Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: Damned, Blind, and Dead

“Sakura!”

When Kabuto calls out to her, Sakura stops mid-step, silently cursing him. She rolls her eyes to properly revel in her frustration before putting on a bland smile, turning around to face him. “Yes?”

“You’re forgetting something,” Kabuto declares, voice lacking fluctuation or emotion. Kabuto doesn’t feel the need to make facial expressions or add pitch to his tone when he isn’t manipulating someone.

Sakura’s smile drops into a frown. She’d packed an emergency med kit, sharpened her weapons, and even remembered to reseal the lock on chamber door. “I am?”  

Kabuto huffs, pushing his glasses up his nose and making his way down the dank, empty hallway of Lord Orochimaru’s hideout. Once in front of her, he crosses his arms. “What I need is to check how your body is responding to the increase in chakra flow from Lord Orochimaru’s curse seal. We can never be too safe.”

“Yes we can,” Sakura immediately denies. Even so, she adds, “But alright, I have time to head to the medical unit before my mission.”

Kabuto nods sharply at her. They walk in silence through the underground maze of tunnels, of which are lit only by the occasional candle. Sakura finds that the wet dirt between her toes and occasional quiver of the walls adds to the charm of Lord Orochimaru’s hideouts; it’s a nice trend they all possess, and amongst a life of constantly being on the run in unfamiliar territory, it’s good to have something stay constant. Sakura doesn’t like hiding, it’s dreadfully boring, but even after three years of living on the run the adventurous side of being a rogue still appeals to her.

Sakura stretches her arms above her head, feeling woozy. “Is drowsiness a bad sign?” she asks her mentor.

Kabuto shrugs. “It could just be the training and lack of sunlight, honestly.” He sighs, the first indication of emotion he’s given since he found her in the halls. “I miss having a tan,” he mourns. Sakura snorts.

“Did your pale ass even have a tan?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sakura.” Kabuto aims an elbow at her side, but, having been prepared for such a reaction, Sakura dodges smoothly. Kabuto scoffs under his breath, irritated by his own predictability.  

Soon they’ve made it the large metal doors of the med unit. Sakura no longer has to squint in the dim lighting in order to see, having become used relying on candlelight, so she easily observes Kabuto prepare the hand seals for entry. She’s been trying to memorize the code for months, but miraculously, every time she thinks she has it memorized, they switch hideouts and she has to start all over again. As she waits impatiently for the door of the medical facility to unseal, Sakura is nearly knocked off of her feet. The ground, walls, and ceiling shake with aggression, rumbling loudly in her ears. The force is much stronger than a simple, every day disturbance. Sakura barely stops her knees from buckling, and resists the urge to clamp her hands down on her ears. Specks of dirt fall off of the ceiling and onto her forehead and cheeks.

Kabuto has a handful of senbon before either of them make eye-contact or say a word, hand seals forgotten. Sakura takes it as a sign to unsheathe her tachi sword from the belt around her waist, squaring her stance. She scans the area around her for a moment as the shaking of the hideout settles.

“Perhaps Orochimaru summoned Manda.” Kabuto hedges, growing tenser as the silence stretches on.

“Perhaps,” Sakura considers, “Or, perhaps, we have company.”

“Pray for the first one?”

“I’ll try.”

They move at once, Kabuto covering her back and Sakura bracing her blade in front of her. The chakra above them feels odd, distorted, and Sakura can’t seem to grasp the precise location of their attackers. For all Sakura is aware, this could be retaliation from any of the abundant enemies they’ve made over the years, so she wisely stays on her toes, waiting for some sign of forced entry.

But the silence carries on, both of them readied for an attack that likely will not come if the enemy is still on the surface. “We should get out before they find us.” Kabuto suggests, looking anxious.

Sakura lets out a sound of confusion, eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t we be running towards the fight, not away from it?”

“It would be.”

The silvery, caressing tone of Lord Orochimaru startles them both. They spin around to see Lord Orochimaru, entirely unimpressed by his students’ abilities. Sakura is resigned Orochimaru’s oddities, and so she hardly takes note of the purple snake wrapped around Orochimaru’s neck, nor the feint glowing of his whitened skin.

“You two need to work on awareness of your surroundings. I could’ve killed you in an instant,” Lord Orochimaru claims. He talks as if it’s fair to compare their chakra sensing skills to his concealing abilities.

Sakura tries not to be offended, taking it as constructive criticism instead, but Kabuto merely raises a bored eyebrow. “It seems that Sakura’s old comrades have come for a visit.” Orochimaru hums, yellow eyes peering up at the ceiling above them.

Sakura sees a smirk tug on the corner of Kabuto’s mouth from her peripheral vision. “What do you say, young one, care to give them a warm welcome?”

Sakura schools her expression, sheathing her tachi blade. “Depends on your definition of warm welcome.”

“Why,” Orochimaru coos, “are you still quite attached to your old comrades, Sakura, Kabuto?” he wonders, and surface level, it might sound like simple curiosity, but Sakura can hear the underlying malice. The threat of what her duel loyalty could do to her if she should act on it.

Sakura shrugs one shoulder, choosing her words carefully, “depends on the comrade.”

Orochimaru lets out a startled laugh, one that Sakura would cringe at, if she didn’t know better. “How selfish of you, Sakura.”

Sakura pretends his words don’t sink directly into her insecurities. As cruel as Orochimaru perpetually is, his accuracy is cuttingly precise.

She looks up at the ceiling, finding that the impending battle appeals to her more than any further interaction with Orochimaru. “Let’s just get this over with.” Before she’s finished speaking, she’s taking a few step backwards and then turning into a sprint, heading towards where she and Kabuto first came from. Orochimaru’s love for wasting time is not a quality Sakura has adopted from him.

Kabuto follows her lead, flanking her side. For all the bravado he puts on, he hates being in Orochimaru’s presence just as much as she.  

Orochimaru does not follow them, but Sakura knows that he’ll make it to the surface one way or another. He never shares everything about his hideouts with them. At first, it made Sakura uncomfortable. Now, she’s hardly phased by it.

The candlelight whizzes past her face as she runs towards the emergency exit, Kabuto on her heels, both of their feet silently padding on the soft dirt floors. In the distance she can spot a square, large hole in the ground. When standing before it, the drop seemingly goes down forever. She sprints towards the hole full force, and then takes a leap.

Her hands land flat on the wall, and there is a ripple of chakra. The walls of this deep emergency exit are embedded with she, Orochimaru, and Kabuto’s chakra signatures and a series of complicated seals. If any ninja without a permissible signature tried to climb up or down this exit, they would be unable to stick properly to the walls. She’s only heard one body splat at the bottom of one of these exits, and it didn’t sound pain-free.

Luckily, she is able to run right up it, and Kabuto follows swiftly after her. The emergency exit is dark, and the square gets smaller and smaller the higher one climbs. Soon Sakura’s shoulders are brushing against the sides of the square, and her back is scraping against the wall and causing dirt to crumble down the exit. Kabuto grumbles something about getting dirt on his glasses.

When the exit gets too small to walk she starts to army crawl, shimmying her body up the exit and taking deep, steady breaths. She applies chakra to every available surface of her skin, just in case she slips; which is, truthfully, an unlikely story.

Unexpectedly, a light appears at the top of the exit, one shimmery dot in a sea of darkness. She crawls up a little faster and comes face to face with a pothole cover, her nose a hairs breath away from pressing against it. Briefly, she shifts one eye so it can see through the small hole at the top, catching sight of the leaves that shield the exit from view. She whispers a warning to Kabuto before flipping upside down and pressing her hands against one of the walls. Then, she kicks up at the pothole. It slides off without much resistance.

Sakura crawls out, taking a relieved breath of fresh air, leaves sticking to her hair and clothes. She stays low to the floor, hiding amongst the brush of the carefully selected area. Kabuto stays in the hideout for a moment, waiting for her okay. “Clear,” she murmurs.

Kabuto pops out of the exit, quickly covering it back up and hiding it amongst the leaves.

Sakura once wondered why they didn’t simply seal the potholes closed and call it a day, and to that Lord Orochimaru smiled grimly and told her, “Our enemies are more adept at seals than I. If they found an entrance they could not open, they’d have a team of experts here within the hour. To avoid such a catastrophe, I figured I’d simply have to kill anyone who happens upon my homes. As you can see It has worked excellently.” Lord Orochimaru has a strange habit of calling his hideouts homes. She finds it oddly endearing…in a way.

Sakura breathes out a shaky breath. She recognizes the signature, now that they are closer. Her stomach twists. Oddly enough, however, Sakura can only sense one presence. The signature feels odd and out of place. At first, in the tunnel, it’d felt to her like there was a fight going on, of which would involve the multiple signatures Orochimaru spoke of. But out here there is an uncanny, sinister quality to the air, and Sakura knows there is only one chakra signature like it.

 “…Itachi,” she murmurs.

Kabuto’s face is pale. He pushes his shaking hands behind his back. “What are we going to do?” he whispers, alarmed and prepared to make a plan. Sakura is similar in that way, that she needs very little time to come to a conclusion or accept a new circumstance.

She should feel panicked, but she feels oddly calm. Stone cold, maybe, forced into a position where they have no choice but to face their demons. Without Kabuto and Sakura, Orochimaru will surely die, so it’s unlikely he sent them out here to face Itachi on purpose. “Do you think Lord Orochimaru planned this?” Her voice is barely a whisper, and the wind of the forest sweeps away much of it, but Kabuto is listening intently enough to understand her.

“No. I think Lord Orochimaru’s been tricked.” Kabuto confirms, voice carrying an edge of fear. He leans closer to her. “Do you feel that? I’m hardly a chakra sensor, but in the hideout, after Orochimaru pointed it out…I could’ve sworn I sensed more than one presence. Now I only feel…” he glances at her, and Sakura has seen Kabuto scared, but there is an alarm in his eyes that is unfamiliar to her. “I only feel Itachi.”

“He wants us to know he’s here,” Sakura declares.

Sakura glances at the exit. They don’t have enough time to get back inside and reach out to Orochimaru, and it’s unquestionable that Itachi knows they’ve left the hideout. He’d lured them out here. Kabuto isn’t one to give up easily, however. He moves silently back towards the hideout, always calm in the face of danger. Kabuto places his hands down on the pothole, readying himself to lift the covering. Sakura, despite knowing their chances of getting back into the hideout before Itachi confronts them are slim, begins lowering herself to her knees. Just as she’s nearly back on the ground, Sakura jerks, an involuntary sound of terror escaping her. Hundreds of crows burst from the forest, screeching as they take flight in every direction, shaking free a circle of branches and leaves. The screeching rings in her ears as her heart hammers against her chest.

Sakura slumps onto her knees hopelessly, hand pressed against her mouth. She releases a shaky breath of air she didn’t realize she was holding. Kabuto closes his eyes hopelessly.

“I hope I didn’t frighten you.” From underneath the brush they’re hidden in, all Sakura can see is a set of ninja sandals blurred by grass and leaves. But the voice is unmistakably Itachi Uchiha. She’s heard that voice in her nightmares more times than she can keep track of.

Sakura rights herself, eyes lowered to the ground so she doesn’t have to face him until she is ready. She rises, up on her knees and then into a strong, standing position. She forces herself to breathe when she faces him full-on, despite the unmistakable ache in her jaw and the tingling of the scar resting on her cheek.

Sakura tries to speak, but she can’t find the words. She’s furious, rage and terror clashing inside of her. She isn’t in her right mind, but she’s aware enough to focus her eyes on the bridge of Itachi’s nose rather than face his Sharingan. The last time she saw him, he looked just as he does now; painted nails, Akatsuki robe, and an attitude held only by a man who believes himself unstoppable.

Itachi hums, head tilting. The movement forces Sakura’s eyes to flicker, and out of fear she refocuses her eyes on his sandals rather than his face. It feels cowardly. “You both have changed so much,” if Sakura didn’t know better, she’d say he sounded like he was interested in how she and Kabuto have grown. I hate you, she thinks abruptly, because he shouldn’t be able to act like he’s a good person. He should be guilty, he should be—not here, greeting Sakura like an old friend. He looks her up and down, and it takes everything Sakura has not to clench her eyes shut in fear.

“I love the hair,” Itachi praises, “It really suits you.”

Sakura clenches her fist.

Kabuto is standing behind her, breath heavy. He faces Itachi with an air of confidence she wishes she had. Sakura wonders if Orochimaru will realize that something is amiss and come save them, or if Itachi planned this thoughtfully enough that their leader is distracted. Itachi offers a shadow of a smirk when neither of them respond. Sakura feels dizzy with the amount of charka he’s pouring into the clearing, killer intent thickening the very air around them.

Kabuto figures out how to speak in the face of fear, voice strong and unwavering. “We aren’t really in the business of dealing with the Akatsuki, Itachi. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Sakura is grateful he spoke on their behalf, recalling with disturbing clarity that the last time the two of them faced Itachi Uchiha, it ended in a disaster.

The image of her sensei’s lifeless body, of the funeral she hosted for him, comes rushing at her with enough force to knock her off her feet. She stays standing only on account that she has no other choice.

There is a shift in the chakra around them, a lessening, and Sakura finds Itachi’s dark, human eyes boring into her own. She feels suddenly that there is a charge between them, something powerful and ugly; she wishes his gaze wasn’t so disturbingly similar to Sasuke’s; or, no, that’s not right. But she’s sure his eyes are familiar to her. When he speaks, Itachi’s voice is low and gentle, calm, while Sakura struggles to stand without shaking knees.

“Come on,” Itachi urges, “you haven’t even heard what I have to offer.”

Denying Itachi will get she and Kabuto nowhere. His persistency is frightening, and reluctantly, they are forced to participate in this strange game of cat and mouse. At once, they loosen their stances, signaling him to carry on. Sakura sheathes her sword with gritted teeth, but ensures that none of her hesitance appears on her face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Itachi snaps, all of the sudden sharp and brittle. Sakura takes note of his temper, the way it boils, not unlike her own, just under the surface. He might seem untouchable, but he’s still human, in the end; human eyes, human hands, and human emotions. Itachi quickly calms himself, but he can’t erase what Sakura has seen of his sensitivity. It’s fragile. “We’re in this mess in the first place because the two of you,” Itachi blames, “can’t keep your noses out of other people’s business.”

Sakura, calculating, summons the courage to speak. She works her jaw around the phantom pains, heart a hundred pounds in her stomach. If Orochimaru appears, there will be a fight, but Sakura is beginning to think they can make it out of this without a confrontation. If that is the case, she needs Itachi to hurry up, because despite his Genjutsu and charka manipulation being unmatched, Orochimaru is too smart not to notice that something is off. “You’re wasting time, Itachi.” She advises. “Please, get to the point.”

If Itachi really does have something to offer them—perhaps in relation to escaping the hell that is Orochimaru’s care—she is, regrettably, all ears.

Something startling soft enters into Itachi’s stance, and it throws she and Kabuto for a loop. “Don’t ask me how…” Itachi begins, “but three years ago, there was a ruckus where everyone was gossiping about how I killed the hero Hatake Kakashi. Let’s be clear,” Itachi’s eyes narrow, “I would never have killed my captain. He’s far too useful alive.”

There is a flood of emotion and contemplation in Sakura’s mind, so fast it almost feels like silence. Kabuto rests a hand on her shoulder, stepping forward. “I’m sorry, but that’s nonsense. We all know you killed him.” Kabuto sounds off, somehow. Gradually, Sakura becomes aware of a ringing in her ears, a feeling of unrest opening up like a bottomless pit inside of her. “What exactly are you implying?” Kabuto crosses his arms defensively.

Itachi laughs, friendly and quiet, “Okay,” he says, voice warm, “You two are good, but come on. There’s only one medic I know that’d be able to fake a dead body.” His voice never falters, mirthful with the apparent humor of the situation. Itachi motions to Kabuto pointedly. “And only one girl I know who is a good enough actress to make everyone believe the Copy Cat Ninja is dead on her word alone.” He gestures to Sakura.

Within an instant, Sakura has to tamper down every feeling she has, every ounce of betrayal coursing through her body. The rapid thoughts she was experiencing screech to a halt, replaced by an overwhelming sense of terror. She doesn’t dare let an ounce of hope penetrate her mind.

Kabuto doesn’t hesitate. He isn’t looking at her. Sakura isn’t looking at him. They’re both looking ahead, facing the enemy, acting as if Sakura isn’t completely confounded by Itachi’s claims; a united front.

“What of it? He needed an out, so I gave it to him. A deal is a deal.” Kabuto’s words fall to a ground already razed; so why, then, does Sakura still feel like her world is burning?

Itachi’s eyes bore into her own, contemplative. Sakura keeps the pain well-hidden.

“Exactly,” Itachi adjusts the collar of his Akatsuki robe, eyes fixated on hers as if a needle has poked through each of their irises and sewed them together. She isn’t sure how, but there is something safe in his eyes; and, oddly, it puts her on edge.

Itachi continues speaking. “I know that you tend to keep your side of a bargain, Kabuto. Which is why I thought…” Itachi’s lips quirk, and Sakura tenses, waiting for a punchline that she knows she’ll find distasteful. “Why don’t I strike a deal with the other two most ruthless, self-righteous asses in all of rogue ninja history?” Despite his tone fluctuating and mouth twisting in self-deprecating amusement, his eyes don’t leave hers. Even his jokes sound rehearsed, Sakura recognizes.

Kabuto scoffs, and Sakura doesn’t bother laughing. Itachi is disappointed that his joke didn’t hit, if the drop of his expression is anything to go by. Frowning, Itachi, finally, finally pulls his eyes away from hers. A sudden stinging is inflicted upon her eyes and she has to resist the urge to clench her eyelids together. Even if the power imbalance between them is obvious, Sakura will do her best to hide any weakness from him that she can.

“Alright, I guess it’s time to get serious, then.” Itachi looks between the two of them, seemingly bored. 

Sakura realizes much too late that she has seen Itachi’s eyes before.

Just on a different person.

------

3 years earlier

I think, sometimes, that there is no point to the suffering we put ourselves through in the name of living. It was once very difficult to remind myself that I deserved life.

Then, by some miracle, I was given the opportunity to be your sensei, Sasuke.

Most of the time, I write these entries for the benefit of Konoha. Other times, I write these entries for my own sake, to remember those I have lost and loved.

Today, I am writing for you, Sasuke.

By the time you are able to read this it’s likely that you have already mourned me, and for that, I apologize. Let’s just say…your old sensei used the replacement jutsu. You understand that reference, don’t you, Sasuke? Perhaps if you’ve forgotten that one...do you recall that trick Zabuza pulled with the fake Kiri Anbu? Ah, you know me. I’ve never been too original.

If you’ve been snooping around my house, which, I highly suspect you have been, you may have found a map with a specific location pinpointed on it. Memorize the location, and then burn the map. And once you’re through reading this, I need you to burn this specific entry as well.

Inside these books are decades of information, if you haven’t gathered this thus far. Ironically, it’s likely that you’re reading this final entry very first, for if you managed to crack the seals, then you’ve probably figured out the order these scrolls are intended to be read in.

I want you to use this information as you see fit. This information is the key to finishing what I started on the day of the Chunin Exam invasion. For my plan to have worked, Sasuke, I needed to be gone, but from here on out it’s up to you to decide what’s best for Konoha. I trust you. I’ve made myself a martyr of sorts, if the title so pleases you, and it has given me my freedom. I’m sorry I can’t give you yours.

Sasuke, know that I wish you the best in all of your future endeavors. Never stop believing that everyone, no matter where they come from, deserves life.

With love,

Kakashi

P.S

Retirement never really suited me, but I think I’ll use this newfound free time to reunite with an old friend. They gave me a most precious gift, and it’d be rude not to thank them.

--Kakashi Hatake, Final Journal Entry

------

“Tsunade-sama, I have those documents you asked for!” Sasuke smiles as he opens the door to the Hokage’s office and walks inside, a stack of papers pressed securely against his chest.

Already inside the office is Shizune, who is sifting through a myriad of papers and scrolls clumped together on the desk. Lounging in her chair is Lady Tsunade, snoring softly. The general appearance of her and her office indicates that she’s slacking off, but the truth is that Lady Tsunade is frequently interrupted by new problems throughout the day and night, leaving little time for organization or a proper sleep schedule.

Sasuke closes the door behind himself quietly, suddenly tiptoeing in a newfound effort not to disturb his sensei. Shizune gives him a secretive smile, leaning towards him and whispering, “Lady Tsunade has been out for a good five minutes without the help of a sip of alcohol. I think that’s a record for her.”

Sasuke laughs quietly and respectfully in response to her joke, conscientiously pushing aside papers and scrolls to make room for yet another stack of paperwork. “It never ends,” he mutters.

Shizune exhales tiredly, rubbing her eyes as she pulls away from the mechanical task of organizing Tsunade’s desk. “You’re quite right.”

The two of them stand in silence for a peaceful, if awkward moment of understanding. Then, a flicker of familiar chakra shocks Sasuke’s senses. All the way across the village treks a warm, forest-fresh signature. He smiles in relief. “Oh, Shizune!” He breathes, looking towards the door of the office, “Shikamaru’s back.”

Shizune shares his relief, shoulders relaxing. “You go on ahead and greet him at the gate.” A mischievous look briefly passes Shizune’s face, but it’s gone before Sasuke can decipher it. “He’s been gone for over a week; I’m sure you’ve missed him.” She murmurs compassionately.

Sasuke nods in immediate agreement, so caught up in the excitement of seeing Shikamaru again that he does not think to politely protest Shizune’s offer and stay behind to help her finish organizing Tsunade-sama’s desk. Instead, he walks over to the door, trying in vain to contain the energy flowing through him.

The moment the door is quietly closed behind him Sasuke takes off into an excited run, slipping by nearby ninja and running down a flight of steps into the main floor. The receptionist laughs at him as Sasuke flies by, and a few ninja waiting in line call out to him in curiosity. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Sasuke recognizes the green eyes of the woman as Katsuya, a Chunin and mother of three.

Sasuke turns around quickly to call in response, “Shikamaru’s back from his mission!” Another chorus of shared, genial laughter rumbles through the crowd of people, but Sasuke doesn’t hear much else from them. He swivels around and swings open the front door, rushing out into the bright, chilly air of Konoha winter.

Quick on his feet, he steps onto the fresh, pale sidewalk of Konoha’s streets and sets in a sprint towards the front gate. He hurriedly runs up the side of the building, sandals landing softly against the rooftops without once breaking pace. He takes a deep inhale of the fresh air as he runs, a smile overtaking his face.

He spares a look at the Hokage monument, a familiar sense of pride filling him when he sees the enormous carving of Tsunade-sama’s face engraved into the smooth, sturdy stone. It feels like time stops as he stares, midair. Then his knees quiver as his heels dig into the roof of another building, arms behind him and shoulders stiff. Reality comes back in waves.

Sasuke doesn’t pause, continuing on his journey to the main gates. After just another minute of running the gate comes into sight, Kotetsu and Izumo standing at their usual places at attendance. Sasuke wonders if they’ll have the job until their old and gray, and, if so, will they talk about the good old days to the next generation? The thought widens the smile on his face.

He stops in front of them, straightening his knees and never once losing his smile. Kotetsu tilts his head at him. “You have a mission, Uchiha?”

Sasuke shakes his head minutely. “Nope,” before he can explain, however, he’s interrupted. 

“Shikamaru’s coming back,” Izumo cuts in, a sly grin on his face. Sasuke blinks at the expression, but doesn’t comment. Kotetsu and Izumo have always been strange. The two of them share a look, communicating something in a language Sasuke isn’t privy to.

“Yes,” Sasuke confirms with a slight laugh, shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

Kotetsu clears his throat, ruffling through a stack of papers and beginning the arduous social expectation of small talk. “So, how’s your Jonin promotion suiting you? Not that it came to any of us as a surprise, but you, Neji, and Shikamaru made one hell of a team for Konoha. You represented the Leaf well.”

Sasuke lets out a long breath. “Oh, goodness, those exams were tough.” He admits. He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted once again, only this time, the voice is low and soothing.

“Oh goodness? Sasuke, you have the vocabulary of an overprotective mother.”

Sasuke swivels towards the gate with wide eyes, but before he can catch sight of Shikamaru, his arms are full of warmth. Shikamaru’s jonin vest rubs against his skin, and his face buries in Sasuke’s hair. Their chakras dance together, playful and excited. He smells of grass, but Sasuke doesn’t mind, pulling him closer. “I missed you,” he says affectionately.

“I missed you too,” Shikamaru pulls away only far enough to be at arms-length, observing him. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Sasuke shoves at him, huffing. “I’m sweaty. I was just training, Shikamaru.”

Shikamaru rubs the back of his neck. “What can I say? Excellency is attractive.”

Sasuke shakes his head at him in mock disapproval, hiding how flustered Shikamaru’s comment has him. Kotetsu and Izumo cut in, reminding him of their presence. “Papers, please!” Izumo requests in a bored tone.

Shikamaru digs his mission scroll out of his pocket, walking towards Izumo and passing it over to their stand. Izumo takes it, studying its authenticity; not that he really needs to, but rules are rules. Sasuke stays where he is, arms crossed over his chest.  

Izumo passes Shikamaru back the scroll and Kotesu stamps something onto a document. Shikamaru walks back over to him, hand outstretched. Sasuke delightedly grabs onto it, squeezing Shikamaru’s hand and subtly checking for new scars or callouses with his thumb.

He and Shikamaru walk at a subdued pace back into the hustle and bustle of Konoha. Sasuke’s gaze is honed in on the sky, for Shikamaru is usually quiet after missions, capable of enjoying the company of others but having no desire to communicate. Shikamaru’s gaze follows his and they observe the sky, clouds shifting and hues of blue swirling together.

“What’s on your mind, Sasuke?” Shikamaru inquires.

Sasuke shrugs. “I wonder how they’re doing.”

Shikamaru doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about. They both know he’s talking about Team Seven. He squeezes his hand and leaves him to his thoughts.

He wonders if he’d even recognize them, after all the time that’s passed. Sasuke hardly recognizes himself when he looks in the mirror. But he supposes his sense of style hasn’t changed too dramatically. Most days he looks similar to today, with a white tank tucked into a pair of dark black training pants, combat boots that Tsunade-sama suggested for maximum efficiency, and ever since the temperature started to drop, an Uchiha vest pulled over his shoulders.

Sasuke no longer wears arm bands and excessively long sleeves; they prevent mobility and they aren’t very practical on the field as a medic. A year ago, Sasuke underwent a surgery to remove the scar tissue on his right forearm. He’d needed it bandaged for a while after and the skin was sensitive for months, but the results were worth it. His left arm still displayed a terrible burn, but Sasuke finds he doesn’t mind it most days, able to look at himself without feeling any sense of disgust. Of course, his right forearm isn’t perfect, still roughened with scar tissue, but the words once permanently carved into his skin have disappeared.

Actually, his right forearm isn’t all scar tissue; inked into his pale skin is a design of his own choosing. On a whim, Sasuke got a tattoo. He went all by himself, in the middle of a solo-mission, and he hasn’t regretted the decision since. When Shikamaru first saw it, he looked at it with a small smile and a nod, not commenting further. But Ino and Tsunade-sama’s reactions were far more outraged.

That skin is still sensitive what if you got it infected?!

You got one without me?!

Ironically, Ino was the one worried about his medical condition. But he finds he doesn’t care what anyone thinks of it. He loves his tattoo too much to bother himself with their opinions.

As they walk into the hustle and bustle of central Konoha, Shikamaru interrupts his thoughts. “Hey, Sasuke?” he alerts.

“Yeah?”

Shikamaru jerks his head upward. Sasuke’s gaze follows his, watching in surprise as a particularly speedy messenger bird flies above their heads. “I don’t recognize it,” Sasuke leans forward, watching as the bird disappears into the sky and toward the nearest messenger tower.

Shikamaru shrugs. “It’s probably nothing.”

Sasuke narrows his eyes. “Hopefully.”

There isn’t much else to be said on the topic that wouldn’t leave them hopelessly speculating, so they end the conversation there, walking in silence once more. That is until an obnoxious, childish voice makes the two of them jump.

“Yo Sasuke!” Konohamaru calls out, waving his arms excitedly. Beside him are Moegi and Udon, regulation headbands proudly tied across their foreheads.

A smile splits across his face, “Hey, kiddo! Carrying supplies?”

In Konohamaru’s hands are two large boxes. Beside him, Konohamaru’s teammates each carry only one. Showoff, Sasuke thinks fondly. “Yuuup!” Konohamaru agrees, hiking the boxes higher up in his arms.

“Need a hand?” Shikamaru wonders, voice low and kind. Konohamaru gives Shikamaru a suspicious look.

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “Shikamaru, you have a mission report to file.”

“Fuck you, Sasuke,” Shikamaru responds, quick enough to make Sasuke wonder if Shikamaru predicted he was going to scold him. “So, boxes,” Shikamaru carries on, a small, facetious smirk gracing his lips.

Sasuke rubs his temples with his forefingers, taking a calm breath so as to not shove Shikamaru to the ground. Konohamaru laughs nervously. “Uh, I think we got it, actually. Right guys?”

Moegi and Udon nod at once, laughing nervously. Sasuke smiles in satisfaction as the genin scurry away, knowing that he intimidates them more than Shikamaru does. When the kids are out of reach, Shikamaru groans loudly. “Sasuke why.” He complains, leaning his head back in mockery of how a child might throw a fit.

“Why? Well, danna, we file mission reports for documentation purposes.” Sasuke lectures.

Shikamaru doesn’t continue arguing with him, instead grumbling under his breath that that wasn’t what he meant even as he recaptures Sasuke’s hand in his. Sasuke smiles brilliantly at him, pressing his cold nose against Shikamaru’s shoulder in search of warmth. Shikamaru pulls him closer.

------

3 years earlier

Being a blind traveler has its perks, here and there, but most days, it’s an absolutely wretched experience. Civilians are rude, which isn’t something he’d ever had to face when he was a respectable ninja. Many of them taunt cruelly, others try to deceive him, but nearly everyone attempts to steal his valuables. They think him an easy mark.

Which is what’s confusing about the person tailing him. Why would someone tail a blind man, when most people assume him so impaired that he wouldn’t stand a chance against a genin, let alone someone of this ninja’s caliber? More than that, why tail him? As far as he knows, he hasn’t done anything worth being followed for in years. Unless he’s in major trouble, he can’t think of a reason for somebody to be following him.

Which is why his gut is burning with worry. If Konoha finally found him, or worse, the Akatsuki realized that he’s been tracking them, Tobi could find himself as dead as people believe him to be.

He closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering against the cloth that covers them. He picks up his pace and brings the cloak around his shoulders closer against him, unwilling to waste his chakra on keeping him warm. Not for the first time in his life, he thanks the Gods for Uchiha genetics and his keen ability to sense chakra signatures.

Still, the signature trailing him feels powerful. Tobi worries.

------

Sasuke and Shikamaru spend the afternoon bundled up in their apartment. With the colder season afoot it’s easy to concede to some sense of laziness and comfort and stroll about their home, sporting fuzzy socks and shared sweatshirts. Of course, Sasuke forced Shikamaru to turn in his mission report and he had received permission from the hospital for a day off, but that doesn’t make the spontaneous break any less special. They were supposed to have dinner with Ino tonight but she cancelled because of being swamped at T&I, so he and Shikamaru discuss the change of plans.

Sasuke, seated on their sofa with far too many checkered throw pillows and blankets to be considered sane, shoves his toes underneath Shikamaru to keep warm and suggests, “we could go out with your parents.”

Shikamaru pauses, held tilting, “we could,” he concurs. “Or, we could invite Neji and Hinata to dinner.”

Sasuke nods along, a faint smile on his lips. He can sense the four Anbu surrounding their apartment, a familiar, stable comfort in all of the world’s chaos. “Ugh, both sound so good. We haven’t caught up with them in a while.”

As if to make matters worse, Shikamaru adds, “you know who we really haven’t seen in a while?”

Sasuke looks up at the ceiling, head tilting. “No, who?”

“Lord Danzo.”

Sasuke gasps, “You’re right!” he says in realization, pushing his friend in the shoulder for having such an epiphany before him. Sasuke slumps into the couch, frowning. “Oh, now I feel bad. I can’t believe it’s been so long.”

Shikamaru laughs at him. “You don’t have to feel bad. We’re all really busy.”

“I guess,” Sasuke grouches. “We need to make plans with him! I miss the grumpy old man.”

Shikamaru nods along with him, directing a gentle smile at Sasuke. “We’ll need to make sure his schedule is free. He’s busier than us,” Shikamaru jokes.

Sasuke shakes his head, sniffing from the cold but laughing along all the same. “It’s true. I don’t know how he’s alive. He and Lady Tsunade shouldn’t even be, like, functioning human beings.”

Shikamaru scoffs with laughter, and Sasuke throws his hands in the air. “I’m serious! How much work can the two of them do? It’s like every time I see them they’re working on a new task or solving a different problem.”

Shikamaru sighs contently, relaxing. “Maybe they’re generation is like, part robot.”

“They aren’t from the same generation, danna.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do,” Sasuke replies indignantly, “Lord Danzo’s Genin teammate was her sensei.”

“That’s just what they want you to think.”

Sasuke starts laughing despite himself. “Why would anyone want us to think that?”

Shikamaru smirks, and Sasuke can feel his eyes start to roll before his friend even speaks, “—so they can keep the fact that they’re part robot a secret. Obviously.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes into the back of his head. “That’s illogical.”

Shikamaru turns to him in offense. “It is so logical, Sasuke!” he responds, voice raising, “if they can’t find a trend between who is and isn’t part robot then—“

“No one is fucking part robot!” Sasuke cuts him off. He sits up in order to properly rise to the challenge, digging his feet further underneath Shikamaru.

“You don’t know that!” Shikamaru argues with flawed, philosophical logic.

“Yes I do, I’m a goddamn medical ninja!” Sasuke slaps his hand against the couch cushion, astonished laughter escaping him.

“Prove it.” Shikamaru leans back, crossing his arms. “Fuckin’ prove it, Sasuke.”

Sasuke makes a face, leaning away from him. “How?!”

Shikamaru points at him in excitement. “Exactly!”

Sasuke wrenches his toes away from Shikamaru, standing up and walking across their apartment to the kitchen in the back. “You can run,” Shikamaru shouts after him, “but you can’t deny the fact that I’M RIGHT!”

Sasuke swivels around, arms crossing. He’s about to shout that, in fact, Shikamaru is not right when a knock resounds on the door. Shikamaru loses his serious façade and lets out a goofy laugh, looking over to the door, head tilting. Sasuke, a little bit of laughter still buzzing in his chest, grabs their unfolded kitchen towel and promptly folds it together, setting it aside and walking to greet whoever is at the door with Shikamaru. Shikamaru hoists himself off of the couch to follow, laughing at their silliness alongside him.

Shikamaru is wearing his Uchiha sweatshirt, without his permission, and a giggly part of Sasuke enjoys it. He likes how Shikamaru leaves an imprint of himself everywhere he goes, around the house, in the decorations, and in quiet inside jokes that leave Sasuke thinking of him at the oddest of times. Their bedroom is almost always shrouded in something of his, whether it be dirty laundry, some sort of stuffed toy Shikamaru got attached to, or piles of knickknacks Shikamaru seemingly procured from thin air. His hairbands are all over the place, in the kitchen drawers, on the coffee table, or even lost underneath various objects. At some point, Shikamaru was too tired to clean his laundry and stole an outfit of Sasuke’s, and despite how Sasuke has picked up most of the house chores, including Shikamaru’s laundry, Shikamaru can still be seen wearing Sasuke’s clothes.

Shikamaru has begun throwing Sasuke’s clothes in his own closet, which Sasuke would be irritated about, if he didn’t find it very adorable.

Sasuke smiles at the door, unbidden, and wonders what the occasion is to warrant a surprise visit. Shikamaru notices the look in his eyes and unlocks and opens the door curiously.

“Hi guys!” Hinata Hyuga smiles brightly at them, hands clasped in front of her. Sasuke smiles back at her, Shikamaru following suit. Hinata peers into their apartment and her eyes go wide. “Wow, you two have really spruced this place up since the last time I’ve seen it!”

Sasuke’s smile widens, looking behind himself to take in their home of over three years. Shikamaru’s overly pricey and borderline ugly rug stands out to him, and Shikamaru notices his look of irritation, smirking cheekily.

Hinata speaks up again, smile replaced with a more serious expression. “I came by to ask if either of you have heard the news.”

“News?” Sasuke prompts, looking over to Shikamaru.

Hinata nods solemnly. “Oh yes, the news.” Her eyes go wide, “You-you haven’t heard?”

“No?” Shikamaru questions in confusion. “Should we know?”

“What is it?” Sasuke asks in concern, leaning forward through the doorfame.

 Hinata drops her serious façade and breaks out into a grin. “Neji’s been recommended for Anbu!”

He and Shikamaru erupt into loud, enthusiastic cheers. Hinata steps forward for a hug and they respond in kind, Shikamaru rubbing her shoulder excitedly and Sasuke pulling them close. “That’s amazing!” Shikamaru exclaims, voice low to accommodate how close they are.

Hinata steps back from them, gently returning the fist-bump Sasuke offers her. After a moment of being a little flustered by all the excitement, Hinata gathers herself. “Hiashi planned a celebration dinner, because well, he knew about the recommendation beforehand and we thought well,” Hinata fidgets with her hands, “we thought, maybe you’d, you’d, since you’re his friend maybe you would—“ She laughs a bit, nervous to ask, so Sasuke cuts in.  

“That’s crazy!” Sasuke turns to look at Shikamaru, “we were just saying how we hadn’t talked in a while.”

Shikamaru nods along, before turning to Hinata with an uncharacteristically kind, small smile. “We’d love to go.”

Hinata smiles sunnily, pulling her scarf closer around her neck. “G-Great, I’ll see you there!”

------

“The name is Naruto Uzumaki.”

A gust of wind sweeps across the clearing, kicking cold, wet snow all over Naruto’s training pants and temporarily blurring his vision. The woman across from him looks apprehensive, but it hardly affects Naruto, who takes another step forward and tilts his head to the side, a hint of killer intent seeping through his chakra.

The woman takes a step back. “I don’t know the girl you’re looking for.”

“You see, I disagree.” Naruto doesn’t take another step forward, instead shoving his icy fingers into the pockets of his training pants to keep warm. “I think…that you’re a part of the reason that I’m looking for her.”

This time, when it seems that the woman is preparing to take another step back, Naruto doesn’t give her the chance. Without any indication of attack Naruto is behind her, hand covering her mouth and nose. He restrains her body with his other arm, pinning her wrists together and watching as she struggles uselessly. “Tell me where Yugito is, and maybe, I’ll let you live.”

He removes his hands from the woman’s mouth and lets her gasp for a moment as a gust of cold wind rushes by them. The wind whistles in the air and blows the branches of the deadened trees around them. This winter has been cold; colder than most, and the unexpected snowstorm killed nearly all the plant life in the area. “I don’t know!” the woman wheezes.

Naruto rolls his eyes. “Listen, lady,” he growls, “we can do this the easy way, where you tell me where she is, or I can kill you and get your friends to tell me where you’ve taken her.”

The woman tenses. Naruto can sense the ninja surrounding the clearing, waiting for an opening to strike them. He bets they’re all quaking in their little snow boots right about now. His lip curls.

“Today, please,” he insists, wrapping his hand around the front of her throat in an intentionally threatening display.

Reluctantly, the woman nods. Naruto glares spitefully at her. He can tell she’s lying, and indignation rises in his chest. Her eyes flicker to the trees, signaling for her backup to attack.

Naruto shoves her to the floor. “Ninja really need to stop choosing the hard way,” he declares.

Naruto sidesteps a barrage of kunai, watching them bury in the snow where he was moments before. He sets his eyes on the woman, now standing before him confidently. “You’re outnumbered!” she shouts.

Naruto hears dark laughter echo in the forefront of mind, and he has to agree with Kurama’s disbelief. “This bitch,” Naruto scoffs. The laughter in his mind grows louder.

The woman looks at him, apprehensive once more. Naruto frowns for a moment, before realizing that some of Kurama’s chakra has seeped through, sharpening his eyes and deepening the blue into a dark red. He wishes he enjoyed this as much as the demon inside of him, but he really took little pleasure in preying on the weak.

Naruto hears a whizz. He raises his hand in the air in preparation, catching the stray kunai some brave soul sent his way. He lowers it towards his face and notices the tell-tale curve of the knife, unique to Kumo. Strange, that the Land of Lightening has cloud ninja posted about a piece of land that doesn’t belong to them. Naruto spins the kunai knife in his hand and decides to be done with these people.

Once, he might’ve cringed at the feeling of his blade sliding through skin, but he’s long since grown accustomed to the often times messy methods he has to use in order to help his people. When he shunshins behind the woman, He uses the Kumogakure knife, pressing the blade against her jugular before wrenching it across her skin. Blood spills onto his hand, and she’s dead before she hits the ground, red staining the snow around him. If it wasn’t for the awful, iron smell, it would almost be beautiful. Perhaps, in a tragic sense, there is beauty to it. Naruto thinks so.

Cries of outrage burst from the trees, and Naruto is suddenly faced with ten other ninjas. Naruto tries to keep up the stoic mask, but lets the irritation he feels show on his face. He’d like to find Yugito as soon as possible; not waste his time killing a bunch of nobodies from Kumo.

However, his feelings shift from irritation at the situation to irritation at his enemy when one of them throws a kunai that he narrowly shifts away from, splitting a lock of his hair in two. The detached strands fall to the pristine snow sloshing at his feet. Naruto looks up and narrows his eyes at the ninja around him, resisting the urge to let forth his full chakra signature and leave them shaking in terror. “I see,” Naruto begins, a smile overtaking his features, “I needed to let out some pent up anger anyhow.”

Naruto kills the first one with only his hands, twisting his neck until he hears a loud pop and leaving the body to drop to the floor. Three come at him at once, each wielding blades, while the others fall back and prepare a slew of jutsus. Backup taijutu users hover behind the three ninja using weapons, prepared to hop in and inflict injuries should the opportunity arise.

Naruto snaps the elbow of the ninja closest to him, stealing his blade and slamming it through the skull of his comrade on Naruto’s opposite side. The man doesn’t get the chance to gasp before he’s dead, and Naruto quickly grabs the shirt of the corpse to pull in front of him as a shield from the sudden burst of shuriken sent his way. He almost feels bad, when the corpse lands in the snow, bleeding from various wounds received post-mortem. However, he doesn’t have time to feel anything, as someone throws another knife at him. He grabs the man on his right whom he’d stolen the knife from and throws him in forward, listening detachedly to the squelch of blood that follows when the oncoming knife buries to the hilt into the man’s stomach. Naruto removes the blade and throws the man into the snow, knowing he won’t survive long with an open wound in his abdomen. “You BASTARD!” someone screams.

Naruto’s lips turn upward. His red eyes shine brightly in the white of the snowy field.

He ends the rest of them quickly, forming a tiger seal and pulsing a surge of chakra outwards, slamming his palm through the snow and onto the solid ground. A thick, red and orange chakra melts the snow in the clearing almost entirely, thickening and poisoning the air to all but Naruto. The chakra is so powerful it is visible. The men collapse forward at once, wheezing and coughing, clawing at their skin. That’s what it’s like to be a Jinchuriki he thinks aggressively as the last of the Kumo ninja falls forward and convulses on the ground, burned alive. They’re scorched skin smells terribly, and Naruto elects to remove himself from the clearing as soon as possible. Heightened senses do not always come in handy.

