So, this is (mostly) filler with just a tiny sprinkle of plot. I legit wrote this in one night, so apologies if it doesn't flow that well.

I really wanted to flesh out Akira and Jiraiya's relationship and get them on semi-good terms. Tbh I binge plotted a SHIT-TON of this story and inadvertently burned myself out. Woops.

Thank you to EVERYONE for the sweet and encouraging reviews. You guys are what keeps this fic alive at this point and I hold each and every one of you close to my heart 3

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(I feel like a youtuber whoring myself out for subscribers lol)