Jiraiya & Tsunade - Second War
Jiraiya, the thrice sworn idiot, refuses to leave Ame. She has mud in places that shouldn’t be mentioned, her whole body’s burning from releasing the Hundred Seal (which is going to need further study at some point), and she keeps waiting for Hanzo to come back and decide to kill them after all. What did she do to deserve this? The moron can’t even stand on his own right now.
“Still so determined to be a waste of space, Jiraiya,” Orochimaru says, playing at detached, and steps back into the rain. She scowls at his back, but doesn’t bother chasing him. If she refereed all of their fights she’d never get anything done.
“Tsunade-hime,” Jiraiya wheedles, pale faced in the dim light of the hut. There’s a hairline fracture in his hip and his ACL is completely torn, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at him. He’s always been their bruiser – never as happy as when he’s in a good old fashioned brawl, split knuckles and spitting blood.
“We’re in the middle of a war, moron,” she says, and frowns at his knee. “The ligament isn’t lined up – I’ll need to cut you open to move it.” He waves a hand; it won’t be the first time.
“Do it.”
“He says as if it’s applying a bandage.”
“Do you have the chakra?” He says, leaning forward, remembering to be concerned. “You’ve never…” He makes some stupid gesture around his forehead that she assumes is meant to refer to the Hundred Seal. In retrospect, she never had explained what it is to either of them. “I’m fine, you know. I can wait.”
“He’s fine,” she snorts, smearing alcohol across his skin. “I have plenty of chakra, that’s what the seal does more or less.” She tosses him a scrap of leather and pins his lower leg under her knee. “Move and I’ll punch you.” Once upon a time, years ago, she’d had painkillers for this sort of thing. Now, she releases enough chakra through her right hand to kill any lingering bacteria, and then braces her left hand on Jiraiya’s thigh. “On three – one.”
“What do I get if I’m good,” he says, wagging his eyebrows ridiculously, before shoving the leather between his teeth.
“Two,” she says, glaring. She runs enough chakra through her left arm that he couldn’t move if he’d tried, inhales, and cuts into his skin. Somewhere, Jiraiya groans, a low hurt sound, but she’s already lost in his cells.
The light’s too shitty to see anything, so she lets her scalpel dissipate and floods the area with healing chakra instead. The torn ligament pulls it in like a storm drain and she follows until she can nudge the edges of the tissue back together. Everything else is easy. Bodies want to be whole, cells are programmed to heal - it’s just a matter of giving them what they need. (Her second teacher had tentatively asked her, after she’d fixed a bat’s wing one delicate bone at a time, if she could manipulate cells. The poor man had fainted when she’d nodded yes.)
“You always go early,” he says, spitting into the dirt. She blinks, his knee smooth and whole under her hand, and rolls to sit on the ground. He’s got some color back in his face and doesn’t show any (additional) signs of pain when she guides his knee to a forty five degree angle and back.
“It’s a terrible plan, Jiraiya,” she says, quietly, scrubbing at the blood on her palm. “The Hokage won’t allow it.”
“They’ll die.” His eyes are begging her to understand something, but she’s so damn tired. “Tsunade, I can’t. You know I can’t.” Selfish son of a bitch.
“Do not bring him into this,” she spits. “I will break both of your knees and walk away.”
“It’s not the same,” he says, instantly contrite, reaching for her shoulder. She lets him touch, lets him shuffle forward, wincing, until their knees bump. “I see him, in a lot of places, but these kids…” She forgets, sometimes, that she doesn’t have a sole ownership of grief, that Jiraiya had loved nothing more than Nawaki dogging their footsteps. He helps at the Academy whenever he can because he likes making the kids laugh. They joke that it’s because he’s mentally on their level, but only because the truth is harder to swallow. Jiraiya, the fool, still believes in Justice and Peace and Heroes.
“I can do something about them,” he says, like a confession (like a prayer). Kami, she’s going to tell Dan about this and he’s going to agree with him.
“I’m not convincing the Hokage.” He grins.
“But you’re not dragging me home?”
“I’m not dragging you home,” she sighs, because idiocy is contagious. “Now let me fix your damn hip – you look pathetic.” He laughs, scrubbing the back of his neck.
“I’m not sure I can actually move my legs right now?” She rolls her eyes. Maybe leaving him here will be better after all.