The faces of the bodies that aren’t completely scorched are pained and misshapen yet, but Naruto does his best not to shy away from the harsh reality of his actions. He sees a hand burnt to nothing but bone and swallows. This power, Naruto thinks, is too much for one man to hold. Kurama hums raggedly in the back of his mind, trying to comfort him, but Naruto shakes it off. He did this, and he isn’t going to prance around and act ashamed about it.

Not all of them are dead, of course. He turns on his foot, gaze focused on the man still gasping in the snow with a now closed wound on his stomach, burnt and sealed shut from Naruto’s chakra.

He hates to leave survivors, but this one…this one he left alive on purpose.

He flips the blade that was once buried in the man’s stomach into the air and grips it by the hilt, making his way across the short distance of the field to kneel down beside him. With one seal, the burning chakra disperses from the man’s skin. The man gasps in relief, until Naruto turns him upward and he sees who saved him.

Naruto presses his knee against the man’s throat before he gets any ideas.

“You’re going to tell me where Yugito is.”

The man spits up at him, gasping in pain. The saliva doesn’t get anywhere near Naruto, but he could do without the disrespect.

“She’s ours,” he says hoarsely, barely breathing.

Kurama roars, and it takes a lot of strength for Naruto to push him to the back of his mind. He can’t have Kurama killing this man; they need him, as much as it pains him to admit. Kurama gets rowdier, fighting for control, but Naruto tampers him down. He has a feeling Kurama will chew him out for this later, but he needs to focus.

“Look,” Naruto says reasonably, “you want your life. I want information. We can make an amicable trade.”

“You killed my friends!”

Naruto rolls his eyes. “Friends? Really? I’d barely call those guys comrades.” He leans forward, eyebrows furrowing. “You can’t possibly tell me that those guys cared about you. They threw the knife that did this to you!” he motions to the man’s stomach.

A hint of skepticism worms its way into the man’s eyes. “Why do you want Yugito?”

“I just want to help her. She isn’t safe with people like you.”

The man’s eyes close guiltily. Naruto withholds a smirk.

“You really want to help her?” he asks for confirmation.

Naruto nods firmly. “If there’s anyone who knows what it’s like to be in her shoes, it’s me.”

“It’s an underground base,” the man says, as if the words physically pain him, “they have her locked in a prison, I don’t know where. But the base…it’s in the Mist, some ways away from here. It was the only place we could think of where she wouldn’t be found, because the Mist is in the middle of a civil war.”

Naruto sighs. He adjusts his grip on his kunai and thrusts it downwards, pinning the blade dead-center into the man’s throat. The man’s eyes freeze in permanent terror.

“I hate liars.” He says, feeling depressed. He’s no closer to finding Yugito than he’d been before he got ambushed by these people.

Well, maybe not.

He rolls his shoulders and sets about searching their bodies for any clues. Wherever Naruto has found himself, the man wanted to lead him away; all the way to Mist territory. The tip he got from that Iwa rogue a few weeks ago is looking to be fairly accurate. Naruto must be close to something important.

He just really hopes it’s Yugito.

------

3 years earlier

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Tobi’s heart is in his stomach.

He turns around, heart beating rapidly, breath quickening because he knows that voice. He’s dreamt of that voice. That voice is more familiar than his own; imprinted on every inch of his brain.

Across from him is a man, chakra signature frightened and flighty, familiarly buzzing with energy.  Tobi stares ahead of himself breathlessly, shocked to the core. The situation feels impossible; he’d never dared dream of it. It can’t be.

Tobi had heard the news. Everyone in the elemental nations had.

Kakashi Hatake was dead.

“It is, it is you, Obito, isn’t it?”

Tobi hasn’t heard that name is years.

“It’s me,” at first, his voice doesn’t quite form the words, hoarse and surprised. He clears his throat. “It’s me, Kakashi.”

Unbidden, a smile graces Tobi’s lips, and a sigh of a hundred burdens is released from his chest.

Kakashi makes an aborted movement, like he wants to get closer. Tobi can sense the shift in his chakra. He swallows.  

“Your eyes.” Kakashi mumbles.

Tobi’s lips quirk, and he raises his hands behind himself to unfasten the blindfold blocking his vision. “Ha, you know something, Kakashi…”

“Hm?”

“You always have underestimated me.”

Obito grins as the blindfold falls to the floor.

Kakashi makes an obviously involuntary sound in the back of his throat. A laugh spills over Obito’s lips.

“Like what you see?”

Chapter Text

“Oh come on Shikamaru. You’re serious?”

“Yeah, Sasuke, I’m serious.”

A scowl settles over Sasuke’s face, but he relents. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Neji parrots, “You guys actually think NOW is the best time to do this?”

Sasuke finds himself shrugging, just a little. Neji crosses his arms and slumps into his chair, his way of expressing disapproval, but also acceptance. “It’s a good plan,” Sasuke looks to Neji, silently asking him to find a genuine flaw in the plan. He stays quiet, confirming Sasuke’s suspicions.

“Look,” Shikamaru splays his hands out in front of him, “Sasuke’s worked his ass off for this. Getting close to Danzo, making buddies with all the clan heads—building a physical alibi, and also an emotional one. We’re ready. We are.” Shikamaru bites his lip, shaking his head from side to side. “…but we do need you on board, Neji.”

“Fuck.” Neji’s eyes don’t break contact with Shikamaru as he curses, mouth thinning into a line.

“I can do it.” Sasuke quickly interjects, before their stare-down dissolves into an argument. 

Neji takes a deep breath, nodding slowly, as if each nod is an acceptance of a slew of sequential thoughts and ideas devoted to the plan. “Okay, yeah. Alright. We’re doing this.”  

-----

Curtains: long, flowing, elegant; a set of china splayed across a long, low table; knees with expensive robes flowing across them, resting on the seat cushions; and a clean, lattice flooring underneath. Sasuke kneels, ankles tucked underneath bum, and feels at home in the best way possible, and terrified in same line of reasoning—what comforts us, isn’t always what is good for us.

They’re seated all together, Neji, Akira, Hiashi, Hinata, and Hinabi. It’s a pretty table—long and elegant—the kind of thing his mom would’ve dreamed of having. He tries to stir outrage within himself, but nothing comes to the surface. He only feels saddened. I like this room, he mourns.

Then, he meets eyes with Hiashi across the table, and sees Neji. Not as he is now, kneeling quietly beside him, but as he will be. This, this stirs outrage; this stirs indignation. Neji, lying beside his mother. Neji, lying beside his father. Neji, floating at the bottom of a cliff-side, motionless.

Sasuke locks eyes with Hiashi. He smiles, and Hiashi tilts his lips up in response. It’s true that Hiashi has been nothing but kind to Sasuke. But the warmth in Hiashi’s eyes isn’t enough. The humanity isn’t enough.

If there were another way, Sasuke could lie to himself, and say he would take it. But he would not risk the years of suffering of his friend, of his friend’s people, if he was told there was a chance he could convince Hiashi Hyuuga of his wrongdoings. It’s not retributive. This isn’t about what Sasuke wants, or thinks is deserved. It’s about deterrence, prevention, and perhaps most importantly—it’s about putting an end to an atrocity. It’s about keeping the warmth in Neji’s eyes.

“Lord Hiashi,” Sasuke hums, quiet, polite. “Do you think you could do me a favor?”

Hiashi leans forward, happy to indulge him, happy to help. Sasuke’s stomach twists. No matter how much he knows this is right—that this is his duty—he hates it. He doesn’t want to. No matter what right comes of it, Sasuke will always feel that this was wrong.

In a moment of wallowing, hopeful masochism, he wonders if Kakashi-sensei felt the same way when he chose to keep the Chunin Exam invasion a secret.

Sasuke’s throat is dry. His hands are clammy. Hiashi nods at him encouragingly. His voice quivers underneath his words as lies. I’ve been trying to practice my abilities to heal members of the Hyuuga clan, but the seal—it prevents me from visually delving into their chakra pathways.” He tilts his head, wondering if his words sound as suspicious as they feel. “Could I observe yours? It’s just, your height and build is fairly similar to many of the Hyuuga’s I work on at the hospital.”

Hiashi looks taken aback, and for a moment, Sasuke hopes that this isn’t going to work. That he will deny him, say no, as he has never done before. But Hiashi shrugs, and laughs, and tells him, “By all means.”

Prevention, retribution, punishment—these words feel stale, when he looks at the warmth in Hiashi’s eyes. Who am I, Sasuke wonders, even as he swiftly rises from his kneeling position, who am I to know what Hiashi Hyuuga deserves? Hiashi looks momentarily confused, and Sasuke knows it’s because he didn’t think Sasuke meant to practice now. But Sasuke is a guest, and it would be rude to turn him down, so Hiashi refrains from complaint.

“Wonderful!” Is that his voice? Is this who he has become? Ultimatums are such ugly creatures. Hiashi or Neji? Life or death?

He stops himself. He breathes. And then, he makes his choice, and gives the choice not another thought.

Sasuke places a glowing green hand on Hiashi’s forehead, just as Hinata slumps to the ground. They gave her an extra dose, so she wouldn’t be awake to see anything. Hiashi’s eyes go wide, but it’s too late, and Sasuke has frozen his chakra pathways.

Neji leaps out of his seat to action, as Sasuke’s Mangekyou flickers on, and Akira’s wide-eyes meet his. In an instant, she’s unconscious, and slipping gently into Neji’s arms. Sasuke lifts his initial Genjutsu, and reveals that Hinabi had never been in the room at all.

Hiashi’s eyes are wide, but he is utterly paralyzed as Neji makes quick work of resting Akira’s face on her forearms, her bodyweight held up by the table. The drug combination Sasuke chose is quick acting, often causes amnesia—benzodiazepine and an opioid component—and painless, too.

Neji is untying his headband before Sasuke can prompt him to, as Sasuke begins pulling Hiashi out of his seat and onto the floor, laying flat on his back. Neji hurries over, forehead bare, with his caged bird seal glowing a tender, sky blue. He folds his head band and pockets it, before kneeling down beside him, Byakugan activated.

If Hiashi could speak, he’s certain they’d be doomed. Hundreds of guards wait outside the doors of the Main house’s dining hall. Sasuke and Neji aren’t guaranteed much time.

Sasuke reaches into his kunai pouch and procures a thin, sterilized scalpel, wrapped in plastic. The blade of the scalpel has a seal for transferring chakra painted delicately on the metal. For a moment, he considers apologizing to Hiashi. Instead, Sasuke tugs on a pair of thin, latex gloves, swapping the scalpel to each hand as he does so. Hiashi’s prone body is similar to other unconscious patients Sasuke has worked on. But it’s a shame that Hiashi couldn’t be unconscious for this—that he need’s Hiashi awake—because Sasuke isn’t sure that he can pretend his patient isn’t feeling pain.

Chakra pathways rest and settle in the unconscious body. It’s helpful for medical ninjutsu, but not this, and he can’t risk unforeseen complications.

Neji has a strange look in his eyes as he stares down at his uncle. Sasuke tries not to pay his friend too much mind as he methodically removes Hiashi’s robe. He could bother to sterilize the skin of his patient, but there’s no reason to protect him from infection. He steadies himself, breathes, and pumps chakra into the seal on the scalpel. Neji says, “First cut, right arm. Elbow to wrist.” Neji, being the only one of the two who can see chakra pathways, is his guide for this operation.

The blade drags through Hiashi’s skin, uninterrupted, like flaying the skin of a fish. Sasuke is careful to keep the incision clean and precise, and slow—here and there, Neji tells him to shift right, or dig deeper, or stop, or occasionally, use more chakra.

Slowly and methodically, they tear through every chakra pathway Hiashi Hyuuga possesses. With each cut, so as to ensure his patient doesn’t bleed out, Sasuke swipes a glowing green hand across the skin. The seal on the scalpel took a lot of trial and error, but eventually, he and Neji perfected it—the art of preforming surgery on chakra. Sasuke can feel Hiashi’s signature twist and churn in pain, and is slightly surprised. Neji had hardly flinched the few times they’d practiced it on him. He remembers, idly, that his friend said it felt just like when his curse mark was activated. A part of Sasuke thinks, triumphantly, that it’s a fitting punishment.

Eventually, Neji once, sharply informing him that, “It’s done.” Sasuke pauses, before quickly setting down the scalpel. His hand feels warm and sweaty. His chest aches. Shame, regret—it makes Sasuke want to jump up and physically shake it off of him. He can’t. The feeling clings on, tight and viper-like. 

But Neji gets up fluidly, unaffected. He moves across the room, and sits on what looks, to the naked eye, as simply the center of a fanciful rug. But to Sasuke’s now blaring Sharingan, it is a hand-crafted seal from Shikamaru, carefully copied by Sasuke. Thanks, Kakashi-sensei.

Feeling drained, but knowing he must press on, he drags Hiashi’s prone body near where Neji sits, oddly calm, oddly patient. Neji’s chakra splays out into the masterful seal surrounding him.

Sasuke takes a deep, centering breath. He closes his eyes. He reaches out, feeling Hiashi’s fearful, cold, empty, weakened signature. It’s so easy. So much easier than when he’d practiced on Shikamaru, who’s chakra pathways were perfectly intact. The severs in Hiashi’s pathways are like divots in the earth after rain, collecting pools of water and easy to dig into with a bare hand. Like dirt underneath his fingernails, the chakra even lingers around Sasuke, detached. Sasuke removes his own chakra from the equation, and tries to focus singularly on Hiashi’s. And, as if Sasuke has begun a fresh down pour, Hiashi’s chakra begins to move.

Like a man possessed, Hiashi starts to convulse, unable to resist Sasuke’s manipulations. He tries to feel every pathway in Hiashi’s body, every ounce of chakra within—once he has a steady grip, he twists. Hiashi sits up, mimicking Sasuke’s own seated position. Hiashi’s arms start to reach toward each other. Sasuke starts to pant, feeling a headache begin to blossom, but he doesn’t yet open his eyes. He tries to picture Hiashi’s arms like his own, and Hiashi’s chakra as his own. He replicates the sensation of chakra flowing from the center of his body, to each individual finger. At last, Hiashi’s hands begin to move, and then, sloppily begin to form the symbol for release.

Sasuke opens his eyes, anxiety pulling at him. He doubts his ability to keep Hiashi’s hands in place and finish the task. But one look at Neji’s calm, peaceful expression sharpens Sasuke’s focus. I can do this.

He pushes at Hiashi’s chakra, pushes until it all comes bubbling to the surface. Distantly, he notices Neji bite down on his lip to stop himself from screaming. The light blue of the caged bird seal darkens, purples, until it’s beating a dark red. Then Neji’s forehead starts to bleed.

Still, Neji doesn’t scream.

Sasuke keeps pulling, pulls until Hiashi’s body slumps over, an empty husk. He pulls until Hiashi’s signature vanishes, and if wasn’t for Sasuke staring right at him, he would have said the man vanished in thin air. In his exhaustion, Sasuke’s Sharingan flickers off.

Neji catches himself on his forearms, panting. Blood smears and spills down his forehead and into his eyes, and Sasuke lets out a shaky, shocked breath. He moves forward, but his muscles are screaming at him, his chakra blaringly painful. “Neji,” Sasuke calls, quiet, in fear of alerting the guards outside. It took less than fifteen minutes to execute, Sasuke reckons. Efficiency, he remembers Shikamaru hissing at him, when it’d taken him two hours to get Shikamaru to simply pulse his chakra outward.

“Neji, let me see.”

He tries to reach out to touch him, but Neji shakes him off. Neji runs a hand over his face, trying to wipe the blood off, but it only smears. Sasuke squints, eyes burning, and is relieved to find that the bleeding as stopped on it’s own. Neji leans down and starts scrubbing his face onto his shirt, careless, and Sasuke tries not to cringe.

But when Neji looks up, it’s expectant, urgent. “Well?”

Sasuke doesn’t know it, but he’s smiling, mouth parted in awe. “It’s gone.”

It seems that’s all Neji needed. He’s bursting up, grabbing Hiashi and hauling him away from Sasuke, back on his chair. He checks his pulse. Alive, Neji denotes. So he digs into his pouch to grab a knife. The knife is jagged, a perfect replica of the one’s used by the Village Hidden in the Clouds.

Sasuke looks away.

Still, when he hears the squelch of skin and smells metallic, fresh blood drip into the room, the responsibility hangs heavily on his shoulders. Someone so strong, so frightening, so impenetrable, dead. In the end, all of that status, cruelty, and wealth, couldn’t hide the truth. Hiashi Hyuuga was only a man. 

“Come here,” Sasuke instructs, and Neji does. This, actually, is the trickiest part of the plan. Virtually, they’re stuck in this room. Hurt, chakra drained, and worse, horribly, obviously, culpable.

Unless.

He can feel Shikamaru’s chakra outside the doors, chatting with the guards. Sasuke, on cue, sends small spike of chakra out to prod at Shikamaru’s. Shikamaru receives the message. The guards let Shikamaru in, and one hilarious aspect of Hyuuga guards is—of course—that branch members are far too unseemly to look at (let alone set foot in) the Main family’s dining room. Coupled, of course, with Sasuke’s meager Genjutsu calming their chakra and rendering them far too happy and untroubled to sense something amiss, Shikamaru waltzes right in, doors swiftly sliding shut behind him.

Three years. Three years of regular afternoon lunches and teas with the Hyuugas, all for this. The emotional alibi. And Shikamaru, the physical one—the clan heir, whose word will protect them.

A good plan, Sasuke knows. Mikoto would’ve approved. Sasuke isn’t so sure that’s a good thing. Still, he dusts himself off as Shikamaru hurries over, mouth set in a determined line. He looks to Neji. “It worked?”

Neji’s responding smile and nod is the most relaxed Sasuke has ever seen his friend. Relief so palpable on his face it practically sings through his chakra signature.

“Our first miracle,” Shikamaru jokes. Shikamaru holds out his hand, a small, round pill in the center, and Sasuke takes it, swallowing the soldier pill with little fuss. Emergency chakra starts painfully humming through his veins, and he winces. “Sasuke, you’ll have to leave in a few, to get yourself out of here—go to the hospital. Do not make any stops on the way. Scrub in, and act like everything is normal. For you, it is.”

Sasuke opens his mouth, unsure what he wants to say. Then, gently, he closes it. Neji saved him the trouble of having any bloody evidence on his body. And the chakra disguise of his Genjtusu across strong as is. By the time authorities arrive on scene, the any trace of Sasuke’s chakra involvement have faded to nothing. Having power is all about having friends, Mikoto always told him, and now, he wonders if that’s all she ever saw her friends as; tools, for power. Is that what Sasuke has done, with Hiashi? Is that what he is doing now, as he leaves Shikamaru and Neji to take the blame? Are you proud, mom? Have I avenged Hizashi for you?

“Sasuke?” Shikamaru prompts.

Sasuke doesn’t say anything else to his friends as he leaves, hands brushing against the length of his hair. It’s getting a little long—too long, for a disowned son. He’ll have to get it cut, soon.

-----

It’s the way he smells so good, Obito thinks, as he watches Kakashi set up camp. That must be it. That must be why he has let this man in, invited him to this mission of his. It’s the kind of good that makes him want to lean in, then lean away, then find any excuse to get closer again. Or maybe it’s his hands. Polished, strong—dainty. Reaching out, almost there, but never close enough. Actually, though—it’s the longing. Yes. The game of how far he can go until there’s no point of return. Of being quiet, quiet like the way Kakashi renders even the darkest corners of Obito’s mind.

Yes, Obito could lie. He could.

He could say all of Kakashi’s physical attributes are the reasons. He could say it’s his softness, his strength, his clear skin, or his narrowed, sharp jaw. He could say it’s his eyes. God, his eyes. But it isn’t. It’s that quiet. The way Obito could talk to him for hours or say nothing at all and feel wholly, spiritually refreshed either way. It’s his mere presence that drives Obito mad. As if Kakashi’s soul hangs loosely on his sleeve, and dances with Obito’s every time their bodies brush against each other. Shocks him quiet. It’s the way Obito is a romantic. Obito could spoil Kakashi as a servant at the foot of his temple—and still, it wouldn’t be enough. He’d give as much as Kakashi asked of him, and then more.

It’s a scary thing, to be a romantic. Yes, Obito could lie. He could say it’s Kakashi’s mysterious, bottomless beauty. That he’s been seduced, tricked, and robbed blind. It’d be easier, to call it lust.

But Obito will know, with ever timbre of Kakashi’s voice, it’s the simple act of loving Kakashi that so compels him.

Kakashi brings him over a bowl of warm, fresh soup—fish cooked and stirred within. It reminds him of the old days, when Kakashi would cook for the whole team, domestic and happy. He wonders, sometimes, about this softness of Kakashi’s. Other times, like today, he simply lets himself be grateful for it. “The Akatsuki is on the move,” Kakashi says, sitting down beside him with a spoon, and nothing more. Obito sets the bowl on his lap and shifts so his knees are angled towards Kakashi. Kakashi slips his mask down his face and digs his spoon into the bowl, smirking. From across the campsite, Kakashi’s ninken dutifully follow him, forming a warm circle about their leader. The fire crackles and casts a glow over their warm, winter coats, and Kakashi absentmindedly begins stroking the back of Bull as he eats.

“Yeah,” Obito digs his own spoon in, “But I thought we agreed we were laying low, ever since Kisame.” He sips, eyeing Kakashi as he fiddles innocently with his spoon.

Kakashi shrugs a shoulder, trying and failing miserably to come off as casual. “It’s just—well, we’ve been laying low for a while now.”

“…yes,” Obito confirms, “But in order to keep our identities safe, we have to be careful.” Kakashi’s expression sours. Obito sighs. “What is it, Bakakashi?”

Kakashi peers at him through the corner of his eye, spoon gliding between his knuckles and then spinning softly on the tip of his forefinger. An old habit, formed with knives from a lifetime of war, not spoons. Obito thinks he could get used to seeing Kakashi holding a spoon instead of a kunai. “I think it’s time to stop laying low. It’s a waste of our energy, hiding like this. We’d be so much further in taking down the Akatsuki if we could just—attack.”

“And risk being classified as missing ninja?” Obito prompts. “Kakashi, I—I don’t know. It’ll be dangerous.” It feels reductive, to call it just dangerous, when what he means to say is that it’s suicide—that it’s impossible to survive, if the world knows who they are.

Kakashi shakes his head, stubborn as always. “And this isn’t dangerous? Running around, hiding our identities? Taking down rogues and warmongers left and right? Risking inefficiency for the illusion of safety?”

Obito watches Kakashi’s face closely, watches for any sign of doubt or insincerity in his words. Finding none, he nods. “Alright. Then, I think we should find that girl of yours. Sakura.” Obito declares, because, if he’s being completely honest—he’s ready, too. Obito shrugs, a humorous smile floating across his face, “Are you ready, then? To go back to the land of the living?”

Kakashi rolls his good eye, gloved hand moving to rest on top of Obito’s. “That depends. Are you prepared to die a second time?”

Among their campfire, surrounded by their pack, Obito and Kakashi share a last laugh over their biggest inside joke.

------

Three years ago, when Sasuke predicted that Shikamaru was going to become a huge pain in his ass, he didn’t know how right he’d be. Which is stupid, because Sasuke never loses a bet. He’s thinking about Shikamaru, how angry Shikamaru makes him, how scared, as he mills about the hospital.

Right now, Sasuke is working on a patient. A kid with a broken arm, made worse by his own stubbornness. Apparently, the kid had continued on training even after he’d felt his arm snap awkwardly to the side. The kid’s name is Kaya, and his cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment as Sasuke packs his prescription bag with painkillers. He gives the kid a soft smile. “Calm down,” he tells him, “you’ll be back to training in no time.”

If anything, the kid’s pout deepens. Sasuke rolls his eyes fondly. “Trust me, alright? Focus on getting yourself better. You have your whole life to grow up.”

Kaya just squirms on the edge of the hospital bed, before releasing a loud, dramatic sigh. His big, green eyes bore into Sasuke’s as he whines, “easy for you to say! You’re like, the coolest.”

“Me?” Sasuke feels heat rise to his cheeks, a little astonished.

“Yeah, I mean, you’re the Hokage’s apprentice!”

“That I am,” Sasuke agrees. “But you know, people didn’t always admire me. I’m still getting used to it.” He finds himself sitting down in the nurse’s chair, anxious, desperate for a distraction. A clipboard sits on the desk in front of him, already filled out. Really, Sasuke should dismiss this patient. But. “In fact, people used to think I was a pretty bad egg, Kaya.” He thinks of his father, eyes boring into him with knowing, outraged disappointment, as his fire jutsu failed again and again. “I worked really hard to get here. And a lot of that work was healing. Letting old wounds fade.”

The kid seems unconvinced, but even still, Sasuke hope his words are reaching him. Kaya asks, “Like what? I bet you never broke your arm throwing shuriken before.”

Sasuke laughs a bit, rising from his chair and grabbing his clipboard. “No,” he teases, “I definitely did not. Because I was smarter than you.”

“Hey!”

Sasuke picks up the brown bag with the kid’s prescription and pauses. He looks down at the clipboard in his hand, age 10 staring back at him. “Were your parents called in?”

The kid tilts his head. “Yeah? I mean, I think so.”

Sasuke sighs, frustrated. Apprentices, he thinks grouchily. “Hang here for a second,” he mutters, trying to mask his frustration. He leaves the room and closes the door behind him, searching for “Tsuki,” the apprentice on Kaya’s case. Forgetting a parental contact of a kid with a broken arm, really? What a joke. If Sasuke has to explain everything the apprentices do before they do it, then Sasuke’s basically doing their job and his job. And it’s been exhausting.

Lost in his musings, he almost completely misses his advisor calling out to him. “Sasuke!” the older man commands, “Sasuke!”

There’s an urgency in his eyes, and Sasuke’s stomach drops. “Kindetsu-sama, is everything alright?”

His advisor is a calm, eclectic man. He has light, lavender hair in tight curls around his face, a long, slender nose, and notably, a bright blue pair of glasses. He’s the kind of man who always smells like what he ate for lunch, and is focused solely on his job when he’s at work, nothing more, nothing less. In the same tone, the man is prompt, and formal when he tells him, “take the rest of the day off. There’s been an incident. Anbu are at the front waiting for you.” It’s curt, and professional, and—and Sasuke must act surprised, he reminds himself.

“What?” he doesn’t have to feign a nervous swallow, “is someone hurt?” He asks, and the words sound garbled and distant even to his own ears. Can Kindetsu-sama hear how fake he sounds? See how his palms are sweating? Certainly not, Sasuke tells himself.

His boss levels him with a stern glare. “It’s not my place to say, Sasuke. Please, go quickly. It’s urgent. Someone will cover your patients.”

He twists his lips together in a mockery of a nervous, frightful expression, and responds with, “Yeah, okay.” He licks his lips, “at the front?” 

Kindetsu nods, and then leaves before Sasuke can ask anything more. Sasuke finds himself walking to the front, passing his clipboard and bag of prescriptions off to the receptionist. Later, he will learn that the responsibility of scolding Tsuki fell on another poor soul’s shoulders.

The Anbu are, in fact, right at the entrance of the hospital. Sasuke lets his expression crumble, pretending to be surprised by the fact that there are three Anbu waiting for him—a sign of doubtless misfortune. He hurriedly approaches them, following their lead when they nod curtly and hold out their hands. He takes quick note that he recognizes each of them as Anbu assigned to him at the hospital—two of them, he knows personally: Satoru and Yugao. When something goes wrong with Sasuke, it’s always these two who seem to be in charge of bearing the bad news, or, worse yet, he always seems to be assigned as their field medic. To protect their identities, Anbu are assigned to specific medics in the Konoha hospital when the Anbu med bay won’t cut it.

Familiar with the mysterious behavior of Anbu, especially these two, he takes the hand offered to him. The following shunshin doesn’t even make him dizzy. He’s a lot less dizzy, these days. In an instant, the world repositions itself, and his vision settles. Sasuke spares a moment to ensure they are in a quiet, secondary location before whirling on the first Anbu he sees–Cat, Yugao—and demanding, “What happened? What’s going on?” His voice is from, but underneath his bravado, his fear is palpable.

The other Anbu—the one who Sasuke only recognizes as his former patient—clasps his shoulder with his hand. Sasuke jumps, his eyes finding the familiar eyes lurking behind the Tiger mask. “You’re not in trouble. Normally, we would have informed you at home, with a scroll, and a professional. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.” The Anbu’s voice is clipped, practiced.

The two Anbu behind him shift from foot to foot, and Sasuke lets a growing horror dawn on his features. “What? What? Tell me.”

Another steps forward. “Due to the high profile status of the case, we were informed to take you in to T&I. You are not in any trouble, Sasuke.”

Sasuke shakes his head, rapid, nervous. “I don’t care about that.” Then, he waits, looking between each of them. Eventually, Cat clears her throat.

“Lord Hiashi was found murdered in his home.”

Sasuke stumbles back, reaching his arms out for something to stabilize himself with and finding nothing. He’d practiced how he would react: first with surprise, then with regret. He swallows. He breathes. The Anbu are quiet, for a long, awful stretch of silence, waiting for his response. Then, the one wearing a Tiger mask murmurs, “We’re so sorry. We know that you two were very close. But—“

The Satoru, Horse, finally speaks up. “We are taking you in for an official statement. We were informed to give you this warning in advance, so as not to unfairly startle you. Again, we emphasize that you are not under investigation. We just need a statement, because we know you were there before the attack.”

“We can’t disclose details about the case at the moment. We’re sorry.” Tiger speaks up again, sounding genuinely apologetic.

Sorry, sorry, sorry. There’s irony, somewhere, in their string of apologies, when Sasuke should be the one begging for forgiveness.

Sasuke contorts his mouth from side to side. “Very well.” he runs a hand down his face, “Right now, I assume?”

“Yes,” Cat’s voice is firm, but gentle. “They were hoping that hearing it from us—familiar faces—would help calm your nerves.”

Horse leans forward and says, genuine as always, “we really are sorry for your loss, Sasuke.”

He steadies himself, putting on a weak, charming smile. “It’s alright. Thank you for the consideration. But.” He lets his eyes slip closed. “This isn’t really my first time doing this. So don’t worry about me.”

The Anbu’s chakra signature, each of the three’s, rumble in dissatisfaction and concern. Sasuke opens his eyes and tries to muster up another smile, but finds he really can’t. He shrugs his shoulders instead, feeling jittery. “I want to help.”

This statement seems to sway the three Anbu, and they give him varying degrees of understanding affirmations and nods. Then, they begin escorting him down the hallway, prompt and professional masks slipping back upon them.

------

For a moment, Neji lets himself feel relief.

He’d never thought he’d have this freedom. The choice is so…declarative. There. Done. No longer in a limbo. Finality. He, as a person, permanently defined; permanently changed. He sacrificed everything. Hinata, if she ever finds out, will likely never forgive him.

The ominous feeling that had been haunting him for week’s prior is now vanquished. Their plan, long brewing in hypotheticals and patience, was timed to coincide with the clan’s newly hired, foreign, chefs; the scape goat. And now here he is, lightning kunai in hand.

The guilt returns. The relief fizzles out, short lived.

“You lied, didn’t you? Shikamaru’s voice is gentle, paternal, almost. Lie, what a funny word. Either way, the blood is on Neji’s hands—the least he can do is take the responsibility. “The chakra exhaustion killed him, didn’t it? Sasuke killed him.”

“Sasuke doesn’t need to know.” Neji finds himself saying, almost procrastinating, almost marveling.

Shikamaru stays quiet, his judgement palpable. Without words, he can hear Shikamaru telling him you’re an idiot. He’ll find out. He trusts you. Or, maybe that’s just the voice in Neji’s head. So, Neji says, “I just, this was for me. My plan.” 

He can’t see Shikamaru, eyes fixated on the exhausted body before him, but he can hear him release a shaky breath.  “It’s messed up, right?” Neji swallows. “That I don’t even feel bad about killing Hiashi.” Neji knows he’s fishing for reassurance, for confirmation that he isn’t evil for this, but he can’t help himself.

Shikamaru is quiet again, and Neji tears his eyes away from the body in front of him to briefly glance at him, before his gaze sullenly returns. His uncle’s empty, paralyzed eyes stare back at him—dead.

To his surprise, a hand falls on his, gently peeling the knife away. When Neji realizes what Shikamaru is trying to do, his grip instinctively tightens around the handle of the kunai. Then, he releases it. Shikamaru’s hand is gloved, and he wipes down the kunai knife with a cloth—something to rid it of Neji’s fingerprints.

“It messes up our plan, is all. I wasn’t criticizing you for not telling Sasuke.” Shikamaru suddenly declares, staring at the knife. “The autopsy is going to show chakra exhaustion as cause of death, and how do we explain that? And the time of death is fucked. And—we were going to give him chakra pills, to help with the severed chakra pathways.”

Neji turns to him, worry, anxiety, remembrance of the situation at hand all coming back to him in one sudden crash. All at once, he is no longer peacefully sinking to the bottom of the water—he’s grasping at the surface for air. “I panicked,” he explains, “I couldn’t let Sasuke know he killed him.”

 “Yeah, well,” Shikamaru shrugs, “he must not have been dead for long, when you slit his throat, because his blood is everywhere.”

Neji’s eyes narrow. “We should—”

“Shut up,” Shikamaru barks, “I need to think.” 

Shikamaru sets the knife down on the table, leaning towards Hiashi’s body. “Damn,” he mutters, “It’s really obvious this body has been dragged around. I—“ he pulls away from the body, nose crinkling at the smell of iron. “I think we need to hide the body.”

“What? What?” Neji interupts, “No. No way. We don’t have an alibi for that.”

Shikamaru motions to the body, bewildered. “There’s no way to explain this! Our alibi doesn’t work, and—“ Shikamaru rolls his head, cursing suddenly, “Sasuke won’t know any new alibi we come up with.”

“They’ll blame me,” Neji states, trying to sound informative, but coming off as frightened as his voice lightly trembles. If a needle is blame, and a compass justice, then Neji is North.

“Okay,” Shikamaru breathes in, hands splayed, “Okay. Maybe, the cloud ninja, sucked him dry for some reason. And if we act quickly, we can—we can make the time of death work. We’ll say we saw them use some weird jutsu on him, and that, we were knocked out, from the drugs in the tea.”

“Right,” Neji confirms, “But Sasuke would’ve been there during the time of death.”  

Shikamaru presses his fingers into his eyelids. “Yeah, no. Your right.” He pauses, quiet. “…we can’t let them find the body.”

Neji puts his head in his hands and thinks. Then, “Stab me with the knife.” He suggests.

Shikamaru looks at him in disbelief. But Neji carries on, “yeah, that’ll be he evidence. We’ll seal Hiashi’s body in a scroll—can you do that? You’ve been practicing fuinjutsu, right?”

Shikamaru nods, gaining momentum. “I’ll hide the scroll in a shadow jutsu, ditch it somewhere. Then, we could—“ his gaze flickers to Akira, “We could leave some evidence on her, too.”

Neji nods, starting to feel as if everything isn’t falling apart, “We don’t need Hiashi’s body to prove it was Cloud.” Shikamaru declares, sounding satisfied and awed at once.

“okay, yeah. So, we’ll plant the evidence, hide the actual evidence—and drink the drugged tea. Yeah, yeah. Is there anything else? Are we forgetting something?”

Shikamaru shakes his head, determined. Then, with renewed vigor, he asks, “Ready to fake a caged bird seal?”

Neji shoots him a furious glare.

----

“Where were you between the hours of 4:00 and 5:00pm, this afternoon?”

Shikamaru leans back in his chair, yawning. “Nowhere, because that’s the evening, dumbass.”

----

“Where were you between the hours of 4:00 and 5:00pm, this afternoon?”

“Home.” Neji widens his eyes obnoxiously, watching Ibiki Morino closely.

----

“Where were you between the hours of 4:00 and 5:00pm, this afternoon?”

Sasuke shakes his head, looking up at his interrogator guiltily. “I’m sorry, but, by that time I’d already clocked in for work. God—if I’d just. If I’d stayed a little longer,” he leans back in his chair, rubs his temples, and meets eyes with his interrogator. “I’m so sorry.”

-----

“Where were you between the hours of 4:00 and 5:00pm, this evening?”

“Having tea with Neji’s family.” Shikamaru shrugs.

“And did anything see…amiss? Out of the ordinary?”

“Yeah,” Shikamaru barks back, “I would say getting brutally attacked by a bunch of fuckin’ lightning scum was pretty out of the ordinary.”

-----

“Home doing what?”

“Having tea with my uncle. And Shikamaru, too.”

“So Shikamaru will confirm this little story?”

“I mean, he was there.”

-----

Out of the corner of his half-activated Sharingan, Sasuke watches his interrogator finalize his notes, jotting down the words doesn’t seem to know anything about the murder. Provided useful insight on hours leading up to crime. Emotional response indicative of grief.

-----

“These cloud ninja—“

“lightning scum—“

“How do you suspect they got in?”

“They had some sort of Genjutsu on,” Shikamaru grumbles, “I guess, anyway. They looked like regular chefs, until they, you know, poisoned us. Kami, these are dumb questions!” Shikamaru jerks forward and taps his fists against the table in front of him, frustrated.

-----

“Can you describe the enemy ninja?”

Neji tilts his head, thoughtful. “Not really? They…they were wearing cook uniforms. I think there was some sort of Genjutsu on them—but I wouldn’t have known unless I saw it. Their chakra signatures felt rather like civilians, no signs of any massive Genjutsu. Not to me, anyway. Shikamaru recognized one of their knives from the Land of Lightning.”

-----

“Final notes, Sasuke. When you were having tea with the Hyuuga—you do this often, correct?”

“yeah—I mean, I did.” Sasuke looks down.

“Yes. But just to clarify—you’re sure nothing was out of the ordinary?”

“Well—“ Sasuke stops himself, shrugging. “It’s probably dumb,” he admits, “but there was this weird chakra signature around the building that I didn’t recognize. I asked Hiashi-sama about it and he told me he hired some new chefs, and that he was impressed I could sense the difference. Again, it’s probably stupid. Just, you know, compliments like that stick with me, I don’t know. It felt out of the ordinary. Especially because he was right. It was weird that I noticed their chakra signatures were different, I don’t usually pick up on those kinds of things with strangers.”

-----

“You’re close with Neji, yes?”

Shikamaru scoffs. “I mean, I guess. Sasuke’s the one who’s close with him.”

“Sasuke Uchiha? Your roommate?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. And, how would you say Neji’s relationship with his uncle is?”

Shikamaru rolls his eyes. “I don’t know. Normal? I guess? Well, not normal. He’s closer with his uncle than most people, since the guy practically raised him. I know he and Sasuke eat lunch with them all the time, and that Neji chose to live at home, even after he graduated to Jonin. I could never.” Shikamaru shakes his head, “my parents are so nagging.”

-----

“And Neji, how would you describe your relationship with your uncle?”

“What?”

The interrogator leans in, focused. “Did you get along with your uncle?”

“Yes.” Neji nods curtly.

“Is that all?” the interrogator prompts.

“Should there be more?” Neji wonders.

------

Somewhere deep inside the walls of T&I, Ibiki Morino slams his fists against a table, furious.

------

When Shikamaru is escorted down the twisting hallways of T&I and back to the lobby after nearly two hours of grueling questions, he is blindfolded, and admittedly, terrified. He wishes Sasuke were with him to soothe his anxiety. His shoulders are shoved carelessly into every door frame, and he has to make a conscious effort not to trip over his own shoes as the escort sets a brisk pace. Eventually, he is given a final shove, and the blindfold is removed. Dots spray across his vision at the influx of light. He stumbles forward into the cold, clinical lobby of the T&I main building. Almost immediately, he notices his parents, standing at the receptionist’s desk and talking in murderous, quiet tones. Shikamaru’s heartrate skyrockets. His mom has a stony look in her dark eyes, and his dad—though Shikamaru can only see his side-profile—is standing at his full height, hand splayed out on the receptionist’s desk demandingly.

He clears his throat, catching the tail end of their angry bargaining: something about sons, and disrespect. His mom’s head whips around. Then her eyes narrow. He shoves his hands in his pockets, standing awkwardly in the doorway. His mother marches over and snatches his forearm, tugging his arm out of his pocket. Before he knows it, he’s being dragged away by the arm, his mother’s grip viper-like and deadly. “Mom,” he tries to placate, “I didn’t check in with the receptionist to see if they needed anything else.”

His mother reels her outrage onto him, “you owe them nothing! They had no right to keep you there!”

He stifles a sigh, “Mom, c’mon. Maybe they want me to file a witness report, I should check.”

“They’re trying to implicate you in some Lightning Ninja scum’s assassination attempt!” Her grip tightens on his arm, and he focuses on not stumbling when she tugs him abruptly. He’s surprised that she would shout like this in public; her anger is usually kept behind closed doors.

“Okay, yeah, okay,” he mutters, “I’m fine, though.” He notices his dad pull away from the receptionist and make his way across the lobby and over to him, and resists the urge to cringe.

He just wants to sleep. His dad stops to loom over him, eyebrows high on his forehead, gaze expectant. Shikamaru feels off kilter. They’re looking at him like he’s supposed to know what to say. His mother’s lips part, outraged that he isn’t doing something, and he panics. “Sorry?” he apologizes, before she can begin scolding him. “Sorry? Sorry? I didn’t mean to worry you.”

They don’t look appeased. “Sorry,” he says again, wracking his brain for the right thing to say. “I, uh—yeah. It was unfair that they took me in. I was drugged by those lighting nin! They, should’ve—“ Shikamaru shrugs his shoulders, watching his mother’s creased expression relax, “They should’ve taken me to the hospital, obviously.” As if on cue to his mother’s relaxation, Shikamaru’s heartrate steadies, and a bit of feeling starts returning to his limbs.

His mother smiles, hand on her heart. “Yes, exactly. C’mere.” She pulls him into a quick embrace, patting him on the back. He squeezes her back, relieved he’d figured out what she’d wanted. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“We’ll handle this.” His dad interjects as Shikamaru pulls away, eyes sweeping over to the T&I receptionist. For a moment, his dad’s gaze lands on him, and Shikamaru feels oddly scrutinized. He almost asks, what? But decides that it’s in his own best interest to stay quiet.

His mother leans back toward him to grab him by the shoulders. “Asuma-sensei is outside; he’ll take you to the hospital. We’re going to stay here, sort things out.”

“Sort what out?” Shikamaru wonders, curiosity getting the best of him. Before Shikamaru can wait for an answer, a thought bursts forth. “Wait, hang on, did they take Neji to the hospital first? Is he okay? He’s hurt!”

His father sends him a tight-lipped smile. His mother inhales, but her exhale is slow, purposeful. Shikamaru looks between them impatiently. His dad nods firmly at him, “We’ll take of it,” he says, but his confidence is unconvincing.

“Is he okay?” he repeats, this time more forcefully. This time, he is met with a sharp look from his mom. Before she can try to bully him away, he’s learning forward. “No. Tell me what happened.” 

“We don’t know,” his mom has a look in her eyes that says she’s hiding something, but she barrels on, “But, just, relax. And we’ll take of everything.”

“...okay,” Shikamaru agrees, shaken. There’s a long, awkward silence. Shikamaru can feel his heartbeat thrumming in his chest. They’re lying. But—he glances to the door. He needs to play it cool. Go with Asuma-sensei to the hospital. He can’t afford to cause a scene, or alert his parents of anything out of the ordinary.

So, against his better judgement, Shikamaru leaves.

-------

Rhythm, pentameter, line, stanza: Poetry.

Head under water. Air, air, air—

A poem he wrote last week, titled Dreams. Cliché, he’d criticized to himself, but now, in oxygen deprived delirium, he thinks he likes the title.

His head is brought out of the water, Ibiki’s hand gripping his hair. Neji feels everything, in that moment, from the light scraping of his fingernails against his scalp, to the inexplicable ache in the bottom of his right foot. Is it painful? He’s not sure. It’s agonizing, but painful?

