silver vanrouge. when silver wakes up from a dream, you are the first thing he searches for.
Silver finds you in the aftermath.
Amidst the wreckage of it all, even in this world that possesses so much grandeur of magic, you are a vision that he has only ever seen in his most darling dreams; bloody and exhausted, the tips of your fingers stained black with blot─ the same colour as Malleus's hair, the same colour that the beloved Draconic Prince bleeds now as Divus fusses over him. But his brother is a Fae of the greatest breeding, a dragon's son born from acrid flame and green lightning; his skin would stitch itself back together, and he would be whole again.
Silver cannot yet say the same for himself.
He is exhausted. The sweet arms of Morpheus beckon to him, the home of his magic calling him back to that dreaded sleep. Or perhaps it is just the strain of it all, the force of his Unique Magic being stretched over so many dreams in so many hours. His boots scuff over the gravel and debris as he drags himself towards you, step by step.
"Silver?" Somewhere through the fog that clouds his eyes and the ringin in his ears, he registers the uncharacteristic softness of Sebek's voice. Silver lifts his foot to take another step, but finds the weight of his own muscle too much, and he stumbles. Sebek startles, and Silver feels him grasp his arm. "Silver! Don't─"
"I─I'm fine," Silver croaks, his voice hoarse. His eyes blur, but still you cut a figure at the center of it all, haloed by the light of the rising sun and the darkness of his brother's blood. His Sleeping Beauty, your head raising as you hear the commotion. There are more people clamouring to aid Silver, but there is only you in the reflection of his irises; your expression as your brows furrow, eyes widening as you stumble to your feet.
"Silver?" you call his name, oh-so-soft despite the distance that stands between the two of you. Silver is reminded again of that vision you in his dreams, welcoming him home in that soft voice and sweet smile. He takes another step, his body protesting.
You're a dream.
"What are you...?" Lilia croaks as he sees the beaten human passing, but his son only rests his palm over his shoulder, squeezing the small frame of his father. Silver stumbles forward as if he held the burden of a hundred heavy stones. A beat passes, and Lilia realises what he wants.
He does not stop him from reaching for it.
You had stood by now, your own exhaustion forgotten as you realise where Silver is headed. He must be a sight for sore eyes, battle-beaten and exhausted beyond all measure. And still, he has to get to you─
You're still there.
Silver recognises that you are nothing like the visage in his dreams. You had been sweeter then, softened around the edges and holding none of that bitterness you cradled to yourself in your time in Night Raven College. No overblots, no slacking headmasters─ just that little cottage and the garden in your backyard, your lover's boots tracking mud and soil over the carpet. And still he wanted─ he longed.
After that long, endless night, all he wanted was you again.
"Silver!" you gasp as you reach him, and Silver allows himself to hold you. His arms, bruised and weak as they are, wrap around your waist, holding onto you with the strength that he had lacked just earlier. "Oh, Great Seven, are you─"
"You're here," he exhales breathlessly, pressing his forehead to yours. His arms shift, the scratched surface of his palms pressing to your cheeks, and he hears your breath hitch.
( He had held you like this, once upon a dream. It is only now that Silver realised how much more tender it felt in reality. )
"…Silver?"
"You're here," he whispers again, almost as if he can say nothing else. A weak laugh bubbles at his throat. "I found you."
For that single moment suspended in time, you say nothing. But then Silver feels your arms wind around his torso, reciprocating his embrace.
"You found me," you murmur, squeezing him lightly. Silver wonders, as your nails dig into his back through the fabric and leather of his uniform, if you are subconsciously trying to assure yourself that he is not a dream.
"Did you have a bad dream?" you ask him.
It takes a moment for Silver to realise you are attempting something of a joke, perhaps to ease the tension and the horror of what had just transpired and ended moments before. Another laugh bubbles at his throat, one of disbelief and such tender fondness.
"No," Silver admits honestly, pulling away. His hands cup your cheeks still, ever so gentle. "No, I didn't."
