Chapter Text
It’s nights like this one more than any others, more than the bite of Konoha’s harshest winters or those days when old wounds throb and ache like they’re fresh and new, that remind Hiruzen of his age.
The rain lashes against the Tower’s windows, lightning forking across the sky in almost rhythmic bursts as the wind howls and rages strong enough to make even Hashirama’s trees creak and groan in the distance.
It’s a summer storm unlike anything Hiruzen has seen in years now, unforgiving in its viciousness and dangerous in its fury. It makes a weariness he cannot seem to shake sink even deeper into his bones.
The winds, Hiruzen cannot help but muse, have not howled like this since the days when Uzushio had fallen. Since those blood-stained and grief-filled weeks and months when it seemed as if nature itself could do naught but rage over what had been destroyed.
Since the day that Mito-sama, always so composed and regal, always unbowed beneath her burdens and her duty, had almost seemed to fracture for no reason.
Even after all these years Hiruzen can still remember the way she had frozen that morning, teacup falling from her suddenly stiff hand to shatter on the floor. Can remember the way her eyes had glinted with something feral and untamed when she’d turned on them.
For as long as he lives he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sounds of her grief, the way her cries had echoed off of every corner of the Senju Clan compound until the seals had gone into place and the barrier was erected.
Will never forget the empty sort of silence that had followed or the way it had practically burnt his ears.
No one had understood until the reports had come in. Until the whispers had begun. Until the skies had raged and the winds had howled as well.
Uzushio has fallen. The Uzumaki are no more.
So much had changed after that day but it will always be Mito-sama and her unparalleled grief that stands out to Hiruzen the most.
It’s a memory he’s carried inside of him since the moment it had happened, one that he knows he will carry with him for the rest of his days.
Because, for all the power and skill Hiruzen had accumulated at that age, something about Mito-sama that day had made him feel so young.
Had made him feel small in a way that, even after all this time, he’s only ever experienced a handful of times across the course of a life filled to the brim with battle and blood.
Pipe tucked away in the corner of his mouth and hands folded behind his back, Hiruzen stares out at the storm and cannot help but wonder.
What new horrors will this night bring?
~~~
“Hokage-sama,” the call has Hiruzen’s eyes slipping closed for a split second before he forces himself to turn.
What he sees when he turns to face the snarling mask of his most trusted ANBU causes his heart, battered and bruised but as steady as it still is, to skip a beat, causes his gut to clench and his teeth to grind.
It seems as if the answer to his earlier question has wasted no time in coming.
~~~
The weariness from before sinks even deeper into Hiruzen. It seems determined to burrow into the furthest reaches of his soul and leave him no respite from the sheer ache of it all.
He truly is too old and too tired for this, too worn around the edges to do all that needs to be done.
As much as he loves it, as much as the Will of Fire still burns brightly in his chest, this village should no longer be his burden to bear.
This weight is one he should no longer be carrying. His time has long since come and passed, and yet ...
Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning when the sun is still only a promise and the village sleeps around him, Hiruzen allows the small, hidden, seed of bitterness inside of him to swell. Allows it to flourish and blossom just a bit before he inevitably crushes it beneath his heel yet again.
He’d thought he’d left these burdens behind him when he’d passed the mantle on to Minato. Had thought he’d done all he could to earn the right of having his twilight years filled with chilled rice wine at his elbow, Biwako at his side, and, just perhaps, grandchildren on both of their knees.
But, in the course of a single day, across the width of one horrible night, that dream had been all but destroyed.
The Kyūbi had raged, Konoha had burned, and, in the end, Minato, his precious successor and now tragic predecessor, had stepped willingly into the Shinigami’s embrace.
Hiruzen, already tired and weary with fresh grief clouding his soul and his beloved Biwako gone now too, had been left behind to pick up the pieces. Had been left with a shattered village out for blood and a babe weighed down by a burden far heavier than one small child should have ever been forced to carry.
And now, after all that has come to pass, it has become more than apparent that he only has the strength left to handle one of those things.
