Title: Countdown to Limbo
Rated: PG
Character(s): Jiraiya-centric

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“How quickly passes away the glory of this world.” –Thomas Kempis

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The first time, Jiraiya could filter the blame across all ranks—the Stone feudal lord for an inaccurate mission rank request, the chuunin scouts for poor reconnaissance, himself and his team for lacking foresight. What had begun as a routine C-rank mission had gotten out of hand when B-class Rain nins appeared as unexpected back up for the opposing side.

There was no time for strategy and implementation—just instinct and reaction, cause and effect, a concatenation of events. Two enemy nin singled out the jounin teacher, leaving the three genin to fend for themselves. The boy who would become Konoha’s Yellow Flash protected his teammates well, but there was only so much a child—even a deadly one—could do against B-class nins. Jiraiya returned, bleeding and cursing, to find the future Yondaime had killed his first man and lost his first precious person.

Medic nins inevitably arrived late and Jiraiya abandoned any pretense of control. He disappeared into the trees, hunted down the Rain nins who’d escaped, and left a viscous mosaic painted across the branches. His actions, he knew, were base, visceral…and he felt no regret for his lapse despite the sharp, dry taste of emptiness.

Tsunade accosted him in the hospital, railing about duty and protection. Then she’d collapsed, exhausted by her tirade, into the chair beside his bed and wept for him.

The remaining three attended the funeral together but Jiraiya lingered long after. The day was unseasonably warm and his long hair clung uncomfortably to the back of his neck. Eventually, Orochimaru was sent to retrieve him although the two simply ended up standing aside one another in silence, staring at the newly engraved name on the memorial.

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The second time, Jiraiya watched it happen in slow motion—the only female member of their team…falling, hair billowing around her face, eyelids fluttering. Blood burst around her in twirling arcs and glittering pirouettes. Raised dust settled lightly against her skin as she hit the ground.

His remaining student was nearby, shoving a kunai into the throat of the man responsible and severing his jugular vein. A film of blood stained that blond head and Jiraiya thought, insanely, about Orochimaru’s snakes—red and yellow bands lingering in his mind long after the battle.

The remaining two attended the funeral together but Jiraiya left early, disappearing into the obscurity of the forest. Orochimaru had long since defected and there was no one to fetch him although he imagined the snide remark his former teammate would make regarding his incompetence. Tsunade had taken leave of the village months earlier but he doubted she’d have any words to spare him about duty considering she’d left hers behind.

It was just as well. Jiraiya didn’t think he could hear anything anyway beyond the dull roar in his head.

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A couple years later, his last was given his own team and then named Yondaime shortly after. At the inauguration, Jiraiya watched the young Hokage address the village and thought perhaps Tsunade had the right idea. He was in dire need of an extended vacation.

His duty as mentor finally complete, he settled into reworking the first draft of a novel he’d started years before.

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The final time, Jiraiya was returning to Konoha on a summons from his former teacher. All ninjas abroad, retired or otherwise, were to report back immediately to defend. He would have declined except he still felt some lingering obligation to his village and, specifically, his former student.

He returned to a village silent with mourning. Somber faces rebuilt leveled buildings and orphans huddled on every street corner, momentarily forgotten in the wake of bitter victory.

Jiraiya didn’t attend the funeral. He returned his bag to his shoulder, scribbled a note to the newly reinstated Hokage, and walked back out the village gates.

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“Because I remember, I despair.” –Elie Wiesel

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