A/N: SHEESH you guys are relentless.

In every route of the Fate series, be it Fate Stay Night, Unlimited Blade Works, Heavens Feel, someone dies. Constantly. Without fail.

I DO NOT APPROVE.

She was even meant to have a route at some point, only for it to be cut.

I was going to just throw this in as an idea for An Endless Journey but everyone liked it too damn much. Result? I got bombarded with PM's demanding I make this story. And yes, the beginning does get a touch philosophical. That much is intentional.

Trying something new-to my knowledge-here so I'm prepared for flak.

Hell, depending on the reception this one receives it might transition to a full-on story.

You know, I just realized something.

The title...well...it possesses dual meanings in a sense...

"You'd help me? Just like that?"

...just get inside."

~?

A Most Unlikely Master

What is the meaning of life?

The will to live? The resolve to survive? The drive to thrive? To reproduce?

Instinct, then?

Is it that innate, inherent inclination of a living organism towards a particular complex behavior that defines us so? Yes? No? Maybe? I think, therefore I am? But why do we exist, then? Do we have a calling? A purpose in life? Surely we must. Why else would we be here? So what is that purpose? Why am I here, man asks. Why do I exist? What am I meant to do with the life I've been given? To what-or whom-should I devote my life? To my country? To my family? To myself? Perhaps to God?

Since the dawn of sanity, man has asked this question.

Few find the answer.

I've found the solution lies not in the day-to-day minutia of existence, but in what lies beyond the mundane. There is no grand order of things, no one answer that suits all. We each have to find our own path in this world, make our own way. Some claim a higher purpose is at work, but if there is, then I have yet to ascertain that supposed truth. In short, the answer is thus:

Find something, or someone, that makes you happy.

Love it.

Protect it.

Safeguard it.

Simple as that.

Take me for instance; a ninja out of time, the last piece of a long-forgotten era, someone who lived long past his expiration date. They say those of the Uzumaki bloodline are blessed with longevity but this is absurd. Its been more than a thousand years now and I'm still-physically at any rate-trapped somewhere in my twenties. If I hadn't found something-several somethings, really-to occupy myself after the first century there, I suspect I would've gone insane and tried to off myself.

I miss my friends and family of course; but that's no reason to die.

No, its for their sake that I choose to live.

They say war never changes. Me? I'm sick of war. Not particularly sick of living, mind you. I find the world fascinating, even now. There's always something new to discover after all these years. Myths. Mysteries. Marvels left unknown to man. I've seen sights that would make even the hardest hearts shatter, dined on the finest foods, thwarted plots that threatened to destroy the world. I lived life on my own terms; all in all I'd say its been a good one. Can't wait to see what the next few centuries hold.

Magic, for instance.

I have absolutely no aptitude for it-or maybe I never found a good teacher-but it still intrigues me.

Something so like chakra...and yet not. Fascinating, these magi. Who would've thought they could create something like this?

They started cropping up a few centuries back; so long as they stay out of my way, I'm content to let them be. After all, I have no quarrel with them; though I suspect some would LOVE to tear me open and see what makes me tick. Thankfully I'm not terribly keen on that, you know? Let them have their wars and their ways. Let them slaughter one another. Why should it be any of my concern? If they want to summon heroes out of the past and kill one another every few decades over some so-called "wish" then I say let them.

If they need supernatural means to fulfill their dreams, that either makes them extraordinary or they simply lack the will to make them real.

Hmm.

Food for thought.

What matters is this: at the end of the day, are you content? Are you happy? Do you want more from life? Need more? If so, why? What will you do to get it? Its important to think these things through. Me? I was content to take a break from traveling the world and try something new, to simply eke out a humble existence of my own making. No one thinks to question someone claiming to be a traveling monk...even if he doesn't shave his head. A humble life, one with the occasional book or video game to pass the time until I grew bored and moved on.

Yes, all things considered, I was content.

Content to keep my head down and stay away from the Association and other messy magical business.

I never gave thought to another partner after my first; after all, how could I fall in love with someone knowing they would inevitably wither and die? Worse, that I'd be unable to follow them into the void. To do that, to try and start again knowing I'd lose it all in the end...that would drive me insane. So, yes. Not quite happy, but content.

Until I landed in Fuyuki.

Until that day.

Until her.


(0-0-0)


"Blast it all, not again!"

Medea stumbled.

Slowly, fitfully, she clutched at a nearby wall and forced herself upright again, ignoring the searing pain in her chest. Her torn veil offered no recourse, no shelter from the cold nor the waning light of the moon. Though her shoulders trembled and her body heaved, still she stubbornly clung on.

She needed to keep moving. The moment she stopped was the moment she died.

With each passing second she could feel herself slipping back into the aether, her very sense of self crumbling away like fine dust through her hands. The more she tightened her grip, the more sanity slipped through her fingers. Coherent thought was a struggle; the mere act of moving threatened to sever the spiritons composing her body altogether. Death would be imminent then; once her body began actively dissolving no last second contract would save her. And she was on the brink of destabilizing.

Yet still she dragged herself on.

"To think, I, of all people, would do such a thing...

