Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When she wakes, there is a thin layer of gauzy material covering her eyes, and the stench of decay buried deep in her being.

She does not panic.

She cannot sense anyone around for miles, which means either her own chakra has been suppressed – and it hasn’t, she determines, after a quick, exploratory flare – or she truly is alone here. She tests her range of motion, her digits and limbs responding well, if a little stiff, and she is not in any way bound or trapped to the surface she is lying on. When she runs a hand over her head, her fingertips brush cold marble, and she draws back with a hiss of surprise.

She is in the crypt.

Seals of preservation have been carved into the underside of the lid propped atop her tomb. They are dormant, unresponsive to her examination.

Uzumaki Mito plants both hands on the marble above her and gives a good, firm shove. She rises into a sitting position, the lid above her moving out of the way as she lifts, and promptly chokes under what seems like a mountain of dust. The lid crashes to the ground. Mito wheezes, pressing the gauzy material against her nose and mouth for respite, and waits for the chaos to lessen. When it does, she cautiously lifts the cloth away from her face.

The first thing she sees is the white scrap of silk in her hand, yellowed from age. The next thing she sees is the tombs of her ancestors lined alongside her own, each one smashed open, pieces of marble strewn about the stone floor. Everything in her line of sight is utterly wrong. The banners hanging from the walls are no longer the vivid red of her time, but faded pinks and peach, the fabric scorched and torn in places. The jewels set into the floor are all gone, but marks of sharp tools remain, the stone scratched and dented by the work of thieves. The great set of double doors leading into the crypt ought to be sealed shut, and yet remains wide open, a gaping maw of shadows at the entrance.

Mito slowly lifts herself out of the tomb. The silk in her hand had not been surprising, she’d removed it herself from her face. It was the hand itself that sent shock rippling through her core. Smooth and unlined, no scars or calluses. The hand of a young noblewoman. The one she had been, before time took her away, and left an aged crone in her place.

She assesses the situation with deadly, unearned calm.

She has awoken inside her own tomb, apparently young and untried once more, and has found Uzushio’s crypt in a state of total disrepair, defaced by greed. The crypt is located directly beneath the great hall, and so she should be able to sense thousands of chakra signatures above her. And yet there are none. Nothing but dust floating in thick, undisturbed air. Despite the obvious signs of intrusion, it does not appear anyone has entered the room for many years, meaning the crypt has been abandoned long enough to be raided, and yet even more time has passed since then.

Uzushio has fallen.

Mito breathes the truth out, unwilling to let it fester within her.

How many centuries has it been? What is the world like, above her? Have more Great Shinobi Villages been founded in her absence? Who currently houses the Kyuubi?

Is there room for one more ghost to haunt Uzushio’s shores?

She steps across the cracked stone tiles to examine her ancestors’ tombs. They remain, thankfully, still enshrouded by silk, but their tombs are broken beyond repair. Mito can only assume her tomb remained intact because of the seals someone had placed after her death.

Enough dawdling, she thinks crossly, don’t be such a coward. Time to properly assess the damage.

With that, she leaves the room without a backward glance.

The steps are chipped and fractured, but she navigates them with only a small scowl, robes dragging through the dirt.

Before she can properly leave the crypt, her attention is caught by a large looking glass in the room at the top of the small flight of stairs. The glass is dark and partially covered by a red velvet blanket. She crosses the room at once, eager to find answers within herself before seeking them elsewhere, and tugs the blanket free, sending it cascading to the floor in a rush of dust.

She narrows her eyes at her own reflection.

She has been dressed very extravagantly for death. White ribbons have been looped through her hair, and a small, ceremonial circlet glints above her forehead, the mark of her seal thankfully still visible on her skin. Opals decorate her ears, and rows and rows of jewelled necklaces fall across her chest, a gold choker around her throat. Her robes are heavy, white fabric with gold thread embroidery depicting scenes of Uzushio life, tides of gold spilling at the hem, fish leaping around the cuffs, decorative swirls filling in the spaces. There is even a touch of fur at the collar, a real luxury for the village.

All in all, a tremendous waste of money to be used simply to dress up a corpse just to bury her beneath marble. What was it all for? So grave robbers might think her pretty, had they managed to break through her tomb?

Everything is a little loose, presumably because it had been tailored to fit her older self, not the young woman she sees staring back at her from the looking glass. Her face has been painted white, with Uzushio swirls of blue and gold glittering on her cheeks, her lips a pale pink, as red would have been improper to be used after death, more a colour for weddings and celebrations.

Her lips had been red the day she’d married Hashirama, a scarlet smile painting his cheek after a rare display of affection on her part. She doesn’t dwell on the thought, leaving it for later to pick over like a starved beast gnawing on bone.

She leaves the room with a sense of muted anger, uncertain what it is pointed towards. Regardless, she follows its momentum all the way up the stairs, and steps into the light.

The great hall is gone.

In its place lies sea-soaked rock, the cliffs the village had been built upon now reclaiming the space. She can see cracked, gilded tiles glinting in pools on the rocky surface, piles of stone made by man, not nature, but besides that, it is gone. The great hall was where they would feast, dance, celebrate, and pray. Any gathering of more than ten would inevitably take place within the hall, where all manner of arguments could be quelled by the familiar surroundings. They’d deliberately decorated it to be plain and comforting, thick rugs underfoot, gentle candlelight twinkling across the space, seals on the walls dampening the roar of the ocean just outside.

Mito turns.

It is not just the great hall.

Uzushio itself is gone.

She stumbles, almost dropping to her knees.

She walks for hours, searching for signs of her home. She finds broken rock, fallen weapons, mounds of earth that suggest hasty, shallow graves, fragments of ancient scrolls tangled in the brush, a pearl comb half-buried in dirt, and countless bones.

She finds a skull propped against the remains of a stone wall that used to border the training grounds. Nearby, an almost intact skeleton is curled up at the base of a broken tower, as if seeking shelter.

That muted anger from before rises steadily, higher and higher until she feels her own chakra reserves flicker in response, her body seeking the end to an enemy it cannot see.

It is the first time since waking that she has discovered something good.

Her chakra reserves have always been immense. She is an Uzumaki, after all, and her own chakra was powerful enough to tie a beast to her soul. But now, inexplicably, her reserves feel positively endless. An infinite sea of energy. She no longer has the Kyuubi, having died giving up the beast, and yet she feels twice as strong as she had at her peak, a young jinchuuriki ready to take on the world. The only answer is her seal. It remains on her forehead despite the fact that it ought to have faded with her death, which indicates that for however long she has been resting in her tomb, her chakra had continued to gather in the seal.

She frowns, fingers tapping against her lips.

Could it be possible that the seals of preservation on her tomb had somehow affected her corpse in turn? It isn’t what they were designed for – and she would know – but it isn’t as though she had ever tested it on a dead person, especially without the added combination of her own Strength of a Hundred seal. It doesn’t make sense, and she suspects it never will. If she allows herself to question it for too long, she will inevitably have to study the phenomenon until she discovers the truth. Such a truth does not need to exist in this world. Let it remain buried in Uzushio’s desecrated crypt, where men less principled than herself cannot reach it.

The secrets of immortality had plagued her generation, each person of renown unable to resist the allure of escaping death. All save Hashirama, of course, her foolish, sweet husband, all too happy to grow old, wanting nothing more than the chance to leave the reigns of power to the next generation. To finally be free of the burden of being the man that founded a nation.

At that moment, something glints amongst the rubble.

Mito makes her way towards it, expecting to find yet another discarded kunai. Instead, she finds a brass locket, rusted shut. She clutches it to her chest, her breath coming fast and shallow.

This had once been her best friend’s most prized possession. She’d inherited it from her mother, and always swore she’d leave it to her own daughter one day. After four sons, Mito nudged her into finally passing it down to her oldest boy, a bright-eyed soldier with hair the colour of maize. At the time Mito had grown close to death, the boy had been a man with a child of his own, a precious daughter who had no talent for ninjutsu, but a deft hand at sewing and needlework.

The locket had passed through three generations to reach Mito’s shaking hand.

She can’t bear it.

Her nails scrabble desperately at the latch, forgetting the trick to unlock it. She scratches away the rust, reddish brown flakes coating her fingertips like old blood, and finally, with a firm press, the locket springs open.

She has endured so much since waking from her eternal rest. The realisation of her surroundings, her own death and undeath, the terrible state of her ancestral chamber, the loss of her home and everyone she had ever known and loved.

And yet it is this small thing that breaks her.

A flaking cracked portrait the size of her thumb. Her best friend’s painted smile reaching through time to try to cheer her once more, only to strike her like a blow. She had not expected to see her friend’s face in that moment, since during her time, her friend had left a small, pressed flower inside the locket. At some point, someone, probably her son, had commissioned a small portrait of his mother to sit here in place of the flower.

Mito’s body is wracked with sobs. She is driven to the ground, curling up, holding the locket to her heart.

She lies there long enough for the chill of the stone to seep through her being.

xxxxxxxx

Time waits for no one, not even long-dead women who ought not to have left their resting places, so eventually Mito drags herself off the ground, wipes her face clean of tears, and sets about finding the people responsible for destroying her legacy.

She takes the form of a woman she had known, small and unassuming, often mistaken for a civilian, and leaves in search of answers.

Crossing the watery divide between the Land of Whirlpools and the Land of Fire is a journey best done on boat, but Mito does not feel inclined to build one. Instead, she glues her feet to the surface of the water, ignoring the shifting of the tide, and calmly walks until she reaches land. The sun is going down by the time she sets foot in the Land of Fire. She can only hope it is not currently at war with whatever villages remain, as she has little to no interest in engaging in battle at this time.

Her disguise will cause her to be overlooked, if she encounters resistance, unless –

Ah.

The bushes rustle around her as she walks through the woodland path. Too obvious to be shinobi, to discreet to be merely animals going about their business.

Bandits, then.

A man steps into view, a large scythe strapped to his back. It has grown dark, and his leering expression is set shadow, appearing quite ominous. Mito gazes back at him, serene.

She is aware there are more men at her back.

“What’s this, then?” The man in front of her asks. “A little rabbit, lost in the woods?”

Mito sighs, ever so slightly. It is not enough to simply be a ruffian, it seems. One must also speak only in clichés.

“Do you know why the scythe began being used as a weapon?” She asks.

The man’s forehead creases in confusion, “you what?”

“The scythe is a farming implement. Not designed for warfare. When daimyos began drafting all available townsfolk to fight wars they were unqualified to participate in, more often than not, they were farmers with nothing but the tools they used on the land. They took these tools into battle, where they died in droves. Do you know why?”

“This bitch is insane.” The man laughs, looking over her shoulder to share the humour of the moment with the men behind her.

Mito steps on his back, prying the scythe from his hands. He splutters in shock. His men are silent, perhaps in awe at her speed.

“It is because the scythe makes for a very poor weapon, I’m afraid. Too much reach and not enough accuracy. A tool made for farming cannot counter a weapon made for war. And you are not a man of war, are you? You’re a man who seeks pleasure in easy violence because he has never had to know the fear of real danger. Am I right?”

“Bitch! Fuckin’ get her!” The man spits, wriggling beneath her foot.

None of his men move. When Mito spares them a glance, they’ve gone. Smarter than their friend, it seems.

“Here’s hoping you are more knowledgeable of ancient history than you appear,” Mito sighs.

xxxxxxxx

Mito gazes at the outline of Konohagakure, glowing orange on the horizon.

It has been a little over twenty years since her death.

Uzushio fell four years after she did.

Konoha did nothing.

The bandit hadn’t known the details, just the dates, so Mito had been forced to break into the archives of a nearby town. It had taken hours to find a written account of the awful final days of her home.

A civil war had began shortly after Mito died, the other clans clashing with the Uzumaki. Kushina had been sent to Konoha by this point, safe from the in-fighting. An unnamed shinobi of Uzushio had betrayed them to Kumo, sharing details of their village’s defences and advising them on the best way to wipe them out. Kumo had tricked Uzushio into believing they were about to send their full force to attack Konoha. Uzushio sent a warning to Konoha and immediately headed out to defend them, taking most of their shinobi with them. Kumo circled around them with half of their own forces and sieged the village. The rest of their shinobi picked off Uzushio’s soldiers during their journey to Konoha. Records show the soldiers turned back to defend Uzushio, presumably realising they had been deceived, only for the remaining Kumo shinobi in Uzushio to meet them at the gates, finishing them off.

Not a single person had been spared. Word had spread of survivors scattering across the lands, but nothing concrete. Every lord, lady, shinobi, and civilian, had been killed without compromise.

Konoha had received Uzushio’s warning of an impending attack and had responded by barring their gates and preparing their soldiers for a last stand. When the attack failed to arrive, they sent scouts to learn more. They arrived at the smouldering wreckage of their ally and realised what had happened.

And their response to Kumo’s treachery was to bury their heads in the sand and pretend nothing had happened. As if Uzushio’s loss was just an unfortunate natural disaster, impossible to foresee or avenge. As if Uzushio hadn’t been destroyed trying to save the very village that started the war in the first place.

Mito breathes in the scent of the forest. It is nothing like the briny air of her home, salt so thick in the air you could taste it. Here the land smells earthy, aromatic but strange, not unfamiliar, but not home. Here is the village Hashirama loved so dearly. The place he and their children had called home. Mito had dwelled here for some time, but eventually had answered the call of the sea. Longing had hooked her between the ribs and pulled her home.

She brushes her hand against the bark of a tree her husband had grown. She sends a spark of chakra through the seal she carved so many years ago.

She is transported deep beneath the earth inside the tunnels carved for the Hokage to evacuate, her own seals glittering across the stone walls. She traverses the underground passages easily, slipping through the dark spaces until her face once against is bathed by sunlight.

When she blinks, she is greeted by the sight of a village at peace.

Konohagakure looks to be doing very well indeed, civilians bustling about in great masses, fresh produce being sold by the barrel, the only visible shinobi milling about aimlessly, not standing guard.

Not at war, then, Mito thinks wryly. Lucky them, I suppose.

She walks around, noting the changes between her time and the present. The buildings are much taller and there’s an extra face carved into the Hokage Mountain, a shaggy-haired fellow she hopes isn’t who she thinks it is. The Hokage can’t be that scruffy little boy Kushina had been courting, could it? Mito had only met him once during her final visit to Konoha and hadn’t been terribly impressed. Of course, Kushina had pretended she hated the boy, but she couldn’t hide the gleam in her eye when she rambled on about how annoying he was. Mito had scolded her for being predictable. A lady should at least choose someone utterly scandalous if no one appropriate suits her.

And then, like sand glittering in the sun, she feels a trace of something familiar.

Uzumaki, she thinks, following the chakra before she can even stop to process the revelation.

Her feet take her to the Academy, Tobirama’s greatest creation, where she perches atop a fence, unseen, to peer down at the small figures standing in the clearing below.

She spots the Uzumaki immediately. He’s a small boy, younger than students were supposed to start school – Tobirama had ideas about the differences in society during peacetime rather than wartime – but nevertheless, he is gamely holding his hands up in a seal, screwing his face up with effort.

She isn’t certain what technique he is attempting, but the pitiful slither of chakra he manages to shift isn’t enough to do more than make him stumble back a step.

Instantly, the air fills with the jeers of his fellow students.

“We told you!” One child crows. “You can’t do anything! You’re not a shinobi, you’re just a monster boy!”

The children take up the chant, monster boy!

“If you can’t even do something this simple, how dare you call yourself my student?” The teacher says contemptuously.

All the while, the little Uzumaki’s chakra seethes with anger, the faintest stirrings of hatred beginning to emerge. Mito senses something awful just below it, which brings with it a terrible realisation. The boy is a jinchuuriki. The hatred Mito can feel is his own, but it’s already being fed by the Kyuubi’s aura, strengthening the boy’s resentment.

If this boy is the Kyuubi jinchuuriki, then Kushina is dead.

Mito lowers her head, burying her face in her hands as if the pain she feels can be evaded if only she hides herself from it. Kushina is dead. Her bright, vivacious, precocious little flame of a girl. Her heir at heart. While Tsunade was her heir in truth, left in Konoha to lead the next generation of Senju, Mito had always seen Kushina as the future of Uzushio. She had assumed the girl had survived the fall of the village, and yet…

By the time she comes out of her reverie, the little Uzumaki is gone, along with the rest of the students.

Mito has never considered herself a fool. The boy is the spitting image of Kushina’s beau, with obvious similarities to Kushina herself, and he bears the burden Mito had died to seal into Kushina. He can only be her son. What could have led to such a boy being the laughingstock of his school, treated with such obvious derision by his teachers and peers alike?

She follows the traces of his chakra to a back alley, her nose wrinkling at the sight she is greeted with.

The boy is scrabbling through the garbage on his hands and knees. He appears quite cheerful, despite the grim task ahead of him. He finds an apple, still red and shiny, and rubs it very carefully on his shirt. Mito appreciates the sentiment, but wonders if the boy understands the concept of requiring cloth itself to be clean before it can clean anything else.

Interestingly enough, she can sense a four-man squad nearby. Two stand on the roof on the left side of the alley and two stand on the right, bordering the child like guards.

Before the boy can take a bite, a man steps into the alley, bristling with anger.

“You demon brat! How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my garbage! Little thief, always making a mess – ” The man snarls, raising a hand to the boy.

Mito has been able to sense negative emotions since the first time she sealed the Kyuubi within herself. In that moment, she senses anger and bitter resentment emanating from the guards above. However, she can’t pause to consider the reasons why they might feel that way, because she is too busy striding down the alley, and slapping the man across the face.

The merchant staggers back beneath the force of the blow, her hand cracking against his cheek.

The Uzumaki boy stares up at her owlishly.

“There is no law against taking from waste that has been disposed of,” Mito says, with forced calm, “there is, however, a law against hitting children, not to mention laws against the improper disposal of waste. How dare you attempt to strike a child?”

The man reels, eyes wide at the sight of her civilian disguise. Then he seems to regain his composure, anger drawing his features into a tight snarl, “There’s no law against disciplining a wild animal.”

The Uzumaki boy flinches, shoulders rising up.

“Is that right? Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be sure to take that into consideration when I decide exactly how to discipline the beast I see before me.” Mito gives him a sweet smile, then goes to yank the man closer –

One of the guards on the roof drops down in-between them.

“Hey, now. That’s enough.” The man says, lifting his hands to placate them. “I’ll take it from here, ma’am. Sir, I saw what happened, and you need to leave. You don’t want this to blow up into a big mess, right?”

The merchant seethes but seems to lose all his nerve at the sight of the shinobi and charges off like a great big child in a sulk.

Mito tuts, “A waste of an opportunity for a well-deserved lesson, shinobi-san.”

The shinobi turns back to her, slipping his hands into his pockets. His posture is slack, loose, undisciplined. Mito feels her lip curl in response at the sight of it. His hair is grey and he’s wearing a dark mask across the lower half of his face. Interesting to hide his identity even within the walls of his own village. Perhaps he was on loan from another village, only here for some kind of programme. Villages did that, from time to time, sharing shinobi like tools and secrets.

The Uzumaki boy is still frozen behind Mito’s legs.

“Doesn’t seem like a lesson meant to be taught by a visitor.” The shinobi shrugs. “What brings you to the village?”

“Well, I’d like an audience with your Hokage.”

“Need an appointment for that, I’m afraid.”

Mito rolls her eyes, bemoaning the bureaucracy of it all, then turns, scoops the boy into her arms, and slams her hand on the faded seal painted on the alley’s wall.

The man is fast enough to hurl a kunai at her head the second she reaches towards the child, but not accurate enough to strike, and she and the boy slip through the transportation seal without issue. There’s no chance of the shinobi being able to follow her through it, since the seal is keyed to her chakra. Well, hers and Hashirama’s. They left seals all over the village so they could sneak around unchaperoned – Tobirama was a nuisance despite being younger – and had never felt the need to remove them.

She carries the boy through the forest on the outskirts of the village, noting that the child is trembling but unresisting in her arms, and eventually sets him down on the grass.

“Hello, young Uzumaki,” Mito says, finally finding a reason to smile when the young boy meets her eyes.

His face opens up in undisguised shock, raw and vulnerable, “How do you know my name, lady?”

“First of all.” Mito says severely, settling herself down to sit primly with her legs firmly closed together to prevent her robes from slipping. “I am not ‘lady,’ I am Mito. Though I suppose you may call me obaa-san, should you wish.”

“But you’re not an old lady!” The boy protests. “You’re as pretty as anything. I’ll call you onee-chan!”

“No, you won’t,” Mito can’t help but laugh, “I’m older than the house you live in, child.”

“I don’t live in a house, so there!” The boy sticks his tongue out at her playfully.

Mito closes her eyes, dismayed by the bad manners, then opens them abruptly, concerned. “You do have a home, I trust?”

“The orphanage,” the boy recites dully, like he’s had the fact drilled into his head.

If the Kyuubi had still dwelled within her soul, he would have cackled in unbridled glee at the surge of fury that rises within her.

***

Hello, friends!

PSA: I’m not currently accepting constructive criticism on this fic.

I’m currently on holiday, due to climb aboard a massive ferry tomorrow to sail to another island to meet my cousin/godmother after several years AND I DON’T FEEL WELL. I FEEL TERRIBLE, IN FACT.

Send healthy thoughts my way, for I am decaying as we speak.

Do I know anything about Mito? About as much as the Naruto wiki knows, as it happens. Do I love her? Obviously.

Mito: realises her descendant is being mistreated.

Also Mito: The time for diplomacy died with me. The time for kidnapping starts now.

Will there be a non-Hashirama/Mito ship?

Well, that really depends. Mito is mentally in her early sixties, chronologically in her early eighties, and physically 22. So like. Who tf could she date lmao.

Every few years a new Naruto character possesses me and forces me to write them getting angry over Naruto’s childhood.

I mentioned in another fic that my friend got me into One Piece, that treacherous snake, and I unfortunately really love it. I’m on episode 260. Chopper is my son.

If you want me to keep going with this, please leave a comment.

If you don’t want me to keep going with this, please send me a smoke signal.

Quick poll for fun: What do you want Mito to change the most?

Chapter Text

Mito guides Naruto to a long-lost corner of the forest. Besides the natural chakra the plant life emanates, only faint traces of Hashirama remain. No one else has stood in this spot for decades.

The tree she takes him to is not the largest nor the most impressive. It is somewhat short and squat, but very thick, with ungainly limbs splayed atop the trunk, a mess of leaves and branches. The trunk has a unique feature none of the other trees bear: a small, carved door, just tall enough to allow an average-sized adult entry without stooping.

Mito touches the handle, gently stroking the hand-carved bees and flowers that adorn it. The door swings open without a sound, light flooding in to reveal a staircase has been cut into the middle of the tree trunk, completely hidden from the outside.

