the water runs red

For the color of his sins will never change. [Jiraiya/Sakumo]

Possible trigger warnings.

.

"Gods, you need to stop doing this, Sakumo."

"Doing what?" Sakumo's tone doesn't lie.

Jiraiya gives him a flat look. "Hurting yourself."

Sakumo flinches but regains his composure swiftly. Jiraiya notices he's carefully keeping his hands out of Jiraiya's view. It doesn't make anything better. If anything, it only serves to irritate him more.

"Let me see."

"Why?"

Jiraiya huffs, reaches over the table, and tugs on Sakumo's arm firmly. He tenses before loosening and lets Jiraiya guide it to the center of the table.

It's bleeding again, and it's clear why. Sakumo's fingernails are digging into his skin, and Jiraiya gently pries them loose to survey the damage.

The skin is an angry pinkish red, though blood runs freely over it from where Sakumo's nails had bitten into. "And you're not even going to get this treated?" Jiraiya inquires mildly. "You could get an infection."

"Does it matter?" Sakumo asks quietly.

"It matters to me, dumbass," retorts Jiraiya, more angry than he should be. The hand in his jerks slightly in surprise, and he releases it. Almost immediately, Sakumo retracts the hand, and Jiraiya stands and heads for the cupboard where Sakumo keeps his emergency supplies.

He returns with a roll of bandages and antiseptic, taking a seat next to him rather than across this time and holds a hand out expectantly. Hesitantly, Sakumo gives it to him and Jiraiya begins to disinfect the injury and bandage it.

They sit like that for a while in silence. It's completely neutral and while Jiraiya doesn't feel threatened he's not at ease either; it's different from the lazy afternoons where Sakumo's doing a mission report and Jiraiya's writing for his books because those are happy and companionable. It's different from the sparking hostility between them whenever someone brings up a sensitive subject, more often Jiraiya than Sakumo.

Sakumo doesn't wince even once. He looks tired.

When Jiraiya's done, it takes Sakumo a moment to register it and looks as if he's about to pull his hand away when Jiraiya stops him. "Why do you do it?"

Looking surprised, Sakumo flounders around for an answer and settles for looking down at his hands, now covered in pretty white. "I… They're red, Jiraiya. They're children and I—" He breaks off, and his voice is startling wet.

Jiraiya gets it. He really does. He hates killing, and killing children, when they have yet to be tainted with the impurities of the world—it's horrible.

But it's worse for Sakumo, who's the kindest person he knows, and Jiraiya wonders what he'd be if their life weren't so cruel. A doctor. A caretaker. Anything but a shinobi.

So Jiraiya pulls him close, offers him comfort, because he knows what his last mission had consisted of, and rests his cheek against soft white hair.

"There's nobody here to see," Jiraiya says softly. "You can… you know… cry."

And he does, he does so for a while, and doesn't stop until he's asleep.

owari

I'm not expecting any reviews for this fic. But I, for some reason, love this pairing. SPREAD THE LOVE.