“Where is Hiashi Hyuuga?” Ibiki’s voice is loud, commanding, and Neji has to tell himself that the urgency is a ploy to spike his adrenaline, make him afraid. He breathes, loudly and sporadically, but wastes no time forming words.

His head is submerged in the water. He’s not really sure where he is, or what kind of water they’re torturing him in. Torture. Is this torture? They’ve blindfolded him with something laced in chakra and complicated seals, and at first, it caused him a great deal of panic. His eyes have always been his strength. But soon, he was actually glad that he couldn’t see. That way, he could pretend he was somewhere else. He could pretend he was sleeping; dreaming.

Like mom used to pretend, he thinks, comforted. The calm can only last so long, and eventually, he is thrashing around involuntarily, body demanding air on its own accord. No matter how hard he tries to focus on staying still, the twitches, the jerk of his muscles, they seem inevitable. He’s pulled back out of the water, and in his urgency to gasp for air, he swallows and chokes on the way out, splashing himself in the face and eyes. The blindfold is soaked, wet cloth scratching his cheek bone. He tries to focus on that sensation, instead of the ache in his lungs, as Ibiki screams in his ear, “What do you know?”

Neji takes greedy gulps of air, patiently waiting for the next dunk. Ibiki has a rhythm to his work. Then, back under.

His mom loved poetry—but haiku’s were her favorite. Traditional, she’d say. Better than iambic pentameter, or prose, or even waka. She adored the mysterious concision of a haiku, and when he got good enough at reading, she’d have him read her the simpler ones while she laid in bed. Five, seven, then five. He read so many that the syllabic format is almost natural to him. She especially loved poems about nature—even though, it was rare to see her get out of bed. He used to think that if she could see the beautiful things she was reading about, maybe she wouldn’t be so sad, so jealous of poetry. Maybe she’d want to live.

Back out of the water. His lungs throb, da DUM, da DUM, da DUM, da DUM, da DUM. Ibiki shouts again, but Neji isn’t paying him any mind. Under again. Sensations once sharpened by the pain are now dulled with disorientation.

He’d always ask his mom if she wanted to go outside. He asked her every day. The trees are turning, he’d say, trying to be convincing, or the wind feels so nice! Poems always talk about wind, Neji learned. It practically wasn’t a poem about nature, if wind wasn’t mentioned.

“If you don’t start talking, I just might forget to pull you out of the water!” Ibiki threatens. A good line, Neji admits, but unconvincing.

Back under.

I’m breathless with it

there’s a breeze bubbling through us

I wake; just a dream

5, 7, then 5—a haiku. One stanza; concise, nonsensical. Still.

He thinks his mom would’ve liked it.

-----

He treats me like a delicate little flower, Kakashi thinks, somewhat amused as he watches Obito sleep soundly beside him. He almost banishes the thought for how unoriginal it is, cringing at his own romance. But, he thinks, perhaps this man has softened me. Carved his fingers into my stem. Dug out the thorns with the calloused pads of his thumb. Maybe this is the scariest part of love. That if a man knows that you have thorns, he may very well try to rid you of them—and when you are defenseless, what then? Shall you rely on him? How to grow back a thorn, how to rough smooth edges? Love, then, is a sort of lobotomy. Be worth it, he prays.

But as his eyes slip shut and a yawn stretches his spine, he thinks how strange it is. How strange it is that the lobotomy is painless.

Chapter Text

Entry 19

The following entry is an introduction to entries 20-50. Entries 20-50 include detailed accounts of eye-witnesses and victims in a suspected case of severe corruption and misconduct.

Name: Ibiki Morino

Crime: wrongful convictions based on unreliable confessions.

Victims: 15 suspected victims, 25 confirmed. Overall: Males: 19…Females: 21

Names of victims disclosed in each entry. Victims who openly agreed to be included in potential legal action against Ibiki Morino are marked with asterisks. Victims who are unaware of their inclusion in this incomplete list are unmarked. Victims who have died during or after the suspected crime against them are marked in red. All victims require more thorough investigation and interviews. Note: this is an incomplete list. This list is purely accusatory. However, unconfirmed, potential evidence is disclosed for each case. This is not a legal document, merely a compilation of suspicious behavior and personal accounts thereof.

Notes: Ibiki Morino is likely acting dependently—meaning, I suspect he is hired/ordered to commit these crimes. In the case of independent action, no motive is known. Victims of crimes are random and follow little to no pattern. Agenda of potential hirers/superiors unknown. Crimes are indicative of cover-up efforts, and despite various reports being filed, the misconduct is repeatedly ignored.

------

Sasuke is surprised when, as he steps into the lobby and whispers a quiet goodbye to Satoru, who escorted him here, that the first thing he sees with the blindfold off is Shikamaru’s mother. He lets his eyes adjust to the light, rubbing the inner corners with his index and middle fingers. He’s still pretty chakra exhausted, so Yoshino’s signature is feint, almost absent. She’s sitting on a chair nearby, frail ankles crossed and staring at the wall intently, likely enraptured by something in her mind rather than the wood panels of the lobby. More out of instinct than conscious alertness, Sasuke asks, “Yoshino-san?”

Her head whips around, eyes wide and reddened at the edges. Sasuke’s stomach drops, mouth falling open, channeling every empathetic instinct in his body as he quickly moves to comfort her, “Hey.” His body aches and yearns for relaxation, but it’s easy, welcomed, even, to shove the pain aside in favor of soothing Yoshino. He crosses the short distance between them in a few quick strides, vision tunneling in on comfort, help, the longer he stares into her red-rimmed eyes. The moment he is within arm’s reach to where Yoshino sits, Sasuke leans down to embrace her, squeezing tightly around her strong shoulders and maternal figure. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

He can feel the rise and fall of her chest as she releases a shaky breath. She shifts, and Sasuke obediently pulls away, but keeps close, settling into the chair beside her. He knows his face must be worried, because she bites her lip in some kind of shame. There is pause where she mulls her words over in her head, seeming to get choked up, before finally turning away from him. Eyes downcast, she whispers, “I thought I lost him,” and her voice is uncharacteristically hoarse. Sasuke glances around the room, noting the quiet, dull atmosphere of the lobby, as if everyone is hard at work somewhere else. How befitting; life goes on, even when Yoshino seems so…crushed. It’s a feeling Naruto used to talk about a lot: unimportance, insignificance. Sasuke finds it difficult to imagine Yoshino feeling insignificant, though.

He reaches out his chakra signature—ignoring the resulting sting in his core from overuse—to check for anyone nearby. Finding none, he quickly retracts, trying to wipe the worry from his face and replace it with concern and care to sooth her tears. Then, afraid of the answer, Sasuke asks, “Who?”

“Shikamaru,” she whispers, “When, when I heard that there were rogues—and that Hiashi is—“ she glances around, eyes wide, because Sasuke has kept his sensory abilities close to his chest and few understand just how powerful he is, she doesn’t realize they are completely alone until she checks for herself. Sasuke patiently waits for her to ensure their privacy, before she continues, “I was so sure my son was dead. I waited hours. They wouldn’t tell us anything.” Yoshino looks down, her eyelashes wet with tears. She presses her hand to her mouth, terrified. Then she removes it, dark hair sliding out of place and slipping over her nose. A flash of his own mother strikes him, and he wonders if she were this protective of him; if she would’ve waited hours in a T&I lobby just in case it meant learning what happened to him quicker. Somehow, he doesn’t know.

Her voice clears of its previous roughness as she barrels forward, her eyes latching onto hers with fervor. “I was so glad when you started hanging around my son, Sasuke. I’m so scared for him. The moment I saw his eyes—the moment he was born—I knew he would be too courageous for this world. My boy,” her breath hitches, “I just want him safe. I want him to be safe.” Her eyes shift, and even in Sasuke’s weakened state, he can sense her chakra embolden, intensify. “Whatever happened,” she hisses, “I know he was involved. He just can’t keep his nose out of trouble.”

She grabs his hand, and Sasuke takes it, squeezing her soft, wrinkled fingers in his. “That boy’s whole life—I thought I could scare him straight. I thought I could teach him that this world is cruel. But no matter what he learns—“ Yoshino swallows, shoulders stuttering forward, toes curling up in her sandals, “it only makes him more reckless.” Sasuke tries not to show any surprise on his face. Mother’s intuition, he supposes, clued Yoshino in that whatever happened with her child, it isn’t what it seems. He wonders how much she knows—if she’s only being subtle because they are in public, not because she hasn’t figured them out. “He’s so much like your mother was. I could never get her to see reason.”

Sasuke feels stricken, his grip on Yoshino’s hand unconsciously tightening. She carries on, “Please, Sasuke. Don’t let them take my son away. Don’t let them hurt him. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear to lose anyone else,” she’s borderline sobbing now, and he’s caught off guard by how quickly Yoshino has dissolved into tears. Sasuke leans closer, trying to exude warmth and comfort, as she and her son do. But he knows his hands are cold in hers. “Mikoto and Hiashi were my best friends. Please, Sasuke. Please. You have to watch over Shikamaru and Neji. You can’t be like me, don’t—don’t let your friends die. The goodness in you. I know my son sees it—but, but please. Please don’t let that goodness take my son away.” She wrenches her hand away from his, as if burned. Then, she composes herself, and Sasuke watches, transfixed. Confused. Terrified. Yoshino wipes her eyes on her sleeve, sniffs deeply, and then turns to him, ankles crossed once more, and her spine stiff and straight.

Sasuke fixes himself as well, leaning back away. He finds himself saying, “I’m an Uchiha, Yoshino. And I love your son.”

A small smile blossoms across her face. “Yes,” she mutters, “how lucky he is, to have the love of an Uchiha.”

“I’m going to take of him,” he promises, “And Neji, too. All of you. Everyone.”

Her smile disappears, and her eyebrows knit together. “Oh, Sasuke. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Something about her—something about the look in her eyes, so cold—it sends Sasuke’s stomach off a cliff once more, like waves crashing against the rocks at the bottom. She’s rendered him unsteady. He thinks about her words, how she’d sounded so sullen. Then, to his terror, and his dread, she tells him, “I thought you, of all people, would understand the cost of defiance in Konoha.”

With nothing left to defend himself, he sits back, stunned. He thinks she’s right, that they are similar. He thinks, had he never met Naruto or Sakura, he’d be just like her. He’d follow any rule, any corrupted system, to keep himself and his loved ones safe. But the system killed his loved ones. Yoshino spent decades submitting herself to the whims of Konoha in order to protect her family. Only for her son to resent her for it, to think less of her for it. But she doesn’t care that Shikamaru is so cold to her. She still loves him. Keeping him safe is worth his ire. He spent years resenting his mother for just the opposite—prioritizing progress over her family. How to be a good mother, how to be a good person: how to choose between them? How to live in this cruel, unjust world, that you would be given such a choice?

And what else is there to say, really?

A silence casts over them, Sasuke mulling over her words. If it came down to it, would he risk everything for Shikamaru? For Naruto, for Sakura? How far would he go to protect his loved ones? Would he be complacent, like her—is he? After today, he’s not sure he can argue that he’s become complacent. In fact, he’s never really been anything but defiant, in his own way. As much as he tries to avoid trouble, he just can’t help himself. He, Naruto, and Sakura have all dreamt of being heroes, of fixing this world they call home, since the very beginning—since they threw their burdens off that cliff, at Zabuza’s grave. Sasuke can’t imagine Shikamaru would even want him to hurt others in order to keep him safe. His gaze follows Yoshino, saddened. Would he save Shikamaru’s life, if that meant Shikamaru hating him forever? If that meant sacrificing the goodness that Shikamaru so values?

Unbidden, his thoughts drift to Itachi. His heart constricts. He doesn’t want to think that he’d ever go against Shikamaru’s wishes, what Shikamaru believed to be right, in the name of loving him. Would he? Is that love? He tries to imagine it. Tries to imagine hurting someone or something that Shikamaru loved in order to save Shikamaru.

He can’t. A flash of Itachi’s Mangekyou eyes, and Sasuke’s knows it for certain.

He looks to Yoshino again, and wonders. Can she? How far would she go, to protect her son? He feels he is seeing her for the first time, understanding her. She’s afraid. Behind all of her poise, and her strength, and her need for perfection is fear. Fear that makes her break down one moment and shiver and stiffen her spine in the next. Don’t let that goodness take my son away. And is that what this world has come to? That the only way to survive is to sacrifice your morality?

Sasuke suddenly realizes that he’s gotten lucky, all this time. He’s never been pushed so far into a corner that evil was the only option. He’s always figured out some other way, some loophole, some trick. But what if, someday, he can’t? What happens when the rules of the game catch up to him? What then? What would I do?

“I’d kill for Shikamaru. I’d die for Shikamaru,” Sasuke finds himself telling Yoshino, indignant, irritated. She’d mentioned his mom, his family, and now he can’t seem to shake the feeling that she thinks of him as naïve.

“I’m not asking you to kill or die, Sasuke. I know you would.” Her red-rimmed eyes meet his, infuriatingly soft, understanding.

“I will never be like you,” Sasuke finds himself saying, words clawing up his throat, mind screaming at him to shut up. “I will never watch others suffer in exchange for my own safety. I will never make decisions for Shikamaru.” He shakes his head, astounded by this woman before him. This woman, who is alive, when so many others have suffered. For a moment, she shifts, and he sees Itachi’s eyes boring into his, instead of his mother’s. “There comes a point where you can’t blame the world anymore, Yoshino. At some point, you join the world—and that finger you’re pointing? Your pointing it at yourself. You’re not a kid anymore. You’re not blameless, here.” He finds himself growing angrier, feistier, and his words spill from his chest unbidden. Mom didn’t die for nothing. She died in the name of justice. And because of that, she was never complicit in any of this, not once.

Sasuke is not finding loopholes—he is taking calculated risks. He is beating someone at their own damn game. And he’s not going to apologize for it. He would die sooner than he would give in to atrocity.

He leans further away, eyes finding the ceiling. An empty chasm opens up in his chest, water spilling out. He thinks of what motherhood means—what it asks of a person. And he softens. Because, in many ways, all that Yoshino has been complicit in, she complied for the sake of this prospective family of hers; for Shikamaru, for Shikaku, for the children of her loved ones. In a way, she is selfish. But how to ask a mother to care more about another’s child than her own? “You have a great son,” he tells her, and he means it.

She sighs, wrapping her arms around herself. “I see why he loves you, Sasuke. You are nothing like me.” She sounds disappointed at the idea of it, that Sasuke will not fill her role in guarding her son: in carrying on the legacy of the Nara which keeps them so safe, where they stand on the treacherous glass floor, which Shikamaru has taken to peering through—and seeing Sasuke, looking up at him.

He opens his mouth, closes it. And then, after mulling the words over in his head, he tells her, “You would destroy the world for your son. And I would gladly kill your son, if that’s what it took to build the world he dreams of.” He swallows, looking away from her. “I would suffer anything for him. Even losing him.”

She goes quiet, then, and so does he. “I am proud of him, you know.” She tells him, like she is spilling her greatest secret. She speaks quietly, so quiet Sasuke can barely hear her. Sasuke doesn’t respond, because, well, he’s not sure if her pride matters.

Thump! The sliding door in the right corner of the room is slammed open. Sasuke isn’t surprised, having sensed the masses of chakra, but Yoshino jumps and gasps beside him. An Anbu waltzes through the door, a familiar body slumped over his shoulders, ankles dragging on the floor. Sasuke is standing before he realizes it. Yoshino joins him with a hand on his arm.

Behind the Anbu is a woman, someone Sasuke recognizes. Anko Miterashi. He hasn’t seen her since—since the funeral. She looks furious instead of politely mournful, and there is no hazy, tipsy sway to her step. She is sure. The two walk further into the room, and another man, Ibiki Morino, follows after. Inoichi and Shikaku are hot on their tails.

Sasuke shares a look with Yoshino. Her expression is bone tired.

“You have no right,” Ibiki declares, stubborn, addressing Anko. “He is my charge and I will get answers the way I see fit!”

Anko doesn’t budge, surprisingly calm in the face of Ibiki’s masterful intimidation. “You have no evidence to keep him detained! Just because the poor kid is an orphan, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have anyone to advocate for him! That’s my job, you bastard.” She snarls, her eyes wide and vicious. “I’m taking him to the hospital.”

Then, the situation catches up to Sasuke, and he wants to slap himself for how dumbly he’s standing, arms by his sides.

Ibiki Morino.

Ibiki Morino.

Wait.

Sasuke’s eyes follow Anko, Shikaku, and Inoichi as an argument bursts between. Inoichi is shouting about protocol, almost red in the face at Anko and Ibiki. Shikaku seems to have gotten the hint that Ibiki was behind his son’s interrogation, and is viciously tearing into Ibiki, increasing the chaos of the room. The once quiet, sullen lobby is now filled with outrage and disgust. Sasuke is almost glad he’s chakra exhausted and can’t feel their signatures pulsating with fury.

Improv is Sasuke’s specialty.

“You,” Sasuke finds himself saying, startling even himself as he approaches them. His steps are calm, as realization, cold perspective, pours over him. The adults all turn to him, startled, Neji still resting in the Anbu beside Anko’s arms. Satoru. Sasuke files away his gratitude for later. “You’re the guy who interrogated my sensei after Obito’s death!”

Maybe, just a little bit, his conversation with Yoshino depressed him, and he needs an outlet. Sue me.

Still, Sasuke startles even himself with his accusatory tone, finger jabbing in Ibiki Morino’s direction. Anko jerks, and he’s surprised to see a shattered look overcome her face. Ibiki Morino throws his hands in the air, motioning to Sasuke. “I’m sorry, this doesn’t involve you, and if you have a complaint you’d like to file, Uchiha—“ his lips sour and purse around Sasuke’s family name like a curse.

“Hey!” Shikaku buts in, startled at the venom in Ibiki’s voice.

Sasuke schools his features, taking the final few steps to join the group hovering awkwardly by the door. “If you have a problem with my family name you can take it up with the Hokage, Ibiki.”

Now—if you had asked Sasuke two weeks earlier how exactly he planned to take down Ibiki Morino, he would not have said in the lobby of a T&I. He would have said that after years of compiling names from Kakashi’s books, names of people whose lives Morino destroyed, he would submit all forty essays that he’d carefully written for an official indictment. He’d interviewed everyone on Kakashi’s hit list for Morino, every potential sufferer. He’d compiled enough research to take him down, and he’d been waiting for this. He and Shikamaru knew, of course, that Ibiki Morino would be involved in the high profile murder of Hiashi Hyuga. They also believed that it was likely Morino would try to get a confession out of one of them—and that person would probably be Neji. They’d been banking on it, in fact. When he did, they would file a formal complaint against him and carefully keep track of any malpractice, before slamming the press with Sasuke’s essays and a formal indictment.

But, he supposes. Plans can change. Plans must change, when his friend is being manhandled by an Anbu, looking violently ill and pale.

He pulls his worst, most disgusted face, and wracks his brain for how to solve this problem. He holds out his hands at Satoru expectantly. Kindly, Satoru hands him Neji, who is, to his surprise, conscious. And shaking. “Did you even have an observer through the glass, when you interrogated him?” Sasuke hisses. He wraps himself around Neji, who is too exhausted to protest being babied.

Shikaku and Inoichi are looking at him, startled. In the three years Sasuke has known them, Sasuke has never shown an ounce of anger, or indignation. But this, his best friend shaking in his arms—Sasuke can’t imagine a better reason to be furious. Well, he’s a little bit angry because of Yoshino, but the point stands. Ibiki Morino sneers. “This is just like an Uchiha—making up stories, slandering peoples name.”

Sasuke, elated at Ibiki’s inability to keep his mouth shut, quickly hides a smirk. His sensei had detailed many of Ibiki’s flaws, his rashness being one of them. If Sasuke can get him riled up, can get him to slip up—he can get Neji out of this. “Really? Then tell me, did Neji confess?”

“I’ll have you know,” Ibiki hisses. And Sasuke sees it, the moment Ibiki’s face shifts and reddens, his fists clenching at his sides. Kakashi was right, then. This anger is his fatal flaw. “That I got everything out of him. And he told me exactly what he did to his own uncle.” He turns his face away, as if personally disgusted. “It’s repulsive that you would defend him.”

Sasuke, swallowing his triumph, shrugs flippantly. “So you wouldn’t mind having a Yamanka comb through his memories, to confirm his story?”

Ibiki falters, then steps forward confidently. “Of course not.”

Sasuke turns to Inoichi, expectant. Inoichi and Shikaku share a look. “We should take Neji to the hospital,” Shikaku tells him, glancing around the room for his wife, who is hovering a distance away, but not yet approaching. She looks to be sizing up the problem, deciding if her presence will serve to benefit the crowd.

“There is no way--” Ibiki interrupts, sounding increasingly frustrated, “--that a confessed, treasonous murderer—“ here, he claps his hands together, “is being put in the general hospital. If he gets treated, it’ll be in OUR med bay. Right, Inoichi?” For emphasis, Ibiki shakes his clasped hands.

Anko reels on him, shocked. “IF he gets treated? What is wrong with you—“

“He’s assigned to me anyway, now that he’s Anbu.” Sasuke speaks over her. He takes a deep breath, surprised with himself and the authority in his voice. “I can take of his injuries.”

“No way!” Anko butts in. “He’s not getting some side-hustle treatment—“

“I’ll stay to prove my innocence.” Neji leans into Sasuke, and Sasuke tries not to grunt at the weight of his friend. Neji coughs, and the sound is worryingly wet and angry. “You just need my consent, right?” as hoarse as Neji’s voice comes out, it’s strong: dismissive, even. Sasuke feels a surge of pride for his friend.

Anko sends him a withering glare. Sasuke meets her gaze. Shikamaru and Ino had him practice eye contact, initiating games and challenges to see how long Sasuke could hold their gazes. Games where you held each other’s eyes with the most serious expression possible, all the while trying to get the other to break down in laughter—or challenges where, if you were the first to break eye contact, you had to wash the dishes. Sasuke thought that it wouldn’t help, but Ino had been right; now, when Sasuke meets people’s eyes, he associates it with the memory of Ino and Shikamaru. He finds that, increasingly, the vision of his father’s cold stare is distant and forgotten. He’s not sure he remembers his face, anymore. Looking at Anko, he feels a sense of confidence in himself. Looking into Anko’s eyes, he sees a flash of Ino’s blue ones, her lips pressed together to hold in her laughter.

Inoichi takes a deep breath, splaying his hands in front of him. “I think we need to calm down. Perhaps, Sasuke can take Neji to the med bay on site—“

“Sir,” Ibiki interjects, his dark eyes wide and lips twisted in a deep frown. “I am not leaving a suspected criminal alone with Sasuke Uchiha.”

Sasuke scowls, resenting the way this man has said his name, twice. He straightens his back and is about to stick up for himself, when Neji props himself up with surprising vigor. “Then supervise. Get Sasuke the supplies that he needs and watch, if you’re so worried.”

The trick, Neji once told him, crouched over Sasuke’s essay drafts, is to play the role of deserving victims. We have to become human in their eyes for them to care that we are caged. Your essays are good, but…they will attack these victims, make animals out of them. We need to give them reason to believe that Ibiki’s victims didn’t bring the wrongdoing onto themselves. I’m afraid no one will care about these people.

Looking at Shikaku’s aghast expression, Sasuke is sorry to realize how right Neji was. Sasuke was only a human to Shikaku once Sasuke invited himself into Shikaku’s world, played Shikaku’s game, and loved Shikaku’s son. This would not work if Sasuke were still nothing but the last Uchiha to them.

Ibiki looks taken aback, having not expected to be met with compliance. A man who is used to beating his victims into submission, of course, is unsure how to handle it when given so readily. He fumbles, unsure. Inoichi gives Ibiki an expectant look, blue eyes steady. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Ibiki, humbled, takes a step back and shakes his head mutely. Sasuke feels a surge of gratitude for Neji. But Neji, having wasted his energy speaking, slumps further into Sasuke’s arms, coughing again. Sasuke notes with worry how warm and clammy his friend’s skin is. Feverish, he guesses.

Eerily, it isn’t the chaos around him that haunts Sasuke as he readily agrees to more hours of chakra exhaustion and work. No, what hinders Sasuke’s focus and niggles in the back of his mind is the thought that, perhaps, he and his mom aren’t so different after all.  

The idea infuriates him.

--------

Sakura doesn’t have time for this. “Kabuto…” her voice is on edge, threatening, but Kabuto pays her little mind, fiddling with a gadget in front of him. She’s sitting on the edge of his desk, fed up with his avoidance, his lying.

“At times,” Kabuto begins, his tone indicative of a looming lecture, “one must find allies even in the most detestable of creatures.”

Sakura snorts, which is unfair, because she’s mad at Kabuto right now. Still. Calling Itachi a detestable creature is probably the most accurate description of the man she’s ever heard anyone conjure, including the darkest corners of her own mind. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like anything.”

“Untrue.”

“I am told I exaggerate.” By Sakura, primarily, because neither of them have any other friends. “Still. It’s a good plan.”

Sakura quiets, because anything she has to say, Kabuto already knows. And he has weighed his options, she just questions the validity of the scale he used. “But,” Sakura worries her lip, picking up a jar with an unlucky creature floating lifelessly inside of it. “You can’t think getting tangled with him is a good idea. You don’t think so.” Let me in, she wants to beg, tell me what I can do.

“He didn’t kill your sensei, Sakura.” Kabuto declares, unprompted.

“I know!” Sakura snaps, because that wound is still raw, and he’s trying to distract her from unearthing his secrets.

Kabuto glares at her, because the wound is raw for him, too. He’d thought she’d be grateful, that he’d healed her sensei. And she tries to be. But, there’s this other part of that scenario, in which—“You hid that part of the situation from me, remember?”

Kabuto looks away, but says nothing, because he knows there isn’t much to say in his own defense. “For good reason,” Kabuto mutters, though, guiltily, she can tell that she’s thrown him off kilter.

I mourned, she wants to tell him. Sasuke mourned. Instead, she fiddles with a strand of black in her hair, which she’d dyed not too long ago—or, Kabuto dyed, because Sakura didn’t have the patience to keep any of the pink, and after painting the first strand, had nearly dyed her whole head in impatient frustration. But Kabuto did a good job, a patient job, and now her hair is black on top with pink peeking out underneath, permitting incognito missions and disguises so long as she keeps the pink tucked away. Gazing at it, she’s reminded of Kabuto’s gentle touch, his paternal smiles as he hid the mirror from her until he was finished in order to give her a big reveal. It’s hard to stay mad at him, really, hard to stay mad at anyone these days. So she purses her lips, and shoves down the indignation in her gut. “It was for good reason.” She agrees.

Kabuto clears his throat, and stops fiddling with the metal parts in his hands and the serum beside him. After a pause, she realizes that there is a quiet stillness in Kabuto, the kind of thing unusual for her friend who is always buzzing with ideas and plans. Energy waiting to be expended, triumph waiting to be earned. She waits, head tilted as he stares down at his hands. “I’m afraid to say no to him, Sakura.” The words are practically forced out of his mouth.

“Because?” Then, since, the answer to that question is obvious, she adds, “I mean, why specifically.”

Kabuto rolls his eyes, and says with feigned sheepishness she’s sure he cooks up around her purely out of habit than because he thinks it will work to manipulate her, “historically, saying no to people who want my help hasn’t gone well for me.” Kabuto begrudges, ever cryptic and impossible to understand. Sakura frowns. She waits. Kabuto sighs, and gives nothing else.

“Okay,” Sakura clears her throat, sweeping her hand out in front of her. “So, Itachi is scary.”

“You make everything sound so childish, Sakura.”

“I’m simplifying it.” Sakura waves him off, barreling forward, “and if we say no, he could hurt us. If we say yes, we could rid ourselves of…” her gaze drifts pointedly around them, “…this lifestyle. But his plan is risky. Comes with strings attached, too.”

“Rock and a hard place,” Kabuto sums up with her, nodding along. “Classic ultimatum. Join or die. Except, in this case, joining doesn’t just mean sacrificing our ‘moral goodness,’” at once, they snort, for if the circumstances were so simple, both of them know they’d take that deal in an instant, “it means sacrificing our well-being. Our safety. And painting ourselves in a really,” Kabuto turns his head away from her, as if thoroughly sickened by the next thing he must say, “a really bad light.” 

“…and, you know. He’s insane. He tortured my best friend.”

Kabuto waves his hand dismissively, as if this aspect of the conversation is insignificant. “So? He tortured you, too, Sakura.”

Frustrated with her partner’s ever flippant attitude, Sakura snaps, “If it was just that, I’d be fine with it,” she uncrosses her legs and kicks them out in awkwardness. “But Kabuto, he is an irredeemable monster. Regardless of whether or not we can trust him, which we can’t, that should matter.”

“Yes, well, I’m not seeing any other option. It’s precisely because he’s an irredeemable monster that he’s so fucking scary. And a pain in my ass!”

“Then what are we going to do?”

“Play him.”

Sakura blinks, then, outraged, “you think we can play Itachi Uchiha?”

“We have before.” Kabuto shrugs, eyes floating to the ceiling. “Well, you have. You tricked him into chasing after you, and it lost him one of his only opportunities to snag the last Uchiha out from under the Leaf Village. The kid is way too strong and important now. There’s a reason psycho number one hasn’t bothered Sasuke in a while. The kid would put up one hell of a fight, what with all his leaf ninja allies.” He looks at her, meaningful. “You did that. You have the scar right on your cheek to prove it.”

Sakura’s hand twitches, but she manages to resist the urge to rub her cheek. Instead, she shoves her face into her shoulder to rid her cheek of the phantom sting of Itachi’s blade. She huffs as she does so, mulling over Kabuto’s suggestion. He’s wrong, really. She wasn’t the only one who made that possible, but he likes to exaggerate, to omit information, to be more persuasive. It’s irritating how often it works on her, even after all these years. She decides not to call him out on, recognizing a distraction when she sees one, and refocuses the argument. “…he’s arrogant, sure. But, he’s clearly got some creepy obsession with Sasuke. I knew hurting Sasuke would piss him off. I don’t know that anything else does. He’s like…a human robot.”

Somehow, speaking those words out loud exhausts her. Saying them so casually feels like some sort of betrayal. She thinks of her ex-teammate mournfully, wishing she could end Itachi now, to keep him from this. But how can she do anything at all, so long as Orochimaru hovers over her? Threatens her loved ones should she disobey?

Realizing that she has begun to consider the idea of trying to manipulate one of the most dangerous men in the Shinobi world, Sakura pauses, hopping off of the counter and tucking her arms under her chest. “…what he wants in return is absurd, Kabuto. It’s surely death. And…” A flash of Naruto and Sasuke strike her. They wouldn’t understand this choice, even if it were to be one made of necessity. She knows that each of them would die before making it. Still. She feels she can do good, if she can stay alive a little longer. She and Kabuto can do great things. Her gaze shifts to his medical gadgets, so often manipulated for atrocious acts. He could be great. (But can he be good?)

No. This isn’t the end of her story, is it? She won’t make this her final stand, die on a hill of moral superiority. Kabuto is right. At a table full of cheaters, if they want any shot at winning, they better learn how to stack the cards, too.

“I think I’ll like finally getting to wear one of those robes, anyway. They never gave me one when I lived with them before.” Kabuto crosses his arms to stand beside her and lean against the counter. They both look out into the expansiveness of Orochimaru’s lab, grateful for these small moments of reprieve when they are alone. It doesn’t happen as often as one would think, when stuck under the ground almost completely lonesome. No, Orochimaru is smarter than that: he keeps them divided, minimizes the threat of a unified uprising. He’s distracted today, however, and for the first time in weeks they are alone enough to discuss Itachi’s proposal (blackmail).

Sakura feels a rise of familiar conviction stir within her. Survival instincts. “…Maybe, Kabuto. I do like red.” Then, slightly hopeful, and a little spiteful, she says wistfully, “maybe we’ll be able to take them down from the inside out.” Carefully, Sakura gauges her partner’s reaction to her words, peering at him through the corner of her eyes.

Kabuto laughs, and Sakura is disappointed to find that she has genuinely startled her mentor. He doesn’t say anything else in response to her suggestion, but she thinks she sees pride gleaming in his eyes. What is he always thinking about? she wonders. Some of the hope in her chest fades, and she lets her chin drop to her chest, eyes closing. Whatever happens, it isn’t going to be easy. Still, she watches Kabuto, ever a paradox, a mystery with a bleeding heart and knives for fingers, and is overwhelmed with the knowledge that he is probably going to betray her. For a moment, she lets herself dream of staying in this lair, this torturous place she has called home, she has screamed in, she has trained in, if only not to face this truth. She imagines Kabuto saying that he loves her, that he thinks of her like a sister. It’s a nice thought, a delusion that has kept her spirit alive in the three years she has suffered here. Their little routine has become so predictable. It hits her, as it so often does, how lonely she really is.

But like a rope tethering her to reality, peg hammered into place, tightly secured, Kabuto shrugs off her suggestion with a dismissive, “Maybe.”

Letting Itachi help them hatch a plot to kill Orochimaru is one thing—but joining the Akatsuki without the intention of taking them down? She can’t. The thought of being associated with an organization which has caused her team so much hardship is enough to make Sakura’s stomach cringe and gurgle.

Still. Sakura can’t play her hand yet. She has to wait.

Patience, Sakura. Ino, watering the perennials in the Yamanaka gardens. Naruto, staring at his ramen cup for three minutes while the noodles soften. Sasuke, telling the story of how to make cassava flour, how the ground mixture must first lay in the sun to rid it of toxins. Patience, Sakura. There is more than complacency in the mundane; there is strategy, too.

To stop herself from dreaming of silly, torturous things, like toying with the idea of what her life could’ve been like had Orochimaru never branded her (would she be a Jonin? Would she be sharing an apartment with Sasuke? Would she see Ino every day?)—Sakura begins to plan.

------

The room they’re taken to is surprisingly small. The floor is cement, the majority of the space empty, including the walls. The lighting is florescent. Sasuke is standing at the center of the room, where a simple, small table rests, with two chairs on either side of it. Neji is sitting up on the chair in front of him as Sasuke leans over him, fussing. Two Anbu sit at the one set of sliding doors—Satoru being one of them. A row of plastic chairs, wrapped in clinical paper, press up against the rightmost wall. It’s a little cramped, Sasuke admits, as the large figure of Ibiki Morino sits at attendance, Anko Miterashi reluctantly sitting beside him, arms crossed over chest. Shikaku is on her other side, face politely devoid of judgement. Filling the rest of the chairs and crowding them all in are six Anbu. There’s an empty seat beside Shikaku, and Sasuke has to assume the place was left for him. Sasuke subtly takes his second soldier pill of the day, trying to deny the fact that the pill practically lodges in his throat before sliding down, an unsettled pit in his stomach. The burst of chakra is nauseating and painful, but effective.  

Sasuke looks around, eventually spotting Inoichi, shuffling through a filing cabinet in the far back of the room. The room is small enough, however, that Sasuke doesn’t have to raise his voice when he asks, “Inoichi-sama, do you have some spare paper and something to write with? I need to record Neji’s injuries.” Inoichi turns around, hands pausing in the stack of papers.

“Whatever for?” he wonders.

Sasuke blinks, but he isn’t too surprised. While medical protocol is common place among Sasuke’s coworkers, most people don’t bother themselves with the nuances of legal issues medical ninja face on the daily. “Protocol,” he responds, prompt and without fuss. “We’re required to record the injuries sustained during interrogation to ensure the interrogators report matches the injuries. It’s just an insurance method, to prevent medical or interrogator misconduct. If the interrogator reports having injured a ninja somewhere, and the medic doesn’t heal it—well, the medic could get in severe trouble. And vice versa, of course. Also, it just helps us keep track of if the individual being interrogated was moved somewhere or did something that is unaccounted for.” Sasuke’s absentminded as he explains basic medical protocol to the silent room. It’s almost calming, to relay factual information right now, when his emotions are bubbling and boiling with anxiety. Sasuke pauses in his explanation, hesitant. “Also, it’s commonplace that another medical ninja be here to observe, but…given the circumstances, I assume just me is acceptable.”

Shikaku clears his throat, “It’s best to keep this as quiet as possible, Sasuke, so yes. Let’s keep as few people in here as possible.” Spoken like a true Head of Intel, Sasuke thinks drily. Inoichi calmly walks over and passes him a small scroll, and a pencil. Sasuke takes them graciously.

Inoichi is a much taller man than he, broader as well—his long hair, and general regal aura befitting of Sasuke’s superior. Inoichi’s striking blue eyes meet his, as the older man declares, “I’ll act as an observer, to keep up with protocol. Should I sign the paper, afterwards?”

“Yes,” Sasuke confirms, grateful that Inoichi is cooperating with him. The rules exist for a reason, and it’s important to have a witness present. “You’ll have to write a brief statement confirming that you aren’t lying and that I appeared to heal him to the best of my abilities, as well.”

Inoichi nods, taking the instructions in stride. Sasuke sends him a relieved smile. Then, he sets down the papers on the table, and leans closely toward his friend.

Neji is looking at him blearily, sadly. Sasuke does his best to think of this like any other medical report, but in all honesty, he always gets emotional during medical examinations like these. It’s painful, to clock every injury a ninja has retained, and do so with clinical efficiency. Sasuke isn’t so good at non-biased medical reports, and has been scolded once or twice about his unnecessary adjective use and flamboyant, persuasive, and unnecessary descriptions. The flamboyant thing felt a little targeted, in his opinion.

Then, Sasuke reaches into his medical kit and slips on his gloves, and begins his observations. He glances back at Inoichi as Neji’s glazed as peer up at him. He doesn’t bother with his Sharingan, not in his current chakra-depleted state. But he’s precise with or without his Sharingan fully activated. He tilts Neji’s head side to side, tracks lesions on Neji’s knuckles, a split in Neji’s lip. On closer inspection, the split is a result of Neji’s own incisors digging into the soft tissue of his lip. “Subject has bitten through labium inferius oris—lower lip. Damage is minor. Subject has lesions on hands from blunt force—“ Sasuke picks up the knuckle, feeling around the bones with his thumb. Neji grunts, sending him a delirious glare. “—which resulted in metacarpal displacement.” Sasuke frowns, pressing again around Neji’s knuckles. “How does this feel, Neji?” If his voice is a little gentler than strictly necessary, no one calls him on it.

Neji looks increasingly confused. “Sasuke?”

Sasuke swallows. “Yes, Neji,” he pauses, concern beginning to dominate his mind. He holds his finger in front of Neji’s eyes, “Can you follow my finger with your eyes?” slowly and deliberately, Sasuke begins moving his finger back and forth, stopping immediately when Neji fails. He repeats the action and Neji fails again. Sasuke reaches behind Neji’s neck and pulls his head forward, feeling with his hands around Neji’s scalp. He presses softly on a bump, and Neji hisses. Sasuke clears his throat. “Subject has blunt force head trauma as well.” He stops, noticing Neji gently shaking.

Sasuke leans Neji’s head back, and Neji looks up at him, looking frightened—lost, like he doesn’t know where he is. Anko told Sasuke that Neji was disoriented, but this…Sasuke has never seen Neji so confused. “Sasuke?” Neji whispers, and leans forward, despite Sasuke softly scolding him and pressing back on Neji’s chest with his hand. “No, no, no—“ Neji protests. “you don’t understand. Sasuke, Sasuke,” the urgency and volume of Neji’s voice grows. The hair on the back of Sasuke’s neck prickles, hyper-aware of the eyes in the room watching his every move.

“It’s alright,” Sasuke tries to soothe, but his friend grabs his hands pulling him hard enough that Sasuke stumbles forward.

“Sasuke,” Neji repeats, “Sasuke, I’m really scared. My heart is beating really fast, I can’t make it stop. Please. Please, I’m so scared.” Neji abruptly makes a loud, pained sound. “It hurts.”  

Sasuke’s eyes sharpen, and in that moment, he forgets all about the people in the room watching. He forgets why the two of them are in this situation in the first place. He can only think about his friend, in pain. “Tell me where it hurts, Neji.”

Neji trembles. “My stomach, it hurts. I’m sick. I’m gonna be sick.”

Despite Neji’s words, and Sasuke’s quick movements to pull Neji’s hair back, he doesn’t vomit. Instead, his friend continues on moaning in pain, twitching and almost convulsing in Sasuke’s arms. Sasuke tucks Neji’s head into his chest, smoothing his hair back against his scalp. His hair is greasy and sweat-slicked.  Sasuke tries to imagine what he would want, in Neji’s shoes—and he knows he would want a soothing, gentle motion, and silent comfort. So he keeps raking his hands over Neji’s hair, trying to calm him. “It’s alright,” he keeps his voice positive, light, airy, trying to assuage Neji’s worries while simultaneously validating them. “But you have to sit up, so I can help you. I know it’s scary.”

A few months after Naruto and Sakura left, Sasuke went out on a date with a girl. She was a civilian, and they didn’t even do anything—she’d pecked his cheek at the end of their date. Somehow, that smallest interaction ended up completely destroying him. He hadn’t been able to see her, or even think about her, even though he’d thought he really liked her. Slowly, the anxiety mounted, like a bomb awaiting detonation. A few days after the date, he and Neji went on a B rank together. They’d had to camp out in the woods for a standard client escort mission. Sasuke and Neji had separate tents. He hadn’t been able to sleep that night, wrought with worries. At one point, he’d checked his temperature, convinced he had a fever. He’d taken some pain meds, but that had only worked him up more, and soon he was convinced he was dying. He remembers being nauseous, and unable to control his shaking limbs—it was different, then when his hands shook with nerves. He was trembling from head to toe, and it felt like he was shaking from pain, not fear. He’d worked himself into such a state of worry and frenzy he’d ended up convinced he was going to throw up. He wound up on the floor of his tent, flat on his back, nearly in tears with nausea.

The pain just wouldn’t seem to go away, so he’d stumbled over to Neji’s tent. He’d told Neji how bad he felt, how much pain he was in. Neji had taken him in—so gentle, so calm—told him to breathe. Sasuke had asked for water, and Neji had given him some. Sasuke asked for something to eat, and Neji obliged him. Sasuke chewed the rations slow. When his state didn’t improve, he confided in Neji that he was worried he needed a hospital. Neji told Sasuke, “We’ll see how you feel in a few minutes. If it’s not so bad, there’s a nearby town, we’ll find a medic. For now, just see if you can feel better.” And that had calmed him. Validated him. He’d been able to think a little clearer, now that he wasn’t so worried he was going to die. And eventually the nausea slipped away. The shaking calmed when, upon Sasuke’s request, Neji began telling him stories. Stupid stories, about poems and dumb literature that Neji loves. Sasuke would occasionally butt in, telling him how dumb the characters were, how convoluted the plots. Neji just rolled his eyes and carried on. Sasuke shared his own stories, after a while. Stories about acorns, caramel dripping off of spoons, and the clean bristles of his toothbrush.

Sasuke wishes, now, that he could be like Neji. He tries to channel Neji’s comfort, Neji’s calm, as he hushes Neji. But he can tell it isn’t working. That Sasuke is more fluid, more emotional, than Neji and his clipped logic. That Sasuke cannot ground Neji. Neji says something, then, quivering in his arms that makes Sasuke’s blood turn to ice. Sasuke feels all at once incompetent, unprepared, when Neji looks passed him, eyes hazy. “I just want it to end,” he says it wistfully, desperately. “I just want to die. Please, please, please,” then Neji starts jerking, eyes clenched shut, rapidly moving away from Sasuke and slamming his back in his chair. He’s somewhere else, and Sasuke needs to get him back. Keep Neji with him. But Neji’s lips quiver, and his head shakes rapidly, and he sniffs loudly. His hands creep up around his head, and he groans, pained. “Please stop. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can do better. I’ll do better.”