Naruto’s eyes are round with wonder as he peeks up into the tree.

The inside of the tree is far bigger than reality would allow. It is, in fact, the interior of a log cabin Hashirama had built decades prior, sealed within an unremarkable-looking tree. Its only unique feature is the door, which is invisible to those whose chakra signatures were not used to create it. Mito is unsurprised to find the tree utterly untouched even after all these years.

She encourages Naruto to walk up the stairs, following behind with a nostalgic smile at the scent of polished wood and beeswax.

They enter a room with cheerful yellow walls, fresh green plants in painted clay pots, and hand-carved wooden furniture. Hashirama had insisted on working on decorating the place the hard way, refusing to use his Mokuton to shape the tables and cabinets or his substantial funds to simply buy everything they would need.

This is our safehouse, my heart! He’d said with a big white grin, the sincerity sending a pang of actual pain to Mito’s chest. We’ll come here when we need to get away from the world. It has to be perfect. It has to be ours.

Mito watches Naruto marvel over the size of the place, feeling distant, but not mournful. She had briefly forgotten that rare epithet Hashirama occasionally bestowed upon her. My heart, he’d said, and meant.

The first time he had called her that, she had rolled her eyes, pointing out he had a heart of his own, she need not double as an extra. He’d grinned cheekily, responding, the heart that beats within my chest is only half what you might expect, hime-sama. The other half walks the earth with her head held high.

She’d been curt with her reply, vexed by the hated title of princess, telling him his ridiculous sentiment was a dangerous one – if she was to double as half a vital organ, that would make her a target built to harm him, not her. He could not allow such a disadvantage, she’d insisted, she would be a wife, mother of his heir, and a staunch ally to him, but she would not be a weak point fit only to be exploited.

We don’t get to choose where our heart goes, Hashirama’s eyes had been so warm and soft, mine split in two and one half left me long ago. It’s true that makes me vulnerable, but beyond that, it makes me happier than anything else in the world.

“Onee-chan, ne, ne, how is this place so big?!” Naruto bounces into view, his tiny form hopping up and down in front of her.

Onee-chan, Mito despairs in silence. How long has it been since she was last burdened with such an undignified title?

“We are standing inside of a cabin that was built in the Land of Tea. The cabin was sealed inside a tree in the forest that encircles Konohagakure,” Mito explains.

Naruto’s face screws up in confusion.

Mito mentally prepares a list of lessons Naruto will require: 1) Manners 2) Subtlety 3) Dignity 4) Restraint, etc. all stand out as obvious contenders. Clearly, his instructors at the Academy are grossly incompetent and have taught him nothing of value. Mito’s own schooling had been administered by a small team of scholars, dignitaries, diplomats, and somewhat scandalously, a geisha of high repute. Outsiders naturally assumed Mito was learning the so-called ‘womanly arts’ from her. They would have been aghast to learn the truth, which was that the woman was gifted in the art of poisons, and Mito spent their lessons imbibing strange-smelling concoctions and brewing antidotes. Far more comforting to believe she was practicing tea ceremonies and learning how best to smile at a man.

She had learned such things, only a little later in life, and from a friendly missing-nin that had abducted her for a ransom.

Mito gifts Naruto with a soft smile, amused by how quickly it works to calm him into stillness.  

She drops the henge, keeping an eye on the mirror opposite her on the wall, its beautifully carved frame now encasing a much more familiar sight.

She has not yet wiped off the ceremonial makeup left daubed on her face, as it is thick, designed to last throughout the process of decay, and would require something strong to remove properly. She has no desire to walk around with the smeared remains of a failed attempt to wipe it off without the necessary tools.

As it is, her face is still chalk white, Uzushio’s symbol painted on both cheeks in sparkling swirls of gold and blue, and her lips are a few shades pinker than is natural. Her hair is tied in the traditional style, tiny braids woven round into matching, heavy loops, one either side of her head, and her mother’s ceremonial circlet sits on top. Her ears and throat bear jewels fit to fill a small country’s treasury. The opals glinting in her ears are the same ones she wore on her wedding day. Her robes are thick, white with gold embroidery, the fur trim taken from a mighty bear her father had encountered in the Land of Snow.

She makes for an impressive sight, as disgruntled as she felt at her village’s foolish waste of money and resources. Fancy dooming such fine clothes and jewels to rot in a crypt with a corpse rather than clothe and feed the living! As fond as she was of the opals and the fur, she would have preferred them to be sold for the sake of her people. She would have assumed they would have known that, but clearly leading by example only takes one so far. She would be more vocal in the future.

Naruto gapes at her. She taps his chin, startling him into closing his mouth with a snap that makes her wince.

“You got even prettier!” He marvels. “Ne, ne, are you a spirit? A goddess? No, a demon!”

“What have they been teaching you?” Mito huffs. “My name is Uzumaki Mito. I am your mother’s cousin, which means I am your cousin. Think of me more of a grandmother, though I understand that may be confusing.”

It seems an understatement, judging by how ferociously Naruto’s brow puckers in thought. She can almost see the effort it takes for him to absorb her words. She revises her mental list, deciding his academics would be handled by a patient, gentle tutor.

It is hard to blame him for the confusion, considering how Mito calls Kushina her cousin only to give their distant relation a name worth the bond they grew to share. Their clan was large and sprawling, familial ties often difficult to define. She is related to Kushina, and thus Naruto, just not quite as simply as she chooses to describe it.

“You knew my mother…” Naruto murmurs, dreamlike, sinking into melancholy before her eyes.

Mito meets her own reflection’s eyes, her rage reflected back at her. Naruto has been mistreated in so many ways it is impossible to know precisely what to be angry about first.

But first, the gentle hand he has been so cruelly denied.

Mito kneels down to meet his eyes, their sky-blue brightness dimmed to a cold winter’s afternoon.

“I knew your parents, my boy, and I will tell you all about them in time. First, you must sleep, while I attend to some matters in the village, and when you wake, I will be here with answers to all of your questions. Will that be alright?” She speaks in a soft, hushed voice, not quite touching him, but holding her hands out in case he needs something to hold.

The boy’s chin wobbles.

She isn’t prepared when he rushes forward, face colliding with her knees, and throws his arms around her. She blinks. He climbs up her with all the ease of a monkey, scrambling into her lap, and buries his face into the mass of gold at her throat.

Mito wraps her arms around the trembling child.

“You are safe, dear boy,” she says quietly, “you are loved.”

xxxxxxxx

He fell asleep naturally, huddled against her, but she layers a strong mental suggestion for him to sleep anyway, and he sinks deep into unconsciousness. She carries him up to the guest room, built only to suit Mito’s demands that a house must always have space for a visitor. She hadn’t cared that Hashirama had intended for the cabin to only be used by them. A house has many things, including a guest room, even if one will never invite someone over. It’s only right.

She carefully lies the boy down in the bed, positioning the sheets and pillows to be in the most comfortable arrangement for him. He looks far too small, feet not even reaching past the halfway point of the mattress. She stands for a moment, looking down on him, then reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. There.

Much better.

The cabin is a triumph of her and Hashirama’s shared talents. Preservation seals coat every inch of the place. The sheets have them sewn in by Mito’s hand. They are embroidered into the rugs. She touches the carved seals on the wardrobe, her fingers marking the path they made through the wood.

The windows are the only flaw. A horrific lack of foresight on her part. As the cabin was sealed within the tree, that is where the cabin is, surrounded by wood. It is no longer sitting in a cheerful field in the Land of Tea. However, as the windows showed nothing but darkness once the cabin had been sealed, Mito had used genjutsu to display the old view they used to show of the Land of Tea. Genjutsu is tricky, not quite her area of expertise, and she would always have to renew it every time they returned.

The windows are dark once more.

Mito’s hands flash in a sequence of signs. Slowly, the room brightens under the false light of an illusory sun. Mito comes to stand at the windowsill, staring out at an old view from the past. A memory made real.

Lush fields sprawl out in the distance, rows of perfumed tea cut neatly across the land, with charming houses made of sand-coloured stone dotting about with little concern for symmetry. Their red roofs break up the endless green. Mito leans closer to the glass. She can hear the faint trill of birds above the ever-present buzz of insects. Somewhere in the distance, a brook trickles over mossy rocks. She can almost hear the windchimes Hashirama carved and hung up on a tree to mark the border of their land. Almost.

If the view was true, opening the window would bring with it the inevitable rush of scent. Tea of all kinds would permeate the room. Hashirama always claimed the smell made him hungry, and he would nip at her cheek, without fear of her instant reprisal. She would say something sharp. He would slide the window shut and step closer for a kiss to sweeten her mouth. She would allow it. She would –

Mito opens her eyes.

She is too old to dwell on the past. The future sleeps beside her, the little figure cuddled around nothing, arms empty, yet determinedly locked together as if attempting to cage something invisible. Holding onto nothing.

Mito has lost much, yes, but here is someone that has never had anything to lose. So much crueller, she thinks, to have nothing to fear from a familiar scent. No old aches to soothe. No faces to miss.

His pain is present. It comes not from the reminder of loss, but from the presence of absence. Every day he must wake with the knowledge that he is alone, he has always been alone, and he will continue to be alone.

Mito’s glare cuts across the false horizon. The world remains oblivious to the threat that has awakened. They will soon know. Uzumaki Naruto is alone no longer, and that is a fact that will remain true until his final day of life.

She turns her gaze back on him.

The beast hadn’t so much as flinched when she revealed herself to Naruto. She is not oblivious to the fox’s single-minded hatred of her. It would have been impossible to miss while she housed the wretched thing. For it to not react to the sound of her name, let alone the sight of her face, means it still slumbers quite deeply within the boy.

Konoha ought to be praising the high heavens for their mercy, Mito thinks wryly, the Kyuubi is not one to be crossed lightly, and yet the entire village seems to have made sport out of mistreating its vessel. In Naruto’s place, I would have unleashed its power long enough to send the fools gibbering in fear. Let them know the depth of their idiocy, and how it can only be matched by my mercy.

“Well, now, Beast,” she says, eyeing the boy’s midriff, “what say you we hash this whole thing out now, before I turn my fury upon this wretched village?”

The beast says nothing at all. Not a single flicker of chakra. Mito nods, expecting this, and gently places a hand on Naruto’s stomach.

She sinks into the seal.

She raises a brow at the sight that greets her. In her day, though she rarely visited the beast, when she did, the surroundings had been very different to what she sees now. She would always open her eyes to a balcony overlooking a vast courtyard in which the fox typically slept. Charms hung from the cedar beams above her head, traditional calligraphy spelling out ancient protections. They always fluttered in the constant breeze, a soothing sight and sound. Paper lanterns had emanated a warm, cheerful glow.

Naruto’s mindspace is markedly different.

What Mito sees before her is a dungeon. The Kyuubi is immediately visible, its large form squeezed inside a too-small cell, snarling even as it sleeps like its dreams are a threat it wishes to tear apart. The dungeon might be housed within Naruto, but it is not of his making, that much is clear. No, this is the work of whomever sealed the fox into the boy. They must have thought only to contain the beast, to keep it restrained at all times, incapable of reaching out to Naruto with more than a thought.

Sloppy work.

Desperate.

It was serviceable for its main task: contain the Kyuubi. Beyond that, it was a disaster waiting to happen. As Naruto grew in strength, the Kyuubi would have more and more chances to wake and contact him. And the Kyuubi, bound in such a miserable state, would not have cared how its power might harm the boy. No, it would care only for its freedom. And with how little care Naruto had received in his life, how much would it take for the fox to persuade him to free it by himself? It would be the work of a moment. He would need only to reach out and remove the seal.

Mito narrows her eyes. Ah. There is something, a failsafe. So the seal’s creator was not completely incompetent. Just stupid and useless.

She reaches out and tugs.

A blonde-haired man shimmers into being, his warm smile freezing at the sight of her.

“You,” Mito says with pointed dislike, “I thought as much.”

Namikaze Minato wilts.

“Mito-sama – ”

“You had the audacity to marry my Kushina, have a child with her, and then die with her? Did my disapproval fall on deaf ears, boy?”

Minato, somehow, manages a smile. It only serves to incense her further. He seems to sense it, hands reaching out to beseech her. “Mito-sama, I left this chakra imprint here to speak with Naruto, in the event that he attempt to release the Kyuubi from its seal. I don’t want to be rude, but I have little time – ”

“Idiot boy. Don’t you think I know that? Do you imagine this is my first encounter with a chakra imprint? Should I bow to your many years of wisdom and consider myself your disciple?”

“A-ah, well, I – ”

“Rest assured, Naruto will have every chance to endure your stammered greetings when the time comes. While I am here, you will explain to me why, after I awoke from twenty years of slumber, I discovered Kushina’s only child is an orphan without a caretaker, abandoned by the village he is supposed to be raised in.”

Minato’s face changes. The air shifts with it, a sudden chill making the Kyuubi huff out a short grumble.

“Abandoned?” Minato says, a faint note of menace hidden in his tone.

Mito’s lips quirk in a humourless smile. Perhaps the boy may have more grit than she had assumed.

Her conversation with the imprint of Kushina’s husband is not as long as she would like, but she can only preserve his chakra for so long before she risks it dissipating entirely, and she is not so cruel that she would rob Naruto of his only chance to speak with his father.

She knows Kushina has also left an imprint in the seal. She can feel the girl’s maelstrom chakra.

She turns away from it. She isn’t ready to face the girl. Not yet, not while the loss is so fresh.

Kushina had been left vulnerable during childbirth. An unknown shinobi had attacked while she was suffering through the agonies of labour. Minato had been concerned his enemies would target his wife if their relation was known to the world, so her labour had taken place inside a filthy cave, dark, damp, and cold. In the end, his concern had doomed them both. The shinobi successfully wounded them as they sheltered their newborn, and they agreed to take the Kyuubi from Kushina and seal it inside Naruto.

Kushina had died passing on her burden, the way Mito had always feared she might. She knows it must be survivable, if she had just had time to work on the theory, if things hadn’t always been so fraught and perilous! If she had just had more time!

Kushina could have lived. They could have shared half their chakra to seal the beast. They could have raised Naruto together. Minato might not have pointlessly killed himself to weaken the beast. Naruto could have had a family.

The Kyuubi might not have raged through Konoha.

Mito turns her gaze on the slumbering beast with a single question in mind.

Why?

The Kyuubi had hated her, of course, and often railed against that which she loved. Its awful threats against her home were commonplace, just white noise she found easy to ignore. It seemed natural to for its hatred to extend to Konoha.

The Kyuubi’s hatred was not like a human’s. It was not as pointed or personal. It was larger, more abstract, a concept rather than a feeling. It hated because it was hate. It did not hate with the intent of doing something with that hatred.

Its very being opposed the idea of being trapped, it longed for freedom above all else.

Why would the Kyuubi attack the village, risking being caught and sealed once more?

“Wake up, Beast,” Mito says contemptuously.

She will get her answers.

xxxxxxxx

Kakashi has entered what many deem to be the prime of a shinobi’s life. If a nin survives past childhood and puberty, they will undoubtedly be at the peak of their ability. Most shinobi plateau at this point, their skills stagnating at their current level. Some continue to improve. The monsters of the shinobi world such as the Sannin, reach their peak and keep going higher and higher, until it becomes clear their peak is far beyond the norm.

Kakashi, at twenty, is already aware he is closer to the monsters than the norm. He knows he has two choices at this point in his career: 1) Pretend to follow his peers into mediocrity, never create a new technique, never improve his aim nor his strength, and settle for less in exchange for a safer, easier life, or 2) Keep working at the same, tireless pace he has done his entire life, climb higher and higher, and never stop for anything, even if it means giving up the illusion of a normal life.

He has dodged ROOT and pulled Tenzo along with him into the light. That doesn’t mean either of them are out of the shadows, not with the Hokage being so blissfully oblivious to the continued dangers his own right-hand poses. There’s no room for Kakashi to grow within Konoha’s traditional structure, unless he wants to make himself into a candidate for the next Hokage. He’s ensured Konoha’s less traditional underworld is also not a place he can grow.

He's already made vague plans to play the wounded gazelle, lie on his back every time chakra exhaustion looms, really make it obvious he would be something great if not for that glaring weakness. The next step after jounin is sensei. He knows how to hold off on that particular hell. Play up the eccentricities, drive his superiors into frothing rage at his inability to take anything seriously, never be the reliable one always available to be called upon. Never seem like a man who could be handed the future of the village.

And then Naruto got kidnapped right in front of him.

Kakashi had been fooled by the woman’s bland face, her civilian attire, distracted by the genuine glee he’d felt when witnessing her tearing into the man who’d tried to strike Naruto. He’d wanted to believe a civilian would ever defend Naruto. That had led to him utterly failing in his duty to protect him.

“She touched the wall, Hokage-sama.” Kakashi says quietly. “Then the two of them vanished. I couldn’t find a seal or hidden door, it appeared to just be solid brick.”

The Hokage nods, restraining the great weight of his rage with the control only a man of his experience can have, “and how long do you estimate Naruto has been missing?”

“No more than twenty-three minutes, Hokage-sama.”

The Sandaime murmurs something to the chuunin next to him, who salutes him once, then vanishes in a puff of smoke.

“Thank you, Kakashi-kun,” the Hokage says. Kakashi’s brows shoot up, incredulous. “For doing everything you can. Now I would like you to join the reserve team, ready to pursue the kidnapper in the event that she evade the initial response team.”

He’s being benched.

It was obvious he couldn’t join the initial response team; he had to stay and explain everything that had happened, trusting the ANBU team he’d been guarding Naruto with to track him down. But he’d assumed once he’d done his duty and finished informing the Hokage of the events of the past half hour, he’d be able to go on the hunt.

He was itching to be useful, to make up for this colossal mistake.

He cannot be the reason Naruto’s name makes it to the Memorial Stone. He cannot.

The Sandaime regards him with a paternal smile, resting his hands on his shoulders. Kakashi fights the urge to slump like a sulky child.

“Kakashi-kun, Naruto will be fine. I do not want you to languish in self-recrimination, is that clear? Spend your time doing something productive, my boy.”

Kakashi can only nod, useless. He really has nothing to offer Naruto in his hour of need. All he can do is gather his weapons, summon his dogs, and wait for the chance to redeem himself.

***

Hello, friends!

PSA: I am not currently accepting constructive criticism for this fic.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want comments, boy do I! (I do) I just don’t have any need for ones catered to improving the fic, since this is just a fun thing for me. But any other kind of comment? Yes please!

Mito has proved extremely interesting to write, more difficult than I had anticipated. Minato is a challenge, too, gentle, kind, wise beyond his years with a hint of childishness, etc. And Mito is hard, stubborn, intelligent, intimidating, traditional, and will NEVER suffer any fools.

Fun fact: my beta and I were discussing Naruto fic ideas when I suddenly started to brainstorm a Mito fic. I wrote the first chapter and half of the next one in three hours, much to her surprise when I interrupted our brainstorming with a word doc and a desperate plea to read it lol.

I wrote this entire chapter today after writing 5600 words of a different fic I’ll never post. Basically I’ve had an insanely productive day for writing by my standards and I will blame my new glasses.

We don’t know much about Mito, which meant I constantly wrote something, froze, rushed to the Naruto wiki to see if I’d accidentally wrote something inaccurate, only to be greeted with the usual ‘Mito existed. Probably.’ It’s frustrating that such an important character (the first one to become a jinchuuriki! That’s probably not true. There’s probably some alien man who did it first… idc) got the short end of the stick when it comes to detail and screentime.

Well, that’s why this fic exists, so I guess I can’t complain too much, since it’s been so fun to write so far!

Most of the plan for this fic resembles this: Mito walks down the street, grumbling, then stops to point at someone she recognises, “You,” she says, disgusted, then shuffles further down the street. She sees someone she recognises –

I believe the main ship of this fic will be HashiMito, with Mito reminiscing about her marriage. I think the only other person with her age and life experience is Kakuzu and she would choke him out if she ever saw him. Rarely the best start to a relationship.

It’s possible baby Naruto may grow old enough to have his own ship. If so, who do you guys see him being happiest with?

You may wonder why Mito disapproved so strongly of Minato. Well, it’s not for the typical reasons, lack of clan name, social standing, or ability. No, it’s because she finds him dull. Poor thing.

Mito’s plan upon waking from the dead: Go to Konoha and punch whoever the Hokage is in the face.

Mito’s plan now: Raise the most perfect child in the best possible environment, and stab whoever the Hokage is in the face.

Mito looking young and exceptionally beautiful will continue to irritate her greatly, I promise.

I’m on episode 516 of One Piece. Everything hurts. Send help. Or cake.

If you enjoyed this and would like to read more, please comment! <3

Quick poll for fun: Who is your favourite male protagonist?

Mine is Sora from Kingdom Hearts. That’s my son for real.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Beast,” Mito says.

The Kyuubi stirs, a great rumble reverberating throughout the cramped, stone room. The shadows within the cell shift, then part, revealing a large, red eye focused entirely on her. An unearthly chitter echoes against the stone.

Mito regards the great fox with as much interest as she can muster. She recalls it being quite overdramatic in the past, and it would take any sign of boredom very personally.

A flash of white breaks up the shadows – glistening fangs, each as long as a tall man, but far thicker, gnash at her.

“Hime-sama,” the Beast croons.

“That’s quite enough of that.” Mito says irritably, waving her hand. “You and I both know Uzushio is gone. I consider myself the head of the Uzumaki clan, as small as it is, and nothing more. You may refer to me however you wish, Beast.”

“It was never Uzushiogakure that made you a princess, Hime-sama,” the Beast continues, teeth curling up in an unnatural grin. Mito raises an eyebrow. “It’s more of an attitude, don’t you think?”

“I think you are being unusually calm, given the circumstances.”

“When visions plague one as tormented as I, they prove to be entertainment, if nothing else.”

“Visions – you think I am some kind of hallucination? Or do kitsune believe spirits may enter realms such as these?”

“You are long dead, Hime-sama,” the beast says, its voice heavy with something she cannot interpret, “everything from that time is gone. This is reality now, for as long as it takes to reach my wretched new host.”

“Try not to stir too much, Beast. I do not wish for you to wake Naruto. I have no interest in attempting to explain to you what has happened, so instead, I am going to flare my chakra. If you have some kind of emotional response that manages to upset Naruto, I am going to be very cross. Is that understood?”

The Kyuubi chitters again, mirth filling its eye, “I had forgotten how irritating you were.”

“I do not recall ever interacting with you long enough for any qualities of mine to become apparent.” Mito says, impatient, then flares her chakra without any fanfare or warning.

