Chapter Text
After they had been called the Sannin-- after Jiraiya had left them-- after all that, Sarutobi-sensei assigned Orochimaru a squad of genin. After he failed to protect his students and they-- they died, Orochimaru still stayed. After Dan’s death on the field and Tsunade leaving--
After it all, the war was finally over though, and yet Orochimaru still remained.
It was the day after the war ended, six months after-- after everything. Orochimaru still existed in a haze under a strict routine. Wake up. Research the jutsu he had witnessed during the war. Copy notes and theories. Attempt to replicate. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Without his team, he felt like a shell of himself.
When the three of them were together they were unstoppable, but Jiraiya left because of some misplaced guilt in Amegakure, abandoning his post as a soldier to help orphans rebuild their home. Tsunade-- his heart twisted with regret and he pushed the thought deep down.
He found himself at Crooked Kunai, but the sign was so old most of the embossed characters had fallen or been stolen long ago.
It was where he would go with Tsunade, with Jiraiya, to celebrate or mourn together. It was the first bar they ever went to, dirt cheap and full of ninja. There were jagged marks in the wall from stray weapon strikes and a dartboard that had been painted onto a plaster wall, gouged and chipped from years of service. He felt a little listless being there alone, but so much routine had been interrupted, Orochimaru wanted nothing more than to pretend he was in a different time, a different place--and yet...
The bar was a step under a proper izakaya, barely more than a hole in the wall, and Orochimaru glided in gracefully, avoiding other celebrating shinobi before sitting at the end of the bar where two stools remained empty. Claiming one for himself, he ordered a bottom shelf umeshu that was more sour than sweet. It always left a film in his mouth, but the memories were worth more than the unpleasantness.
The bartender was a decrepit former jōnin who lost both his legs in a fierce conflict with Sunagakure before the second war, and his face was more scars than skin. He was still sharp, and walked with two prosthetics and was not afraid to use them to fight unruly patrons. He left the bottle of umeshu, which had a hand written label and three fat, wrinkled plums at the bottom.
He was drinking and idly wondering if a jutsu was used to displace the plums into the small necked bottle or if they placed the bottle around the plums as they grew when a shinobi cozied up to him on the second barstool.
Before he could even say something scathing, Hatake Sakumo smiled at him, all pointy wolf teeth on dangerous display.
“Orochimaru-san,” He said throatily, leaning his chin on one of his hands while he stared with hooded eyes. “It’s lovely to see you here. Let me buy your next drink,”
The last time he had seen Sakumo was seven months prior, at a final skirmish with Hanzō the Salamander before the worm of a man fled back to Ame. Sakumo was leading his own squadron on reconnaissance missions.
Sakumo was an excellent tracker, given he was not a sensor. He was taller than the average height for a Konoha shinobi, and he wore his hair long as a mark of his skill. His shoulders were broad, his skin tanned, and he looked more rested than he ever had on the battlefield. Over the course of the war he was lightning on the battlefield, striking fast and true with his chakra saber. The murmurs about the White Fang rose quickly and followed behind him. Sakumo was a powerful shinobi.
In quiet times, when they could, they would often sit together and exchange information. Tsunade teased him for it, about making time for another man in his life, and Jiraiya had nothing to say that was of any import at all.
Sakumo would mention jutsu their opponents had used, and would listen intently at Orochimaru’s theories on how it functioned or what it would do if they struck true. He was ever patient, and Orochimaru valued those quiet evenings.
He had nearly forgotten that Sakumo invited him for drinks when the war was over. If he was going to be honest with himself, Orochimaru had assumed it was just small talk, and expected to never see the man again.
“Sakumo-san.” Orochimaru said, but he hid his surprise. “I would accept, but I already bought a bottle,” he finally settled on, using the small ceramic cup to gesture.
Sakumo’s smile only widened. He looked dangerous.
He looked handsome.
“Then maybe you’ll let me buy you breakfast?” He said, and he let his eyes rake over Orochimaru so his intentions could not be misunderstood.
Orochimaru left with the bottle and Sakumo.
~~~
It’s just after three months that Orochimaru realized something is wrong, and not just with Konohagakure. He was already listless and only so much jutsu analysis he could complete, only so many vaccines he could develop. After the end of the war, Sarutobi-sensei informed him that he was requested to be placed under Shimura Danzō-sama’s command to help build Root, a new division of Anbu.
He read the scroll in Sarutobi’s office. He felt ill, but it didn’t seem to be because of the distasteful proposal of Shimura.