Sasuke grabs both of his shoulders, moving on instinct. “Hey, hey, hey,” Sasuke begins running his hands down Neji’s arms in soothing strokes, “Open your eyes, Neji. You’re right here with me. You’re with me.”

Neji’s head lulls to the side, but his eyes reopen, watery. He sees a tear gathering at the corner of his friend’s eye. “Sasuke? Sasuke?” he whispers.

“Yes,” Sasuke reassures. “It’s me. Can you tell me where it hurts, Neji? I need to know where you’re in pain.”

Neji doesn’t seem to hear him. He leans forward again, pain seemingly forgotten as he urgently tells Sasuke, “Itachi’s going to know I tore the page in his favorite book. What’s he going to do?”

Sasuke breathes. Remembers how soft Neji was with him—it was what he needed. But Neji isn’t like Sasuke. He needs Sasuke to be professional. He needs Sasuke to make the choices, unlike how Sasuke had just needed Neji to tell him that he was capable, that Sasuke knew what he was doing and was strong enough to handle it. Neji doesn’t need to be told he’s strong. Neji needs Sasuke to be strong.

Sasuke forces Neji back down into the chair completely, wrestling with Neji’s limbs. Neji moans in protest, delirium obvious. He pumps chakra into his hand until it glows a vibrant green, and holds it against Neji’s head. But he keeps himself forceful, controlled. Not to Sasuke’s surprise, Neji begins to fight him, struggling uselessly and pulling his head away from Sasuke’s hand. “No, no, no,” he whines, loud and demanding, “Let me die, let me die.”

Sasuke shoves his hand back on Neji’s head, stubborn. Neji is no state to be making decisions. It’s Sasuke job to take care of him. With his other hand, he forces Neji’s neck forward, until Neji’s weak resistance fumbles to a stop. “Calm down, Neji. It’s okay.” He keeps his tone strong, leaving little room for argument. He digs into his medical kit, finds a high dosage of fever reducers and presses them against Neji’s lips. Neji swallows them with surprising grace and acceptance, though the glare he sends Sasuke is deadly. Ignoring the growing panic in his chest, Sasuke goes back to making his report, “I’m treating subject for a high-grade fever. Subject’s breathing is shallow. I am going to check his lungs for damage.”

A hand rests on his shoulder, and Sasuke resists the urge to jump. Sasuke’s first instinct is to be irritated that someone would interrupt him. But, then he looks back and sees Inoichi, mouth pressed into a firm line. “You sure you don’t need backup?”

It’s the look of a concerned father. Sasuke wonders how many kids they’ve done this too. Did Inoichi bother to look at any of the kids taken in and tortured? Sasuke wonders if the effort would make a difference. Maybe, Inoichi knows it would, so he stays behind the scenes, signing permission papers and playing God. It’s doubtful Inoichi can truly weigh his choices if he has no idea what his signature condemns these people to.

So, Sasuke nods, firm, confident, a contrast to Inoichi’s quickened pulse and furrowed brow. “I’m sure, Inoichi-sama.”

He refocuses his attention on Neji, absently noticing Inoichi step back from him. He moves his hands to Neji’s chest, immediately noticing the presence of water. “Subject has fluid in his lungs. Report: pulmonary edema as a result of suspected water-boarding or other treatment involving repeated inhalation of water. Resulting oxygen depletion is suspected to be the cause of delirium, but please note, the pain and fever may also be factors.” Sasuke scans the rest of Neji’s body, wishing his chakra felt strong enough to activate his Sharingan. He prods around Neji’s stomach, and then his chest, but receives little response from Neji. “No other suspected injuries would prevent Heimlich Maneuver. Going to attempt to treat the fluid in subject’s lungs with Heimlich Maneuver.”

Carefully, Sasuke lifts Neji into his arms. Neji stumbles, obediently standing but obviously still confused. Sasuke wraps his hands around Neji’s torso, just below his ribcage, and explosively pulls inward. Neji begins coughing immediately, spitting out water. Sasuke quickly shifts his hold to allow Neji to lean forward better, spitting up water and coughing wetly. After a few moments of Neji breathing raggedly, Sasuke gently rests Neji back into the chair. Then, with hands glowing a feint, minty color, he presses his fingertips against Neji’s lungs. He expels a small burst of chakra to soothe the sore tissue, noticing a small amount of water remaining. “Subject will need antibiotic treatment after initial first aid to help with the fluid in his lungs,” he notes.

Neji coughs again, sending Sasuke a weak glare. “Ow,” he tells him, looking betrayed. Sasuke shakes his head, and he would be amused, if the circumstances were not so awkward.

Sasuke gently brushes back Neji’s hair to rest his palm against his friend’s forehead again, soothing the last bit of Neji’s fever. And if Sasuke holds a glowing green hand on his forehead a little longer than necessary, wasting the last bits of his chakra soothing Neji’s headache, no one has to know. Fully chakra exhausted, and sweaty, too, Sasuke steps back. He sways on his feet, coughing into his arm. Neji is quiet, but the confused, terrified look his friend sends him is enough to steady Sasuke. Sasuke turns around and methodically writes down everything he’d just reported and performed, trying to ignore the stifling silence in the room around him. He can hear the pencil scratching against the scroll, his own labored breaths as the adrenaline of healing Neji wears off.

Using the Mangekyou always takes it out of him. And he spent hours using it earlier.

Inoichi clears his throat. It’s in a loud, stilted voice when he asks, “What’s the verdict?”

“He’s fine,” Sasuke says tightly. “With the majority of the water out of his lungs, and the tissue soothed, he should start breathing normally and become more aware of his surroundings. The bump on the back of his head is minor. I would normally cross-examine my findings with Ibiki’s report, but conveniently,” Inwardly, he scolds himself, reminded of his boss’s scolding’s about persuasive language in medical reports. Calming himself, he tries futilely to keep the spite out of his voice when he tells Inoichi, “Ibiki didn’t submit one.”

Ibiki doesn’t rise to the bait, even though he’d spoken loud enough for Ibiki to hear. Mostly because both of them know that in special circumstances like these, reports on interrogations are often omitted. He glances at his friend and feels rage stir in his gut all over again. Sasuke finishes writing the report, and silently slides it to Inoichi, who begins writing a small statement of validity. Because Ibiki didn’t rise to the bait, Sasuke doesn’t have an outlet, and finds himself saying, while Inoichi hunches over and re-reads Sasuke’s statement, “You know, Ibiki, when I took the Chunin Exams, it was me who threw that pencil at your face.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Anko jerks forward, making a spitting sound between her lips to smother a scoff of laughter. She meets his gaze in bewilderment as Ibiki, for the first time, shifts his gaze away from the wall and looks to Sasuke, instead. He’s surprised when Neji, shifting in his chair and regaining his lucidity, chuckles unabashedly. Sasuke looks between Anko and Ibiki with an innocent shrug, before winking cleverly at his friend, trying to mask his relief for Neji’s well-being behind humor. Ibiki smiles tightly, clearing his throat. The smile pulls at the scars on his face, and Sasuke notes that whoever healed the injuries didn’t graft the skin correctly. It was probably a field job. “I don’t remember that.” He says, professional.

Sasuke, not feeling very professional, smiles, “yeah, yeah, well, I’m not surprised. You seem like the kind of guy who forgets things easily…like, uh, using clean water during interrogation. Pretty important. Pretty standard.” Sasuke clears his throat, “Did you get the water yourself?”

From the corner of his eye, Sasuke watches Neji shift, taking in his circumstances. Neji is impressively quick in his recovery, but he’s always been exceptional with pain. And with oxygen depletion, it’s amazing how quickly a patient can go from delirium to lucidity once oxygen re-enters their blood stream. “No,” Ibiki denies, electing to ignore Sasuke’s blatant dig at his competence, “someone else sets up the rooms before me. An intern, probably—maybe the water was just sitting out too long.”

Sensei was right. The crime seems…sloppy, almost. No way Ibiki was getting away with this for so long without someone knowingly letting this slide. Is this going to be enough to get him in trouble? Can they keep protecting such blatant breach of protocol?

Sasuke smiles, clicking his tongue. He’s made his point. “I’m sure.”

Inoichi glances back at his long time subordinate a little surprised. He looks to Sasuke. “One of your notes said that you suspect Neji has a bacterial infection. From the bad water?” Sasuke, a little startled at Inoichi’s shrewdness, and embarrassed of having underestimated his superior, gives a deferential dip of his head.

“What?” Neji mutters, glancing between them and massaging his forehead by digging his fingers into the skin. Then, resigned and barely audible, he hears his friends mutter a half-hearted, “damn.” 

Sasuke takes a deep breath to refrain from laughing at Neji’s hilarious—if depressing—nonchalance for his own wellbeing. “I mean, I wouldn’t know for sure. Unless…” Sasuke glances at Ibiki, “did you test the water?”

Ibiki leans back in his chair, sighing loudly. “No. That’s not even protocol.”

“Really?” Sasuke responds lightly, “Ah, well. It should be. I mean, it could easily have been poisoned, if you didn’t get the water yourself. Plus, if the water was clean, it would protect you from accusations like dirty water and infection.”

“Are you implying something?” Ibiki asks, affronted. Then, voice dripping with condensation, “really?”

“No,” Sasuke responds, matching his tone of offense, “but, I would hate for something to happen, is all. I mean dying right after you’ve confessed to a crime under duress,” Sasuke shrugs again, laughing lightly, “seems like obstruction of justice. It’d help your case, if you could prove your innocence. The omission of a test beforehand could be construed as…suspicious.”

Neji snickers. He’s on the inside of this joke, after all.

Sasuke shouldn’t be playing his hand like this—but admittedly, he’s angry. A handful of Ibiki’s victims have died from bacterial infections, post-confession. He has a detailed list of their injuries, of the rare bacteria they fell victim to in the water used. Bacteria that doesn’t just randomly spawn in still water. Ibiki scoffs, shakes his head, and acts unbothered—but he can see him tense up all the same, muscles flexed. Sasuke, feeling quietly victorious, looks at Inoichi with a pleasant smile. “We’ll run some tests later, to make sure nothing nasty has entered his blood stream. But he should be good to have the session.”

Inoichi glances at Neji, “is he competent enough to consent to the procedure?”

Of course, Sasuke thinks, irritated at his judgement being scrutinized, of course they care about protocol now.

“Yes,” Sasuke confirms. Inoichi looks at him doubtfully. Sasuke glances back at his friend, who, now capable of breathing without water obstructing his lungs, gives him a thumbs up. Then, Neji leans forward.

He looks shrewdly at Inoichi. “MMMT?” he asks, voice hoarse. Sasuke can feel an icy sort of anger strike him, and the urge to completely ruin Ibiki and everyone who contributed to making his friend’s voice sound like that hits him all at once. He breathes, because really—the worst of Neji’s tormentors have been exterminated. And Sasuke isn’t a harbinger of justice, who gets to play God.

Sasuke, with newfound vigor, nods, and motions a little passive-aggressively to Neji’s perceptiveness. Inoichi nods too. “Alright.”

Then, sensing the finality of his participation, Sasuke makes his way across the room to sit next to Shikaku and an Anbu. The chair creaks as he sits. Still, he matches Shikaku’s look of cool indifference, straightening his back and crossing his ankles in patience. Wisely, Ibiki says nothing. The quiet of the room is like sitting underwater, and if Sasuke’s chakra pathways didn’t itch and burn from overuse, he would reach out his signature to prod at the feelings of his superiors—and of Neji, too.

He watches Inoichi sit down across from Neji, setting a stack of papers on the table, and tries not to lean forward protectively. He tries to gauge Inoichi expression, to check for any hint of preference for Sasuke over Ibiki, but finds none. His medical report is shoved to the bottom of the stack. Sasuke represses a sound of discontent, as Neji rubs his chest, glancing apprehensively at Ibiki. Inoichi clears his throat, picking up one of the papers, then another, before glancing at them both and deciding one is preferential to the other. “The following jutsu is formally known as Modified Mind Transfer, but is often referred to as MMMT, Memory Mind Manner and Time. MMMT can have many adverse side effects, including, but not limited to, vomiting, memory loss, disorientation, inability to perceive time, drastic changes in behavior, emotional distress, etc. Do you accept these risk? Verbal confirmation required.”

Neji winces, coughing. He watches his friend carefully, but Neji doesn’t even glance at him for confirmation before declaring, “I accept.” Sasuke sits back in his chair, wowed by Neji’s trust in him.

Inoichi nods, clearing his throat loudly before continuing. Sasuke can’t help but feel that the man looks and sounds a little too casual. “The purpose of the use of MMMT is for the sole purpose of the investigation at hand. Any other crimes or acts committed, not directly related to this specific investigation, are not to be disclosed, indicted, or perceived beyond observation. If, for any reason, you suspect that future legal trouble is the singular result of misuse of information gathered from this MMMT, you have a right to present this information to the council and reverse any charges. Do you understand your rights?” Inoichi looks up from the paper, waiting Neji’s response.

“I understand.”

Inoichi’s eyes travel back down the page without pause, “The results of this MMMT, in regards to the alleged crime, can and will be used to testify for or against your innocence. The results of this MMMT are not exact. The results of this MMMT will NOT guarantee guilt or innocence. If, for any reason, the MMMT is interrupted before the Jutsu caster’s intended conclusion, any information discovered during the MMMT will become null and void. If, for any reason, the caster or subject of the Jutsu have one or more medical emergencies, the MMMT will be safely and immediately concluded, and any information gathered in the duration of said MMMT will become null and void. Once the MMMT begins, you have waived your right to refuse this MMMT as part of the conduction of this formal investigation, and requests to stop prematurely, unless the result of a medical emergency, will be ignored. You still retain the right to refuse other invasive mind jutsu as part of this formal investigation. Do you have any questions?”

Neji shakes his head, hands gripping the sides of his chair. Sasuke swallows.

Inoichi flips the page over in his hands, clearing his throat again. He wets his lips with his tongue before continuing. “This MMMT will only be performed with professional spectators present. These spectators may not consist only of direct subordinates of the Jutsu caster. These spectators may not double as guards and/or security. If there are no spectators present, the information gathered during this MMMT will become null and void. If, for any reason, a spectator experiences a medical emergency, they may leave with or without the escort of a present member of the security team. The MMMT will continue. If, for any reason, it is suspected that a spectator in the room intends to cause a disruption that will render this MMMT null and avoid, they may be escorted off the premise. The MMMT will continue. Spectators in the room,” Here, Inoichi’s eyes flick up, addressing the row of chairs Sasuke has found himself a member of, “do you agree to keep your conduct formal, polite, and non-disruptive? If you agree and still engage in disruptive conduct, you may face legal consequences. If you do not agree, you will be asked to leave the premise. Verbal confirmation required.”

In a chorus of yesses, they all give their confirmation. Inoichi carries on. “Spectators in the room are not expected to withhold personal judgment. Spectators in the room may be friends or family of the subject of the Jutsu. Spectators in the room, if, for any reason, your bias becomes disruptive to the jutsu, you will be asked to leave. If you resist, we reserve the right to use force to escort you off the premise. Do you understand your rights? Verbal confirmation required.”

Another chorus of yesses, and Inoichi nods sharply, focusing his attention back on Neji, then on the paper. Neji takes a deep breath, tensing. “In a few moments, we will begin preforming the MMMT. Please stand by.”

He sets the paper down on top of the stack of paper’s he’d brought in, declarative. Sasuke feels his heart begin to race. “You may feel a slight pressure; it’s perfectly normal,” Inoichi mutters, before his hands rapidly begin forming seals. Sasuke resists the urge to flick his Sharingan on and memorize it—but, his half-activated, chakra draining eyes trace the movement anyway. Eventually, Inoichi places his hand in the tell-tale symbol of the mind-transfer jutsu, and his body slumps forward. Neji’s follows suit, forehead now resting on the table.

Sasuke swallows.

He waits.

It’s tense in the room. The quiet oppressive. The situation before them underwhelming. He busies himself with planning, with thinking—he thinks it’s all a little strange, that Ibiki didn’t demand a second medical ninja in the room. Maybe Ibiki is frightened, after all, conscious of the impact of his actions while his superior is in the room. Or, maybe, Ibiki is unbothered, certain that Neji’s confession with match the results of the MMMT. But Sasuke knows, after all he has done to ensure it, Ibiki will be wrong.

Sasuke wonders about dirty hands, for the briefest of moments. He does not regret causing the death of Hiashi Hyuga, nor does he regret covering it up. But. Privately, he is afraid. 

A voice in the back of his mind says his reasoning for doing this sounds a lot like the reasoning used to murder his parents. And the thought, that Sasuke is anything like Danzo, is perhaps the worst fate, the worst sacrifice, of all.

How cruel of a world to live in. The world can shove him down into this dirt, kick him, torment him, and when he inevitably has to dig his fingernails into the earth for leverage, when dirt clings under his nails in order to stand, Sasuke’s heart tells him how guilty he should feel for what he has done to survive.

Sasuke cradles the fear of becoming like Danzo close to his chest. Perhaps, if he lets the fear linger, the fear will guide him away from wrongdoing.  

------

Neji is sitting on the porch of the Uchiha main family’s home. He’s not sure…how, exactly, he got here. He feels odd, actually. Out of place. When he cranes his neck to the side, he sees Itachi Uchiha, standing up on the porch, awkward. He’s young. Neji can’t remember why that fact strikes him as odd.

Itachi walks over to him, quietly sitting beside him on the porch. It’s quiet. It’s nice. There’s a book in Neji’s lap, but when he glances down to check the pages, the words are all scrambled, running across the page in tumbleweeds of ink. He tries to check the title, but finds none. Distracted, he looks back up at Itachi, and notices a gentle dip in the boy’s eyebrows. “Your mother…I’m sorry, Neji. I was on a mission and couldn’t make it to the funeral.”

Neji shrugs, watching carefully as Itachi fishes into his pocket, procuring a cigarette. He clasps the crag with crooked hands. (A flash of himself, someday, reading a poem and thinking back to this exact moment. It’s gone in an instant). It was a rare day that Itachi smoked. Usually, the older boy didn’t need the extra stimulation, so swapped with all the other duties life had thrown at him. Today, his hands are shaking, and an arm wraps around his belly, gripping his side. Neji watches him light the cigarette with the tip of his thumb, inhaling. He hears the sound of laughter from inside Itachi’s home, recognizing the voice as Mikoto. A small scowl crosses his face. Itachi notices, exhaling a stream of smoke. There is no theatrics with smoking, today. Today, it is a simple process, unlike when Shisui is around, and Itachi makes rings with the smoke, and takes inhales that are far too deep. Today, Itachi is smoking for reprieve. “Cancer, huh?” Itachi mutters. He watches Neji closely.

Neji shrugs again. Itachi just scoffs. Another sound from inside his house, and a scowl flickers over Itachi’s face as well. “I wish—“ he begins, but stops himself. His shoulders relax a little. He takes his time, sucking in another breath of smoke. Neji waits. When another trail of smoke leaves his mouth, Itachi lets the cigarette hang in his fingers, and says, “Do you ever think we could’ve been better, if it wasn’t for them?”

Them. Neji’s dad. Itachi’s mom. “Better?”

Itachi nods. “Better.” He declares, and the word is almost wistful. “I wish I knew how.”

“You can still be. Better.” Neji offers, but a dark look passes over Itachi’s face.

Itachi puts the cigarette back between his lips, but he doesn’t inhale. He lets it rest there, messing around with the filter with his tongue. He takes the cigarette back out of his mouth. His hand flops onto his own knee in frustration, small sprays of ashes leaving the cigarette. “I don’t think we can.” Itachi decides. “I think we’re doomed. You, as your mother. Me, my dad.” His eyes pointedly flicker to the house, to the laughter, to the warmth that they have been excluded from. “Because of them. Because they decided, the moment we were born, that’s who we were.”

Neji swallows. “Better,” he whispers, and thinks of his mom. She didn’t get better.

“Sometimes,” Itachi carries on, “I get these flashes. Like, like I could be good. Like if I could go back, before I was born—and stop all of it from happening. Then, then I could change.” Itachi shakes his head, a bitter laugh leaving his throat. “But that’s just it. Every time I think about better, I think about being able to go back. And I can’t. It’s too late, for me.”

There’s a loud commotion from inside. He hears Mikoto, wildly telling Hizashi a story. Not even three days ago, Neji’s mother was buried. And just like his mom, here he rests—outside. A part of him that is desperate for the answer asks, “Why? Why’s it too late?”

Itachi fiddles with his cigarette, before putting it out on the ground. He shoves the remaining piece in his pocket. Neji waits. Neji is good at waiting. He is expected, always, to wait. For his dad to finish visiting Mikoto. For his mom to get better. For adults, to speak, to bestow upon him great wisdom. “I…I think I’ve lost my mind.”

Itachi digs his fingernails into his knees, then, like the answer is hidden beneath the layers of tissue there. Neji wonders if maybe it is. Maybe that’s why his mom tore into her wrists with that kunai. Maybe that’s why she watched as the blood seeped out—maybe that’s why she let it. Maybe the answer is somewhere deep inside of us, and we can’t find it without digging. Maybe she’d just wanted the answer. To what question, Neji doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry about your mom, anyway.” Itachi says, and the vulnerable look in his eyes disappears. It’s the last time Neji will have a normal conversation with him, though he doesn’t know that now. He will be the last person, in fact, that breaks through Itachi’s barrier of hysteria, that is able to witness his sadism, his sociopathy, calmed. Neji will never say it to Sasuke, for fear of upsetting him, but he’s certain that Itachi wasn’t born bad. That, if given the chance, he could’ve been good; if violence hadn’t been so ingrained in Itachi, he never would’ve taught it to Sasuke. Or, Itachi was just playing with Neji. Still, Neji dwells, wondering about predispositions, about birthright and nurture. Maybe, people like Itachi are born with a dormant monster of evil, and the unlucky ones get beaten until the monster is released—until, given their limited options from the lottery of birth, evilness coats every path ahead of them. Maybe Sasuke was born without the monster. Maybe Sasuke tamed his. Maybe it’s unfair to expect kids like Sasuke and Itachi to tame monsters.

It doesn’t matter now, anyway. It’s too late.

Neji hears Sasuke—just six years old, and so small—start to loudly cry, and Itachi rises instantly, alarmed. Itachi hurriedly leaves Neji sitting on the porch. The door to Itachi’s home clicks shut, as Itachi goes to tend to his brother. He doesn’t need to turn around and peer through the Uchiha’s window to know that Mikoto didn’t react to her son’s cry. Sasuke’s wellbeing has always fallen into the responsibility of Itachi’s young, calloused hands.

Maybe, people like Neji are born with their own kind of monster; the kind that eats them from the inside out. For the first time—but not the last—Neji wonders what death is like, and why his mother sought it out. He thinks about sinking into the Earth, to the lonely, welcoming quiet around him. At least out here, Neji does not have to pretend that his family loves him. Wouldn’t it be nice, if he could always feel like this? Maybe it’s upsetting, to sit alone outside, but at least he is not standing in the Uchiha manor and yet somehow, on the outside of the affection all the same. Out here, he has some control, some choice in the matter of being loved. 

Then, with surprising force, Neji finds himself somewhere else. Home. His feet are planted on the ground. He’s staring at Hiashi, who’s hand is forming a cruel, one of a kind seal. Then pain erupts. Pain that makes Neji twist and convulse, agony that renders Neji helpless. He’s screaming, he’s thrashing. He begs. He cries. It does nothing to stop the torment. The sounds that tear from his throat are not replicable; like fingerprints of sound, echoing worthlessly around the halls of the Hyuga compound. It isn’t the first time Neji has screamed like this. He’s twelve, after all. Pain like this comes and goes, sometimes daily, sometimes weekly—always there to accompany him. But it’s the first time Hinata is there, in the corner, watching. Crying. The stricken look on her face will occasionally come to him, now and then, when Hinata is laughing, or smiling, or simply in his presence. He will never rid himself of the image. In fact, he promises himself to never forget. It’s the last time Hinata is there to witness her father do this—Neji makes sure of it. Never again does he fail a kata in front of his baby cousin.

The pain stops. He’s sitting at a table. He’s drinking tea. He’s slipping into unconsciousness. Then, again, he is somewhere else—his bathtub. A knife in his hand. A knife pressed against his wrist, the same place his mother once pressed hers. He’s not going to do it, but he just wants to know what she felt like, when she did it. He wants to understand, and he finds he does. It’s not unpleasant at all. In fact, the control—the possibility of choosing when to end his existence—is actually exhilarating.

He blinks, and opens his eyes, and he’s back at the table. His dining room table. Drinking tea. Slipping into unconsciousness. Then, again, tea, nothing. Tea, nothing. A thumping sound, followed by a dulled pain in his head. My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk; Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains.

He’s walking with Sasuke, and Sasuke, his best friend, his person who understands, who is endlessly, boundlessly good, is smiling. The day is beautiful, a nippy edge to the weather, tamed by the sunlight peeking through the clouds. Some might say perfect, especially with that gentle breeze floating by them, rustling dead leaves on the pavement. Nothing gold can stay. “Neji, what do you think of Shikamaru?”

“I’m glad he makes you happy, Sasuke.”

Sasuke, always quick, as sharp and intuitive with skepticism and mind games as Shikamaru is with his chess pieces, is quick to ask him, “But?”

Neji shakes his head, a slight laugh bubbling from his lips. “No buts, Sasuke. I’m just glad. I’m glad you take care of each other. I’m glad…I’m glad that he’s good to you.” Neji looks at him shrewdly, but Sasuke reveals nothing in his gaze. In three years, he’s been unable to figure out the nature of his two friends’ relationship. While most of Konoha is convinced of their romance, Neji is fairly certain the two of them haven’t ever talked about it. Which, it really isn’t Neji’s business. He’s content to wait for his friends to sort themselves out on their own. So he says, “What’s for lunch?” and Sasuke laughs, gaze downcast on the pavement as he shakes his head. Neji pretends he understands what’s so funny.

Then he’s back again, sitting at the table. But he’s not drinking tea, he’s laughing at a joke his aunt has told, soft and low. Then, Hiashi says scathingly, “Neji, stop with that sound. It’s unbecoming.” Neji, embarrassed to hear Hiashi hate his laugh, a laugh he inherited from Hiashi’s brother, takes a large gulp of his tea. Then another. And another. He sets the cup down, face aflame with shame.

Then nothing.

Nothing.

Something.

Neji sits ramrod straight in his chair, gasping. Immediately, pain bursts into his head, and he shouts, grabbing at it. He tenses his whole body up and doesn’t breathe, fearful of irritating the sharp pain. When the pain fades rather than grows, Neji carefully removes his hand, looking around and blinking. He sees Sasuke, standing in the corner of the room, an Anbu’s hand tightly gripping his forearm to prevent him from rushing forward.

Inoichi clears his throat. He sets down his pencil. Neji watches, fascinated—for all of three seconds. Then he groans, leaning back in chair, overcome with a nauseous sensation. He breathes heavily, willing the bout of pain to pass. It does. The sharp pain in his stomach resides. When he refocuses, Inoichi is reading out loud from his stack of papers, drilling on about conclusions, follow-up medical appointments should Neji experience concerning symptoms—and something about guilt and innocence. Neji focuses on the odd sound ringing in his ears. It sounds like bells, and tapers off occasionally. Sasuke is probably paying attention, anyway.

He wonders if there is a reason he was shown those memories, or if it’s just the natural tricks of the mind. Still, he closes his eyes, and thinks of that odd nothingness. Why was there nothing? How strong were the drugs in that tea? He groans, again overwrought with nausea, except this time he coughs through it, his thighs and calves beginning to quiver with the pain. He hears a commotion, and then looks up, surprised to see Ibiki standing ramrod straight, alarm twisted all over his face.

He tries to focus past the ringing in his ears, but he can’t. He can hardly open his eyes, actually. Suddenly, the nausea becomes too overwhelming, and his vision blurs. Black dots cover his eyes and the air is knocked out of him, and then he is falling, falling somewhere no one else can find. An image overcomes him: the face of his father. Blood spilling from his throat, Neji’s hand hovering near. Dad. Uncle. Me. When did the image of my father’s face become you? Since when can I fit into your shoes? He pictures his mother’s arms—how, at the funeral, the long, clean lines across her veins were stitched and stuck together with glue.

Oh, daddy. I was ten when they buried you.

Chapter Text

Neji started smoking pretty soon after the preliminary round of the Chunin exams. It wasn’t an accident, either; the cigarette wasn’t offered to him by some guy on the street or at a party. No, he’d marched with pure determination to the biggest smoke shop in town and bought himself a pack. He’d just wanted to get the shaking, aching feeling out of his bones and out into the air. Anything was better than that feeling: bad teeth and breath, cancer, or anything.

The selection of him versus Hinata was a sign from the universe that Neji’s life was well and truly fucked. That he was probably going to die, just like his mom, dad, Shisui, Mikoto, Fugaku, and everyone else Neji loved—and a sense of impending doom, dramatic and horribly realistic, settled upon him.

Before Hiashi said anything to him about the incident, he’d been so overwhelmed he couldn’t think. If only, he remembers thinking, Hinata could be selfish for once. But no, her endless desire to be the good guy always got Neji in trouble, and he was certain Hiashi was going to blame him for his daughter’s rambunctious defiance. When Neji got home, smelling of smoke and trying desperately to hide it, Hiashi had calmly ordered him to his room. In his room, Neji unsuccessfully tried to calm himself. He’d paced, he’d splashed water on his face, he’d stretched—nothing worked. He chest lacked air and his throat was clenched up as if he were moments away from vomiting.

And then he’d gone to family dinner, and none of them spoke a word about the incident. Usually, Hiashi shot him a few nasty comments at dinner, or prodded harshly at Neji’s shortcomings. But he’d said nothing. He was genial, even. After dinner, Hiashi sent him back to his room. Neji had sobbed in anticipation, clawing at his skin, had planked on the floor of his room until his arms and legs shook so hard he fell back on the floor.

Then, after what felt like an eternity of agonizing waiting, Hiashi knocked on his door.

Neji can’t remember the dread that consumed him too well, he only remembers that the feeling had been horrible. He wasn’t scared; only anticipatory. Eager to get the pain over with. Hiashi sat down beside him and handed him a letter. Cold and shaky. His fingers cradled the pages, numb.

“I thought you ought to have this,” he’d said, smooth and calm as ever. Neji looked between him and the letter, rapidly trying to figure out what was wanted from him. Hiashi’s eyes narrowed. “Read.”

So Neji unraveled the letter. His heart sank when he saw the handwriting, the Dear Neji written on the top of the page. Dad. His eyes scanned the page, but nothing registered in his brain.

Then. “Out loud, Neji.” Another pause. Neji straightened his back, resigning himself to this characteristic string of humiliation. He scattered the emotion out of his voice as he read, unable to process the words on the paper. His heart was racing a mile a minute. He couldn’t even think of his dad and what the letter was saying as he read connotative words like revenge and desperation, hope and justice. In that moment, Neji was not a person. The paper made crinkled sounds as it shook in Neji’s hands. Neji was am incorrect problem ready to change any undesirable trait about himself, and Hiashi, the mathematician.

When he got to the end, he sat the paper down on his lap, the corners still clutched between his fingers. He looked to Hiashi for approval. He received none. Hiashi’s chin and eyebrows were raised when he prompted him, “Well?”

Neji shook his head, heart thrumming. “Um, what?”

“What do you think?” Hiashi tilted his head, mouth in a line. “Is he noble?”

Neji licked his lips. Nothing had processed from letter, yet everything had. Words of rebellion, of promises. Of begging Neji to continue the fight, even after Hizashi’s own death. No fate is predetermined. And yet, Neji is just like his parents, and just like his parents, he’s going to die young.

“Delusional, Lord Hiashi. Everything is at it is meant to be. None of us should fancy ourselves writers of fate.”

Your mother is a writer, Neji. But I am a kind of writer, too. I will rewrite this system.

Hiashi hummed. He made no indication of considering Neji’s statement, before he said, “I’m afraid I don’t believe you, Neji. Your father—as much as he tried to hide it from me, in life and in death—ordered a hit on my daughter.” He sounded disgusted. Neji stayed calm. Neji breathed. “I was far too easy on him. My own father was right about that. I felt affection for him, because of the manner of our birth. And I let it cloud my judgment. My affection for you will not cloud my judgment this time.”

Neji waited for Hiashi to continue. When silence reigned, he nodded, firm and understanding. “Naturally, Lord Hiashi.” He does not complain, or protest, not merely because such things would be ineffective in swaying Hiashi—but because he is not Neji, right now. He was someone who believed Hiashi’s words. He was this other being, a being that existed only in the image of Hiashi.

“I am going to activate your seal for the rest of the night.” A cold, chilling feeling. “Somehow, I must make you learn your place in this world. I didn’t teach such things to Hizashi. I will teach them to you. My daughter will not be corrupted because of your loyalty to your father.” He nodded, accepted the justification. He waited—anticipated—as he always did. “This letter—“ here, Hiashi motions to the paper on his lap, “is the reason for all of the pain you will endure. Focus on that letter, Neji. On your father. If he hadn’t been such a sympathizer his entire life, perhaps my father would have chosen him to be the Main family member. And then none of this would be happening. But, everything is as it should be.” Neji nodded again, subtly fiddling with the paper in his hands. “I want you to memorize the letter. Tomorrow, I will deactivate the seal, and you will recite it to me. If you cannot, we will repeat the lesson.”

“Understood, Lord Hiashi.”

After that, cigarettes became a daily indulgence. He’s never told anyone about that night. It’s an embarrassing story, him silently suffering at first, familiar with the pain, before the minutes ticked on and he’d started screaming. Then crying. Then vomiting. The recitation of his father’s letter almost became soothing. He knows the purpose was the opposite. Hiashi wanted Neji to associate such thoughts with the pain of the seal. After years with Hiashi, it was an oddly simple, upfront ploy, although Neji couldn’t be certain his assumptions were right. Even still, Neji found comfort in the letter. He recited the words as a mantra that could lead him to the end of the night, not as the curse that put him there in the first place.

Neji believes that true hope is always enduring, like that. True hope of man will spawn no matter the pain or humiliation: that is the nature of man. He will admit, however, that after that night, his father’s words were no longer a comfort, but a painful, twisted reminder. So even though he can no longer think his father’s advice without feeling physically ill, he tries to keep the lessons with him, the message Hiashi unwittingly sent. Hope is the only true comfort in the face of despair.

In many ways, his hope was also a spite to Hiashi. He promised himself that he would ensure Hiashi would have been better off had he burned the letter in front of Neji, rather than letting him read it. Rather than corrupting his father’s voice and handwriting with the pain of the caged bird seal. And he never tells himself he’s going to quit smoking. He doesn’t really have any desire to. Smoking probably saved his life, so if it kills him, Neji can only be grateful it gave him the extra years he needed to become true friends with Ino, Sasuke, and Shikamaru. After smoking, he contributes their presence to his continued survival.

…right now, though, he definitely likes smoking more than them. He’s at the hospital, being unnecessarily monitored because he’d gone into sepsis or something. Apparently, untreated bacterial infections are, like, dangerous. He doesn’t care. He wants to smoke. And hospitals are strict no smoking zones, and Neji has morals, so he’s not going to smoke inside of one. He’s going to escape the prying demon eyes of an angry, disgruntled Uchiha, in order to smoke…a disgruntled Uchiha who has the Mangekyou…and is also a master chakra sensor…

Neji will figure it out. Right after the Yamanakas stop bugging him. “I want to apologize again for everything that happened to you,” Inoichi is saying, and Neji wants to punch him. As much as Neji desires validation, this feels wrong. Slimy. Like he doesn’t deserve this apology. It’s making the nicotine craving stronger. “Ibiki is in high-security custody, of course, so you can rest at ease, and focus on your recovery.”

Neji can’t tell if Inoichi means this apology or if he’s only worried about how the press is currently responding to Sasuke’s essays. Shikamaru published them pretty much right after he got out of T&I, in a fit of unbridled rage. Apparently, he’d had to weasel his way out of being babysat by Asuma in order to promptly hurry to the Sunday Konoha paper. Apparently, it was a really funny and day-brightening story. Neji missed it, because he’s stuck in this stupid hospital bed.

Instead, he nods tightly, and wills for Inoichi and his equally as irritating wife and daughter to disappear. How ignorant is Inoichi? Or is the better question, how good of a deceiver is Inoichi that Neji is starting to believe Inoichi really was innocent in all of this? They don’t leave him to his thoughts, which seems like a mark of guilt, in Neji’s opinion. And as Neji is the one on the hospital bed, he kind of has the moral high ground and the final say on the matter.

Mrs. Yamanaka—what’s her name? He’s so bad with names, never pays attention when they’re given—begins speaking. “When my husband told me what happened, I was so horrified. You’re such a good kid, Neji. I know Ino just adores you.” Right. Because my value is dependent on Ino. When he figures out how to convince Sasuke he doesn’t need to be here, which should be pretty easy, he’s smoking an entire pack. The pain medication in his system is making him a little on edge, admittedly. He feels…negative. Intensely, horribly, negative. Like every good thing has been sucked out of him. Maybe there wasn’t that much good to begin with, but still, what little progress of finding happiness Neji has made has shriveled, somehow, and he can’t fathom as to why. They’d won, after all. Sasuke’s mood has been nothing but delighted triumph as he prances around the hospital and gladly talks to the press. Sasuke’s even getting drinks with Kiba later, to help soothe the stress of Konoha having a “secret traitor” in their midst.

Which, of course, means that Tsunade and Sasuke are debriefing by the end of the night. Tsunade knows, of course, when Sasuke is up to something, but she never seems to care, a fact which boggles Neji’s mind. She’s got a rebellious streak, for a Senju, and Sasuke tends to make things easier for her when he stirs the pot or whispers ideas into the clan heads’ ears. A bizarre exchange, really, but a historically powerful one: an Uchiha and a Senju. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have seemed strange at all to see the pair working together so well. This village was built on the very alliance that Sasuke and Tsunade have reformed. Tsunade, of course, doesn’t care to know all the details of Sasuke’s transgressions, and likewise, Sasuke doesn’t ask questions when her Anbu are sent his way to be patched up from undocumented missions. In many ways, the two have found mutual benefit in one another—no one hated Tsunade’s policies more than Neji’s uncle, after all.

But Neji has never been much of a celebrator. There is still work to be done, and he is not free until all of his people are. Both symbolically and realistically, for he must now hide in plain sight with a fake caged bird seal on his forehead like a glowing blue target. In every way that matters, Neji is still under the thumb of the main Hyuga branch.

But not for long, he swears it. Once he gets a pack of cigarettes, he will get back to work.

His job is not schmoozing the Yamanaka’s. He has half a mind to start incessantly pressing his nurse call button to summon Sasuke to come fix this horrible social problem before him. Instead, because he isn’t an imbecile—looking at you, Shikamaru—he smiles politely and nods along to the Yamanaka’s stories. Eventually, Ino’s family starts the process of leaving, which is prompt and quick with them. They remind him of the basket of snacks they bestowed upon him by his bedside and then scuttle single file out of his hospital room, and Neji is left alone to become irritated with the dripping and beeping of his IV and heart monitor. For a moment, he lies back in his bed and toys with the idea of writing some poetry or celebrating the victory of vengeance. My uncle is dead. He thinks to himself, closing his eyes. He reopens them rather quickly, dismayed. How unfair, he mourns, that even my victories must sound so tragic. Justice is a strange thing. Without it, one feels horribly cheated. With it, one feels that things are as they should be. Just that. As they should be. Or maybe, Neji just needs a cigarette, a good meal, and to be out of this goddamn hospital, and then he will be able to enjoy his success.

It’s not like Neji can remember what they’d done, but he has distinct feeling that Sasuke has something to do with that, too.

Stop thinking, he scolds himself. Thoughts of eminent doom begin to crawl around in his eardrums and rattle his brain, like a rattlesnake warning of danger. Neji rubs his eyes, then shakes himself off, sits up, lays down, turns his pillow to the other side—and then decides that laying here and thinking is much worse for his health than leaving the hospital early. Against his own wishes of becoming like Shikamaru, Neji presses the nurse call button by his bedside. He rationalizes the decision by telling himself it doesn’t count so long as he doesn’t incessantly push it as Shikamaru always does, giggling when Sasuke comes in or shouting if any other nurse tries to answer.

Shikamaru milks his hospital stays for all they are worth, and strangely, Sasuke calmly indulges him, unbothered. He almost seems to enjoy how much Shikamaru wants to see him and needs things from him. Neji tries to ignore the jealous feeling creeping into his chest at the thought. I’m not jealous, he tells himself, because jealous is a bad thing to be; jealousy is ingratitude, and it’s an unattractive quality. So Neji shoves it done, because he certainly does not wish that someone would enjoy bringing him soup or his favorite kind of coffee in the morning, and he certainly does not envy the domesticity Shikamaru and Sasuke have discovered in each other. He doesn’t need those things. He can do those things perfectly well by himself, and Shikamaru is a little pathetic to want Sasuke to do them for him. These are the thoughts he must live by, or else Neji be swallowed by his envy. Better spite, he tells himself. But another part of him acknowledges that his irritation at Shikamaru’s clingy antics stems from jealousy all the same; because why should he have what Neji never did? Why does he deserve parents?

“You…okay? Neji?” Sasuke slinks rather elegantly into the room, always effortless. Neji admires that about him. It took years for Neji to learn the art of moving smoothly and smiling demurely. Sasuke’s eyes bore into his, and if Neji didn’t know better, he’d almost bet that Sasuke was disinterested. Naturally cool, he thinks fondly.

Neji sighs a little, pursing his lips. The pain isn’t that bad. He is fine. It’s just…“I need a cigarette.”

Sasuke tilts his head, considering him. Neji meets his gaze. Sasuke nods sharply. “Alright. I’ll get you discharged.” Then the sliding door presses shut behind him, and Neji is left alone. The gaps in his memory are starting to bug him. Sasuke, Shikamaru, and Ino definitely had something to do with his Uncle’s murder, but he can’t connect the pieces. Everything is so scattered. Frustrated, Neji swings his legs over the side of the bed, and stares down at his bare feet.

What does it matter, anyway?

The thought creeps upon him, croons at him. It’s an oddly reassuring thought. He knows that he is supposed to remind himself that everything is okay, that there are things that matter—but he can’t will himself too. Instead, he simply accepts the thought. That memory of Itachi keeps coming back to him, and he can’t help but wonder what it meant. Itachi saved him from Kisame. Maybe his mind was trying to rationalize it. Itachi was a kid, like any one of them—younger than Neji is now. Can he really be blamed for all of his own cruelty? Neji isn’t sure. He’d worked on a mission, quite recently, when a young girl—no more than five—had confessed that she’d been hurt by someone. When she named the perpetrator, a boy no older than twelve, Neji had been…bewildered. There wasn’t DNA to go off of, but the abuse was obvious. But they’d found…something else, too. The boy also showed signs of sexual abuse. The case was gruesome, and disturbingly obvious. It made Neji wonder how many cases were overlooked if it took months for them to figure out this one—after all, the boy had been tearing up dolls in increasingly horrific ways for months before ever touching his younger cousin.

It’s not really the same, Neji knows. Itachi was old enough to understand what he was doing to Sasuke—and he was old enough for things to be taken in different directions. But, it did make him realize that the system had failed Itachi. In the end, someone had let Itachi lose his mind, and created the circumstances that Itachi was able to hurt Sasuke so severely—so repetitively. If someone was really caring for Itachi and Sasuke, Itachi would have never gotten away with what he was doing. Not that Neji has any sympathies for Itachi, only that, he wonders how many kids like Sasuke are hurt because adults can’t seem to do their job.

