Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Golden eyes flutter open, immediately latching onto the plain white ceiling of his apartment. A soft hiss leaves his lips as he rises slowly, entire body cramping, then frowns at his messy hair.

Clearly, he’d forgotten to tie it up before he’d slept... or maybe he’d been too exhausted. He starts on his stretches, slower than usual as a result of the curious soreness he’s feeling, but as sinuous as ever.

Jiraiya liked to say he probably didn’t have a spine. He really wasn’t wrong.

He wanders out of his bedroom, idly running his fingers through thick black locks. As always, his first and most pressing concern is tea. His morning can’t start without it.

Lavender today, he muses, placing the kettle on the stove. He pauses in front of his fridge, staring at his calendar, uncomprehending.

'I’ve been asleep for three days? What on earth?'

He presses a hand to his forehead, a frown marring his deceptively delicate features. He couldn’t possibly be sick, and nothing but nothing would make him forget having sex with anyone, considering he’s never done it before. Even then, it wouldn’t knock him out for that long, right?

'Tsunade would know', his lips pulled further downwards. 'Too bad she’s gone then.'

Absently pouring himself some tea, he reaches for his chakra-

And nearly drops the kettle.

Soreness, oversleeping, chakra exhaustion.

How? Why?

His brows furrow, as he sits on one of the chairs by the counter. None of this makes any sense...

'What was I doing yester- No, three days ago?'

And then an onslaught of memories barrel into him. He grips the edge of the counter, eyes wide and unseeing. The never-ending, unbelievably realistic dream he’d been having for the last three days. Of Danzo, those children, those tubes, Tenzo, Anko, the curse mark, Kabuto, Itachi, Akatsuki, Sasuke, Madara, Uzumaki, Mitsuki, Log.

That...

He knew, somehow, what had happened. The future. No. A future. He could see the reasoning behind the terrible actions he’d taken, knew that it was something he would do.

But...

How? How did he come to know these things?

And...

Does it matter?

Inasmuch as everything seemed to have sorted itself out in the end – Mitsuki. Log. His very own children. – he wasn’t satisfied. Sure, he got to the destination, but what sort of ridiculous journey was that?

He sighed, downing his tea like a shot. Training would probably clear his head. He’d think later.

One quick, cold shower later, he’s dressed in a pale purple kimono, black pants and sandals, and a tan weapon’s pouch. Low chakra didn’t mean much to him. He could easily grab a bite to eat from any store and be on his merry way.

'It’s been a while since I used taijutsu,' he thinks as he locks his door, not that it’d do much against any shinobi worth their salt but anyone with balls enough to sneak into Orochimaru of the Sannin’s apartment should at least be allowed in... before getting electrocuted.

'I wonder if I’ll find someone willing to spar.'

The sheer impossibility of the thought makes him chuckle as he steps out into the warm sun, earning him quite a few wary looks as people instantly cleared way for him.

'It’s no wonder I lost my head. Teammates gone, the villagers as spiteful as ever, Namikaze as Hokage, and the memory of Nawaki... I didn’t have much to ground me,' he thinks as he slips into a store and requests cup ramen. With practised ease, he ignores the fearful looks and the stutter of the server.

Cup ramen in the morning is something he would never consider, and he makes a note to buy groceries on the way back in order to avoid a repeat.

Accepting his purchase, he slips out again, ignoring the poor girl’s distressed cry of, “You forgot your change!”

It’s about noon and there are a lot of people in the streets, something Orochimaru usually abhors, but he’s in no mood to take the rooftops so he settles for curiously watching the people around him.

'On second thought... training ground 9 should be free around this time,' he muses, watching a pale old woman yank her son out of his path. He holds back a sigh, deciding to shunsuin to his destination. A plan is already forming in his head and he does not like it.

~

“A-ah, O-Orochimaru-sama...”

The snake sannin hums, looking down from his perch on the tree at the small person trying to talk to him. He recognizes him easily as Namikaze Minato, Jiraiya’s brat. The boy’s teammates are a ways behind him, throwing cautious glances at him as though he’d eat them.

