The Seventh Hokage had taken to waiting for progress in the hidden room out of some useless sense of closeness to his son. Out of everywhere, that was the one place he knew that Boruto had been, could see the unpracticed blood seal still dried onto the side of the pedestal, and that was enough. It had to be, because there was nothing else, nothing to latch onto until the archivists got done with the scroll.

Back in Konoha, his cover had already been blown. Shikamaru walked in and it took a whole three seconds to realize that he was talking to a shadow clone. Three seconds and he was being lectured for his irresponsibility, even though he was pretty sure his right hand used clones to do his paperwork, too. He explained the situation as thoroughly as he was able. Shikamaru understood. Any parent would.

Naruto sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, wishing that he could do more than just sit there and wait, but archiving was a foreign skill. As much as he trusted the pair who'd relocated the scroll, he was getting impatient. Boruto was missing, had been for well over a day, almost two. They knew where the kid was now— when —but that did nothing to abate his concern.

Those were dangerous years. Dangerous, and his young self was not up to the task of protecting a stranger, even if he was pretty sure twelve-year-old Naruto would have taken a shine to the kid.

Something tugged at his thoughts, something important, but he quashed it when the pair of archivists entered the room, one holding the scroll carefully within gloved hands.

Naruto rose to his full height, his cloak masking his form, and he smiled. "Found something for me?"

The girl nodded curtly, meeting his eyes levelly as she handed him the scroll. He took it and was surprised that they weren't chastising him for touching it without gloves. He released the clip on the string that held it closed and unrolled it, met with stark-black ink that previously just wasn't there, and he whistled.

"You two sure know your stuff," he commended. "This looks perfect."

"We're still working on it," she corrected, and as his eyes followed to the end of the scroll he found a portion still blank. "But we wanted to show you our progress, at least."

"We know it can't be easy waiting while your son is missing," the man continued, looking all too sympathetic.

"Thanks," he breathed, his lips curled upward as his eyes darted across the characters. They were readable—the pair had translated them when they replaced the ink. That made him think that this was likely a replica they made and not the original. It would explain why they weren't making a fuss over his handling of it. "What have you found?"

"It's an instructional scroll," the woman started, leaning forward to point to the part she was referencing, "but we have reason to suspect that it was imbued with the technique as well. At some point, sealed within it was a massive amount of chakra."

Naruto frowned, already reading the instructions. This technique required a massive store of chakra. He would be able to perform it, with his reserves, but it would be difficult for just one ordinary shinobi. "You think something could have triggered its release?"

"We do," affirmed the man, rubbing the back of his head. "We're just not sure what ."

"There was another seal placed on it, too." She turned the scroll over and pointed to the six pointed pictogram found there, her face grim. "It seals chakra so that the afflicted can no longer access it. We've recreated it as best as we could, but it appears that the ink ran on the original, so some parts may have been misconstrued."

Naruto hummed, then flipped it back to the instructions and read. According to what they were saying, his son should have had no access to his chakra. But he did. He very obviously did, because Boruto would not have been able to leave that imprint for them to find otherwise.

Eventually his eyes fell to the blank space at the end of the scroll. "And what's missing?"

The archivists looked between one another, their faces grim. "How to manipulated it," the man supplied. "We uncovered how to perform the jutsu, but not how to control it. As it is now, using it could mean that you don't end up where you want to, or don't have a way back. Without that, what we have is essentially useless. It's too dangerous to perform."

"We'll keep working," his partner assured. "And we will help retrieve your son. We promise, Lord Seventh. I swear on my life."

But Naruto wasn't listening. Naruto was smiling, reading the scroll again and again, memorizing it again and again , a small chuckle edging on relief rising up from his throat. "What, is that all?"

He missed the way the pair paled with total understanding.

"He never gave us a date anyway, the brat," he laughed. Sure, he was twelve years old in that time. But there were twelve months worth of days in between all of that and no way of knowing just which was the one where his son landed.

"No," the woman protested, shaking her hands in utter refusal of his implication, "No, no, no, Lord Seventh. You can't. You may not have the control necessary to come back. Or—you may not even land in the same year—"

Naruto rolled up the scroll and slipped it into his belt with a grin on his face. His hands came together in a strange, foreign hand sign, and both archivists stilled.

"Time manipulation jutsu, eh?"

"Lord Seventh, please reconsider—"

There was a quick succession of hand signs, a pool of chakra in his gut, and he was gone. It made no sound, no movement. Like a ghost, he simply… wasn't.

Across the Land of Fire, there was a puff of smoke and the shadow clone seated on the Hokage's chair was no longer there to hear Shikamaru's reprimands.

Looking away from the ghoulish eyes of the man they called Tenzō was unnaturally hard. They were bottomless black pools and the moment he looked into them, they had him right where they wanted him. He stared, stiff and anxious, and they stared right back, right into his very soul .

Then Tenzō looked away and all was right with the world.