Though, he supposes that there’s no point in drawing comparisons and wondering about it. Itachi isn’t a kid anymore, and he has to be held accountable. If Neji is being perfectly honest, he wouldn’t forgive Itachi even if he was a changed man. He was fourteen when he was hurting Sasuke: old enough to be an Anbu, smart enough to impress his father, and perfectly aware of what he was doing. What is it, anyway, with people always trying to forgive monsters? Itachi is so cold. More so, he’s disturbed and sadistic. Those are real reasons to hate somebody. If he did it because he was out of his mind, that only makes him all the more dangerous! He’s an unreasonable enemy. His psychopathy isn’t mitigating, in fact, Neji believes that it’s damning.

The worst of it all is that Neji really doesn’t understand why Itachi did it—or, he does, actually, and he just hates the answer. Itachi wanted to.

-------

“You. Did. what?!”

Okay, well. When Ino says it like that, anything sounds stupid, Shikamaru thinks. Boy am I glad it’s Sasuke at the end of that glare and not me. It’s been a week since the incident, and the charges against Neji are finally officially over with—very importantly, Neji is finally out of the hospital, as well—primarily because Sasuke pulled some strings to get him released early, by giving Tsunade his big, glossy, puppy dog eyes and promising to keep an eye on him. Shikamaru has a feeling Tsunade mostly lets Sasuke do what he wants out of intrigue and amusement, which Sasuke uses to his advantage. Also, Sasuke’s so pleased when he gets his way that it’s hard to say no to him…not that Shikamaru knows anything about that.

They’ve been arguing in Shikamaru and Sasuke’s apartment pretty much since the four of them got here—he, Ino, Sasuke, and Neji—and Shikamaru has chosen to remain mostly silent, watching the back and forth between his friends. He’s free from empathizing with Ino’s raging curiosity because he and Sasuke have already discussed everything that happened. Whereas Shikamaru is lounging comfortably in his armchair, Ino is pacing, hands waving wildly in the air. “You had no idea that was going to work!” Sasuke cringes. “You could’ve killed him!” Sasuke rubs the back of his neck. “What were you thinking?” Sasuke shrugs.

Shikamaru feels a smirk crawl onto his face at his housemate’s antics, as Ino lets out a screech of indignation.

Sasuke, who is sitting next to Neji on their well-worn sofa, rises from his chair and argues, “It did work, though! So what’s the problem?” He watches in bemusement as his housemate holds his hands out in a so what expression, palms facing upward and elbows bent toward him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Demon (as Shikamaru insists on calling her, anyway, refusing to acknowledge the bullshit name Sasuke gave her) look up at her owner, a startled meow spilling from the needy cat.

Ino pulls at her hair, bewildered. Neji looks between them, confusion lingering in his wise, white-colored eyes. Shikamaru, unable to control himself at the odd range of reactions from his friends, laughs.

If Naruto or Sakura were here, they’d be proud of Sasuke, Shikamaru knows. Perhaps more judgmental than Shikamaru is. He has always quietly endorsed Sasuke’s recklessness, valuing his friend’s determination to be good above all else, valuing his friend’s ability to adapt, overcome, and strengthen his own resolve. So different, Shikamaru knows, from the lifestyle of comfort he grew up in.

And he knows that Sasuke is reckless. It’s the hallmark of being a member of Team 7. Sasuke has always had a quality to him that quickened his decisions, enabled those around him to engage in risky behavior. It’s another quality that Lady Tsunade finds endlessly amusing, as it’s improper for a medical ninja to not also be a mother hen. Apparently, Sasuke told a young patient where to buy contraception, and was then (under mandatory protocal) scolded for being irresponsible and breaching policy. But expecting Sasuke to ignore anyone’s desires is ridiculous. He helped Sakura go rogue, for Kami’s sake.

Another thing Shikamaru loved about Sasuke—how little of a mother hen he was. He always trusted his comrades to make the right choices, and to handle themselves. As he’d trusted Neji to be able to handle potentially submitting himself to the whims of T&I, should the unfortunate circumstance arise. And it had. And Sasuke had healed Neji, had helped Neji—but he had not judged him. He had not told him how to act or what to do. He simply helped. The ultimate enabler, maybe, but also—when Sasuke trusted, he trusted completely. Shikamaru never felt questioned or inadequate when Sasuke put a task in his hands.

“Okay, well, can you help?” Sasuke motions helplessly to Neji as his eyes bore into Ino’s. Surprisingly, as often as the two get along, they also frequently disagree. They are annoyingly at odds with each other. They’re an unrivaled force when working together—again, Sakura—but when they disagree…well. Shikamaru winces at the scene unravelling before him. Ino, a true mother hen, and Sasuke, a reckless uncle. Where Sasuke’s assistance comes from a place of fondness, Ino’s insistence on helping others comes from the belief that, left to their own devices, her friends would not get the task done at all. And, in her defense, she has many a times had to save her friends from their own stupidity.

Sasuke’s tone is condescending, and a little mean, and Shikamaru hides another laugh. Neji, who is sitting in Sasuke and Shikamaru’s apartment, lounging on their couch with a disbelieving expression, watches them both closely. His arms are crossed over his chest, surprisingly relaxed. Shikamaru sits awkwardly across from him, far more nervous than anyone else in the room. Shikamaru is practically bouncing with energy as Sasuke pouts at Ino, hoping the look in his eyes will sway her.

“I—“ Ino cuts herself. She’s also standing, close to where Shikamaru is sitting. “You know, I wonder about you, Uchiha.” She snaps her index finger toward him, blue eyes narrowed and cheeks flushed.

Sasuke, ridiculously, flings his arms across his chest and crosses them. He huffs, loud and pointed. “I knew what I was doing.” He insists.

“You did?” Neji interjects, sounding infuriatingly skeptical. He raises an eyebrow, and Sasuke’s pout twists downwards into a scowl.

“Yes.” Sasuke agrees impatiently. “Now, hurry up, Ino.”

Ino’s jaw drops, and after a moment of incomprehension, loudly scolds him. “You have been spending way too much time with Lady Tsunade!” 

Shikamaru clears his throat to hide another snicker. How dumb, that the two of them desire the same things, but get so caught up on the how: Ino’s way, or Sasuke’s way?

Sasuke just glares, quietly finding a spot next to Neji to sit. He settles onto the couch, the damaged cushions sinking more than normal, and crosses his ankles. He gives her a look as if to say, well? She sighs, drops her arms to her sides, and makes her way over to Neji. Sasuke smirks. Shikamaru has found that his housemate loves winning. Another quality that surprises him, but pleases him all the same.

“So,” Shikamaru speaks up, finally sensing a conclusion between the two’s brief argument, “how in the world did you manage to tamper with Neji’s memories? I mean, I was under the impression you’ve been living and breathing in T&I all week, and Neji only got out of the hospital from the bacterial infection yesterday.”

“I used the Mind Transfer.” Sasuke begins, restating the obvious. “And—“

“Why,” Ino interrupts, pausing her critical inspection of Neji’s face as her fury returns, “do all of my friends think it’s okay to steal my family’s jutsu?” Shikamaru sinks back into the chair, readying himself for another bout of arguing between them. Troublesome.

“If it makes you feel better,” Sasuke offers, and the look in his eyes tells Shikamaru that it won’t, in fact, make Ino feel better, “I also learned Shikamaru’s shadow technique and Neji has been teaching me a few of the chakra points for sixty-four palms. Also, I proved my theory—Mind Transfer can alter memories.”

Ino mutters something about traitors and Sakura and stupid Sharingan copying every technique it sees. Then, she starts pulling at Neji’s eyes, looking at his pupils or something. Shikamaru doesn’t understand the Mind Transfer, so he wouldn’t know. All the same, he leans forward, intrigued and always unbothered by Sasuke’s ability to copy, because Shikamaru is not very possessive of his techniques, or his things, or anything around the house. He’s actually very free, and it works with Sasuke’s natural curiosity, which, having been repressed for so long, runs rampant in everything he does. Neji pipes up, “I hope you didn’t alter my memories just so you could prove a theory you made three years ago.”

“Absolutely I did.” Sasuke nods sharply, without missing a beat. Shikamaru chokes on another laugh as Ino grumbles.

Shikamaru asks, after a moment of amused silence, “How did you get it to work?”

“Well, as I was saying. Ino doesn’t remember, but she’s actually the one who performed the technique. But uh—annoying hiccup,” Sasuke pauses, wobbling a hand in front of him side to side, “Apparently, Ino made herself forget.”

“What?”

“You didn’t think I would actually steal your jutsu, did you Ino?” Sasuke crosses his arms, unbothered, and beginning a tirade of explanation that reminds Shikamaru of when Sasuke once went on rants at the Academy about chakra and genetics. Shikamaru, although he already knows the answer, fondly listens. He didn’t forget their plan, after all. “We used the Mangekyou and the Mind Transfer to program Neji’s memories ‘not to stick.’ That is, we didn’t figure out how to alter past memories—but we did figure how to make it so people will forget future memories. Like, an impermanence button. Similar to casting a Genjutsu over the mind, and then removing it—and for the duration of the Genjutsu, then, everything the person did while under it, they forget. An unfortunate side effect,” Sasuke cringes, “is that Ino put it on herself, too. When I removed Neji’s Genjutsu, Ino’s lifted too, and she forgot everything.”

“Well, that seems like a major flaw in the technique,” Shikamaru responds, mirthful.

“You think?” Ino wheels on him, enraged. She looks at Neji with more curiosity than before, and then puts her hand to her own head, contemplative.

Sasuke glances at him, utterly serious as he turns back to Ino and says, “my best guess is that Ino messed it up somehow, because, I’m pretty sure my technique should’ve worked.”

“Oh yeah, blame it all on the girl who can’t remember anything to defend herself.” Ino rolls her eyes, leaning back into the couch with an exhausted sigh. She peers at him amusedly.

“I’m kidding,” Sasuke lets a smile grace his features, and Ino smiles back at him, eyes closing tiredly. “I think I messed it up, probably. I’m still getting used to the Mangekyou.”

Ino nods sullenly, and Shikamaru is always impressed by how quickly she absorbs information. Like nothing can surprise her. “Don’t worry about it, Sasuke,” she comforts, and some of the tension in Sasuke’s shoulder dissipate. A moment of peace washes over them. 

“So…” Neji interrupts, eyebrows climbing up his forehead, “when did we do this?”

“Pretty much right after we first made the plan,” Shikamaru explains, finally being helpful. He probably should’ve been helping explain this whole time, but, whatever. Confrontation, explanation—these things are such a drag. Sasuke is the best, because Shikamaru never really needs to explain anything to him. He just gets it.

Neji raises his eyebrows in his surprise, and smoothly asks, “You knew about this?”

“Duh,” Shikamaru shrugs, “It was my plan. The only people in the dark here about this are you too.”

“Then why are you asking questions?” Ino glares at him, annoyed.

Shikamaru leans back in his chair, rolling his eyes. “For your sake, Ino-pig.”

Ino’s eye twitches. Sasuke clears his throat, hands splaying. “The problem is that I don’t really know how to get the memories back. So, we may just have to catch you two up to speed and leave you with the gap. I don’t want to make it worse by messing around with your memories.” He glances at Neji, “Plus, it’s not exactly like you’re forgetting the best days of your life.”

Neji tilts his head from side to side, as if debating Sasuke’s statement. “…well,” Neji begins, mischief glimmering in his eyes, and Sasuke starts to scowl. Before his friends can descend once more into all of this uncharacteristic bickering, Shikamaru leans forward.

“It’s strange, though, that Ino doesn’t even remember casting the jutsu on Neji. You’d think that would be in the ‘before’—“ here, he raises his fingers to mimic quotation marks, “category of the ‘impermanence button.’” Shikamaru sees Ino’s eyes flicker, mulling over Shikamaru’s point.

Shrewdly, Neji suggests, “If Sasuke activated his Mangekyou Genjutsu before Ino’s mind-transfer, it might’ve been that the jutsu began beforehand. Which is probably why neither of us remember it. Although, that doesn’t explain Ino’s gaps existing.”

Sasuke sighs, the sound releasing from deep in his soul. “Fucking Sharingan.”

“I remember working on it,” Ino pipes up, “Like, we practiced this idea a bunch. I just didn’t realize I’d actually casted it, you know? I even remember going to the training ground with you and Neji, now that you mention it. But from thereafter, it’s all fuzzy.”

“Warped,” Neji offers, “Like I was somewhere else during that time. Not like I forgot something, but like…what you’re saying never happened.”

Ino snaps her fingers, “I thought it would feel like trying to remember a dream. But it doesn’t. It just feels like…I woke up from a really long nap.”

Sasuke, to Shikamaru’s surprise, goes ramrod straight in his chair. “Oh,” Sasuke says, and the concern in his voice alerts everyone in the room that he’s realized something. Shikamaru feels his eyebrows press inward on his forehead. Sasuke rolls his lips. “Do you…do you remember other stuff?”

Ino leans toward Sasuke, head tilting, “What is it?”

“it’s just…it’s kind of like…” Sasuke shakes his head, a frown marring his features. “it’s probably nothing.”

Neji eyes Sasuke in disbelief, but doesn’t question it. Ino, on the other hand, immediately protests, and Shikamaru feels himself do the same. He asks Sasuke, in near tandem with Ino’s questions, “What is it like?”

Sasuke, lying through his teeth, mutters, “I don’t know.”

Ino scoffs, “Yeah, you do!”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and his entire neck in exasperation. Then, he says, “It’s like a Kotoatsukami. Or a Tsukiyomi. That’s all I was thinking. Those were, those were Mangekyou specialties. I was just, I was thinking about maybe how…what I did was like that.”

Shikamaru is easily troubled. But this feels truly disturbing, and it’s mostly because in all the years he’s known Sasuke, he’s never heard him speak of this. Sasuke, who usually says things only when he truly means it, when he truly wants to, looks frightened. He does not want to be spilling the secrets that he is, and it makes Shikamaru, damn all of his curiosity, almost willing to let Sasuke keep the information to himself. What he knows about Sasuke’s family is stilted and non-linear. Frustratingly, he’s come to accept that no matter how much he learns about Sasuke’s life in the compound, he will never fully understand it. He wasn’t there. He will never know these abstract characters which Sasuke so commonly speaks of. And he feels helpless. He cannot reassure Sasuke because he has no idea what’s going on.

Neji looks properly frightened, rubbing his own head in sudden concern, and Shikamaru decides that he wants to help. So, against the alarm bells ringing in his head that beg him to avoid this confrontation, his need to help and his own damn curiosity wins. So, he declares expectantly, “I don’t know what those techniques are, Sasuke.”

Sasuke glowers at him, and the death glare makes Shikamaru pause and swallow. But he keeps still, and steadies his breath, because sometimes, confrontation means others being upset with you. Sasuke mutters, “…they’re techniques that warp reality. Like, Genjutsu but…not like Genjutsu. The Tsukiyomi can put you in a world that feels, for all intents and purposes, completely real. Indistinguishable from your reality, because it uses your own memories, your own feelings, to play tricks on you. Unlike regular Genjutsu, where the caster is more of a guide, the Tsukiyomi is…purposeful. It’s like, a form of mind reading.” Sasuke gets a faraway look in his eyes, waving his hands aimlessly. It reminds him of Sakura, and how she used to explain things. “If you cast the Hell Viewing technique, for example, it can tap into the psyche of the victim. But you aren’t really in charge of what the victim sees. Or with other Genjutsu, like disguises, you can’t tap into memories at all—but you can control what the victim sees. The Tsukiyomi can do both.”

Shikamaru sits back, analyzing the new information. “Okay? And the other?”

“Shisui,” Neji interrupts, that odd look in his eyes that he gets when he knows something that no one else does. He and Sasuke are infuriating, when they keep things from everyone, communicating with glances and the slightest quirks of expression. “That’s Shisui’s, right?”

Sasuke returns that infuriating look, and Shikamaru begins to feel like Ino must’ve this entire conversation. “Yeah,” Sasuke nods.

“Yeah?” Ino snaps, looking between the two of them, “that’s all?”

Neji shifts, looking to the world like he’d rather disappear than have this conversation. Sasuke schools his face into a more neutral expression. Neji, as always, stays quiet, like his own secrets aren’t truly his to share. It bothers Shikamaru, how little Neji talks about himself. At first, he’d thought Neji was just quiet. But about anything other than himself, Neji is glad to discuss. It’s these things—these important, personal details—that has Neji shrinking back, lips pursed. Shikamaru has often found himself nudging him, asking “what?” over and over again, but is still mostly left in the dark about anything concerning him.

“We don’t…we don’t know everything that the Kotoastsukami was capable of. Not really,” Neji cringes, and rummages through his pocket with his left hand. A cigarette falls between Neji’s fingers, which he holds out to Sasuke, who lights it with his thumb, the flame flickering around his fingernail: a makeshift lighter. Neji rarely smokes at all, so Shikamaru naturally finds himself on edge. Neji presses the cigarette to his lips, and Shikamaru is infuriated all over again at how calm Neji always is, how patient. He wants to snap, spit it out. But instead he waits, stomach turning, eye twitching as Neji exhales and groans, leaning back into the sofa as smoke leaves his mouth. “it’s like mind control, we think.” He sounds old, saying it. Tired. It’s easy to forget that Neji is older than them, but when he smokes, or drinks, or looks on at them with brotherly amusement, Shikamaru is struck with what the few years between them really means. Neji remembers things that no member of Rookie Nine can fathom remembering. He’s old enough to remember flashes of the Nine Tails attack; old enough to remember Orochimaru, before he’d gone rogue. The first time Neji mentioned the flames of the tailed beast, Shikamaru was jarred for the rest of the day.

 “Or, at least some kind of technique that heavily influences people,” Sasuke chimes in, but his concerned gaze follows Neji, eyebrows pinched together. Right, mind control. Shikamaru tries to solve the puzzle in front of him, but his annoying friends won’t give him the pieces. I can help, he wants to beg.

“Okay,” Shikamaru agrees, when the silence casts upon them and they offer no further explanation. Typical, he thinks to himself. “How do you break it? Maybe it’s the same for Ino and Neji’s memory gaps.”

That, apparently, was the correct question to ask, because Neji shoves the cigarette back in his mouth and inhales so quickly Shikamaru is surprised he doesn’t choke. Sasuke crosses his arms, then says, quietly and worriedly, “…we don’t know. No one’s ever broken it.”

Neji laughs, rueful and maybe hysterical, knee bouncing as he exhales more smoke. He sends Sasuke a disbelieving look. Shikamaru watches, nose twitching. Their apartment will smell like smoke for the rest of the night, now. Silence hovers between them once more, because cryptic, none-answer responses seem to be Sasuke and Neji’s preference for this conversation. Sasuke scowls at Neji, as if what little Neji has said has broken some unspoken rule. And it may have, in all fairness. Neji and Sasuke have a strange relationship. But Neji impressively ignores Sasuke’s glare. He looks between Shikamaru and Ino and says, “I knew Shisui, actually. He and…yeah,” Sasuke sends him a sharp look again, this time warning and surprised. Neji ignores it. “…well, they were always dragging me around when dad was over at your house, Sasuke.” He glances at Sasuke, twisting the cigarette between his fingers. “Smoking and laughing and, generally, being pieces of shit. So there’s no reason to worry about Sasuke’s techniques being like his. The Mangekyou morphs to the person’s abilities, right? It’s individual? There’s no way Sasuke’s Mangekyou is anything like Shisui’s.”

The thought that Neji picked up smoking from the Uchiha makes Shikamaru blink. This guy, Shikamaru decides, is full of surprises. Sasuke pulls a face. “…maybe.”

Ino clears her throat. “So, we don’t know how to get our memories back, and we think it’s safer not to try?”

Sasuke nods, quiet, mulling something over. He’s tense. Shikamaru wishes he could crawl inside of his brain and figure out what he was thinking, while Neji flicks ashes onto his pants and coughs into his arm. Shikamaru, in an effort to lighten the mood, laughs at Neji’s behavior. “C’mon man, that can’t be good for your lungs after Ibiki.”

“I hope it kills me.” Neji deadpans.

Sasuke gasps, genuinely affronted, “Don’t say that, Neji.” A concerned look flickers over Sasuke’s face. He always takes Neji’s jokes and side-comments seriously, and after getting to know the guy better, it’s for a good reason. Neji communicates in one-offs and remarks: mutterings and glances.

Neji gives Sasuke a disgruntled look, saying with startling exasperation, “Oh, shut up, Sasuke.” But that, certainly, was no mutter.

“Whoa,” Sasuke faces Neji fully, eyeing him up and down. Shikamaru holds his breath, having not intended for his offhanded joke to spiral out of control like this. The two size each other up. Neji takes another drag of his cigarette. Sasuke watches, mouth in a line.

Then, Neji shakes his head at Sasuke, as if disappointed. “I don’t understand why you won’t talk about him. There are memories missing from my brain, Sasuke,” Neji gesture to his head, cigarette still between his fingers, while his eyebrows tangle together. Shikamaru is blown away by the sudden change in topic, not privy to the conversations exchanged between Sasuke and Neji’s eyes. “And you won’t even let us help you fix it. He was able to break it, after all.” Neji sits back in his chair imploringly.

“I don’t know anything,” Sasuke defends himself. Shikamaru becomes concerned by how much it sounds like a lie.

Neji laughs again, lips twisting together, sitting back up with an urgently bewildered expression. Shikamaru quickly fixes his own expression, realizing he too was staring at Sasuke in confusion. “Don’t, don’t play that card. Yes, you do. You do know. You just don’t want to think about it or talk about it, ever.” Whatever it is, Neji seems to know. Shikamaru feels his frustration begin to mount. Ino is surprisingly quiet, sizing up the two of them with open curiosity. She wants to know what this is about—and after everything, she has a right to. After all, their plan involved manipulating her father. The least they owe her is an explanation. But she would never say that, has never genuinely complained or bemoaned about how often her friends take advantage of her prowess and her status. He doubts she resents them for it at all, in fact. Ino is just good like that. Giving. Besides, Ino is the best secret keeper in town. She wouldn’t give up her friends for the world.

Sasuke scoffs for a second, then shakes his head dismissively. Shikamaru feels his frustration double. Sasuke’s bouncing knee indicates that Neji has caught him off guard. “How are you mad at me?” Sasuke grouches, “I’m not the one joking about serious things. And if I knew something,” Sasuke holds his hand out, palm up in demonstration, “I would come to you! Or are you forgetting that the last time I told you something important, you assholes didn’t believe me?” Shikamaru winces, recalling their first go at the seals on Hatake’s books. It’s a low-blow, and unfair, considering how much all of them have helped him with the books since the incident. And Shikamaru can see a manipulation tactic underneath, an effort to lie, to deceive them into believing that he isn’t hiding something: that he wouldn’t hide something. It’s hard, though—knowing that Sasuke is such a good liar, to believe that he wouldn’t lie to them. Shikamaru has unconsciously accepted Sasuke’s deceit as fact, and feels a little embarrassed for that, all of the sudden. He has no real reason to believe Sasuke is lying to him. But Sasuke’s good at lying.

Sasuke is starting to look genuinely distressed. Shikamaru feels himself grow uncomfortable, body tensing. He tries to withhold judgment, and it’s easy, with Sasuke, because he hates to see his housemate in pain. Sasuke looks straight at Neji, eyes boring into his when he says, desperately, “to say that you want to die after everything we just went through for you is so selfish, Neji.”

Ino lets out a loud breath at the declaration. Shikamaru’s own hands rub down his face. Neji, as clandestine as their friend is, makes enough jokes about death it’s no longer a secret that their friend struggles. Neji has days where he’s irritable, and depressed, and can’t do anything but lay on the couch. On those days, Ino is always the first to help, making food and fussing over him; Shikamaru used to think it was bad to baby Neji, because it meant they weren’t helping Neji get better, his own mother’s scoldings about laziness resurfacing. But astonishingly, despite how Neji always resisted at first, he also always relaxed when Ino took the reins. After eating the food she offered or sitting and reading the book she placed in his hands, he’d be calmer. Happier. Sasuke talked to Shikamaru about it, explained his theories. According to Sasuke, Neji is often troubled by a lack of control in his own life, so he’s reluctant to accept help, unless it’s from someone he really trusts; and then he flourishes, because Neji never had anyone in his life genuinely looking out for his well-being.

After that conversation, Shikamaru did what he could to ease Neji’s stress, to ask him questions about his feelings, and to check in on him. As misguided as it is, Neji carries every burden by himself because he hates to burden others with his pain. He sees his feelings as weighted, and whenever he speaks of them, it is followed by apologies, by assurances. Still, Neji always looked so grateful to be asked, to be thought of. Sometimes, just someone asking him was all Neji needed. So to hear Sasuke, of all people, mention Neji’s pain—and minimize it so effectively—it takes Shikamaru aback. 

Neji points to himself, bewildered. “Sasuke—I. Those jokes aren’t about you guys. It’s about me.”

Sasuke shakes his head, but his expression is angry, and he holds his ground. Shikamaru swallows. Neji gets so caught up in his own head because he feels so deeply. A tortured soul, Shikamaru was quick to learn, because love isn’t enough to keep Neji here—Neji needs hope. His chains are broken, in some ways, but in most others, Neji’s situation hasn’t changed. They have so much work left to do. So much more struggle. And Shikamaru knows that it all exhausts Neji.

Sasuke, expression hurt, words lashing out, declares, “After everything with your mom, I don’t understand why you say things like that. So many people love you, why would you want to leave them? Didn’t she teach you anything?” The words seem to take the breath out of Neji’s lungs, and he coughs, smoke from his cigarette lingering in the air.

Because how could Sasuke, the most loving person Shikamaru knows, understand needing drive outside of love? Driven Sasuke? Hopeful Sasuke? He has to understand, somewhere deep down, but Shikamaru watches Sasuke push away the warmth in his eyes in favor of antipathy. In a way, Sasuke looks cornered.

As if sensing Sasuke’s inhibitions, Neji pulls further away from Sasuke where they are beside each other on the sofa. Shikamaru sees a moment of indecision flicker of Neji’s face, before his expression hardens, and Shikamaru’s heart leaps to his throat. Neji calmly addresses Sasuke, ignoring Sasuke’s biting words. “At least I don’t live in some fake reality, Sasuke. At least I admit that our family had nuance. They were not super villains. They were people! And you would be so much better off if you could just admit that to yourself instead of hiding away your heritage, pretending that you’re better than the rest of us—“ Neji scowls, brutal honesty guiding his declarations, “blaming Itachi.”

Sasuke stands so quickly and is filled with so much anger that Shikamaru shrinks back, horrified. Sasuke’s fist clench by his sides. “What?!” 

“It’s the truth. Throw mom in my face all you want.” Neji says smoothly, but Shikamaru can see him suppress his hurt at Sasuke’s contempt. “Hatake agreed, in one of the entries. He said Itachi even confessed it himself,” Neji keeps going, and Shikamaru’s mind spins, shocked and confused. What are they talking about now? What lies beneath their words? Because, Shikamaru hasn’t read that entry, if it really does exist. And how could it? When would Itachi have ever confessed something to Kakashi? Neji’s mom? Itachi? What is this? “There are bigger powers at play. You can’t run from it, Sasuke. We’ve always known something about the massacre was weird—“

“You are such an asshole.” Sasuke takes another step back, and his Sharingan is on, spinning furiously at Neji. “Why does that matter at all? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Neji doesn’t seem bothered, though, and Shikamaru wonders how the sight doesn’t intimidate him at least a little. Neji sees Sasuke’s Sharingan and raises an eyebrow, unimpressed by his display of aggression. “And frankly, if anyone but you should be able to talk about Itachi—it’s me, Sasuke. I knew him, too. And he wouldn’t have done it. It can’t be a coincidence, that Shisui died just before the massacre,” Neji begins gaining momentum, passion filling his tirade, “and that Itachi was the last person to see him. There are too many accounts that make the idea perfectly plausible, and none of them contradict each other.”

“Itachi is horrible.” Sasuke takes a step forward, now, and Shikamaru feels caught in the cross fire of something way, way out of his depth.

Neji doesn’t rise to the bait. “I’m not saying he’s a good person, I’m just saying—“

“He was too good to kill our parents, but bad enough to rape me? Is that it, Neji?” Sasuke sneers Neji’s name like a curse.

There is silence, then.

And Shikamaru should stop this. Shikamaru should say something, because—he’s never heard Sasuke say it like that, in those words. But Shikamaru is scared. He is quiet, quiet as he always is in confrontations. Quiet as he is when watching his parents hiss at each other back and forth, quiet as he is when his mom screams at him. So when Ino raises her hands up, trying to placate the two of them, trying to help, Shikamaru wants to scream at her to stop. Because—because—he’s not sure why. But Ino doesn’t get a chance to say anything.

Neji barrels forward. “It’s not about good or bad. It’s about what Itachi would and wouldn’t have done. And it doesn’t make sense for him to have killed his family, he loved his family—“

“That was love?”

Neji’s jaw snaps closed as Sasuke tilts his head, a cold look in his eyes. His Sharingan is gone, now. But he is watching Neji closely. Evaluating him, challenging him. But Neji doesn’t back down. “To Itachi, maybe.”

Shikamaru stands. “What the fuck is wrong with you.”

There’s red, across his vision. There’s a hatred so furious in his gut he can’t take it. He’s grabbing Neji then—and later, he will wince at how rough he is on Neji, Neji who is injured—but right now, he’s hauling him out of the chair as Sasuke takes a surprised step back from them, watching Shikamaru with alarm. Later, he will apologize for not defending him when Sasuke called him selfish. He will tell Neji, you’re not selfish. And it will be one of the truest things Shikamaru will ever say. Neji, who can’t even remember that the reason he was tortured by Ibiki in the first place was because he couldn’t bear to burden his friend with the responsibility of Hiashi’s death. But now, Shikamaru is angry, and confused, and so horrified by the unusual anger and pain on Sasuke’s face.

Neji wrenches out of his grasp, but Shikamaru hisses at him, low and mean, “I guess I know why you’re so quiet. You only have horrible things to say to people.” Then, he wheels on Sasuke, expression earnest and helpless all at once, “that is not love, Sasuke. It isn’t. Love is real. It can’t be manipulated into something horrible for anyone’s benefit. It’s mutual. Hurting someone isn’t love, even if they say it is.” He wants to say more, explain more, tell Sasuke we love you. I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never ask for more than you want to give. But the heat of the moment is confusing, and Shikamaru can’t come up with the right words.

Neji opens his mouth, aghast, but Ino’s standing now, stepping to Sasuke’s side. “Hey,” she cries, “Take a breath, guys. Take a breath.”

But Neji isn’t done, apparently, and he ignores both of them, eyes meeting Sasuke’s over Shikamaru’s shoulder. “Sasuke, I’m sorry. He’s right.”

Shikamaru pauses, surprised. Neji shakes his head, then, a guilty look on his face. “I know I shouldn’t push you to talk about him. I just—I worry. About what will happen, when Itachi comes back. If we can’t—if we can’t even admit that the massacre couldn’t have possibly been the version of Itachi we knew, how are we going to stop him? We have to understand him. We have to figure out what to do. I don’t want to end up like him because we refuse to really look at what went wrong when our parents tried to change things.”

What? His confusion is palpable, and so is Ino’s. He catches her eyes and feels dread filling him. What don’t they know?

Then, everything goes quiet, the regular Neji materializing in front of Shikamaru once more. He puts his cigarette back in his mouth and breathes. Sasuke watches his friend put himself back together and mask his anger with indifference. Sasuke falters, and he must see something on Neji’s face that Shikamaru can’t understand, because he softens, too. Anger replaced by sobriety.

Quiet, subdued, but still entirely dangerous, Sasuke mutters, “I know that you understand it, Neji. I know you do. I know you lived it with me.” His friend turns away from them, feet shifting, and to Shikamaru’s horror he sees a glimmer of wetness glaze his housemate’s eyes. “but how? How can someone do that, Neji? I don’t understand. I just don’t understand it.” The words come from Sasuke unbidden, and it’s clear that he hates saying them. A flush of shame and humiliation smears across his cheeks, and his lips twist. A bob of Sasuke’s throat. Then, collected, calm Sasuke, starts crying, shoulders shaking, pleading with Neji to understand. Sasuke is quiet in his tears, sniffles and streams down his face, so different from Shikamaru’s own loud shaking sobs. Sasuke muffles the sounds of his cries with practiced ease, hissing angrily through his own hurt, “If Itachi isn’t a monster, how can I live with what he did to me? How can people do that? How can a good person do that?”

“Oh, Sasuke,” Ino jumps in, “He wasn’t a good person.” Wisely, she keeps her hands to herself, but he can see her longing to embrace him, offer him contact as comfort. Shikamaru wonders what it is that makes them all speak of Itachi like the man is long dead. Perhaps because Itachi doesn’t really feel human.

Sasuke shakes his head rapidly, the earlier haughty and triumphant version of him peeling away. “No. Because. He wanted the same things as we do.” Sasuke sweeps his arm around the room, voice wet and raw with emotion. “and if I admit,” he looks to only Neji now, “if I admit the massacre isn’t on his hands, what makes him a monster? Are we monsters?” His next words have Shikamaru’s heart breaking, a sound of pure devastation wrenching from his throat, which he quickly muffles with a twist of his lips. “What if I’m the reason all of this is happening?”

Neji starts nodding, an intense expression on his face, and Shikamaru is bewildered by the encouragement. But Sasuke responds to it, nodding back, “What if I was wrong to save Naruto that night? What if I was never born, never a knife in my parents’ marriage? Is it me?” he starts sobbing in earnest now. “Did I turn him into this? Why me?” an animalistic sound escapes his lips, heart-wrenching in its honesty. “Neji, why me?”

Neji puts out his cigarette, now shaking his head, entirely too calm in the face of Sasuke’s distress. But Sasuke clings to the expression like a lifeline, eyes boring into Neji’s. “Sometimes, there is no reason, Sasuke. Sometimes, people do terrible things. Because they’re hurting. Because they’re cruel.” Sasuke struggles to breathe through his tears, sniffing loudly, Sharingan flickering on before disappearing the next moment. “But, I think there’s value in wondering why. In asking yourself these questions. You aren’t going to move on until you answer them, until you find peace with them. It’s complex. It’s confusing. And it’s allowed to be.” Neji nods again, pained. Neji takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Everything you feel is real. You are not crazy.” Sasuke buries his face in his hands, the sobs wretched and loud now, close to cries. “Sasuke, what he did to you is enough reason for any of us to think he is horrible. That’s enough. You’re enough.”

Shikamaru feels off kilter, unsure if he is supposed to intervene. He doesn’t know enough to help. He doesn’t know. Neji does, though, and his eyes are filled with understanding, with hard realities. Perhaps, Sasuke enables others because he so desperately wants others to enable him. And Neji doesn’t. No, Neji reaches out to Sasuke, palm up, inviting, and Sasuke takes it with startling immediacy, collapsing into Neji arms, burying himself in Neji’s jacket.  Neji rubs Sasuke’s back, his expression so wounded, so incredibly exhausted, it makes Shikamaru have to take a deep breath of his own. Sasuke keeps crying, keeps rambling, “I just want it to stop. I want to stop feeling so guilty. I just want to be good. I just want to be a good person, Neji.”

“Sasuke, you’re the best person I know—“ Shikamaru begins, finding his voice, but is startled when Neji sharply cuts him off.

“Don’t, don’t,” he says urgently, like Shikamaru has committed a grave error. Neji turns back to Sasuke, arms loose around him, letting Sasuke guide the contact. “It doesn’t matter, good or bad. No one deserves what happened to you. No one. You don’t have to earn kindness, Sasuke. It’s right here. I’m right here.”

Flawlessly, Neji seems to know exactly what Sasuke needs to hear. It hadn’t occurred to Shikamaru, that Sasuke’s goodness was a pressure, a burden of guilt born from a childhood of inadequacy and earning love. But here it is. Neji carries on. “I’m not asking you to empathize with him, or to try and understand him—it’s not your job to rectify the pain that Itachi has caused, to justify it. It doesn’t matter whether or not Itachi is responsible for the massacre or not. You didn’t deserve anything he did to you. He is still a monster, born or made, and he has no hope of redemption. What little pity he may have once deserved no longer has a place in anyone’s heart. It’s the tragic truth of it all.” Neji swallows, and the next words seem to pain him, to bring with him a sense of hopelessness. “It’s not all black and white. And it doesn’t have to be. Most grave errors are committed in the search of betterment—just because he was trying to be good, doesn’t mean he succeeded.” Sasuke’s hands clench the back of Neji’s jacket. Neji keeps going, and it strikes Shikamaru that it’s the most words he’s ever heard the usually quiet boy utter. “And even though I don’t think Itachi was trying to be good, Sasuke—even though I think he gave up on humanity a long time ago—you’re allowed to mourn him. I’m not going to think any less of you for that. He was supposed to care for you, and he hurt you, and you wish that he hadn’t. And that’s okay.”

Sasuke starts back up on the shivering, quaking sobs. “It’d be so much simpler if he was good, Neji. I loved him. Why couldn’t he be good? Why did he have to hurt me? I don’t understand. I love him and I hate him and I never want to see him again.” Sasuke’s breath hitches, then he barrels on, tears sliding down the sides of his cheeks. “Because…because if I’m the worst thing he’s done, maybe I deserved it.”

Neji tightens his arms around Sasuke, and Shikamaru watches his Byakugan flicker on and off. Neji visibly refrains from lashing out at Sasuke’s self-deprecating statement, and instead, calmly tells him, “Itachi worked with Orochimaru to blow up an entire civilian district, Sasuke. You are hardly his only sin.” Then, quickly, fervently, Neji clarifies, “But if you were—it’d be enough. I know you don’t agree with me on this, Sasuke, but—some acts are irredeemable. Maybe…some people deserve to die.”

Softly, tears still hitching his breath and causing his voice to hoarsen, Sasuke responds, “I don’t agree, Neji. Because. Well. We could live in what ifs, and what should’ve beens, and what we think we deserve versus what we actually get, or, well, we can live here in the real world. No one is entitled to anything. That’s—I know you Hyuga are steadfastly reliant on karmic justice, but—I just don’t buy it, Neji. I think that our world is morally irrational.”

Neji, mysteriously and fondly, responds to Sasuke with a clever, “The two things aren’t incompatible, Sasuke. It’s not just about justice. It’s about…balance. What kind of message does it send to the rest of society if people like Ibiki can stay in power, you know? We have to punish wrongs. It’s a form of deterrence. And if you can’t buy that the universe can be just, then buy that society can. We can’t stop all the bad. But we can prevent a lot of it, and punish the wrong-doing-ers accordingly.” He gathers himself, as if recognizing that he has begun ranting. “It’s hard, to believe that things can be fair, when we grew up so terribly. I know it is, Sasuke. But if we want to get anywhere with our cause, we have to believe in it.”

Sasuke scowls, sensing Neji’s condescension. “You and your poetic justice,” Sasuke mutters, a bit of his regular snarky attitude returning. But also in his tone is reluctant agreement. “…maybe, maybe that’s true.” He says, very softly.

Neji pauses, then takes a deep breath, then lets it out slow and steady. He takes another, and Sasuke waits. From where Shikamaru is standing, he can see Sasuke’s expression begin to shift into concern and forced patience as Neji finds the right words. “I have to believe there’s a reason I’m here. I know, for you, Sasuke, you have to believe that nothing happens for a reason because, well, admitting that you’re alive for some cosmic purpose after everything is just…shameful, when you consider how many lives must have been killed for that same purpose. I understand.” Sasuke nods, and Shikamaru presumes that he must have explained this to Neji, at some point. But Neji carries on, eyes getting a little lost. “But I feel that I have to believe it all happened for a reason. That there is some sense in the universe, some sort of cosmic balance that demands restoration in the terms of justice. That, after all the pain I’ve endured, there’s a way to rectify it—to serve justice. I demand compensation.” Neji puts Sasuke back at arm’s length, hands firmly gripping Sasuke’s shoulders. He’s not quite making eye contact with Sasuke, but the sentiment is there. “So, forgive me if I push about Itachi. It just, it burns me that you don’t see that you deserve some form of reconciliation: of peace. After all you’ve been through, that’s the least the world owes you.”

“I’ve always admired that about you, Neji.” Neji looks momentarily taken aback, but Sasuke continues as if he doesn’t notice. “You’ve always been so certain that what happened to you was cruel and wrong. You never needed someone else to say it. And I know that’s why you suffer so much. Because you seek justice, in a world where there is none. It’s brave.” Sasuke nods, and wipes his eyes, and seems to compose himself. “But you are…you’re right. Even if I don’t really care whether or not Itachi deserves to die or not…” here, Sasuke’s voice creeps into a whisper. “I should admit that the massacre wasn’t him. If only because I owe it to myself, to believe he is still horrible nonetheless.”

Shikamaru watches, transfixed, as Neji breaks out into a smile. “Yes.” He says, delighted, relieved. “Exactly, yes.”

Shikamaru watches them stand quietly for a moment, Sasuke’s dark hair tucked into Neji’s neck, Neji’s lithe limbs wrapped around him. Sasuke sniffs, pulling away a little. “We can’t stop trying, Neji. We have to keep believing in good, okay? We have to. I know it’s not all black and white, but, there is good.”

Then, cryptically and in a very Neji-like fashion, Neji rolls his eyes, not that Sasuke can see it where his face is buried in Neji’s shoulders, and responds with what must be a quote of some kind. “’The roots of all goodness lie in the soil of appreciation for goodness’”

Sasuke pulls away from Neji, episode tamed. “You’re right, Neji.” Sasuke nods, sharply, and Shikamaru is floored. Neji rolls his eyes, this time in embarrassment. Sasuke pats his own flushed cheeks, and wipes his eyes of tears. He sniffs loudly in the sudden awkward silence. Then, quieter, he says, “I needed to hear that.” Then, he takes a deep, shuddering breath, and looks to Shikamaru and Ino, determined. “I want to talk about it.”  

Neji takes a deep breath, bringing his cigarette back to his lips, hands shaking like some sort of nicotine addict. Shikamaru rolls his eyes. More smoke. “And I’ll stop with the jokes, Sasuke. I know I shouldn’t.”

Sasuke smiles, somehow adorable even with his face red and puffy. “Thanks!”

Then, because Shikamaru is a softy and Ino is very practical, she speaks up first. “How, exactly, is Itachi not responsible for the massacre?”

------

By the time the explanation has ceased, Sasuke and Neji’s combined chakra sensing and Byakugan has hushed them three times as Anbu hurried by, and Neji finishes three cigarettes. Ino tries not to look too greedy whilst accepting them, and simultaneously tries not to let her nose wrinkle too excessively at the smoke permeating around the apartment, having long-since cracked a window in the corner of the room. She likes to think Sakura would be nabbing one from Neji, and Naruto would be exaggeratedly coughing at her. As it is, they aren’t here, and their absence is sorely felt by Ino. Shikamaru is sitting up straight, head tilted, and eyes closed. Sasuke watches him in what is clear apprehension.

Sasuke and Neji speak gently, and slowly, and the explanation is jarring. The story starts, for Neji, during the Nine-Tails attack. Apparently, he’d been with the Uchiha during the whole mess of things, and can remember holding Sasuke—just a baby—against him as Itachi and Shisui hushed them and hid them in the basement. Neji tells them of his mother and her deteriorating health following losing her parents in the attack, ending in an early demise by her own hands, and only pushing Hiashi closer to the Uchihas. Ino sees a flicker of something cross Neji’s face as he brushes over his mom’s death, and it makes her wonder if he’s expecting them to brush over it, too. Ino will have to fix that. Later, though.