'Depending on what they ask, I just might.'

“We were... I was wondering if you could train me?”

He blinks, surprised. The blond looks like he’s about to bolt though, so he avoids any sudden movements, simply lifting a brow.

“S-since Jiraiya-sensei...”

He doesn’t wince, but it’s a near thing. The oaf had been something of a brother to him, if extremely stupid, perverse and annoying, but to Minato, he’d been more. Jiraiya, as dense as he was, never noticed that he’d become a father to the brat. And then he’d left to Ame without so much as a backwards glance.

“Train you in what?” he asks, taking pity on the brat.

Minato’s eyes seem to nearly pop out of his head as he snaps it up to stare at Orochimaru, who leans back nigh imperceptibly at the sparkling blue tear filled eyes.

'What have I gotten myself into?'

“N-Ninjutsu, Orochimaru-sama. It’s one of my weakest points.”

‘And one of your strongest,’ the boy doesn’t add. The sannin is reluctantly impressed at the boy having done his homework.

Orochimaru glances at the teammates, one of the Hyuuga twins and the Maito kid, who look just as dumbstruck.

He hums. “Tomorrow.”

“Arigato gozaimasu!”

He’s pretty sure those are stars in the boy’s eyes before he shunsuins back to his apartment.

'If Namikaze gets... close to me, as students tend to with their teachers, so will Kushina.' He frowns at the thought. He had nothing against the girl, but he had no intention of listening to Danzo and the rest blather endlessly about him having ulterior motives. 'Hmm... might as well move to The House at last. At the very least, those pesky roots can’t monitor me there.'

His now dead clan house rests deep in the forests outside of Konohagakure. Reasonably large, it’s more of a mansion than anything else. Their clan had valued communal living after all, taking after their summons. His earliest memories are of him and his cousins curled around each other in sleep, and being woken up in the morning for a bath. Modesty – “Eh, what’s that, kaa-san?” - was a rather foreign concept between them, only used for outsiders.

Orochimaru is by no means a bleeding heart. He values his sanity much too much for such frivolities as taking in random strays, evidenced by him telling Jiraiya to just kill the Ame brats at first. Not out of cruelty, but out of the fact that the next group of shinobi to stumble upon them might show them a fate even worse than death. So he did care, in his own jaded and roundabout way.

'This village has changed me so much,' he sighs into his futon, stretching languidly.

He wonders what cousin Hiroshi would think of him now. Nothing good, that’s for sure.

With another sigh, this one more explosive, he starts to pack all his personal effects into storage scrolls, idly wondering if his leaving would make Sarutobi-sensei have a stroke and die.

'Mm, but he can’t die yet. The only other person would be Danzo and that’s a disaster and a half. No, he has to stay until Namikaze takes the hat. That means I might request leave, rather than renounce citizenship.'

He rolls his eyes. 'See, sensei? I’m considering you and your pitiful will of fire even when you have no compulsion to consider me. And yet I’m cold blooded?'

He is, of course, but those are mere details.

~

He doesn’t end up telling anyone of his plans. Just gets up the next day to return his keys to the landlord, after a hearty breakfast of seafood salad, and glides all the way to training ground 9.

He doesn’t expect Namikaze to be there – it’s barely 9am on a Saturday, after all. Surely the boy has things to do? – simply intending to sunbathe as he turns his plans around in his head.

Of course, all that goes down the drain when he spots Hatake – Sakumo – sparring with some Uchiha he really couldn’t care less about.

Curious, he takes a seat on the same tree as yesterday, keenly observing the White Fang’s unique elemental manipulation. Sparks of electricity dance around his body, making taijutsu a lost cause. Clearly, they haven’t noticed his arrival, otherwise they’d stop and skitter away.

He isn’t hurt by the fact. Such feelings are plebeian. It comes with the territory and he’s come to accept it.

He’s worked with the White Fang before – of course that meant being in the same platoon rather than actually working alongside him – so seeing him in action is somewhat... mesmerizing.