You laugh then, equal parts fond and puzzled. Silver leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours; his nose nudges against yours, his breath warm and airy and real. You shudder, clutching onto him tighter.
"What's gotten into you?" you ask with another breathless laugh, even though you are now the one clutching to him like a lifeline.
Silver lets out a slow, shuddering breath, brushing the traces of blood that still bled from a cut at your cheekbone. This close, he can count the little marks upon your skin and pinpoint the exact colour of your irises. He imagine you again in his dreamscape, domestic and sweet and oh so lovely.
"You're a dream," he says softly.
You stare at him like a deer caught in the headlight, doe eyes unblinking. Someone, perhaps his father or Sebek, chokes on their spit somewhere close by. Silver does not notice. A moment passes, then another, and then your eyes crinkle into these lovely crescent moons, and you begin to laugh.
"Well, aren't you sappy today?" you muse, lips quirking up into that soft smile that Silver oh so longs to kiss. "What's the occasion?"
He is suddenly struck with a sense of deja vu, like he had heard your words before. His heart stutters, and suddenly, he finds himself speaking, the words not properly registering in his mind before they come tumbling out of his mouth.
"I'm no prince," Silver confesses. The sun had begun its ascent in the horizon, casting a new dawn upon this land of dreams come true, but all he can see was you in the daylight, the sunbeams illuminating your lovely expression of shock. He goes on before he can stop himself. "Perhaps I could have been, once. Not anymore. I am the brother of an heir, the son of a general─ but I have neither title nor fortune to offer you."
"Silver," you say softly, breathless. Your eyes are soft, almost pitying as he seems to put himself down.
"The man who loved the woman who bore me was no different. All we have is the iron of our blade and the promise of a knight's devotion. And yet─" Silver swallows. "And yet─ And yet, I long for more with you. More than the sworn oath from a knight to his monarch─"
Sebek makes a noise of protest, only to be cut off by the swift jab of Lilia's elbow against his ribs.
"─more than a promise of a friend to be by your side."
You laugh weakly, almost unsure as you glanced around. "Silver, are we doing this here─?"
"I dreamt I was back home again," Silver goes on, cutting you off─ not too unkindly, he hopes. He understands that it is most improper to cut someone off as they are speaking, but he needs to speak first, he needed you to know all the things he did not dare to confess to you before─ "Lili─ My father, he─ he has a lovely cottage in the forest, far in the outskirts of Briar Valley. There's a garden out in the back where we grow our fruit and vegetables, and the trees in the forest bear fruit sweeter than anything you've tastes and I─ I─"
He falters then at the look in your eyes, the soft and knowing curve of your lips as he stumbles over his words. Silver looks down at the scuffed toes of his boots, swallowing once more before he speaks again.
"I─ I love─ I love you," he breathed out shakily, almost pleading for you to acknowledge the truth. You had kissed and he had held you in his arms before, but such an admission... Silver feels as though he is teetering at the edge of a cliff. "I have nothing to offer you except an oath that I will hold these affections for you dearly till the end of time and that cottage where I learned how to love and hate and live all the same─"
"Silver─"
"But just a word from you, and I will be silent forever─"
"Silver!" you raise your voice to be heard over his rambling. It is so uncharacteristic, almost odd to see this boy that had only shown his affection to you through lovely and subtle gestures and whispers rather than the bold declaration of those three certain words, awoken from his cursed sleep as a rambling, flustered mess.
Silver raises his head, helpless as you laugh sweetly at him, and he loathes to think of a world where he had never woken up and heard the true melody with his own ears again. He wants to fulfill his oath, to give you all the love he possesses in this wretched body of his, and then some.
Your fingers come to card through the matted strands of his hair, moonshine under all the dust and dirt. When your hand comes to cup his face again, tilting his head to meet your gaze, your eyes are just as lovely as he remembers in his dream.
"I love you too."