Tenzō held an old jōnin uniform up to him, measuring with his eyes. Those empty, haunting eyes. He hummed, pressing the fabric to Boruto's shoulders. "It may fit," he mused. "Though it is a bit old. We can find something more suited to your tastes in town, if you'd like."

Boruto was making a face, wearing his uncertainty on his sleeve even as he snatched the uniform from the ANBU's grasp. It did look old, but was in better shape than his own clothes, and smelled a lot less like sweat and pointless misadventure, so it was good enough for him.

"I'll live," he assured as he slipped into the bathroom to bathe. His hair was flat against his head from weather and unneeded dips into the river, and as the bathroom filled up with steam he wondered when the last time he felt that disgusting had been. It seemed that ever since arriving in the past, he was doing a lot of things he normally wouldn't. Case in point, Boruto wasn't the type to get his hands dirty, or to over-exert himself. He never put his all into a mission because he never felt that he needed to.

He overheard Dad say something to that effect once. 'His clothes always look brand new.' Boruto was coming to understand that he should maybe take offense to that, even if it happened to be true.

"These were yours?" Boruto called through the door, where he just knew that creepy bastard was keeping watch. That was fine. If being monitored like a convict was the only way for him to retain his freedom, then that was fine by him.

"When I was younger," Tenzō supplied from the common room.

"You must have been a really young jōnin."

"Well, yes."

Boruto wasn't sure he liked that matter-of-fact attitude, and it wasn't just the smidge of jealousy talking, knowing that the man acting as his warden was already an elite shinobi by his age.

His hair soaked in bath water, he both looked and felt like a drowned rat. Scrubbing out the dirt and mud and whatever else had gotten caked onto him in his escape from the Copy-nin was a welcomed relief, though, and he allowed himself to indulge in the warmth of the room, keeping the crisp chill of autumn at bay.

Through the frosted glass of the bathroom door he could make out the vague impression of Tenzō on the other side. He wasn't sure if he was ever formally introduced to the Wood Release user—if he was, he had to have been pretty young—but he knew of Tenzō, more for the name he would later go by, Yamato. Dad mentioned him in passing now and then. Apparently Yamato was off on a long-term mission and had been for quite some time. He could use Wood Release, something not seen since the First Hokage, and one of the skills it provided him with was chakra suppression.

It made sense that Tenzō was chosen to guard him.

Boruto sank down into the water, hesitant to get out. It'd been a solid few hours since he parted with Naruto in the streets and he'd be shocked if he went back to the apartment and didn't find the kid already dead of starvation. He was about at that point himself; Grandpa Third offered him food but if he ate when his father refrained he'd feel all sorts of guilt, so he declined.

After some time, Boruto sucked in a breath and rose out of the bath. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes as he felt around for a towel to pat himself down, then reached over to the uniform neatly folded on the counter beside the sink.

He grimaced as he slipped the faded black uniform on. "Could we go tomorrow?" he tried, pulling a face as he stared at himself in the mirror. The uniform looked horrible on him. It was too long in some places, too short in others. And it was tight. Well, uniforms usually were. Boruto was used to baggy clothing, though— breathing room . This felt too restricting. "For clothes."

"If you'd like," Tenzō chimed from the door.

"Great," he grinned and pulled the flak jacket straight. The door swung open and a billow of steam fogged out around him. He went to shove his hands into his pockets and pulled a face when he realized that the only pockets he had were the ones in his pants. It was different. Boruto didn't like different. He tried very hard not to dwell on it, or to take notice of the fact that he was adopting Kakashi's usual stance. "Ready?"

"If you are."

" Always ."

Boruto effortlessly memorized the way to his father's apartment. It was easy to retrace their steps from the other night as the Hokage office was located in the administrative section of the academy, which he'd already visited. Tenzō was content to let him lead the way; the Hokage's instructions were not to restrict his freedom, but to prevent any unfortunate incidents that may be incited by what Grandpa Third called 'vampirism.'

Never was there a more fitting word.

Boruto had his own instructions, too: he was to inform Tenzō the moment that he felt anything change with the duly-named chakra beast, especially if hunger were involved. His cooperation would help stop any incidents before they started, or that was the hope.

He looked over at Tenzō, wondering just how much of the truth the Hokage shared. He knew better than to ask a freakin' ANBU about a mission.

"Sorry you got dragged into all of this," he said, rubbing the back of his neck when the silence got a little too stifling. "Must be a pain, having to babysit some kid when you could be off doing something important."

Tenzō raised an eyebrow, the faintest traces of a smile on his lips as he followed half a pace behind his charge. "Every mission is important," he answered simply. "If it wasn't, I wouldn't have been assigned it."

"Not a bad way of looking at it, I guess."

Tenzō nodded to the building a short ways down the road and Boruto followed the gesture to his father's apartment, letting out a sigh. The lights were still on, and through the window he could make out Naruto's silhouette.

