He was supposed to come back.
The dim lights of the bar hang moodily above their head, candles replaced by modern fixtures of glass and electricty. So very different from their simpler youth. Menus are more complicated, drinks more dressed up, patrons fashioned in casual clothing lacking armor, signs flashing neon, streets paved and modernized instead of gravelled and rustic. Everything has changed in the last century. Everything except the Sannin sitting in the small bar, nursing a drink too fruity and not strong enough. They miss the liquor from the war days. It had the right kick.
Despite having been born in the First Great War, and having fought and lived through the Fourth Great War, the viper looks not a day older than their mid twenties. Immortality looks good on them they decide. Eternally youthful despite being just shy of a hundred years old. But while they look exactly the same as they did in their youth, everything around them has dwindled out, the old replaced by the new.
By all accounts, they shouldn't even be here. They are a criminal across five nations, and would be put straight back on trial for breaking their parole. Yet a custom is a custom. And they will not break it for the sake of the law. This is the bar they sat at every thursday afternoon with a dear friend. A friend now deceased. Who had been deceased since the Second Great War. An era of such immense tragedy, it had spiralled the serpent into a maddening depression. One that sought out violence and corruption. His death had sparked a grief that had transformed them from war hero to war criminal. His death had been what shaped them into a monster. His death had been the day they executed their old self to be reborn as someone entirely new. Someone stronger. At any wretched cost.
The hopeful youth that would visit his home, drink his liquor, read his notes, listen to his stories and songs. That youth had their throat slit the moment their dear friend lost his life.
He was supposed to come back.
It's been more than half a century since Dan died. And yet, they have never moved on. They are still sitting at the same bar they used to frequent with him. They still hear the whistles of his song birds. They still picture him walking through the door. They still feel his presence. They don't know if Dan is haunting them, or if they chase his shadow out of pure psychosis. Perhaps they are the ghost. Haunting the same little corner in the same little bar. Never moving on from the last place they saw him alive. Smiling, talking, breathing.
They had thought they could bring him back, they had dabbled in necromancy to conjure his spirit. But never could they reach him. They swear dust will collect on their raven hair, their lavender kimono, their porcelain skin. They are little more than a statue frozen in time in this very town as they exist past their life expectancy.
He was supposed to come back.
That thought now resides in their mind every waking moment, and haunts even the sleeping ones. So when they suddenly catch his reflection in the window, they merely stare for a while. Calmly, as if they are first addressing their own mind and asking why such cruel tricks must be played so often. As if the ghost of him is not foreign. As if they are accustomed to the merciless trick of seeing the man they wished would come back to life. But his movement is not like the figments of their imagination. Nor is his voice as he makes a passing comment to the bartender. For a moment they try and think of what rational reason there could be. This isn't Dan, just a relative who looks identical. Maybe some punk shinobi stole the image of a deceased shinobi and is using henge for some unknown plight. Maybe their eyes are playing tricks on them.
They watch him, but their own visage is hidden well. A cloak over their svelte figure. A shadowy corner. Avoiding attention because they are not meant to be here. When the bell chimes signalling Dan has opened the door and is leaving, the serpent slips from their chair too. The bartender eyes the viper cautiously, as if he wants to warn the silver haired stranger that a venomous missing-nin is pursuing him with interest, but thinking better of it to avoid the Sannin's wrath. Orochimaru follows Dan quietly, like a cat after a bird, knowing one wrong move and it will fly away forever. It feels almost too high stakes. As if the universe plays a trick on them. As if approaching him wrong, too quick or too slow, could mean he vanishes from their world all over again.
Finally, they pounce. Maybe he lets them catch him, maybe they are above and beyond even an elite shinobi's reflexes due to their newest discovery of immortality. It doesn't matter. They have him pinned to a wall, their smaller figure deceptively strong when they back their movement with chakra. They have a dagger brandished to his throat, forcing him to stay still as it kisses his neck. Then they bring the blade down, and let the sharp edge slice down his shirts collar. It looks like they are toying with him, but instead they expose a scar they knew lays hidden there. Proof this is no imposter. For no one would know Dan as intimately as the seprent. No one could recreate a hidden scar.
The serpent goes so silent that one could hear a hairpin drop. But instead, it is the clattering of their dagger that is heard as they release the blade to hold onto something more precious than a weapon in combat. First slim fingers glide down the scar to check it is real, to check it is authentic. Then slender arms suddenly throw themselves around his neck, pulling him in for a hug that has the vice grip of a boa constricting prey. Lunging at him for an embrace.
How many times had they destroyed a bedroom? A rented inn room? A training grounds or research chamber? How many times had they had his memory flicker in their mind, rendering them either ensnared by rage, grief or both? How many times had they screamed his name in the night, in throes of anguish, as if hoping he might hear them and turn around from the afterlife to come right back to their side? How many times had they told themself they didnât love him after all? Trying to convince themself in a futile attempt to not be quite so broken? How many times instead had they only managed to remind themself just how much they actually loved him instead? They had mourned him for more years than he had lived. Perhaps there are kinder words to offer him in this moment. Perhaps warmer sentiments. But they can not think of anything else to say but the honesty that rips itself from their shaken throat now choked by the tears they refuse to shed.
âYou took everything when you left.â
Heâs not a loud, gregarious sort of man by any means, but Dan rarely finds himself at a loss for words; he also rarely finds himself sprawled backwards upon a messy bar counter either, bloodied and staring up at Orochimaru, whose pale cheeks are flooded rosy with warmth, drunken or otherwise.
Not drunk, no. They hadnât even had the chance to empty one tokkuriâs worth of sake together when some tipsy idiot tried to throw a punch a bit too close to Orochimaru, possibly intending to hit another patron nearby, or possibly thinking themselves brave enough to take on the Sannin, one might never know.
Dan, while watching the chain of events transpire outside his companion's field of vision, shifted to block easily and immobilize the drunk Chunin just as quickly, he was unable to account for the position of a porcelain cup that shattered in the fray between him and their assailant, its shards cutting his cheek.
There is a certain code among Konohaâs Jonin - unspoken to be certain, but upheld nonetheless. When furloughed and taking leisure where it might be found, petty squabbles should be avoided, especially in the locales frequented by shinobi and civilians alike. Unfortunately such unspoken codes were often flouted when some fool wished to test their mettle or simply make mischief under the influence of strong drink.
Tonightâs instance is minor to say the least, a mild inconvenience more than it poses any real threat. The only true threat was the damage to be done in the civilian sector if high ranking shinobi really started intentionally throwing fists, which would undoubtedly result in destruction to a service facility, and potential injuries to other patrons. It falls upon both he and Orochimaru to control the situation, and as expected, this is accomplished with minimal effort.
This isnât what has Dan so stunned.
After they dispatch the rowdy group and see to their ejection from the bar, Orochimaruâs voice subsumes every other thought in his head, partly chiding in their teasing way. The rasp of their voice holds the edge of fanged venom, reminding Dan in not so many words that he shouldn't have gotten in the way, even if he thought they were at risk.Â
Reminding him about how these days, watching someone they love bleed unnecessarily is something that they find rather vexing.Â
All Dan can hear is that word, marvel at the way it sets his heart alight. The way it makes him feel utterly alive. Unafraid of the potential pain it opens them both up to, unafraid to speak in turn, with words that get away from him far too quickly.Â
Right now Dan feels brave, and though his own cheeks burn, he looks up at them directly while they press a clean cloth to his cheek, and a smile spreads slowly across his lips.
âI suppose I was trying to prevent someone *I love* from being vexed by an unfortunate interruption to an evening meant for relaxation, but here we are.â
confess your secrets to me and i'll tell you what you need to hear
âyou are holy, you are divineâ
you've eaten yourself alive long enough. it's time to pull yourself down from your cross. i promise you are good, you are pure. you do not have to be a martyr.
tagged by: @vipcridae tyty dear! â
tagging: @airusu @senjutsunade and anyone who wants to?
Dan listens as Orochimaru speaks, taking comfort in the excited tone of their voice. So long as they remain this animated, his fears begin to calm bit by bit. The practices they speak of are utterly fascinating, and at once he wants to know all of the mechanics behind the technique, itâs history, and any similarities or connections he might find with that of his clan.Â
âI trust in your abilities, Orochimaru - weâll try,â Dan says, pausing in his work as Orochimaru tells him more about the exact jutsu which might ease his sleeping torments. Their excitement at the prospect is practically infectious, as it often is when they share their discoveries, sparking his own mind to imagination and possibility as they detail the preparations to be made. Their fingers dance along his chest until further movement becomes too much to bear.