He’s tried of course. He’s tried to balance things out, has tried to find some sort of happy medium to satisfy all sides. It’s a level of consideration he owes not only to the village itself but to Minato as well. To Kushina. To Naruto.
So he’d done what he’d thought was best in the aftermath. Had passed laws, had tried to curb rumors that had proved far too resilient to stamp out. He’d placed Naruto with minders and nurses, had thought to see the boy raised by unbiased hands, unwilling to risk what entrusting Naruto and his legacy to any specific Clan might one day mean no matter how desperately some had begged.
It had ended ... poorly for both the babe and those assigned to watch him.
Had ended in blood and death.
But Hiruzen had found no other option but to try again.
And again.
And again.
For four years Hiruzen has done nothing but try.
And yet all of that effort has only led him right up to where he stands now, staring down at Naruto, bird bone-thin and wild-eyed, strapped to a hospital bed with two more matrons left dead in his ANBU’s wake.
Staring down at the half-starved form of a prince of two villages, Hiruzen is forced to once more admit that he’s stretched far too thin to keep doing this.
Something, someone, is going to have to give.
And he’s afraid that he might already know what, who, that might have to be.
~~~
The needs of the village have always taken precedence over the needs of any single individual.
It is the shinobi way. The Konoha way.
The health of the tree comes before that of the bough or branch, before twig or leaf.
Many have died to uphold that ideal, many more will die for it in the future.
There are no exceptions.
Even, Hiruzen knows, when the one in question is someone as precious as Naruto.
~~~
Dawn finds Hiruzen settled in the corner of Naruto’s hospital room, refusing to admit even to himself that the seat he’s chosen is less than comfortable.
On the bed across from his chair, Naruto sleeps restlessly, thin limbs tugging uselessly at his restraints and small keening whimpers slipping out on every odd breath.
Just looking at the boy makes that ache from before even worse.
The whisper of a familiar presence Hiruzen can feel lurking just beyond the room door is almost a welcome sort of distraction.
Danzō slips into the room quietly, eyes lingering on Naruto before he ghosts his way over to stand at Hiruzen’s side.
Neither of them bothers to speak for a long moment, choosing instead to let the silence in the room thicken and grow.
“How many more will have to die before you see the truth, old friend?” Danzō murmurs to him. “Every dead matron and caregiver your ANBU leave in his wake only causes the resentment to grow.”
“Naruto is a child,” Hiruzen repeats the same lines he’s been saying to himself and others since this whole mess began. “He is a child of Konoha in more ways than one and he was entrusted to me.”
“And there is no one left for you to answer to, Hiruzen,” Danzō cuts in, tone calm even as his words are merciless. “Namikaze might have been Hokage but he was also an orphan and now he’s a corpse just like his wife. The Uzumaki are all long dead so what true blood might claim him is gone as well.”
“There are others,” Hiruzen protests quietly, far more weakly than he’d ever like to admit. His arguments, much like his skin, have all worn thin with time and blood.
“Who?” Danzō presses. “Namikaze’s guard? The ones who watched their Hokage die and even now cannot bear to see his son? Jiraiya has chosen his duties over the boy, as a proper shinobi should. Tsunade has her grief and her cowardice which we both know will always overrule any thin blood tie she might have to the boy. So who else is there? The Uchiha would upset the balance of the village far too much to even consider them. And as for the Hatake? The boy is an excellent shinobi but he’s little more than grief and blood. You know this.”
It’s all true, Hiruzen must admit, every single word of it. Danzō has yet to speak a lie, as painful as it is to admit it.
“What do you want from me, Danzō?” Hiruzen sighs, on hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Speak plainly.”
“You know what I want,” Danzō tells him. “I want only what is best for the village, only what will ensure the Great Tree flourishes as it always should. The boy needs to be raised with that same goal in mind and we both know it. He’s too important a piece to allow him the chance to grow otherwise. The violence of the ignorant will do little but breed rebellion and hatred in him in turn.”