Smoke caught in her lungs as she shuffled further down the street.

Death has a funny way of putting things into perspective. Caster was no different than any other in that regard. Even the Witch of Betrayal had her share of regrets. Many at that.

A small, bitter laugh escaped her at the thought.

Ryuudou Temple sprawled before her on the mountain, a goal she'd never reach. All because of that man.

Atrum Galliasta.

That wretched meddling man she'd called her Master, that most heinous fiend. She was glad to be rid of him-even if it meant her death. Not only had he been an eyesore, but his very magecraft was an affront to her sensibilities. Children! What manner of monster sacrificed children to empower their spells?! For all his ego he had been a fooled just the same, tricked into wasting his Command Spells on fruitless actions all the while reassuring him that she wouldn't betray him, even should he ultimately exhaust them. And once he had...

She'd destroyed his workshop and freed his captives.

Then she'd driven Rule Breaker into his back. Once. Twice. Thrice. Again and again and again until she was certain he could no longer do any of those horrid things again. Even now one needn't look far to see the burning ruin behind her; a charred wreckage frantically attended by fire crew and the like. No doubt they would struggle to find the cause of this, never knowing the reason.

Thus she would die, forgotten by everyone.

Shuffling from door to door at the foot of the mountain in search of someone-anyone!-to help her, Medear found herself dashed at every turn. Of course they didn't answer when she knocked; no one wanted anything to do with a blood-spattered woman all of a heartbeat from passing away. Yet still she struggled, still she fought, crying pleading, begging in an unseemly way, though none answered. With each passing moment her hopes sank lower still.

She didn't want to die.

She didn't want to disappear.

She didn't want to disintegrate.

Thus it came as a surprise when one such doors shifted just so.

"Alright, alright! I'm coming!" Lights sprang to life in a window and a muffled voice groaned from within. "Do you have any idea how early it is...?!"

Having offered little more than a fitful knock upon an admittedly small abode, she was almost charmed by it, and would have had she not been at death's door. Still, It looked cozy enough; a small cottage painted a dull shade of blue, its paint worn by both time and age. Not the largest house to be sure, but it no doubt suited its owner just fine.

The door swung open, revealing said owner.

They were, by all accounts, a boy.

Yet so much more.

For all his bedraggled appearance-consisting of little more than a hastily donned pair of wrinkled blue jeans and a faded orange sweater-the young man didn't refute her outright. He seemed lively enough, almost oddly so for someone who'd woken in the dead of night. A worn hand rose to stifle a yawn, palming at tanned whiskered cheeks and bright blue eyes. And that hair...she'd never seen a color so bright before, nor so unruly. Why, she half-suspected that spiky mane to rear up at her here and now-no! Bad Medea! No was not the time for flights of fancy. She was still dying!

"You need something, miss?" a low drawl trickled between the two of them.

That keen gaze narrowed silently, noting her bloodied robe, the burns on her cheek.

Medea could've answered him in any number of ways; deceived him, even. In the end her tongue betrayed her.

"Please," the words tumbled out of her before she could even dream of wrangling them back from whence they'd come, "Help me!"

Confusion dawned in those azure orbs, an expression of mild distaste flitting across those whiskered cheeks, followed by incredibly...comprehension. Somehow, he understood what she was asking of him. Rather, what she was. But how? For all his vitality he wasn't a magus, not in the traditional sense. Even one trained in said craft would have difficulty detecting a Servant, least of all one on the verge of returning to the the Throne. So how could he know the truth of what she was? Yet his gaze held no deception, no duplicitous deceit.

In that moment she almost expect him to refuse her outright; after all, who in their right mind would help a stranger?"

"Well!" Whiskered cheeks dimpled in a small sardonic smile. "Since you asked so nicely...

Calloused hands reached out and wrapped around her outstretched palm.

...sure."

"Hweh?" Medea managed eloquently.

She hadn't expected him to actually say yes!"

Nevertheless instinct gripped her thoughts in an iron vice, demanding action. Without thinking Medea pounced; not on him but rather upon the opportunity to form a contract with him. Another Servant of a different class would've struggled to do such, but for one as verse in the craft as she, it was a mere matter of thought. His verbal acceptance simplified matters significantly. With such a large loophole, she needn't even force the marks upon him; they came of their own accord.

Sure enough, a faint red glow manifested upon his right hand; as she looked on it curled into a crimson seal manifesting the shape of a spiral.

No, not a spiral...a leaf of some sort.

"Thank you." in a rare moment of relief, she dropped all pretense of facade. Already she could feel her body stabilizing, the once imminent collapse of her core now little more than a bad memory. Excellent! Now that the fear of death no longer loomed over her, she found she could think clearly. Nay, more than that! She felt energized, veritably humming with power. Where was all this coming from?

The smallest sigh escaped her Master, turning to steam in the night.

Still holding Caster's dominant hand, the young man abruptly stepped aside.