And Silver's heart sings to have its song reciprocated once again, to be loved by you as he was once upon a dream. You laugh again at the expression on his face, that sweet melody that he wants to hear for the rest of his life. He has no ring to give you now, but Lilia hollers something at him, and Silver's mind is so dazed by the smile on your face that he does not realise it until you take his face in your palms and kiss him hard.
"Come home with me?" he whispers hoarsely when you pull away, and his mouth still seeks to touch your cheek, your nose, the space between your brows. Silver loathes to part from you again. Perhaps he never will.
"Yes," you giggle, lips meeting his once again. "A thousand times, yes."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Eclipse (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Reader, Daycare Attendant (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Reader
Characters: Eclipse (Five Nights at Freddy's), Original Human Character(s)
Summary:
[A scene drabble from my Witch AU.]
The Witch and Eclipse have grown much closer, and there are no more secrets. No more walls. Now there's just a comfortability--and curiosity for the other. For example:
He wasn’t. It felt more like a test. Every day was a test. Would things be okay? Quiet even. Almost normal as any kid should experience. Leaving his room in the morning and his father was actually awake, making breakfast even if it was hardly anything more than rice and whatever a neighbour was nice enough to part with. It still tasted old, almost sour somehow. Perhaps it was tainted and that’s how his old man afforded it in the first place.
Or would he wake up alone? The stale smell of alcohol and sweat hanging in the air. He knew to tiptoe. Which floorboards to avoid. To go hungry because if he made sound he’d have to deal with consequences. And if he failed it hurt more. What kind of ninja fails at sneaking out of a house? What was worse was the disappointment, but the accepting kind as if the expectation was well… expected, on Sensei’s face when he showed up late. He never explained why he was late.
Here he was thirty four years later. Same old house. Same rotting wood and stale smells. Same faded worn out furniture that was all lumps and springs poking through. Sitting beside the man that hardly intimidated anymore. Hell he stopped feeling intimidated once he learned how to deal with the crotchety old fuck. What was left of that hard exterior was hardly more than a brittle shell. Listening to the same kind of bullshit that he used to believe about himself.
“You grew up tough. Isn’t that whatchu needed to make it as a shinobi?” The same rough voice, deep like his but harsher from years of bad decisions.
“You don’t get to take credit for my success.” Even now he found it difficult to force his eyes off the wall to flick them in the direction of his father.
“Yeah? But I bet you was the only rookie that didn’t flinch. You take whatever edge you can in life. Even if it came from the bastard that was kind enough to keep you in his house.”
That was enough to flare his temper. He felt the rush to his head and jump in his heartbeat. He knew it was useless. Getting up and venting out sixteen years of… things… wouldn’t do anything now.
“I’m not some goddamn pet you let in. Don’t talk to me like I was one.” He shot back.
“Aye, all you did was shit, cry, and beg for attention. And you dun hated the attention I did give you. I shoulda swapped ya at the pound for a cat and I bechu the experience wouldn’ be much different.”
“At least I knew how to clean up after myself.” It surprised him when he found himself cracking a joke.
It was more surprising when his father laughed.
“I guess you got me there.”
The old man shifted in his seat. A silence falling in the house. Back then it meant Jiraiya had to stay quiet. Now it was more a quiet that was asking questions.
“So. Why’d you come back?”
Jiraiya remained in that quiet for a long time. He didn’t mean to build suspense but for a moment he was questioning his morality. He’s already violated some rules to get the tests run how he got them run. Then learning the results, and if left untreated it would be a slow agonizing decline to death. Maybe the old bastard deserved that kind of death. The kind where someone so friendless and despised would simply rot into this stinky old couch. He’d probably be a skeleton before anyone bothered to report a check.
“Would you be willing to come to the hospital?” Despite how satisfying the idea was Jiraiya just couldn’t do that.
His father continued to stare right ahead, expression turning stone and grim. “.. You got what I got, boy?”
The question surprised him. It almost sounded concerned.
“No… I’m fine.”