"Look at him," he laughed, shaking his head, "all sad and dejected. What a loser. Hey, you met him before? Naruto?"

"Not formally." Tenzō was staring through the window, too, a hard look on his face. There was something going on behind those ghostly eyes that went unsaid. "I know of him. You would be hard-pressed to find anyone in Konoha who doesn't."

"I've gotten that impression," Boruto sighed. "Alright. Let's go. Come on, before his hunger eats a hole through his seal."

"That's highly unlikely. Bordering on impossible."

Boruto rolled his eyes. His sense of humour was ahead of his time. Or, well, this time. One day he would get the recognition that he so deserved.

Admittedly, even he thought that particular joke was a bit stale.

"This is where we part," Tenzō continued. His arm lifted, and he pointed to the roof of the apartment. "I'll be keeping guard out here for the duration of the night. If anything happens, just walk outside and I'll come over immediately. Understood?"

"Crystal clear." He half expected Tenzō to join them inside, but instead it was the same as what Kakashi had done that first night. All those ANBU types thought the same. "Stay warm, 'kay? It's gettin' cold."

Tenzō smiled. Tenzō should never smile. Even at its sincerest, it came off as a bad omen.

"G'night, creepy old man!"

Tenzō gave a look caught between horrified and despairing. "That's not my name. You know that's not my name. Why can't you just use my name ?"

Boruto grinned and waved back at the ANBU as he climbed the stairs to his father's flat. The grin faltered when he came to the door and he swallowed. It felt like there was a knot in his throat and he hesitated, his hand looming just above the door, halfway to a knock, never quite following through.

There was worry there, buried deep beneath the layers of certainty he fed himself, that there would be a repeat of that first night.

He was Boruto Uzumaki. Like hell that would stop him.

With a swift kick, the door jutted open and he marched inside with his hands on his hips, back straight and chin up. It didn't last and he crumpled over with laughter when Naruto yelped and fell off the bed.

The boys stared at one another. Naruto rubbed his side. Boruto caught his breath.

"A little warning never hurt, y'know!" Naruto shouted. The reprimand held no bite to it. It might have had something to do with how hard he was trying to repress a smile.

"Spontaneity is the lifeblood of the soul."

"What horoscope did you get that off of?"

"Fortune cookie, actually," he said matter-of-factly.

The tension that built up while he was ruminating in the doorway abated and he closed the distance between them, offered a hand and helped Naruto to his feet. Before he could ask, Naruto's stomach answered for him, a loud, strangled noise filling the air.

Boruto crossed his arms much like a scolding parent, even though he expected as much. "You didn't eat."

Naruto mimicked his stance, his eyes narrowed shut in that weird, fox-like way of his. "You said not to eat ramen," he defended, as though he'd already recited it in his head, "and that's all I got."

Boruto rolled his eyes and sighed. He pivoted around and opened the fridge. For a while he just stared into the empty box of spoiled milk and nothing else. Dad wasn't lying. When was the last time the idiot actually filled his fridge?

He slammed the fridge door shut and turned to pin his father beneath a heavy glare.

Naruto stuck up his nose and dropped back onto his bed with a huff. "There's nothing left from my allowance, y'know!"

"That's cause you wasted it on ramen." He held his tongue and managed to keep from adding a spiteful 'old man' label at the end of that. There was nothing to be done about it, and he was in no position to give lectures. He wasted his last allowance on a new video game. Boruto was by no means the responsible one. So, instead of bickering, he headed back to the open door.

Naruto fisted the bedsheets. "You're going?"

"To get food ," Boruto droled. "The hell am I supposed to cook without ingredients? I'll be right back."

He waved over his shoulder and the door clicked shut behind him. He could feel a smile tug at the corners of his lips and leaned back against the door, soaking up the moment.

"Hungry?"

He tensed, closed his eyes, and retreated inward. Not now was a thought he repeated like a mantra, but it was different. The pull wasn't there, the urge that overcame him both times before. Knowing that eased him. He still needed to know for sure.

Boruto was in that dark, unending void again, pinprick eyes floating ominously through the piercing black. He stood tall before it, shifting his weight as he sized it up.

"You're hungry?" he asked it, and waited. Nothing. "You'd better not be. I won't let you screw this up for me, y'hear?"

"You."

Oh. Huh.

"...Yeah. Damn straight I'm hungry. But I don't go around attacking people when I am. You could learn a thing or two, ya shitty bastard."

There was nothing again, just a lot of staring and a dead-end conversation, and he deemed all was well for the moment.

When he returned to his senses, Tenzō was staring at him with with vacant-eyed concern. He jumped, a small noise escaping him that he would refuse to acknowledge if anyone ever brought it up ever , and edged away.

"Has something happened?" Tenzō prompted, ignoring Boruto's clear unease.

" No , Sage, stop looking at me like that—" He went to duck out from under the ANBU's gaze but stopped himself, considered the man, and snapped his fingers. "Hey, how much cash you got on ya?"