Perhaps it’s that weakness rearing its head again, that damnable ache pressing against his soul, but for the first time in four years, Hiruzen doesn’t immediately dismiss Danzō out of hand.
And Danzō, as if sensing Hiruzen’s wavering, continues to press his point.
“I will make him strong, Hiruzen,” Danzō tells him, calmly, smoothly. “I will ensure his skill and his loyalty both and I will keep him sheltered and protected from undesirable influences while I do so. He could be raised far from the eyes of the village, removed from their scorn, and taught to be a true shinobi of Konoha. Meanwhile, the village could heal without the reminder he so obviously is for so many. Just try to imagine all that could be accomplished with this one decision.”
Tucked away in the sleeves of his robes Hiruzen’s hands clench around the arms of the chair before he forces them to relax.
He is so very tired.
~~~
Closed up in the privacy of his office, the village long since asleep below him and with the stars as his only real witnesses, Hiruzen buries his face in his hands and weeps.
He weeps but he doesn’t call for the child back. Doesn’t tell Danzō he’s changed his mind, doesn’t set out to have Naruto returned and entrusted to yet another minder or orphanage instead.
Instead, Hiruzen allows himself this single moment of weakness and hopes that this will not be yet another wrong decision in a lifetime that is seemingly haunted by them.
Still, a part of Hiruzen knows that he will carry the shame of not trying harder, of not protecting the legacy he’d been entrusted with, for the rest of his life.
~~~
And he will.
By the Sage he will.
~~~
Time passes and the village continues to rebuild, wounds healing and new growth blossoming to life.
The whispers about Naruto die down except for a handful of routine and repeating inquires which Hiruzen has long since learned to sidestep and ignore.
Danzō sends him regular updates, tightly bound black banded scrolls that double as peace offerings of a sort perhaps or just well-timed bribes. Bits and pieces carefully fed to him in order to ensure that Hiruzen’s second thoughts about their arrangement do not return or grow. Or, as Hiruzen is more inclined to think, the reports are likely meant to be some combination of both.
Motivation aside, the reports are all overwhelmingly positive. Each one of them is filled to the brim with what Hiruzen can only describe as Danzō’s version of gushing praise. Each a record of Naruto’s apparently phenomenal growth, of his monstrous strength and his vicious wit, of his raw sort of power, and above all else the sheer ocean of chakra the boy contains even without the Kyūbi being brought into play.
If Danzō is to be believed, and in this Hiruzen is sure that he can, then Konoha has not seen such promise at such an age since Kakashi himself practically stepped through the Academy and then Itachi followed only a handful of years after him.
It’s enough to keep any lingering doubts Hiruzen has been harboring at bay. Enough to quiet his guilt down to where he feels no real need to see Naruto for himself.
And so it goes.
~~~
For three long, and yet too short, years Hiruzen is able to place the matter, to place Naruto, mostly from his mind.
Even when Kakashi asks more and more often after the boy. Even when Mikoto still comes calling month after month for her godson. Even when Jiraiya mentions the boy in an odd letter once or twice a year or Hiruzen hears Naruto’s name whispered by some of the older shinobi, ones who’d known Minato and Kushina both.
Hiruzen denies them, brushes them aside, and sidesteps their questions in turn.
There are, as there always seems to be, more important issues for him to deal with. Issues far more urgent for him to focus on than a Naruto who seems to be flourishing enough to continue to impress Danzō at every turn.
There have been whispers of an uprising, whispers of a growing tide of Uchiha discontent behind the tall walls of the Uchiha Clan Compound.
The idea of a possible civil war breaking out, of one of Konoha’s founding Clans turning to violence upon the village itself, makes that ache inside of Hiruzen throb like a fresh wound.
Konoha may be slowly healing but it still feels the gaping holes left by the Kyūbi’s attack, shinobi numbers still depleted overall despite Hiruzen reauthorizing a wartime pace for the Academy for the past few years.
A civil war, especially with a Clan like the Uchiha, could easily spell the end of Konoha.
Hiruzen has fought too long, has seen the village through too much war and too much bloodshed, to allow such a thing to come to pass during his time.