Then itâs another small break, a moment for them to regain their bearings enough to withstand the rest of the treatment. Lesser comrades would have likely passed out by now, but Orochimaru is stubborn... and still so strong.
The process of stitching their wound would not be a matter of delicacy if the pair of them were on a battlefield, where there is no choice but to hold with urgency and certainly leave a scar, but here, Dan is in control. A medic he may not be, but he has steady hands and an exacting sense of dexterity. The serpentâs alabaster-pale skin will still undoubtedly be marred by the events of this night, but keeping the potential scar as small and neat as possible is still a priority if Dan has any say in the matter.Â
Scars mean different things to different shinobi - for some, that they faced death head-on and lived to tell the tale, and others, that they made foolish mistakes⌠or monumental failures.
Dan has experienced all three. He suspects he already knows which of these sentiments might hold true for his companion, his friend⌠and then as Orochimaru begins to answer his next questions, those words are far too simple to express who and what the serpent is to him.
Words that have been running through Danâs mind since the moment they arrived on his doorstep. Itâs Orochimaru who speaks the words aloud, giving his unspoken thoughts full form and substance in ways that might otherwise leave him tongue-tied.Â
Dan would be lying to himself if he didnât admit that he knows a great measure of what they feel. The thought of never seeing them again leaves a profound emptiness grinding in his chest, heavy enough to gradually shatter his ribs one by one, crushing his heart.
Speaking of love is painful, almost forbidden. Speaking it makes it real, opens old wounds and beckons the certainty that new ones will be made in their place. Love guarantees loss. Love is something many of their generation dare not speak into existence lest it tempt fate.
There are those that do, of course, but those are the same individuals that live in blissful ignorance, knowing just how to pick up a broken heart, see it mended, and effortlessly find another path to happiness in the knowledge that time is precious. They make up the majority; the common-minded soldiers of a noble cause.
Nothing about Orochimaru is common, and the same is true of Dan. Itâs only been a matter of months since their bonds first began to deepen, but those months have revealed them to be kindred spirits, complementary minds, equally complicated and hiding depths unexplored.Â
Itâs a longstanding belief among the Kato that connections between souls forge the pathways for love long before anything is ever made known of it within the mind. But Dan already knows. To speak of love between them is to make the pain of potential loss into something that shatters one or the other.
Itâs there nonetheless, a delicate brightness shimmering in the air between them - illuminating stark, cold truths. It passes between them, both their eyes caught in the trap of the otherâs gaze until Orochimaru breaks it.
Dan notices Orochimaruâs attempt to steer their words into a more detached direction, but their previous statements ring too loudly to be clouded by misdirection this time. He knows them too well now, just as they know him; their openness leaves a part of them unguarded, and the serpent loathes exposing their vulnerable points.Â
Dan now knows for certain that every act Orochimaru undertakes is one to rail against the cruelty of death, to seek knowledge. To keep promises both said and unsaid, in hopes of keeping those promises forever.
Dan has promises to keep as well.
"I suppose then, that I will always do my best to ensure that for us, itâs never too late," Dan says softly as he ties off the last suture, severing the silk thread. âAnd though it cannot be guaranteed, something somewhere exists to make it so, and I can help you find it faster. But please know, Oro⌠that if for some reason I have to go first, resting in peace will never be an option for me.â
The silence in this moment is thick, cut only by the ambient sounds of electricity in the walls, their collective breathing, and the soft rustle of the gauze he picks up to cover his instruments.
Dan looks up to examine Orochimaruâs expression. Meeting their gaze, itâs impossible to ignore the look that fills their golden eyes, inscrutable, perhaps stunned. It takes much to avoid simply embracing them as he has so many other times, warming them with ease, and chasing away that which haunts them. They look so fragile, and if right now, they are - if they need to be - then Dan can lend them his strength, and in turn retain his hold upon one of the few touchstones that proves he is still real.Â
âTonight though, I will render myself over into your most responsible care,â Dan teases back, voice gentle, as the tone of the conversation begins to change again, reverting to the task at hand. Their little bargain still awaits, which he deflected and still doesnât have a full answer for in light of whatâs been spoken thus far. Dan reaches for more gauze and saline, warming the liquid with a low level katon jutsu, leaving it a touch hotter than skin temperature, to prevent further shock when he applies it.
âMaybe weâll both manage to sleep, with no need for anyone to keep watch.â
Dan begins the gentle work of cleaning away a measure of the drying blood that sullies their skin. Rivulets of rusty red left a grisly mark from their injured shoulder to the abdominal wound which also bled profusely, adding to the mess. The level of risk that Orochimaru faced tonight rears its head again in his psyche, along with the gravity of the faith the serpent placed in him. Dan trades out the gauze for a clean cloth once the area around the wound is clean, mindful of propriety and most importantly, their pain.Â
He places a sterile dressing over the wound, securing it first with tape and eases them up very, very slowly. âI know it hurts, but I need you to put your hands on my shoulders for just a moment. Lean on me, donât try to hold your weight alone. Binding the dressing will help.âÂ
Once Orochimaru complies, he begins to wind a length of clean bandages snugly around their slender waist. âLetâs see to your shoulder and then weâll finish getting you clean and warm, okay?â
Dan moves the towel from their shoulder to remove the makeshift pressure dressing heâd earlier taped there in haste. What first seemed like a rather deep but non-lethal stab wound now appears to be little more than a surface cut. His mind works in reverse, thinking on what it looked like before, but perhaps his perception was simply skewed by the urgency to attend to Orochimaruâs abdominal wound.
âIt looks like you might not need stitches for this one - I suppose it just looked like more blood than it actually was.â Dan smiles, glad for the development, though he examines the cut a bit further. âI think the pressure dressing helped a bit, though⌠that or you heal incredibly fast, I imagine itâs the former though.â
Once butterfly stitches are applied and another bandage secured, Dan realizes one of his hands stings, and there is a bit of blood on his skin that isnât theirs. Something to attend to later.
âNow letâs do something about the pain before you have to move again, yes?â
âAh, Kato. I thought Iâd recognized it before, long ago. Youâre the one I could sense hanging off the slug bitch like a burr, too,â Madara drawled sarcastically, having been more mobile in that era than most wouldâve believed. At least with his Will Manifestation he utilized to possess one of the White Zetsu clones when heâd been too fragile and dependent on the Gedo Statue to barely even move much. Especially where a little Uzumaki boy in the Rain Country was concerned.
Was that too invasive? Too incisive? Absolutely. But Madara wasnât one who took chances, preferring to impale through to the soft, heartful cores of people in order to manipulate them. It was enough that he sized the other man up, a fiendish light in his eyes.Â
âI know enough about your ability, and what it could do. But, so long as youâre under the wormâs control, Iâm certainly under no threat. Especially seeing as Iâm his trump card,â he began incisively, like a knife wheedling beneath the flesh.
âI can free myself, but you on the other hand? I canât have you coming between my plans that have little to do with this war. Even if Iâm technically the reason it started, oh well.~â He chuckled darkly to himself before deadpanning as quickly.Â
Folding his arms across his chest, he gazed dispassionately at the army of Edo Tensei afield. Yes, he knew how to approach this. âWeâll have one objective alone, and thatâs to break Kabutoâs control over the Edo Tensei and release the jutsu so they wonât cause harm. Youâll return to the Pure Lands, and this can proceed like normally.â
Though, his gaze became cutting towards the fellow undead. âIf you concede, I wonât fully free you. Know that much, because Iâm not an idiot to think you wouldnât leverage your jutsu against me. Try and betray me and Iâll return control back to the worm and kill the Senju hag myself. Or⌠encourage him to have you do it yourself.â
What a cruel Faustian bargain he leveled against the man. And if that wasnât cruel enough? It didnât guarantee that there still wouldnât be a slaughter after, what with the White Zetsu clones able to take on peopleâs abilities and chakra identically and numbering in the tens of thousands, well⌠it was a promised bloodbath. This just meant less guilt for the Katoâs conscience.