The beast breathes in sharply, the sound like a hundred swords being sheathed at once. The red eye shakes, then vanishes in the gloom as the shadows withdraw.

“I am here, Beast,” Mito says, “I came for answers, but received most from a fool. I have regarded you as many things, but never foolish. I do not believe you would waste an opportunity to escape the bounds of humanity just for the chance to destroy Konoha. There is no one alive who knows why you did what you did. I am not alive, Beast, I am quite profoundly dead. Could you enlighten me as to why you would do something so transparently foolish?”

For a long time, there is silence. Mito sits with it, content to wait, as the Kyuubi shudders in the shadows.

Mito casts her eye about the place critically. She will have to work with Naruto and his control so the Kyuubi will not have to live in such cramped space as this. Minato’s seal was hasty and thus unintentionally cruel for the beast. It meant that less would be required on Naruto’s end to keep the Kyuubi at bay, but it also meant that if ever the beast were presented with the chance to speak with Naruto, it would do everything it could to seek freedom. Especially at Naruto’s expense.

“This may be the first time you have ever been wrong about anything, Hime-sama,” the Kyuubi finally speaks, its voice a dark rasp, “there is someone alive who holds the answers to your question.”

Mito’s brow furrows.

The Kyuubi’s great scarlet eye is livid against the darkness.

“I suggest you find them.”

And with that, it sinks back into the darkness of slumber, and Mito is ejected back into the light.

xxxxxxxx

Konoha is in disarray when she returns, though they are attempting to hide that fact. The crowds of citizens have thinned, clearly being funnelled down the streets in order to expose any potential strangers walking amongst them. Shinobi litter the rooftops, some more subtle than others. The ones wearing masks stick to the shadows. The ones with bare faces leap from building to building in plain sight.

Mito huffs.

So, Naruto is important enough to cause this much fuss when he is abducted? How very interesting, considering his malnourished body and outcast status. It is the Kyuubi they prize, not the boy himself. Exactly as Mito had once feared. Shinobi as individuals were as varied as the clouds in the sky, each one containing untold depths. Shinobi as a collective were suspicious, paranoid, and would cling to power at the expense of all else. Despite Mito and Hashirama’s warnings, the attitude towards jinchuuriki must have declined sharply, probably since Mito’s death.

Easy enough to change the perception of jinchuuriki from noble, trusted vessels sacrificing themselves for a higher purpose, into little better than the beasts they carried. Jinchuuriki were first and foremost shinobi, and therefore they were diverse. History books may note Mito as a strong, selfless warrior who saved untold numbers of innocents by taking on the Kyuubi, but Naruto is not Mito. Once a bijuu passes from one jinchuuriki to the next, that jinchuuriki does not also gain the reputation their predecessor held. So, these people would use Mito as the exception that proves the rule – the one good example used to tear the rest down.

Subjugation relying on dehumanisation, using small-minded folk’s readiness to believe the worst of what they did not understand.

Fools, Mito inwardly hisses, glaring down at the seething masses of Konoha. It was clear the civilians did not know why they were panicking, but they were, an air of terror driving them down the streets in a mindless surge. Like how a single sheep’s sudden bolt from a field would drive the rest to follow, each one out of their minds in fear without knowing what the danger was. Or if there even was any danger in the first place.

A jinchuuriki was never meant to be anything other than akin to a sealing scroll. A vessel of convenience meant to shield the world from power that threatened to overturn the delicate balance. If the jinchuuriki opened their mind to the beast they housed, naturally, the beast may gain power over them, of course. But if their seals were regularly inspected and maintained, there was no true reason to fear. And the best way to ensure that would be to keep jinchuuriki close, as treasured members of the community. Not driven out, painted wolves among sheep.

Mito should not have left Konoha. She was heartbroken in Uzushio when she heard of Hashirama’s death. Returning to his beloved village had always been her plan, but as the years went by, she never managed to bring herself to do it. Being surrounded by her husband’s pride and joy, the village he created, full of people who may not even remember him – it was too much. But she had a duty to her husband’s memory and she had shirked it out of self-preservation. Her mistake. She would rectify it now, with this second chance fate had seen fit to grant her.

The Hokage tower cut through the horizon, a spike driving into the sky.

Time to get the answers she could not find in print.

She reaches the Hokage’s windowsill without being intercepted, scoffing at the seals she finds there – only six months old, sloppy, bastardised versions of Tobirama’s design – and slips through the open window.

She is attacked before her feet can touch the floor. Rather than block the blow or repel it, she chooses to simply flare her chakra sharply. A greeting, but also a warning: This is who I am and how strong I am, so back away. A traditional shinobi entrance.

“Stop!” A deep bellow comes from inside the room.

Mito slips into the room, standing up straight.

An old man pushes himself up from his seat behind a great oak desk, his face slack in disbelief. “That chakra… Uzumaki?”

“Tobirama’s boy,” Mito returns, not allowing any disdain or incredulity to colour her tone, though it dearly wishes to, “Sarutobi Hiruzen. An unexpected pleasure.”

She knew it would not be the face of Kushina’s beau that would greet her in this office, so she is hardly surprised to see someone else.

She is, however, surprised to see the Sandaime. She had wondered why Minato’s successor did not appear on the Hokage Monument, but had never suspected it was because he was already there as his predecessor.

Why would the Sandaime have taken the position again after his student? Of course, it would make perfect sense for him to do so immediately after the Yondaime’s death, but it has been a number of years now. There is no reason to have not elected another. Hashirama had never wanted the position to be a lifelong one.

The shinobi that had risen to meet Mito’s entrance now hovered either side of her, two masked figures positively radiating tension. She politely ignores them.

“I’m sorry to say that I do not recognise you, Uzumaki-san,” Sarutobi says, clearly cautious.

Mito releases her jutsu, allowing her disguise to fall away like water.

A chorus of gasps resound.

Sarutobi looks faint, hands gripping the edge of the desk. “M-Mito-hime – ”

Mito nods, walking forward. To her amusement, the masked guards stagger out of her way, apparently leery of touching her. She would be the same, in their place. It would be disconcerting, suddenly being faced with a ghost.

“What were you – forty-one? Forty-two? – when I died?” Mito asks, standing pointedly behind the empty chair facing Sarutobi, waiting to be asked to sit.

He seems overcome, only capable of waving his hand down. It’s clearly the only courtesy she will be extended, so she sits, though not without an unimpressed huff.

“Old enough to make me feel ancient, and yet young enough to still be considered a leader of some significant enthusiasm and energy, according to reports,” Mito muses, “men swore to my face that you would bring new life to Konoha and honour the partnership with my village.”

Sarutobi is turning grey. She would almost be concerned, if not for the growing sense that this man is the reason for much of her discontent with the state of the world.

“Mito-hime, y-you… you – ”

“Died, yes,” Mito says, impatient, “obviously. Old age and jinchuuriki transference will do that. It isn’t important. I am as alive as you. My chakra ought to have made that clear.”

“There are ways – seals, forbidden techniques, one most always look beneath the under – ”

Mito holds her hand out, brows raised imperiously at the man’s hesitation, “I am flesh and bone. My heart beats true and my mind is clear. I understand your confusion and reluctance to believe your eyes, so believe me. I am Uzumaki Mito, the wife of your village’s founder. I met you when you were a boy with mud smeared across your knees and your head in the clouds. You told me you were going to be a jounin sensei, but seemed confused when I asked what more, as if you had never considered a life beyond teaching. Imagine my surprise when Tobirama died and I received a letter with your sigil calling yourself the Sandaime.”

Sarutobi is gazing at her with naked shock writ across his features, but with something else lingering – a glint of hope in his eyes, flashing and fading by turns, like he did not quite dare to believe what he was seeing.

Mito sees no reason to admit she has investigated Naruto’s seal, and she certainly will not reveal her conversation with the Kyuubi. Shinobi are paranoid, after all, and Sarutobi will likely not take her interference well. Regardless of how justified it obviously was. She will instead treat herself to her favourite activity: generously enlightening fools as to their many failings.

“Tsunade has never met Naruto,” Mito says, giving a little hum, her sharp, calculating eyes watching Sarutobi droop, “I wonder, Sarutobi, where duty has gone. Honour, loyalty, filial piety. I had never thought to question how long these virtues may remain in the world. I certainly had not expected to find them utterly extinct by the time the children of my era had grown old. Is the present a time of the individual above the group, Sarutobi? Do we still have clans, or have they all fractured and splintered beneath the weight of society’s disinterest in the preservation of family?”

“Hime-sama,” Sarutobi begins hoarsely.

She holds up a hand. He stops short, grimacing.

“Hime-sama… what an empty title. Princess of what, exactly? Not of Uzushiogakure, certainly, as the village has been razed to the ground. Princess of whom? Not the Uzumaki, for there is only myself and the poor boy you abandoned. No, Sarutobi. Let’s not stand on ceremony that no longer exists. Feel free to speak casually, as I myself have a certain urge to break from decorum, for it seems the truth cannot be spoken within the bounds of civility.”

“By all means, Mito-sama, be frank. Heaven knows I deserve to hear all that you have to say.”

“You have rendered my descendant a miserable wretch of squalor and poverty, deprived of comfort, security, home, and family. You have taken the very tradition I began and twisted it to become something shameful. I took on the Kyuubi to shield the world from its terrible wrath and ruin. A task I considered my duty. I passed it on with regret, but grateful for the certainty I had that the duty would go on to be used to protect future generations as well as my own. And yet the people of Konoha are not grateful to Naruto for his sacrifice. What are they instead, Sarutobi?”

Sarutobi lowers his head, his brow furrowed to the point of pain.

“I cannot hear you,” Mito says sharply.

“The civilians…  they don’t understand – ”

“If I wanted excuses, I would have asked for them. Speak truth, boy, I want nothing more from you.”

“They despise him,” Sarutobi whispers, “they fear him.”

“A child,” Mito says.

“I’m sorry, if I could only –”

“I do not care. Tell me how this came to be, for the story as it was explained to me does not justify the results I have witnessed. My Kushina was weakened by childbirth and her husband managed to seal the beast into their son, sacrificing both of their lives to save the village, leaving their son alone in a village whose existence depends on him. When I recount this tale, I naturally wish to continue on to say, ‘and of course, the village took the boy in and raised him as their own, with love and gratitude.’ That is the only outcome that makes sense to me. Perhaps my wits have grown dull over time, and there is a more obvious reason I have missed altogether. Please, do enlighten this ignorant old woman.”

“The people of the village have no knowledge of Naruto’s origins. They don’t know his parents, nor how he came to house the Kyuubi. They only know that on the night he was born, the Kyuubi broke free and caused devastation. They blame the boy because they think the deaths of their loved ones are his fault.” Sarutobi says heavily, gripping the edge of his desk as if he is being buffeted by the tide, and loosening his hold would lead to his instant demise. “It was my order that Naruto’s parentage be concealed, so he could be protected from his parents’ enemies.”

“How strange,” Mito says coolly, “is there a reason they have somehow failed to conclude that the former last Uzumaki is the mother of the current last Uzumaki, and that his father is naturally the husband of the woman whose name he bears?”

“I ordered all whispers and speculation to be outlawed. I wanted Naruto to be safe at all costs.”

“When I found him, he was eating fruit that had fallen in the street,” Mito says, contempt heavy in every syllable, “I suppose his jinchuuriki status will protect him from the diseases and illness his poor diet should have caused, but it has not prevented the malnutrition that has seeped into his bones. Very small for his age, isn’t he? When I met him, I could barely tell he was an Uzumaki. He had the same reserves as a babe in arms. But I suppose it is no matter, so long as the boy is ‘safe.’”

“Mito-sama… I have no words. I cannot justify my decisions. I followed the advice of those around me that I trusted – ”

“And their names are?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Names, Sarutobi. Tell me the names of the people you trusted to the point of ruination.”

“The Council. My advisors.”

“If Uzushio still stood, I hope you know I would have called for their heads,” Mito says pleasantly, “to be delivered directly to my door, where they would decorate the walls of my village. Be that as it may, I feel it would be a touch arrogant to demand such things now. I have no village to command, no weight to throw around, nothing at all to properly convey the rage I am feeling at this moment. However, there is one thing I believe I still have the power to demand of you, and I hope you are not too offended to hear it.”

Sarutobi waits, a bead of sweat forming at his brow.

“Resign,” Mito says, smiling, “resign in shame, explaining at length the depth of your failure to the people. Express to them the disgrace you have brought to the Hokage name, how you have offended the memory of your teacher and your founder, and in so doing, have offended me.”

Sarutobi’s mouth shuts with a dry click. He fumbles for his pipe, then clearly thinks twice, shoving it back in the pocket of his robes. “Mito-sama, I cannot simply resign, I have no successor, and the Council – ”

“Hang the Council. Ah, I suppose I did not include that in my list of demands, did I? How charitable of me. The Council may live, of course, but they will be replaced. As will you.”

“Unless you wish to take the mantle – ”

Mito laughs, a sharp, bitter sound that plainly stuns the man into silence, “I? Inherit this village, this den of iniquity that denied me the chance to see my husband again, that dishonoured the sacrifice of my blood and tormented the only remaining member of my clan, an infant? No. I will not. I have given this village everything. I will not give myself.”

“The only successors I have named are my students, Jiraiya and Tsunade – ”

“Tsunade. Perhaps after so long of shirking her duty as the head of a clan, she may find the virtue within herself upon becoming the head of a village. Regardless, if those are your options, I will accept no other. As for the new Council, elect anyone, I do not care. So long as they have not actively harmed my kin, you could elect a drove of donkeys for all I care.”

“Mito-sama, I beg you to see reason – ”

“Reason.” Mito hisses, a great wave of chakra crashing down upon them. Sarutobi goes white in an instant. “What reason? I am a dead woman, a vengeful ghost, fit only to remind the living not to repeat the mistakes of the dead. You think I am capable of reason? You should be grateful I did not undo the seals that I set, the protection I left carved in the forests and walls of this village. You should be on your knees begging me not to take the blood I am rightly owed. You may have forgotten yourself and your responsibilities, but I have not. By right, I could claim the lives of your vile Council, sweep the streets clean of the filth that mistreated my clan, I could even challenge you at this very moment. I could rip the hat from your head and destroy it. I could burn the forests my husband planted. I could bring all of the destruction I witnessed at Uzushio down upon your head. My people died and you did nothing! You lit no candles, you built no shrines, you set your war drums aside and clung to your precious peace! Peace born from the blood of my people! Blood you did not see fit to mourn, let alone avenge! And you sit there and you talk of reason?”

She can feel the noxious guilt drowning the man in thick, dark layers. Good. Let him choke on it.

“We mourned,” He croaks, tears glinting, “we bore the sigil of Uzushio on our uniforms. We gathered together each year on the anniversary to grieve. I will not defend myself nor attempt to justify any of my decisions, Mito-sama, but I assure you. Konoha felt Uzushio’s loss very deeply, indeed.”

“Then please accept my sincere condolences for your loss,” Mito says dryly, “but do not expect my pity nor my mercy. Tobirama favoured you. You showed promise and potential, and I hear you have been dubbed the third God of Shinobi, so it must have seemed only natural for you to become the Sandaime. I doubt you had many detractors at the time. However, I have never believed the Hokage ought to be the strongest shinobi of the village. How often is the strongest member also well-versed in strategy, diplomacy, leadership? A leader must be unbiased, objective, honest, upright, and a perfect example for the rest to follow. I believe in your strength, Hiruzen. I do not believe in you.”

“I…”

“You would have made a fine general. Perhaps even Jounin Commander. You were a man built for war, not peace, and armistice does not suit you. After you resign, I recommend you take a position in education, perhaps specialising in the subject of history. I do not believe in waste. You must have accumulated decades of knowledge. Put them to use. Konoha will not benefit from your self-imposed exile, or worse. Am I understood?”

The window cracks open, spilling birdsong and a man’s shadow into the room.

“Yes, Mito-sama. I will not squander what I have learned. Certainly not what I have been taught in this very moment,” Sarutobi says, his voice heavy, almost splintering under the weight of emotion. He leans back in his chair, once more the perfect image of Hokage, and gestures for the person behind Mito to come forward. “Kakashi, please escort Mito-sama to – ”

“I will examine the Hyuuga Compound before I do anything else,” Mito says briskly, “the Hyuuga are, at this point, the Uzumaki’s closest surviving relatives – though the connection is thin, and not one I would have deigned to recognise had my clan’s number reached more than single figures – and so of course, they are my responsibility.”

Sarutobi’s expression shutters. He pastes on an amiable, slightly patronising smile, “Mito-sama, the Hyuuga are one of Konoha’s largest and most prestigious clans. I assure you, they are managing quite well without any outside – ”

“They are elitist isolationists who view any attempts to aid them as interference from ill-mannered outsiders, I am well aware. Without considering the descendants of Madara’s ilk, it is up to the Hyuuga to represent Konoha, and that is a truly cruel twist of fate that I cannot leave unaddressed. They may bristle at my presence and perhaps even seek recompense from the Council, but you mustn’t forget, that is no longer your concern. Use these final weeks to thoroughly enjoy no longer being the face of the village, Sarutobi. Your ears may yet stop ringing in the absence of the village’s complaints.”

For the first time, Sarutobi’s smile warms up into something genuine. It takes years off him.

“Time to face the rabble, I suppose,” Mito says, grim.

“I feel the urge to warn them,” Sarutobi says, possibly an attempt at a joke.

Mito quells it with a single look.

Then she leaves the office through the door, head held high, leaving behind a Kage come undone.

***

Hello, friends!

Now, is it a fic of mine without a character lambasting the Sandaime for his terrible choices? I think not.

Mito is so FUN to write I can’t even tell you, she’s just everything. I love her. I want to be her. I’d never want to meet her.

This is still the very early stages of the fic, so I’d love to hear any ideas you guys have for future scenes or things you want to happen!

Mito: *kidnaps the most important child in Konoha*

Also Mito: *strolls into the Hokage’s office and calls him a punk-ass bitch*

I just love the audacity some old folk have. And with Mito looking her young, gorgeous self, but with the attitude of a crochety old woman with nothing to lose, it makes for such an entertaining combination to write!

I did some research but couldn’t determine whether or not the Kyuubi was aware of who’d manipulated him into attacking Konoha, or if he’d even known that at all, so I’ve left it slightly ambiguous here. I should really finish Naruto in order to find all these things out (I stopped before we knew who Tobi was, before Zetsu was ever important, before aliens and goddesses, and certainly before Itachi was a good guy), but I’ve fallen 700 episodes into One Piece and I can’t get out.

I do think Sarutobi desperately wanted to retire. I think if someone like Mito had charged into his office, confronted him over all the things he’s secretly ashamed of, and forced his hand, he would retire.

Now it’s just a matter of finding him a successor before someone can assassinate Mito, or worse, carve her face into that mountain and call her the Godaime.

Mito doesn’t hate the Kyuubi, btw. She doesn’t care for him, but she has a slight understanding of his character and doesn’t think of him as a mindless beast. But she does view trying to befriend him as a foolish risk.

Mito inside Naruto’s ominous, vaguely evil dungeon: Terrible feng shui in here

Quick poll for fun: What is the best book you’ve read recently?

If you don’t read books, tell me the best show/movie/game you’ve enjoyed as of late!

For me, I just finished Humankind by Rutger Bregman and it was so uplifting and wonderful and yes I cried a little bit

Chapter Text

“Boy.” Mito says, turning a corner with such swiftness that her jounin companion has to flash a step forward just to keep up. “Take notes, would you? I have no access to the account I shared with Hashirama after our marriage, nor indeed, can I lay claim to any property in his or my own name. It is obvious any houses or estates will not have remained dormant in our absence, but will be occupied by others. Therefore, in order to house my grandson – not that he is my grandson in truth, naturally, you understand – it will be necessary to access temporary accommodation. I will require a small loan from the village as payment. Tell me –”

“Where is Naruto?” The boy asks, cutting in with such urgency it is clear desperation drives him, not rudeness. It is rude all the same, and so Mito gives him a cutting look fit to strip flesh from bone.

“Who is asking?” Mito replies.

“Hatake Kakashi,” the boy says, an almost imperceptible shift in his stance. Shame oozes from his very being like sweat. Mito’s lip curls.

 “Hatake,” she repeats, mentally flicking through a catalogue of clan names and history, “ah! Any relation to Hatake Sakumo?”

Kakashi may be young, only around twenty, but he is good at what he does. There isn’t a trace of the humiliation he feels in his body language, nor the single, half-lidded eye that is fixed upon her. He looks unbothered.

“Where is Naruto?” He replies, dodging her question with the grace of a frenzied bull.

“Where your manners are, I expect,” Mito replies, brow raised, “somewhere you cannot find without my help. Now! When I asked who you were, I rather meant, who are you to Naruto. It is quite obvious you are no stranger.”

“You can’t actually be Uzumaki Mito,” Kakashi says flatly, and she is really rather tired of her every response being ignored.

“Go back to the Hokage’s office and tell him I need a shinobi with a good head on their shoulders, not a petulant boy lacking in every area relevant to my needs. Go!”

“Mito is dead, like Kushina, like every –” Kakashi begins, heated.

“You knew Kushina. Dear boy, why didn’t you say so? Come, let us find somewhere to sit.” Mito favours him with a slight smile, then heads down the corridor, guided only by memories from time long past.

Kakashi follows her only out of a sense of duty, she senses, not because he feels he owes her any obedience. He seems somewhat dazed. Not someone Mito would have tasked with escorting a long dead dignitary.

Trusting her memories pays off, as they soon find themselves in a quiet reception room intended for visitors to wait for their appointment with the Hokage. The walls are the colour of daffodils, the sofas neutral beige, and the table in the centre of the room is a soft, pale wood. Mito takes a seat with a pleased sigh. Though her body no longer weighs heavily on her, the urge to sit in peaceful silence seems to still linger in her bones.

Kakashi sits on the sofa opposite her, his dark eye wary.

“So, Hatake Kakashi. I find myself with a plethora of tasks to complete and a dearth of resources with which to use. If you were close to my Kushina, you seem to be the best choice for my aide in this dreadful little hole of a village.”

“Your… ‘aide,’” Kakashi repeats in the same tone one might say ‘bodily waste.’

“Assistant, right-hand, perhaps even advisor, despite your inconvenient youth. That all depends on you, of course. Your willingness and also your ability. How did you know Kushina?”

She hits him with the question the moment he relaxes.

“Why do you,” the boy says, disdain audible in his voice, “look like Hashirama’s wife?”