Danzō advocates for a pure force offensive, for outright extermination, much to the surprise of no one. But it is Homura and Koharu’s decision to advocate for the removal of the Uchiha as well that takes him by surprise to a certain degree.
They have both always been more militant-minded overall than he has but Hiruzen had always assumed they too would see the benefit in not completely alienating or outright destroying one of Konoha’s Founding Clans.
Their meetings last long into the night, Koharu and Homura eventually bowing out and leaving only Danzō and Hiruzen himself to continue their debate over a well-worn shogi set and sake.
“Dissension should be stamped out,” Danzō says for what feels like the millionth time in the past week alone. “To harbor even the thought of rebellion within the village does nothing but foster weakness and invite betrayal, Hiruzen. They should be ripped out stem and root, and made an example of.”
“Not all problems can be solved with well-placed kunai and opened throats, old friend,” Hiruzen rebuts, rolling the stem of his pipe across his teeth as he contemplates his next move. “Sometimes peace is the greater weapon, the better route. Say the Uchiha are … forcefully removed, their grievances answered only in blood. What will we do to the next Clan that grows unsatisfied with life in a village unwilling to adapt to their needs?”
“If other Clans do not take the Uchiha as a warning then they can also be made an example of if necessary,” Danzō answers calmly.
“So you would have us bleed the Nara or the Yamanaka as well?” Hiruzen can’t help the small bit of disbelief that leaks into his question. “Have us slaughter Inuzuka or Aburame without trying to find a compromise?”
“Konoha’s well-being is not something that should ever be reduced to a mere compromise.” Danzō cuts back. “Sensei taught us this, Hiruzen. The village comes before all else, Clans included.”
“Sensei also understood that Konoha is nothing without its people, Danzō.” Hiruzen sighs, placing his next piece down and leaning back in his chair. “Without the Clans, without the shinobi and the civilians provided by those families, there is no Konoha.”
There’s a long moment of silence between them, thick and charged.
“You’ve always been an emotional monkey,” Danzō finally scoffs as he downs another drink and leans back in his chair as well. “Perhaps that’s why Sensei chose you for this role.”
“And you’ve always been a war hawk, too eager for blood, too willing to fight shadows instead of turning on a light,” Hiruzen cuts back, the old argument, the long-familiar teasing, seeming to settle something that had been building in the air around them.
“Tch,” Danzō huffs at him as he leans forward enough to shift another piece on the board that does nothing but secure Hiruzen’s victory, “I’ll get you to come around to my way of thinking eventually.”
“Unlikely,” Hiruzen says, even as he nods in acknowledgment of his win in this game he’s only been half paying attention to. “We’re old men now, Danzō, and we’re both stuck in our ways but even you have to admit that peace would be a much better gift than blood for the next generation.”
Danzō just hums and resets the board.
~~~
Hiruzen doesn’t dwell on that evening in the days and weeks that follow. Instead, he accepts Danzō’s silent sort of capitulation and moves forward to try and find a solution to this problem that has been generations in the making now.
Luckily the rumors and whispers haven’t really gained more traction over the past few weeks so Hiruzen is sure that means he has time. Time for more meetings and discussions, time to develop plans, and to fully assess the situation as a whole.
Time enough to find a solution that does not end in blood.
~~~
Hiruzen is wrong.
~~~
It’s late, the moon hangs ripe and full above the village, and Hiruzen is contemplating an early night spent in his own house with a good book. He’s already dismissed his normal ANBU guards for the night even if he knows at least one of them will linger close to the Tower and then shadow him on his way home.
So, needless to say, he’s not expecting a visitor at this hour, even with the unpredictable hours being Hokage can often force upon his shoulders.
There’s a whirl of familiar sparking chakra, and even as he turns to face his visitor Hiruzen feels something unpleasant slither down his spine.
Uchiha Itachi, for all his youth, has never been one to be so openly upset. And yet now his chakra spikes and surges as if the boy can’t wrestle the necessary control to smooth it out.