Tenzō looked deeply, wholly concerned.

Boruto was at the point of hunger where he didn't care that the roast was half raw, he was ready to tear the meat off the bones anyway. It didn't help that his father was practically drooling over his shoulder, or that he was running around the little flat like a headless chicken as he tried to keep the pot on the stove from bubbling over, the roast in the oven from burning , and the tea in the kettle from over steeping.

In his desire to show off, Boruto may have gone the tiniest bit overboard, especially considering that he'd never made dinner without his mother's aid. He kept it simple. A harvest soup—because he could never mess up something as easy as soup—and a roast because he'd marinated them enough to have some vague clue as to what he was doing. There was a learning curve to overcome with how dated everything was (an unfortunate effect of travelling back in time) but he was managing. Barely, but he was.

He should have made them sandwiches. Or dumplings.

The food came close to done, and the smell brought his thoughts back to the family left waiting for him in the future. He missed Mom's cooking. With her around, he never went hungry. Himawari had taken to setting the table at dinner. She took some sense of pride in it, in helping out Mom. It was the cutest thing to watch.

He set two plates down at the four-seat table and took his place across from his father, stealing nervous glances now and then as he poured their tea. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if this was a typical meal for Konoha families back in the day. Times had changed, and now he was worried his father wasn't going to like it, and that he'd went through all of that trouble for nothing. Maybe it was stupid, but Boruto wore his fare share of insecurities beneath all that confidence, especially where Dad was concerned.

He glanced up to see that Naruto hadn't touched the utensils.

"Here I thought you were starving to death," Boruto murmured between bites as he tried to mask his own uncertainty. "It's not that bad, y'know."

"Oh." Naruto shook himself and pulled his plate closer, vibrating in his seat. "I just…"

The words hung there as Naruto devoured his portion and got up for seconds. He took his time with his second helping, actually bothering to taste the food, which was nice. There was a laugh, then, a soft little chuckle beneath the sound of scraping plates.

Boruto tipped his bowl to pour the last of the soup broth into his mouth and set it back down with a solid clink. He eyed his father. "You're being creepy over there by yourself."

Naruto's shoulders hunched as his laughter devolved into a long string of muffled giggling. "Sorry," he breathed, which must have been hard with the fit he was having.

Mildly concerned, Boruto escaped to start on dishes. Back home he'd whine and moan about cleaning up after dinner, if only because he liked to make life difficult for those around him, but here it kept him busy. A welcomed distraction.

The steady flow of water from the tap did little to break up the sounds behind him. Boruto couldn't remember the last time he saw his old man so… giddy. What was he acting so stupid over, it was just—

It occured to Boruto that his father wouldn't have had a family dinner before. He peeked back at Naruto, who was making his way through a second bowl of soup.

...Stupid old man.

The quiet was killing him, though.

"They're bringing a seal master in to take a look at my chakra beast problem," he said simply, trying to cram some dialogue in, now that he was regretting the awkward silence he let hang when he was eating. "Grandpa Third's the best Hokage."

"Only 'til I become Hokage," Naruto supplied matter-of-factly.

Boruto's hands stilled and he suppressed the unsavoury remarks settled at the back of his throat.

"I'll be the greatest Hokage Konoha's ever seen." There was so much certainty behind his words that it was honestly ridiculous.

Boruto twisted around to meet his father's stare and thought to counter it. 'Why do you want to be Hokage so bad?' He thought to ask but never followed through, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Naruto finished and brought his dishes over to the sink, nudging Boruto out of the way. Boruto allowed it and went to sit over on the bed, staring through the window at the dark. He wondered absently if Tenzō got bored out there. Or cold. Maybe they should bring him up a blanket. Or tea.

Then again, the tea wasn't all that great.

"I've been thinking," Naruto started.

Boruto looked over to see Naruto rubbing the back of his neck and glared dully. "That's never good."

When Naruto shot him a look that closely resembled a grumpy old man, he decided it was worth it.

" I've been thinking ," he repeated firmly, "that I—"

There was a pause. He tried again.

"I mean…"

"What?"

Naruto kicked the ground and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The tap shut off, all of their dishes now drying in the rack, and the ensuing stillness made the moment feel heavier than it probably needed to.

"Forget it," Naruto dismissed. He dropped onto one of the wooden chairs and propped one foot onto his opposing knee, tapping his finger restlessly against his shin. "Hey, hey—you gonna be joining a squad now that you're stayin' here?"

"Dunno," Boruto blinked. "Hadn't thought of it."

"What about that mission you were on?"

"Right. That." He'd completely forgotten that he told his father about that. "Let's say I've been reassigned."

Naruto looked skeptical but let it pass, scooting closer to the edge of the seat. "Kakashi-sensei is my jōnin instructor, y'know. But he's always showing up late."