“Is that really how I am known to the youth? A nameless woman that married the great Hashirama?” Mito grumbles. “Bah. Utter rot. Write this down – I will need a chamberlain to run the household, as I will naturally not have the time to do so. A family doctor, to prevent the need to rush to the hospital for every cough and sniffle. Although the inevitable upset would be amusing, I do not think it wise to mobilise a military force within Konoha’s walls, so I shan’t attempt to poach any of Sarutobi’s soldiers for my own. But when in the process of rebuilding Uzushio, I shall of course require a battalion of –”

She begins to mumble, getting carried away in her vision of Uzushiogakure’s glowing future, when a dry, pointed cough startles her.

“I heard your conversation with the Hokage. It’s not possible for you to be Uzumaki Mito, which means you’re a threat to this village, and most of all, Naruto.” Kakashi leans forward, his eye very cold indeed. “I’m not going to just watch. Make one wrong move, and I’ll end you, and whatever threat you pose.”

“Adorable,” Mito says sweetly, “the little cub has fangs. Pity he is too idiotic to sheathe his lips in favour of his blade. If you truly believe me to be a threat, why on earth would you tell me as such, instead of lulling me into a false sense of security and striking while my guard was lowered? No matter. I’ve been thinking on the subject of Hatake Sakumo, trying to place your connection to him, and I believe you are most likely his child.”

Most of the boy’s face is hidden, but the little skin that is exposed goes white at once.

“He was a newlywed, last I heard of him. I died fourteen years before Naruto was born, by my reckoning. The same year, I suspect, you were born. No wonder I have no memory of you. I suppose his wife must’ve gotten pregnant while I was ailing in bed. That’s the cycles of life for you. Time is consistent in its cruelty. I cannot fault you for your rudeness nor your scepticism, for up until this moment, you have never lived in a world where I am alive. I must have missed quite a bit, for the mere mention of Konoha’s White Fang to have you so shaken. What, tell me, has happened to the Hatake?”

“Nothing,” Kakashi says, not even trying to appear convincing.

“What happened to Sakumo?” Mito asks. “He was a hero, last I heard. He carried the so-called ‘Will of Fire,’ and was –”

“He chose his team over his mission,” Kakashi cuts in, eye closed as if bolstering himself against the pain, “and was ostracised for his betrayal. He couldn’t handle the village’s criticism for his cowardice, so he killed himself. Leaving me behind. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Mito gives a quiet hum, rubbing her chin with her index finger. His own eye has fled, fixed on the wall opposite him, refusing to meet her gaze. He is waiting for her mockery, derision, or perhaps disgust. It is clear in the raised shoulders, the averted gaze, all signs that he is bracing for impact.

“Cowardice?” Mito asks.

“He abandoned his mission,” Kakashi spits out.

“To save his team.”

“Who were rightly disgusted with him.”

“Oh my,” Mito murmurs, “not aide, certainly not. Head of the guard? Hmm. Oh. I know. Hatake, tell me how you knew Kushina. Humour me this once, and I will explain my dastardly plan to you.”

Kakashi still can’t quite look at her, waiting for the hammer to fall. After a few seconds in silence, he says, “she was married to my sensei.”

“Namikaze Minato,” Mito says, only decades of experience and impeccable training allowing her to hide the contempt in her voice, “Naruto’s father.”

Kakashi’s gaze flicks back to her, visibly startled by her casual voicing of forbidden knowledge.

“Something of a mother to you, then,” Mito muses aloud, unsurprised by the sheepish slant of his eye in response, “that explains quite a bit. I suppose it is only fair if I reveal an equal amount in kind.”

Kakashi sits up.

“Your father did nothing wrong,” Mito says, “Hashirama would have said as much, had he been here to witness the events that transpired. There will always be an occasion where the mission must be placed over human life, it is sheer naivete to believe otherwise. However, there is no earthly reason to consider every mission to be more important than the people undertaking it. Had your father been sent to save a village of people, and instead dashed off to help a friend, leaving the village to burn, then yes. I would believe that worthy of castigation. Do you know how I know his mission was not at that level of importance?”

Kakashi only stares at her, his eye the colour of wet stone.

“Had its importance been so grave, so immediately apparent, so utterly imperative… you would have mentioned it.”

Kakashi blinks at her.

“He chose his team over his mission, he abandoned his mission,” Mito quotes, “and if such actions had serious consequences, you would have mentioned them. If only to prove a point. Do you even recall the exact nature of his mission? I thought not. Dear boy, the only time when a government holds every mission to this standard, is when it wishes to control its shinobi. They demand absolute blind obedience. Anything less than this is betrayal! Cowardice! Am I wrong?”

Kakashi looks poleaxed, presumably because of her casual treason within the confines of the Hokage Tower. More fool the Hokage, should such close quarters sedition surprise him.

“Your father saved his team not out of cowardice nor treachery – and I cannot even begin to parse how such a conclusion was ever drawn in the first place – but because he judged the situation and considered his comrades’ lives to have more value than the mission. Shinobi are meant to be able to assess every situation and use their own conscience as a guide. Yes, the horrors of shinobi life are very real. One might be sent to assassinate a small child, after all. But one is not meant to do so blindly. You are supposed to question. Why must the child die? Will lives be lost if it does not? Or is it simply a matter of inheritance, and thus financial gain? Pragmatism or greed? If you have the misfortune to receive an order you view to be not only immoral but insupportable, then you have the absolute obligation to refuse! It is not treason to save lives.”

Kakashi might not be breathing. He appears brittle, as if a sharp rap would shatter him.

“Did Namikaze not tell you different? Did Kushina not – ”

“She did,” Kakashi says, words coming out in such a rush they’re almost on top of each other, “she said… almost exactly the same thing you did…”

“Well,” Mito says gruffly, secretly quite pleased, “I did have a strong hand in raising the girl, after all.”

Kakashi’s eye glistens.

Mito has a horror of open sentiment. She finds it intolerably rude. One should only have emotions behind closed doors, in front of one’s spouse or parent. What is she supposed to do, in the face of this boy’s tears? She cannot raise him, by the looks of him, he’s dragged himself up through the years.

“Not head of the guard. You’ll serve as Naruto’s bodyguard, to make up for all the time you’ve missed,” she says decisively.

Even in this moment of vulnerability, Kakashi’s gaze turns shrewd, “what would you know about the time I’ve missed?”

“You are the student of Kushina’s beau and yet Naruto did not know you,” Mito says flatly, “I saw fit not to chastise you for this, as it is undoubtedly the result of Sarutobi’s nonsensical orders. Unless I am wrong and you can tell me all about Naruto’s childhood in the orphanage?”

The tips of Kakashi’s ears glow red.

“I thought not,” Mito says crisply, “now. I’ll have to draw up a contract. And yet another matter to discuss with that wretched Hokage of yours. But first, we must deal with the Hyuuga.”

“Which one?” Kakashi asks, still blinking rapidly after Mito’s onslaught.

“Oh, all of them, I expect.”

xxxxxxxxx

“Forgive me for all the frippery.” Mito says, gesturing down at her heavy, ceremonial robes as they walk the streets of Konoha at a leisurely pace. Though the shinobi no longer flit overhead in panicked bursts, the civilians have not quite got the message that the danger has passed. They walk in worried clumps, faces downcast and pale.

Kakashi strides behind Mito, refusing to match her step now that he believes she is who she claims to be. Mito doesn’t bother to protest. If it makes him more comfortable to cast her in the role of his superior, she will not take that from him.

“You do look very… official,” Kakashi says, squinting at her. It’s an almost polite way to say she looks like a recently deceased princess fresh from her burial rites. Her face is still artificially white with paint, cheeks glowing with Uzushio’s blue and gold swirls.

“Thank you. When one is to meet a snake, ‘tis wise to drape oneself in scales.”

“You view the Hyuuga as untrustworthy?” Kakashi asks, his voice low and careful.

“The Hyuuga of my time were close-minded, capricious, and altogether far too big for their boots. I have very little faith that they will have improved. They respond best to shows of high status and power. I could wander in looking like a fresh-faced girl of twenty, and they would doubt my identity – like you – or look down upon me. Or I could swan in dressed in ceremonial garb, ready to make demands.”

“You didn’t ask for my opinion on the Hyuuga as they are today,” Kakashi says, not quite a question but circling around the idea of one.

“I did not. I’m already heading into this encounter with decades of preconceived notions. Best not to add to the pile with yours.”

Kakashi looks a mite conflicted at that. Mito wonders what he’s holding back.

“You also didn’t ask me if I wanted to be Naruto’s bodyguard,” he says.

“If you don’t, I shall be quite cross,” Mito says absently, pausing to allow a gawping child to pass by, dragged away by his red-faced mother, “I have already lambasted the Hokage for his negligence. Spare an old woman her throat, do not make me do it again.”

“There’s nothing you can say that will make me feel worse than I already do,” Kakashi says, his voice mild.

“I would not put money on that bet,” Mito says dryly, “oh heavens above, look at that. Positively palatial, isn’t it?”

The Hyuuga Compound is a pale blot on the horizon, a block of white stone walls cutting through the street in front of them. It looks like a giant white cube, quite out of place amongst the more ordinary houses of wood and grey stone around them. Wisteria hangs over the walls, pretty bunches of light purple and blue breaking up the pale monotony of stone. The faint scent of magnolia blossom catches on the breeze.

“I can practically hear the water features and windchimes,” Mito says grimly.

They reach the gates without bother, but before Mito can reach out, two Hyuuga materialise either side of her. Both are somewhat nondescript, exactly how an outsider would picture a Hyuuga to be: pale, long dark hair, light-coloured robes, each one gifted with unremarkable yet undeniable beauty.

“Can we help you?” One asks, a man, his opalescent eyes discreetly focused on the space between Mito and Kakashi. Mito is aware that the nature of the Byakugan, even when inactive, means the man is still capable of observing her with great care through his peripheral vision.

Mito dips her head in a small yet precise motion. “Yes, I believe so. I am Uzumaki Mito, Senju through marriage, and I have a matter of great import to discuss with the head of your clan. Might I, and my companion, request an audience at your leader’s earliest convenience?”

Her name breaks both the guards’ composure, eyes wide like a child’s at once, and they both edge away from her without any attempt to disguise the move.

“We will let him know.” The woman says, disappearing in a haze of disturbed leaves.

“Please wait here.” The man says, before hurriedly following suit.

“Fancy leaving the head of a clan out on the street,” Mito says in harsh, strident tones, hoping the two are still close enough to hear her.

“If you get tired, you may use me as a chair,” Kakashi offers.

“I’d be better off using you as a toothpick, as skinny and frail as you are,” Mito retorts.

Kakashi laughs.

Mito does not move, even as the minutes stretch on and the shadows lengthen around them. Kakashi leans against the great doors barring their entry, the very picture of nonchalance. The sun is working its way down the sky, night threatening the horizon, and the warm paved stone beneath them glows gently in the wake of the day.

“How are you alive, Mito-sama?” Kakashi asks after a long, unbroken silence.

“I do not know. I woke in Uzushio’s royal crypt, alone save for the bones of my ancestors, and when I searched for survivors of the destruction I found overhead, it was in vain. There was no one for miles, nor answers to find. I thought to come here, for both people and information, and found both. I cannot say I am happy with either.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” Kakashi says, quite insincere. It inspires a laugh out of her, much to her surprise.

“It is what it is,” Mito replies. Words she has lived by all her long life. She will continue to do so, however long this one lasts.

The doors creak, Kakashi unfolding himself out of the way, and the scent of magnolia strengthens as the entrance to the Compound is revealed.

More Hyuuga stand on the other side of the doors, solemn and reverential, heads bowed as they gesture for them to enter. Each one is armed, though subtly enough that Mito does not take it for a threat nor an insult, merely a smart precaution against an unknown.

Mito strides past them, head high, inwardly despairing at the knowledge that Kakashi will be sauntering behind her with his terrible, hunched posture.

They are led to a courtyard, decorative enough that it could conceivably be used to receive visitors, but Mito notes how open the space is, and how many Hyuuga are dotted about in seemingly casual poses. The Hyuuga leader has chosen a defensive spot for their first meeting, surrounded by his own allies.

Not terribly diplomatic of him, but Mito has to credit his preparation for conflict.

The clan head is a man in his early thirties, his long, brown hair neatly combed, but free of any kind of embellishment, his robes of good quality, but simple, his skin the kind of tan gained from working outdoors, not birth, and his hands are scarred in the same matter as most shinobi his age.

All in all, he does not match the image Mito had in her mind prior to their meeting. The last Hyuuga head she recalls was a tall, willowy man, pale as milk and equally without flavour.

“The Hokage sent a messenger a few minutes after your arrival,” The clan head tells her, gesturing for her to sit at the table opposite him, “had he not, I would have summoned the police to have you removed from our doors. You must admit, your appearance here is utterly without precedent or logic. Why are you here? How are you here?”

Mito regards him in silence, suppressing an almost visceral need to shake her head, then takes a seat in a smooth motion. Kakashi hangs back, acting as a guard for reasons known only to him.

“I must commend you, Hyuuga-san. Few manage to offer such insult within mere seconds of making my acquaintance,” Mito says coolly.

The Hyuuga’s eyes bulge, ever so slightly.

“I am Uzumaki Mito, though no introductions were made on your part, as they ought to have been. I bring both greetings and well wishes for you and your clan. I need not inform you of the distant connection between our people, which naturally forms the precedent for my appearance here today. It is customary when visiting a village to first greet the leader, then any kinsmen who may be present. Owing to this, after I had an appointment with your Hokage –” And here, Kakashi chuckles, quietly enough that Mito ignores it. “ – I came straight here. I am surprised at the reception, though I suppose my apparent demise must be the catalyst for your temporary lapse of manners. I apologise for dying, returning, and not adequately informing you of any of these events prior to my arrival here. It must have been quite the shock, for you to not even have the time nor presence of mind to arrange a formal meeting area indoors.”

Irritation emanates from the Hyuuga in hot, indignant waves. Mito basks in it, smiling back at him.

A servant begins to pour tea. Steam rises between them, Mito’s cordial expression unwavering, and the Hyuuga’s cold stoicism beginning to crack.

“I am Hyuuga Hiashi, head of the Hyuuga clan,” the man says finally, “I… apologise, if you felt any offence at your reception here. We were not prepared for the arrival of a distant relation we had believed dead for the past two decades, and so cannot be expected to stand on ceremony, as if this were an ordinary occurrence. I thank you for your visit, though I still cannot claim full understanding of its purpose. Any social visit between relations could have waited until the morning, when both parties had opportunity to avail themselves of all necessary information, for such an occasion.”

To wit, the man was angry she’d shown up at his door without sending word ahead or giving him time to find out she would visit and believed that was enough to justify entertaining her in the garden, not introducing himself, and having only stale tea to offer her.

He had twenty minutes after her arrival at the gates to organise something. What had he done with the time? Mito cannot help but wonder if he had taken pains to hide what he did not wish her to see, rather than arrange something appropriate to receive her.

“Yes, yes, let us both sweep any possible offences between us away for the moment. I am here in Konoha to attend to matters both familial and official. I consider the Hyuuga to be my closest living kin, and I, as your senior, and a fellow clan head, have come to offer my assistance, should any be required.”

Hiashi raises a brow, drawing attention to its own manicured state. He takes a sip of his tea, a barely visible tic leaping in his jaw at the taste, then places it back down. A servant takes his almost entirely full cup without a word and leaves with it.

“Uzumaki-san,” Hiashi begins, and if Mito truly was as young as she looked, she would have felt a dark pulse of annoyance at the appellation. It managed to be both too formal for their relation, and far too informal for her status. If the man truly cared for etiquette, or at least the appearance of etiquette, he would have called her Mito-sama. Mito, for their family connection, and the suffix sama, for her noble lineage.

“I am aware you were famed for your fuinjutsu, were you not?”

Mito waves a hand, dismissive yet acknowledging his point. “It was the main focus of my studies, yes.”

Hiashi waves a servant over and whispers in their ear. Once they nod and scurry off, he turns back to Mito, steepling his fingers over the table.

“The Hyuuga clan have a tradition which necessitates the use of seals. Owing to this, we prioritise fuinjutsu as a study, but as you will know, it is not a simple, nor easy art to learn, let alone master. It is also extremely risky to attempt without a high level of skill. With every generation, we lose more and more of our sealmasters, and in this modern age, we can claim only three. We cannot outsource the seals, as they are a clan secret, and we consider them beyond priceless. Do you see the problem we are facing?”

Mito gives a slow, measured nod. She cannot begin to guess what it is that necessitates such consistent sealing, but she understands the need for secrecy. Seals are power incarnate. The only way to avoid that power spilling over into unworthy and immoral hands is to guard them like precious jewels.

“Hatake, if you follow Katsuro, he will take you to a private room to wait until this meeting has concluded,” Hiashi says, phrasing the request as an order.

So this giant collection of buildings does have a private room for visitors. Mito’s smile turns wry.

“Mito-sama?” Kakashi asks. Hiashi’s nostrils flare at the Hatake’s audacity in not immediately obeying him in his own home.

Mito waves him on. “It’s quite alright, Kakashi. I do not think Hiashi has designs on my person nor ill will towards my wellbeing. We won’t be too long, I expect.”

Hiashi’s mouth hardens at the playful jape. Ah, to be so young, and so devoid of humour, Mito muses.

After Kakashi disappears into a nearby building, the other Hyuuga that have up to this point been meandering in the courtyard all begin to disperse.

Mito sits, her cup of tea untouched in front of her, waiting for Hiashi to get to the point.

The point is a small child, a mite taller than Naruto, being led to their table by a Hyuuga attendant. The boy’s face is carefully blank, his eyes on the ground, his steps unfaltering.

“Your son?” Mito guesses. It doesn’t take an observational genius to note the similarities between the two.

Interestingly enough, the suggestion seems to offend Hiashi, who draws up as if recovering from an unexpected blow.

“My nephew,” he replies, in tones that imply she is a perfect fool for needing the correction.

The boy stands by the table, not looking at either of them. His hair is the same colour and thickness as Hiashi, though his skin is paler, and nothing about his bearing suggests any kind of familiarity or fondness for the elder Hyuuga. Hiashi has not looked at him since his arrival, and even when introducing him as close family, his voice had been bare of warmth.

The attendant begins to unravel the bandages covering the boy’s forehead, and a green seal is revealed at an achingly slow rate.

Mito feels the world around her fade away as her focus sharpens entirely upon the hateful shapes writ in the boy’s skin, ink spelling out an evil intention.

“A slave seal?” She hears herself say faintly, horror seizing her heart.

***

Hello, friends!

PSA: I’m not currently accepting constructive criticism on this fic.

Did anyone order the Roasted Hyuuga Clan Head? It’s a little overdone, sorry.

I don’t know if a sealmaster could know the purpose of a seal merely by looking at it, but quite frankly, I want to give Mito everything. I want her to be able to taste fear. clenches fist old women!!!!!!!

Kakashi: You are not Uzumaki Mito

Mito: casually dismantles his entire worldview

Kakashi: …okay that seemed very Uzumaki Mito of you to do

I decided to have her be known as an Uzumaki rather than a Senju because that’s how the fandom refers to her, mostly, and I like the idea of her being remembered as Uzushio’s princess more than Hashirama’s wife (Kakashi’s comment notwithstanding)

Mito absolutely switched up on Kakashi when he mentioned Kushina to confuse him and it worked

Yes Naruto is still inside a tree IT’S SAFER THAN THE STREETS OF KONOHA I SWEAR

Also I would like Mito to start assembling a household, which requires members! So I need to gather a flock of Naruto characters and to assign them roles. Starting with Kakashi, possibly? But who else would pledge fealty to Mito?

So. Place your bets on Mito’s next move and how much Hiashi’s gonna like it!

This author’s note would normally be longer but I’ve been refreshing ao3 for ages and it’s literally only just started working so I’m finishing this ASAP to get it posted before I go to bed lol

If you’re enjoying the fic, please leave a comment! <3

Quick poll just for fun: What is your ultimate OTP? Convince me to ship it and if you’re persuasive enough, I might!

For me, honestly, it might be Cherik. Idk something about that ship just tickles me pink every time.

Chapter Text

“How dare you,” Hiashi snaps, an angry flush across his cheeks, “what a vile suggestion! I took you for a sealmaster, Uzumaki-san, and yet you utterly fail to understand the nature of my clan’s most prized seal!”

“For one thing,” Mito responds the moment she finds her voice, “you did not take me for a sealmaster. You learned my name in history. You copied my work in your lessons. You are fully aware of my prowess and my expertise. How dare I? Shall I describe to you, Hyuuga-san, the nature of your clan’s most prized seal, as I see it?”

The boy is staring straight ahead, unblinking, but his little hands are curled into fists at his sides.

“I understand the main component of the seal. The symbol in the centre is clearly intended to shut something down upon death, and the placement makes it evident that ‘something’ must be the Byakugan. I dislike the need for it, but I do understand why you would feel the need to safeguard your clan’s kekkei genkai in the event a corpse made it into the enemies’ hands. However, what I do not understand is this.” She jabs a finger at the boy’s forehead, careful not to get too close lest she startle the child. “The twin symbols bracketing the main seal. These afford control over the sealed individual, and, most importantly, can induce pain and death. What I do not note, Hyuuga-san, is any indication that this seal is for the use of the person who it has been placed upon.”

Hiashi’s rage is white hot at this point, uncomfortable for Mito to sense at this short range, but he makes an admirable attempt to retain his control when he speaks, “You made mention of the connection between our clans, and your intention to provide any aid we viewed necessary. I acknowledge this connection and appreciate your offer, and because of this, I will forgive your flagrant belligerence, as it is informed by your ignorance of our customs. The Hyuuga clan is comprised of two sections, the Main, and the Branch.”

He goes on to explain his clan’s history, all while Mito is speechless and his nephew is quite clearly seething despite his outward calm.

“Thank you for taking the time to explain.” Mito says, wrapping her hands around her cold teacup to hide their trembling. “Please, allow me to explain to you an element of your clan’s history you seem unaware of. Before Konoha was founded, there were many small clans, most of which have died out. Your family was not always called ‘Hyuuga,’ nor did they always have such wealth, status, or power. Even then, there was a semblance of society, which favoured certain large clans who held powerful kekkei genkai. The Uzumaki saw how your clan was overlooked despite its potential, yet how it also fell prey to larger clans who wanted the Byakugan for themselves. With such a valuable power, but without the security to safeguard it, your clan was ill-used, brutalised, and subject to the whims of any clan with greater numbers and status.”

“The Uzumaki offered to sponsor your clan, to introduce them to society under the blanket of their protection, and to enter an agreement that would be mutually beneficial. Your clan would be safe, respected, and financially secure now that they had access to the same trade agreements as the larger clans. The Uzumaki would have irrevocable ties to a powerful young clan with endless potential. It was, I think you will agree, to the advantage of both parties. To solidify this agreement, and to prevent future generations of Uzumaki from turning their backs on your clan, a contract was signed.”