To feel him so openly broadcasting his distress is warning enough to Hiruzen that whatever he’s about to hear is going to be less than pleasant.
“Itachi-kun,” Hiruzen keeps his voice soft and even as he turns to face the boy, formality brushed aside without a thought, “what brings you here?”
For a long moment, Itachi just stands in the middle of Hiruzen’s office, body standing stock still except for the trembling of his hands that only grows worse as the seconds tick by.
And then the boy reaches up and pulls the mask from his face, discarding it without a care. His other hand remains clenched, knuckles white, around a black banned scroll.
“Please,” Itachi begs him, dark eyes wide and wet, solemn face streaked with tears, as he hits his knees with bruising force. “Hokage-sama, I beg of you, don’t ask this of me.”
An icy fist reaches in and clenches around Hiruzen’s heart.
“I love my village,” Itachi grits the declaration out even as he falls forward enough to brace his hands on the floor in front of him, lowering himself even more until his forehead is pressed against the polished wood. “I have killed for it, would die for it, but please. There are children in the Clan who know nothing. Sasuke knows nothing. At least spare them. At least let them live. I gladly forfeit my own life in exchange but please have mercy.”
In the space of seconds, in that moment between breaths, Hiruzen's mind races from point to point, connecting dots and reaching a conclusion that makes his entire soul still.
Hiruzen moves across the room until he can kneel down in front of Itachi. The hand he places on the boy’s shoulder is gentle but the flinch it earns him makes his heart ache.
“Look at me, Itachi-kun,” Hiruzen urges the boy, because that is exactly what he is in this moment more than anything else. Just a boy in tears, begging desperately for the lives of those he loves.
Itachi raises his head up far enough that they can make eye contact. The sheer devastation in the boy’s face is enough to make Hiruzen want to wince. Wasn’t Konoha built to stop this kind of thing from happening? To protect and nurture these children in ways that the Clan-centric and war-filled existence of the past had not.
“Everything is going to be alright,” Hiruzen soothes him even as he reaches his free hand out to pry the black banned scroll from Itachi’s tight grip.
Itachi’s face crumples, fresh tears flooding his eyes, as a ragged sob so unlike the boy’s normal collected reserve practically rips itself from his mouth.
Hiruzen stares down at this boy, this child of thirteen years if that, on his knees begging not to have to murder his own family and knows, finally and without a single lingering doubt, that he has allowed Danzō to go too far.
~~~
Itachi left behind under strict order not to leave his office, Hiruzen slips out of the Tower and makes his way to Danzō and the heart of ROOT that he has so long willfully overlooked.
And, he admits if only to himself, it has absolutely been willful.
Danzō has pushed and pushed Hiruzen’s hand numerous times over the years with acts both big and small. Had, in fact, only backed off momentarily when Minato had been appointed as his successor and taken the reigns of the village. Although Hiruzen is sure it would have been only a matter of time before he’d begun to press Minato’s nerves as well, testing boundaries he’d never seemed to be able to fully accept.
By all accounts, Hiruzen should have put Danzō down years ago, but some lingering form of loyalty, of attachment, and the knowledge that Danzō loved the village above all else had always stilled Hiruzen’s hand.
And now he will reap the fruits of what his negligence has allowed to grow unchecked.
Just like how Orochimaru had broken Hiruzen’s heart and had cost him the last of his students, Danzō’s overreaching will now cost him one of his oldest friends.
Perhaps, Hiruzen muses just a bit bitterly, it is time to begin the search for yet another successor, someone onto whom he can pass the weight that is Konoha once again.
He's an old man now with precious little left to lose and far less left to give.
~~~
The entrance to the training grounds and barracks of Danzō’s ROOT is well hidden, virtually undetectable really. But, for all that has slipped past his notice over the years, Hirzuen is still far more well informed than his old friend has ever really been willing to give him credit for.
He might not have known the particulars as to what Danzō has been doing with his shadow cell, but Hiruzen has always known where he was doing it.
