Chapter 1
Jiraiya stumbles onto the rumors by accident. Uzumaki is not a common name anymore, and not one he's especially stoked to be hearing considering the options.
They call him a ghost, searching for revenge. They say his eyes glow as red as his hair, and that his teeth are razor sharp, and that he wears a bloodstained robe. That he wanders off the sea from Uzushio's direction, walking over water like it's land.
Usually, Jiraiya is not the type to put stock in ghost stories. But water walking is far from an impossible feat for any shinobi, and that is enough to get him interested. A grain of truth, and all.
So he visits a few coastal villages and asks a few discreet(ish) questions. They mostly have all the same stories: a red-haired ghost drifting in from the sea. Sometimes his teeth are needles, sometimes his clothes are bloody.
But then Jiraiya stumbles into a little town directly out from Uzushio, and everything shifts a centimeter and clicks into place.
"Oh," A man on the docks says, "Kurama's no spirit."
"Kurama?" Jiraiya says, perfectly, innocently curious.
"Yeah, he comes out once a week or so. Grabs food, fabrics, you know."
A shopkeeper says, "He's in a foul mood most days, but you can hardly blame him. I'd be pretty twisted up too, if I lived with my clan's bones for company."
It's a good point, though not one Jiraiya likes to think about.
"He is upset," A fisherman tells him sympathetically. "He tries to be kind, but he is hurting."
"Perhaps I can offer some aid?" Jiraiya says, and the man shoots him a look.
"You can try," He says ambiguously. "But you should know: if you're going after one, you better be prepared for the other."
Jiraiya pauses. "Other?" Another Uzumaki? If Kurama does indeed end up being one?
The fisherman studies him and then huffs. "You shinobi don't do your research these days. Kurama's shadow. The Uchiha?"
Jiraiya says nothing in an attempt not to choke. Uchiha?
The fisherman rolls his eyes. "I have to get back to work. Don't do anything stupid, please. Kurama is liked around here."
"I'm not here to pick a fight," Jiraiya placates, not for the first time. "Konoha owes any Uzumaki sanctuary."
"Kurama's found his," The fisherman says bluntly. "And forgive me for saying so, but Konoha has helped enough."
Jiraiya winces.
—
He stays in the town for another week. It's plainly transparent to anyone living there that he's waiting for Kurama, and as the days drag on, they start to lose patience with him.
It's hard to miss when Kurama finally arrives. The whole place seems to kick into action, carrying things down to the docks.
Kurama himself is difficult to miss as well. Even from a distance, his hair is a crimson beacon, amplified by his red robes. When he walks up the dock, it's clear that he is not bloodstained, but it's easy to see why people might think so from a distance.
His eyes are red, but they don't seem to glow. He makes eye contact with Jiraiya the second his—bare?—feet hit the dock. He breaks it to thank the people bringing boxes to him.
They get paid in old, heavy-looking coins. Kurama starts to stack the boxes like he's going to carry them all back the way he came, which is Jiraiya's cue.
Kurama raises an eyebrow and puts down his box, and… it’s weird. Up close, really looking at him, Kurama looks like Kushina. Not an oh same clan resemblance, either, he looks like Kushina. If Kushina’s hair had been shorter and spiky, anyway.
"Kurama?" Jiraiya asks, like it isn't obvious he's the only full-blooded Uzumaki in town.
"Toad Sage," Kurama says back. His voice is disarmingly deep and oddly rough around the edges. A smoker?
Jiraiya clears his throat. “On behalf of Konoha,” He starts, and Kurama scoffs.
“Don’t give me that shit.” His horribly red eyes narrow. “Konoha can kiss my ass.”
He settles another box onto the stack. Jiraiya switches gears. “You need help with that?”
Kurama smirks—sharp and mean—and says, “How’s your water walking?” He takes the last box and drops it into Jiraiya’s arms. It’s heavy. Kurama crouches, works his fingers under his stack, and lifts it. He shifts his weight a little, like he’s testing how far the boxes are going to lean. “You lose that, I lose you,” Kurama warns him, which… isn’t technically a threat, but Jiraiya feels threatened anyway.