âIf not you, I doubt you and your abilities would be difficult to replicate. Oh, whatever could I mean~?â he taunted melodically, waiting for the manâs answer.
// @asaraltu
âFor someone so legendary and historically brilliant, you really are quite rude, Uchiha-sama.â Dan tilts his head to the side, sizing the man up in full, shucking his own lingering unease like a snake shedding skin the moment Tsunade is mentioned so crassly. His expression grows cold, lowering his inner shields against the most ruthless parts of himself, such that the man he truly is as Konohaâs Ghost arises to look the Uchiha directly in the eye.
Dan has stared death itself in the face too many times to fear another resurrected being in the manner that Uchiha Madara expects of everyone beneath him, speaking of far more than he has the right to - with zero assurances that any of his statements will still ring true in the end. Itâs intimidation at its finest, meant to tear apart the emotions of weaker men and see them plead for mercy. Dan can respect such a tactic, but in this moment the cold, stark anger heâs always held on a tight leash wants to have its way.Â
The Uchiha needs allies, strong ones, even if they are to be discarded once used.
âTo think I admired your strength once...I suppose children can be rather foolish. You seem to think youâre giving me a choice, but I fail to see whatâs in that so-called bargain that could really interest me in the end? I get to go to the Pure Lands? Iâve been there already, and other places too.â Dan smiles humorlessly. âItâs you who has stakes in this war itself, grudges against Konoha and all its shinobi, and I am already dead. I get to protect Tsunade and my village? I am clearly already being used against her to begin with, which gives me reason to know Senju Tsunade is still very much alive and a power whose existence irks you to the core. I have confidence that she can take care of herself. She certainly can against me - I gave her the means to do so a very long time ago.â
Dan squares his stance and crosses his arms. âThis war is going to rage regardless, and yes itâs true Iâd prefer not to kill my comrades, but you underestimate my will. I can and will fight every step of the way. If you desire an ally, youâre going to have to provide better terms, Uchiha-sama. Furthermore, unless you were born a Kato with the devaâs mark, you should already know youâre not equipped to use my abilities or even replicate them, though I suppose you could try. You will never reattach your soul to your body in the end, though.â
[cheek caress] for Dan if you please? ~~@shatteredxlookingxglass (I know it's been forever...)
With a length that more resembled how it'd looked in his youth, it was much easier to bypass even the most gifted of sensors as to what an Uchiha was doing all the way in Amegakure, his Hyuga heritage aside. With his eyes since awakened in Nagato, it was a simple ploy to convince both him and the girl--who were sensors themselves--that he was Nagato's father, uncanny resemblance aside. To think, it'd been roughly ten years since he'd died and had a White Zetsu commit the transplant, and now he was at the tail-end where a new one would begin: to adopt these children's ideals into an organization, to foster the bedrock upon which he would eventually build the plan he'd been plotting for years.
Konoha and Iwa's fruitless conflict transgressing into the small bungalow they'd made a home of was not part of this expectation.
The man was Kato by the paleness of his hair and chakric aura, the fainter notes of Water Country hues that comprised their stock and its origins before they'd traveled north of the Fire Country generations ago. Madara still wryly remembered his paths crossing with that Yoshinori bastard in his lifetime, that egg fucker having possessed the body of the Water Daimyo that caused havoc in their country and had led to the clan being hunted for their kinsman's transgressions. Strange, amusing times those were, though he imagined this man was more of the insufferably moralizing sort Konoha tended to produce those days.
Curiously, Madara brushed aside stray tendrils clinging to the man's face, cupping away grime that clung to his glove. His unconscious state from being prone in the rain was likely backlash from his clan's hijutsu, he was sure of it.
Withdrawing as the man seemed to be coming to, Madara sat back, hand under his cloak he constantly donned once again.
"So, finally awake, are you? I hope you don't have any plans to tattle on us for being here, Leaf-nin. Else, I might do away with you."
It had seemed as good a plan as any, finding a secure place for his body so that he might run a spot of recon while the actual fight was at the same uncommon standstill it had held for weeks. He had ventured away from his unit to scout for shelter and to ensure no nasty surprises awaited them in this patch of border properties.
Nowhere in Ame was secure, nor was it comfortable, but Dan found a promising spot near what looked like an abandoned cabin, in a location just beyond the domicile, where the foliage came together in a way that promised slightly better cover.
He ventured too far for too long, however, and the return to his body was the worst kind; a descent that jarred him within and without, buffeting his body with dull, aching pain. This, coupled with the cold and the wet, forced him to lose a handle on consciousness for a moment... but perhaps the moment stretched on far longer than mere minutes.
Dan wakes to the sensation of a hand at his face, the sound of a discomfited voice promising a threat. He should have brought someone along with him, but as usual he had to insist on doing this alone, and now heâs vulnerable.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
His own voice sounds scratchy and raw to his ears. âIâm sorry, I donât know what you mean...â he trails off as he opens his eyes to the sight of a tired-looking dark haired man, with the chakric echo of shinobi stamped across his aura - and two children in the distance behind him. Shinobi aptitude, but not enemies, not obvious ones anyway. The area has been rife with refugees, so this isnât a surprise.
As Danâs vision clears further and he is still not attacked, he tries to sit up, to obscure the fact that heâs still dizzier than he should be and his bones grind like there are glass shards in his joints. âI donât have plans to âtattleâ on anyone who isnât a clear enemy. You and yours have nothing to fear from me, so long as you let me be on my way?â
you cannot get over the past. you are constantly remembering, never forgetting. you canât live in the moment because the moment is not what brought you here. you are birthed, raised, and killed in the past. you will never get over what was done to you, be it big or be it small. you cannot escape what you refuse to confront.
tagged by: @asaraltu ty dear!
tag ur it: @vipcridae @senjutsunade and anyone who would like to :)
There is a carefulness to everything Dan does now, not just in action, as he tries to avoid causing them further harm or discomfort, but in speech as well. They know him by now, he does not shy away from dark conversations. Not with them. They have shared with him in equal measure, they have stumbled up to his door in the dead of night, seeking to see if he is awake - and how often his plagued mind is - before quietly but persistently demanding entry. So they can find themself drinking his tea and seated on his couch, pouring out their thoughts to him as if it were whiskey in those glasses loosening their tongue.
Because that was the cherished companionship they had found with Dan.
Words they could not dare breathe to Tsunade and Jiraiya, let alone Hiruzen. Words they would otherwise bury in themself, wracking their own mind over. Distorting reality from their own over the top and oftentimes mad thinking. The serpent was brilliant, a genius of legendary proportions. But the line between madness and intelligence blurred quickly.
The serpent found themself following their clever musings and working themself in to a web they could not escape. That was when Dan came in. Just as brilliant, but able to some how bring them back to reality. Able to take their messy thoughts and untangle each thread in patient but painstaking practice. Able to take their thoughts, and then give them back in better clarity.
He was invaluable to them.
Even if they are not the sort to be sentimental enough to be plain about it. So Dan is being careful with his words. But they believe he has no cause to be worried what is said here may be leaked. So what then? Is it himself he does not wish to speak his inner thoughts aloud too? Ah, it would be clear soon. Â When he finally spills his turmoil for the few nights he has lead. Carnage. A good man doing bad things. A human trying to act like a machine. It never worked.
Dan was a wolf longing for kinder appetites, but killing for the sake of not starving. There was no end to the vicious cycle he was now trapped in. And his rare and invaluable talents only made that more cruel a fate.
They watch the towel as it is draped around them, and they listen attentively. Unbothered by the torn clothing, happy to be rid of the material that had worked its way in to their wound. Their golden eyes are becoming more aware, but that has only made them a little more shaky and pale, as disorientation no longer shields them from pain. Still, they are more than capable of withstanding even this extreme discomfort. Or so they have been trained to believe since the age of five.
âAnd whoâs residual feelings are they? Yours, or those you have killed?â they ask, curious, though their voice does remain a certain quiet, too inquisitive to not ask, but knowing the topic is serious, and at least offering the correct tone of voice to indicate they respect that as they dissect it, âthe nightmares I mean. Are they your personal discontent, or do the souls you enter leave traces of themselves with you, even when you leave them? If it is the latter, the residue of the spirits plaguing you can be made⌠more dormant.â Ah, forbidden subjects now on their tongue. The afterlife is not to be touched by jutsu.