Naruto's words turned to rambling, but Boruto wasn't bothered. He listened. Listened to complaints about Sasuke, stories about how Sasuke was the worst student in the academy—something that Boruto very much doubted —and words of praise for Sakura. It was the first time he actually sat to listen to his father's stories. It was hard to look away, Naruto's arms flailing expressively as an extension of his words.

Boruto sat with his chin his hand, his elbow on the windowsill, and his eyes on his father. For the first time in days, he pushed his fears and stress aside and just listened.

That was enough.

Boruto may have hated the jōnin uniform on principle, but it did have its uses.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His henge was perfect—because of course it was, he got the highest score in the class when they were learning the transformation jutsu—and as he turned his face to examine it at all angles, he grinned. There was no recognizing him, between his straight black hair and brown eyes. The long sleeves of the uniform helped cover up most, but not all, of the glowing markings down his arm—nothing a pair of gloves couldn't fix.

He spun on his heel to face Tenzō, smug with every reason to be so. "How do I look?"

"Inconspicuous enough, I suppose," Tenzō nodded, handing over a pair of gloves. They were a little large but tolerable.

"Good enough for me! Let's go, Tenzō, my man!"

Tenzō sighed.

The first thing on their list was to get Boruto a few outfits. A genin wearing a jōnin uniform was hardly practical, especially in the event of an incident in the village. Boruto couldn't remember any attacks on the village at this particular time—not until the chunin exams—but he also had a tendency to sleep through history back at the academy. They didn't tell him that he had to maintain a henge, but it was heavily implied and he could see their reasoning. He recalled the looks that he got when he first arrived, wandering around on his own. People mistook him for Naruto. A part of him resented that. Another part knew that if they didn't mistake him, they would see the similarities and question it. That was somehow worse.

Avoiding it all with a henge felt like the most practical solution.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and they started out into town. "I can probably maintain it for a good three hours."

"We'll try to finish up before you reach your limit," Tenzō assured.

The first stop was a clothing stall. With his loyal guard monitoring from a distance, Boruto sifted through the racks for something that fit in well with his wardrobe back home. To his dismay, there wasn't much; everything was old fashioned and a bit tacky. This was the past, he reminded himself, and 'old fashioned' was about the best he was going to get. He held up a long-sleeved black shirt, pressing it flush with his chest, and frowned. It didn't look right.

He spun around, presenting it to his guard with a raised eyebrow. "Well?"

Tenzō smiled, leaning back against the wall. He blended in a lot better in the standard jōnin uniform than in his ANBU gear, sure. But something still looked off about him. Boruto suspected something always would. "It's good."

He pouted. "But not great ."

"I think it suits you," Tenzō added placatingly.

Boruto sighed and tossed it at the ANBU, who caught it easily enough, and went back to searching. Tenzō would be agreeable about whatever he was showed, so it wasn't like he was actually any help . But this wasn't an ANBU's field of expertise by any means and Boruto couldn't fault him for that.

It would have been nice to have someone with a real opinion, though.

Clothes shopping took longer than he cared to admit. Two hours later, they were wandering the streets, Tenzō carrying two bags worth of slightly tolerable attire. He found out that Grandpa Third had allocated funds to Tenzō just for things like that, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let that go to waste.

His next goal was food, because he doubted the leftovers in the fridge were going to last them any appreciable length of time. The market was bustling at that time of day, much unlike their visit the night before, and he was suddenly very glad for the henge. Very glad. The thought of that many pairs of eyes looking at him the way they did Dad was enough to sour his mood.

He never did get a straight answer about the reason behind those stares.

Boruto dragged himself down the street with his hands in his pockets, eyeing the food stalls. He knew how to tell good ingredients from bad—the basics, anyway—but that didn't help much when he didn't know what to make for dinner. He stopped at a fish stall and leaned close to a large bass they had up for sale, then raised an eyebrow at Tenzō. "You know how to fillet a fish?"

"I've had some experience," Tenzō said simply, shifting the bags between hands. "Why?"

Boruto shrugged. "I don't think Naruto would care if you joined. Doesn't it get cold out there? And boring?"

The ANBU smiled. It was sincere—or, Boruto thought it was supposed to be, but it came off a little too unsettling. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm well adept at missions like these. The cold doesn't bother me one bit."

He rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean you can't share a meal with us. Hey, Old Lady. I'll take this one, please."

The middle-aged woman running the stall turned to him and took the offered ryo, bagging the fish. Her eyes scanned Boruto with mild confusion and gave pause, a tiny smile on her face. "Oh, my. How rare, to see such a little jōnin." He resented the 'little' part. "Your parents must be so proud."

He laughed, the sound forced and awkward, because laughing was about the only thing he could do. He took the bag and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Y-yeah. Definitely. Prodigy son and all that. Take care, Old Lady."

"You'd do well to mind your manners, little jōnin."

"Sorry!"

Boruto turned on his heel and headed away from that conversation as fast as he could. Tenzō looked mildly amused, and Boruto resented him for it.