“You ain’t, really. I fucked you up pretty good didn’t I?”
“I’m not here for that. You want treatment or not, geezer?”
A long rattly sigh. It almost hurt to listen to. There was probably more wrong than what he asked them to screen for. But the sample he more or less forced out of that small shrivelled arm couldn’t run a whole panel.
“Fine. One last cigarette before you cart me off to that awful place?” The old man reached for the side table to grab the pack sitting there.
Same brand, same kind, Jiraiya noticed. It surprised him when one was offered out to him. He avoided this brand his whole life. The smell and taste reminded him too much of his father. He did all he could to avoid looking, smelling, and acting like the man that raised him. But no one was looking at him right now. In an odd way this is the first person he’s sat with in a long time that wasn’t evaluating him… or at least the version of him that he crafted. So he took the cigarette and lit it when the lighter was passed his way too.
They smoked in silence. Hopefully Tsunade was too busy to come to the hospital. She wouldn’t like smelling smoke on him. She never did. Hopefully she was too busy to even think about poking her head into civilian cases. He didn’t want her to meet his old man and he’d hate to break a fifty year long streak now.
He flicked the butt. Hygiene wasn’t really much of a concern in this house. A pile of butts were littered on the floor at all times. He remembers chewing on them and playing with them when he was a baby….
His father flicks them the exact same way. He watch the stub ark in a nearly identical trajectory to his and land nearby it. The smallest of habits it would seem…
The air was suffocating and not because of any heat, but because of the prickling on his skin the way breathing in felt like knives in his lungs.
It was blue, no, white. Bright and painful and terrifying. Ice running through his veins and through his skin and into his very being. He was frozen, no, he was moving, no, he had been but now he was still. Eyes fixated on the white on the air on nothing. He was seeing nothing, blank and empty like everything around him. He was alone again, no, he heard voices, faint and not all there.
He listened, he obeyed, he followed. He could see the white covering the forest, smell pine through the piercing in his chest, feel the bitter fangs of the weather surrounding him, taste the freeze on his tongue, and hear someone familiar calling his, no, their name. It was okay, he wasn’t alone. The soft feeling of falling back into place reassured him that he, no, they weren’t alone. They were safe.
── KISS ME ONCE AND KISS ME TWICE AND KISS ME ONCE AGAIN
silver vanrouge. silver dreams of you, always you. it only makes it far more painful to break from the chains of malleus' curse to seek the you that exists beyond his dreamscape.
Silver has always taken his time with you.
He has never been able to tell you why. Lilia says that it is just the way he is, ever since he was a boy; he plays by the rules, he goes by a routine that is, as much as possible, not too affected by his strange sleeping habits.
it is why he goes through the meticulous steps of courting you, offering you flowers and gifting you with thoughtful trinkets and even writing letters for your family while your worlds remain separate. It is why it had to be you to take the first step and kiss him one night during a star-gazing date because gods damn it all, you’re sick of waiting.
( Silver had laughed and laughed that night as you apologised for your callous actions; because you were so cute, because he was so in love, because it had all felt like a dream come true when he allowed himself to ignore tradition to cup your cheeks and pull you into another kiss. )
Silver discovers very early on that even when he takes his time, it's all still overwhelming. Like a dream come true, he used to tell Lilia in bouts of deliriousness when he was still caught between dream and reality and his mind was too muddled with sleep to care about embarrassing himself in front of the fae who had raised him.
Like a dream come true.
But what is his dream, exactly?
A cottage deep in the forest of briar valley, with ivy growing up the walls and over the red-tiled roof. Soft, packed dirt with growing flowers of all kinds, spring blossoms of pink, yellow, blue, red, protected by a low wall. There are no horrors with dripping ink and dragging claws, no glowing emerald eyes or scaled wings. Just grass and flowers and sky and nothing.
No. Not nothing. Because there's you.
"I just cleaned, so remember to take off your boots by the door!" Silver hears you call out from inside the cottage. His chest quakes as he lets out a ragged breath, his bag dropping as he rids himself of the extra weight.