“This unit.” Orochimaru said. “Why does Anbu need the support of this... Root?”
“There are always unsavory missions, Orochimaru. Root’s purpose is to carry them out.” Sarutobi’s hands were folded into each other behind his back as he stared out at Konoha from the windows in the Hokage’s office.
Orochimaru stared.
“We are shinobi. There is no honor in what we do, Sensei.” He said finally. “An unsavory mission is still a mission, and I see no reason why an Anbu operative would be incapable of completing it. This proposes they answer to their commander only,” he flips through and points to the page where he has marked down the line. “In other proposals about changes to Anbu, at least when I was an operative, it always stated that an Anbu operative answers to the Hokage only. This,” he dropped the sheaf of papers on Sarutobi’s desk. “Reads as if there will be operatives who answer to another agent, presumably Shimura-sama.”
Sarutobi returned to the desk and read over the part Orochimaru had underlined. “Hmm,” He made an interested noise, but did not probe further. “I look forward to reading further insights from you regarding this, Orochimaru. Are you declining the position?” Sarutobi seemed to be evaluating Orochimaru, and he wasn’t sure for what reason, and he wasn’t sure he could handle more judgement from his Sensei.
Orochimaru stared at Sarutobi, assessing the man. He flipped through multiple scenarios, but all of them involved Shimura-sama, who was one of the most unpleasant shinobi he had ever worked with. There was something unbecoming about the man, and Shimura felt like a symbol of more unpleasant times. Wipe away dissent. Iron fists inside the village, under his sole command?
His stomach roiled.
Even in his most profane studies, locked away tight for no eyes but his own, Orochimaru never considered turning against his fellow Leaf nin. He had to have a line he couldn’t cross, and when he created the self-imposed rule, he thought of what Tsunade would do in his place. Jiraiya. Even when he did things Tsunade would surely hate him for, he would not turn against his compatriots.
“I am, Hokage-sama.” Orochimaru found himself saying. “If that will be all?”
Sarutobi lipped at the pipe in his mouth and nodded at Orochimaru. “Very well, Orochimaru. That will be all.”
Orochimaru had something he needed to see to, and he departed the Hokage’s office with his self-imposed mission in mind.
~~~
The Yashagoro clan seemed to follow a straight line down, never the sprawling and branching arms that other clans seemed to have. As far back as his mother could remember, there was only ever one child born to Yashagoro.
Being pregnant was exhausting, she had said, which seemed obvious to Orochimaru; growing a person wasn’t a simple task.
“I learned I was pregnant because every day I was ill, much sooner than morning sickness would arrive. My chakra would sustain you, but it left me feeling uneasy, at least until your father came home and was able to ease the burden. Yashagoro never have an easy pregnancy, my love,” And she would brush a sweet kiss across his forehead. “But having the chakra of your partner can make it easier.”
Orochimaru had a horrible feeling that his upset stomach may be something else, and when he arrived at his private labs. He pushed away scrolls and jutsu and research from the main laboratory table and inhaled deeply, and exhaled just as slowly. Orochimaru drew his blood, leaving it in a small phial while he puttered around the lab to create the compound necessary to test for what he needed.
He thought about Sakumo, and how attentive he was. It had been a bit of fun between them, and Orochimaru delighted in having him between his legs, Sakumo’s teeth in his neck and Orochimaru’s nails scratching down his back. He left before Sakumo awoke in the morning, not sure if he could stomach being told to leave. He limped home, even with his advanced healing. His entire cervix felt battered after Sakumo had wrung orgasm after orgasm from him.
He hadn’t seen the man in the village since, but Orochimaru had been avoiding him.
He set aside a petri dish, placing the compound inside with a drop of blood, then swirled it around before placing it under a microscope. He paced back and forth, not yet looking through the eyepiece. It would explain why shunshin felt different to use, if his chakra was...
He took another deep breath to brace himself and looked in the microscope, adjusting the clarity until he saw what he needed.
“Shit,” he whispered, and then dove towards the sink to vomit when a sudden wave of anxious nausea washed over him.
Now that he knew, it wouldn’t be difficult to cut off his chakra and go back to the way things used to be. Orochimaru could end the pregnancy himself without much fanfare.
He remembered his mother and father. His parents loved him so much, and his heartstrings were tugged at the idea of having a child all to himself, an irreplaceable gift-- and to grow a whole human would be an incredibly invaluable experience and one he found himself suddenly invariably curious about.
He thought about this new, permanent tie he had to Sakumo.
“Shit.” he said again with feeling. Orochimaru had forms to fill out if he was going to go on leave.