Grocery shopping took up the remainder of his last hour. Tenzō was all too happy to remind him of his limit and urge him to return home, and he had no qualms about doing so. In the end, they made good headway on food for the week. He picked up ingredients for udon for another night, because he was pretty sure he knew most of the recipe and was confident he could get by with a little guesswork. He'd grabbed some fruits and vegetables to eat throughout the day—stuff that would at least be better than Dad's junk food and instant ramen. And he did get stuff for sandwiches and dumplings. He was no slave, and if Naruto wanted a hot meal every night then he could damn well make it himself.

This was probably going to be the healthiest he'd ever eaten by his own will. Back home, he was just as bad as his father—though if anyone said it aloud he would vehemently deny it.

The path back to the apartment took him down a lot of side streets. He hummed an absent tune as they walked, veering off the main path. He looked around at the small, humble buildings of the Konoha of decades before his time with a soft, amused smile. Its aesthetics definitely meshed well with the image of the useless old man he had of future Naruto. Of course someone like Dad would grow up in a place like this.

" Damn it!"

The words were growled out and other, less savory terms were subsequently bitten back. Boruto followed the familiar sound to the trees that bled into his periphery. There was a fork in the road ahead, one of the paths following the sound into the trees, and he considered it momentarily.

That was definitely Naruto's voice cursing the world. He wasn't surprised.

Tenzō came to a halt beside him, following his eyes.

"Hey," he called, turning to face the noise. He could hear movement far into the distance, the sound of metal scraping together. They were still a long ways from the apartment so he knew he shouldn't get sidetracked, but curiosity was one of his greatest weaknesses. "What's over there?"

"The Third Training Ground," Tenzō supplied easily enough. "I believe it's being used by a team of genin at the moment."

"Naruto's team," Boruto continued. Truth be told, he never saw his father train, or even fight, for that matter. He'd seen Sage Mode in the past, but not his father going all out using it against an opponent. It was pretty clear that even if he sat in on their training, that wouldn't change. Still…

He took a step towards the training ground when a hand caught his shoulder, unyielding as he tried to jerk free.

"You know that you shouldn't," Tenzō warned. "That henge is a constant leech off your chakra. We should head back before we risk it breaking because of your low reserves."

"Lay off," Boruto grumbled, but his words had no bite. "It's still solid. Not like I'm jumping head-first into a fight."

That time when he tugged, Tenzō let go. He stumbled forward and caught himself, sticking up his nose as he walked.

Boruto followed the path into the brush and slowed to a halt at the end where the sunshade of trees opened up to a large grassland. Three stumps stood side-by-side in the centre before a large stone memorial, one that he recognized from the version of Konoha that he was familiar with. It helped him orientate himself as one of the few landmarks that stood unchanged in time. This training ground was vast—most were—and he'd only been able to hear Naruto's voice because Naruto was so close to the path at the time. When he arrived, Naruto had rushed back into the clearing and leapt into the air with half a dozen shadow clones right there alongside him.

A blow to his pride, that. His father could already produce more than him at his age.

The clones descended upon their instructor with kunai in hand, but the moment they hit the target, Kakashi vanished in a puff of smoke. A log clattered to the ground and rolled across the grass, the clones looking this way and that.

"Crap, where'd he go?"

"He's gotta be hiding around here somewhere…"

"Naruto!" That voice was distinctly feminine. A Very young, very small Aunt Sakura marched out of the wilderness with fury in her eyes. "What happened to waiting for my signal?!"

The clones retreated to the safety of non-existence, leaving their original to rub his neck in nervous laughter. "I got excited, y'know?"

"You're impossible!"

"Aw, don't be mad! I'll get it right this time!"

"It doesn't matter if you get it right now because Kakashi-sensei knows what our plan is," she hissed, running a hand through her long hair in visible show of her stress. "Now we're going to have to start all over again. No thanks to you."

"But Sakura, I—"

Boruto's head snapped around to face the dark-eyed figure looming over him. Through the trees, he could make out a face he knew from a photograph Dad kept in the Hokage office, the face of a very young Uncle Sasuke. He knew of Sasuke, knew plenty about him from the stories he'd mostly tuned out of his father's history, but he had never met the man face-to-face. Now that figure was there, looking at him, watching him . Sasuke must have sensed his presence while he was walking; if he had then there was no doubt Kakashi noticed, too.

He glanced at Tenzō and regretted it as the black, soulless pits of Tenzō's eyes stared right back. There was an I-told-you-so hidden in there somewhere.

Sasuke stepped forward, kunai in hand as his attention switched between Boruto and Tenzō, keeping both somewhere within his periphery at all times. "You're interrupting our training."

Boruto grinned, hands on his hips with an upright posture that he hoped conveyed the fact that he wasn't going to be intimidated by some little punk. Then again, this little punk was said to be Dad's greatest rival. Maybe he should be intimidated.