And then Kurama steps off the dock.
Jiraiya stares after him. He shakes his head, shoots a quick prayer to any deity that may or may not be listening, and follows.
—
The closer they get to the island, the harder it is to keep his balance. The waves get choppier, and the box is still really heavy, and Kurama strides ahead like the water is solid land. There’s no point making conversation; Jiraiya’s getting the sense that Kurama is a brick wall on a good day, and besides that the waves crashing is a hard backdrop to talk over.
By the time they see Uzushio’s shores, Jiraiya’s feet are long since numb from cold and his arms are long since numb from strain. So obviously that’s when Jiraiya gets yanked off course. For a given definition of ‘yanked’. It started slow, actually, which is why Jiraiya hadn’t noticed. By the time he does, he’s knee deep in the edge of a whirlpool.
Before he can even panic, a sharp cackle cuts through the air and Jiraiya is pulled from its grasp. Kurama—boxes shifted to one arm, how, what the fuck— sets him down outside the whirlpool’s reach, barely, and continues toward Uzushio without a glance back.
There’s another whirlpool on Jiraiya’s other side, also grasping for his feet, so he hurries after Kurama. The man stops still a ways back from the island. He turns, eyeing Jiraiya’s waterlogged state. “I’m keying you into the barriers,” Kurama says. “But once you leave, you’re out again. So don’t come calling unless you want to drown out here.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. For a split second Jiraiya can see a shimmer of gold, arching far overhead, and then it’s gone again. Kurama keeps walking, and Jiraiya keeps following, and finally, they’re on the beach.
Jiraiya hasn’t seen Uzushio in years. A decade at least. He can’t wipe the sight of smoking ruins out of his mind, even as he trudges after Kurama into the outskirts. Uzushio is still in ruins, but it isn't burning. It’s overgrown in places, thicker the further they go. There are seals carved into every broken building, littered over the old debris. Seals that were supposed to keep Uzushio safe.
The trek inland is eerie. Jiraiya chalks it up to the fact that he’s walking through the devastation of what might have been the strongest hidden village to ever exist, which certainly contributes, but then he remembers something the shopkeeper had said.
“I’d be pretty twisted up too, if I lived with my clan’s bones for company.”
There are no bones. Jiraiya hasn’t been looking for them, but he doesn’t see any now. Anywhere. They’d have stood out on the beach, he’s pretty sure. The sand should have been carpeted in them; that’s where the fighting would’ve been thickest.
Did Kurama… bury them? All of them? Even Kiri’s and Kumo’s? A look at Kurama’s tense shoulders and the telltale hurry in his footsteps convinces Jiraiya not to ask. For now, anyway.
Eventually they come across a standing building, possibly the only one on the whole island. Kurama sets the boxes down outside and gestures for Jiraiya to do the same. “Thanks,” He says shortly. “You’ve got five minutes to talk before I kick you out.”
Right. “There’s a place for you in Konoha,” Jiraiya says straight out. “I know you might have a low opinion of us, but we’re here for you if you need us.”
“Like you were here when Uzushio needed you?” Kurama spits.
And, ouch. But. Fair. “We failed Uzushio that day,” Jiraiya admits, and doesn’t say anything else for a long moment. Kurama doesn’t look like he wants an apology. Mostly he looks angry.
He scowls at Jiraiya. “Right. I’m sure that Uzushio’s dying wish was to be remembered as Konoha’s greatest failure. I’m sure all the Uzumaki souls here are resting easy now.”
“We failed Uzushio,” Jiraiya says slowly. “That’s why we don’t want to fail you.”
“Toad, you’ve already failed me. Get out.”
Jiraiya chews on that. “Look,” He says, and watches Kurama’s expression contort in a familiar rage. “You remind me of an Uzumaki I knew. I’m sure she would want you to have a place where you’ll be safe.”