But the serpent has dabbled in reincarnation, not yet venturing to committing the crimes of these jutsu, but they have created the blueprints for them. If the vessel will not live eternally, then moving between temporary hosts would be the next best thing. But what to do with the spirits residing there first?
They had their answer. And maybe, if Danâs nightmares were not just his own trauma, but the lingering traumas of his victims hanging on him like a curse, they may be able to put down those ghosts more permanently.
âA scar seems considerably more appealing than sepsis, Iâll trust your handiwork,â they answer, wincing at another pull when they try offer him a teasing smile, their hand tightening its grip on his to halt further movement. A reflex to stop the source of pain, until their sensible side is able to remind their primitive body that this pain means healing and aid. So they release his hand, âI could of course, prescribe you something a little more traditional too. There are drugs that can induce sleep, even in the most trying times. The better ones are the illegal ones. But I wonât tell if you wonât.â they say.
Perhaps these answers are not what Dan needs, perhaps Jiraiya would have the better words for him. Something noble, something sympathetic, something uplifting or inspiring. A promise for shinobi to have the options to do better. A promise for some potential prophecy to save the damned. Or forgiveness from a man who was honorable enough that his forgiveness actually meant something. As it stands, Orochimaru can not offer any such thing. A brilliant liar as they are, they can not pretend death is something inevitable to them. They can not pretend they have the faith or belief that any hero or good may emerge from the carnage. They can not pardon evil. Not because they condemn it, but because they know they are no better than it. So what can they do?
Well, they are an aspiring necromancer, a fully fledged and illicit scientist. They can offer him physical solutions. Ones with just as evil roots. But until good conquered evil, the Sannin sees no reason why they should not fight fire with fire.Â
And there is only one other solution, they can possibly offer in their human efforts to aid Dan, âif neither of those appeal to you, I can offer you the same distractions you so generously gave me hm? A question for a question, or a favor for a favor. Sometimes it is the most simple cures that save us. The spoken word, the brush of skin, there is no shame in clinging to the scraps that make us human.â
// @vipcridaeâ
It seems that whenever Dan gives Orochimaru even a hint of the information they desire, their unfettered curiosity always surges forward to make itself known, unfurling quickly, eager to chase the merest wisp of new data. Even in their current state. Even with the aureate gleam of their eyes otherwise darkened by pain and their body bracing against the small tremor residing just beneath cream-pale skin. Their interest is piqued further, and knowing them as he now does, Dan also knows this will not abate any time soon.
More importantly, Dan knows his revelations wonât frighten them, though he supposes that frightening the serpent would be a feat of epic proportions to begin with. Startle might be a better word, but even in that case his truths are unlikely to faze them; not any more than their own secrets may alarm him on those nights when Orochimaru finds their way here in need of something they may not be able to name openly, but something Dan is still often able to draw out.
Truly, there is little that he might say right now that would meet anything but rapt fascination. Of all people, Orochimaru would also be the last to report him to leadership as needing the sort of remedial processing heâs heard rumored by his seniors - the kind of âtrainingâ ordered for those suspected nearly unfit for service.
Orochimaru would never do such a thing; itâs not even a concern. Though Dan supposes that he is still shielding a bit, shutting away the parts of him that prevented any rest this night.
âThe echoes do belong to my targets,â Dan says carefully, still measuring his words as they are spoken. âI know this much to be true, but whether or not some sort of spiritual residue remains present and holding on to my psyche, Iâm not sure. Itâs hard to tell right now.â
Dan releases another round of gentle pressure against the wound slowly, dawdling a bit before they begin the ordeal of suturing.Â
Of harming in order to heal.
âItâs possible that they are merely a memory I must release, but thats... difficult because I⌠well. You already know the basic mechanics of my jutsu, how in order to fully break a soul away from the body, I have to remain present until it departs so that the loss of chakra causes a sort of necrosis...â His voice seems to echo against the walls, the room too quiet but for the sound of breath, the faint static in the ether where their auras meet.
Their offer of assistance with laying his ghosts, so to speak, piques his interest however, harkening to the part of Dan that has always wondered if there might be more to reika than even his ancestors knew. More that was sealed away with the old mentions of forbidden techniques created by the lost son of the first clan head.
Itâs a path that his uncle Satoshi said was best left lost to time, which always struck Dan as peculiar. The talespinners existed to ensure that Kato histories lived on; why would they bury such truths?
Perhaps for the same reasons that Konohaâs own brand of kinjutsu now gets locked away like a shameful secret.
Dan has relayed fragments of this story to Orochimaru before, fitting the pieces together casually during the countless nights the pair of them have spent poring over texts, debating fact from fiction on his couch, fueled by fine tea and infectious enthusiasm.
He takes a slight breath, looking for the right words to finish answering their questions.
âYou can probably imagine what that means. In the mindscape, Iâm fused with what remains until itâs gone. I do know how to lock certain things away, but they come back when I sleep⌠and at times I simply feel like Iâm a stranger in my own body. Like Iâve come back wrong.â Dan tries to smile, but he fears itâs a futile effort.
âIâm not the first though - others before have also had a hard time detaching from what they shared with their victims⌠what they held as their own experience instead. However, I am very curious about what youâve learned; you and that vast treasure trove of data stored right behind your eyes.â
The momentarily teasing air fades as Dan holds Orochimaruâs gaze, allowing the barest hint of his emotions to emerge as he is pulled ever closer to full honesty. He trusts them, for all that theyâve teased and jibed themselves at the idea that anyone might be foolish enough to do so. It changes nothing - he trusts Orochimaru, and he does not do so blindly.
After all, Dan is a collector of knowledge in his own right, knowledge others would like to see forgotten, sworn to preserve and retain memory, traditions. It requires observation, empathy, and a certain understanding of both the dark and the light.
âThere are methods we once used--to settle the unhallowed dead. Songs with a form of accompanying fuuinjutsu, as music in and of itself is deeply mathematical, and so are seals. In the early days, that is what the talespinners learned along with the superficial task of guarding lore. When Iâm traveling in the veil between flesh and spirit - whatever you might call it - there are sometimes things that can see me as I see them. Things that may try to chase and cling, but there are also methods to dissuade them. I wonder if your techniques run similarly, or if the two might be combined⌠but this might be work for another day, once youâve healed a bit more.â
As the seconds tick by, itâs still plain to see that Orochimaruâs pain is becoming much harder for them to conceal. They may be uncannily adept at subtle diversions, even more keenly talented at misdirection, but this close, with the heat of their blood still staining Dan's bare hands, it is impossible to ignore the building flashes of pure, unobscured humanity that cut through their usual composure.Â
Sheer discomfort glimmers in otherworldly eyes, the bright gold seemingly hardened to frozen amber. Their serpentine pupils are blown wider, as if wary, though Dan knows Orochimaru is not at all wary of him. Perhaps itâs the spectre of mortality looming, but in a way that they donât entirely notice. Regardless, the line of Orochimaruâs spine is fraught with tension, likely the effort of holding onto their grace, ever present even now. Dan can feel the way they fight to keep their abdominal muscles relaxed beneath his hand - even despite the baring of their body to the open air of the room.Â
Delicate, bloodstained, and far too pale for one who is already pale naturally. Itâs hard to gauge the point at which that paleness heralds more danger. Their simple attempt at a smile draws out another ripple of tension and the proof of greater pain manifests fully in the grip of their fine-boned fingers around Dan's hand.Â
From experience, Dan knows that it has to be sheer willpower that keeps them from giving in to the fullest expression of pain. Pain edging upon agony, leaving them in need of an anchor once more - even as they try to offer what is within their power to act as such for Dan instead.
For all that he knows the serpent desires transcendence, right now, more than ever, they are still human, still fragile. They may be far less fragile than others, perhaps, with hidden steel in their spine and their bones - a resilience of spirit that always shines through the brilliance of their golden eyes.Â
Danâs thoughts still flit to the horror of what might have happened without that iron will in control. Of that bright gaze dimmed, of the injury that if placed only a centimeter or two deeper or further to one side might have meant a mortal blow. Orochimaruâs lifeblood, already so plain to see as they'd hunched in his doorway earlier, might have flowed and flowed beneath his hands instead, leaving Dan bereft of the skill or speed or the outright talent to save them.