A glance to Naruto had him dismissing that thought, the poor kid getting pumeled into the ground by his teammate. Aunt Sakura could be scary when she was angry.

"Sorry," he said, but didn't sound very apologetic. "Didn't mean to mess up your timing."

Sasuke narrowed his eyes.

What a suspicious little punk.

"Alright, I've seen enough."

The two in the clearing stopped their tiff and even Sasuke turned to the voice. Kakashi was seated on a low tree branch, a book held lazily in one hand, opened to a page halfway through. He hopped off the branch and landed with a soft thud, blades of grass crushed beneath his shoes. He looked so incredibly unimpressed, and that was a look that Boruto knew all too well from the old man of his time.

Then Kakashi's attention was on him, on the partially visible glowing markings of his arm, and he anxiously pulled down his sleeve; no doubt Kakashi knew who he was, henge be damned. Not that he was really trying to hide it. Not from Kakashi.

Then it was gone, back to his students, and he felt a small relief. There was something about having the Sixth Hokage look at him and then dismiss him that pissed him off, though.

Kakashi sighed. "Naruto, the point of a plan is to follow through . If you're just going to disregard it at the last second, why bother with it at all?"

Naruto looked somewhat shamed. It was a nice look on him.

"And Sasuke," he chastised, "going off on your own in the middle of a mission is just as reckless as Naruto's actions. Teamwork is the very core of a shinobi squad. Without it, you may as well be dead. That goes for all of you."

The team took the reprimands to heart, wearing their internal frustrations on their sleeves. This training method felt very different from the one Konohamaru was using with Boruto's team. He heard that Kakashi used to be ruthless as a jōnin instructor, but had never been on the receiving end of one of the old man's lectures to know for himself.

"Take a break," Kakashi commanded with a wave of his hand. "Then we're trying this again. No lunch until we get it right."

There was a collective groan from the pair in the clearing as they sunk into the grass. Sasuke gave one last look before joining his teammates.

"Naruto," the instructor called, pointing in Boruto's direction with the corner of his book. "I believe you have a visitor. Don't take too long."

Naruto followed the gesture, but when he finally noticed Boruto his face twisted, head tilted, as he tried to call to mind a name that matched the face. Of course Dad wouldn't be able to see through the henge. It was so like him. He scrunched up his brow and thought.

Boruto lifted his arm and waved. He hadn't intended to interrupt their training, but he wasn't about to pass up the chance to speak with someone whose eyes reflected light . Something about Tenzō's made him feel a bit hopeless. "Hey!"

His sleeve slid down as he waved and revealed the branded glow coiling across his skin.

Naruto snapped his fingers and ran over with a grin, skidding to a halt before he knocked them both over. "What're you doing here?" Then he noticed Tenzō. "Who's he?"

"Tenzō's just Tenzō," he said matter-of-factly, as though it answered any questions his father could possibly have. Right, they wouldn't have met. Tenzō confirmed that last night. "We were just running some errands. Get back to work before the old man lectures you again."

"Yeah, yeah…" Naruto pouted. He moved to leave but his eyes caught on the bag of food in Tenzō's hand and his eyes lit up. "Hey, hey—"

"No," Boruto chastised. "I heard what Kakashi said. No lunch til you do your… whatever," he tried. He hadn't seen enough of their training to know what, exactly, they were focusing on.

Naruto shot him a sour, betrayed look, kicked the dirt, and returned to his team with a dejected grumble.

The squad took another several minutes to collect themselves, huddling together with hushed voices, shooting their instructor the occasional wary glance. For all that Sasuke looked like he didn't want to be involved in his teammates' stupid plans, he was listening pretty intently. They looked serious, very serious. Naruto's clothes were covered in dirt and grass stains and there was a tear in his sleeve. He'd been at this all morning, if Boruto had to guess, and for all that he was apparently no good at following direction, he was giving it his all.

Boruto exchanged looks with Tenzō, pleading with him.

"Just for a bit?"

Tenzō held his stare for a good half minute before sighing. "You really want to watch your brother train that badly?"

Brother?

Boruto hunkered down to sit cross-legged at the base of one of the trees lining the clearing. He said nothing when Tenzō lowered down next to him, turning the word around in his head, mulling over it perhaps a little longer than necessary. Ahead, the team was back at it. They vanished from sight, but he knew they were there, hiding within the trees as Kakashi loitered out in the open with all the confidence of a well-practiced jōnin. There was that book in one hand, the other in his pocket, as he lazily shifted his weight and awaited the attack.

Brother, huh? That must have been what the Hokage told Tenzō. It was more believable than 'time travelling son from the future' and raised a hell of a lot less questions, some of which could be answered by the off-the-cusp cover story he shared about being brought up in Suna. The reasons behind being shipped off to another village would be a little harder to think up, but he doubted Tenzō, at least, would start asking questions.

Brother. Not his father, but his brother.