Kurama stares. A twitch develops in his cheek. “I’m not Kushina,” He says like it burns coming out, and Jiraiya’s stomach drops.
“How-?”
“How many Uzumaki get shipped over to Konoha as sacrifices?” Kurama growls, eyes flashing. “And I resent that you think I’d up and imprison myself to- to what, honor her memory?”
He throws out his arms, as if to say look at me, or look around me. The rubble of a city, the remains of a clan. “If it’s a question of honoring memories,” He says, deep but unspeakably empty, “I am honoring the majority. What is one woman-” His voice breaks. He turns his head sharply to one side and takes a deep breath.
Jiraiya mirrors it, almost without meaning to. “You knew her.” It’s not a question. “Before she left. Were you friends? Classmates, maybe?”
It’s not a bad guess, in Jiraiya’s opinion. Kurama looks about the age Kushina would be. But Kurama snorts. It’s an ugly noise.
“No, we weren’t friends. I’m a lot older than Kushina, kid.”
… fuck. Right. Uzumaki longevity. Jiraiya mentally revises his age estimate from thirty-ish to ???.
“Five minutes are up. Get off my island.”
A soft crack draws both of their eyes to the boxes. One has just been pried open—barehanded—by a pale man who freezes at their attention.
Kurama makes an incredulous sound. “What the fuck, Uchiha?”
And. Yeah. Jiraiya can see it. Actually, Jiraiya can’t unsee it. He hadn’t really believed the townspeople, not completely. They aren’t shinobi, they could’ve mislabeled any black-haired, black-eyed ninja as an Uchiha.
Yeah, no. There’s no way this guy isn’t an Uchiha.
The man straightens. His mouth thins. “You looked busy,” He says. “I wanted my stuff.”
“Get fucked,” Kurama snarls.
“You first.”
Kurama makes an enraged noise and storms into the building. "Get him out of here," He snaps as he disappears inside.
Uchiha busies himself pulling swathes of fabric from the box. He doesn’t look at Jiraiya even passingly. “You should leave,” He says. Level. Quiet.
Jiraiya considers. “Are you going to make me?” He doesn’t mean to be confrontational, really; he’s just curious.
“No. I don’t work for Kurama. If he really wants you gone, he can throw you to the sharks himself.” It’s… surprisingly acerbic, considering how calmly he’d spoken to Kurama a moment before.
Uchiha takes his armful of cloth and wanders off into the ruins. Jiraiya, without anything else to do, follows. He's doing a lot of that today.
Uchiha throws a glance over his shoulder but says nothing. They walk in silence until they reach—surprise, surprise—more ruins. These have been excavated somewhat, freeing a seal-engraved foundation. Uchiha deposits his cloth inside the biggest seal. He meanders over to the biggest chunk of wall left, pressing a hand to another seal. It glows briefly and several needles and spools of thread appear in a cloud of smoke.
Jiraiya sits on a cracked stone to watch. Uchiha hasn’t told him to fuck off yet, and he doesn’t seem bothered by Jiraiya’s presence. He is a little difficult to read, to be fair. A trait he shares with the rest of his clan.
The thread and needles are brought over to the big seal but left outside of it. Uchiha himself steps in. Jiraiya suppresses a twitch, but nothing happens. He can’t decipher the seal’s purpose from his vantage point, and he’s leery of getting any closer.
Uchiha takes his time sorting through the cloth, dividing it into piles with no outwardly discernable criteria. When he’s done, he brings the needles and thread inside with him and starts to… sew. Jiraiya isn’t sure what he thought the needles and thread were for, but for some reason, sewing wasn’t high on the list. He supposes it should have been obvious.
“What’s your name?” Jiraiya asks.
Uchiha’s swift movements don’t pause. He does sigh, though, a tiny thing that sounds like a particularly heavy breath. “Sasuke.”
Jiraiya pauses. “Like Sarutobi Sasuke?”