The thought sends a new wave of goosebumps down his limbs, a chill he barely manages to control. It prickles like shards of frozen glass tunneling through his innards.
They both dance with death every day, never promised tomorrow. Never promised another midnight visit in excited discovery or maudlin disarray of thought. Never promised the sight of one another again.Â
The possibility makes his chest ache even more.
âAt least we agree on the course of treatment from here.â Dan still offers Orochimaru another slight smile, though he fears the attempt may not fully reach his eyes in the way heâd prefer. âAgreement seems to be happening more often of late. But if we need to hold here for another few moments, grip my hand or my arm and just breathe⌠if you can, maybe sip a little bit more of that water? As soon as this is done, I promise tea and clean, warm clothes.â
Itâs nowhere near a good enough temptation, but he has to try.Â
âI also still have a bit of painkiller on hand from that Kusa mission I took a few months ago. Iâm not too sure how much it will help now -- narcotics only really aid in the aftermath, at least for me. But I think youâre stronger than I am.â Dan's smile turns true as he draws the towel a bit more securely around Orochimaruâs shoulders, pausing to ease heavy locks of ink-black hair away from their face, to help dry the cold sweat that dampens their silky hair at the temples.
âConversely, I also have a very strong whiskey in the kitchen. Good for dulling wits.â His own for the last couple of nights, but he leaves that part unsaid. âYour prescriptions might be more effective but not immediately at hand, sadly.â
He pauses to measure their response. The serpent still poses a bit of an enigma to Dan at times, but heâs grown rather well practiced at reading them. It makes sense given the sheer amount of time theyâve been spending together, the way their presence grows ever more familiar in the atmosphere of his home. An association that has evolved into something far more complex than simple camaraderie, such that Dan canât quite pin down when the subtle ease between them became what it is now, a bond forged from some form of complementary understanding and aligned fascinations.
There are clear and contrasting differences between them, of course. Itâs not quite a magnetic polarization, or a union of opposites - Jiraiya owns that space far too well. No, this is like trick puzzle pieces slotting in place after one discovers their parallel affinity and breaks the illusion, solving a magic riddle.Â
A case of like calling to like in ways that may not ever truly intersect, instead running so close that each might lend the other their strength under duress, with the promise of neither ever truly being alone.Â
Dan imagines that this affinity might seem unexpected to others who remain on the outside looking in, but likewise there are few who can attest to knowing Dan beyond easy, shallow camaraderie. The face he shows his peers is uncomplicated, honorable. No one wants to find darkness or dangerous curiosity in such a person; they see only what they want to, too easily forgetting his origins, his specialties.Â
Orochimaru is no ordinary comrade to be otherwise deluded by the simple existence of good and evil, light or dark, nor the cause which drives the shinobi of their village. They were both reared and honed to act out the path set by the Will of Fire⌠and fire always casts shadows.
Danâs very nature resides in those shadows, in the spaces between, and he reveres those spaces by virtue of his birthright and personal beliefs. A deva-touched Kato is a being that is neither flesh nor spirit and yet still both all at once; toeing the border of one realm while scraping to maintain a firm grip on the one he knows best.Â
He knows that the serpent is also well acquainted with those places betwixt and between, and how could they not be? What with the way they intentionally tread boundaries of another sort, boundaries that must sometimes be crossed in the name of progress; and they hold the force of will to make the leap. They chase temptation in search of knowledge, shouldering consequence if and when it might arise.Â
In these ways Dan wonders if the serpent, by their own nature, might close the circuit of what he himself lacks, bringing a perspective that represents a path forward, for good or for ill - tipped towards one or the other dependent on the end goal desired.
And then comes an offer that Dan doesnât expect, a call to his hapless attempts to cling to humanity, and the statement cuts deep. Heâs certainly tried to drown himself in thoughtless oblivion alone or with others who knew not to ask questions because he could not expect them to understand. With Orochimaru offering to be a source of comfort, a bellwether along the twisting path back to himself, it brings back that clenching ache in his chest.Â
Because in this Dan also knows Orochimaru sees beneath his carefully laid veneer, and wants to know, no matter how ugly the details might become.
âWell, for starters I thinkâŚâ Dan reaches for the unused suture kit and a bottle of antiseptic, placing both at the ready. âThat I would like to know what you are really thinking about right now - Iâve learned to recognize that look, you see.â
âI am, however, about to deal considerable pain in order to help heal you - so I also think simple comforts might benefit us both. Will you agree to stay here tonight? If not to sleep, to rest for a while with me once this is settled?âÂ
âThisâ being the injury of course. Itâs not as if Orochimaru might hope to take more than two steps across the room right now without assistance, let alone leave anytime soon. Itâs not really a favor to Dan, when Dan is the one seeing to their health and safety, but getting their agreement now is better than actually seeing them attempt to leave and hurt themselves further in the process.
He wants them to stay all the same. Here and safe. Here and bearing testament to the truth that he is real and needed for himself.
âI⌠need to not be alone. Besides, favors are probably better settled when not under such strain, yes?â
Hey friends... So life kinda smacked me in the face repeatedly for the last couple of months, and otherwise left me without spoons for a lot of the things I enjoy. However, things have calmed a bit at long last -- SO...
I know I owe some ancient replies, and unless any of yâall tell me you wish otherwise, I am generally cool with picking things up where they might have been left off, with my sincerest apologies for the absence.
I am 100% interested in tossing around ideas at any time, and am even down for taking things to discord - where I am pretty much guaranteed to respond even if I appear offline.
Going to potentially update a few things as well... trying not to get too ambitious >.>
                     Orochimaru Rp blog Inspired by Violet / 18+
                      Follow / Like so I can give your blog a look âĄ
Rules. About.Â
my first impression of your muse: kind of an ass with a massive god complex, but well, it's Madara so 1000% expected and wholly accurate XP.
my first impression of you: I was a wee bit intimidated, but got over that relatively fast after interactions.
my favorite thing about your muse: His versatility in different AUs or pairs; depth and detail to characterization.
my favorite thing about you: you're incredibly creative, attentive to detail, and great fun to bounce ideas around with.
would I ever consider shipping our muses: In the right AU, and with good supportive context, yes - but I'm generally pretty liberal with shipping opportunities if there is plot interaction to support it.
a plot Iâd like to see between our muses: Hmm let's see... off the cuff here, something perhaps prior to the Second war. Dan goes on a personal hunt for relics using Reika to travel free from his body and discovers a certain assumed-dead founder being kept alive through interesting means?
an AU I think would be interesting for our muses: Warring States Era/same age chance meeting, thanks to a certain Kato caravan on the move through assumed neutral territory.
SEND ME A âĄď¸AND IâLL FILL OUT FOR YOU/YOUR MUSE
send me a âĄď¸and I'll fill out for you/your muse:
my first impression of your muse:
my first impression of you:
my favorite thing about your muse:
my favorite thing about you:
would I ever consider shipping our muses:
a plot Iâd like to see between our muses:
an AU I think would be interesting for our muses:
No matter how composed Dan stays, ever masterful in showing only what he wants to be seen, Orochimaru can map out the subtle signs of his panic. Urgency more so. This is not the same urgency as they have seen him display when on duty, nor the same urgency they see surrounding medics and nurses aiding shinobi in life or death situations. For it is not linked to duty, responsibility, or a fear of practice failure. No, there is something more personal to Danâs desire to keep them alive. Ah, more than that still, to keep them comfortable, to ensure no further pain is caused and that the relief of pain is instant.
Almost as if he owes them this level of more detailed and considerate care. It is not entirely foreign to the serpent. Tsunade and Jiraiya have behaved this way with them before, and for a few short years, their mother and father had behaved like this too. Still, those handful of experiences do not amount to enough to make Orochimaru completely familiar with the situation, and so, there is still a degree of curious amusement to find Dan acting this way.
Certainly he is more worried than they are. Perhaps because they are arrogant. Or perhaps because they have now lost so much blood, the topic of mortality is beyond their scope of recognition, as they are left in a plain of drunkenness not conjured by sweet sake, but from pushing their body well beyond its limits when they are at a critical level of blood loss.