'Now that I think about it, wasn’t he Dan’s teammate? That’s right. He was the only one to make Tsunade trip over her words,' he thinks mirthfully. 'Eventually, she resigned herself to the fact that he just wasn’t into her and decided to take Dan up on his advances – something Jiraiya was deeply incensed by.'

Nobody could ever really tell the depth of his feelings for the slug princess, his idiot act trained to fool even the keenest of observers.

He leans into the tree, legs crossed and hair swaying in the slight breeze, half-lidded eyes observing the poorly matched opponents.

'If this were a real battle, the Uchiha would’ve been dead before I even arrived, burned to a crisp with Sakumo dancing on his ashes.'

Forty minutes go by before the match comes to an end, with the Uchiha looking terribly worse for wear and faking admirably.

Sakumo’s nervous laughter reaches him as the man begins to speak. “Sorry about that, Kagami-san. I must have let my temper get the best of me.”

The Uchiha somehow mages to display a perfectly blank expression while radiating, ‘no shit, you fucking monster, what the fuck was I even thinking?’. He inclines his head and shunsuins away, probably to his clan compound since the bastards would never do anything as pedestrian as going to the Konoha General Hospital.

Sakumo tenses suddenly, sniffing at the air. Orochimaru stares, intrigued. Apparently, the Hatake are of wolves. No surprise he’s picking out the foreign entity by smell.

He wonders if he’ll find it offensive that he watched him spar, then discards the notion immediately. This was a shinobi village after all. If you didn’t want people to watch you spar, you rented a private training field, preferably one indoors.

In a split second, Sakumo is crouched next to him on the branch, wearing an expression he can’t fathom. He blinks owlishly at the sparks still dancing over the other man’s body.

“Orochimaru-sama,” the Hatake clan head starts slowly, “how... were you here the entire time?”

He hums. “Something like that.”

Sakumo seems to flinch. “I... see.” He forces himself to loosen his tense posture and sit down, and Orochimaru finds himself faced with a dazzling smile. “I hope you liked what you saw then.”

He knows flirting when he sees it – side effect of growing up with Jiraiya – but of course there’s also the chance that this is his nature. He considers it for a moment, deciding to lean towards the first.

Orochimaru tilts his head just so, pleased noting how Sakumo’s gaze locks on his neck. “It was... enlightening.” He leans forward, amused as Sakumo forces himself to stay still, and is tempted to reach a hand toward his head, but thinks better of it. He’s not so out of touch with societal norms.

Instead, he goes for his arm, the static shock unbelievably... not harmful. “Oh.”

Sakumo seems to flush as he leans back, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “Oh?”

“The sparks weren’t unpleasant.”

“It’s intentional for... allies,” he smiles, this time revealing a canine.

He hums again, running his eyes over the other male’s body. He’s dressed in jonin blues, minus the vest, fluffy silver hair tied in a loose ponytail. There are quite a few nicks and scratches on him, as well as some scorch marks. His chakra is at about fifty percent.

Before he can think better of it, his hands are glowing green and he’s moved closer to heal the man.

“Orochimaru-sama?” Sakumo seems to squeak.

The snake sannin looks up at him from underneath his lashes, the exact move that used to make Jiraiya clam up and obey. “Allies, you said?”

The Hatake nods mutely.

'When was the last time I had this much fun?'

“Are you... doing anything today?”

'How forward. Not that I’m surprised. Wolves aren’t the type to beat about the bush, that’s a snake’s job.'

Namikaze chooses that time to arrive, immensely harried. He looks around the field and his shoulders seem to droop when he doesn’t see the sannin.

“I’m training that one,” he says, slightly louder for the boy’s benefit, which proves to be a good idea when the boy turns to face him and Sakumo.

'Oh dear,' he thinks, slightly dismayed. 'If Namikaze took after the oaf in any way, he’d start singing that ridiculous kissing song.'

Sakumo nods. “I’ll... er... see you around?” he intentionally leaves it as a question and Orochimaru mentally applauds him. Inasmuch as the man is a tracker, he knows that if the snake sannin doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found. Period.

“You will,” his lips curl into a smirk as he shunsuins off the tree. He can feel the Hatake’s eyes on him for a few moments more before he shunsuins away as well.