The floor below his dirty boots is clean slate compared to the cluttered kitchen to his left and the living area to his right. Silver sees the same threadbare couch by the stone fireplace, cluttered with throw pillows and blankets and an unfinished knitting project. The couch is old. Used. Loved. There are some closed doors beyond the stairs, but Silver doesn't have to check to know what lies behind them. His old childhood bedroom where Lilia used to tuck him in. A bathroom that has been flooded one or more than a few times when he got too carried away with playtime. The small study where he used to have his lessons on reading and writing.
There's something about the sight of his childhood home that sets Silver off, as if he’s caught in crosswinds, but he fumbles his way inside anyway, toeing his shoes off out of ingrained politeness. His footfalls feel heavy and light all at once against the wooden floors as he walks — almost as if by habit — to the kitchen where he had heard your voice come from.
"There you are," you beam at him, putting a kettle of water on top of the same stove that Silver had watched his father cook his meals so many times. Your brows furrow when you notice the strange expression on his face; the emotions whirling in his aurora irises like a hurricane and the trembling of his bottom lip.
You frown, wiping your hands on a cloth rag. "Silver? what's wrong?"
Silver lets out a ragged breath, his hand shaking as it comes up to cradle your own as you cup his face in your palm. What is wrong? This is all he's ever wanted, isn't it? A life with you in the woods he had grown up in, free of worries and dangers and hurt and anger. He's built a home with no fear, no yelling, no uncertainties. Just like the life lilia always wanted to give him.
It's a dream come true.
"You're a dream," Silver whispers when he realises, his hands coming up to cradle your face in turn. He's shaking, he knows that even with his mind whirling, but he just can't help it— he has to touch you, make sure this isn't— this isn't a nightmare—
No. No, no, no. Malleus wouldn't do that. This is his dream. This is what his heart has always yearned for.
"My dream."
"Well, aren't you sappy today?" you muse, lips quirking up in that soft smile that Silver oh so adores to kiss. "What's the occasion?"
"I—" Silver opens his mouth, but no words come out. What can he say? What can he do, knowing that this is all he's ever wanted, but this is a dream. This is a dream and you're not real but gods, does silver want you to be.
A beat passes, and your smile turns sad.
"You know, don't you?"
Silver feels his heart ache. He wants to tell you no. No, please keep this veil over my eyes. Pretend i don’t know this isn’t real. Please. Please.
You reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with such tenderness that he feels like crying. “You’ve always been so smart, Silver.”
“I’m sorry,” he allows himself to say, because this is the least he owes you— this perfect imitation of you that his mind, Malleus’s magic, has managed to conjure, because in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve managed to ingrain yourself into every fibre of his being so that even under this spell, all Silver can dream about is you, you, you.
Silver doesn't want to wake up. He doesn't, he really doesn't. There's something in him that pulls at his heartstrings, tugging at every vein and nerve as if begging him to stay, please stay. There must be a reason why you're always falling asleep, why this had to happen. Just stay. This is a dream come true, why would you want to wake up?
“You’re still there,” Silver says in a voice so small, it feels like he’s a little boy again, crying and clinging onto Lilia like the fever that sticks to his skin and reminds him of his mortality.
“You’re still there, and I’m here.”
His childhood home is small, but within the cottage and with your hands cradling his face, the thick walls feels unnaturally closer, like something is breathing on the back of his neck. He’s reminded of you, somewhere in Night Raven College, trapped within your own dream. Do you dream of him, he wonders? Has he become your new dream, just as you have become his?
Will he ever see you again?
Silver can't bear the thought of you somehow waking up from your dream — a matter of when rather than if, because Silver knows that you've always had a knack for getting out of impossible situations like this — and realising that he had left you alone to stay in this eternal sleep, with this dream– this illusion of what could have been.