Sasuke chimes in occasionally, but for a while, it seems Neji has the strongest, most practical understanding of the events. He’d been older, of course. Even still, the two of them work together to unravel a tale of a seemingly full-proof revolution scheme, only for Sasuke to interfere by hiding Naruto. Shisui, Neji adds, fought Itachi and kept him from completing his tasks. Itachi being unavailable and Naruto difficult to find led to the failure of Hinata’s kidnapping, and for the whole village to go on full alert. Their families had to scrap the plan, and Neji’s dad took the fall for it. Neji speaks of half-baked funerals, and Shisui slipping him a cigarette, which was the last time Neji saw him, before he died. Ino can see a myriad of conflicting emotions flicker across Neji’s face. Relief, she believes, that the clan kids weren’t taken as hostages—but grief, too, for his mom and dad.

After his dad’s death, Neji stopped coming around the Uchiha compound. So Sasuke picks up most of the story from there. He speaks of solitude, and fear, and growing unrest—especially from his mother, who was very close with Hiashi. He tells them about his dad threatening to kill him for his eyes (raised as a pig for slaughter, Sasuke murmurs, a bastard kept alive to embolden Itachi), and Itachi interfering. Apparently, there’s an old folk’s tale in the Uchiha clan about strengthening one’s eyes with the Sharingan of a brother; one taken very seriously. Her mouth sours at the thought of anyone blind to Sasuke’s talent. But Sasuke carries on, and describes Itachi’s rapid deterioration, the household fights, and then, finally, the massacre. He doesn’t talk much about it, eyes adrift. He tells them that he can’t remember it that well—but Ino can tell he’s lying. She doesn’t pry. He describes how Itachi stopped when he saw Sasuke, how he shifted, and lost his mind screaming—and then tried to take Sasuke with him. You wouldn’t know this, Sasuke whispers, but it was Kakashi that saved me. He was one of the Anbu sent out to the compound. And Itachi was so out of it…he had no choice but to run. I figured it out when I saw his Anbu mask.

Then, Neji joins back in. The two speak fluidly alongside each other, and Ino and Shikamaru sit obediently to listen, to hear, to understand, and, hopefully, to help. Neji and Sasuke procured a scroll for Kakashi, one that detailed the fine-print of Sharingan transplants. They tell them that they suspect Obito Uchiha is alive. Then, they tell them about two letters, left behind by Kakashi—one, revealing that Kakashi is alive. This one, Ino knows about, as does Shikamaru. But the other she and Shikamaru were not privy too. The other includes details about Itachi, and how he confessed to Kakashi the true nature of the massacre. A Kotoatsukami, Sasuke narrows his eyes in concentration, sipping on the tea that Ino long since procured for him, the technique I explained earlier…Itachi was taken by the command of this technique, forced into loyalty for Konoha—and these events led to the massacre. Shisui dying, manipulating Itachi just before his death, and Danzo swooping in and covering up any loose-ends.

Shikamaru opens his eyes from where they’d been previously squeezed tight in concentration, cracking his neck. “So,” he begins, “not only is Hatake alive, but you suspect he’s running around with Obito Uchiha.”

Sasuke flicks his eyes over to Neji. Then Sasuke nods. “It’s only based on rumors and a few cryptic messages from the journals,” Sasuke explains, “but, with everything Sasuke learned about Sharingan transfers, it does make sense for Obito Uchiha to have been alive longer than was initially thought. We can’t be certain he’s still alive, but…”

“We’re pretty sure.” Neji finishes. “Call it a hunch.”

Shikamaru lets out a loud breath, one that Ino knows means he’s on the cusp of comprehension. “And Itachi Uchiha was mind-controlled into the Massacre,” he says, bluntly. Ino tries not to cringe at the lack of tact. But Shikamaru carries on. “And you suspect that breaking free from this mind-control slipped him further into insanity?”

“…it’s only a guess.” Sasuke mutters.

“Call it a hunch,” Neji adds once more, head tilting.

“And you’ve had ample time to discuss this, and draw conclusions,” Shikamaru adds lightly, but nonetheless accusatory. Neji and Sasuke shift like children scorned. Shikamaru ignores their humbled expressions, bringing his thumb up to his teeth. He taps his nail against his front tooth, then sighs again, deeper. “I suppose, all things considered, it seems like pretty useless information. So I understand your secrecy. Why risk us knowing such inflammatory truths for no reason? It just puts us all in further jeopardy.”

Sasuke and Neji both nod, but Ino really doubts they’d thought so long about it. She trusts Sasuke and Neji wholeheartedly, of course, but their combined decision making skills are…lacking. She would hazard a guess that the two of them kept it to themselves out of habit, and a mutual distrust for others only amplified by each other’s enabling. And, most especially, Ino knows better than to think that this information doesn’t have value. Knowledge is power. She opens her mouth to say this, but the look in Shikamaru’s eyes stops her. He’s getting there.

“But,” Shikamaru amends, “It’s prudent information for understanding just what the Sharingan is capable of.”

“Yeah,” Ino agrees. She watches Shikamaru curiously, waiting for him to say what is obviously on his mind. As soon as she thinks it, he nods sharply, and stands up. Then, his expression smooths into something tender.

“Can I hug you, Sasuke?” Shikamaru asks gently. Calm. Ino’s jaw drops. She’d been expecting questions, or clever remarks, or—well. Ino sighs. Sasuke brings out the strangest sides of Shikamaru, really. Sasuke scuttles out of his chair, and folds himself into Shikamaru like steam from a kettle. Shikamaru’s hug is loose and giving, and Sasuke smiles into his shoulder. “Thank you for telling us. We’ll do everything we can to make good use of it.” Shikamaru promises. Ino glances at Neji, and sees something like envy in his eyes. She approaches him from where he sits and curls into his side, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. He grumbles, but hugs her back, and if a flush covers her cheeks at the strength behind his grip, Shikamaru and Sasuke are too distracted to notice anyway.  

“Thanks, Ino,” Neji’s voice is hoarse in her ear, from the hours spent smoking. She’ll put more honey in his tea next time. She pulls away, laughing and shaking her head.

She straightens herself up. “Okay,” She begins, “Sasuke, get over here.”

Sasuke laughs happily at her and pulls away from Shikamaru, stumbling over to her. He’s always pretty enthusiastic when hugging her—childish. It aches in her chest knowing that he so rarely gets to show that side of himself. He compliments her perfume, and crushes her against his collarbone. She pretends it doesn’t pull uncomfortably on her earing when he does so. Because she can’t help but give her opinion, she tells him, quiet enough so Neji and Shikamaru, who are now standing up and roughly patting each other on their backs, cannot hear, “I’m really proud of you, Sasuke.” If a few unexpected tears slip out of Sasuke’s eyes at her confession, no one else has to know.

Some things are better kept secret.

It isn’t much time later that Ino has to take her leave. She needs to procure those coordinates, after all. Naruto will need them. Still, as she walks briskly to T&I, off to a long night of work, she has a smile on her face. Finally, she thinks in relief, we’re really becoming good friends.

------

Shikamaru’s sweatshirt is warm and soft, and Sasuke bundles up in it. It’s baggier on him than Shikamaru, but Sasuke doesn’t really mind. This sweatshirt always smells like cologne, because it’s one of Shikamaru’s nicer, expensive ones, that his mother got him. It’s solid black, and has a high collar, and is supposed to be for extra cold missions to wear underneath a flak jacket. Shikamaru wears a tasteful cologne. It’s layers of pine, with top notes of vanilla. He needs the extra comfort after the exhausting day he’s had of sharing.

He burrows his face into Shikamaru’s bedsheets and tries to forget about it all. How embarrassing, he thinks to himself, remembering the shivery way his voice sounded through his tears. It’s not quite so horrifying as other situations Sasuke has endured, and his friends made him feel so comfortable, but he still feels oddly raw and exposed. He’s never been quite so seen and known before, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. So, as he often does, he hides in Shikamaru’s bed. He’d never quite felt at home in a bed before he and Shikamaru’s apartment. Everywhere feels at home in their apartment, now. Especially because, after Sasuke shared his hatred for cotton bed sheets, Shikamaru splurged and got satin sheets and pillow cases for the both of them. There’s no reason for you to be uncomfortable, he’d grouched. There’s a candle lit in the corner, too, and lots of lamps on. He’d been embarrassed to admit he didn’t really like the dark—but Shikamaru shrugged, and now, they collect lamps. Like the lava lamps on the desk beside Shikamaru’s bed, and the ugly lamp Shikamaru brought back from a mission and insisted was a great deal. There’s a knock, and Shikamaru peeks his face into his own room, looking foolish (who knocks on the door to their own room? Sasuke can’t help but laugh at the absurdity).

 “You okaayyy?” Shikamaru wonders. His hair is pulled into a low bun, and Sasuke loves the childish glee of seeing someone as no one else does. Sasuke has his red-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose, after all. They help with the Sharingan headaches.

Humming, he assures Shikamaru, “Yeah.” He doesn’t offer anything else, instead gazing out toward the window, where the curtains are drawn close.

“Can I—” Shikamaru begins, brow furrowing as he walks into the room. Sasuke scoots to the right side, and Shikamaru crawls to sit beside him. He adjusts, spreading out his legs in front of him, and Sasuke smiles at the sight of him wearing a pair of Sasuke’s shorts. “Can I ask you something?”

Sasuke turns to face him fully, nodding once. Shikamaru frowns, and Sasuke tilts his head obligingly. “It’s more like, I want to tell you something. Sasuke. I mean. You know that I love you.” Shikamaru gazes at him imploringly. Sasuke grabs his hand, gently guiding it to rest on the expanse of bed between them, his hand folded over Shikamaru’s. 

“I love you too,” he tells him. He knows he lets a bit of confusion creep into his voice, but he can’t help it. Shikamaru is so damn confusing.

Shikamaru’s lips roll together, and he tilts his head, before asking, “I want—I want you to know, that I’m nothing like the people who’ve loved you before, okay? I’m not going to hurt you. Ever. And, when I say I love you, that means something really important.” Shikamaru turns to him, eyes so earnest and determined. “It means that I’m going to take care of you, and buy you your favorite foods, and ask you how your day is. It means I love to help, and listen to you. And protect you.”

Sasuke, to calm his sudden racing heart, her rests the side of his forehead against Shikamaru’s shoulder. Shikamaru moves to accommodate him. “I love you, too.” He says, and he wants to say all those other things that Shikamaru said, too. But he hopes that his confession alone covers it. He hopes that Shikamaru is right, and that all of those promises are included every time he and Shikamaru whisper, shout, or say I love you in passing. Sasuke has never had love given so freely. Shikamaru asks for nothing in return, like love isn’t an exchange at all, but a promise.

“Okay,” Shikamaru says in that soft, delicate tone of his that makes Sasuke want to curl against him forever. For now, Sasuke closes his eyes, and does just that. Tomorrow, he will have to go to work, and face the day knowing that he’s just spilt all of his deepest, darkest secrets to Shikamaru. He will have to admit to himself just how close he’s let Shikamaru get to him. Come tomorrow, Sasuke will have to face the inevitable anxieties of having shown the people he loves his true self. He will have to go about his job while wondering what Shikamaru is thinking—and he won’t be able to talk to his housemate until late in the afternoon, and that’s if Shikamaru isn’t called for a mission. Sasuke clings to Shikamaru a little tighter at the thought. For now, he will pretend that none of those other things exist, and his world consists of just he, Shikamaru, and—

“Aww, baby, you can come up on the bed. Yes. Good girl,” Sasuke croons, beckoning his beloved kitten towards them. Shikamaru starts grumbling, but despite his verbal protests, shifts so their cat can rest on their laps together, tail swishing between them.

Yes. For now, amidst the soft glow of Shikamaru’s eclectic lamps, Sasuke lets himself laugh into Shikamaru’s shoulder. “We should go drinking tomorrow night, with Konoha 12. Kiba invited us. He wants to gossip with Ino, I think.” Sasuke suggests.

Shikamaru’s hand wraps around Sasuke’s shoulder, playing with his sweatshirt sleeve, and Sasuke smiles at the feint feeling of Shikamaru’s fingers brushing against his shoulder through the cotton. “Sounds like a drag,” Shikamaru confesses, “but if you want, I’ll go with you.”

Sasuke runs a hand down his cat’s fur as she purrs happily. “Kiba’s has been telling me about this girl—Kaya.” Sasuke waits carefully for Shikamaru’s response, but he simply hums.

“Another drag,” Shikamaru tells him, “Girls are the worst.” Sasuke lets out a surprised laugh at his friend’s claim.

Sasuke shrugs a shoulder. “He says she wears great perfume. I’m going to let him set us up.” Shikamaru eyes him warily at that, disbelieving that any perfume smells nice. He hates perfume, has told Sasuke so many times. “You should invite someone to.” Sasuke orders, but Shikamaru just sighs beside him. Aware that he’s planted the seed, and that arguing with him won’t make the idea grow roots any faster, Sasuke closes his eyes and lets himself sleep quietly against Shikamaru’s shoulder. He hopes his roommate will find someone to bring—seriously, Shikamaru needs some serious dating game. Sasuke has his excuses, but what’s Shikamaru’s, anyway? He’d thought for a while maybe Shikamaru had a crush on him, but as time passed and the guy never tried to jump him in bed, Sasuke realized Shikamaru didn’t feel that way about him. People who liked Sasuke like that always wanted to have sex.

The next day goes about as well as Sasuke thought it would. He’s ridden with anxieties about what all of his friends think of him now that they know the broad strokes of he and Neji’s friendship. The worst part must be the anxious realization that Sasuke has nothing left to himself now—which is absurd. Sasuke has plenty of other secrets, stories that no one else is entitled to. Even further, Sasuke has new secrets: shared secrets between the four of them. But it’s still a raw and exposed feeling, even as he tells himself these things. Often, he brushes his fingers against the tattoo on his arm, and reminds himself that this thing, this beautiful piece of art, is all for himself. No one else was there to chime in about it. Just his. His choice. And it brings back a certain sense of control he’d felt he was missing. After a long day of throwing himself into his work and trying to avoid thinking about how he’d bawled like a baby into Neji’s shoulder and confessed all those stupid, stupid things that he knows he shouldn’t believe but can’t help but feel, Sasuke is ready for a drink. He hates the idea of people thinking he’s too stupid to know those things aren’t true. (not stupid, a voice that sounds like Ino chimes in, hurt)

On his way back to he and Shikamaru’s apartment, he buys a bouquet of flowers from the Yamanaka’s to give to the date Kiba set him up with. Mrs. Yamanaka gives him lilies—“his favorite,” she tells him—and Sasuke isn’t really sure why she says this, but accepts anyway.

He throws on a blue pair of pants, and a white collared shirt, and a jacket over that. He borrows Shikamaru’s cologne, and fixes his hair to the side, and by the end of it all, he’s feeling nice. Better. Well enough that he has a skip in his step on his way to the bar that Konoha 12 frequents, and a smile on his face as Kiba throws him into a side hug when he spots him at the entrance. “Sasuke! Kaya’s right over there, single,” he lowers his voice, close to Sasuke’s ear, “and really hot.”

Just as Sasuke’s about to think I’ll be the judge of that, he catches sight of the girl that Kiba is talking about. And okay, as usual, Kiba can pick ‘em.

Kaya is standing with Ino, a bright grin spread across her face, stretching the corners of her mouth wide and creasing a dimple into the corner of her mouth. Her hair is a shade of watermelon-red, and frames her pale, narrow face. He reaches out to feel her chakra signature, and finds it to be expertly concealed. Strange. Sasuke prods a little more forcefully, but he can’t find her chakra.

Intrigued, Sasuke shares a few mandatory greetings with Kiba and waves at the others in the room before meeting Kaya across the room. Although, Sasuke is beginning to have his suspicions about the legitimacy of the name she’d given Kiba.

She bows her head in a demure greeting, but her sharp eyes don’t leave his. He smirks, returning the gesture. “Sasuke,” he clarifies.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kaya.” Her black-rimmed glasses slip down her nose, and conceal wide, long-lashed eyes that are a breathtaking red. Sasuke would bank that the color has something to do with an intriguing bloodline, and he can’t wait to ask her about it.

“Kaya,” he tests, because wow, he is curious now. He hadn’t expected to be interested in her beyond sharing a drink and resigning himself to more bemoaning from Kiba about his pickiness. “Well…” he lets himself look her over, at her long legs and slim neck, and his eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Can I buy you a drink redhots?” he offers her the bouquet of flowers in his hands and observes her response to the old nickname. She doesn’t bat an eye, and accepts the flowers without much fanfare, holding them loftily in one hand. Her gaze is sharp—calculating. He wonders if the flowers were too over the top, but then remembers that the girls he takes out usually love them. This girl sees it as a manipulation tactic. And she’s trying to pass off as a civilian.

“Sure, waterfall.” She slips her hand under his arm before he offers it to her. Karin Uzumaki, he thinks huffily, fancy seeing you here. He’s only ever met one other chakra sensor as naturally skilled as he. He doesn’t ask if he knows her, because her signature is concealed for a reason. This is unmistakably the charming girl he’d met at the Chunin Exams nearly three years prior, and her abilities had made enough of an impact that Sasuke recalls her. But, then again, she’s not trying too hard to hide her real identity, with her bright right hair on full display. She wants me to know. His suspicions are confirmed when she presses her chakra gently against his, and an intoxicating blend of spices hits his senses. Cinnamon, and heat, and yes, he remembers why he’d called her redhots. She’s reassuring him that, for whatever reason she’s hiding behind a codename, she’s not doing it to fool Sasuke. 

It only takes a few drinks and chats for Sasuke to realize he wants to uncover everything about her. The banter is smooth and filled with giggles. She brushes against him a handful of times, but not so much that it feels disrespectful to his personal space. He tells her about his time as a medical nin, and to his delight, she shares about her own. Two medical prodigies, rare in their field, and Sasuke has to order another drink to tamper down his own nerdy excitement.

Her skin is soft against his, and her laugh occasionally uncouth. Sasuke wants badly to get closer to the cinnamon taste of her chakra. He wonders if her lip balm is minty, or cherry flavored, and he takes yet another sip of his drink to hide his obvious staring. She doesn’t bother hiding hers. Sasuke won’t drink until drunkenness, but every once in a while, he finds he does like a glass of something strong and bitter. The banter picks up with anticipatory ease. At some point, she dodges an answer to one of his questions—one prying into whatever clan she came from that blessed her with the red hair—and Sasuke hums. “Mysterious,” he comments, and she grins, taking a polite sip of her own drink. She isn’t getting drunk, only enjoying, and he’s incredibly charmed by her constraint, and the way her eyes flicker suspiciously around the room every once in a while.

Sasuke leans in close. There are people all around them, walking up to the bar and grabbing drinks, and somewhere in the distance he hears Kiba gasping animatedly about something Ino is telling him. Up this close, he can smell her perfume, and Kiba, with his keen sense of smell, was right—it’s tasteful. Sasuke has never liked overly fruity perfumes, but she wears this warm, vanilla smell well, even if he can sense an underlying hint of cherry.

Before he can lose the nerve, Sasuke blurts, “Can I give you a kiss?” She breaks into a smile, nodding with an enthusiastic giggle. He closes the distance between them, eyes closing, and breathes into the taste of whiskey on her mouth. Her lips press softly against his for a brief gasp. Then she pulls away and laughs into her drink, shaking her head. Sasuke feels electric as her chakra presses against his more firmly, tauntingly, and then skitters away just as fast. He breathes a sigh of eager frustration into his glass, then leaves the cup at the bar. He glances to the side quickly to take note of where all of his friends are, and spots Shino and Hinata chatting together in a corner. Lee and TenTen are here too, but to Sasuke’s chagrin, Neji is standing by himself, a cigarette hanging out his mouth and a glass of something in the other. Then, he turns back to Ino, only to notice this time that Choji and Shikamaru are standing with her and Kiba, Choji’s arm thrown around Shikamaru’s shoulder. Shikamaru looks flushed in the face, and Sasuke is a little startled to realize it’s because his friend has been drinking.

Kaya sets the bouquet he’d bought her on the bar counter pretty carelessly. Sasuke doesn’t mind that much, especially when Kaya raises her eyebrow at him and grabs his wrist in her smaller, calloused hand. “Wanna take a walk?”

Yes, Sasuke thinks immediately, and is excited about his own eagerness. He’s been on a few dates with girls, and they’ve never felt like this. So he takes her hand in his and leads her out, ignoring the looks of a few of his friends who notice. With anyone else, they’d have started shouting, but they know that Sasuke wouldn’t pay them any mind anyway. After a lifetime of friendship with Naruto, Sasuke is immune to social embarrassment. The warm air envelops them as they leave, and Sasuke lets their chakra dance together, elated by how easy it feels with her. So natural. She leads him behind the building—a short walk, Sasuke thinks wryly, and he crowds into her space. He takes a moment to enjoy messing with her chakra, cherishing that cinnamon flavor, before wrapping her cold hand in his. “Is this all okay?” Sasuke wonders, and she grins again, nodding once, then twice.

“Definitely,” she affirms, and backs herself up against the building wall. It’s surprisingly secluded, despite the bustling bar atmosphere inside. Sasuke can still hear the loud voices and footsteps from inside and around the building, but here in this alley, it’s like their own little world. “You’re so polite,” she comments, and seems overjoyed by this.

Sasuke feels a pang in his chest at the thought that just asking, just checking in, is enough to garner such a response. But he also feels welcome to relax with her, and he tells her honestly, “I don’t do this a lot.”

She shrugs. “Me either. Is that okay?”

Sasuke nods firmly. “Mhmhm.”

He gets in closer to her. He kisses her forehead, and then her temple, and his hands find the soft, product ridden depths of her hair. It leaves a trace of oil residue on his fingers as he scratches his nails against her scalp, and she sighs happily. Her hands massage in between his shoulder blades, and then drag down his neck. Her fingers dance across his hair briefly, and he makes an involuntary, surprised sound in the back of his throat. His heart is racing. He’s nervous, and breathless, too. Her chakra intensifies, spicier, and his chakra signature washes over her in return. Her head tilts and nudges his lips to hers. Kissing her is quick and fiery. She deepens the kiss, presses her mouth against his insistently, and Sasuke welcomes it. For a while, there is a soft, gentle buzz in the back of his mind, one that isn’t demanding or nervous at all. One that is simply comforted. Then, as he gets used to the kiss, and his hands have roamed everywhere they feel comfortable, his mind starts to drift. To compare. Kissing her, and kissing Itachi. The thought makes him physically recoil, and his teeth slip and catch her lip a little too roughly. He doesn’t often think about what happened to him as sex, or kissing, but as violence, and pain. Though, now, kissing her, he’s reminded that he’s done this ample times before. This is not his first real kiss at all. He’s not even a virgin, really. He’d never found any of what happened to him pleasurable, or found any aspect of kissing anything but revolting—but here he is, enjoying it. And it’s a novel experience, despite his lack of virginity.

His mouth finds her neck, gentle and tasting—she tastes like body lotion of some kind. It’s oddly pleasant. Her fingers are under his shirt now, and he’s not upset about it, actually. He likes it. And he’s supposed to like it. Allowed to like it. It’s not a sickening hug following harsh pain that still makes Sasuke feel sick to his stomach about enjoying. It’s not his brother haunting a dream, or twisting his dreams and any fantasy Sasuke may have had into something disturbing and embarrassing. He presses his hands against her waist and feels the curvature there, a little desperate, now.

Bizarre is actually a really good way to describe what Sasuke is feeling. He notices her nails, French-tipped. Normally, nail polish makes his stomach roll, but not right now. Right now, Sasuke is starting to feel his heartrate drop back, the nervous feeling fade. It’s nothing like before. Itachi pinned him down and took. Took the kiss from his mouth, took his fingers inside of him—rough, always rough—took his clothes—took his pride. Shoved his head into the bed. Sloppily left bites on his neck. Shoved a condom on, then shoved inside, and Sasuke cringed with every thrust, each more painful than the last, and marveled that even after Sasuke told him that it hurt, he kept going. He always kept going.

But Sasuke is not there. Sasuke is polite. This girl gives as much as Sasuke gives, willingly and thoughtfully. He traces the dips and ridges of her spine with the pads of his fingers. He tastes whiskey on the roof of her mouth, but then she pulls away, gaze meeting his. “Can I suck you off?”

Sasuke considers her, pulling back. “Here?”

She nods quickly. “Yeah. Are you okay?” she looks around, “we’ll be able to tell, if anyone is coming.” She has a good point, of course. Sasuke mulls the question over in his head. Does he want her to? And the choice itself gives him a small thrill. The control in his hands, the choice resting on his shoulders. He’s not confined by disappointing her, because he hardly knows her, and he especially isn’t confined by force. There’s nerves, of course, too. He’s never had anyone—he’s only ever—he can’t help but feel a little confused that she would want to. He’d hated it. But he looks at her earnest expression, and knows that if he needs her to stop, she’d do so, no questions. So he nods.

“Yeah,” he tells her, “I don’t know, I don’t know if I’ll be able to. I have trouble, with, with finishing.” The confession feels sour on his tongue. She pays his embarrassment little mind and nods reassuringly.

“Okay,” she agrees, “tell me if you get bored, though. Or if there’s anything I can do to make it better.”

He laughs, a little surprised, and parrots, “bored?” she rolls her eyes at his pointed gaze on her body. She shifts away from the wall and tucks her hair behind her ears, then presses him against the building. She sinks to the ground, and shifts to get comfortable, sitting low on her knees. He can’t help the sound he makes when her palm presses against him. He’s not very hard, but she’s patient, tugging his pants down to his knees and peppering his thighs with kisses.

Her hands are soft against his stomach, and she giggles, telling him, “look at your abs. You’re so handsome.” And it’s a refreshing compliment—one that doesn’t make him freeze up or feel cornered. He shakes his head in slight denial.

“Thanks,” he tells her, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Have you looked in mirror?” She laughs with him, her cinnamon chakra dancing with his, and Sasuke lets his head fall back against the wall. He tries not to wonder why he doesn’t feel so disgusting about everything. There’s just something about this moment, this desire, that keeps the fear and worry at bay. For now, Sasuke celebrates his own body allowing him to enjoy the moment.

Sasuke has no idea if she’s good at this by anyone else’s standards, but he’d give her five stars. The gentle bob of her head, and hallowing of her cheeks, and the way she pulls away to ask him what he likes and what he doesn’t. He guides her gently, then caresses her cheek when she pulls back panting, and rubs her jaw. Her eyes bore into his, and she tells him, “you can grab my hair, or be rougher. I can take it.”

Sasuke feels his stomach roll, and denies her immediately. “No, I’m not into that.” Then, with brows furrowed, “do you want me to?”

“No,” she shrugs a shoulder, “just, a lot of guys like for, you know…” 

“Not me,” he denies, a little spiteful. “Actually,” feeling himself getting less aroused by the second, Sasuke makes a quick decision. “Can I go down on you?” Then he shrugs, and tells her quickly, “I’ve never done it. I want to try. Just, tell me what feels good.”

He guides her up to standing, tucks himself back into his pants, then guides her by her hips to lean against the wall. He feels clumsy as he reaches out to touch her, he runs his hands down her sides, gentle as possible. Her sighs embolden him, and he slips her skirt down to her ankles. Smiles at the frilled lining of her panties. “It’s cute,” he mutters, and she giggles, angling her hips forward when Sasuke’s hands wrap around her backside and squeezes her closer. Sasuke would wager he spends the next eternity kneeling there, mouth pressed against her, lips and fingers wet. Her right leg ends up wrapped around his shoulder, hooked at the knee, and Sasuke holds her steady. The ache in his jaw is oddly pleasant. She shoves her hand in her mouth to muffle herself, and Sasuke subtly casts a Genjutsu in case her very un-fool proof plan fails them. Everything about her is warm and pleasant, and when her hips stutter forward, Sasuke keeps pace, letting her shudder and sigh against his mouth as he crooks his fingers upward. Maybe sensei’s books have come in handy.

Pulling away, he lets her leg slip shakily back to the floor, and presses his forehead against her thigh. Kisses the pale skin there, where freckles and bumps line her skin. After a moment of reprieve, she tugs on his shirt sleeve and he stands with her. Karin—Kaya—pulls him up into a hug, sighing deeply into his shoulder, and she shifts so his knee presses between her legs. “It was good?” he asks, a little embarrassed to need confirmation. He doubts she’s new to this, but doesn’t pry. He isn’t exactly new either, after all.

She nods happily, and Sasuke feels a glow of pride. She kisses up the side of his neck, and grinds down against his thigh. “I have a condom, in my skirt pocket,” she murmurs to him, and Sasuke bites back a groan. She leaves the offer in the air, and he gently nudges her back against the wall. She battles with pulling her skin tight shirt over her head, and as she does so, Sasuke bends down and grabs the condom. He slides off his jacket and throws it with her skirt, then meets her back in a kiss, fingers messing with the wrapper.

He lets his mind swirl in the background. He lets himself wonder about all the absent feelings he’d associated with this for so long. Fear of him. Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear that, if he let himself have this now, the memory will haunt him, taunt him, and he will never be able to have it like this again. Fear that he will hate sex with anyone as much as he hated sex with Itachi. At the end of the day, no matter the circumstance, what Itachi did to him was sex—and he’d always worried that’s all sex would ever be. But he has kissed her, now. Now, if anything is to happen, Sasuke knows what it’s like for sex to feel good—he will know that he’s not broken, and that he’s not the problem. (Slowly, he has learned that there is love without sex. That not everyone wants sex from him. That just because someone wants it, doesn’t mean he has to give it. But that’s not what this is about, really. This is about pleasure, and whether Sasuke has the capacity for it after all the pain Itachi caused him.)

So, chakra mingling together, keeping careful track of people nearby, Sasuke buries his face into her neck and crowds toward her, hands pressed flat against the wall. She lifts her leg to better the angle, and huffs against him at the first slow thrust. To be clear: Sasuke has orgasmed before. Always quietly in frustration, hand aching, mind whirring, and usually huffing in dissatisfaction and impatience. But this, this feels so immensely difference. Warm, and slow, sinking toward her. It’s intimate, and Sasuke is so glad he’d noticed the way her hand hovered by her hip where she concealed her kunai the first time Sasuke caught her across the room. This isn’t her first time, and it’s not his. They aren’t here to pretend. But there’s a care in the way their hands clasp each other’s, like they are aware just how precarious, just how memorable, sex is. They move like they are enjoying a coveted treasure, reassuring a quiet pain that the other isn’t completely privy to, but can sense. Her lips are gentle when they kiss, hips stuttering as they try to find a rhythm. His hands are feather light where they grasp her hips, mindful of past hands that didn’t take as much care. She throws her head back, runs her hands under his shirt, up and down his chest. He slips his own hand onto her skin, cupping her breast in his hand, covered by the soft material of her bra. He presses a hand against her lower belly, soft and toned, and she hums in his ear, mouth dipping down underneath to nudge at the side of his throat.

The grinding continues, and Sasuke watches her face almost reverently. When her brow starts to furrow and her hips start to shift side to side, he stops immediately, panting. He tilts his head expectantly, and he murmurs something in his ear about friction, so Sasuke pulls out all the way. She turns her head to the side. “It’s dry,” she whispers, embarrassed. Sasuke nods, and tilts his head, a little thrown off his game.

“What should I do?” he wonders, and Karin giggles, and shakes her head.

“It’s fine, keep going. Just finish quick.”

“No,” Sasuke shakes his head, because the alley is pretty secluded. They have enough time. “I don’t—I don’t have lube, or anything. So, what do you like?”

She turns her head to the side, muffling embarrassment, and Sasuke waits patiently, hand squeezing himself. Eventually, she shrugs, and declares, “why don’t you take off my bra?” Hint taken, Sasuke does so, and cups her breasts this time in both hands. He leaves kisses down her collar bone, until she’s sighing those happy, relaxed sighs again. Eventually, as Sasuke’s mouth sweeps across flushed skin, she starts humming too, hands tangling in his hair in encouragement. Sasuke’s hands slips back between her legs, and massages and glides until he feels her pleasure evidenced wetly on his fingertips. He angles his hips back forward, grabs her chin into a kiss, and continues back inside of her with her guidance.

This time, the rhythm is easier to find, as she sets the pace, and when her hips tire, Sasuke carries it forward. Her fingers scrape gentle across his back, and the pleasure slows down parts of Sasuke’s brain he didn’t even realize were constantly whirring. Itachi may have taken, but he didn’t take everything: Sasuke can still give. Can still receive. And it’s so, so nice.

Some amount of time later, Sasuke ties up the condom, and wipes sweat from his brow and hairline. They don’t have a towel, not that Sasuke realized they would need one, so the both of them awkwardly shove their underwear and pants back on a little sticky. Kaya adjusts her bra, and fixes her hair, and Sasuke wipes his mouth against his hand, and then his hands on his pants. Kaya takes the condom from him and walks over to a dumpster to throw it away, and Sasuke leans against the wall of the bar, breathless. Alive. Thrumming with energy. She appears beside him again and smiles, then tucks herself under his arm. He lets her, rubbing circles on her shoulder, kissing her forehead chastely. “That felt good,” she tells him, and Sasuke hums in agreement.

“Yeah,” he tells her. “It did.”

Chapter Text

"So,” Kakashi drawls, “how, exactly, are we going to find Sakura? If anyone has any intel on her, they’re probably tucked away in the leaf village somewhere, and—no offense, really—I don’t think we’re too welcome there.” Obito’s eye starts to twitch as Kakashi rambles on, nitpicking Obito’s plan with his nonchalant attitude, hovering his hand over his chin and grinning at him. Obito knows Kakashi can think better than this, but he likes to prod at others, and since there is no other poor soul around to be Kakashi’s target, Obito has the circle painted on his back. “Of course, we could just wander aimlessly around towns and wait for the juicy gossip.” Kakashi suggests, with an exaggerated slump of his shoulders. It’s a miracle, really, that Kakashi managed to stay alive so long without him. Kakashi certainly never shies away from a fight, even if he is clearly outmatched. Obito learned about that particular trait when Kakashi took on four Mist Anbu after he’d been stabbed just because Obito was sleeping so cutely and he didn’t want to wake him.

Kakashi starts to grow pouty, waving his hand in front of Obito’s face. “Shinobi world to Obito.” He says impatiently.

“Can it, Kakashi,” Obito commands, “I’m trying to think.”

“Ooh,” Kakashi sympathizes, and Obito closes his eyes immediately, recognizing the tone. “Some people don’t have to try to think. We just do it, it’s very natural, you see.”

“Kakashi…” Obito warns, eyes peeking open. Kakashi just beams at him in delight.

“I don’t see what’s so hard about this, Obito,” Kakashi cajoles, “you were able to swipe a Sharingan from the hands of Danzo, but you can’t find my student?” Doglike, he tilts his head, “Is it because, perhaps, you want me all to yourself? Afraid she’ll steal away my attention?”

“It’s because,” Obito grits his teeth, “you weren’t there to interrupt my thinking.” He had, in fact, managed to get one of the Sharingan after the Massacre before Danzo started working on whatever strange experiment he’d cooked up. At the time, he’d still been rolling with the Akatsuki, but pretty soon after Itachi joined up, Obito made himself scarce. He was pretty certain the eye was Fugaku Uchiha’s, because it was a Mangekyou, which may seem very impressive of him, sure. But, as Obito can seemingly phase through walls, it really wasn’t that hard to get his hands on it. Besides, Fugaku was his clansmen. He’d have rather Obito have it than that Leaf scum Danzo. Of course, to make matters more complicated, Itachi also had his hands on one of Shisui Uchiha’s eyes. It was programmed for something or another, but Obito had never learned what exactly his clansmen had desired to do with it. Moreover, Obito had never had many problems with Itachi at all. He was quite surprised to learn from Kakashi about how psychotic the kid actually was. Still today, he’s jarred by it.

After all, he only left the organization because he’d figured out who was behind the Nine-Tails Attack. Itachi really hadn’t factored into the decision at all, so them getting to know each other was purely a coincidence. When Obito first woke up after Kanabi Bridge, it was Pain who was there, with Konan healing him. And he’d been completely blind. As he later found out, Pain had stolen his Sharingan, and then used it to manipulate the Nine-Tailed beasts. Well, Obito had been quick to nab a Mangekyou from Danzo’s collection, and he used that to fight to get back his original eye from Pain. Ever since, he’s been desperately avoiding Pain, because he knows that he royally pissed the guy off. Seriously, cultists.

So he has his original eye back, and Fugaku’s eye, which makes two Sharingan. Take that, Pain. Obito fully intends to exact more revenge in the future by stealing the Rinnegan, but so far, he’s kept that thought to himself. No reason to make Kakashi worry.

Kakashi’s voice snaps Obito back to reality. Or, well, his voice and hands. Kakashi’s cold hands wrap around his waist, his check presses against the side of Obito’s face, and his mouth—mask gone—trails kisses against his sun-warmed skin. “I know what could help.”

“That’s not going to help, Bakakashi.” Obito points out, but Kakashi groans in protest, low, throaty, and right next to Obito’s ear. Obito steals a glance at his face, and finds Kakashi’s cheeks flushed, and good eye crinkled up from the smile on his mouth. Kakashi has always smiled from the muscles in his cheeks, entire face morphing with his happiness, a dimple resting at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll inspire you,” Kakashi reassures, and the leather of his gloves catches at Obito’s hips, dragging him closer. And, well, when he puts it like that.

Kakashi has always been handsome. Obito is certain it’s not a secret, although Kakashi does an excellent job at warding people away with his attitude and mask. Never Obito. Both attributes make Kakashi all the more charming to him. When they’d first gone on the run together, and things were still tentative and confusing between them, Obito’s jealousy ran rampant. Kakashi often used the general mystery of his face to his advantage, and ditched the iconic mask for hair dye and glasses. So many strangers getting to see Kakashi’s face—which, Obito absurdly felt was an aspect of Kakashi that was for his eyes only—sent Obito off the deep end. My face, he thinks to himself, cupping Kakashi’s cheeks in his hands. His mask is crumpled cutely around his neck, as if Kakashi had hurried to tug it down to be closer to Obito.

He thumbs at Kakashi’s ear, who responds by nuzzling into his hand, a contented sigh escaping him. Kakashi is so needy, so even if Obito feels that he always gives Kakashi what he wants, there’s more to give. Obito likes it that way. But, not right now. He pats Kakashi’s face. “Go make dinner.”

Kakashi scowls at him, but obeys mulishly, stalking across the camp to prep the fish he’d caught earlier. He mutters something about Obito secretly hating him and Obito rolls his eyes, beginning to pace once more. Pacing helps him think. Especially when he has scrolls filled with jumbled ideas scattered around him. While Kakashi is practical in a war setting, or even a mission setting, espionage really isn’t his thing, surprisingly. Then again, Kakashi was raised as a front-line soldier, and then a straight-forward assassin. Planning wasn’t really apart of Kakashi’s role—the execution and swift delivery was, sure, but not the actual mission plan. Even when he was an Anbu captain, Kakashi rarely made the plans himself. He was given a task and told how to deliver it, and then commanded a team based on those instructions.

Obito has found Kakashi helpful in many aspects, don’t get him wrong. His survival instincts and skills are unmatched. He’s practical, and quick on his feet when plans go awry. He’s great at nitpicking and finding flaws in a battle strategy, or catching sight of weakness in the enemy. But he has never, not once, been helpful in the actual planning process. He’d been under the impression Kakashi had a role in the Chunin Exam invasion, but as it turns out, Kakashi had used his knowledge of the invasion to carry out a very subtle coup and then fake his own death. It wasn’t really his plan at all. Cheater, he thinks a little grouchily. Still, it was good that Kakashi thought to fake his death. Otherwise, the Leaf Village surely would’ve caught him, and he’d have been executed for sure. Subtlety is lost on Kakashi, most of the time, even if he is a great secret keeper. Kakashi either keeps a secret or doesn’t. No in-between.

Intel, execution, following orders, and finding flaws—Obito glances at his partner. Whatever plan he cooks up, Obito wants to play on Kakashi’s strengths. Kakashi’s major weakness is his inability to avoid trouble. In terms of the Akatsuki, Kakashi’s stubborn attitude may prove fatal. Sasuke has played excellently on Kakashi’s strengths, from what little intel they’ve gathered about the Leaf village. Hiashi Hyuga’s death created quite a stir, as did the arrest of a renowned interrogator—Ibiki Morino. Kakashi had seemed delighted that his intel was useful. What in the world Kakashi had thought Sasuke would do with that information, Obito still doesn’t know. Obito doesn’t even know why Kakashi knows everything in the first place—seriously, who looks at Kakashi and thinks that’s the guy I’m gonna spill all of my secrets to. Then again, Kakashi knew things on the basis that no one perceived him as a threat because of his steadfast loyalty and seemingly gullible behavior.

Obito glances at Kakashi, who is glaring at the fire while he seasons the fish, still upset at Obito’s rejection. People have always underestimated Kakashi. Obito can still recall the shock on everyone’s faces when Kakashi won his Chunin exam tournament, at ten. Maybe Obito needs to stop underestimating him.

“Kakashi,” Obito speaks up, “what do you know about the guy who helped you with the fake body?”

Kakashi perks up. It makes Obito’s heart reach out to him. Sometimes, it hurts how eager Kakashi is to be useful. “Kabuto Yakushi,” Kakashi begins, the tone of voice reminiscent of his childhood recitations of Shinobi code, “his age is unknown. His birth place is unknown. Parents unknown. He was assigned under Orochimaru as a young child in the Leaf, and when Orochimaru went rogue, he was transferred to Anbu intelligence. He’s a skilled medical ninja. Allegiances unknown, although he seemingly never stopped working for Orochimaru.” Kakashi sits up straight, like he’s giving a report, and a surge of fondness envelopes Obito. Kakashi is often unaware how dutiful he comes off, all protocol and seriousness, even as finishes speaking with a firm nod, awaiting approval or perhaps further instruction.

“Do you think,” Obito begins, watching Kakashi carefully, “he’d help us take down Orochimaru?”

Kakashi, bless his soul, doesn’t even look surprised by the question. Simply tilts his head and thinks on it, then nods slowly. “He seemed completely self-serving.” A flicker of disapproval mars Kakashi’s expression, “no loyalty at all.”

“Do you have any ideas on how to track your student, Kakashi?” Obito wonders, and Kakashi frowns as if he hadn’t thought about it. Obito knows that he’s often more comfortable when Obito acts as the leader, but sometimes, that means Obito asking explicitly for his input, and reminding him that his value reaches far beyond his physical skillset. Years of Anbu have made Kakashi a compulsive solider, and far too accepting of his own pain. After finding out how long Kakashi spent as both a Jonin and an Anbu, Obito had to take a long walk and really process how he was going to help Kakashi. It was different when he’d had subtle suspicions about Kakashi being a member of ROOT, as a kid. Now, Kakashi has spent years in a role that completely devalued his humanity, and it’s a task to simultaneously remind Kakashi of his own value while also respecting Kakashi’s emotional intelligence. He’s found that assuming the leadership role calms Kakashi, and so he does so without much fuss.

“I think,” Kakashi begins, “I think I could get Pakun to track her. He knows her scent well. I’m not sure how effective it would be if she’s been traveling a lot, though. And it would probably lead us right to Orochimaru: enemy territory.”

“But you think Kabuto would help us? Given the chance?”

Kakashi shrugs. “It’s possible. I wouldn’t put it past him to betray Orochimaru.”

Obito breaks into a smile. “Good. Good, Kakashi.” Kakashi matches his grin, pleased at having been helpful. “That’s a great idea.”