Minato is staring at him with something like awe. “Good morning, Orochimaru-sama. Your boyfriend is so cool!”

He lifts a brow – butterflies? What butterflies? How absurd. - and sets the boy off on twenty laps around the field.

~

Orochimaru finds that Namikaze is every bit the genius he’s been called, and is rather pleased.

Not pleased enough to accept the boy’s offer for lunch though. He’d rather avoid the Uzumaki princess for now, and keep his sanity in check.

He breezes past the gates with nary a glance in his direction. Nobody wants to piss the sannin off for no reason, after all, mission or not. Perhaps it also helps that they’re terrified of him.

He feels more than sees the house as he steps off the main path and deeper into the woods. The residual chakra seeped into the nook and cranny of it calls to him, and his heart aches, recalling the scant few childhood memories he has.

Finally, he reaches a spot where the trees aren’t as thick and the house’s call is strongest. He pauses, pulsing his chakra in a long forgotten pattern, unique to the Isurugi clan. Idly, he wonders if a few escaped. If he has family somewhere in the world.

It’s impossible, but one can dream, no?

Sequence completed, the trees shimmer away to reveal a mansion which he’s dully pleased hasn’t fallen into disarray. There are windows everywhere, large and imposing. The ones on the first floor are clear, attributed to the fact that Isurugi spent a lot of time downstairs, basking in the sunlight that filtered in and generally being lazy. The second floor has frosted black windows, which one can see out of but never into. They valued their privacy almost as much as they did family.

The dull ache becomes something stronger as he opens the front door, greeted by a mess of brightly coloured, patterned pillows and bean bags, low tables and bone white walls, covered in exquisite murals.

He sinks to the floor as his eyes catch on something. Amethyst stones hanging from the ceiling, providing light in the darkness. Isurugi loved amethysts – “Less expensive than diamonds, after all,” aunt Kiyoko would say with a wink – wearing them as necklaces, earrings, bracelets and hair pieces. Sword hilts and wedding rings, and anything else they could put them on - “Purple is just our colour, dearest,” cousin Hiroko shrugs – because they could.

He had forgotten. Amethysts were such a key piece of his family and he’d forgotten.

“Mother’s necklace,” he whines, the sound low in his throat.

He remembers his first ever training exercise, as he and his cousins tried and failed to even touch it. Remembers her smug laughter as she would glide away at the very last second, teasing them. Remembers her sneaking up on them and attacking them with tickles.

‘Oh, mother.’

And for the first time in years, he cries like a baby.

Chapter Text

It takes longer than he will ever willingly admit to get his shit together, but he does.

He trudges upstairs to the open space that served as a bedroom, play room, classroom... everything for his family. The second floor was designed with an oval in the middle.

The wooden bars around it were more of a formality than anything else, seeing as him and Hiroki loved to jump up and down through it – narrowly avoiding the chandelier – instead of taking the stairs.

With a sigh, he drops the scroll containing his possessions on the nearest futon, shedding his clothing and striding to the wooden bath tub he knows is behind the shoji screen. Lavender and citrus bath salts sit there as usual. It feels like it’s been days since he’s been here, instead of the twenty something years.

Fuinjutsu is truly a work of art, he muses.

With a few precise movements of his wrist, and a sliver of chakra, the honey and rose scented candles flicker on, and pleasantly hot water begins to fill the tub. He slips in with a pleased hum.

“Takara used to hate when I spent hours bathing,” the snake sannin chuckles, sinking down until the water almost covers his nose.

“You called, Oro-chan?”

Isurugi Orochi is a sannin. He has lived fought a war – three wars, if we want to get technical based on the dream - fought Hanzo the Salamander and lived – and on that note, that man definitely has to be killed before Yahiko is – and managed to survive being Manda’s summoner – that snake is the definition of a diva. He does not startle and fall into the water for about a minute before coming out and gasping for breath, looking very much like a wet cat.

The spectral form of his twelve year old cousin giggles.