Hiashi’s rage has given way to dawning horror. His skin is almost as pale as his eyes, fixed upon her face as if he is looking at his own doom.

“This contract.” Mito says, pulling a scroll through the table’s surface, the brightness of the seal lighting up the darkening courtyard as day submits to dusk. Hiashi’s nephew gapes at the casual show of power. “Your clan will have a copy somewhere, no doubt, but I will gladly submit this to the government for their examination. I know they will confirm its veracity. Your ancestor, whomever they were, left their thumbprint at the bottom here, in their own blood. And thank goodness for that, as I’m sure Konoha’s legal system would have limped over the issue of your clan’s change of name, and what that might mean for this contract. Blood, I think, is much more important than a name. Would you care to look the whole thing over?”

Hiashi takes the scroll, his face like thunder. It only darkens further as he reads the terms.

“As the Uzumaki were your clan’s sponsor, they placed a clause in the contract decreeing that, if at any point your clan acted in such a matter unbefitting allies of the Uzumaki, we would have the legal right to demand recompense or reimbursement, the nature of which would be decided by the head of the Uzumaki clan,” Mito explains, “which, in a rather roundabout yet undeniable way… is myself.”

“If you have a point, I suggest you make it. You have long outstayed your welcome,” Hiashi growls.

“Yes, and no doubt Kakashi is currently chewing on your furniture out of boredom. Well, my point is this: You sit here in a courtyard gifted to you by my ancestors, wearing robes paid for in part thanks to my clan, you offer me insult and disdain, you disrespect me to my face, and you attempt to recruit me to better assist you in, let me be quite clear, enslaving members of your own clan. I demand recompense, Hyuuga-san.”

“And here it is,” Hiashi sneers, “I wondered when you would reveal your true purpose in coming here. Cap in hand, fishing for charity, no doubt prompted by the revelation that your granddaughter has squandered her inheritance in gambling dens and bars. You come to my home with the intent of squeezing whatever funds you can from us, wearing the tatters of your extinct clan, demanding respect you are not owed, and recompense without just cause. How shameful for the wife of this village’s once great founder to behave.”

“Once great?” Kakashi repeats, emerging from the shadows of a nearby tree. He was not there before, Mito is sure of it. Any of the Hyuuga would have seen him.

She is still reeling over the casual reference to Tsunade – her inheritance spent drinking and gambling? It cannot be true.

“We owe our forebears respect and gratitude,” Hiashi says sourly, “but the dead are gone. Those that remain ought not to suffer indignities for imaginary offences. If your clan, such as it is, claims any kind of connection with my clan that goes beyond familial, I will take this matter to the Hokage, and that will be the end of it. You will get nothing out of me or my people.”

“How many members of your clan belong to the Branch house?” Mito asks, swallowing down a tide of unutterable insults that threaten to rise forth.

His eyes narrow, but he seems more confused than concerned by her change in subject, “Forty-four.”

“They outnumber your precious Main family by quite a bit, don’t they? Well, there is no need to trouble yourself, boy. There is nothing I want from you that you cannot afford. Money? What need have I of that? I demanded recompense and that is what I shall have. All forty-four of your Branch members will be surrendered into my care.”

Finally, Hiashi’s composure shatters beyond saving. He splutters, gaping at her in undignified shock.

“Read the contract, boy. The Hyuuga are loyal retainers of the Uzumaki, a fact forgotten by your people because mine never saw fit to hold it over your heads. We did not bully, threaten, nor torment you with it. Unlike yourselves, making slaves out of your own family, forcing them into your service! I am no credulous fool, I see the seal’s true purpose – not to protect your precious secrets, but to make a never-ending supply of slaves to whom have no choice but to serve you under pain of death! Tell me, has a Branch member never been punished for disobedience with pain from the seal? If I looked through your records, would I find no executions? No –”

“My father,” the boy finally speaks, his voice small yet ringing clear. Hiashi looks at him, aghast.

“Go on, child,” Mito says gently.

“Kumo kidnapped my cousin. Hinata-sama. Hiashi-sama killed the man that did it. Kumo demanded his head in return. My father was Hiashi-sama’s twin. He died in his place,” the boy says, trembling all over like a whipped animal.

“It was – that was his choice!” Hiashi insists. “I would never have sent my own brother to die in my place, I am no coward!”

“What is your name?” Mito asks the boy, ignoring the rising hysteria coming from Hiashi.

The boy looks her straight in the eye, defiant in his bravery, “Hyuuga Neji.”

“Well, Neji. How would you like to be free of that vile seal?”

xxxxxxxx

“How much of that was by your design?” Kakashi asks.

The night has fully fallen. They walk in streets lit only by the windows of the buildings they passed. Scents carried by the breeze paint a picture of the vivid nightlife of Konohagakure – roasting meat, sharp sake, candied fruit, the smoke of chimneys, furnaces, and ovens – making Mito homesick. Uzushiogakure hadn’t smelt quite like this, no. It was a village of smoked fish, crisp seaweed, brine and salt an ever-constant presence in the air. Everything was lighter, there.

Mito takes a step to the left to avoid a man carrying a crate. Kakashi steps with her, perfectly in tune with her movements.

“Hardly any, as it happens. I did intend to bring up the contract and the Hyuuga’s status as the Uzumaki’s retainers, but as a precursor to a business arrangement between us. I’d hoped by reminding them of their past, they would have the good sense to reforge the connection that had already won them a good portion of their wealth and status. A pity the clan head turned out to be a crass, short-sighted fool. Don’t ever turn out like that, Kakashi.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever have the opportunity to,” Kakashi says, cheerful enough, but Mito halts, turning to frown at him.

“Before, you had nothing to say when I asked about the Hatake, but you had plenty when I asked about your father. Before I died, there weren’t many left… Don’t tell me you’re the last of your clan, Kakashi.”

Kakashi watches her without much expression on his face, nor indeed, his aura, which seems mostly unruffled. He isn’t feeling any negative emotion strongly enough for Mito to sense it.

“I won’t say sorry, because it wasn’t my doing,” Mito says, knowing it will amuse the boy, “nor will I mention what a shame it is, for it would hardly be the first time you have heard such a sentiment. I will, however, say that I am glad that there remains yet one more Hatake, and that I would have such an unlikely opportunity to meet him. Now, tell me the inn is close, these old bones have a ruthless tendency to ache at the slightest chill.”

“It’s around the corner,” Kakashi says, his voice warm, but his eye still a little too attentive to her movements to be as comfortable in her presence as he pretends, “are you going to turn in for the night already?”

She could hear the unspoken question. What about Naruto?

Naruto would sleep until she woke him. No doubt he would be ravenous, but that was the extent of the negatives of leaving him safe inside the cabin. There were still things to attend to before the village was suitable for the boy.

“I am going to make use of the room,” Mito says, vague in a way she knows will vex the boy.

“Any thoughts on how you’ll pay for it?”

Mito taps one of her ostentatious earrings in answer. Almost at once, Kakashi’s footfalls cease. Mito turns to face him, brow furrowed. He is regarding her with a look designed for the most senile of the elderly, who have perhaps recently mistaken their grandchild for a bedpan.

There are few things Mito dislikes more than receiving looks such as this one. She raises an eyebrow.

“Family heirloom?” Kakashi asks.

“A gift from my father, to wear on my wedding day,” Mito clarifies.

“You plan to trade something like that for one night in an inn?” Kakashi’s tone is inquisitive, but the horror rising in him makes the point of his question plain. Kakashi must regard them as somewhat kindred spirits, both sorely lacking in family, let alone clan. For her to carelessly discard something of immense sentimental value must be distressing for him to even contemplate.

“Yes, for insurance purposes. I plan to hand over one so they will be assured that I will not leave the village without paying for the room. Once I have hold of my own finances, I will then return, collect the earring, and pay for the room, with interest.”

“…Or I could lend you the money,” Kakashi says.

“How sweet! Would you really? Gosh, what a weight off my shoulders. Come, come! Let us get where we’re going, I have someone I desperately need to talk to, and they have waited long enough, I assure you.” Mito pats the boy on the head, then marches on without pause. Kakashi is confused enough that there is a little stutter of hesitation in his stride, but he catches up all the same.

“You already have a meeting planned?” He asks. “I didn’t tell you what inn we would go to, I said – ”

“All will be revealed. Oh, do hurry up. Less of this dithering, please. Walk as if you are in firm possession of both legs, not as if one is at constant risk of running off without you.”

Kakashi hands over the fee for a single night in one room – Mito carefully noting the amount, for future reference – and they head up, Mito choosing to ignore the innkeeper’s highly inappropriate assumption of their purpose here.

The room is large enough, with a queen-size bed, thick curtains for privacy, and a neutral, if somewhat bland, décor. It will serve.

“Forty-four,” Mito says, once Kakashi is satisfied the room is secure, “I will require a space to rival the Hyuuga Compound, in order to house them all here in the village.”

Kakashi leans against the wall, looking very much out of place in his all-black attire. “Here? You’re not going to take them back to Uzushio?”

“That isn’t a decision to make lightly. Nor is it one even I would make without notifying the relevant authorities first. I have no intention of making myself an enemy of the most powerful shinobi village. No, as I’m sure you will be relieved to hear… I have plans in Konoha to attend to before anything more can be done for Uzushio. There is naught there to preserve but bones and ash. Here, there are problems, Kakashi. My favourite thing in all the world. If I waltzed off home with forty-four lost souls in tow, nothing here would improve. Except, I suppose, the Hyuuga.”

“You think they’ll improve, now they’ve lost their Branch system?”

“I think they will cannibalise themselves,” Mito says with great satisfaction, “they have built their little empire on a crumbling foundation. You saw how little it took to upend them. Imagine the in-fighting, the blame being bandied about, and most of all… picture those prissy fools having to make their own breakfast once the morn arrives, and their precious servants have no need to comply. They will rush to the Council and beg for aid, telling tales of the horrid Uzumaki witch, who stole their property without so much as a warning.”

“The Council will feel compelled to act,” Kakashi says, almost as if it’s some kind of threat she should be wary of.

Mito laughs, “pity their feelings will matter very little, once this night is over. Now, I have a meeting to attend. I don’t mind if you stay or go, but don’t feel obliged to leave for the sake of my privacy.”

Kakashi raises a brow, but stays put, arms crossed.

Mito pricks her thumb against her ring, the jewel deliberately sharpened for exactly this purpose, then draws out a summons upon the wooden floor. Her chakra feels overwhelming even for this small task, far beyond the reserves she is used to. She senses trepidation from Kakashi, and wishes, not for the first time, that it was not only negative emotions she could sense.

A bubble forms in front of her. She crouches, a delighted beam already blooming on her face, and sea-soaked chakra washes over her as her summons is answered.

A great, rounded head comes to view first, pale, curious eyes surrounded by black patches, then the tall dorsal fin rises, threatening to pierce the bubble that encases the beast. For a moment Mito is concerned the porpoise does not recognise her, and that the movement is agitation, but she doesn’t sense anything of the like from it.

Her silent question is answered when the porpoise speaks, excitement bubbling up in its voice, “Mito-sama!”

The porpoise is the smallest of its kind, hence why Mito chose it for this limited space, just under five feet long, and it hangs in the air happily enough, quite unbothered by its surroundings.

“Sango, it has been far too long,” Mito responds warmly.

“Decades, Mito-sama! Any other human and we would have given up, no sir, that summoner’s not coming back from that one. Dead, dead, dead, we would have said. But not you, Mito-sama! We all had so much faith, we were overflowing with it! Of course, it really helped when we felt you come back,” Sango says, doing a happy little barrel roll midair, eyes closing in pleasure.

Kakashi is gaping beneath his mask.

“I cannot pretend not to be touched, Sango, but for you all to wait twenty years… you should have moved on, little one. In any normal circumstances, I would have been gone for good, and our contract null and void.”

Sango’s mouth opens and closes. She makes an inquisitive trill, not unlike a bird, “twenty years? But… Mito-sama, we felt you die, and then a few days later, you returned. We were waiting, but just for you to summon us again. Not for you to come back to life. We never would have expected that!”

Mito stills.

For whatever reason, her resurrection had happened decades prior. She’d remained dormant, entombed, until recently, but she could have awakened. Kushina’s death, Naruto’s upbringing, even the Kyuubi attack – it all could have been avoided?

 It explains her chakra. It truly did gather in her seal for all that time, but not from some miracle or unforeseen quirk of the seal, but because she was alive, and that was its purpose. To store unused chakra. It did so for twenty years.

Kakashi is watching her.

“Sango, dear, would you mind fetching the box I left with you?” Mito asks, carefully avoiding the one-eyed gaze set upon her face, while giving the appearance that she simply has not noticed it.

Sango flips, tail over nose, a portion of the bubble growing dark, something solid forming within, and then a hand-carved box made of juniper wood pops out. Mito catches it, marvelling at how familiar it feels in her hands despite how long it has been since she has held it.

She opens the box, unable to hide her smile at the sight that greets her: polished, cut gemstones, strings of pearls, gold brooches, silver filigree lockets, hairpins, buckles, jadeite earrings, an ancient, yellowed bone hairbrush, endless lacquered wood combs, a pearlescent shell tiara, and much, much more, all nestled within a fine, silk interior.

“Here, Kakashi,” she says, “agate will go beautifully with your complexion. Or lack thereof.”

He gives her the same look as before, as if he is questioning her mental capacity. It vexes just as much this time around.

She flicks the agate earring in his direction, knowing his miserly little heart will not allow him to let it fall, and sure enough, she does not hear it land on the floor.

“Thank you, Sango, for your constant and invaluable loyalty. I’ll visit your realm soon enough, but I have a little one to take care of, now, and I will be busy for quite some time,” Mito says.

“Oh, how old is Chiharu-chan? Has she had a baby of her own?” Sango chirps, oblivious.

Mito feels bedsheets beneath her fingertips, slick with blood. Still warm. She grips the box, imprints the feeling of reality into her hands.

“We can discuss it when we’re all together again,” she smiles, and Kakashi is once again looking at her. It is truly irritating, to be seen.

xxxxxxxx

Mito does not sleep that night.

She spends her time combing through old documents, scouring her scrolls to refresh her memory of her techniques, and writing up contracts with an almost pathological need to ensure the wording is ironclad.

Kakashi dozes off against the wall. She is almost jealous of his youthful ability to remain in the same position for hours without being seized by biting, arthritic pain, only to recall she can once again do exactly that, if she wishes.

She does not.

When the sun has just barely begun to crest over the horizon, the base of the sky turning russet and gold, she sends Kakashi off on a mission, the first she has given to him. He gives an amused little huff at her command to arrange an appointment with the Hokage and his Council, favours her with an ironic salute and bow, then vanishes in a swirl of leaves.

Mito slips through her seals with little difficulty, needing only to avoid a nearby ANBU squad that seems to be changing the guard now morning has arrived.

When she opens the door to see Naruto sleeping, safe and sound in bed, a troubling sensation strikes her straight in the chest.

She grabs the doorframe, bracing herself. How can it be love, this soon? How can she look upon this boy and feel the same, powerful, all-consuming love she had felt the day her daughter first opened her eyes and looked back at her? This painful, almost violent feeling – it’s too much.

She has made countless plans.

The one she keeps turning over in her mind is the home she is going to make for Naruto and her forty-four new clan members. How the rooms will be set up, the decorating she will do, the sealwork she will perform to ensure every single one of her people will be perfectly safe under her roof.

After her meeting with the Sandaime and his Council, she is going to return to the Compound and remove every single seal from every Branch member in the Hyuuga clan. The only reason she hasn’t already done it is it will take hours, and she’d needed that time to meet with Sango, recover her emergency supplies, and to draw up contracts.

Once unsealed, she will give the former Branch members the choice to either stay with their old clan, who will not legally be permitted to cast them out, or to come with her to join in the life she intends to forge for them all.

Surely, most will choose to come with her – who would willingly subject themselves to the company of Hyuuga Hiashi? Absurd to consider otherwise.

Mito kneels down by Naruto’s bed, fighting the growing feeling of being overwhelmed. The forty-four Hyuuga, she can manage, overseeing their welfare, maintaining the clan – all matters she is already accustomed to, nothing beyond her skill or experience. But caring for this child, this lonely, starved of affection, bottomless pit of need? Raising a boy with Kushina’s smile and the burden she had shared with Mito, without fear he will suffer the same fate…

Mito closes her eyes and allows herself five seconds to panic.

Once done, she reaches out and strokes Naruto’s forehead, waking him as gently as she is able.

Sky blue eyes blink open, bleary and sticky from a deep, deep sleep, then look over to find her. The boy smiles, big and wide, and something deep inside Mito answers with a rush of pure, unrelenting affection.

“Onee-chan!”

“Obaa-san,” Mito corrects, softly so it will not come across as censure, “I will be your grandmother, Naruto, if you will let me.”

Naruto’s face creases in confusion for a long moment, then he laughs, “you’re weird! You can be anything you want, Obaa-chan, as long as we always hang out like this! And we can have breakfast, a-and go for walks, and maybe even play games in the park!”

“Breakfast, you say.” Mito hums, unrolling a scroll. A tray of steaming dishes emerges, home-cooked straight from the inn’s kitchen. Steamed rice, grilled fish, miso soup, a small plate of seaweed, and tofu salad.

A look of wonder lights up Naruto’s face.

“You will eat this well for every meal for the rest of your life, Naruto. I swear it,” Mito says, emphatic yet still at a calm, even volume.

Panic surges within her again when the boy bursts into noisy, uncontrollable tears.

***

Hello, friends!

PSA: I’m not currently accepting constructive criticism on this fic.

I doubt there's over fifty members in the Hyuuga clan but honestly it's so much more interesting if the powerful clans have the numbers to back up their status. I imagine there's far fewer Main members than Branch, for obvious reasons. Also I made up the whole Uzumaki clan were the Hyuuga clan's sponsor thing just because it's fun and also gives Mito a rope with which to hang Hiashi :D I know the story of his twin's death is more complicated than Neji told it but 1) Neji doesn't know it at this point and 2) Hiashi still sucks and deserves all of Mito's scorn.

I like the idea of Kakashi not liking rich people but not wanting to appear Bothered ™ by rich people. Mito knows she is rich and has no qualms about it. If she wasn’t rich, it would be harder to solve problems. Also I googled best gemstones for grey hair and apparently it’s burgundy, black, and navy blue. Yes, Kakashi now has a dark red earring. Will he wear it? Hard to say.

Mito when the needs of an entire village fall upon her shoulders: Yes, yes, I can work wonders with this!

Mito when one small child needs her: NNNnnNNnNNnoOooOoOoOOoOOoooOOOOOoo

Sango is a Risso’s dolphin, which is apparently the smallest species of cetaceans? If it’s wrong, it’s not me that’s wrong. It’s Wikipedia.

NARUTO FINALLY WOKE UP EVERYONE STOP YOUR PRAYER CIRCLES HE IS FINALLY CONSCIOUS AND READY TO EAT

Some of you may be worrying about Mito leaving the Branch members with the clan for the night, like what if Hiashi just goes feral and bites their heads off? Don’t worry. Mito’s got this.

I enjoy the concept of Mito being this princess constantly covered in finery, dripping with jewels, just absolutely swimming in money, and still squirrelling away a secret dragon’s hoard worth of ancient treasure just in case. Imagine having a box of diamonds as your rainy day fund.

Also I got just about EVERYONE’s ages wrong before lmao. You thought Kakashi was eighteen? Shhshhshsshshshs no he’s twenty-one. Always has been!

Sarutobi still recovering from being verbally flayed alive: At least it’s over and I can enjoy my retirement –

Mito kicking his door down: AND ANOTHER THING

Yeah so that meeting with the Hokage and the Council’s gonna be fun, right? *glances at timeline.* Oh. Oh no.

Quick poll for fun: Pick one of the following options to live in, please! (doesn’t have to be forever, but you can only choose one)

A) A rustic cottage with a thatched roof, rose garden, white trellises, wildflowers, and wisteria covering half the building. If you eat any of the fruit you find among the trees, you will gain a magical boon once per day. If you have hayfever, five minutes here will permanently cure you.

B) An underwater castle made of pearl and shells, seaweed curtains, sandstone paths encrusted with jewels, and silver bells that softly ring every sunset and sunrise, granting you the perfect night’s sleep, and the gentlest way to wake up. Every mirror is magic here – looking in one shows your true self, and seeing you the way you are gives you a warm sense of belonging every time. Six months here means your ability to breathe underwater will become permanent.

C) An enchanted library with cushioned window seats, secret reading nooks, hidden doors behind bookshelves, and an infinity of books of every kind. There are gorgeous teakettles on most tables, accompanied by empty cups, and when you pour one, whatever drink you love most will emerge. Pick up a cushion from any chair and you’ll find your favourite childhood snack. Two weeks here means you will never forget anything you wish to remember.

D) A benevolently haunted house, every creak is eerily beautiful, the taps are gorgeously designed but sometimes gush a strange liquid you can’t quite identify, you wake up with extra blankets lovingly placed over you, and sometimes, when you’re feeling very low, a mysterious black cat appears in your lap. A family of ghosts will adopt you and you will always have a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on when needed. A year here will grant you the power to become invisible whenever you want (and the cat will stick around forever).

Chapter Text

It is a beautifully sunny day on the morning Mito sets out to destroy Konoha.

She sits opposite three elderly nin, each one glaring at her with the same suspicious squint. She offers them nothing in return. She remembers them all, particularly Shimura Danzo, though he is almost unrecognisable, weathered by time. The Shimura clan used to be prominent, even before they allied with the Senju and the Uchiha in joining Konoha in its infancy. The clan was small because of its tendency to favour battle over diplomacy. Wherever the hard route could be taken, that’s where they would be found.

“Shimura-san, Utatane-san, Mitokado-san,” Mito greets the three Council members, keeping her voice neutral but her eyes cold, “and of course, Sarutobi. How wonderful to see you all again in such good health.”

“Uzumaki-san,” Utatane, the lone female, responds, the very bare minimum of social decency.

The other two Council members can’t even muster that, both seemingly content to stare at Mito with matching grimaces.

“Mito-sama. I called this meeting for your sake, so please, speak your mind,” Sarutobi says, a hint of smile on his face. Mito wonders if he’s told the others of her threats yet. She suspects not. Shimura looks like he’s the type to start yelling the second he sees the person that’s angered him and not stop until their ears are bleeding. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he knew all that she’d demanded.

“Thank you, Sarutobi. Now, I wished to –”

“You will address the Hokage properly, Uzumaki-san,” Utatane says, quite firm.