A blond brow rose in...resignation perhaps? Sorrow? She couldn't quantify the emotion and it was gone before she could guess at it. T'was the look of a man who'd seen hell and overcome it; a soul that spat in the face of death. Not someone who had gone to every effort to forget the trauma, but rather one who stoically accepted it as fact and moved on. His smile might have been dulled by his past experiences, yet there was still a palpable feeling of warmth to it when he turned to face her.

"Well, this was nice while it lasted...go on. Make yourself at home, then."

"W-Wait a second! You're letting me into your home?" Medea blinked, taken aback by his continued hospitality. "Just like that?"

She'd expected to have to place him under a geas of some sort, to threaten or seduce him at the very least.

Again, those whiskered cheeks pinched in mild annoyance.

...jeez, just get inside already." he groused. "I'm cold."

In the end, Medea did as she was bade.

From that action alone her fate changed forevermore, not just that of the Fifth Holy Grail War, not merely Fuyuki, but the world itself and many worlds beyond it.

Of course, Medea knew none of this. She was simply grateful for the opportunity this stranger presented her; the chance to live on, for however short a time. She had no idea that young master before he wasn't young at all, but something dangerously close to a walking disaster. This, then, was her new Master. One who had taken her hand without hesitation one who had not flinched as the marks etched themselves into his hand. One that would give her the second life she so desperately craved. All this from a chance encounter.

She, who was meant to fail.

She who was meant to die, would live.

She who was fated to fail, would succeed.

Truly, she'd received A Most Unlikely Master indeed.

He would drive her completely, utterly insane within a week.

A/N: Feels good to give Medea some justice, considering I screwed her in A Most Unlikely Caster.

Alright, fuck it.

Shirou's going to get his own story with Medea eventually but I feel that needs more time to craft than I have at the moment. I want that to be a bloody masterpiece. After all, THAT may well be the first and only pure Fate story that I write.

Now, then.

I'll say it plain, this isn't going to go the way many of you think. For one? Naruto's biggest handicap in this war isn't an enemy Servant or even an enemy servant. It isn't Gilgamesh or Saber, or even the Holy Grail at that.

Its himself.

That's right. You heard me. Think of Yoshikage Kira of Jojo's Bizzarre Adventure, minus the hand fetish and urge to murder. He has no interest in wars or wishes, in fame or glory, or even ending his existence. He is immortal ONLY in the sense that his body ceased aging long ago. Physically, he can be killed, his regeneration overwhelmed. Chop his head off? He's dead. Tear him apart? Dead. Stab him through the heart? DEAD. He's quite aware of this, alas, anything short of the three we just mentioned simply won't end his life.

Really, he'd be quite happy to wander the world or spend the day lazing about in the sun.

That aside, he's quite content living a normal, peaceful existence...

...until a certain Caster stumbled through his door.

So In the Immortal Words of Atlas...

...Review...Would You Kindly?

And enjoy the previews!

Potential ones at that.

(Previews!)

"I just want a normal life, ya know! Is that so much to ask?!"


Infuriating.

This man was utterly, wholly, infuriating!

Caster's gaze was silently drawn to his marked hand as he raised his glass. She acknowledged him as her Master this much was true. Even without the leylines of the temple to bolster her reserves he provided her with more than enough prana to sustain her physical form. More than that; it was as if he were a bottomless pit! Her workshop wasn't even constructed yet; nor had she revealed her plans to attempt to circumvent the grail with her own sorcery. She wasn't even sure she should.

Yet she owed him her life.

He'd taken her in without so much as a second thought, nor had he object to forming a contract with her. He had accommodated her in every conceivable way despite his-seemingly-limited means. Never let it be said that he had done otherwise. And yet! AND YET!

Why was he being so lazy?!

...aren't we going out, Master?"

Naruto uttered a jaw-popping yawn.

"Why, are you hungry? I can cook something, I guess."

Medea ruthlessly bit her tongue to stifle a waspish retort.

"You can cook?" she managed a small, strangled smile instead.

Oddly enough, this provoked a reaction in him. Blue eyes gleamed with life.

"Is that challenge, Caster?" he purred, "I'll blow your taste-buds right out of the water."

And he did.


"Hello, there! Did you summon me?"

Medea choked on her own spit as the smoke cleared. This...was not the wraith she'd hoped to summon.


...you spilled my ramen."

"What, that? Its just some food-

Clenched knuckles barreled upward.


"I thought I smelled something foul, vampire."

Zouken froze as a towering golden shadow reared up behind him.

Cold crimson eyes far older than his own regarded him with thinly veiled scorn.

In that instant this man, this unassuming fool whom he'd assumed to be little more than a pawn in his plans, became something else entirely. A vampire he most assuredly was not, but he couldn't bringing himself to try and correct the young man's statement. This one...he wasn't human. Not a god. Not a Servant. Not even a magus. But someone dangerous all the same. Still...This fool wouldn't kill him. He couldn't.

"You can't destroy me." A low, hoarse laugh left his lips. "If you do, you kill an innocent. Lend me your Servant and I might consider a truce-

"GET LOST!"

A golden fist eradicated his physical body, leaving only wriggling worms behind. Still that oily laughter pervaded the air.

"So be it then. You'll make a fine offering for it."

R&R~!