He blinks at her, then ducks under the water, shaking his head from side to side. When she’s still there after he emerges, he lets out a string of curses.

“I thought this blasted thing had stopped.”

“Apparently not,” Takara says with an entirely too pleased smile.

His uncanny ability to see spirits had faded away after he became a genin. It had felt awful at first, like losing yet another part of himself but in the end, it only worked in his favour.

Seeing the spirits of the many, many people he’s killed would be... unpleasant.

And it really hadn’t helped his popularity any, speaking to people nobody else could see. Not that he cared or anything.

“Eh! Oro-chan grew tall after all!” she suddenly cheers, unfazed by his flat glare. “I bet you’re taller than Hiro-nii-san!”

“Hiroki...?” he whips his head around, wondering if his cousin will appear as well.

Takara lifts an eyebrow. “Hiro-nii-san got out, didn’t you know?”

He stills. “You’re lying. There’s... no... way...”

Except, there is a way. “...he reverse summoned himself, didn’t he?”

“Yes!” she chirps. “Him and Akiko-nee-san and Nagisa-chan!”

“So... where are they now?”

“How should I know? I haven’t been able to leave. Ne, ne, Oro-chan, did you bring any dango?”

Dango reminds him of Anko now and he can’t help the fond quirk of his lips.

“Can spirits even eat dango?”

“Wah! So mean, Oro-chan! And after I changed your nappies so many times!”

He throws a towel at her, barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes at her shriek when it goes through her.

“So, who else is in the house?”

She puts her chin in her hands in and exaggerated thinking pose. “Eh... auntie Kiyoko, Rio-nii-san, Mizuiro-kun, Chizuru-chan and Hiyori.”

“We’re short about five people.”

“...they used the suicide jutsu, so their spirits are just... gone.”

“So... mother and father... and your mother...?”

She smiles, though it lacks her usual cheer. “Gone.”

He closes his eyes and breathes out.

“Aren’t you going to call on the others?”

“I’m naked.”

“Eh?! But then... Wah! Oro-chan is trying to seduce me!”

He throws another towel.

.

The Isurugi had been friends, of sort, to the Uzumaki. The former traded jewels and exotic wine for the latter’s advanced seal work and textiles, and it was a simple balance.

Contrary to popular belief, the clan of redheads weren’t the only seal masters – oh no, there was the Asagitatsu clan, the Shirotora clan, the Kaguya clan and the Fushimii clan. And that’s just between the Lands of Fire and Water. The first two were now extinct, and the others had dropped off the map.

The Uzumaki were simply the best, and most well known. It was pretty hard to miss over five hundred redheads with a temper.

It brings him no small amount of joy to flare his chakra slightly and see all the lights flicker on, the chandelier making everything have an ethereal glow. Some would call it abuse of the art.

Others, like Orochimaru, would simply think of it as not letting the art go to waste.
‘Just think of how travel times could be shortened for civilians and shinobi alike by using the Nidaime’s jutsu, hm? Well obviously it would take quite a while to adapt to the feeling, but.’

“Now there’s a thought,” he hums, sprawled out on a myriad of pillows with grace only he could possibly possess. “ Engineering the Hiraishin to suit my taste. I’ve never been particularly good at seal work-“ and it’s definitely a sore spot, that Jiraiya, the bumbling buffoon he unfortunately had a space for in his withered, dry heart, was adept in it when he wasn’t “- nothing some research won’t fix though.”

Takara sighs loudly beside him, ever one for dramatics. “Come onnnnn, Oro-chan, Rio-nii is getting impatient.”

“Rio has always been impatient.”

A disgruntled sixteen year old wearing and blindfold puffs into existence. “I resent that.”

“I know. How are you, Rio-kun?”

Rio had been his second favourite – the first spot reserved for Hiroki – purely because he was almost never around and when he was, it meant endless hours of hide and seek.
Shinobi hide and seek with weapons and jutsu and everything in between, that is.