“I will when she is instated,” Mito says carelessly, uninterested in the niceties when she is so close to beginning the long process of fixing this mammoth-sized mess of a village, “as it is my intention to nominate my granddaughter Tsunade to be Sarutobi’s replacement.”

There is a low murmur among them, but rather than the outrage or even surprise that Mito had expected, the three seem almost approving. So, she is not the only one that believes no Hokage should reign for as long as Sarutobi has. Good.

“She is one of the candidates we have suggested,” Mitokado says, “a strong shinobi from good stock with years of experience and knowledge. However, unless you can personally bring her back to the village, it seems a pointless matter to discuss without immediate need for a successor. More pertinent to me would be the question of how you survived your clearly misreported demise, Mito-sama, and what technique you have used to reverse the ageing process.”

“And, if we must discuss successors, it makes far more sense to nominate yourself rather than your granddaughter. She is, it must be said, notoriously unreliable,” Utatane cuts in.

“I consider where you have been for all these years to be the most important question to answer,” Shimura Danzo finally speaks up, his voice barely audible. When Mito glances over at him, his one eye is fixed on her face, hunger etched in his craggy features. His mouth is set in a snarl as if preparing to take a bite.

“Dead,” Mito says, not quite honest, considering Sango’s testimony, but she has no interest in overexplaining an already complicated matter, “lying in my family’s crypt. I awoke in this condition, dressed in my funeral attire. No one was present. I cannot tell you why I look this age nor in fact how I survived death. I suspect it will not happen twice. Now, let me be very clear: I will not consent to leading the village that abandoned my own to die. I will not carry the burden of caring for countless people that mistreated the last of my line, a mere boy of eight. I will not be bound by bureaucracy and forced to play by your rules. If I became Hokage, my power would be shared between all three of you and thus watered down significantly. I see my position as head of the Uzumaki and Senju clans to be far superior than the Godaime Hokage. My time will be far better spent caring for my own than signing forms and deciding which genin team should complete which D-rank mission. So, no. You will not consider me a potential candidate, nor any other candidates other than Tsunade.”

“Putting that aside for the moment, when exactly did you ‘wake up,’” Shimura asks, an ugly sneer wrinkling his face. The man has jowls, and they bunch up in a rather unflattering manner.

“Yesterday. I found Uzushio had been reduced to rubble, so I headed straight to Konoha to find answers.”

“And yet you took the time to abduct the village’s jinchuuriki?” Shimura raises his brow, bandages tugging with the movement.

Mito allows a tiny thread of killing intent to seep into the air between them.

To his credit, he barely reacts. Sweat begins to form at his brow, a fine tremor in his hands, but his hard stare does not break, and he does not flinch.

“The village did not seem to care much for their jinchuuriki, Shimura-san. No doubt Sarutobi has told you I found him eating discarded food off the ground. I witnessed him being scolded by his teacher for struggling to perform a jutsu and how said teacher did nothing to stop the relentless mocking he endured from his classmates as a result. Put yourself in my position, if you can. You wake up to discover Konoha has been destroyed. You discover your longtime ally was not there for you in your hour of need, and, when discovering your fate, they simply shrugged their shoulders and refused to act. The village that destroyed Konoha profited from doing so without a single punishment. You visit your ally and discover one of your only clan members has spent their short life being mistreated and abused. Said clan member is family to you, but a political weapon to the village that did not avenge yours. Do you think, Shimura-san, that you would be particularly mindful of said village’s best interests, in that moment?”

“I think, Mito-sama, that I am the only person at this table that voted to declare war on Kumo in response to Uzushio’s destruction,” Shimura says coolly.

“We were already battling Suna and Iwa,” Sarutobi says regretfully, “we could not afford to make enemies of Kumo.”

“They made themselves the enemy when they destroyed our strongest ally!” Shimura snaps in the tone of a man repeating himself in an old argument. “Ignoring that atrocity made us look weak, passive, as if we would lie down and die without a fight! And look at what happened in response – they joined the next war! Iwa, Suna, Kiri, and Kumo, all against us, because you made us look like an easy target.”

“All of which is clear with the benefit of hindsight,” Utatane says sharply, “however, back then, we were not in a position where we could antagonise Kumo. We were in a much stronger place during the Third Shinobi World War, despite the many enemies we faced. We cannot strategise backwards, Danzo. We have had this discussion many times.”

“And you have been wrong every time! Mito-sama, I beg you to reconsider your position as a prospective candidate for Godaime. Tsunade is not ready for the position. It is true that Konoha has not treated the Uzumaki boy as it should, but that is because of Sarutobi’s ridiculous order to keep the boy’s lineage a secret, and to avoid making clear what occurred on the night of the Kyuubi’s attack.”

“And what might that be?” Mito asks, intrigued by the man’s growing fervour, such a contrast from the muted scowl he’d worn at the start of the meeting.

“The Kyuubi is a mindless beast, it would not have spent so much time attempting to destroy the village without someone puppeteering it to do so. It would have rampaged, no doubt, but not with such precision. Many important people died that night, Mito-sama. Sarutobi’s own wife included. Do you know which clan had the fewest losses that night, Mito-sama? The very clan that possesses the ability to control living creatures – the same clan that has repeatedly, throughout living memory, attempted to sabotage this village.”

“Danzo, please,” Sarutobi breathes out, weary beyond measure.

“The Uchiha clan. Every day they grow stronger both in power and their political position within the village. They control the police force! All while we look the other way and pretend we do not know their so-called secret ambitions, all to maintain Sarutobi’s flimsy notions of peace,” Danzo hisses, “he would rather die to the Uchiha’s machinations and watch the village fall to their control than take a stand!”

“What,” Mito says calmly, “does that have to do with Naruto’s mistreatment?”

“If you became the Godaime, I am certain you would not stand for any kind of sedition. You would have our full backing, and the ability to repeal Sarutobi’s order to keep the boy’s parentage a secret. The village would know to treat him well. You could even order a formal apology. Why constrain yourself to the empty role of the head of two almost extinct clans, when you could do so much more as the head of the village?”

“Why back me as Hokage when it would be so much simpler to run for the role yourself, Shimura-san?” Mito asks.

The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees.

“I have no such ambition,” Shimura says stiffly, “I wish only to see the village thrive under a wise, experienced ruler, who will not suffer any fools nor enemies. Too long we have seen Konoha stretched thin by Sarutobi’s rule. He allows our strongest weapon to be ostracised rather than trained, he ignores the growing dissent from within our own walls, he allows Suna to grow bolder by the day, and he accepts Kumo’s endless misdeeds because he fears becoming unpopular if he makes the ‘wrong’ decision and so refuses to make any decision.”

 Mito studies the man. There is little he has said that she disagrees with besides casually referring to an eight-year-old as a ‘weapon,’ but is he a man that has been forced to watch the Hokage ruin the village through ineptitude, or is he a man that has been biding his time, waiting for his chance to seize power? She does not believe he has no ambition to become Hokage. When she’d suggested as much, he’d felt such intense bitterness she could taste it on her tongue. No, this was an impatient man who had been forced to wait for what he wanted most in the world.

“I will train and advise Tsunade, Shimura-san, until the day Sarutobi steps down. Does that suit you?”

Shimura meets her eye with a long, assessing look, then gives a nod, as imperious as an emperor.

He is the Hokage in the room, it seems.

Sarutobi has barely even reacted to the long line of vitriol spat at him by the other man. The other two Council members look almost bored, as if they are used to hearing such things. Shimura was quite right to suggest Sarutobi was too passive to deal with sedition.

“It seems as though Sarutobi has not informed any of you of my terms. Allow me to do so. I demand his resignation, which will be formalised upon Tsunade’s return to the village, along with your resignations from the Council.”

“I beg your –!” Mitokado erupts in indignance.

“Be quiet. Did you forget to whom you are speaking? I witnessed the founding of this village. I recall what you clearly do not – when Hashirama died, Tobirama disbanded his Council and appointed a new one, because, in his words, ‘a farm planted in old soil will fail to yield healthy crops.’ Konoha is failing, that much is clear, but I do not think the blame lies squarely upon Sarutobi. I think all of you had your own part in this. What is the point of a Council that can only impotently bleat their protests at the Hokage with no power to strip them of their role when they have proved to be incompetent beyond repair? So, I wish to remove you and replace you with a strengthened Council, who will have the ability to vote for a new leader, provided it is unanimous.”

“You may wish to remove us, but you have no power to do so,” Shimura says, the fervour in his eye turned to great dislike. She seems to have lost his support. Such a pity.

She motions towards Sarutobi. The other three turn to look at him, mutually incredulous.

“You would bow to the whims of a long dead woman with no political power in this village? Now is the time you act, Sarutobi? Now you can make a decision?” Shimura snaps, with real frustration and anger.

“It has recently been brought to my attention that I am too passive, Danzo, and that I ought to act the instant I receive a threat, and not a moment after,” Sarutobi replies, a sudden flash of steel in his eyes.

There is a moment where the two men stare at each other, the tension rising to the point of choking the air.

“Hence why I declare that you, Shimura Danzo.” Sarutobi begins, then has to stop, swallowing hard. He hangs his head, hands clutching the edge of the table. The wood cracks, the three Council members jumping a little in response, and he lifts his head to glare, hard, at the man that opposes him, “are to be judged for your attempt on my life eight years ago.”

Mito sits back in her chair, steepling her fingers together.

Interesting.

Utatane stammers, aghast, grasping at the front of her robes. Mitokado goes white, gawping at Danzo.

And Danzo glares at Sarutobi with decades of long-buried hatred and resentment. For a moment, Mito readies herself for a fight, the two Council members inching away from the third, and Sarutobi looks achingly sad.

“You’ve been a fool all your life, Hiruzen,” Danzo says, heavy with contempt, “and you’ll die a fool. It won’t be by my blade, but it will be someone you never should have trusted. And when it happens, you will remember this moment and know true regret. I won’t try to change your mind. I have wasted years of my life trying to achieve that impossible goal. The bones of Uzushio, Hyuuga Hizashi, and many more can attest to that. Enjoy your precious peace. However long it lasts.”

A silk ribbon ties itself around his mouth, hardening to steel when he attempts to wrench it away.

“And that,” Mito says, “is quite enough of that.”

xxxxxxxx

Danzo is spirited off by masked soldiers, but not before he’s bound by more than just silk: chakra-dampening cuffs are placed on all four of his limbs, and he’s pricked by senbon laced with some kind of sedative, judging by how he slackens in the grip of his captors.

After he’s gone, the remnants of the Council are too flabbergasted to fight Mito’s demands.

She doesn’t ask for much, only her due.

Her status as the head of the Uzumaki and the Senju clans will be officially recognised in writing along with Konoha’s notarised acknowledgment of said rights. Naruto is now her legal ward. They must accept her decision to accept the Branch members of the Hyuuga into the Uzumaki clan. The Council will step down after Sarutobi finds suitable replacements. Sarutobi will also step down once Tsunade is secured as his official successor. Mito will now have access to any of her wealth and resources that have not been inherited or spent. She will now have the right to house her clan within Konoha in a place of her choosing.

Utatane and Mitokado leave together, deep in hushed discussion, presumably already plotting ways to retain their waning power.

Sarutobi buries his head in his hands the moment they’re gone. He is shaking.

“He tried to kill you eight years ago, Sarutobi?” Mito asks gently.

“He did. I refused to allow any children to fight during the Kyuubi attack. Hatake Kakashi was among them. He was one of our strongest even then. He believed if he had been permitted to fight, his sensei, Minato, and Kushina… he thought that he could have saved them. He resented me for not allowing him the chance to try. Danzo used that to convince him to spy on me, then attempted to push him to assassinate me, promising it would be for the best for Konoha. There is not much Kakashi would not do for Konoha. But it seems that taking my life was one of them. He came to me, told me everything. I decided to spare Danzo.”

As he speaks, Sarutobi lowers himself down until his forehead rests against the table, like a man readying himself for the chopping block. His voice is thick, choked with emotion.

“That man is my only friend,” he says brokenly, “the rest are dead, Mito-sama. Long gone. He told me himself that my mercy would be the end of me. I cannot say his betrayal came as a shock. Surviving it, perhaps, was not what I expected. I never thought I would be Hokage for this long. When Minato-kun took over, I was relieved. So proud of him, but I… I wouldn’t wish the position on anyone. My retirement was so peaceful. When I was called to serve again… I couldn’t refuse. There was no one else but Danzo who could rule. Danzo, who sanctioned experiments on children, so cruel I cannot even express…”

“Sarutobi –”

“He didn’t fight because he didn’t need to, Mito-sama. He has supporters in the village. He once had a section of ANBU he called ROOT, because he believed their work held the village up. I ordered them to disband once the assassination plot came out, but I don’t believe for a second that they did… Mito-sama, you should know… the experiments were attempts to implant Mokuton in children, using your husband’s DNA. It worked in only one, the rest died –”

“Who – what, Sarutobi,” Mito stammers, quite unlike herself, “there is a child who –”

“His name is Tenzo. He was a member of ROOT, but now he is simply in ANBU. I believe he is doing well, but –”

“He is my responsibility,” Mito says, thoughts racing faster than she can keep up with. A boy with Hashirama’s power, with remnants of her husband buried within him, created from some barbarous attempts to weaponize Hashirama’s natural ability…

“Yes, of course. I’m telling you all of this because I believe Danzo will not wait for his trial to defend himself. He will attempt to destroy all evidence of his misdeeds through his followers, and he may consider Tenzo to be part of that. I will have Danzo completely isolated, but his influence may stretch far beyond what I have imagined. I have looked the other way for so long, I cannot tell you what exists beyond what I can see. I hope this works, Mito-sama. I hope you can find Tsunade.”

“I will, of course.” Mito says, but he doesn’t seem satisfied.

“You will seek out Tsunade and persuade her to replace me. You will have your official clan status, the Branch members, custody of Naruto, everything you asked for. And once you have brought Tsunade home, you will complete twenty S-rank missions within the year. These are my conditions, Mito-sama. Are they acceptable?”

“I believe you are low-balling me, if that is the correct term. Your terms seem simple enough. I accept. So long as you agree not to simply lie down and die, Sarutobi. Now is the time to fight. Keep your life long enough for me to drag my wayward grandchild home. That man is not your friend. He is your enemy. He cannot be both. You must treat him as he deserves. Understood?”

“Yes, Mito-sama. I will not continue making the same mistakes. I have hope for Konoha, if things can change… I would not have risked so much in exposing Danzo, if I didn’t think we had a chance to survive him. Thank you for your support. It is not an exaggeration to say I could not have done this without you.”

“I asked you to resign in shame. Once Tsunade is here, disregard that order, and instead resign with pride. You’ve done your duty long enough, son. Time to shed the weight of the world, don’t you think?”

Sarutobi closes his eyes and smiles. If he does so only to hide his tears, that is his business.

“I have something here for you. I wasn’t sure if this meeting would end like this, but if it did, I thought you might like to have a tie to the past.” Sarutobi says, pulling something out from his robes, and just the shape of it is enough to have Mito’s breath catch.

It’s an Uzushio headband, steel plate emblazoned with the village’s symbol, attached to fabric dyed the colour of the sea on a sunny day. He passes it to her without a word. She takes it, finger automatically tracing the swirl of the carved whirlpool. She saw others like it when she woke amidst the rubble and ruin of her village. Those were half-buried in the dirt, fabric rotted, the metal dull and scratched from time’s unkind hand.

This one feels brand new. They hadn’t made them when Mito was a child, since there wasn’t a formal Academy or process to becoming a shinobi for her generation. It was something that caught on when she became an adult, and she received her first and last in her thirties as a symbolic gesture. She’d intended to give it to her daughter, if she’d decided to follow in her father’s footsteps. She hadn’t. Mito can’t even recall what became of the headband.

“Where did you find this?” She asks, stroking the fabric, as soft as a newborn’s cheek.

“It was Kushina’s,” Sarutobi says. Mito swallows the lump in her throat and deliberately does not clutch the headband close to her, forces herself to keep her grip on it light and casual. She will not be ruled by this grief. She will not allow herself to drown in her sorrow at the mere mention of Kushina’s name.

“She came to us with this, and for the first few missions she went on, she refused to replace it with Konoha’s. Raised her own merry little hell for her instructors,” Sarutobi continues, a wistful smile on his face, “I told her no one could replace her village. She wore both headbands after that, Konoha on her forehead, Uzushio around her waist. No one was happy with that compromise besides the two of us, I believe.”

Mito returns his smile. Kushina’s rebellious streak was one of her finer qualities.

“I kept it in a cupboard preserved by a seal, intending to give it to Naruto one day, so that he may raise his own hell if he wishes. However, with your return, I believe it is yours to decide what to do with.”

“No one can replace your village,” Mito murmurs, gazing down at the pristine headband, glinting in the low light of the room, “I quite agree. Raising hell sounds far more appropriate.”

“Mito-sama, have you done anything besides raise hell since your return? How on earth did you manage to finagle most of the Hyuuga clan away from the Main family? Why hasn’t Kakashi reported back to me yet? Where is Naruto? How did you manage to secure mine and the Council’s resignations and compel me to expose a plot I suppressed for eight years? I believe you have succeeded – hell is here, no need to raise it.” Sarutobi shakes his head ruefully, covering his smile before it can break into a laugh.

“How disappointed you will be, Sarutobi, when you discover what hell truly looks like,” Mito says mischievously, “I am nowhere near done with this place yet.”

***

Hello, friends!

PSA: I’m not currently accepting constructive criticism on this fic.

There is something very funny about how unsurprising Mito finds Danzo’s betrayal. Methinks Uzushio may have had some serious drama, considering her mild reaction lmao. Speaking of mild reactions, Sarutobi went through severe shock, suffered a small nervous breakdown, had a bout of hysteria, then finally landed on a trauma-induced state of calm between the last time he spoke to Mito and this time. His attitude can be summed up by the phrase: Well. This might as well happen!

Tenzo's coming!!!!!!

I thought it might be interesting to have Mito resent Konoha and look upon it as the place that kind of ‘stole’ her husband away, since it’s where he died while she was gone, but to have Konoha’s people regard her as a legendary figure. No doubt she would have had a much happier reunion with Uzushio, but she’s still very much respected here, hence the Council being more willing to play ball with her than they would be with most people.

Mito didn’t take any of the headbands she found in the crumbling ruins of Uzushio because, although her village’s destruction is a crippling loss for her, she doesn’t allow herself to be too sentimental, and taking keepsakes is a rare indulgence. So she never expected to see one again, let alone in such perfect condition. She will, of course, give it to Naruto when he’s old enough. Until then, she gets to hang on to a piece of Kushina and their village.

A lot of Danzo’s arguments are sound, here. He’s not wrong when he says Sarutobi was too passive, it’s very true. However, when your methods include child experimentation and helping people like Hanzo oppress their own villages, you don’t get to become Hokage. Certainly not a Mito-sanctioned one!

An early draft of this chapter involved Mito activating long-planted seals across Konoha to create a brief earthquake to intimidate the Council. I decided she probably wouldn’t, just because of the minimal risk to the civilians. But it would have been fun!

So, Mito’s household needs a chamberlain (someone to manage the household), a head of the guard, a family doctor, a cook, and other things like servants to handle the cleaning and whatnot. No doubt there’s more she needs!

If you’re enjoying this fic, please leave a comment! They give me the motivation to keep going <3

Quick poll for fun: Who do you want to join Mito’s household?

I have plans but I welcome ideas!

Chapter Text

It is approaching eleven o’clock in the morning by the time Sarutobi finally releases Mito from his bumbling apologies and seemingly never-ending supply of news.

Mito emerges from the Hokage Residence to a cool, fresh breeze, the sunlight weak and watery thanks to large clumps of white clouds overhead. The moment her feet touch pavement, Kakashi melts out of the ether, falling into step with her as if he had always been there. An irritatingly stealthy young man.

“Good news, Kakashi.” Mito says, beginning a punishing pace towards the Hyuuga Compound. “I am no longer destitute.”

Kakashi murmurs a tender thanks to the heavens, palms aimed up at the sky. Mito ignores him, as is best to do with a poorly behaved child seeking attention.

“Sarutobi tells me my runaway granddaughter never returned to claim her inheritance after my death, and so he sees no reason why I ought not to oversee the funds. He’s coming along quite nicely, irrespective of his profound issues.”

“Is that all you discussed?” Kakashi asks.

“Of course not,” Mito says, then refuses to elaborate.

Kakashi’s eye fixes upon her face, heavy with wordless pressure. Mito lifts the hem of her robes to avoid a small puddle. If the boy genuinely believes she will share with him the contents of her private meeting with the Hokage and his Council on the open streets of Konoha, he truly is too foolish to function as her right-hand.

They get to the Compound in no time at all, the journey passing in tense silence, only to spot rows of shinobi blocking the entrance. They are all wearing flak jackets with dark blue clothes underneath.

“The Uchiha?” Mito mutters, repressing a grimace.

“The police,” Kakashi corrects.

It seems to amount to the same thing. Most of them bear a tiny red and white insignia on their upper arms. The few non-Uchiha among the ranks stand out quite a bit.

So, the Kyuubi attack was blamed on the Uchiha, who were then dubbed village traitors and have spent the past eight years being severely mistrusted, even by a Council member… and yet they are this well-represented among the police force?

“Tobirama’s doing,” Mito says. She remembers hearing of it, how the citizens were torn between thinking their new Kage admirable for extending such a generous olive branch and thinking he was insane for offering an old enemy any amount of power, let alone the security of Konoha itself.

It did seem ironic in the way Tobirama had always enjoyed. Still, she has no doubt he had not intended for the police to continue to be mostly Uchiha. Were they responsible for hiring new officers?

“What was he like, by the way?” Kakashi asks, casual. His hands are in his pockets, his limbs all pointed skew-whiff like he could collapse in a second with a single off-balance twitch. If he were Mito’s son, he would stand as though he were grateful to have a spine, not as though he resented it.

“Tobirama? An academic, mostly. Usually quiet. He cared for the strangest traditions while ignoring any social conventions he deemed inconvenient.”

“Hmm. I can’t think of anyone else that matches that description. He must have been truly unique,” Kakashi says, clearly thinking himself quite clever.

Mito doesn’t ignore social conventions. She is just perfectly aware which ones are foolish and thus not worth obeying.

“Should we assume the police are here to prevent our entry?” Mito asks. She can imagine Hiashi pulling a silly little stunt like this. She can’t imagine the Uchiha bowing to his whim. For all their many faults, they had never been sycophants.

Kakashi shrugs. “Not unless they haven’t received their orders from the Hokage.”