Sasuke huffs, stabbing his needle through the next section of cloth with more force than strictly necessary. “The very same,” He mutters.
“Your parents wanted you to be a shinobi, then?” Jiraiya asks, deliberately casual.
“In so far as most do,” Sasuke says, lips tilting ever so slightly down. “And then maybe a little more.”
Jiraiya sees that warning sign and sails right past it. “You didn’t want to be one?”
Sasuke stops sewing and tips his head up to stare at the sky. “I wanted a lot of things,” He says finally. “That doesn’t mean they were good for me. I dislike small talk, Sannin. Ask what’s really on your mind.”
Okay then. “What’s Kurama doing here? For that matter, what are you doing here? I mean, I guess Kurama makes sense, but. You?”
Sasuke starts sewing again. “Kurama is complicated,” He says, like there’s a sneer he’s just barely holding back. “You hit the nail on the head, earlier. He’s trying to honor someone’s memory. He’d have never come back here, otherwise.”
Oh? “Whose memory?”
“A friend’s,” Sasuke says, and punches the needle through the fabric in his hands too quickly, too harshly. He hisses, yanking his hand back. A bead of blood drips down his finger. Sasuke swears and vacates the seal without hesitation. He studies it warily from the outside, and when nothing happens, exhales softly. He wraps his finger and returns to his work.
Jiraiya watches all of this and thinks, more than a friend, then. “You dodged the question,” Jiraiya points out quietly. “Why are you here? Are you honoring a friend’s memory too?”
”Something like that.” Sasuke scowls at the fabric in his hands. “Kurama’s got a goal,” He continues abruptly, like he hadn’t really meant to. He grits his teeth. “I may not like him, but he knows what he’s doing.”
Jiraiya shifts, mind racing. “You gonna tell me what his goal is?” He asks. He keeps it carefully calm.
Sasuke looks at him. Actually looks at him, dead on. His eyes are as onyx as the rest of his family’s. He looks away, looping his thread and tying it. He breaks it with his teeth. “He’s going to change the world,” Sasuke murmurs.
Ice starts to crawl into Jiraiya’s lungs. That… doesn’t sound good. Actually, that sounds really pretty bad. “The world might not like that,” He says, and he’s not sure if it’s a warning or a request for more information.
“Does Kurama seem the type to care? He’s ready to fight for what he loves. Loved.” Sasuke breathes in slowly, and out even slower. “Loves.”
And doesn’t that say a thousand things.
“So,” Jiraiya says, “An angry Uzumaki and a bastard Uchiha, changing the world?”
A muscle in Sasuke’s jaw jumps. “Please don’t call me that.”
Jiraiya raises his eyebrows. “An Uchiha?” He asks, willfully oblivious.
The heavy breath Sasuke lets out says he sees that for what it is and isn’t amused. “A bastard,” He says. “It’s an insult to my mother.”
Interesting. “I haven’t heard any news from Konoha about a rogue Uchiha,” Jiraiya says. “You’d think someone like that would’ve made it to the front of the bingo book.”
Sasuke moves onto a different pile of cloth, picking a different thread. He starts to sew again. “Probably,” He agrees.
“Were you born outside Konoha?”
”How would I know? I was a baby.”
Jiraiya rolls his eyes. “Where did you grow up, then?”
A tiny smirk teases across Sasuke’s face, but he doesn’t look at Jiraiya. “Bold of you to assume I grew up.”
Alright, fine. “And your mother?” Jiraiya says pointedly. “Could she tell me more?”
All the amusement leaves Sasuke’s expression. “Only if you can talk to the dead.” He looks to Jiraiya sharply. “But I wouldn’t recommend trying.”
Jiraiya raises his hands in mock surrender, thinking quickly. “Speak from experience?” He asks, trying to keep it even.
Sasuke scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. The dead don’t come back. Not-”
“Not as themselves,” A deep, gutturally angry voice cuts in. Kurama stands uncomfortably close, looming over Jiraiya’s stone. Jiraiya had completely failed to notice him arriving. “I thought I told you to leave,” Kurama growls.