Kakashi flushes so bright he has to tug back up his mask, muttering once again about how Obito sounded surprised saying it so that must mean he doesn’t appreciate Kakashi enough. Obito rolls his eyes. “I have an idea,” he tells Kakashi, halting his pacing to come join him by the fire. “But I need you on board with going in this pretty blind.”  

Kakashi chuckles, and Obito sees fiery resolve ignite in his eyes. Kakashi just can’t back down from a challenge, can he? “I’m in.”

Over the last three years, Obito has picked up many of Kakashi’s behaviors and endearing habits. Kakashi has a hard time sitting still. He flusters easily, and gets confused often when social interactions go beyond his expected script. Kakashi is meticulous, and pursues everything in his life with impressive single-mindedness. Mind-numbing tasks like setting up camp are some of Kakashi’s favorite past times, and he always sets up their camp exactly the same, when they’re out in the forests or off the paths and not staying in a motel. In a motel, Kakashi has a separate routine. Obito understands Kakashi’s need for perfunctory tasks and predictability, but it surprises him time and again that Kakashi never tires of it. In fact, every time Kakashi gets a chance to cook, or set up camp, or inspect a hotel, there’s a sense of peace and excitement about him. It hurts to see someone he loves so dearly find comfort in something that so many people take for granted. Kakashi acts surprised when things work out, as if he’s truly expecting—constantly—that he will not get another chance to cook dinner for them or make their bed. Still, it’s heartwarming how much Kakashi values their time together.

He always mentions his students, as well. Always wondering how their doing, if Naruto is succeeding with Jiraiya, if Sakura is okay with Orochimaru, of all people (Kakashi had cursed when he’d heard the news, and been inconsolable for days)—or if Sasuke is making new friends. His paternal side pleases Obito, to Obito’s own surprise. Kakashi carries the behavior over to strangers that they meet as well, offering advice, or a hand, or helping lonely children find their way home. It’s absurd, that a man who was a professional killer for years can act so gentle. Still, it isn’t a surprise to anyone that Kakashi is capable of killing. He carries himself in such a way that most of everyone who meets him knows, even when Kakashi is in disguise. You can’t shake years of experience from your walk, or your attitude, or the way your eyes scan a room for danger.

Kami, he loves Kakashi. Kakashi is right. Perhaps they should just keep circling the rumor mill until they hear something, and maybe, they ought to use both Pakun and Kakashi’s keen sense of smell to track his student. Maybe he should rely more on Kakashi’s gut instinct when it comes to finding Sakura, because he does know her better. Obito, in his struggle to relinquish control, stops his ponderings and shares a meal with Kakashi and a few chaste kisses.

Then he finds himself huddled inside the tent Kakashi set up for them, Kakashi’s arms wrapped tightly around him and legs thrown across Obito’s. Kakashi is so warm, constantly, that Obito sometimes doesn’t even need to get under the blankets. Kakashi also kisses him hazily in his sleep, a dopey smile on his face when he wakes up to tell Obito about a dream. He never remembers these instances, but Obito treasures them all the same. Obito knows it’s crazy to have such a strong urge to protect him, because Kakashi is more than capable of taking care of himself and others, but he thinks that’s why the urge is so strong. Kakashi deserves to have someone protect him.

“Kakashi?” Obito murmurs, and Kakashi’s arms tighten around him briefly, before loosening.

“Yeah? What is it, baby?” Kakashi moves to sit up, but Obito drags his arms back down and around him. Kakashi dutifully tucks his face into Obito’s neck and assumes his listening ears.

“I was just thinking,” Obito begins, fiddling with a scar on Kakashi’s ungloved hands, lacing and unlacing his fingers through Kakashi’s. “Were you, this is kind of a weird question, sorry,” he glances towards his neck, and notes that Kakashi is relaxed, eyes closed. Obito relaxes too. “But, were you sad? When Minato died?”

Kakashi sucks in a breath. His eyes stay closed. “Yeah,” Kakashi confesses, “I know he didn’t do as much as he could’ve to protect us, but he was only a kid, too, really. He didn’t know any better.”

“But he was Hokage,” Obito argues, “he appointed you back to Anbu.”

“Yeah,” Kakashi says, quieter now. “He was pretty strict with me. I remember, once,” Obito can feel Kakashi swallow against his neck. “Right after I’d gotten into the ranks, I was going through all of this officer training. And I blew through it, faster than any other recruit ever before me. Everyone hated me for it, all the older Anbu, I mean. But, when my commander called me up to his office to promote me, the only thing I could think about was telling sensei. It didn’t matter to me that the cafeteria would be Hell once people caught wind of my promotion, that people would say it was favoritism. I just couldn’t wait to go see him,” Kakashi sighs against him. “I was so excited, I could barely keep a walking pace on my way to Minato’s home. When I told him, he said he was proud of me. That I was making him proud, and keeping his good name.” Kakashi makes an almost laughing sound. “It was probably the first time I’d smiled in weeks when he said that.”

Obito squeezes Kakashi’s hand. Kakashi just shrugs. “I know it’s probably stupid, but hearing him say that again was the only thing I ever thought about. All I did was train and take on missions. I came home with so many awards. He put them all on the mantel, and in the kitchen, and the ones from the Academy in my honor were in my room. He loved bragging to everyone about them. When he died, I…I threw all of them away.”

“Why?” Obito can’t help but ask.

“Because—“ Kakashi makes a frustrated sound. “I didn’t care about some dumb award. I just wanted him to…I wanted him to love me, I think. I’m not sure if Minato was really capable of that. He’d had such a hard life, it was crazy people expected him to take care of me and take on the duties of the Hokage, and take care of his pregnant wife, and cope with…and cope with everything he’d lost in the war.”

“I’m sure he loved you.” Obito reassures.

Kakashi makes an unsure sound. “In a way, I think your right. But it was…I really believe it was conditional. Like I only deserved his attention when I earned it. I tried really hard not to make my students feel they needed to succeed for me to be proud of them. There’s so much more to people than numbers and awards. So many more important things to be proud of.” Kakashi relaxes against him purposefully, but Obito can tell he’s tenser than before. “I missed him a lot. But if he were still alive, I’d like to think I’d have a word with him about what you should and shouldn’t make a kid do. Some of my hardest years of Anbu were spent under Minato’s care. I broke the record for most consecutive missions, most A ranks, youngest rookie, and youngest Captain. They shouldn’t have called it a record.” Kakashi’s voice sours. “They shouldn’t have awarded that sort of thing. It wasn’t a reflection of how impressive I was. It was a reflection of weakening ethics on the part of our leadership; of their increased willingness to let kids participate in war. And I say that with confidence, because a few years later, Itachi came in and blew my so called records away.” Then, as if realizing he has begun to rant, Kakashi clears his throat. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just,” Obito, knowing that Kakashi appreciates honesty, comes completely clean about his thoughts. “I was thinking about how few people you had looking out for you in your life. I was wondering if that’s why you look out so much for others.”

Kakashi goes quiet and mulls it over. “Maybe,” he agrees. “But, I don’t think we should expect others to look out for us. Everyone has an agenda.”

“Do you?” Obito challenges.

“Do I…” Kakashi laughs lightly against him, “do I have an agenda?” it sounds as if he asks himself the question. “No, I suppose I don’t. Good point.”

“Yeah,” Obito declares, “I know you don’t. But I do.” He flips around so Kakashi is wrapped up in his arms, and Kakashi laughs loudly at him. He crushes Kakashi against him. “I just love you. That’s my agenda.”

“That’s a good agenda,” Kakashi agrees amicably. “You’ve always looked out for me, Obito. I don’t mean to doubt you.” Kakashi closes his Sharingan eye, and Obito delights at the thought that even in their time apart, he was there, protecting Kakashi. Obito adjusts his arm so he can brush his hand against Kakashi’s eyelid, tracing the scar Kakashi got protecting him from what would’ve been a killshot. There’s a sudden ache so strong in his chest of love, gratitude, and endearment that Obito is breathless.

“You know I don’t think like that, right?” Obito digs. “You know that I love you even when you’re distracting me, or lazy, or feeling down and sick? You know that my love doesn’t go away, even if I’m irritated?” Kakashi stays tellingly quiet. Obito brings him in impossibly closer. “It’s true, Kakashi. I love you always.”

“I know,” Kakashi whispers back. “Sometimes, It’s hard to remember, though. Sometimes—you make me feel—“ Kakashi makes an irritated noise, and shakes himself. “I feel like I’m a kid again, and I’m doing everything I can to earn back the that love my father took from me.”

“I don’t mean to make you feel like that, Kakashi.”

“It’s not you,” Kakashi corrects, “you’re wonderful, Obito. I just. I get in my head.”

“Tell me what I can do.” Obito insists. “How can I make you feel that less?”

“I—“ Kakashi shrugs. “This. Just this. Reassuring me.”

“Okay,” Obito agrees, and happily allows Kakashi to spider monkey back into him, long limbs gripping Obito around the hips and shoulders. Kakashi always falls asleep first. Obito isn’t sure how Kakashi sleeps so well. Maybe years of sleeping out of mission necessity have trained Kakashi’s brain, or maybe he likes to bundle up like a dog pile against Obito enough that it konks him out for the night. Obito isn’t certain, but he’s always a little jealous and irritable about how easily Kakashi finds rest.

Obito lies awake and refines his plans. He doesn’t end up sleeping for another two or three hours, lying awake with his mind hard at work. He works out maps, travelling, supplies, money, and timing. Kakashi mutters in his sleep against him, and once opens his eyes in what is clearly some form of sleep talking to tell Obito about an idea he has for a restaurant. His restaurant, of course, will offer free drinks to anyone who brings their dog with him. Obito just shushes him back to sleep. Obito doesn’t know why, but he hasn’t slept since the massacre. He wasn’t even really there to witness it. But something about knowing that all of his kin were killed in the swoop of one night—well, it eats at him that he wasn’t there to do anything. And he knows, of course, that it’s not really his fault he found himself blind and semi-captured by the Akatsuki, nor that his clan decided to risk itself by staging a coup. But. Obito has never truly recovered from the knowledge that his entire family shattered, and so, he doesn’t sleep.

Besides, it’s not like Obito wanted to return to the Leaf after Rin died. Or could, considering he was blind and Pain was keeping him on a tight leash. Escaping that situation was hard enough, but once he had, Obito realized pretty quick that returning to the Leaf wasn’t very feasible, or desirable. Rejoining one of the most corrupt nations in order to do their evil bidding, after they were responsible for the death of Obito’s family, wasn’t exactly on his bucket list. Nor would it have been a good idea, considering that Obito’s eye was the one seen the night of the Nine-Tails Attack, and a one-eyed presumed-dead Uchiha randomly popping back up may have been the perfect scapegoat for the Leaf to claim they’d finally found the Kyubi Attack perpetrator. Then, after the massacre, Obito hadn’t wanted to all over again.

Kakashi was almost reason enough for Obito to try coming back. But. Obito wasn’t willing to rejoin the Leaf just for him, for an Anbu Black-Op breaking records and winning awards for his steadfast loyalty. He couldn’t betray his people like that, and wasn’t even sure he and Kakashi would work, what with how much Obito had grown to despise the Leaf village.

Obito swipes his hand across Kakashi’s face. How could he not love this man? This man, who chose him over everything else in the world? This man, who confessed to visiting his grave nearly daily? It was always you, Obito. I knew I’d never find anyone as perfect as you.

Kakashi tore the world down to get to Obito. Obito fully intends to rebuild it.

One plan at a time.

-----

The idea is based on a protest Kakashi led as a young, boisterous child, when Minato was still on his side and gunning for the Hokage position. He can feel the heat in Kakashi’s words through the journal, the passion that Kakashi rarely let seep through as an adult. The first time Sasuke read it, he’d had to stop and pour himself a strong drink. Shikamaru was fiery for days after, taking time to absorb what it all meant. How Sasuke and Naruto being assigned to Kakashi must have been some sort of sick punishment ritual, something they were doing to him to keep him place, to force him to confess to things he so staunchly protested. A declaration of their power over him.

Kakashi gave a speech at rally occurring outside of the Chunin exams, when he was only thirteen. He describes the experience as liberating, and his exhilaration about it is so palpable that it thrums in Sasuke as well. Kakashi, young, scared, fiery Kakashi, and over two hundred other shinobi stood outside of the Chunin examination building, blocking the entrance with their linked arms. Kakashi had a copy of his speech scribbled inside the books, and Sasuke, even now, can’t read it without getting emotional. A protest of the examination so thorough Sasuke wouldn’t have been able to articulate it with such accuracy, from death tolls, to the birthright of children admitted (most orphans, most so, so young), to his own experiences as the youngest winner of the exam tournament. He, at just thirteen, warns the crowd of how he is not truly some sort of prodigy—but an experiment of Konoha authorities. A test of how young a child the general public will accept as a participant, and now that Kakashi has done it, they will only push further. And what an accurate prediction it was. I’m not a prodigy, I’m a social experiment. Kakashi’s tidy, young handwriting puts Sasuke’s teeth on edge. They had used Kakashi as reasoning to go younger, to push kids harder.

Kakashi had eventually joined them in their linked arms, and they stood outside and stalled the examination so thoroughly a handful of foreign ninja returned to their villages. But on the fourth day of the hunger strike, authorities got pushy. Kakashi regales how he’d told everyone that he’d be targeted for his speech, that no matter what the authorities do, they can’t fight back, they can’t unlace their arms. We’d been scared, Kakashi writes, that they’d attack and we’d have to run, so tying ourselves together wasn’t an option. Uchiha were originally called on the scene, and had stood in solidarity, refusing to intercept the peaceful protest. But Anbu were called next, and despite the loud protests of the Uchiha police force, the Anbu had dragged Kakashi away from the man and woman beside him (Hizashi and his wife, Hizashi and his wife), and beat him. Punished him. Kakashi let them. So did the crowd, keeping their arms interlaced. Soon after, the Anbu pushed their way through, and the Chunin exams had carried on, every protestor spending a night in the Uchiha jail—which wasn’t nearly large enough to hold them. Kakashi had been sent, too, despite his injuries, and one of the protestors bandaged and healed him a little, despite how everyone was shoulder to shoulder in smoldering summer heat.

But they’d been effective. It was one of the most belligerent political protests Konoha has seen, and yet, Sasuke had never heard of it. Minato was appointed Hokage, and able to, with the awareness stirred from the protest, add protections to the Konoha chunin exam regulations, and urge other villages to follow suit.

But when Hiruzen assumed the Hokage hat once more, most of Minato’s protections were torn apart, forgotten, or simply seen as courtesies—unenforceable.

Sasuke clutches his copy of Kakashi’s speech close to his chest, making eye contact with Ino, who’s lips are pursed. She nods slowly. An agreement.

They’re going to throw together a protest. Ino’s talked to Kiba—he’s going to get the Chunin exam proctors on their side. And they won’t have any Uchiha police to let them protest. Anbu will rip them away, if they can, stop the protest before it began. They have to disincentive the Anbu, and so, they need Konoha 12.

The Anbu can’t possibly attack every clan kid in the village. Sasuke’s plan twists and turns in his mind, a vision of all of them tied together with ninja wire, then tied to the building, standing front and center of the protest. The Hyuga heirs, the Yamanaka, Nara, and Akimichi heirs, the last Uchiha, and the Aburame and Inuzuka heirs. The only problem is, Sasuke’s not sure if he can convince them. Lee and Tenten will come without hesitation, but their names won’t stir protection. A social experiment, Sasuke hears Kakashi murmur. Of course, Sasuke has better timing than Kakashi. After all, Konoha 12 has personal resentment towards the Chunin exams.

“You’ll convince them.” Ino tells him. “We’ll convince them.”

Sasuke can’t do anything else but nod.

And so they go forth. It’s easier to convince Konoha 12 (10, Sasuke knows. There are 10, now. And oh, doesn’t that burn, because Sakura’s beautiful mind would’ve worked overtime to perfect this idea, and Naruto’s natural charisma would’ve effortlessly swayed the masses) than Sasuke had initially assumed it would be. Kiba and Hinata are on board before the words leave Sasuke’s mouth, and Shino has always been their good friend. Shikamaru and Ino get Choji to agree, who is uncharacteristically serious and somber about the whole affair. Neji doesn’t even consider staying behind, despite the recent murder charges against him. Sasuke grips Neji’s shoulder upon his agreement, and Neji just rolls his eyes and blows smoke, never as present as Sasuke would like. Always in memories.

The ninja wire cuts deep into Sasuke’s wrists as he ties himself to Neji. A blithe conjuration of Neji’s parents, standing in the same spot all those years ago. It’s Shikamaru on his other side, and the pain is grounding in the face of the fear. He’s an Uchiha. He’s carefully crafted this persona of loyalty, only to stand here now, in a protest. But it’s time. They’ve done the work. (he’s told Tsunade, not in so many words. She’d grunted, and told him offhandedly about her dead brother, who’d lost two fingers in his Chunin exams. He took it for the permission it was. She was drunk anyhow). Hinata is somewhere on the end of Konoha 12, secured to Anko, and when Sasuke got a glimpse of her she looked like a soldier. Steely eyes. A dead father. Does she know? He isn’t sure, because for all of Hinata’s brashness, Sasuke never knows what she’s thinking, and he’s not sure he ever will. Maybe that’s for the best.

Ino has Kakashi’s speech. She’s standing behind them, lifted up by a small stool someone had bestowed her, with one hand tied to the door, and the other smoothing creases in Kakashi’s speech. She’s never been one for the spotlight, Sasuke knows. She’s no good at this, he can read it on the nerves in her face. Not because Ino is unfamiliar with the spotlight, but because Ino is familiar with the spotlight, and knows exactly what is at stake. Shikamaru tugs at him, and draws his gaze forward, away from worrying over Ino.

“She can do it,” Shikamaru promises, eyes forward.

“I know.” Sasuke agrees.

The crowd of Chunin-hopefuls is growing. There’s a chant floating around the group. Neji spent hours scribbling them up, muttering rhymes and alliteration under his breath, and humming rhythms.  The first exam that Konoha has hosted in three years; and they’re ready.

Sasuke doesn’t join this particular chant, letting the impassioned voices of his fellow protestors wash over him. Tell me, tell me, how to win! Stick a knife in my best friend! Show me, show me, a contract! Sign me up to be attacked! And on and on, this tune flows. Originally, Neji had a slew of more verses, but Kiba cut it down, declaring these two to be the most impactful standing alone.

The chant eventually fades into cheers, and Neji glances behind himself to Ino, the megaphone on her mouth as she starts up the next one, hardly looking like she’s breathing. “I bet five coins on my niece, her friend kills her, call it peace!”

Sasuke joins until his throat is sore, cycling through Neji’s clever lines. It takes until there’s a crowd of curious Genin around them, some with sensei lingering behind, for the Anbu to show up. The masked ninja eye them with calm, confused recognition. Hesitation. Anbu aren’t known for their de-escalation, so without being positive that they should interfere physically, they’ve effectively put them in a bind until someone higher-up shows up to try and order them to leave. The chants die out as Ino stops leading them, because they planned this—she wasn’t going to speak until the Anbu showed up, because Sasuke wanted them to hear it too, wanted them to hear Kakashi-sensei.

“A decade ago,” Ino shouts, now holding a steady microphone, megaphone forgotten on the floor beside her. He can hear some of the protestors startle, having not expected the sudden speech. Gai, who stands proudly on the other side of Neji, straightens his spine upon the arrival of more Anbu. Lee and Neji are on either side of Gai, and Sasuke has never been prouder to have the Jonin helping them. Ah, the passion of youth, he’d said appraisingly, of course I’ll join. None had tried to ask Asuma. “More than a decade ago, Kakashi Hatake stood here, at ten years old. The youngest Chunin to graduate from the exams.” Gai sucks in a breath, and Sasuke bets he’s not the only one. Ino pauses, and Sasuke tries not to look behind himself, focusing on standing with her, gaze focused ahead. “A decade ago, Kakashi Hatake stood here at age thirteen, protesting the exams, just as we are. And three years ago, Kakashi Hatake was forced to watch his students participate in the very exams he spent years condemning.” Sasuke swallows, grinding his wrists into the wire to ground himself. “I have his speech with me. A speech where he was dragged,” Ino’s breath catches as she says it, but barrels through, composed, vicious, “out in front of a sea of protestors for, and beaten with a switch.” Then her voices get’s light and airy. “And he knew this would happen. Predicted it. Warned every protestor during his speech that when the Anbu came on scene after the Uchiha police, he would be physically punished for it. He told them, that no matter what they did to him, they should keep their arms locked together in solidarity. I’m told he had a scar running around his hip from the switch. I’m told by protestors who were there, then, that they chanted so loud as to drown out his screaming, in respect to the privacy of his pain. To remind him that they were there, supporting him.”

Sasuke takes a breath, then releases it, slow and steady. Shikamaru follows suit, but his eyes never leave the Anbu in front of them. Ino starts listing statistics, beginning her introduction, modified from Kakashi’s time—explicating to the audience how many more have been lost since Kakashi protested. Data Shikamaru collected studiously from varying library reports and public records, including the number of Genin lost since the start of the international contest. She touches on the battle three years ago as proof that the Chunin exams are nothing but a flagrant display of power, not an insurance of peace. He hears Kiba mutter his agreement here and there, and others in the crowd do the same, though most are hushed by the authority in Ino’s tone. Sasuke watches the Anbu carefully for any signs of wavering confidence, and to his own surprise, finds it there. Ino continues.

“I found record of four separate forms submitted by Kakashi Hatake, requesting that his team be excluded from that year’s Chunin exams. His team was comprised of three rookie genin. He was denied all four times. When Orochimaru infiltrated the exams to attack and target his students personally, he was disallowed from entering the Forest of Death to retrieve them during the exams.” A bit of feedback resonates on Ino’s microphone as she adjusts, taking a deep breath. Picking up Kakashi’s speech.  “At thirteen, here’s how Kakashi describes his experience in the last round of the exams. ‘I was terrified. It was as if I couldn’t see five feet in front of me. The cheers were so loud I had damage in my eardrums, because my hearing is sensitive. We didn’t have a preliminary, so I faced about a dozen kids. I don’t even remember their faces, but I have dreams about their eyes, and their voices. I killed every one that I faced, and I used to shake at night, wondering that if I had faced my close friends, I’d have even recognized them before I killed them. I lost track of where the blood was coming from. I don’t even remember really deciding that I would resort to killing. Only that if I didn’t do something, I would be dead, so I had to do something. I couldn’t bear to look too closely at any of my comrades for weeks afterward, because so many of the kids trying to kill me in the tournament had leaf headbands. And later, when they started calling me Comrade-Killer Kakashi, I had nothing to say in my defense.’” Ino pauses, and Sasuke isn’t watching her, but he can bet she’s got her hand on her heart, gathering herself. Emotion wells in Sasuke as well. It’s one thing to read it quietly to himself, but to hear it read out-loud, to so many familiar faces, it’s…well. He can see Gai barely holding himself together, a grimace plastered on his face. “‘if we hadn’t been in the midst of war, I don’t doubt that people would have caught me in the streets and thanked me for winning them so much cash. I’ve seen it happen to other winners. I can only be grateful that I was never one of them.’” Ino lets that statement float in the air, and now, Sasuke can see the resolve of the Anbu truly waver.

Ino must feel the tension in the air, because she carries forward, putting to rest Kakashi’s story for a moment. “I watched my two best friends be forced to fight each other during my Chunin exams. Shikamaru Nara and Sakura Haruno. It would’ve been a renowned fight whether or not the battle broke out in the midst of it—as I’m sure any who attended the exams remembers. I felt numb watching them. I, too, was forced to fight a friend. I used to question why anyone would want to pit comrade against comrade, or ally against ally: it seemed counterintuitive, to me. After all, why would fighting to the death build trust? But that’s just it.” Ino’s voice hardens. “It doesn’t. It keeps us wary of each other. And if we are too busy fighting amongst ourselves, distrusting our friends, then we will never be able to stop them from profiting off of killing us. And they don’t even have to pick up the knives themselves. We kill each other for them.”

Ino offers no thank you, no final parting words—just that, as she sets down the mic, her shoulders pulled back tightly. She chooses to let a heavy silence linger across the clearing. Sasuke watches the Anbu with growing unease. Then an Anbu starts approaching them, gaze locked on Ino, and Sasuke sees the choice be made. He grits his teeth and keeps his fingers clenched in Neji and Shikamaru’s hands. The Ninja wire burns. The Anbu pushes past them, underneath the ninja wire keeping them together, heading to Ino, and there’s nothing Sasuke can do, really. The Anbu wears an old root mask, and Sasuke swears to himself to remember it, even though the style is frustratingly generic. Sasuke knows that he can’t outright fight back against an Anbu, but it burns all the same to see him tower over Ino. Sasuke’s neck strains to keep his gaze focused on the growing tense situation, Shikamaru’s breath near his. Ino keeps her gaze straight ahead, refusing to let the Anbu tear her attention away from the goal.

The Anbu reaches down beside Ino, calm, controlled. Sasuke’s Sharingan subconsciously flickers to life. But all the Anbu does is pick up the discarded megaphone. Gentle, kneeling beside her, he grabs Ino’s hands, and then places the megaphone within them, wrapping her fingers around the handle. He pushes it towards Ino’s chest, nods once sharply at her, then walks around her, to stand just behind her shoulder blade. His hands lace behind his back; a clear statement of guarding. Gaze pointed forward. Murmurs of unease spread around the corners of the building from people who cannot see precisely what has occurred, so Ino sets the record straight. She presses the megaphone against her lips. Her shaky breath can be heard wisping through it. She’s looking at Neji, Sasuke realizes. Neji’s gaze rests steadily upon her.

“Hey ho, don’t let go!” Ino starts shouting, and the crowd responds, hands gripping each other’s sweaty palms with redoubled resilience.

Sasuke shouts the next line with frightful determination. “Hey ho, we won’t let go!”

“Hey ho, don’t let go!”

“Hey ho, we won’t let go!”

------

Exactly one month ago, Itachi approached Sakura and Kabuto with a deal.

She’s repeated the interaction dozens of times in her mind’s eye, searching for a way out. She’d known she would never be able to fulfill what Itachi demanded of her, even if Kabuto wanted her to. The truth of the matter was that Sakura probably could’ve ran from Orochimaru a while ago. She could’ve chosen to never go to him in the first place. The only reason that she ever joined him was in the interest of taking him down, and for that same reason, Sakura stayed. She closes her eyes and recalls once more Itachi’s request, and knows, just as she did then, that she will never, ever be able to fulfill it.

Itachi approaches Sakura first. The clearing is empty, just she, Kabuto, and Itachi.

He swipes her hair behind her ear and crowds into her space. His eyes pierce her, those eyes, and though the details of his face will later be lost on Sakura, she will never forget the cold, wrinkled, psychotic glint in his eyes.

“I’m sure you’re quite tired of Orochimaru.”

Sakura has been working on the Orochimaru problem. She was sure there was a way out, even though Kabuto was getting antsier, horrified that Orochimaru would kill her and live another fifty years in her skin. She knew he’d do next to anything to try and protect her from that fate. She wonders, suddenly, if Itachi is here because Kabuto called him here, searching aimlessly for a way to get Sakura out of the mess she’d been born into. She glances at Kabuto and knows that she will never know for certain if her suspicions are true.

Itachi leans closer, and Sakura recoils, mouth slipping downward. Itachi ignores her discomfort. “Since you’re so eager to know why I’m here,” he tilts his head, “I’m here because the Akatsuki wants you. And I want something from you, so they’ve sent me to be the messenger. We’ll help you dispose of our former ally in exchange for your fealty to the Akatsuki. And, of course, as a show of good faith, before we help you take out Orochimaru…you’ll give me access to all of your memories. It’ll be a painless comb through, really. I can pull it off with the Mangekyou in a matter of miliseconds.”

Funny. Sakura knew that the moment he offered, no matter how badly she wanted to live, she was never, ever, ever going to let that happen.

Now she was here.

She’d joined Orochimaru to protect her team. She was hardly going to sell them out now. Kabuto may not understand loyalty, but it turns out, Sakura does. She has no intention of joining the organization gunning for Naruto’s head or helping Sasuke’s psychotic brother dig into her memories and find out anything about Sasuke. Apparently, she had to be willing in some capacity for the jutsu to work. His version of the Yamanaka technique was bastardized…he hadn’t stolen it like Sakura had. Which she regretted doing, of course, and she’d never, ever steal from her friends now. The point was, Itachi is a current threat to her team.

So, naturally, Sakura has no idea what to do.

There seems to be no way out, really.

She’s dead if she doesn’t join Itachi and give him what he wants from her, because Orochimaru will smother her with the mind replacement jutsu (not that Sakura isn’t used to the idea of being co-inhabited, but she’s certain Orochimaru won’t be happy to share). She’s probably dead if she does join Itachi, because maybe he’ll take her memories and then kill her with no care for what happens to Orochimaru. She’s dead if Itachi decides she’s too much of a pest to deal with. She’d rather than die than end up working for the organization gunning to kill Naruto and the rest of the Shinobi world. She’d rather die than help Itachi, too.

Really. Sakura may have to call it quits.

She has a kunai held steadily in the palm of her hand. It’s blade glimmers. She recalls yanking a tracker out of her arm years ago. Options. Sakura doesn’t have options, really.

She sets the kunai aside and breathes. She couldn’t have anticipated this situation—then again, maybe a part of her had. Maybe that’s the real reason why Inner was fascinated by, and also despised, Sasuke. Because her loyalty to the stupidly brave, kind-hearted, lovely boy would be her downfall. She can’t do it. She just can’t give Itachi anything of Sasuke’s, not even her memories. That’s what it boils down to for Sakura, because she just can’t force herself to consider the bigger picture. She could double cross the Akatsuki, or save hundreds from Orochimaru, but she can’t. She can’t because it means double-crossing her team. It means becoming like the people Sakura spent her entire life being manipulated by and despising for their dishonesty. All Sakura ever wanted was to be transparent, understood, honest, and it seems with every passing day she gets further and further away from what she values most.

She picks the kunai back up and flips it over in her palm. Options.

If she kills herself now, what were these last three years for? She might as well have ended it before ever falling prey to Orochimaru’s ministrations. But there aren’t any options. She can’t bear to face the options, if they do exist, and she can’t believe that she still has no idea who she is and what she stands for. She clenches her eyes shut, and thinks it’s not fair. It’s not fair that the people in her life took her life from her in all the ways that mattered. She grew up with no morals, no ability to understand right from wrong, and now here she is, still grasping with the concepts everyone else seems to have figured out for themselves. Why can’t I? Why don’t I know?

Options. Her parents abandoned her, twice. Kakashi left her, Naruto left her, and she left Sasuke, and it just goes around, and around, around. But there’s nowhere left to leave to, no more places to hide in order to protect her loved ones. There’s a new tracker in her forearm. She could cut it out and try to escape. No one would know it was a suicide. Poor girl, they’d say. She didn’t know that the tracker had a bomb in it this time. Orochimaru isn’t a mastermind, really, but he is powerful, and he’s heartless, and he has more free time than any powerful man ever should. She’s even sure if she can kill herself, or if he’s created a safeguard for that, too.

Options. Sakura rolls her lips together. Itachi called her heartless. Kabuto calls her smart. Sasuke called her kind. None of it’s true. She’s no more than a lifeless puppet, tottering around where the strings of her masters tug her. It was always going to be this way, wasn’t it?

Maybe a part of her knew that too. Maybe a part of her had given up the second she’d slipped out of the village, following Kabuto’s paper trail, screaming from the pain of full curse-mark activation. She thought she never knew when to quit, but all of the sudden, Sakura isn’t sure if she was ever playing the game in the first place. That’s why, Sakura knows, she’d left herself love Kabuto as dearly as she does. Because the charade had a time limit. She’d needed to feel loved, in whatever way someone was capable of loving her.

Loving a girl so heartless. But Gods, she’d tried, hadn’t she? She’d worked so hard to be worthy of Ino once she realized how badly she’d hurt her best friend. She’d redoubled her efforts to be the kind of girl that Naruto and Sasuke respected. She’d pushed herself to the brink trying to prove herself to Kakashi. She’d tried so hard to be good, to do the right thing, and she never succeeded.

She always failed. Except this one time, when she’d left the village to give her friends a chance at really living, and to keep Orochimaru away from harming them. She still had a chance to succeed now, if she can stop Orochimaru from having a viable vessel.

The kunai taunts her. I don’t want to die, but her options are limited, and there are fates worse than death. She hears hurried footsteps down the corridor, and knows by the sloppy slap of sandals that it’s Kabuto. For being a spy, he’s always had heavy footsteps. She thinks about bombs, and wonders if Kabuto would let her die the way she wanted, or if he’d try to heal her. She doesn’t think that he would. He’d always respected experiments who chose to end their suffering early—sometimes, Kabuto even made the move himself.

Her door slides open. She keeps staring at the knife. Kabuto stands by the door, a little out of breath. She glances up at him and wonders what’s got him in a tizzy. Probably realized that Itachi will never let the both of us join. Just him.

Kabuto stands straighter, chastened. “Well,” his tongue clicks. “Maybe I misjudged you. Giving up so soon, Sakura?”

What am I giving up, really? “Why are you in a hurry?” Sakura redirects. She runs her finger across the blade. “You were stomping around like it’s your first time walking.”

Kabuto crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “Are you going to do it?” he asks again, looking between her and the blade. How did this scumbag know, anyway? Never mind that. He always knows. She likes to think she would know, too, if he were ever to try.

“Would you stop me?”

“I don’t know.” Kabuto shrugs, and for once, he doesn’t sound like he’s lying. Then, “I thought about it, too. Recently.” Sakura sucks in a breath. They’ve really done it now, haven’t they? Three years of testing their luck, of crying over tortured, dead patients, running from Anbu, struggling to find new and creative ways to escape the deadly clutches of Orochimaru, for what?

“I’m not even afraid, really, I just…I feel nothing.”

“I am,” Kabuto denies, “I’m terrified. Every time I think about having to rejoin the Akatsuki, I get such a fear in my stomach I think to myself I’d rather be dead than go back.” She jumps at his loud earnestness, looking around herself. It didn’t take long to learn that Orochimaru hears everything. Kabuto just shrugs. “He’s sleeping. He’s been doing that a lot, in preparation for…” Kabuto can’t bring himself to say it. That isn’t like him. “I used to think,” Kabuto carries on, “That everyone gets sloppy eventually. That Orochimaru would soon learn to trust me because it was easier than having his guard up. Now I know that it doesn’t even matter. Even with his guard down, Orochimaru outsmarts me at every turn.”

His gaze follows her kunai. Sakura’s grip tightens around it. “We could go together.” She offers. “You would know the best way to go, as the medic.”

“Not drowning,” he tells her. “Not poison, either. You’ve got the right idea, there.” He motions to the knife, trying for a joke. She’d laugh for him if she could.

“Itachi has no intention of letting us join up. He’ll kill us.” Sakura points out.

“We don’t know that.”

“He’ll kill me.” Itachi really isn’t the forgive and forget type, and Sakura played a part in causing him to lose a golden opportunity to take back his brother—maybe his only opportunity.

“Yeah.”

He crosses the distance to sit beside her. Sakura can’t even be bothered to feel any part of her limbs, or care for the ache in her spine. Her face feels tight, coiled up and out of her control. A smile would be impossible. “I can’t think of a way out.” Kabuto confesses.

“I can’t either,” Sakura admits. They sit shoulder to shoulder, wondering. The knife feels heavy in her hand.

“It was always going to be this way, wasn’t it? I was never going to be able to save you.” Kabuto asks, and fuck, Sakura wishes she could tell him otherwise. They’d tried. For three years, they’d made friends, gathered intel, breached Orochimaru’s spy networks, and none of it, none of it helped them. They may have been able to smuggle Karin out, find her a new name and get her to Konoha, sneak out Suigetsu from his water tank, leave Jugo with a bottle of meds for his mood swings in a small, innocuous town—but they—they never could save themselves. They were never going to, and a part of them always knew it. “I really believed that I could.” Hearing him admit what Sakura has always known makes her clench her eyes shut tightly.

Sakura opens her eyes and stares down at the knife. “Yeah. But, you know. I have a plan.”

“You have a plan?”

“I’ll probably die. Might not. Better odds than what we have going.” Sakura offers.

“Why do all of your plans—“ Kabuto begins, miffed and eyeing the kunai, but Sakura rolls her eyes and cuts him off.

“I was only thinking, you know. It’d be nice to die here instead of at the hands of my enemy. I wasn’t really going to. I was just…wishing that, you know, I didn’t have to go in the way that I probably am.”

 “Alright.” Kabuto relents. “What did you have in mind? Since you’ve so thoroughly pissed off the Akatsuki, and ruined that opportunity for me.” Then, his eyes soften. “I won’t leave you behind again, Sakura. I couldn’t do anything when we were little. I’m going to,” His eyes flicker, “I’m going to try, now. You were right before about joining the Akatsuki. I was too scared to admit it.”

She’s surprised he’s come to her to wonder about what her scheming was. A part of her believed that Kabuto would leave her to die at the hands of Itachi, and run off to the Akatsuki without her. His faith gives her a sliver of hope. It’s just enough to break the haze of despair. Sakura puts away thoughts of dread, and tucks away the kunai with it, before sending Kabuto a ghost of a smirk. He scowls immediately.

“I’m not going soft,” he begins, but Sakura clucks her tongue and shrugs.

“I didn’t say anything.” Then, because she can’t help it, “Thanks, Kabuto. Don’t let them tell you you’re heartless. Orochimaru, the Akatsuki…they have no right to define you.”

Sakura knows it’s what he needs to hear, because she needs it, too. He swallows a lump in his throat. Kabuto has never been heartless. He’s like her. Cold because there was never a reason to be anything else. But when she grabs his hand, it’s warm to the touch, and so is hers.

Still, because it’s Kabuto, and he has to get the last word in, he adds snippily, “this all would’ve been so much easier if you’d never have befriended that round-faced Uchiha.” Sakura laughs, not because she finds his arrogance funny, but because at least these last three years gave her a brother. And now, even though the world tried to pit them against each other, she’ll always have one.

------

They’ve been traveling for about two weeks, now. Wandering, not travelling, Kakashi scornfully corrects, but Obito ignores him. Finding Orochimaru’s lair is meticulous, hard work, and he’s getting closer, he can taste it. If that means wandering hungry through woods after woods on wild-goose-chase tips, then so be it. But during their travels, skillfully rumor-mongering and the like, news of Sasuke’s protest in Konoha inevitably reaches them. They hear about the protest after it’s already been around for about a week, a mass-scale protest stirring the pot across Konoha, garnering attention from Genin, and joined by countless current and former sensei.

The man who mentioned the protest is long-gone, but Obito still recalls the mischievous glint in Kakashi’s eyes as they listened to the tale. He knows Kakashi knows something, and hasn’t had the time to needle him about it until now. But now they’re alone in the middle of the woods, a relatively well-beaten path, but still overgrown around the edges and covered with critters and bugs from lack of human contact, so Obito can afford to question Kakashi on the subject.

Honestly, the only reason Obito pries on the subject is because the silence is currently oppressive. Kakashi’s anxiety about finding his student is pressuring Obito to just—be more. Take up more space, command more, figure things out more, but do so in such a way that is somehow not alarming or stress-induced, even though Kakashi is a nervous ball of energy. Kakashi has been having an especially hard time since they’d made it this particular region, insisting that he can feel his student nearby, but unable to explain how or why. I just know, Kakashi insisted, I just know we’re getting closer.

“I led a protest after you died.” Kakashi declares, and oh, how strange it is that Kakashi always refers to it as Obito’s death, as if to Kakashi, Obito truly did die and come back to life, rather than go missing. Obito often wonders if he should bring it up or let the topic rest, but on the sole reasoning that he finds it humorous and endearing, Obito has vowed to never tease Kakashi about him still referring to Obito being kidnapped as his death.

Kakashi’s story unravels in many unexpected ways, until Obito is breathless with Kakashi’s rebellious streak. He’d once thought Kakashi was too loyal to the ways of the Leaf village for Obito to go back for him—how wrong he’d been. How protective Kakashi has turned out to be. Sometimes, Obito wonders if that protectiveness was always there, and when he thinks too hard about it, he remembers hiding in the brush as Kakashi’s Chidori tore through Rin. Maybe, in a way, Kakashi and Obito both did die—but not underneath a boulder or at the hands of a missing nin—but instead, in that clearing, when the light left Rin’s eyes. Rin, Kakashi used to murmur in that soft, sweet voice of his, pulling her away from something dangerous or pulling her closer into his side for a hug. The last thing Kakashi said to her was her name, in that same, soft voice he reserved just for her. Rin, with a smile. Rin, with the most devastated snarl Obito has ever seen anyone wear, and with that one word, Obito has never seen the same light in Kakashi’s smile ever again.

He hasn’t told Kakashi that he was there. Can’t work up the nerve. He hasn’t told Kakashi a lot of things. Maybe that’s why he gets so mad upon finding out that Kakashi has a kept a secret from him; he can’t bear the guilt of his own secrets, and takes it out on Kakashi instead.

“You have a hit list?” Obito interjects, but the blindfold is firmly in place around his eyes, so the widening of his eyes are lost on Kakashi. He’d never done well with chakra sensing, but after having to hide his eyes for so long, he’s managed. Obito can, of course, turn off his eye and the eye of his own family, but the blind stranger bit was too useful to discard even after Obito regained his full vision.

“Yes,” Kakashi declares, without much fanfare. Obito’s eye twitches, even as Kakashi gently guides him away from tripping over something on the dirt path. “I’m rarely all talk.”

“What do you mean, you have a hit list?”

Kakashi scoffs, indicating his impatience with the conversation. Obito doesn’t let up, trying to exude an aura of authority, and certain that he is failing. “It’s not so much a list. Well, I do usually write it down. It’s just, I suppose, yes, actually. It’s a list.” Obito pauses and takes in that information, even as Kakashi hums to himself, seemingly realizing his own ego for writing down a hit list. Then he carries on, a little mindlessly. “You know, I swore not so long ago to kill Orochimaru. Now I’m on my way to do it. See? I’m helpful.”

“You gave my baby cousin a hit list, and then left him there? You just, you thought, I know what Sasuke needs! A hit list on the most powerful men in Konoha—“

“It was more like a hit-guide, really. I ensured that Sasuke had vital information to help him along. And I also told Sasuke to get Jiraiya on his side. Not my fault he chose Lady Tsunade instead. Clever, honestly.”

Obito takes a few deep breaths, and tries his best to remind himself that Kakashi’s best role model in life was Minato, who threw him in Anbu and sent him on deadly missions where Obito went missing and Rin lost her life. But honestly, this is preposterous. Sasuke’s chunin exam protest is dangerous. How could Kakashi think filling his head with these ideas would be—helpful? (somewhere in the back of Obito’s mind, he knows he’s being unfair, and that he’s picking a fight. But he shoves that part down in favor of righteousness).

He feels Kakashi turn to him. “Wha—you don’t think it was a good plan?”

“No.” Obito denies immediately, and he can only be so harsh because the blindfold is on and he can’t see Kakashi’s stunned expression. “You left Sasuke to clean up your mess, Kakashi.” And wow, that came out much more condescendingly than he intended, but he can’t back out now.

“My mess?” Sharp, crackling anger echoes in Kakashi’s voice. Obito stops, and against his better judgement on a semi-popular path, slips off his blindfold to level Kakashi with a stern glare. He hadn’t meant to start a fight, but Obito always stands his ground. Kakashi beats him to the first real punch, hands shoved protectively in his pockets.