Slipping past the barriers and the seals is the work of only seconds. Danzō had not been the only one to take Tobirama-sensei’s lessons to heart after all.
Hiruzen is only a few feet past the entrance when a long-familiar stench hits him like a blow.
Death.
The fetid stench of blood and bowel is heavy in the air and only grows thicker with every step that he takes.
It’s second nature to pull his chakra even closer to himself, muting his signal into near non-existence and lightening his already whisper-quiet footsteps.
Something has obviously happened here, something violent and bloody in nature.
For the first time since this entire mess began, Hiruzen’s mind flits briefly towards Naruto before he shakes it off and forces himself to refocus. That is a thought, a problem, for later.
He finds the first body three corridors in.
It’s obviously one of Danzō’s operatives, the cloak and blank mask is a clear giveaway. Body split open like an overripened fruit, they lay sprawled on the stone floor. There's a gummy puddle spreading out from around them and a blood trail stretching out behind them from where they’d obviously tried to drag themselves away before the massive blood loss had finally caught up with them.
Hiruzen steps over them with only a passing glance, feet following the blood trail and hands already moving through a long-familiar sequence of signs. Iwazaru, one of Enma’s youngest daughters, pops into being with only a whisper of chakra and barely a hint of smoke.
The small red-faced monkey takes one look at the scene, nods in Hiruzen’s direction, and takes back off towards the entrance. She will, Hiruzen knows, sound the alarm if it becomes necessary and whatever he finds is too much for him to handle alone.
A suitable precaution now in place, Hiruzen continues to press forwards.
There are more bodies the further he moves into the twisting tunnels of the compound, all of them in various states of destruction, lying sprawled in the corridors or half hanging out of various rooms. Some look cleanly killed while others are little more than lumps of tattered meat and strips of fabric.
Hiruzen’s yet to encounter another living soul and a part of him wonders if there will be anything to find in this winding place beyond bodies and blood. But even as that idea makes something inside of him twist in dread he knows it cannot be correct. For even the dozen or so bodies he’s found do not come close to the number he knows Danzō has been hoarding and training.
Still, it's undeniable that something is off, that something has gone massively wrong.
The bodies are the obvious warning sign but not the most telling one in Hiruzen's opinion. No, that honor goes to the fact that he's already made his way so deep into this place and yet there has been no sign of Danzō himself coming to either greet or stop him.
Stepping over a severed hand, Hiruzen nudges the large double wooden doors in front of him and takes a step into what can only be a dōjō of some kind.
He has to reach out and grip the side of the door to keep himself steady at what he sees.
There, body shredded and left lying on the floor like a discarded doll, is Danzō.
But that isn’t what captures Hirzuen’s attention, not really.
Because there, settled on his knees in the center of the blood-soaked dōjō, is a boy.
Small in stature but built lean with muscle, his thick golden hair left to go long and shaggy, Minato’s son stares up at Hiruzen from where he kneels in the middle of so much destruction and outright carnage.
The sight of him, so changed from when Hiruzen had last seen him, is enough to steal what’s left of the breath in his lungs.
In one hand Naruto clutches a bloodied, black-banded headband, while the claws of his other hand rest on his thigh, caked in blood and viscera.
“Konoha is our home,” Naruto whispers as he stares up at him, eyes a burning blue and pupils slit like a fox. The words, unprompted as they are, sound like a vow. “The Great Tree must be protected. The rot burned away. We could not allow him to cut away an entire bough that could still be saved.”
‘Oh,’ Hiruzen thinks somewhat helplessly as he stares down at this prince of two villages that he in his weakness had left to be twisted and tainted like this, ‘oh may the gods see me damned.’
~~~
This is how ROOT ends.
Steeped in blood and shadows, ripped apart by the hands of the one who was meant to be its greatest weapon.
Because what Danzō and Hiruzen both chose not to see was this:
The Uzumaki blood breeds ever true.
A child nurtured for ten months in the womb of an Uzumaki mother, saturated with Bijū chakra and born to violence and grief?
That child was never going to be mindless.