“I have to go,” Silver whispers, and his heart breaks because this might be a dream, but it’s still you. How can he tell you he’s going to leave? He can’t do that. He can’t break your heart like that, he can’t—
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry— I'm so, so sorry.”
He expects you to stop him. What do the stories say about dreams where you’re supposed to be kept unaware, blissfully oblivious to the fact that this utopia is not your reality? Silver expects this dream version of you to pull some sort of trick to lure him back into your trap—
But instead you just smile softly, reaching out to stroke his face, "How lucky I am to have someone like you love me."
Silver hears something crack, resonating in his soul. Is it the chains of Malleus’s magic breaking its hold on him, or the last pieces of his heart shattering at last? He doesn’t know.
Maybe it’s both.
But whatever it is, Silver knows he doesn’t have much time. His hands cup your cheeks, pulling you close to him with the desperation of a dying man.
He feels you gasp against his mouth, lips parting and allowing his tongue to slip inside. He maps the cavern of your mouth as if immortalising it in his mind, like he’ll never see you again after this— because that is very well a possibility, no matter how he tries to ignore it.
Silver kisses you like it’s his last day in this godforsaken world, because it might as well be, and great seven, he should have done this every time he kissed you. He should have kissed you first. He should have kissed you every moment he could instead of taking his time because now he can hear the sand running in the hourglass, and he’s blind to how much time he has left, and he just wants to see you in the flesh again, please, please, please—
The two of you part an eternity later, but it still feels much too soon. There’s so much love in him, and too little time, and Silver feels like drowning.
"Wait for me," Silver pleads. He'll make this dream come true, he swears. He’ll give you all the love he has in this wretched body of his, and then some. He’ll never sleep again even, if only to make this dream come true.
"I will," you whisper breathlessly—
—and with a bittersweet smile and a final, fleeting kiss to his lips, you let him go.
Ever since he was little Jiraiya had come to bathhouses. Not just to spy. When he got his share from a mission he’d go to the one in the village, pay the cheap fee, wash off then soak. Soak for hours. It had everything his house didn’t. Warmth. Light. Solitude. He’d go late at night to avoid the worst of some people. To be alone. Sometimes a fellow shinobi was there. Usually they sat in an understood silence. Sometimes they told him how cool they thought he was for being among the youngest most gifted shinobi the village has ever seen.
Civilians were different. If it was a father, he could always tell, they were kind. They told him not to sit in the water too long. That he’ll get pruny and stay that way. To sit out for a while because it’s bad for a body to be in water for hours. Sometimes he listened. Other times he didn’t. He stayed until rashes formed on his skin. But it was better than being at home. Sometimes he’d stop at the convenience store to eat something. Sometimes he wouldn’t go home at all.
The habit never really left. As he travelled Jiraiya would pay the cheap fee, shower, and sit in the water for hours. Staring at the ceiling or sky. His thoughts too full or too empty. He didn’t always go to stare at women or pick up a date. He’d go late at night when he needed to think. On the rare occasion a shinobi was there he’d get an understanding silence. Sometimes they’d tell him how much respect they have for him. Sometimes they attacked.
If it was a civilian they’d be friendly. He’d ask his usual questions, the ones that sound innocent enough but tell him all he needs to know on whether or not they’re worth talking to. If they had information to store away in his head. But he was usually alone.
He’s always alone.
It’d be easy, you know.
He sighs softly and moves his head slowly to stretch out his neck.
You built yourself up from nothing. Gained lordship from your years of service and dominance on the battlefield. You have everything you need.
Troubling thoughts. But correct ones. It would be easy. Laughably easy. To start a war. Gain the trust of some buyers by telling some of the lighter secrets he knows. Then insist they show up themselves to bid away his knowledge. Sell each one never as a package deal. Watch them decent into chaos. If things go well watch them destroy each other before they even leave the venue. The survivors taking the scraps and assembling their armies.
Jiraiya knew it all. Nations’ most popular formations. Their strategies. Their dirty secrets. The identity of people that operate in the shadows. He can bring it all toppling down with the loosening of his lips. He can rule this world if he wanted to.