He’d been born with a condition – one which currently escapes the sannin, hm – that meant he was sensitive to every single thing. He could see impossible distances, hear better than even Hatake wolves, smell the faintest things and discern exactly how many grains of sugar you put in his tea. Touching things apparently led to this pins and needles sensation which meant he kept contact to a minimum – you can imagine what his childhood was like. Eventually, it was deduced that his chakra was ridiculously imbalanced and had two options – permanently seal it off, or seal off one sense.

There went his sight.

“Bored as hell. What took you so long, hm?”

“... I have no idea.”

And he doesn’t, really. After the attack on the clan house, he could’ve wandered back, or gone looking for Hiroki and the rest. He didn’t have to sell his freedom away and become a tool, used yet loathed, abandoned by even the sensei who promised to care for him.

“I may have gotten lost on the road of life,” he muses.

(Still in his mother’s womb, Hatake Kakashi sneezes.)

Rio and Takara snort in sync, sharing an amused glance.

“So how did you find your way back?”

Orochimaru hums. “I had this dream, you see.” He doesn’t say anything else, taking their sceptical expressions in stride.

“So, Mizuiro, Chizuru, Hiyori and aunt Kiyoko, you said?”

Perhaps it’s strange, finding comfort in the company of his dead family, but, seeing them again after oh so many years, well, he’s never really been normal.

.

The next morning is pleasant, even Takara and Chizuru’s bickering can’t affect his mood.

Dressed in a pale green yukata and sporting his mother’s old earrings in place of the ones Jiraiya gave him, he’s downstairs today poring over sealing scrolls. Simple storage and bonding seals, he can do – and the memories mean he has so much more knowledge than he should. It’s mind-boggling, how much his future – past? – self knew – and he could possibly create a seal for a demon vessel, if pressed, but space-time ninjutsu is a completely new beast.

One that he’s determined to tame, anyway.

“How is she conjuring water?” he asks, endlessly amused as Chizuru pours a bucket of water over Takara.

Mizuiro shrugs, sipping on a cup of tea.

It’s strange to say, but it just might be a good thing that Mizuiro’s dead. He’s stuck as a ten year old, but the glittering gold eyes and button nose are just as charming. With his soft curls and pouty lips, there’s no doubt he’d have left a string of broken hearts long enough to circle the house a dozen times and then some. And the little shit knew that very well, often using his pout to get his way.

Hiroki said it must be some sort of jutsu.

Hiyori gurgles happily, as is typical of babies.

The one year old can, technically, age if she so wants to, but she’s clearly happy the way she is. Having Chizuru and Mizuiro fawning over her gummy smile and frighteningly cute pigtails must be good enough for her.

Rio is nowhere to be found, so it’s aunt Kiyoko who answers him, floating around leisurely with her signature pipe in hand. It’s long and oddly twisted, lined with amethysts. He’s long since stopped asking where she got it, as she always seemed to get this faraway look in her eyes.

“We’re dead, Oro. The laws of physics don’t apply to us.”

“Yes, but how? Mizuiro’s drinking tea,” he presses. Nobody had ever liked this part of him, ever inquisitive and curious. Except his family.

“I’m not. It’s like... trying to drink air. We can conjure objects, and decide whether or not living people can see them, but obviously we can’t eat or drink. But we remember how to, so we can mimic the feeling,” Mizuiro tries to explain, waving his hands awkwardly.

Orochimaru stifles a chuckle. The boy has never been good with words. “So that isn’t real water. Takara’s memories are just making it look that way, hence why her hair looks flat and she’s hissing lie a drenched cat.”

Aunt Kiyoko laughs, husky and low. “Her summons were tigers after all.”

Isurugi were attached to their summons from a very young age. Most of which were snakes, but sometimes cats made appearances.

A flash of chakra interrupts his peace, and he freezes for a split second. They're is about twenty minutes out, and-

“Namikaze and Uzumaki,” he hisses.

Chapter Text

“Uzumaki?” Aunt Kiyoko quite visibly perks up, and Orochi tries his very best but his wince does not go unnoticed. “Oro? What’s happened? “

“Uzushio was… wiped out during the war.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, followed by his aunt’s pipe clattering to the floor. The object seems to send out a pulse of chakra when it lands, despite it being non corporal, and the ringing sound that follows is not at all pleasant.