The groceries were set between them and Boruto rifled through one of the bags, his attention tearing away from the full-frontal assault Team 7 was making against their instructor. Near twenty shadow clones were pushing Kakashi back—not that the man looked the least bit phased until one hooked itself around his waist and brought him a moment of pause. Two others rushed in to hang off his arms, Icha Icha falling into the grass, and a fourth stood before him, palm-to-fist with a confident smirk.

The clone's form bled away to reveal pink hair and grinning eyes and she lurched forward—

All at once, Kakashi's body disappeared, another piece of wood and mix of leaves falling to the ground in another substitution, and a kunai shot out of the trees and pinned one of the Naruto clone's sleeves to one of the three posts centerfield. The clone stared wide-eyed at the kunai's origin through the brush to a narrow-eyed Sasuke, then dulled.

"Much better," it said, and the henge bled away to reveal the true form of Kakashi. "Better, but not good enough. Sakura, your transformation was top-notch, but it means little when you don't act the part. And Naruto—"

Kakashi's eye lifted to see the boy in question already in the air, fist pulled back and waiting. Naruto launched it forward but Kakashi was already twisting out of the way.

A shuriken cut through the air from Sasuke's place in the trees but Kakashi was long gone before it made its target. It sailed past and sunk its blade into a tree with a crack of bark.

Boruto slowly turned his head to face the shuriken that just narrowly avoided stabbing him in the eye. It took him a moment to register. He'd just pulled a pear out of the bag and it rolled out of his hand and onto the ground as he blinked back at the three students staring at him from the clearing.

He gulped down the small bit of terror that the near-hit bubbled to the surface and waved, his mouth drawn into a tight smile. It was his own fault for being so relaxed while observing a genin training session, he knew. He also knew that Tenzō wouldn't have sat back and watched him lose an eye if there was actually a threat of that shuriken making contact. "Don't mind me!"

They were minding. Sakura's confusion wasn't exactly hidden behind her wide-eyed stare and gaping mouth, and Sasuke looked even more suspicious now than before, but Dad was—

Naruto was pale.

Boruto stopped waving, his hand coming down, and his eyes found that his sleeve had shifted place again, revealing the slight tan of his skin. Unmarked. He shot up and patted himself down. The build of his body was a familiar one and the jōnin uniform was too big in some areas and too small in others and he cursed himself.

The henge was gone. Like a damn amateur , he let his surprise shake his focus and he broke concentration long enough to lose the image he had of the henge. Now in place of black hair was a striking blond, brown eyes a bright blue, and he was anything but inconspicuous.

Naruto's teammates turned to him, then to Naruto and back again.

Dad looked so small under those accusatory glances.

"Hey," Sakura started, their training now forgotten as she scrunched up her brow and scrutinized Boruto. "Who is that guy, Naruto? He looks just like you."

"Uh—"

Boruto took offence to that, reaching down to pick up the pear and polish away the dirt against his flak jacket. He knew it was true, but he still resented it.

"His brother."

The squad of genin spun around to see Kakashi appearing through a gentle cyclone of wind and leaves. He bent forward to pick his book off the ground, brushed away the dirt, and flipped through the pages to find his place. Boruto made a mental note to get him a bookmark as an apology for their little road trip the other day. It seemed like a useful gift.

"His name is Boruto Uzumaki, and he's visiting from Suna," Kakashi continued, feeding their curiosity because he knew there was no way the kids would get anything done otherwise.

Naruto's eyes widened on his instructor. Apparently he'd been unaware of their cover story, too.

Boruto took a deep breath and his hand shot back up in a second wave, grabbing his father's attention before Naruto could question their new label. "Hey, little brother! Get your ass back in gear and give me something to brag about!"

'Little,' because Boruto stood just a few centimetres taller than his father and for him, that was enough.

Naruto stilled, swallowed, and nodded his head as he pushed whatever he wanted to say behind a smile. "I'll do better than that, y'know!"

Sasuke remained unconvinced, but Aunt Sakura looked like she believed it.

Kakashi clapped his hands and drew back their attention and the lesson resumed with a few words of praise for their progress followed by a detailed breakdown of where exactly they went wrong and then they tried again. There were bells at his hip, familiar bells that Boruto recognized from his own graduation exam, though looking a lot less dented and weathered than the ones he came so close to snatching by his own power, and he concluded that this was a continuation of the standard bell test, just to give the students a goal as they practiced their teamwork.

Boruto pulled a second pear out of the bag and held it up to Tenzō, who accepted it with a sigh.

"This is why I suggested we return, you know."

"Oh, I know." He shrugged it off, amused as the team's plan fell apart again and ended with Naruto and Sakura bickering for, what, the third time? "I'll have the henge up when we head back. Just—gimme a few? I want to watch."

Tenzō looked at him then, but this time his eyes didn't look so empty. There was a soft, patient understanding, the faint upward turn of his lips.

"I'll be counting the minutes," he said simply.

Boruto snorted. "I figured as much."

Adieu~