Again, while the scientist and well-versed medic within them tries to regain some sense of control, and urge themself to be wiser with their decisions and movements, the stronger sense of being numb to danger and of letting themself slip from reality just enough to ease discomforts, seems to be winning overall. They do not concentrate on bigger picture affairs, less focused on where he is taking them when he picks them up, and more attentive to the very present occurrence of being in his arms. Absentmindedly picking a part the sensation of his hair brushing against the skin of their hands, or the scent of his home still carried on his clothes, a comfort when it is as familiar a scent as when he wrapped his arms around them to shelter them from cold in a tent. Once in the bedroom, they watch with a dazed sense of curiosity as he unravels their clothing to get to the heart of their injury. First their cloak, then their flak jacket, then their polo neck shirt, finally the fishnet underneath, until only the sarashi remains. Covered in blood on every layer, and they certainly wore quite a few layers, never a fan of the cold. Â
âIronic that I may be ambushed by men I planned to ambush in the same fashion hm?â they state, forever making light of the situation in favor of not feeling more pathetic than they must look, shaken and paler than usual in the face of critical injury, wincing when each layer peels itself from their body, âand given my life long search for irony, you can imagine how pleased I am with the situation.â
They are soon seated, Dan making good on his word when he said he did not want them standing for longer than they had to. They can barely register time lapses at all, the moment Dan left to get the towels and returned to lay them out a certain blur of events. However they are much more comfortable sitting, although the actual movement of being lowered in to a seated position is less favorable. When presented with the water, and they spot the look of brief contemplation on Danâs face, they have to laugh, even if their laughter is hitched and full of pauses when they find the effort unpleasant on their injuries.
âYouâre a dear thing arenât you?â they tease, their hand missing the water bottle at first, but finding their way down to it by grazing their fingers down his wrist until slender digits can wrap around the plastic instead. There is no mockery to their words however, even if their smile always looks a little less friendly with such sharp fangs flashed. Merely, they could not help finding his thought process, which they gathered from his gaze and pauses, a little endearing to say the least. Knowing they were not fond of foods or drinks other than their specific tolerables, offering them incentive off the get go to ensure they did what was necessary. A worry not just that they are injured, but dwindling in to the even less pressing concerns of their dietary preferences. It shows a deeper understanding, a deeper care, a deeper sense of knowing every subtle detail about them â how can they, even with someone as steeled as them â not find the notion a little touching?
They take a sip of the water as he fusses with their arm, securing it enough so that he can place more time on the more pressing injury. They focus somewhat on nursing the drink he has brought them. It may seem as if they are doing it for the sake of practicality, since they are ever the practical minded sort. But truth be told, Orochimaru was on their best day, a horrid patient. They became ratty when they felt cornered by their own vulnerability. They become hostile, dangerous even, and more than anything, their stubbornness put even someone like Tsunade to shame. They can only regulate their behaviours when in company that did not provoke their defensive side, when they felt safe to be vulnerable. Dan ticked all those boxes, and so the drink is accepted, where they might fight off a medic that dared push something unpalatable on to them when they were already so under the weather. Â
âI could use the distraction,â they say, as swallowing becomes yet another movement their abdomen now protests, but his promise has already captured their interest more than their predicament, though they do sometimes feel themself dizzying, quickly balancing themself when they feel unsteady by placing a hand on to Danâs shoulder to regather their stability, âall right,â they say, already capitalizing on his offer, and although in their sane mind they may have banked their one free answer without restraint until they had the perfect question, never taking the honest words of a shinobi as aloof and closed as Dan lightly, they are just out of it enough to leap at their first curiosity, âfirst question, what really kept you awake tonight? For while I am having a marvelous time ruining your evening, those pretty eyes of yours foretold of worry long before my arrival.â
// @vipcridae
âWhat is it they say about the best laid plans? They often go awry⌠Iâm fairly certain that if youâd had a fraction more of the advantage in the situation, there would have been even less left of them to account for a thing.â he says in full confidence, though his eyes dip to the side in consideration. âOne might wonder if your attackers somehow knew you were coming...â
A dear thing â to be called such by Orochimaru lends itself to either a measure of teasing or the truth of their thoughts, and in this case perhaps itâs both. They certainly do enjoy teasing him when they can. Dan is fairly certain that at times they take a bit of joy in seeing him flustered, but he likewise enjoys seeing them smile their sharp-edged grin, showing their ease with him. Toying with the boundaries of his comfort. A bit of ribbing, he can take in spades, no matter the perceived viciousness of their smile.
This time itâs different. There is hidden pain at the edges of that look, a slight stupor beginning to soften the sharp focus of their golden eyes.
Their dexterity is impaired, that much he can certainly deduce from their continued contact with him, the way their slender, chill fingers coast the line of his hand, using it as a guide towards even the water bottle. Dan holds steady, willing to be an anchor, willing to do much of anything if it means a better outcome for the current predicament. The wound in their belly could be poisoning their blood even now, and if that is the case, Dan may need to chance risking their displeasure and spiriting them to more able care.
Heâll cross that bridge if and when it is approached.
For now, he blames their slowed reactions on blood loss, but itâs nonetheless a relief when Orochimaru takes the water.
Dan picks up bandage scissors from the first aid kit to attend to the bloodied and partially shredded fabric still wound around their chest and middle. He tries to unwind the fabric at first, but pauses to read their expression for assent, and resorts to cutting a line through the layers of the sarashi that cover the wound, gently peeling them away. He unfolds a soft towel from the stack set beside them and drapes it around their back and slim shoulders.
âFor a little more warmth until we can get you properly cleaned up. Iâll soak your other clothes in some cleaning solution once weâre done with this â I think the sarashi was already irreparable, but I have new clean wraps you can use when youâre readyâŚâ
As he examines the wound, there is far more blood than heâd hoped, but itâs slowed considerably, welling gradually, rather than coursing from the wound in a volatile flow. The slash marring their abdomen was thankfully not made by a blade with a serrated edge, itâs clean, and there isnât anything protruding in a way that hints toward a deeper perforation of their abdominal muscles. Dan exhales in relief.
This, he can handle. It may not be fun for either of them, but he can handle it.
But first he has to make good on his word and answer Orochimaruâs question. He lifts his gaze to meet their expectant one, finding a touch of clarity in those golden depths.Â
Another good sign.
âItâs simpler than I wish it were. I didnât try go to bed tonight because I knew I wouldnât sleep. Itâs been the case since I got home from Tea Country.â Dan lets the matter run unspoken for a few beats as he opens a field suture kit and more gauze pads, pressing down upon the makeshift dressing with a gentle but firm hand, applying even pressure against their abdomen to see if the bleeding might slow further. âNot classified information, but it was a âraze-the-groundâ operation. Full line. Direct orders to employ Reika as needed. Iâm still... experiencing flashes of their last moments â my time in their mental landscapes. It happens sometimes. Nightmares too.â
Raze the ground. End a family tree from root to leaf and salt the earth behind them by including any retainers. The children were what made it especially difficult, as did his use of Reika on non-shinobi. The Kato clan jutsu could wreak havoc on a melee of trained shinobi, thus simple household guards were felled one by one in quick succession. It was battlefield-level carnage in a cozy family compound, and even now, despite his best efforts, the images and emotions ran rampant in Danâs head.
His first day home was spent seeking distraction in the only ways he knew how, in strong drink with his squad and furtive moments of hasty intimacy with another contact just to feel something again. Sleeping too long when not wracked by nightmares. The second day, finishing reports and settling back into being home, which was when the nightmares became harder to shake. The only partial remedy has been avoiding solitude, anchoring himself to the warmth and humanity of those he trusts and reminding himself that he too is still the same... but there is only so far his casual associations can provide such a thing. Danâs pride wonât allow him to infringe on his childhood friends any more than he has to, though theyâve insisted before.
But they cannot insist if they do not know. He is careful with what he tells them on these occasions.
Conversely, Danâs never had to hold back from sharing dark revelations or seemingly foolish sentiments with Orochimaru. The same is true now.
âIn another few days, the flashes will get less sharp and Iâll be able to shut the residual feelings away. Â Itâs why leadership mandates time off after, but they forget that leaving us to our own devices can be a little dicey.â Dan lifts the gauze away to check again and what he finds is satisfying enough. âOkay, the bleeding has slowed down a lot, and itâs not quite as deep as it looked before, so we might be able to get away with stitches.â
He looks up to assess their gaze, for denial or approval of the potential course of treatment here. Itâs impossible to have reached their ages as shinobi, without having withstood the rigors of first aid given by a comrade and not a medic. Dan carries his own scars from such instances, most of their peers do, though Orochimaruâs skin â what Dan has seen of it anyway â appears nearly unmarred other than from the current injuries.