“What?” The woman’s voice is more hiss than words, and all the children find themselves straightening, tensed for the threat – Orochi inclusive.

“My team was in Amegakure at the time, barely holding our own against Hanzo the Salamander. It was far enough that we couldn’t intervene, our battle long enough that we may have died trying.”

And if that didn’t smell like the work of a one eyed clownfish, he’d choke on Kusanagi.

“By the time we returned, Lady Mito and Kushina were the last known Uzumaki.”

Tsunade had been this close to choking on her grief, him and Jiraiya being unwilling witnesses to one of the very pillars of their village falling apart in her granddaughter’s arms.

Of course, two dozen children had survived. Sealed away in a cave on the far side of the island, warned only to come out when the bloodshed was over. But these were Hoshigaki, Yuuki, and Umino children. Only half made it to the Konoha, the other half bolting at the sight of their headbands and swearing vengeance.

Orochimaru can’t blame them, honestly. The event – which had been carefully wiped from every history book and every stray newspaper article, because of course Konoha would hide her mistakes instead of owning up to them – had caused cracks between the shinobi, and stretched the chasm between them and the civilians even wider.

Aunt Kiyoko doesn’t say a word, vanishing out of existence, her pipe doing the same a split second later.

“Now that I think about it, the carvings on auntie’s pipe look and awful lot like Uzumaki courting runes,” Mizuiro offers.

Chizuru chokes on air and even Rio flinches.

“She’s going to make me keep the girl, isn’t she?” Orochi asks with an extremely put upon sigh.

Hiyori gurgles cheerily in response.

□

Mirai hasn’t always been a Hatake, but it sure feels like she has. Of course, her being an Inuzuka might have something to do with it, but that’s neither here nor there.

She knows what it sounds like when Sakumo knows nothing but bloodlust. Knows what it looks like when the village begins to feel more like a cage than a home to him because he's a wolf for crying out loud, not a damned puppy. A wolf down to just his mate because the rest of his clan has either fled or taken refuge in Iron.

But, she digresses.

She knows the pitiful sight her husband makes is because he’s pining like the lovesick not-puppy he is.

“Okaeri, husband mine,” she says with a lopsided grin, leaning against the doorframe. Sakumo doesn’t startle - they may be in tentative peace now but he was born into war, it’s not something his instincts will ever let him forget – but there’s a flicker of surprise in his chakra. He wasn’t expecting her to come to him.

Like she'd let him sulk outside all evening while all the hard work she put into dinner would go to waste. Ha.

“Tadaima,” he murmurs, rising from where he’d lain on the genkan, watching the stars. He moves to wrap his arms around her waist and buries his face in her shoulder.

Sometimes - like now – she’s very, very happy to be taller than he is. It means she can place her chin on his soft, soft hair and just breathe him in.

They stay that way for quite a while, until their cub decides he’s had enough physical contact for the next week and starts kicking at the walls of her womb. Mirai doesn’t so much as twitch, but Sakumo appears to have a sixth sense for these things, pulling away to smile almost ruefully at her stomach.

“I hope he gets this out of his system before he’s born,” he says, squatting down to be almost at eye level with her navel. He pokes it, gently. Kakashi kicks back, clearly unimpressed.

Sakumo looks scandalized.

Mirai snorts, muffling the rest of her chuckles behind her hand. “He won’t have much of a choice, dog piles are essential. Now, come in, what did the pretty one do today?”

Her husband rises to his full height, eyeing her as if to ask how she knew. Clearly, he has some sense in him because he doesn't voice the question, herding her inside.

“He noticed me, for one. Watched me spar with Kagami. Then he touched me? He was curious about the sparks. And then he healed me. And, oh Mirai, the way he looked at me.”

Mirai's brows lift so high they may very well disappear into her hairline. This is very new.

Sakumo has had his eye on the Sannin since they were in the academy, and the man has never even looked in his direction. Or anyone's direction, for that matter. Except maybe Jiraiya.

No accounting for taste with that one.