Mito tosses her head and stomps towards them. She will not be cowed by Madara’s ill-bred descendants. How is it possible that they all look so similar? Surely they couldn’t all have second cousins to marry. Were they, and the Hyuuga, choosing not to include civilians or non-Uchiha in their ranks? Tobirama had specifically written essays warning against such practices. Honestly, why had she been subjected to so many of his lectures if the rest of the world was free to ignore them?

As she approaches, the story becomes clear: the lines of police are in fact trapping members of the Main family, who all look furious – well. As furious as Hyuuga can manage, with their porcelain doll faces and pretty eyes. Mostly they look politely distressed.

“Pray, what manner of meeting is this?” Mito calls. Kakashi suppresses a laugh next to her. Ridiculous to find such a traditional greeting amusing.

The police gawp at her. Oh, of course. Hashirama’s wife. She must be quite the sight. Mito feels some of the ice over her heart thawing. Just a tad, of course. She will never soften to this clan in particular. Not while the memory of Hashirama’s years of agony still lingers.

None of these people were responsible for that, naturally. Gosh, they look all of five years old. Hardly that, even. Mito’s mood sours. Small wonder the village is going to the dogs when it’s run by soft-hearted fools and guarded by infants.

One of the Uchiha is standing less than a foot away from a bristling Hyuuga, holding a thin film of smoke in her mouth. Mito huffs. She doesn’t trust those that rely on substances. What could pungent smoke afford a person that a nice cup of tea could not?

Then she realises – the girl isn’t smoking, she’s holding back a Katon. Threatening the Hyuuga without a single word. Mito’s estimation of her shoots up, so sudden it’s almost jarring. The girl is perhaps twenty, taller than the Hyuuga she looms over, with a stringy black bob hanging in her face. Have combs grown extortionate since Mito’s death?

The girl’s dark blue eyes meet Mito’s. She’s wearing an awful lot of dark shadow around her eyes. Mito can’t judge her for it – she herself has spent most of this second life daubed in paint.

“Senju-sama,” the girl says, smoke drifting from her mouth like dragon’s breath. The rest of the police hush at once.

So, the Uchiha know her as Senju. Not inaccurate, but interesting to see the distinction between their view of her and the rest of the village. Certainly, the commonfolk knew her as an Uzumaki because that was how she had always been referred to in their lifetimes, but Mito is very aware what the practice spawned from. The Uzushio princess hadn’t always been welcomed here, after all. She was every inch the foreigner once upon a time.

But the Uchiha clearly never saw her that way.

“I’m here too,” Kakashi says.

“My aide,” Mito explains, “temporary, of course, until I find a more qualified person.” Kakashi makes a wounded sound. Mito continues, undeterred, “I trust we are allowed to enter the Compound? I have a signed statement from the Hokage –”

The girl snaps her fingers. The police take hold of whatever Hyuuga are close enough to them, and carefully swing them out of the way, leaving the doors unobscured.

“Follow me, Senju-sama.” The girl says, then marches into the Compound without a backwards glance.

“I’m still here,” Kakashi complains.

“This is outrageous!” A Hyuuga exclaims as they pass. “That woman is a fraud, yet you would allow her to steal half our people?”

“Your people?” Mito tosses back, her steps not faltering for a second. “You mean your slaves? You can’t steal people, buffoon. Only property. You betray yourself by speaking. Best to stay silent.”

“Keep them away while the business is conducted,” The Uchiha girl orders the rest of the officers, who close ranks around the Hyuuga.

The Hyuuga’s indignant squawks fade as they move deeper into the Compound.

xxxxxxxx

This time they are led down a white stone path bisecting a great lawn, heading straight for the largest building in the Compound, presumably the Main House, where Hiashi and his kin must reside.

“Terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name, earlier,” Mito calls.

“Uchiha Kei,” is the quiet, toneless response she receives, along with another puff of smoke, which drifts over the girl’s shoulder directly into Mito’s face. Or it would have, had she not flicked a fan out of her sleeve to deflect it in time. It’s an old favourite of hers, a faded eggshell colour, with ink horses drawn running from right to left, their manes and tails made of seafoam.

When they reach the doors of the Main House’s gate, there is already an Uchiha standing between them and Hyuuga Hiashi. This one is older, perhaps late thirties, early forties, and male. He does not have a weapon drawn and yet the promise of violence hangs in the air.

“Fugaku-sama, I have escorted Senju-sama past the entrance,” the girl declares.

Hiashi looks up, giving Mito a baleful glare the moment he spots her. Kakashi steps in front of her, leaving the impact somewhat diminished.

“Good. Take three officers with you and make sure the Branch members are safely extracted from the buildings. Check every building,” the man – Fugaku, it seems – specifies, giving Hiashi a look of deep dislike, “they may have tried to hide a few so they could claim they ran away in the night.”

“Oh, I do hope so,” Mito says pleasantly, “it has been decades since I have crushed a clan into extinction. How nice to have a reason to do so once again!”

Fugaku comes into view as Kakashi politely bows in greeting. The older Uchiha looks grizzled, far more familiar with war than Hiashi, who looks a pampered flower next to him.

“No need for threats, Senju-sama,” Fugaku says, voice low and wary, “we will get the job done in due time. All forty-four members of the Branch family will be accounted for, regardless of any attempts at concealing them.”

“You came back!” Neji’s voice, high in excitement, rings out as the boy darts towards them. His sandals slap against the paving stones. Kakashi sidesteps him at the last second when it becomes clear the boy has no intention of stopping. His hair is a mess, his hakama askew, and his little face is bright as he beams up at her. “I didn’t think you would!”

“Neji…” Hiashi says, the name alone a warning in his mouth, but it’s not simple anger that drifts from him. Mito senses a raging maelstrom of complicated emotions, all of them negative. She picks out one of them like a cat plucking a bird from the air. Guilt. Bruise-black, indelible, emanating from the man’s core.

Mito gives him a long, measured glance. Does he simply feel guilt for enslaving his nephew? Or did something else happen she doesn’t know about yet?

Mito bends down to return Neji’s smile, then fixes his hair with a light, impersonal hand. “Hello, my newest recruit. We made a promise that I knew I could keep, so of course I returned. How have you been? Have they treated you nicely in my absence?”

Neji’s smile drops. He doesn’t look back at his uncle in a way that feels careful, deliberate. “I’m fine,” he says quietly, and that says it all, really. She doesn’t need to hear any more than that.

“I believe I also promised I would remove your awful seal, didn’t I?” Mito says, extending a hand to rest gently on Neji’s forehead. “Would you like me to do so now?”

Hiashi closes his eyes, breathing deeply as if trying to stave off anger. Mito feels it anyway, a deep, burning hatred pointed her way. He must despise her for ruining his clan’s long-standing barbarous tradition. What a pity.

“Yes!” Neji says, eyes gleaming. Too excited to remember his manners.

Mito smiles.

Fugaku gives her a slight nod. Though nothing about his bearing is disrespectful, she still senses a thrum of concern that runs through him.

The Hyuuga had called her a fraud, earlier. She understands the suspicion. If it wasn’t all so personally convenient, she would’ve had scolded them all terribly for allowing her so much leeway without even examining her mind.

Truly! To give her so much access to the village’s most powerful and most vulnerable people without even a little torture! She could scarcely imagine it happening in Tobirama’s time. Entirely possible in Hashirama’s, of course. Her husband had been quite optimistic. Thankfully, he had also been incomparably powerful.

“Yes, please,” Neji whispers, then squeezes his eyes shut tight. His little hands are shaking.

Undoing the seal is not difficult, per se, but it is an enormously satisfying endeavour. Pulling the threads of the seal gently, just so, here and there, until the whole lot is ready to be removed. The section that would kill Neji if activated gives her momentary pause. She takes an unnecessary level of care out of principle rather than necessity. Slowly, it lifts.

When Neji opens his eyes, his forehead is wiped clean. He must have felt a difference, because he sprints to a nearby fountain to examine his reflection. When he does, he lets out a disbelieving whoop of laughter.

Hiashi’s head is in his hands, fine, silken hair spilling down his front.

“Forty-three left,” Mito says cheerfully, “do you feel the need to be present for all, Hyuuga-san? Shouldn’t take too long, by my estimations!”

Fugaku is staring at her. Whatever he’s feeling likely isn’t negative, as she can’t sense it, but it seems strong enough to cause him to forget his manners.

“Neji, I…” Hiashi begins, then his mouth spasms and he falls silent. No more words follow. He forces his hands away from his face and hangs his head. It is shame he is feeling, Mito notes. Good.

Neji doesn’t look away from his own reflection.

Kei appears by Fugaku’s side, leaves swirling around her, and she leans in close to mutter, “we have thirty-nine so far, Fugaku-sama, but we’ve been told repeatedly that the missing five are running errands.”

“Goodness me!” Mito says, beaming. “How could that happen? I believe I was quite clear, Hyuuga-san. I do not want to use the power I have over you via the contract, but if you force my hand – what can I do? Hmm… I have an idea. A marvellous one, at that. You must have an heir, Hyuuga-san.”

Hiashi stiffens up.

“Hyuuga Hinata,” Kei supplies.

“Thank you, dear. How old?”

“Eight, I believe.”

“Same age as Naruto, how lovely! Now, I’m quite cross about these missing members, loath as I am to admit it. It truly would be such a shame, in this instance, to comply with tradition… dissolve the clan, absorb its wealth and all its members? No, no. Seems quite harsh, in my opinion. After all, I’m sure the five Branch members truly have just popped out for a moment and will be back any minute, isn’t that right?”

Hiashi’s eyes bug out a little. Quite disconcerting, but he’s only shocked, not attempting to activate his Byakugan. Good, she’s never been a fan of how it looks. She’ll have to get over that little issue, now that she has Neji to look after.

“I… Yes. Yes, of course,” Hiashi says, each word falling out of his mouth as if pulled by some unseen force. He seems quite disconnected from the matter at hand. No doubt worrying his machinations have only managed to ruin him further. “If I could just have someone check on your behalf, I’m sure they would find them without issue.”

“Never mind that.” Mito waves her fan at him, enjoying the disconcertion on his face. “I fully believe we will find our missing members soon enough. However, it is concerning that you lost track of them at this very moment, right when I was ready to free them from their terrible slave seals… I do think further restitution is required to settle the matter. Terribly awkward to press the issue, but it is important, don’t you think? And a far better alternative than simply ending the line of Hyuuga here and now.”

“Restitution?” Hiashi stares at her, incredulous. “You want more from me?”

“Just a favour!” Mito trills. She doesn’t often do that, finding it an irritating trait. But it is useful for vexing opponents. “Is Hinata your only child, Hyuuga-san?”

Hiashi goes quite pale, “I assure you, Uzumaki-san, my children are none of your concern whatsoever –”

“Children. Plural. Wonderful news! No need to look so harried. I only wanted to arrange a weekly tea party with them.”

Hiashi blinks, poleaxed.

Kakashi bends his way into Mito’s view – being so awfully lanky forces one into strange positions just to begin conversations, it seems – offers her a single, sardonic brow raise, and mutters, “I think you could’ve asked for the moon, you know.”

“Why would I do that?” Mito rolls her eyes. “Where would I put it? Far more useful to have weekly access to the heir and the spare. Poor things, with such a father. I’ll do what I can to steer them straight.” She raises her voice, thwapping Kakashi’s arm with the fan until he slithers out of the way. “Hyuuga-san, I’ve just remembered! When I was here last, I placed a seal upon the table you received me at, just in case something like this occurred. How fortunate! When activated, it will tell me the locations of all those who were present at the time the seal was placed. Isn’t that lucky?”

Kakashi wheezes.

Hiashi clutches himself, visibly aghast.

Fugaku regards Mito with a long, calculating look.

And Neji finally tears himself away from his reflection, happily rushing to Mito’s side.

“They are –” Hiashi croaks, then winces. He clears his throat, continuing, “they are in the south training field, I believe.”

Poor things must’ve been chivvied out the back door and ordered to huddle together in a field, lest the evil Uzumaki woman whisk them away with the others.

“Wonderful! Let’s get them all together at last then, shall we? It is far past time to put things right around here.”

xxxxxxxx

It takes one hour and forty-five minutes to free the Branch family. Although Mito’s chakra reserves are far greater than they used to be, she still takes it slow, not wanting to overwork herself and leave some of the members shackled.

Her chakra is left somewhat diminished by the endeavour, not enough that she would feel its lack, but enough that she would be wary of pulling the same trick without time to do it right.

By the end, she has forty-four Hyuuga standing before her, some looking lost and confused, others overwhelmed with joy. Hiashi has been quietly escorted into the Main House, unresisting, head down. The Main family are nowhere to be seen, just former Branch members dotted around the lawn with their bare, uncovered foreheads.

“Hello, everyone. I know you must be wondering why on earth a perfect stranger would waltz in here and upset the delicate balance of your clan. Perhaps some of you even resent me for it,” Mito suggests, searching the faces and auras of those around her. To her pleasant surprise, there are no signs of bitterness amongst them. She smiles, “long ago, the Uzumaki clan forged an alliance with the Hyuuga clan. We shared a bond. Kinship. You all know how few Uzumaki remain now. Hardly any to claim as kin. I came here hoping to call upon that ancient alliance, as I have found myself sorely lacking friends in this future I never intended to see. Instead, I discovered evidence the Hyuuga had gone too far.”

Small, twisting threads of anger are beginning to pulse in the air. Even little Neji thrums with the same rust brown rage as the rest.

“Slave seals have never been legal in Konoha, though the fact of the matter is that ‘legal’ is not a concept that can bind one of the greatest clans in the village. It is merely a suggestion of how to behave. Not a concrete demand they must follow,” Mito says disdainfully. The few Uchiha police that have been watching in silence shift on the spot, uncomfortable.

Kakashi is leaning against a hedge opposite her, just behind Neji. She has noticed he tries to keep her in his eyeline at all times. She doesn’t know if he is trying to keep her safe, or to keep her from causing harm to others. He might not have noticed that she knows he doesn’t trust her. He enjoys her wit and watching her verbally maul unpleasant folk, but he doesn’t fully believe that she is who she says she is. And for that reason, he is worth keeping around.

“The Council will happily bury their heads in the sand and pretend not to notice the tide coming in, but I will not. I refuse to avert my gaze from injustice. And for that reason, I have spurned the alliance with the Main family and chosen to free you all.”

A small, ragged cheer goes up. Most of them look worn, thin, and unused to celebration. A few of them open their mouths but make no sound, pantomiming the act of cheering aloud. Too used to having to watch their volume. To not make a scene.

“I make no demands of you. You could all remain here, unburdened by seals, no longer bound to serve. I would hope the Main family would treat you well, but I will not pretend to be an optimist. I am a realist, and I believe the true best outcome for you all would be to join my clan. If you did, it would be as equals. You would not be slaves nor servants. You would be family. I would not demand you change your names and become Uzumaki, assimilating under my banner. No, not at all. You could keep your names, remain Hyuuga, but join me all the same. I would protect you as my closest kin. I would cherish each and every one of you. It’s your choice. Please take as much time as you need to decide. You can reach me through –”

“Mito-sama, I’m sorry to interrupt.” A pale man with long, brown hair steps forward, just a little hesitant to meet her gaze. “We don’t need any time to decide. After what you’ve done for us, we would follow you anywhere. None of us want to stay.”

There’s a chorus of agreement. Mito scans the crowd. She hadn’t expected this. She’d thought there’d be at least some discord.

“I’m coming too, but I’ll keep my name,” Neji says, a defiant frown puckering his brow, “it’s my dad’s name. So I won’t give it up.”

“Quite right,” Mito says, and a hint of tension vanishes from the boy’s face, shoulders dropping in relief.

“I want to be an Uzumaki,” a woman says, eyes shining.

One by one, the rest echo the sentiment. Mito hears her maiden name repeated again and again. Warmth is rising within her, threatening to spill over into a bubbling laugh of joy. She tamps it down, barely managing to school her features into calm acceptance.

“Then it seems we met as strangers, but today, we part as family,” Mito says, permitting herself a bright smile. It isn’t too unseemly to show such emotion in special cases such as this, she supposes. Though she does feel a tad exposed. “I will pay for your accommodation for however long it takes to secure our clan a permanent residence.”

She has no idea how many rooms inns possess. It’s possible she may have to buy out several places in order to accommodate all of the clan at once.

“Please, we can pay –”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Mito says, swatting the idea away with her fan, “Kakashi will find you all places to stay tonight, at least. I will be back as soon as I’ve retrieved my grandson.”

Kakashi was already giving her an unimpressed look after she volunteered his services, but it shifts the second she mentions fetching Naruto. It’s only a miniscule change, but she sees it. He desperately wants to see the boy. What, does he think she’s got him trussed up in some enormous web?

For a moment Mito thinks that will be that and everything will end on a perfectly well-mannered note, but then a woman breaks away from the pack, and heads straight for Mito, arms outstretched. There is no malice in her, so Mito glues the threads of Kakashi’s sleeves to the hedge he’s pressed against, much to his shock, to prevent him from tackling the poor woman.

The Hyuuga throws her arms around Mito with a small sob, and the dam breaks, the rest flood in behind her. Mito finds herself swarmed by pastel robes, gentle hands touching her arms, hands, face in thanks.

Neji is pressed against her calves, ducking down to make himself even smaller to hide his face. His tears seep into her robes.

Mito allows the moment to stretch on for as long as they need it, ignoring the stares from the Uchiha and the Hatake. She does not return the embrace, but she does not spurn it either. They all must have had a very hard time. It’s fine to forget manners very rarely, in moments such as these.

She tips her head up to the sky, ignoring the slight moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes, and stares at the sun until it is safe to look away.

She claps her hands softly – having to manoeuvre around several unfamiliar limbs in the way – to break the silence, and the Hyuuga retreat, flushes of embarrassment on many of their faces. She already feels a kinship with them, these unsentimental creatures.

“One more word with your former clan head, and then I’ll be off. Kakashi, would you escort my clan to the nearest accommodation? I will, of course, compensate you for your troubles.”

“And for forty-four rooms?” Kakashi asks.

“Naturally. Ah, but one moment.” She kneels in front of Neji, who rubs frantically at his tear-soaked face with his sleeves the moment she approaches. “Neji, do you have any guardians in the clan?”

The boy’s face darkens. He shakes his head jerkily, not meeting her eyes.

Mito pats him on the head. “Very well. Would you mind if I became your guardian, then?”

His eyes dart back to hers, as round as dinner plates. “You? Why would you even want to?”

“Why does anyone want anything? Because they do. I once had a very big family. Everywhere I looked I saw folk with red hair just like mine, tempers as bold, minds as bright, their familiarity a constant comfort. I had elders to consult with when I had problems. Youngsters to play with when I needed distractions. I had everyone I could ever need. And then I lost them. I decided I would not replace them, as that would be impossible, but if I ever met anyone who needed a family, just as I did, then I would be that family for them. And, if they wished it, they would be that family for me. What do you think, Neji? Want to start afresh?”

Neji’s mouth screws up, chin wobbling. He can’t seem to speak, so he just nods, then rushes away to hide behind the rest of the clan.

Very good. She would raise Neji alongside Naruto. Neither of the two would have to be alone from this day on.

It feels bittersweet. She has lost so much, and here she is finally starting to gain once more, but the hole in her heart remains.

“Put Neji in the room next to mine and Naruto’s,” Mito says to Kakashi, who nods without much feeling behind it. She knows what he’s feeling.

It’s the same thing Uchiha Fugaku is feeling, standing at a polite distance, pretending not to observe the private moment.

Suspicion.

***

Hello, friends!

PSA: I’m not currently accepting constructive criticism on this fic.

Hiashi: Yes, I have forty-four unpaid servants who all live and work here under pain of certain death, why?

Mito: It’s free real estate

Hiashi: No, it was actually quite expensive. What are you doing? Stop picking up Branch members and stowing them away in your bag!

Kakashi is trying so hard to be chill and unbothered but Mito has been systematically shredding parts of the village and has she even had a bathroom break yet? Does she eat? Did she eat Naruto –

And yes, Mito saw a scowling, angry little boy, and said aha. That one will make a fine addition to my collection of traumatised infants. Kakashi, build me a shelf for my orphans!

Also, although Mito wouldn’t necessarily act on it, I should mention that in this fic she’s not the biggest fan of the Uchiha. I imagine Kei looking like Nana from the anime/manga Nana, btw.

Was Mito bluffing when she claimed she’d left a seal on the table, I wonder?

Btw, I’ve given her a kekkei genkai. She’s only used it twice so far in this fic. I’m not sure if anyone will notice what it is!

Next chapter: Naruto and Neji meet! Tenzo may or may or not be found. And it’s entirely possible that there might be a shopping montage.

Quick poll for fun: What was the best meal you had recently? If you don’t want to talk about food, tell me your favourite film instead.

Mine was several years ago but it was so good I’m constantly chasing the taste of it. It was a nut roast covered in gravy with big fat roast potatoes and lots of veg. Lovely stuff.

Chapter Text

The inn Kakashi chooses for Mito is in the Civilian District. It must have fallen on hard times somewhat recently, as the quote he receives for the average room is far below what he had expected, considering the building’s size and prominent position in the middle of the main market square. Luckily, it means they do have enough empty rooms for just under fifty people, though they will all have to double up.

Kakashi lines up the Hyuuga – no, the Uzumaki – in the stairwell, handing out keys as he goes. The former Branch members look tired, but happy.

Mito had left Neji in his care with strict instructions that he not let him out of his sight for even a moment. As a result, he had a smaller version of Hiashi dogging his steps. It was not an altogether pleasant experience.

It was not lost on Kakashi that Mito had swept Naruto out of the village and away to places unknown and had only gone to fetch him back after getting everything she wanted. Though her results were hard to disapprove of, her motives left too much in question. Was she intentionally holding her own pseudo-grandson hostage in order to make use of him, or had she truly found Konoha so unsafe for him that she refused to bring him back until she had burned out the worst of its rot? Kakashi had no way of knowing exactly what had been said in the Council’s meeting, just that Mito had come out of it looking pleased in her own reserved manner. Too genteel for overt smugness.

He wanted to believe in her. Uzumaki Mito, the famed wife of the village’s founder, renowned sealmaster, the kind of solid pillar Konoha sorely needed. With Sarutobi wavering, Danzo nipping at his heels, the Sannin beyond reach, the Uchiha testing the boundaries of their power, and the aftershocks of the Kyuubi’s escape, Konoha was fragile.

The woman had torn through the village like a maelstrom, ostensibly benevolent, painting herself a reluctant ally of a place she clearly dislikes, and Kakashi couldn’t decide what he thought of her. She is cold, overly formal, and disdains any form of sentiment, and yet has consistently chosen to help those in need whenever opportunity arose.