Jiraiya stands. “I’m going, I’m going.”
Kurama says nothing. He follows Jiraiya all the way to the beach, red eyes boring holes in the back of his head. He follows Jiraiya all the way out to the whirlpools, and stands between them to watch him leave. He stands there until Jiraiya can’t see him anymore, maybe longer.
The trip back to town is easier without a box weighing him down. The townspeople are remarkably more open when he returns. One of them congratulates him on his survival, which he hadn’t realized had been in question. He asks about Sasuke, but none of the townspeople even knew his name, so that’s a bust.
He starts the trek to Konoha as soon as he collects all his things. He sends a toad to Sarutobi-sensei as a heads up. He has the whole run to think about what he’s learned and attempt to piece it all together.
—
Jiraiya announces his presence by kicking the door open. Sarutobi-sensei raises a lone eyebrow. The ANBU agents concealed throughout the room don’t even flinch, already used to his bullshit. He’ll have to fix that. No fun letting the drama subside, after all.
“Sensei,” He says grandly. “I have news.”
“Yes, I assumed,” Sarutobi-sensei says dryly. “Important news?”
Jiraiya nods, expression grave. “I’ve finally found a plot line worthy of my next Icha Icha.”
“Right,” Sarutobi-sensei says. “Not that that isn’t exciting, but this is important news because…?”
Jiraiya shrugs. “The plot line may or may not be based in a concerning truth.”
Sarutobi-sensei’s exasperated amusement drops. “Such as?”
Jiraiya claps his hands. “Have any Uchiha defected lately?” He asks brightly.
Sarutobi-sensei sets his pipe down. He leans back in his chair and gazes up at the ceiling for a long moment. When he finally sits up again, he lets out a long, deep sigh. “No,” He says. “Do I want to know why you ask?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“We might have an illegitimate Uchiha on our hands,” Jiraiya says, and barrels on. “Anyway, picture this: dark and brooding character A falls hopelessly in love with suave and charming character B! But, unbeknownst to character B, intense and fiery character C has also fallen hopelessly in love with B! A and C hate each other’s guts and must fight to obtain oblivious B’s affections. It seems as though B could lean either way when SUDDENLY, a tragic accident takes their life! A and C must learn to cope with the grief and loss, and in the process, perhaps find comfort in the most unlikely of places… each other.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Sarutobi-sensei stares. “Jiraiya,” He says.
“Yes?”
“What does that have to do with an illegitimate Uchiha?”
Jiraiya settles his hands on his hips. “Oh, did I forget?” He says glibly. “Uchiha’s dark and brooding and his Uzumaki buddy is pretty intense…ly angry. There’s an unmistakable tension there that’s just so Icha Icha, don’t you think?”
Sarutobi-sensei puts his head in his hands. “Uzumaki?” He says, muffled and strained.
“Oh, yeah, nice guy. Definitely traumatized, but who isn’t? He looks great for his age.”
Sarutobi-sensei pinches the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. “Because his age is relevant,” He mutters, so low Jiraiya is almost sure he hadn’t even meant to. “And how old is that?” He says louder, tone conveying that he already regrets asking.
Jiraiya shrugs. “Older than Kushina for sure. He called me kid, but I am abnormally handsome, so of course I understand if he misjudged.”
“Of course,” Sarutobi-sensei echoes. “Anything else you wish to impart, or can you leave me to my oncoming aneurysm?”
”Uzumaki is a revolutionary, Uchiha sews, and they’re in the process of honoring a friend’s memory, whatever that means—good material, though.”
Sarutobi-sensei closes his eyes. “Did you get names, at least?” He asks, pained.
”Uzumaki Kurama and Uchiha Sasuke.” Jiraiya salutes. “I’m off to write my new book! Await the next installment with avid anticipation, Sensei. Icha Icha: Rivals!”
“Get out of my office.”