“That’s is a lot, Sakumo. Are you alright?" She watches him closely as he settles at the table, a no longer steaming bowl of soba waiting patiently.

“I’m fine. I may have taken a dip in the Naka for a bit, and spent a frankly embarrassing amount of time just staring at the clouds like a Nara, but I’m fine.”

Her eyes roll upward, a vain attempt to ask the gods why she has this sap for a husband.

Even though she wouldn't have it any other way.

“Did he show any signs of interest?" She prods, because that's the most important thing.

“I… think so? I proposed dinner? And he sounded okay with it? What do we cook though? What-“

Mirai cuts him off before his mind can run away without him. Honestly, this man.

“Sakumo, no. Does he know you’re married?” She asks, already certain of the answer.

The White Fang blinks. “Oh… maybe? There’s not much he doesn’t know, I should think.”

That is something of a point. One of Orochimaru's specialties is information gathering. Given that there are thousands of different kinds of snakes in all shapes and sizes, if he were anything like his lecherous teammate, he would have dirt on everyone in Fire country.

Still. “Mhmm. Are we talking about the same antisocial Sannin?”

The same recluse who is almost never seen out and about and is rumoured to live in his lab? The same one invited to gatherings more as a courtesy than because they actually expect him to show up?

“…I think you may be onto something.” Sakumo slouches, absently chewing.

She reaches over to pat his head. “Have your date first, and maybe a few more. Ease him into the idea.”

“Shouldn’t I just be upfront?" He looks up at her through his lashes. "You’re usually all about that life.”

Of course she is. She's an Inuzuka. Still, there are things she was taught as regards to mating and courtship that Sakumo wasn't. She won't begrudge him that; there was nobody to teach him.

“You can be. But dinner at the house is a no for the very first date. You’ll scare him off.”

Not that she knows the Sannin well enough to assume what would and wouldn't scare him, but.

“If you say so…”

□

Orochimaru will, until his dying day, deny having any knowledge of how Kushina came about her new jutsu. He will also have no clue why both her and Minato suddenly have amethyst earrings and katana.

Unfortunately, there’s no excuse for them having signed the snake summoning contract, but you’d have to meet them in battle to know. Or get close enough to see their fast-growing fangs. Neither of which is likely to happen.

Quite frankly, he has no idea how he became both children’s sensei. The last two months have been a headache and a half and they have been right there hanging on every word – he’s had to force them to go back home almost every night.

The best part of all of it, probably, is the hack that is The House. Kushina noticed first, barreling back into it the next morning – and dragging Minato behind her not unlike a ragdoll – to gush about it.

“Oro-jii-!”

“I am not your uncle,” he interjects, not looking up from the seal array he’s working on.

“-it’s the next day!”

“Yes, I believe it is,” he demurs.

“No!” Kushina yells, brimming with excitement. “We went to bed here because it was late and we left the next morning, but when we got out of your house it felt really hot for a morning, ya know! And then when we snuck back into the village-“

Two chunin, sneaking in and out of a village with ease. Sarutobi is clearly focused on the wrong things.

“- Minato wanted some really good mochi but it was sold out and mochi never sells out in the morning, ya know? So we asked Haruto-san and he said, “Well it might be morning in Cloud, but last I checked, it’s mid afternoon here”. And then he showed us his clock and it read 3:30!”

Kushina stops to catch her breath, something Orochi marvels at. So she can't go on talking for hours? How curious. Then again, if he mentions it, she may very well think up a jutsu just for that.

That would be catastrophic.

He can see it now, enemy nin surrendering to her just as they did her son in the future - past? - but not because she's touched their hearts. No, purely because if she says any more, their brains may spontaneously combust.

'Now there's an idea,' he thinks to himself.

Out loud, he says, "You're right. Time passes twenty four hours slower within the house. Why do you think that is so? What could possibly control time?" Because that, is no easy feat.

And it will keep the quiet for a bit.

Kushina's entire face scrunches up as she considers the possibilities, and Minato drops to the floor with a meditative pose.

Oro goes back to his work. It will take them quite a bit of time to figure it out.