So why don’t you? It’s not like anyone that relies on you appreciates you. That village is full of fools, nepotistic dumbfucks that haven’t achieved anything on their own, and elders that prefer you either died or marry off somewhere far away. Why not make them all see just how essential The Fool of Konoha really is?
Jiraiya stands up. Water dripping off his body. His skin slightly pink from the heat. It’s that voice in his head. The one that led him in the war. The one that calculates how to make people tell him things and how to survive. The one he didn’t listen to very often very more. It was cold and always calm. It taught him when to laugh. It taught him when to wink. It let led him to crafting what everyone thinks he is. A jolly old fool that laughs too loud and makes a spectacle at everything he does. The fool that everyone is comfortable talking to. Because information has always been the true power. He’s always been the one to whisper in the ears of his leader… and that’s a position no one really respects.
It’s not a good idea. Even if it would be easy. Not now. Jiraiya stepped out of the bath and towelled off.
Don’t let them walk all over you forever. You’ll die before they fully comprehend just what Jiraiya is capable of. You should at least rebel a little. If just to remind them of their place.
He changes, smiles and waves at the worker, and turns in for the night. It’s not a good idea to drink when his mask is so tempted to slip.
The white knuckle grip he had on the support bar of the shower… His clenched shut eyes. His body refusing to move. It kept screaming that this was dangerous. The sound made his skin crawl. The thought of getting wet made him nauseous. It shouldn’t. He’s been doing this his whole life. Since he was two he’s been bathing by himself. But his feet remained rooted at the edge of the shower. The special accommodation one the hospital has for broken ninja like him.
The water was turned off. A nurse glared at him with mild annoyance. He stepped away and sat down on a provided chair. It’s a hospital. There’s always chairs around. The robe he half had on he tried to clutch closed.
“He probably wants you to wash him down.”
“Ugh. I hate male shinobi. They always want you to touch them.”
“Especially Master Jiraiya. Some nurses have told me he’s a horrible patient for that.”
Maybe they expected him to be eavesdropping. Maybe they just didn’t care. The thing is he did like being flirty with the nurses. He thought it made their day when one of their patients felt good enough to joke around. But he hadn’t this time. He could barely breathe. He can barely stumble out a word due to the damage to his throat. His body had to get stitched together from the inside out. His organs threatened to fail. He lost a fucking arm trying to take down the leader of an organization looking to kill someone he saw as his son. He choked on his blood for days and couldn’t tell anyone. He bore down and endured agonizing pain when they forgot his medicine at night sometimes.
And they were mocking him. They don’t feel his fear. His crippling irrational fear gained from his last brutal battle.
“Well we can’t have him stinking up the place. His wounds will get infected and Lady Tsunade will have our heads.”
Eventually they grabbed a large bowl with hot water and a rag. He just sat there. He didn’t fight. He didn’t look. He just stared at the floor as they removed his robe and wiped down his skin. Even then the sound of the trickling water as the rag was rinsed and rung made his skin crawl. The horrible feeling of drowning in that lake again always resurfacing. Water cold and gripping his body. Pulling him down. Lungs full. No strength to even twitch his fingers. The determination of a toad swallowing him whole and recalling to the mountain…
It probably would have been better if he died there. He seems to be so much trouble for the living. Tsunade has yet to see him. Naruto is off training for the impending battle. Kakashi is busy formulating strategies. It left Jiraiya… rather alone. Perhaps he meant very little to them after all.
Eventually he was helped back to his room. Another thing he was starting to hate. The nurses and doctors that didn’t hate him for things he had no strength to do often just… stared. Watched him shuffle by. A legendary ninja broken down into nothing. Pity in their eyes. Some even shook their heads. The new interns were more wide eyed. He was the first incredibly critical case they’ve had in a few years. He was like a cockroach, wasn’t he? No matter how hard he’s stepped on he doesn’t quite seem to die.