âI am better at this kind of care than most, but there may still be a scar. Are you sure you want me to do it?â
Had Orochimaru arrived on the doorstep of anyone else, the response certainly would have been different. Be it an accusing look, or an accusing question, a demand to know what trouble the serpent had conjured was likely to be the greeting, concern to follow only after there was some evidence provided that the Sannin actually deserved help. They couldnât hold it against people of course, they werenât exactly the charitable sort themself. The serpent had long since thought the universal rule was one ought to equate their worth with their usefulness. It was the way shinobi were treated from young. They expected to be no exception to the rule.Â
But Dan is not like all the others, no, there is depth yet to the KatĹ. There are too many facets held within the ocean eyed man to hold him on the same level as everyone else. Even now, as they disturb his night, they see such unreadable afflictions in his gaze. Something disturbs the ponds of his eyes, but they can not discern what.Â
They can only settle on the analysis that angels fight with devils within his mind. But is it really his chaos they see? Or is this the enigma of a manâs trap they so ignorantly wade in to? That his pale gaze may be little more than a mirror, and he reflects the serpents own madness back at them. They canât be sure with Dan.Â
And it is exactly that reason that they had pestered the KatĹ so relentlessly to begin with. First came the curiosity, the need to win this game of unraveling him. But they never did get that right, unlocking only the parts he wished to show, which if they had to guess, was a generous amount all things considered. All the while, they did manage to gain something more precious perhaps. The manâs fondness, a most delicate alliance at first that eventually followed a spiral of happenstances leading to a more bonded companionship. They donât know quite how to describe their relationship to Dan, only that he matters greatly to them, and that the fact that they matter to him means a great deal more to the serpent than they are perhaps comfortable admitting.Â
By the time he slips an arm around the small of their back, they have slipped theirs around his shoulders. Seeking the support rather instantly, perhaps almost expectantly. As if there hadnât been much doubt that he would step forwards to gather them closer, and offer them the relief of no longer needing to support their own body weight, or provide their own balance.Â
They were perhaps, a little less expectant to be scooped up more entirely, but no less grateful. The slender arm around his shoulder is only able to settle more comfortable around his neck, brushing through long strands of silver hair, the softness of such locks taking more of their focus than it should have. Their free hand lands on the actual wound itself along their abdomen, and they are once more reminded of how much they prefer Danâs company to others. Straight to the practical side of things, no lecture, no fuss, simple proactive and rational aid.Â
âCareful where you put me, Iâll get blood all over your furniture,â they advise, not so much worried for the mannerless act of staining his couch or fabrics, so much as knowing better than to leave a trail of their activities. Overly messy clean up could raise questions if anyone were to see it. They donât need that. All the same, they reveal their own nonchalant attitude toward their own injuries, severe as they are. Not yet immortal as they dream to be, they are just arrogant enough to think themself invincible at the worst of times. Talking proves less fun than usual however, as their words cause them to flinch at the tug on their own injury, their bodyâs attempt to remind them just how mortal they are.Â
âJust two lacerations,â they say, as if their attempt to label the deep punctures as âjust being twoâ mitigates the severity. They draw their arm away from his shoulders, to settle against him more trustingly. No longer holding on, so much as placing faith he would keep their svelte figure held safely in his arms all on his own. They had drawn their arm back to their body to begin the process of shedding their cloak from their shoulder, enough to reveal the second wound, just below their shoulder. Smaller than the one on their abdomen, but that was hardly a prize when the latter was so nasty a wound.Â
Only once set down would they be able to shrug off their cloak completely, filthied by gore, and then carefully remove their flak jacket, all with Danâs help, and even lead when they halt the task more often than not due to shooting pain. They havenât quite shuffled away from his form even when they are placed down, keeping him around for that extra support, the reassurance of a balanced and competent body not to be ignored in times of dire health. They will shed the top half of their clothing until all that is left are the bandages they bind around their torso and chest. Which would now need to be unraveled around their stomach, to reveal the worst of the damage, the wound itself already exposed though red and soaked tatters.
It is then that they take a moment to observe their companion, where they find themself unable to stop a fanged smile resting on their lips, even if it hurts a little to offer the single chuckle, âyou look like you were waiting up, as if you knew I would be coming,â they tease, half to simply tease their favourite KatĹ, half to present an opportunity for him to come clean if something had plagued him enough to be up at such a terribly late hour.Â
// @dokuhebiâ
As Dan swoops in to catch Orochimaruâs lithe weight, their positions feel as natural as anything, a curious sort of symmetry, even if the circumstances are far too close to dire on Danâs scale of measurement. In some ways itâs a comfort to feel the level of ease shift along Orochimaruâs frame with the way their fingers dally in his hair, but with that very ease, he also worries that shock is soon on its way.Â
âI think youâll understand why Iâm not exactly concerned with your bleeding on anything, Orochimaru,â Dan says gently, securing them more solidly in his grasp, ever mindful of their injuries. âBesides, weâre all pretty adept at removing bloodstains by now â itâs practically part of the daily routine â I even have a specific cleansing mixture I use for it.â
Itâs only a matter of swift steps to cross his apartment, but Dan takes care not to jostle or bump Orochimaru â the thought of causing them unnecessary pain makes his stomach twist in a peculiar way. Almost as much as the very moment when he registered the sight of the serpent bleeding at his doorstep.
âWeâre almost there⌠I know it must feel terrible.â
And he does, firsthand. His second-to-last S-rank mission left him two steps from evisceration, and with the scars to prove it. There is something indescribably torturous about the pain of an abdominal wound, with so much of oneâs movement connected to the muscles so often pierced or damaged in the acquisition of such an injury. Even without further organ damage, recovery alone is especially painful. Orochimaru is doing well at concealing most of what they feel, but therein lies the risk, especially with two stab wounds.
Once in the bedroom, Dan sets them down and helps them with their cloak and flak jacket. For a moment, it seems they are solid on their feet, but he doesnât feel comfortable leaving them to support their own weight for much longer. Their pallor, though alabaster-pale by nature, looks even more wan than could possibly be safe, and the way their mouth twists with movement and speech belies the more casual tone of their voice. Following their lead, he helps them disrobe as much as they deem necessary â out of their uniform shirt until only linen strips remain obscuring their chest and torso, stained red and sheared through where the main injury lies.
Treatment first, and then he can worry about offering them clean clothes; as luck would have it, Danâs own uniform blacks should fit them rather well, even if they run loose.
âA little bird told me youâd be here,â Dan says in response to their statement, deadpan, turning his gaze towards golden eyes still bright with no small amount of remaining humor. Despite the pain that Orochimaru must be wrestling against right now, their smile seems genuine and he offers his own in turn.
âIâm only kidding, really, though sometimes I do have the magpies keep watch for me. No, itâs more that I just didnât feel ready to sleep tonight.â
Itâs not a lie, not at all. Still, under the weight of that glimmering gaze, itâs a fair bit more difficult to dissemble â even harder to obscure the truth of his present state. Strange, that.
The torment in his head is so close to finding freedom in expression, and furthermore, heâs gained a confidante in his serpentine companion. The two hardly dance around dark truths now that safety seems to have been established between them â but Danâs issues sleeping must be set aside until he can at least confirm that Orochimaru is no longer in risk of bleeding out on his bed. Such a thought sends a wave of anxiety down his spine. He values Orochimaru, cares about them⌠and the thought of losing them is something he has to drive from his head as soon as it arrives.
âLean against the wall for me? Iâm just going to grab some more towels, but I would rather you werenât standing any longer than you have to.â
Dan returns quickly, fluffing a waterproof camp blanket and several clean towels over the foot of the bed to assuage any of their concerns about making a mess of his property. He guides Orochimaru to a seated position and offers them a bottle of water laced with electrolytes, something he keeps in his own mission kit. All the same, when it comes to food or drink, such offers are hit or miss with the serpent.
Practicality, however, is a language they both speak well.