Mito’s actions were unquestionably compassionate. And yet, Kakashi couldn’t help but notice she had benefited from every single one. Swooping in to save Naruto at a low point, becoming his saviour and his very first family member all at once. Good-naturedly prodding Kakashi until he’d felt compelled to off-load his private shame, not wanting her to find out from harsher tongues than his. She had unpicked every thread that held together his life after finding his father dead, left him unspooled and reeling, then recruited him with equal amounts grace and force. He hadn’t been able to refuse, unsure if he even wanted to, and now felt at limbo with himself and his future.

She had marched into the Hyuuga Compound and built herself a new clan off the back of another, taking a disenfranchised group of resentful, wounded shinobi, who would no doubt transform into perfectly loyal devotees in time. Kakashi had watched them surround her, awestruck, like pilgrims reaching a long-sought sanctuary, and he had wondered.

He knows far too little about Uzumaki Mito, considering her status as a local legend.

Her name had come up countless times during his brief time at the Academy, almost always in connection with fuinjutsu. They’d been given the bare bones explanation for the moment Mito had changed history by becoming the first jinchuuriki, pioneering the heretofore most reliable method of subduing dangerous bijuu. Kakashi had felt some curiosity about it, but after meeting Kushina, any sense of mystique jinchuuriki might have had faded at once. Kushina was far too normal and carried herself like she was just like everyone else.

Mito was different. She might not have the Kyuubi housed within her soul, but she still swept through rooms like she had the power to demolish everything within a hundred-mile radius. That kind of confidence was natural, ingrained within her from birth, and it made her seem far more dangerous an animal than Naruto ever could be. It was already clear that Naruto didn’t have a ruthless bone in his body, whereas Mito walked with the casual, unhurried demeanour of a well-fed predator.

Kakashi now leans against the wall, the former Hyuuga dispersing, finding their own rooms with deliriously happy smiles, and feels Neji mirror him on his right. He’d taken Mito’s order more seriously than Kakashi himself had. Kakashi closes his eyes, imagining himself in Mito’s place. What would he have done, if he had woken up in Konoha’s remains, his world undone by time and war? Would he have calmly walked to Suna, the nearest ally, sought an audience with the Kazekage, and methodically worked his way through a list of practical means to gain power and resources? All while knowing he had a single family member left, a child, lonely and neglected, the central piece of the village’s strength…

No.

He can’t even begin to imagine what he would have done in Mito’s place, but he knows he could not have done what she did.

Then again, Mito was famous for doing what none thought possible. She was the first to bind a bjiuu to herself, and she did so with the Kyuubi, by far the strongest beast. She saw a threat and she used it to empower herself. Kakashi was never taught the details of the Hokage’s wife or her origins – was she a first-generation shinobi, new to violence, or was she bred for it? Was she raised to be a lady, as her bearing suggests, or trained for war before she could walk?

If it were Hashirama, Kakashi is confident he could have researched the man’s skillset and mission record. No doubt there would be plentiful sources of information to fill out an idea of the man – his personality, techniques, tactics, disposition, and more. But would his wife be so well-documented? Kakashi’s never even heard tales of her skills in battle, nor anecdotes of her feats on missions.

When one of the Branch members had rushed Mito, Kakashi had moved to intervene. He’d felt his clothes shift, the slightest tug of resistance against him, and it had shocked him enough to pause. Mito had not made any hand seals nor moved at all beyond softening her posture, allowing the embrace. But she had acted against him. His clothes had fallen slack, as if released by an invisible grip.

At this point, Kakashi has two theories.

1) Mito is precisely who she appears to be. Hashirama’s wife, an honorary founder of the village, a legendary sealmaster, and the woman that tamed the beasts of the world.

2) Mito is an imposter. An Uzumaki, clearly, with the right look and chakra, a convincing knowledge of Uzushio and Konoha’s customs and history, but a fraud nonetheless.

 If the latter were true, it would be catastrophic for Konoha. She has their sole jinchuuriki in her custody, the Hokage has already legitimised her and her demands, and she now acts as the head of the Uzumaki clan, with most of the Hyuuga absorbed into its ranks. She is kin to Naruto, Tsunade, and the village founder – all powerful ties that grant her status beyond anyone else living inside or outside the village. If she has been placed by ROOT, Kakashi has no idea where to begin to counter this insane, unprecedented move. If she is a true unknown, he has even less to work with. She has a strange technique he could not counter, undeniable sealing skills, the agility to dodge Kakashi when he was off-guard, and dolphin summons.

The worst thing is that even if the former were true, and she is Uzumaki Mito, she still may not have Konoha’s best interests at heart. Who could even blame her if it were true? Konoha did not act in time to aid her village and then turned a blind eye to its destruction. Not only that, they failed to protect Kushina, the girl she’d practically raised, then deliberately neglected her son. They spat on her legacy.

And her husband’s death is still a mystery, Kakashi thinks, not permitting himself the nervous twitch that seeks to run through his fingers, one day Hashirama was hale and hearty, the next the Council was seeking his replacement. Mito would be a fool not to suspect foul play.

Mito had casually said she had ‘plans in Konoha’ before she could return to Uzushio. Kakashi hadn’t been able to read anything from her in that moment, the woman frustrating in her inscrutability the entire time he’d known her – only days, somehow, despite the never-ending stream of events had occurred since her arrival. The only chink in her armour had been later that day, when her summons had asked if ‘Chiharu-chan’ had had a baby yet. Mito’s face had iced over; all emotion sealed away with an almost audible hiss.

Chiharu wasn’t a familiar name, but whoever she was, she had to be relevant in some way. Kakashi needs Mito to casually dismiss him soon, needs to head to the oldest part of the library to comb through books no doubt focused on Mito’s husband, not her, in hopes that he’ll find some mention of Chiharu, dolphin summons, the Uzumaki’s connection with the Hyuuga, anything.

Neji hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t look as relieved or excited as his brethren, his small face set in utter stoicism. It truly is like having a tiny Hiashi by his side. Kakashi grimaces beneath his mask. He knows the boy’s reputation, said to be stronger than both his Main cousins by far, held back only by his Branch status. He knows what happened to Hizashi, the resentment that must have been building ever since. How easily the boy could turn if his benefactor willed it.

Kakashi’s ears prick at a faint sound approaching the door to the stairwell – two sets of feet, one light and graceful, one stomping without much weight behind it – and he laces his posture with insouciance, as if disinterested in whoever is about to arrive.

Neji lets out a disdainful hmph.

The door opens, and –

Kakashi’s breath catches and relief floods through him in a warm, golden rush. Naruto.

Naruto is charging in, big grin entering the room first and the rest of him following, gripping Mito’s hand as if it was in danger of being taken away from him, and Kakashi cannot look away from the boy he failed, happy, healthy, here.

“All is well, I trust?” Mito asks, and Kakashi swallows with a click, readying himself to answer, but a high-pitched voice cuts in.

“I watched Hatake,” Neji says, “no truly suspicious moves, Mito-sama, though nothing of note, either. Which is basically the same thing.”

From the look of surprised mirth that crosses Mito’s lovely face, Neji had taken the duty of Hatake-watching upon himself, not on her order. Kakashi is still offended.

“Wow!” Naruto says, bouncing on the spot without releasing Mito’s hand. “Are you one of those clan kids? Cool!”

Neji stiffens, eyes darting away.

Naruto’s smile dims.

“You are both clan children. Naruto, although Neji is a Hyuuga, he is still a member of our clan. That makes him family. He is one year older than you, so something of a brother, if you like. If both of you like, that is.”

Naruto gawps, “no way! A big brother?! I have to tell that bast –”

“Naruto.”

“Sorry, obaa-chan. That, uh, bad guy Sasuke, I have to tell him I’ve got a big brother too now, and my one’s got cool eyes and long hair! And he’s called Hyuuga Neji, but he’s still my brother, right? Because we’ve got a biiiiiiig clan! This big! And no one else does except that stupid Sasuke, but our clan’s better because we’ve got you, obaa-chan! And hey, hey! We’re gonna learn sealing, did you know that? And we get to have lots of food whenever we want, but we still gotta go to the Academy otherwise we can’t be shinobi, which stinks! But we’ll be the strongest and we’ll beat Sasuke to a pulp! Right?!”

Neji just stares. He looks rather like civilians do in the aftermath of unexpected violence. The realisation takes time to set in, so their faces get stuck in dawning horror long before it hits.

Naruto, enthusiasm impossible to dent, cheers as if he’d received an eager response.

“Kakashi, might we have the key for our room? Neji has already said he is happy to share with the two of us, which is very good of him.”

Kakashi, half-amused, half-troubled, hands Mito the key and allows her to walk away with two of Konoha’s strongest children.

He quietly slips away, picturing the stacks of books most likely to have what he requires, and squeezes the maroon earring between his fingertips as he goes.

xxxxxxxx

Naruto is splashing merrily in the en suite bathroom, just a door away, but Mito still feels unsettled with that short distance and barrier between them. To suffer the pangs of motherhood again at her age was tragic, but comically so, given that it was entirely voluntary.

Neji had taken the first bath, and now sits on his bed, looking very small and unsure.

The room is clearly meant for parents, given it has a double bed and a child-sized one tucked away in a far corner, with curtains around both for privacy. Mito likely won’t sleep much, but it’ll be nice for Naruto to have such a large bed to sleep in for once.

“Neji, could I ask for a favour?” Mito asks, sitting on the edge of her bed. She is in the middle of the lengthy process of readying herself for bed, which she has done so many times that the ritual has become monotonous, yet comforting.

Neji watches her brush out her long, red curls, the strokes gently breaking the waves across her shoulders.

“Okay,” the boy mumbles, his eyes owlish, too big for his serious little face.

“You’re the elder of my two boys, so I was wondering if you might look out for Naruto,” Mito begins, but Neji’s face is darkening with every word.

“Is he your heir?” Neji asks, unexpectedly bitter.

Ah, Mito thinks.

As the youngest Branch member, and Hiashi’s own nephew, no doubt Neji was required to wait on Hinata, the heiress of the clan. And, considering Hiashi’s vile personality, it was likely his demonspawn was equally horrid. Poor Neji must have suffered, living as a servant in his own home.

“Technically, though it’s a grey area. Naruto is a distant cousin of mine, but he’s the only biological family I’ve been able to find. I have a granddaughter, Tsunade, but she’s abandoned the village. I can’t rely on her at this moment to act as my heir. Naruto is an orphan, raised with nothing, and he was quite badly neglected by those that were meant to take care of him. He wasn’t raised in a clan, he wasn’t raised at all. He’s a very cheerful boy, despite the hardships he’s endured, but he knows nothing of clan life, shinobi politics, even basic manners. I was hoping that you might help guide him in his new role, since you have the seniority of age and experience. Of course, since it’s a favour, you can refuse, especially if you believe it would be too difficult –”

“No, I can do it!” Neji insists, the storm clouds dissipating at once. “I can help him with his manners, that would be easy. But… but… would I have to…”

“You no longer have to do anything, Neji. You are a member of my clan. I will be your guardian. You are family to me, and to Naruto. The both of you are my wards and thus equals. I do not expect you to serve him or anyone, I only wish to take care of you both, to the highest degree. It is the least that you deserve. Do you understand?”

Neji truly is a very brave boy. Anxiety roils through him, but he lets none of it show, only displaying cold, stoic determination on his face.

“I don’t understand why you want to help,” he murmurs, “but I want your help. I’m grateful for it. I’ll work hard to be worthy of it.”

When Mito moves to protest, the boy shakes his head, fierce yet still somehow respectful. “I want to earn my place, Mito-sama. I’m no charity case. I’m the strongest child in my – in this clan. I’ll take care of Naruto-san. I won’t let anyone make fun of him if he does something wrong. I’ll teach him everything he needs to know. But that’s not enough, Mito-sama. I want to do more!”

As she gazes at his fervent face, realisation hits slow yet hard. She had miscalculated with this one. She had assumed his enforced, humiliating servitude would have given him a deep-seated need to be cherished, spoiled, for the once the centre of another’s courtesies and consideration. But no, though the boy had clearly hated and resented his unpaid labour and undeserved lower status, through it, he had gained an intense need to prove himself. To show all his skills, his inherent value, all developed without help or the sufferance of others – he wanted to leave claw marks through life, so all would know his struggle, his power, how low he had been, and how far he had risen.

There were many avenues such ambition could take him. Many paths she could guide him down. The softer part of her recoiled at the thought that such a little boy should be moulded into something specifically to be useful, but the rest of her knew how necessary it would be to do exactly that.

Mito has enemies, old and new, gained through the Uzumaki name and the Senju. Taking the Hyuuga under her wing would both shelter and expose them.

There was a boy she had known when she was a child. He was foreign, dark-haired, his speech blunt and wooden. She had watched him transform into something far beyond what he had expected to ever be.

“Neji,” Mito says, her voice warm, “one day, I will need a strategist.”

xxxxxxxx

Mito carves seals into doors, walls, windowsills, and floors, anywhere and everywhere she deems necessary to protect her new family, and throughout the process she is followed by two wide-eyed little boys, each one fascinated by the smooth, delicate swirls she left in wood, how her chakra thrummed through the walls.

By the end of it, every room that held a former Branch member sang with her energy, purposefully imbued strongly enough that just to sense it would discourage most intruders.

The most interesting result was in Naruto’s response. Neji had been interested, of course, but Naruto had been absorbed, at some points his thumb drifting up to his mouth as he forgot everything around him, only having eyes for the concentric patterns Mito carved with unerring precision.

The youngest Uzumaki seems to have inherited his clan’s love of fuinjutsu. Mito couldn’t be prouder.

Morning arrives gently, the throaty calls of a turtle dove rousing Mito from her light slumber, Naruto an unmoving weight against her stomach as she shifts. They had fallen asleep with several feet between them, Naruto swallowed up by blankets, head barely visible against his pillow, and yet now he sleeps with Mito’s midriff as his cushion, arms squeezing her with all the strength he could muster.

Mito casts a glance across the room. Neji is sound asleep on his back, dignified even in slumber.

Mito smiles.

She strokes Naruto’s hair, then sinks ever so slightly into his chakra system, feeling out the mood of the beast within.

The Kyuubi answers her cautious greeting with an amused rumble, hardly awake itself.

I will correct the seal soon enough, she tells him, I will see to it that you are comfortable.

Comfort is not what I long for, Hime-sama… I want my freedom, the beast warns her.

Mito raises a brow. The beast did not chafe against its restraints when it was with her. It threatened, cajoled, mocked, but it never demanded to be freed. It either believed it would escape soon enough or had no desire to do so. It wanted its freedom, it hated its prison, but it never lowered itself to attempting to gain its release through her. To do so would be to acknowledge its powerlessness, her control.

Truly, it must have suffered in the years after their parting. She wonders how it had fared under Kushina’s reign. She had counselled the girl to ignore the beast whenever possible, to remember that though it witnessed much of her life and may have opinions to share, it would never have anything of use to offer her. Not advice, criticism, ridicule, nor power. It words should fall like rain upon a window – clear to see, yet easy to overlook. Close, yet incapable of reaching her, unless she removed the barrier between them.

Who stole your will and turned your fury upon the village, Beast? Mito asks, certain it will not answer.

She did not make a habit of communicating with the Kyuubi during her time as its jinchuuriki, much to its displeasure. It spent many an hour palpably longing for her to respond to its inane observations, poking and prodding at what it deemed to be her sore spots, hoping to provoke an emotional reaction. Mito had intended to function as a sealing scroll, a mere container, but the Kyuubi seemed to want more from her, towards the end. Especially after Hashirama…

That is not my name, is all the Kyuubi sees fit to reply, the chastising note sending a flicker of irritation through her.

I do not know your name, Mito reminds it. She hadn’t known it had one. It implies a presence of another in its life, a parent, and worse, a sense of society sophisticated enough to have a concept of names.

Senju Mito… Is that still your name, Hime-sama? They all call you Uzumaki now and you do not correct them. He’s dead, isn’t he? What does it mean, when the one that gives you their name dies? Does the name die with them? Why didn’t you die with him?

Mito rolls her eyes. The beast knew Hashirama died the moment she found out. All of this clownish behaviour, attempting to break her composure, it was all as pointless as it had always been.

I see. You have no idea who forced you to destroy the village, she responds. Naruto grumbles as the Kyuubi’s surprise reverberates through him. Mito pats his stomach. If you did, you would have gleefully withheld the information, rubbing it in my face as you did so. Sleep, Beast. I will be working to improve your existence as you do.

My patience grows thin, his voice rumbles, Mito’s hand twitching where it rests upon Naruto’s abdomen.

What do I care for your patience? Mito flings back.

She had assumed it would anger the kitsune, had prepared to soothe Naruto in the wake of the beast’s fury, but instead, she hears an eerie, high-pitched yipping sound, fading into the back of her mind.

It had laughed.

It is Mito, instead, that is left angry.

xxxxxxxxx

When Kakashi returns to the inn three days after Mito last dismissed him, he doesn’t do so alone.

With a letter from the Hokage burning a hole through his jacket pocket, he guides a silent, maskless Tenzo through the inn’s entrance. Former Hyuuga are scattered around the foyer, most not bothering to look up at their approach – no doubt perfectly capable of watching them even with their eyes elsewhere – and all seem rather at home. A number are working on small projects like knitting and sewing, a few repairing broken shuriken, some of the younger ones even practicing their forms beneath the watchful eye of their elders.

Kakashi strides through the teenagers as they perform rippling katas. Tenzo follows, his gait steady and unsettlingly perfect.

“What are you here for, then?” The innkeeper calls out before Kakashi can even reach the counter. “The lady is upstairs in her room. Didn’t say nothing about having visitors. I can have one of my boys run up with a message if you like.”

“This is the message.” Kakashi says brightly, pointing behind him at a very awkward Tenzo. “Bit heavy for just the one boy, I imagine. I can carry him myself, save you the trouble.”

“The. Lady.” The innkeeper says, stressing every word. “Said nothing. About having visitors. Said plenty about nuisances and what to do if they came looking.”

Kakashi receives the distinct impression he’s just become a nuisance.

“Just give him the letter,” Tenzo breathes.

“Hokage’s orders,” Kakashi says, voice ringing out loud for all to hear, “the lady wanted to see this particular nuisance as soon as possible. Are you going to be the reason she doesn’t get what she wants when she wants it?”

All colour drains from the innkeeper’s face. “Now hold on, don’t get too hasty! I can’t just let anyone up there, it’s private and paid for, I have to be sure –”

“OBAA-CHAN SAID GET UP HERE!” Naruto bawls from somewhere up high. “Ow! Oh. PLEASE COME UP HERE! Nii-chan you’re so MEAN –”

“Summons from on high,” Kakashi says merrily, “you know how it is. Thanks! Come along, Tenzo. We’re almost in the dragon’s den.”

The innkeeper says nothing as they head to the stairwell. Tenzo still walks with that practiced, unnatural pace, head hanging low, the picture of misery.

“She’ll hate me,” he says, almost too quiet to hear.

“Mm. Seems possible. And if she does?”

“Then… then I’ll…”

Kakashi knows what Tenzo is struggling to say. Mito is building herself a clan of people she has only the faintest ties to, and it’s a fair assumption that Tenzo, with Hashirama’s cells, might make that cut. He might be walking into the open arms of a new home. Or Mito might regard him as the living embodiment of the violation her husband had suffered, not even allowed dignity in death. In that case, she was far more likely to cast him out. Or scratch his eyes out, Kakashi still can’t be sure.

Chiharu, Kakashi thinks, the name a familiar refrain after days of searching Konoha’s records. There’s only one person it can be.

Naruto and Neji are hanging around outside Mito’s room, jabbing at each other without any attempts at subtlety, though they both straighten up as Kakashi and Tenzo approach.

“Obaa-chan’s inside!” Naruto waves a hand at the door magnanimously. “You can go in, since you’re the guy from before, and she said you’re not too bad.”

“We don’t get to decide who goes in,” Neji hisses, “that’s up to Mito-sama!”

“But that’s what she said –”

Kakashi sails through the open door.

He feels chakra wash over him, a friendly, searching hum. It doesn’t register as a threat, so he continues without pause. Tenzo stops in his tracks, clutching at his throat, and Kakashi wheels around in mingled confusion and horror –

“Oh. Honestly. Come in, come in, I should have somehow foreseen you would bring a guest, unannounced, this is truly my blunder, come in!” Mito snaps from somewhere deeper inside the room, and Tenzo takes a cautious breath, then crosses the threshold.

“You keyed my chakra into your seals to allow me entry?” Kakashi asks.

Mito glowers at him from her chair. She has a book in her hands, faded blue, well-kept in its old age.

“Should I have allowed you to choke to death on my doorstep?” She responds tartly. “Terribly sorry to your friend, of course –” She breaks off the moment Tenzo comes into view.

She stares, eyes tracing the structure of Tenzo’s face, which flushes, unused to being under such scrutiny without a mask to hide behind, and her book slams shut.

“This is Tenzo,” she says, jaw tight.

Kakashi withdraws the letter from his jacket. He can’t even begin to imagine how the hell Mito knows Tenzo enough to identify him on sight.

“Y-yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” Tenzo says, hands folded behind his back, eyes down low, posture perfect like he’s being presented to his commander.

Mito takes the letter without looking away from Tenzo and does not bother to open it. “So, if you are the boy from the experiments… you must have Mokuton. Is that correct?”

In answer, Tenzo lifts his hand, a small green stem sprouting from his palm.

Mito’s face seizes, unreadable emotion flashing too quickly for Kakashi to parse, and she is up and out of her chair before he can blink, past them both and out of the room before he can turn.

Not quickly enough for him to miss the unmistakeable glimmer of tears in her eyes.

***

Hello, friends!

PSA: I’m not currently accepting constructive criticism on this fic.

Ah, Mito. So tough, so strong, so… very much in love with her husband.

Kakashi is torn between wanting Mito to be exactly as she appears to be, and wanting to be right lmao

Alright so at the end of the last chapter I promised a shopping montage in this one. It’s not my fault!! This chapter ended up being almost a thousand words longer than usual because Kakashi wanted to brood and the Kyuubi wanted to be menacing. At least Tenzo showed up!

Little Naruto and Neji growing up as brothers. I’m sure that won’t cause any big changes, no siree.

Next chapter: SHOPPING MONTAGE!!! (for real this time!) Mito might actually find someone useful (sorry Kakashi but Neji thinks you look soooo dubious), and someone may find cause to defend Mito’s honour.

Quick poll for fun: What was your favourite childhood movie?

I’m cheating, because I made the poll, and I absolutely cannot just pick one. I loved Mulan, The Grinch, Liar Liar, Home Alone, Hercules, and It Takes Two. (and so many more)