For a while he stared out the window. He didn’t get visitors. He could watch the village move along from his frozen room all he damn well pleased. He watched until night fall. Until the streets began to grow quieter with every passing hour to an empty dark street.
His hand reached out in the otherwise still room… and he unlatched the window. Older rooms still had this feature. The newer ones allowed for only a five inch gap to be slid open due to some more squirrelly shinobi escaping. Jiraiya wasn’t seen as a flight risk. He could barely move. He only had one goddamn arm and major organ damage how far could he get? He slid open the window to its full extent. He could easily slip through it. It might be good to get out. To run away from the stares, pity and distain his kin feel for him for a little while.
The air was chilly. Honestly.. he was surprised at how spry he still was. His body falling into the motions pretty easily. Kicking off the roof and landing on the cold ground. He didn’t bother with shoes. It felt kinda refreshing. From there he simply walked. The few night owls still walking home didn’t seem to care he was out either.
He found himself wandering over to the river. A nice spot that people often come to for swimming. He perched by the edge. His nerves already on end. His hair prickled up as if waiting for it to attack. He watched the water flow. The current wasn’t so bad. A toddler probably wouldn’t even be swept up in it.
He stuck his toe in. Then slid his foot under the azure depths. Cold water was far worse. When they washed his wounds for the first time it was cold. He thought his heart was going to explode. It shouldn’t be scary. It’s just water. It was the thing that stole his air. He fought the sinking feeling but it was useless. The murky forms of his students turning to a blue grey blankness…
Ah… Fuck.
He felt so useless now. A man beaten down by everything. Was this his personal hell? Never quite dying. Watching all he loves crumble. His students die. His love life empty. He doesn’t even have friends. He just gets to watch it decay around him. And his one last comfort, the water, was taken from him too. Hot baths felt suffocating. Showers tortured him with the sound of rain. He can’t even take another step into this calm lazy river without thinking about his lungs filling with its icy liquid.
It really makes him wonder why he even bothered fighting for his life. It really was empty. Fate was a bitch. Lady Fortune a cruel woman. Whatever path was foretold he needed to walk wasn’t the right one. Everything he did… he thought it was the right thing to do. All for nothing.
He heard his father’s angry voice from right outside the house. Curiosity overtook. Jiraiya set the book he was reading down and walked over to his window. His was the only one that opened. So he carefully pried it up just a smidge, god forbid his father finds out this crusty old hinge actually works.
Muffled voices became much more clear. His father, easily recognized. And a woman. He could see a fraction through the crack. The glass is unusable it’s covered with slats and dirty.
She has dark hair cut bluntly to her shoulders. Pale skin that doesn’t seem quite natural. And.. a pretty face. Almost innocent. Tears began to stream down her face as she begged.
“Please.. I just wanted you to know! You- You should know-!”
“Get off of my property, whore! I don’t have money. I don’t have anything to give you! You sleep around how do I know that’s mine?” His father was in fine form, shoving the young woman back until she stumbled and fell on her ass.
“I-I… I’m not.. I was desperate! I’ve only been with you.” She was stammering through tears. “Please.. I can’t afford a child on my own. Please help me..”
Her voice began to drift off and grow quiet. Defeat already slumping her over as she realized just what kind of man she got involved with. He continued to cuss her out and vow to never give her or her bastard a cent. Some neighbours were poking their heads out now. It was a messy horrible scene.
She left sobbing, running away from the humiliating scene his father had just subjected her to. And the old bastard just went back inside like nothing happened.
Curiosity ate at Jiraiya until he got his opportunity. He saw her in the market a few days later. She still looked crestfallen. He followed her. At first she seemed hesitant when they met. But she has the common sense to separate the sins of the father from his son. He was happy to talk to her. In fact he felt something he never had before. He was excited.
He was going to be a big brother. Even if his father didn’t recognize it, he did. And that’s something he had over that bitter asshole. Her name is Miyumi. And she has a strong feeling it’s going to be a boy.