âIâll make you some tea in a little while â perhaps that silver needle white you liked before â but for now would you please drink a bit of this for me? Itâs just water with electrolytes and some fruit extract to cover the taste. I donât exactly have a way to give you the kind of saline drip theyâd already have administered at the hospital, and youâve been bleeding.â
He bends to fetch the first-aid kit heâd set down, rifling through its contents to withdraw a stack of gauze pads and saline. Dan meets their eyes again and gives them another gentle smile to help cover his nerves and the slowly growing dread at just how injured they might be. He gestures to the bloodied bandages wound about the serpentâs torso while securing gauze to the bleeding puncture below their shoulder as a stopgap measure. Itâs clear that the abdominal wound needs the most immediate attention.
âLetâs work on getting you patched up, and maybe we can trade a few more stories, yes? You can ask me anything you like, and Iâll answer at least one question without restraint, howâs that?âÂ
Gods, how he wishes the bar was less full, or that they were at least in some corner facing away from everyone here, because the urge to take hold of that wrist and kiss Dan behind the barrier of his hand, right now, is all-consuming. As it stands, however, theyâd be busted, so all he can do is sit there stiffly and feel his heart skipping beats behind his ribcage, and allow the flutter of dizzying emotions to surge up and scramble his brain.
For a man that few would ever deny was full of warmth and compassion (aside, perhaps, for those with whom heâd only held shallow or practical conversation), Jiraiya had quite the bashful side when it came to showing the innermost fathoms of his heart. He was, after all, a man with a certain reputation, tooâthe kind known to flirt and schmooze sweetly while forming seemingly few deep attachments, who appeared to move right on to the next conquest with not a crack to be seen in his bravado when things went wrongâŚ
But when it comes to Dan, the norm seems constantly to be defied. And it isnât just the obvious chemistry that compels him to be bold in ways he would usually gloss over with humour and a devil-may-care attitude; in actuality, the fact this man is so drop-dead gorgeous he can hardly keep his hands off him is actually a distraction from recognising that something about him just feels⌠safe. Like he can be vulnerable without bracing himself inwardly for some imagined reprimand that might invalidate him. Being out together in public, just the two of them, without anyone else to distract them with banter, only highlights the fact. Not being able to push it down and act on physical impulses makes it starker yet, exacerbating what heâs rapidly recognising to be a big problem in the making.
But this doesnât stop him from stumbling through that rare apology, albeit with a lapse in the easy confidence heâs known for. Ground rules aside, itâs important to him that Dan doesnât take his teasing remarks as anything more than a friendly joke, because as much as he delights in winding people up, he also really, really wants Dan to know that it isnât coming from the same place of scorn as it would once have done. It would be so much easier if this wasnât the case, no doubt about it, but Jiraiya⌠actually wants Dan to consider him a friend. Which, given their situation, is scary.Â
And sure, this was possibly the most backwards way of coming to that conclusion. Sure, it was loaded with the knowledge of the dangerous road it could lead them down. But as Danâs hand shifts to move aside his hair and whisper for him and him only, Jiraiya isâincreased heart rate asideârelieved to hear that the sentiment appears to be mutual.
Youâre important to me.
Danâs voice tickles his ear, low and soft, and he can feel his cheek heating up against the pinky finger lightly ghosting over it. Jiraiya swallows thickly, not confident enough that he wouldnât dribble beer down his chin if he took a swig in a bid to be rid of the tightness in his throat, and just sits there blinking with his mouth hanging open for a spell.
With every instance they spent together, their affair seems to grow more complicated than both of them had agreed to allow. Itâs becoming ever more clear that whatever this is, itâs rapidly becoming too big for either partyâs grasp, but the pull of what feels like invisible hooks embedded deep within his chest is too irresistible for any man to bearâmuch less a man as enslaved by his urges as Jiraiya.
âBe careful,â he mutters, sultry yet slightly shaky, turning his head just enough for the corner of his lips to graze Danâs palm while keen eyes remain alert for any signs of unwanted attention, âyouâll have me swooning at this rate⌠even if you are shamelessly ripping off my moves.âÂ
Their closeness is risky enough as is, but not enough to prevent Jiraiyaâs hand from roaming further up Danâs leg, sliding downwards to squeeze the softer flesh at the top of his inseam with the outer side of his palm nestled in the warmth where thigh meets groin. Maybe if he can make the atmosphere sexual again, he wonât have to think about how his heart had melted at those wordsâwords that seemed almost to promise something that wasnât for him. Risk-taker he may be, but he canât just allow himself to bask in this little moment.Â
He leans away from the touch with a small scoffing sound, a performative display if the ruddy colour of his cheeks is any indication. Squashing down his giddiness, his mind races for something to latch onto, something to shift the toneâŚ
Ah, thatâs it!
âAnyway, was that you implying you intend on sticking with me âtil I leave, just before there?â He comments with apparent ease, and finally withdraws his hand from Danâs thigh to take that much needed mouthful of beer before smirking at him playfully⌠and thankfully with no dribbling to be seen. âIâd have thought you, with all your sensible⌠ness, would want me to have a good nightâs sleep before I go. Canât say I have the same concern, though. Itâs an easy enough mission, from the sounds of it. Wonât even take me near the frontlinesâŚâ
âŚWhich, of course, was code for: âKeep me up all night. I dare youâ.
// @peepingtoadâ
The subtle brush of Jiraiyaâs lips against his palm sets Danâs heart racing all over again, as if the sage had laid a kiss somewhere far more intimate than his hand. But then he realizes that in some ways, this is so much more intimate than anything theyâve already done together, and thatâs saying something.
âNo one is as careful as I am, and you know it. You also donât own the rights to any moves, especially not ones you like so much when theyâre turned back on you.â
The hand on his thigh slides much higher, enough to clench Danâs abdominals with another rush of heat and a fresh blush flashing across his face. Another inch and the edge of those fingers are indeed all but grazing a part of him far too eager for such contact. Jiraiyaâs contradicting movement and accompanying expressions are obviously just for show, to deflect everything heâs doing, everything else he might do.
Then the contact is taken away and Jiraiyaâs tone turns casual, flirtatious but oddly businesslike, tinged with the edge of teasing that Dan is all too familiar with.
âSensibleness⌠Really? If you want me to stay tonight, just say so, Jiraiya.â Dan leans one elbow on the table, body angled further, so that he might catch Jiraiyaâs eyes directly, gazing up at him through pale lashes. âIf you think it really wonât hinder your performance⌠tomorrow.â
Dan ignores the way his own stomach twists and turns with butterflies â the aftereffects of that risk-laden touch that seems ever-present when theyâre out in public.
Perhaps itâs also the aftereffects of knowing what he knows now â that they are both apparently paddling in the deep end with little hope of getting out, all ground rules be damned.
âBesides, once youâve got your mind set on something, itâs not like I can do much to dissuade you, right?â Not that Danâs done that much to protest anything after the first few times they hooked up.
Now look at them.
Still, there is something more profound simmering beneath the surface of Jiraiyaâs apparent cheer. Heâs dissembling and Dan knows it.
âCome on, chug the rest and letâs get out of here.â Dan places ryo on the table, and rises to stand on slightly shaky feet, but he tries not to let it show.
He pauses for a moment just past the barâs entrance, giving Jiraiya the choice, and the chance to follow him out onto the street before crossing through one of the quieter alleys to take the backstreets away from the main commercial thoroughfare.
In the refuge of shadows, Dan places his hands at Jiraiyaâs chest and backs him up against the warm bricks of a nearby building. Unable to resist, his lips skim the sageâs mouth, nibbling his lower lip with a feather-light touch that nearly backfires until he reminds himself of his objective.
As always, itâs far too easy to give himself over to the magnetism that charges their interactions. Without conscious and steady resolve on his part, add just the right nudge and theyâll combust together, itâs proven fact.
âJust kidding.â Dan grins, relishing the sharpness of Jiraiyaâs exhale against his skin before stepping away. âI mean, I didnât say exactly how I would be spending the night with you, did I?â
Dan still has little doubt as to where this night will end, but something within him seeks to challenge the general order of things. Perhaps itâs a flight of fancy, but with the sparkling atmosphere lingering over them, he knows he wants something more than sex tonight. The prospect of that âsomething moreâ should be alarming, but an idea still flashes in his mind, one that is every bit as different as the turn their night took when he made his clumsy confession.
Looking over one shoulder to lock eyes with the sage, he starts walking down the shadowed path, waiting to see what Jiraiya will do. âI have something special to show you.â