“You know they gave me Sasuke and Naruto as a punishment, right? They were trying to drive me crazy. Make me get sloppy on one of the million missions they sent me on to die, so they didn’t have to deal with someone who knew so many of their secrets.” Obito jars at Kakashi’s bold claim. That couldn’t be true. It wasn’t an elaborate scheme. Was it? Oh. Kakashi keeps going, hands raking through his hair, “I came home from missions doing unspeakable—“ his voice hitches, indecisive, but then Kakashi continues forward, “horrid things, to, sometimes to kids, just to be jump-scared everyday by the faces of my dead sensei and my ex-teammate. It was a ploy, Obito. A thinly veiled threat. But I didn’t let them break me. No.” Kakashi shakes his head, then points an accusatory finger at him, unravelling at the seams, finally giving in to the nervous energy that’s been puppeteering him since they embarked on trying to find Sakura.

“And what did you do?” Kakashi challenges, throwing his arms out widely. “Oh so wise Obito? I suppose you helped save Sasuke from your murderous family member? Or stared into the eyes of Minato-sensei every day for weeks until the nausea faded and you could breathe around Naruto without feeling like someone was tearing you open from the inside?” Kakashi paces a bit, hands moving wildly with his words, “Oh, nope. That was me.” Obito, stunned by the acid in Kakashi’s voice, takes a step back and a deep, steadying breath. Silence reigns for a moment as Kakashi collects himself, and Obito stands still, abashed and surprised. Then, Kakashi looks away from him toward the trees, struck by another thought.

“How could you possibly think it’s right to judge me for how I cared for three children, none of whom were mine?” the astonishment in his voice sounds betrayed, and Obito feels hot guilt slam at him. He had judged Kakashi, many a times, for the way he handled situations in the Leaf. He’d often silently scorned and dismissed Kakashi for his ignorance. But Kakashi overcame a lifetime of propaganda, and time after time he was punished for it and still got back up. Still believed in the Leaf village. Maybe Obito was the ignorant one, the complacent one, for giving up on Konoha, and leaving everyone in it to suffer as he and his family did it (leaving what was left of his family to suffer, too). Obito condemned Konoha to self-destruction, and Kakashi fought for it, and Obito had, for as long as he can remember, judged Kakashi for what he’d considered ignorance.

And Kakashi accepted his judgment quietly, took it without complaint. But this? His students? Obito cringes. Kakashi would not hear Obito speak ill of how he took care of his family.

“And I did all of it—“ Kakashi insists, “While balancing the fact that the Leaf village wanted me dead. You think I wouldn’t have stayed, if I thought that was an option? I’d have been killed for treachery, and then Sasuke really wouldn’t have had anyone, because Kami knows he would have gone down with me. I did what I had to do to protect my family. You weren’t even there!” Kakashi takes his own step back, but he’s still staring down at Obito dangerously.

He doesn’t stop, though. Obito’s silence seems to spur him on, sounding now like he’s reassuring himself. “You don’t know Sasuke. He’s a spitfire of a child, even when he was a boy. He’s grown up, now. I didn’t get to be there to see it, and you think that doesn’t burn at me? It was that, or let Itachi or the Leaf Village run him into the ground! With—with—with—what I gave him, he knows that I’m out here. That we both are.” He motions to the two of them for emphasis, before his hands find his hips, head tilting, challenging Obito to prove him wrong. “He was finding ways to rebel long before I got ahold of him, and if I’d have let him be, he’d have ended up just like me! I gave him wisdom, a guide. Vital information on allies and enemies within the Leaf. And you’re judging me? I’m the safest I’ve ever been in my life—on the run and hiding my identity, mind you, so not even that safe—and I’m throwing it away to go save my student from Orochimaru! And I’m not complaining. I would never complain about protecting them. But no one, no one protected me, so how dare you accuse me of treating them the same way that I was treated.”

Kakashi’s accusatory glare doesn’t waver, but it isn’t punishing, only pleading. His stance pleads for Obito to emphasize and listen, to accept Kakashi’s effort. He feels foolish for having not pieced together Kakashi’s heart long before this, when he’d thought he’d understood the man completely. He’d ignored what an entire life of quiet resistance meant for Kakashi. His efforts may not have been as loud and immediate as Obito’s in taking apart their broken world—but they still mattered. Kakashi must have been terrified when he’d had to leave the Leaf. Obito had always, always, selfishly assumed that Kakashi preferred being on the run. It seemed improbable that Kakashi would miss such a treacherous place, such a place he criticized. But why pick something apart, why want so much for something to improve, if Kakashi didn’t love it? He loved the Leaf. He wanted to go back, and he couldn’t, and oh.

“Kakashi,” Obito breathes, and just the one word as Kakashi’s breath loudly stuttering and heaving. His shoulders rise defensively.

“We need to save her, Obito. We need to get her. She’s—“

Floored by the sudden need for reassurance from the very person who put that expression on Kakashi’s face, but understanding all the same, Obito crosses the difference to pull Kakashi into his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Kakashi. I misspoke. You’re right. You’re alright.”

“I didn’t have them for more than a year, but Obito,” Kakashi clears his throat wetly, and pulls away to stare into Obito’s eyes (so mysterious, Kakashi always comments about them, making it sound like a compliment, like a black ocean). “They’re my kids. I’m all Sakura has. I have to help her. I have to.”

“We are helping her,” Obito promises. “We’re on our way to her.”

“It’s taking so long,” Kakashi confesses. “This plan, are you sure—“

“It’s a good plan, Kakashi.” Obito grabs Kakashi’s face, grounds him with steady, unwavering eye contact. (Obito had them hide for years. Kakashi had agreed because he loved and trusted Obito. The weight of that trust now hits him fully. He won’t let Kakashi down).

Kakashi admits, voice barely above a hoarse whisper, “I just feel like she’s here and I can’t find her.”

“Okay.” Obito tells him. “Maybe—maybe it’s like. An instinct. You, you don’t know much about the Hatake bloodline, maybe it’s a canine thing. Dogs can tell, right? When someone’s near? Because of your sense of smell, and your hearing. You never have your mask off. That could be it.”

Kakashi’s brow furrows. “Oh. I didn’t think about that.”

“Maybe we are close.” Obito insists, and then, with a dawning realization, he looks to the feet. “Maybe we just aren’t looking in the right place.”

Kakashi’s face breaks out into something that isn’t a smile, but is delighted all the same. “Like sensei, like student.”

-----

Karin Uzumaki, of course, never disappoints. She’s helped Karin sneak off behind Orochimaru’s back dozens of times, as he’d always underestimated the clever girl for her softheartedness. Karin may be fiery, but deadly, she wasn’t. Sakura and Kabuto didn’t usually need her medical ingenuity, but her chakra sensing, much like Sasuke’s, was impeccable. It took only a little bit of hinting on Sakura’s part for Orochimaru to transfer Karin from her post in Konoha to their current hideout location. Expressing worried about trackers in the like with all the sudden unrest in Konoha and the activity of the Akatsuki, Sakura managed to needle him into stationing Karin with them so she could track any suspicious activity. The real reason Sakura wanted her, of course, was not because she was worried about being caught by Anbu or poachers, but because she and Kabuto needed to keep tabs on Itachi’s movement, and simultaneously lull Orochimaru into a false sense of security. You’ll be incapacitated, Lord Orochimaru, Kabuto had simpered, Karin will help us manage security.

On her one side is Karin, her other, Kabuto. They’re out of time. Kabuto will begin prepping the soul transfer jutsu. Orochimaru intends to invade Sakura, and the only way out is winning. Karin is going to help Kabuto prep the jutsu, which will leave Sakura ample time to meet outside with Itachi and prepare to fight Orochimaru. The plan is almost too obvious and simple, and Orochimaru’s confidence in their inability to organize resistance against him puts Sakura’s teeth on edge. Orochimaru was never a mastermind, Karin once told her. Just an overpowered psycho with too much free-time.

Sakura doesn’t like to think too much about all the ways Karin, Kabuto, and so many others suffered at the hands of Orochimaru. She doesn’t like to focus too intently on the bruises lining Kabuto’s eyes, or the ease at which he heals himself. Sakura suffered under Orochimaru, but it was different for her. She’d always seen Orochimaru as an adversary. She’d always been the type of person who was self-assured. So her heart burns for Kabuto. She can tell Kabuto once loved Orochimaru—she sees it in the way he’s somewhat at ease in Orochimaru’s presence, even though Orochimaru hurts him almost daily. And Sakura has never felt anything for Orochimaru but disgust: not even respect. But, unlike everyone else, Sakura had a companion, and surefire knowledge that Orochimaru didn’t plan on harming her body permanently.

And Orochimaru’s gaze never lingered on her. He never caressed her the way he caresses Kabuto, somewhere between fatherly and predatory. He never touched her like he touched Karin. His eyes looked upon her blemished, scarred cheek in disgust, and he commented frequently that her skin was too tan. Perhaps, selfishly, Sakura was glad that Orochimaru had a taste for the innocent, the emotional, and a soft, delicate kind of pretty; because it’d been a long time since she was any of those things. Sometimes, she wonders if Itachi hadn’t been in his way to get Sasuke, if Orochimaru would’ve looked at him the way he looks at Kabuto and Karin. When she thinks about that, she’s glad it’s her and not him. For someone who planned on occupying her body, he was entirely un-fascinated by her: she was a means to end, it seemed, as the last boy was.

She eyes Kabuto’s neck. Dark, coiled bruised hide beneath his ear, and his voice is always hoarse. She never asks. But sometimes, when Kabuto sits, dazed, shaking, unable to sleep, she tells him that he doesn’t deserve anything that happens to him. Perhaps, not touching her is its own kind of torture for her and for Kabuto—perhaps he enjoys toying with them, threatening to harm her if Kabuto doesn’t obey him, telling Kabuto that it’s his own fault for being so desirable. And no matter how much Sakura tries to tell Kabuto that it’s nothing he is or has done, she sees it in his face when Orochimaru spends an evening with him and doesn’t even bother looking at her. I’m disgusting, Kabuto once told her, shrugging. I bring these sorts of things onto myself.

Sakura sometimes even wonders if Orochimaru only landed on her as his next body just to fuck with Kabuto even more. He was killing two birds with one stone, then. Satisfying his perverse nature and scoring himself a new body to occupy. He’s not really a mastermind. Just a bored psychopath, operating through the world like he’s playing some kind of twisted game. Watching him hurt Kabuto broke her, Sakura knows, and that’s what Orochimaru wanted. He wanted her subdued—worried that any misstep would be taken out on Kabuto. He watched her protect Sasuke and knew exactly what would work on her, and fuck, it had. Over and over again, it had.

 “Karin,” Sakura greets, and Karin smiles back at her with a hint of admiration, and is strikes Sakura heavily. “I hope Konoha found you well.”

Karin slips over to embrace her briefly, pulling away to nod sternly. “It did. I got reacquainted with your old teammate, actually.”

“Sasuke?” Sakura breathes. Karin nods, a slight flush to her cheeks, and Sakura laughs. “Sasuke?” she repeats again, and Karin turns away, beat red and easily embarrassed.

“It wasn’t—“ Karin begins, but Sakura waves her off.

“No worries, Karin. He’s alright?”

“Very,” Karin reassures a little too quickly. “I mean, he’s well.”

Sakura’s smile strains. She knows that she and Kabuto can’t explain everything to Karin until the jutsu begins, because Orochimaru has ears everywhere, but it stings to know that Karin will fly blind into this. But Sasuke is well. That has to count for something. Karin looks ready to say something more, but before she can, her brow furrows. Her gaze lingers above them. Sakura waits patiently for Karin to articulate her sensing, but after a long moment, Karin’s expression only gets more and more alarmed and confused.

“Is everything…what? What is it, Karin?”

“Either I’ve gone crazy,” Karin says, in such a way that she always does, when it sounds as if she genuinely believes her decline into craziness to be a possibility, “or two massive chakra signatures are like, right above us. They’re pretty far enough, no way that Orochimaru feels them yet.”

“Right above us?” Kabuto’s head shoots upward.

“Two?” Sakura adds, because, while she doesn’t mind if Itachi brought company (no company of Itachi’s could be worse than Itachi himself), Itachi didn’t say anything about bringing a plus one. Or, maybe, it’s another guest she and Kabuto are counting on.

She meets eyes with Kabuto. Then Kabuto turns to Karin. “Go prep Orochimaru for surgery, Karin, we’ll handle the newcomers.” Karin’s brow furrows, and she turns to Sakura for confirmation. War begins to stir in Sakura. Is it better to leave Karin down here, with Orochimaru, or take her up there, with the newcomers?

“Actually,” Sakura pipes in, “Karin, why don’t you come with us? I don’t see any reason to rush the surgery prep.”

Karin must suspect that they’re up to something, judging by the glean in her vibrant eyes. It’s no wonder Sasuke found her favorable; she’s stunning, really, and gentle. She can probably tell what they’re feeling through her chakra sensing, or something like that.  

She tries to conceal her nerves for Kabuto’s sake, despite knowing it’s pointless among Karin.

She, Kabuto, and Karin make their way to the exit of this particular lair, a hole just barely wide enough for Sakura to slither into if both of her arms are raised above her head. She crawls her way out of the hole, small stones pressed into the dirt acting as grips for her to pull herself up. Kabuto follows behind her, grunting a little in what sounds like pain. Sakura doesn’t know why Kabuto procrastinates healing his own injuries, and worry weighs like stones in her belly. But she ignores these feelings, and reaches the top of their hideout, flicking the ground cover of the hole out and then, staying low to the ground, crawling out. Karin follows after. Kabuto joins them and slides the cover back over the exit, and she waits for his signal until they stand and decide the coast is clear. She breathes a sigh of relief. She’s never had much of a problem with tight spaces, but with everything going on, the stress from being so cramped up seems doubled.

Then something slams into Sakura’s back. She hears Kabuto form a half shout, before she’s sprawled on the floor and something, someone, heavy sprawls across her. The grip is tight, and oddly enough, protective. Sakura breathes in and smells pine and dog hair, and for a moment, she’s floored. It worked, she realizes. Then, she feels herself being pulled into a sitting position and turned around, and her arms wrap tightly around a lithe, warm torso. “Sensei,” She breathes. Her face tucks into his neck in an instant. His hand is smoothing down her hair, and they aren’t saying anything, just embracing, just feeling, and it’s so, so different than the last time she’d held him. Held his cold, cold body. She clings to the back of his shirt and digs her fingernails into the cloth, then pulls her head away just far enough to see his face. His masked face, the headband slanted over an eye, and he looks a little different, but somehow, exactly the same. His eye bores into hers and he’s real, he’s alive, and Sakura stays there in this moment. She sits and studies his face, reassures herself in it. Her breath is quick and her chest tight.

Kakashi’s hands cup her face. His thumb scrapes across the scar on her cheek, but Sakura’s eyes never leave his face. She forgets to breathe. Then Kakashi is turning her face, inspecting her, and she finds herself murmuring reassurances. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” and Kakashi is denying her, prodding her ribs and then her curse mark, telling her she’s too thin, and if Sakura weren’t so shocked, she’s sure she’d be crying from the care with which he holds her. “I’m so sorry it took me so long,” Kakashi swears, and Sakura doesn’t know where to begin, really.

“I’m okay.” She repeats, because she doesn’t know what else to say, and she doesn’t know if she’s saying it for Kakashi’s benefit or hers. She notices a man standing behind Kakashi, and a flash of red eyes, and for a moment, she truly believes that Kakashi has come with Itachi. The horror must show on her face, because the guy—not Itachi—lifts his hands up, and his Sharingan disappears. Not Itachi. Not—who?

She turns back to Kakashi and lets his eye ground her.

Kabuto ruins it by speaking, of course. “Well hello to you too, Loverboy,” Kabuto declares, sounding genuinely put out. The look he sends Sakura’s way is scathing. Sakura frowns.

“Kabuto,” Kakashi drawls, and he pulls her in with unexpected protectiveness, bony hand digging into her shoulder. Sakura leans forward in discomfort, straining to keep herself upright and not fall flat into Kakashi’s chest. Kabuto’s gaze shifts to the man behind Kakashi and lights up.

“Tobi,” He greets, although it’s in one of the most mocking tones that Sakura ever hears him adopt. The guy fixes a scowl Kabuto’s way. Sakura glances between Kakashi and his companion, and a memory emerges on a photograph and Kakashi’s longing tone as he spoke of the boy in the picture. Sakura scans the man’s eyes, and he scans hers, and she feels scrutinized. Karin shuffles over to stand beside Sakura, and Sakura looks up at her, trying to convey comfort. Karin knows as much as it was safe to tell her, but Sakura didn’t let her know the real dangers they were going to face trying to pull this off. Karin didn’t hesitate when she agreed; she’d always been brave, up for a challenge, and it was the first quality Sakura noticed about her.

“Two more signatures, getting closer,” Karin murmurs, “Should I uncover our chakra and let them find us?”

Sakura glances at Karin, ignoring Kabuto’s sharp inhale. “Just let them feel me and Kabuto, no one else. And keep Orochimaru out of this.” she looks pointedly at Kakashi and Obito, then to the trees, where more allies lie in wait. Karin nods and then, the warmth of her signature cloaking Sakura’s vanishes.

Sakura hears the crow first. She pulls Kakashi to a standing position and unsheathes her sword. Kakashi gives her an appraising glance before reaching up to slide off his headband. “Did you hear something, Sakura? The ninja the girl sensed?” Kakashi questions. Kabuto’s hands quiver, but she notices a slew of senbon between each finger.

“Karin,” she whispers, but it comes out less of a command and more of a question. She turns to Kabuto. “Don’t forget what we talked about.” Run if she has to. Don’t look the Sharingan directly in the eyes. If she has to choose between saving Sakura and saving anyone else, heal the others first (not because Sakura is self-destructive, but because she’s smart. She’s got a curse seal to heal her, and Orochimaru gunning for her death). Kabuto sends her a miserable expression.

“Your deranged for this plan,” Kabuto mutters, side-glancing at the hidden entrance. Sakura shrugs. Sakura doesn’t say anything to that, because yeah, she is. She gives him an apologetic, embarrassed shrug instead.

“Sakura,” Kakashi-sensei says her name in that low, affectionate tone that he only ever used on she, Sasuke, and Naruto. It sends her heart in a flurry of worry. “What’s the matter?”

In the quietest voice Sakura can conjure, as another crow resounds out around the forest, she informs her sensei, “Itachi Uchiha is on his way here.”

A burst of crows in the distance, cawing and disrupting leaves in a flurry, makes Sakura jump and Kabuto aim his entire set of senbon at a nearby tree. He gasps at his own stupidity before readying his needles again and shifting so Sakura is covering his back. Kakashi’s voice is equally as a quiet when he responds, now readied into a fighting stance, “why aren’t we running?”

“There’s nowhere to run,” Sakura whispers back. It’s the simplified version of the situation, but it does the trick. Kakashi-sensei’s gaze turns steely and the man with him crosses the distance to guard she and Kakashi’s backs, passing Kakashi a sword. She blinks, because she hadn’t noticed him carrying a sheath, and has no idea where he procured the sword from.

Unlike last time, Itachi doesn’t give them the curtesy of warning them before he appears in the clearing. He simply isn’t there one moment, and the next is standing in front of them. His obnoxious Akatsuki robe twists and billows, a red warning flag in the center of the forest. He looks between all of them with a slight furrow of his brow.

“Captain? Uncle? Well, I suppose we all brought back up, then.” Her stomach drops. Another figure emerges. Sakura glances towards the entrance to the hideout.

This figure is blonde. He’s got a bounce in his step, contrasting Itachi’s stiff posture. “Wow! It’s a party over here.” The guy declares. Sakura twists her lips. “Name’s Deidera.”

Kakashi makes a twisted sound in his throat. Itachi frowns, head tilting toward her. “I really don’t think we needed to get all of us together just to kill one guy. I hope you’re not getting cold feet.”

Kabuto chimes in, “Unexpected guests on our part.”

Itachi’s frown loosens, but grows into something darker. “I see.” Kakashi and the new guy, wisely, stay quiet.

Sakura makes eye contact with Kabuto and tries to convey her message, Karin, go, go, go, and she supposes that Kabuto gets it, maybe, because he holds up his hands and steps back, toward the hideout entrance. “I have to go get Orochimaru into the surgery. We have a sensor here, who is masking our chakra from him, but he’s a sanin for a reason. We don’t want to push our luck. I’ll give Sakura the signal when we’re ready.”

The clearing is tense as Kabuto steps backward, hands raised in the air the entire time, braver than Sakura, because when he leans down to unlatch the hideout cover, he has to turn his gaze away from their enemies. Sakura keeps her gaze pointed on Deidera, because Kakashi and his Sharingan can handle Itachi’s sinister eyes. She hears Kabuto slip down, and pull the cover back over him, and without him, a sense of stability in Sakura vanishes. She straightens her spine, but a part of her is comforted that Kabuto is down there, with the enemy they know, and not up here with Itachi.

“Jeeze, you guys are serious,” Deidera complains, “if worst comes to worst, I’ll just blow the place up! No big deal.”

Itachi pays no mind to his partner. Sakura feels Kakashi’s friend press his back against hers, and it almost feels reassuring. Protective, just like Kakashi. She doesn’t know him, but with so few other options, she elects to do whatever the closest thing is to trusting a stranger.

She wonders how long it took for Kakashi to even realize she wasn’t safe in the Leaf. It probably took as long as it took for Sakura to be added to the Bingo Book, which was about a year ago. Had he believed her safe? Had he looked for her when he saw her name in the book? She risks tearing her eyes away from Deidera to send Kakashi a calculating look, and he returns it, similar questions burning in his gaze. Neither can offer answers.

“Itachi approached Kabuto and I,” Sakura can hardly hear herself begin speaking, “just a few weeks ago, with a plan to take down Orochimaru. You two happened to meet us in the crossfire, probably because Kabuto and I slipped an informant for the hideout’s whereabouts in a nearby town. We also took down any of Orochimaru’s fuinjutsu protections. What a…crazy coincidence.”

“Huh,” the guy behind her comments, “Guess that makes sense. We’ve looked for you before and found no leads at all, not even the slightest hint of your name. But suddenly there’s this guy nearby full of knowledge. It took some…convincing, but that’s how we knew to look in the area.” She recalls seeing his Sharingan, and becomes breathless: The Sharingan is very persuasive. It wasn’t easy to get that plant there with the information at the ready. She and Kabuto pulled dozens of favors from Suigestu in order to get that message sent out. Sakura considers Orochimaru, waiting underneath them, and suddenly doubts that he doesn’t know about this. What if he’s already killed Kabuto? What if Sakura has already failed because she thought taking down his fuinjutsu, breaking down his spy network for the last three years, and recruiting the Akatsuki could go unnoticed? God, is she stupid? (he’s just a man, only a man).

“Hm,” Itachi’s Sharingan whirls, and Sakura keeps her gaze carefully averted from it, “we should have considered what tearing down Orochimaru’s spy defenses would do to your ability to remain secret. Do you think anyone else followed?”

Sakura shakes her head. “Our sensor would have caught it.”

“More the merrier, right?” Deidera throws his arms up, in a quick movement that has everyone else tensing. “I see no reason for us to have an issue with each other. We’ll take out Orochimaru and be on our way.”

Judging by the hostility reeking from Kakashi, Sakura doubts it. She could run back to the hide out. Try to beg Orochimaru for forgiveness. Of course, she won’t. “I agree,” She offers, “our odds are just better now, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Kakashi denies, and Sakura hides a proud smile. The guy behind them steps forward to support Kakashi.

“We’ve got it from here, thanks.”

Itachi looks straight at her. Fear runs through her veins, red hot. “You speak for yourself.”

So, Sakura does. She shouts. “DUCK!” to Kakashi and Obito, who hit the floor with her, just as a long, wide blade known as Kubikiribocho sails above their heads.

Kabuto may have been okay with dealing with Itachi, but Sakura made a plan from the beginning. Once she knew Kakashi was out there, Sakura was certain all she had to do was get his attention, and he’d come. So she’d planted as many informants as she could around the area, and with the help of Karin and her network, this part went smoothly. Karin went to Konoha last week to glean as much information as possible on Kakashi’s chakra signature before finding him, and once Karin had figured out where he was, it was game on. Itachi was likely travelling with another member, and so, the next part involved a boy named Suigetsu. After Sakura broke Suigiestu out of his tank, she surreptitiously gave him the location of Kubikirobocho in exchange for him leaving a scent trail in water directly to her hideout for Kakashi and his dogs to follow. The last part was Jugo, one of the original test subjects of the curse mark, and a wicked fighter for it. Sakura was certain he and Suigetsu could take on whoever Itachi brought along with him, because there was no way he was ever coming alone—the Akatsuki always travelled in pairs, Kabuto once told her.

Kakashi and whoever were here only because Sakura led them right to her, because Itachi never, never should have let her know that she had an ally out there, capable of taking on this fight and living. If it wasn’t the Akatsuki she was dealing with, she’d have called upon Sasuke and Naruto.

Sakura was older now, and she knows that she’s never been heartless. She’d been a child, once. And a coward who believed that caring was weakness. But never heartless. They mistook Sakura’s resilience for coldness and that was their mistake; they didn’t understand that she didn’t have to give up her humanity in order to survive the things they’d all done to her.

Sakura couldn’t. Instead, she’d adapted, and perhaps like Naruto would, like Sasuke would, she’d found people who would have her back, and here they all were. I used to think that strength was doing it alone, Sakura once whispered to Sasuke, asleep on the couch and fitful with nightmares, right after Konoha was burned to rubble and dozens of civilians that Sakura knew personal were left to the flames. She’d spent the entire month dragging bodies, dead and alive, from the ash. But it really does take a village.

She gets up to see that Suigestu’s blade has missed both Deidera and Itachi, and turns her head to Kakashi. She’d let him make the choice to start the fight with Itachi; told herself it was only fair that if she drug him and his friend in blind, that they have some say in whether or not they try this. She hadn’t doubted Kakashi for a second. “Who says you don’t get second chances,” she jokes. He chuckles at her, and fuck, she’d missed his life.

She turns to Itachi, who, once again, has underestimated her. Rematch, the word floats around in her mind like it’s caught in an echo chamber. She raises one middle finger, and judging by the twisted, enraged expression that contorts Itachi’s face, he knows exactly what she is referencing. She’d promised her best friend she’d kill him if Itachi ever got his hands on him. Today, she might just do one better.

In the end, she didn’t believe Itachi when he called her heartless. She chose to believe Sasuke, when he gave her his trust.

------

Obito wasn’t expecting to fight his nephew today, but he’s also met one of Kakashi’s children, and he has to admit, he’s a fan. From the furious way she holds herself, unafraid to bite and claw to ensure victory, to the soft smile that had spread on her face when she first laid eyes on Kakashi, it takes a short period of time for Obito to become fond of her.

Just a few minutes before, Kakashi had been kneeling in front of him, hands whirring through different Earth seals, trying to analyze the best way to break through to the hollow area they found underneath them, convinced that his student was nearby. Now, Obito watches, through the lens of Kakashi’s Sharingan, Itachi launch himself at a girl Obito has only just begun to know, his Mangekyou blazing. Obito intercepts without much hesitation. It was jarring at first for Obito to know that Kakashi had realized his gift of the Sharingan was, in fact, an old Uchiha mating ritual. Kakashi had grinned at him, scroll about the Sharingan in one hand, wine in the other. Sasuke told me about the old wives’ tales about exchanging eyes as a wedding ritual, Kakashi had admitted, he also told me it could be useful in battle.

It took a while to adjust to seeing out of both Kakashi and his own Sharingan, but by God, was the advantage immense. With just a pulse of chakra, Obito could see through Kakashi’s Sharingan, take in everything that Kakashi saw. Unfortunately, Kakashi couldn’t—he wasn’t an Uchiha, and his chakra reserves really couldn’t handle something like that anyway, but he was able to access Obito’s pocket dimension, a fact that at first, Kakashi had made insufferable. (Why did he keep putting stray cats in there, anyway? Kakashi doesn’t even like cats). Now, however, he is extremely grateful for it, as the next kunai heading straight for their faces disappears in a whirl. Kakashi huffs beside him.

He pulls a kunai on Itachi and barks something at Sakura to keep her eyes down and focus on Deidera, and hopes that she actually listens. Although, if she’s anything like Kakashi, its pretty up in the air. Itachi spins a shuriken at him and Kakashi banishes it to their pocket, then tries worthlessly to spin together a Genjutsu. Obito dismisses the tendrils, unafraid of the resounding screams and gore Itachi attempted to send his way, and withholds a grin as Kakashi spins to the right to swipe his katana at Itachi. Itachi attempts to create distance, spinning away from Kakashi’s furious assault, but Obito pursues. He flashes behind Itachi and uses Kakashi’s Sharingan to spin Kakashi through the pocket world and beside him, Kakashi recovering quickly from Obito’s casting and continuing to glide with his sword at Itachi.

Obito doesn’t hesitate to pull a Rasengan, flickering through one of Itachi’s sharp attempts to slice him with a kunai—now replaced, it seems, with a lithe tanto. By the huff in his breath, the two of them are keeping Itachi on their toes more than he’d anticipated. Itachi grabs his arm before Obito can slip to the pocket dimension, and shoves his Rasengan toward Kakashi, who doesn’t even blink in fear, ducking Obito’s arm and aiming his katana straight for Itachi’s gut. Itachi is forced to release him, but is able to create a breadth of distance between them, and immediately begins running through a fire-style.

He is startled, however, when Sakura appears in front of them, each hand running through a set of two different seals. Her fingers look strong and experienced as they zip through each hand sign. First, a wall of earth comes up in front of them and shields them from a sudden burst of fire from Itachi. Then, he watches Itachi be forced to leap upwards as the ground beneath him melts into some sort of quicksand. Itachi backflips beside Kakashi, tanto poised forward, but Kakashi ducks. It isn’t like last time, Obito thinks snidely. Kakashi isn’t exhausted from missions, or from the battle. He’s ready. He briefly absorbs the information that Sakura can cast two jutsu at the same time, before throwing himself back toward Itachi. A gift from Orochimaru?

Distantly, he notices the newcomer with the sword and another guy pursuing Deidera, but Obito focuses his attention on the immediate threat at hand and prays that Sakura’s friends can handle the situation. Judging by the way she keeps her back to them, unafraid, Obito assumes she has full confidence. Not that full confidence means much, if she’s anything like Kakashi.

Kakashi doesn’t relent on Itachi, but Obito, in shock, watches as Sakura runs away from the fight, back toward the entrance to Orochimaru’s creepy den. She must sense his gaze because her eyes flicker back to him, and she shouts, “Don’t wait up!” Obito really hopes that was urgent. She seemed useful.

Fighting Itachi, even with Kakashi’s help, is like fighting an impenetrable wall. No matter what tricks or maneuvers they seem to pull, the two of them tire, and Itachi remains unscathed. Kakashi throws a Chidori Itachi’s way, and Obito attempts to keep him distracted with a string of Genjtusu and kunai fighting, but it does nothing. Explosions burst from Itachi’s partner, and Itachi always seems to anticipate it, bouncing around without care and leaving Obito and Kakashi to scramble to escape the spits of fire and sparks. Sakura’s comrades seem to become exasperated from fighting him, and one, Obito notes, is nearly bursting with frustration.

Kakashi, despite the obvious matching of their skills, doesn’t let up. And neither does Obito. Neither know when to quit. Kakashi summons his ninken to surround the area while Obito flickers in and out in a blur of knives and sweat, pursuing Itachi with such a vengeance that Itachi grows visibly cold toward him instead of indifferent. And then, just as Kakashi rejoins the fray with his katana at the ready, Itachi is wracked with a sudden, uncontrollable cough, and Kakashi’s blade slips just enough to nick Itachi across the forearm. Kakashi’s nose twitches underneath his mask. First blood. If this were a friendly match between old comrades, Kakashi would be hailed the winner. As it is, Itachi recovers from his wet, loud coughing fit and meets Obito’s eyes with his own.

But suddenly. Fire. Burning Konoha to the ground, his eye in someone’s else’s head, being used to torment his home, kill his sensei. Fire, so much, hot—it takes him a sluggish amount of time to recognize the sight before him as Genjutsu. He gasps, and he’s sending Kakashi to their pocket dimension in order to save him from Itachi’s blade, which swings uselessly in the place Kakashi once stood. Itachi blinks, trying to decipher the technique before him, and then Kakashi summons himself back, foot aimed right at the back of Itachi’s head.

It lands. Itachi makes a sound like nothing Obito has heard, before he’s moving quickly away from them, and Obito is breathless. He thinks he hears a sound like a scream, somewhere around them, or maybe, his stomach drops, under them. But he forces himself to focus, as the red haired girl closes her eyes somewhere in the corner of the battlefield and works on keeping all of this chakra activity hidden from the insight of a sanin. She’s gasping with the effort, but they all need her to keep it up, so he prays that Itachi and Deidera don’t bother disrupting her. He feels a flicker of worry at the pain in her face, but forces himself to refocus.

“Amaterasu.”

Fuck, fuck, oh—Obito yanks Kakashi back by the collar just in time to dodge out of the way of creeping black flames. They can’t touch the flames, otherwise, they’ll die, unable to put out the fire. He sees Kakashi move to summon water, but he halts him, “don’t bother,” he commands, because in the middle of battle, how is he supposed to explain that those flames are eternal? That they don’t waver, or need oxygen, or anything, that they simply burn? The black flames grow across the Earth, and Deidera swears something nasty at his partner before creating distance, bringing his fight against the other two further away from them. He doesn’t really want to send the flames to the pocket dimension, because he doesn’t want eternal fire to impede on the usefulness of his favorite technique.

Kakashi drops the water jutsu he’d begun, instead switching to an Earth Justu, and Obito pursues Itachi. He dispels three genjutsu on the way, tamping down the rage that boils in him as Rin’s scream echo in the back of his mind, and the two of them go toe-to-toe in taijutsu for a moment, moving far too quickly for the naked eye to see. The earth jutsu Kakashi casts drops the ground where the Amaterasu flames are, and creates a pit of sure-death, but keeps them temporarily safe from the fire. Itachi doesn’t spare a glance toward the fire, something soulless in his eyes as he bores down on Obito. Kakashi grunts with exertion, and Obito curses Hatake genetics and their low chakra stores.

A flash of Kakashi, gasping as an Anbu captain kicks him. His mask is down. His headband is missing. Itachi is standing lifelessly in the corner, watching. Obito is barely able to snap out of the Genjutsu, mouth dry, curiosity burning in his eyes, wondering if that was Itachi’s memory or a figment. Itachi uses his distraction to his advantage, and swings a fist right into his stomach. Obito gasps, only vaguely grateful that it wasn’t a knife, before Kakashi slashes his Katana from behind Itachi and Itachi is forced to disengage.

An explosion erupts beside them, but it’s further away now, so far away Obito can barely make out his comrades and Deidera squaring off in the distance. They seem to be pushing Deidera and Itachi away from each on purpose. He’s so grateful Kakashi’s student found competent allies who understand how to control the terrain of a battlefield, because he was getting tired of dodging rubble from explosions. His ears as still ringing, too.

Itachi then looks him straight in the eyes and utters something Obito never, in a million years, thought that his nephew knew how to command. “Susanoo.”

-------

The first time the idea struck her, she’d sat straight up in her bed, sweating, and got herself so worked up she’d ended up lying on the floor, green eyes practically glowing with the force of it. She spent hours and hours after the day pacing, contemplating, and memorizing, because it was too dangerous of a thought to put to paper. The curse seal sealed Inner away, fused herself back together.

Could it seal Orochimaru, too?

The mind-transfer jutsu was disarmingly simple to perform. A Yamanaka technique, kept coveted for a reason, but one that they hadn’t bothered to hide from a trigger happy, charming five-year old. When she mentioned it to Kabuto, his eyes also lit up, and the two of them poured over fuinjutsu scrolls and any information they could scrounge on the curse seal. Possible, they’d determined. But Kabuto knew no technique that could work for it. Sakura gave him the mind-transfer. Kabuto was a genius, but it still took him almost a year to perfect the technique they created from the mind-transfer (a lot of what I’m doing is something I learned from the Akatsuki. It’s how they extract Bijuu). After he created it, he had to teach it to her.

After that, it was, perhaps unfortunately, a battle of wit and will. They still weren’t sure that Sakura would win, even with Orochimaru half-dead.

So now she sits before Orochimaru, ready for her mind to be sealed away, Orochimaru’s eyes gleaming because he knows that he has them. Sakura has stayed so he doesn’t hurt the people she loves, and she has obeyed so he doesn’t hurt Kabuto worse than he already does. Kabuto prepares the jutsu, and then Orochimaru, in that silky, unbothered tone of his, commands Kabuto, “leave us, now. No need for you to watch, Kabuto. Although, once I’m in her form, I bet you’ll be more pleased with our time together. You do seem so fond of her.”

Kabuto’s expression morphs into something haunted. Sakura refuses to feel anything, even as her mind races with what happens if she can’t beat Orochimaru. Her body, hurting Kabuto. Kabuto’s memory of her corrupted. Cursed to be hurt by someone who loves him. She forces herself to smile at Kabuto, because if this is the last time he sees her as her, she wants him to remember that she did love him. “Go on, Kabuto. He’s right.” She keeps her tone light, but even as she says it, she’s not sure it’s the right thing to do. One more kid he’s going to lose, another sibling dead. He’d confided to her about his compulsion to comfort Orochimaru’s victims before they die. Sakura doesn’t want that to be their last moments: Kabuto playing out a role he has always found himself in. So Sakura gives him a sly wink. “Get some rest.”

She can’t tell if her not seeking his comfort hurts him worse, but his expression breaks, and his glasses fog, and she refuses to let her gentle smile strain. Softly, Kabuto walks out, and closes the door behind him. Sakura turns back to Orochimaru. She can hear her heart in her ears. She’s glad that it’s normal to be frightful in such a situation, otherwise, she’d worry that her fear would alert him of the enemies fighting above them. Does he know? Nausea floods her. Has she failed? Will Kabuto get out? Will this work? Has she protected him? Would he have rather she lived, in his place? But that wasn’t an option. She couldn’t give that to him. Him, a survivor, over and over—and how that eats at him. Is she doing the wrong thing?

She glares at Orochimaru. He simply hums. “Is there anything you’d like to get off your chest, before we complete the jutsu?”

Sakura appreciates the empty gesture, and shrugs a shoulder. Her heart hammers. Her stomach is a pit of rocks, and her feet tingle. “Thanks for everything, Orochimaru.” She declares, and pleasant surprise stretches across his face.

“Always unpredictable, I see.” He acknowledges.

Sakura laughs and bites her cheek, feeling the indentations of a scar. “I think I’d be a farmer in another life.” She blurts, because it’s dawning on her this may really be the last thing she ever gets to say. Might as well be to Orochimaru.  

“Hm?”

“I don’t regret becoming a ninja.” She hurries to explain, “I’ve helped people. Hurt them too, but I’ve helped some people. But, in another life. You know, I wouldn’t pick up the blade. I’d become a farmer.”

“I see.”

“And,” Sakura adds, even as she takes this time to ready her chakra for the jutsu she has no idea will actually prove useful, “I’d marry someone incredible. With like, crazy good biceps.” Vaguely, she thinks of Naruto. “I’d bore of pulling weeds and gardening, so I’d start to run the business side, and I’d get a friend who loves to get their hands dirty.” She thinks of Sasuke. “And someone who’s great at selling.” Ino. “and we’d all live in the same town, and we’d be farmers.” She breathes out, long and slow. “That’s. That’s all. It wouldn’t have to be a farm. Just.” Not this. “I used to think this was who I was meant to be—a talented, crazy good ninja. And I always knew I’d be good at it. You know, looking back, I wouldn’t change anything, I’ve helped people, and I lived—“ some kind of life, “I know what love is. But in another life, maybe you know, I have no one to save, and nothing to prove, and there aren’t enemies knocking at my door, and people telling me I can’t,” Little girl, civilian, weak, unable. Parents who don’t pay attention, a need, stronger than anything, to prove herself. But also, to be herself, without everyone telling her she ought to be something else. “And I’d just…be.”

“Well,” Orochimaru mutters, “if it makes you feel better, perhaps you should start believing in reincarnation. It’s never too late to turn to God.”

Sakura, leg bouncing, startles a laugh. It comes out a little hysterical. “Fuck you.” She hisses, and tears sting at the corners of her eyes. She’s known him so long, and he doesn’t care at all. How can he not care at all?

Orochimaru gives her a slightly amused look. “Ready?”

She searches desperately for remorse in his eyes. She doesn’t know why. Terrifyingly, she finds none. Sakura wonders if she will look that, should she succeed in killing him. She finds she doesn’t care either way. Because if she kills Orochimaru, she will be killing a monster.

Sakura won’t say this part out loud, which is different for her, who everyone has always called blunt (they are so sensitive to her honesty because she is a girl, she knows, and boys act similarly to her often, all crass words and flippancy to social norms, but when they do it, it’s cool, and when she does it, it’s unattractive. That’s how female qualities are measured, sometimes: can it be viewed in such a way that is attractive? Can the weird girl be sexy? The smart girl? The strong girl? Sakura has heard it all, and if the answer to the quality is that it cannot be sexual, then most of time, people despise a woman for having it). Truthfully, she hides behind her honesty. If she says it blandly, sarcastically, maybe the hurt can’t pierce her. Of course, this isn’t true, but it works on most others; she manages to remain unbothered. Not that that’s the goal, really, she hates how unfeeling she comes off. She wishes others knew how much she tried to care, to love, but she was frightful of rejection, or of coming off to strong. Would they take her emotions as simple manipulations, a young girl vying for their sympathy? She hates to be a bother when she’s spent much of her life being so bothersome, so these days, it’s easy to hide herself.

Stilted sarcasm and bluntness, praying it would dull the sharpness of her feelings. Perhaps, if she’d stayed in Konoha, she’d have stayed soft, rounded the edges. But she can’t anymore. She is too frightened of being perceived, and of being taken advantage of as she is, not as she seems to be. But anyway, the part she won’t say out loud, is that, although she loathes to endanger her loved ones in this battle, the most frightening part of this plan is sitting right here in front of Orochimaru. Best case scenario, Orochimaru dies. Once, she’d felt inexplicably, although she’d always detested him in logical terms, that he was the only paternal figure she’s ever known. Kakashi-sensei didn’t pay much mind to her—she’d liked it that way, of course, being the easy one—but his focus on Naruto and Sasuke meant she’d seen him more as a friend and an ally, a teacher at best, and not so much a father. She’d taken on his role after his departure, and it had felt right. Looking after Sasuke and Naruto was almost what he’d trained her to do. She loves her sensei, and resents him none at all for his disregard for her, because perhaps at the time she’d have been resistant to anyone trying to control her anyhow.

But that means that she was ripe for the picking with Orochimaru. The few weeks she spent with Orochimaru were terror and pain filled, but in between the sterile rooms and lying beside corpse-like patients, Orochimaru held her small hand in his much larger, and paraded her around shops and markets. He’d buy her smoothies and slushies, things her own father had never done, and let her enjoy whatever she pleased. This was always regardless of how she behaved, which ceaselessly stumped her. She could say anything vicious to him at all and he’d simply laugh. Eventually, she gave up trying to push him away. She began working on a collection of clothes he approved of, always raising his eyebrows like her fashion amused him, but dropping the cash all the same. Strangely, he related to her. She gave up a long time ago trying to figure out why he treated her differently: that was a rabbit hole she’d sworn off time and again. She didn’t want to get egotistical about her own “specialness” as she is sure Orochimaru intended. She really has no idea if she succeeded or not.

Likely, Orochimaru felt nothing too strongly for her or anyone. But she ruminated at night about these brief moments of fatherly compassion. The closest thing she’s had to someone looking after her as truly a parental figure, someone with rules and structure, wants her to die. This man, who humored her every whim, who held her hand tightly in his even as he ordered Kabuto to inject her body with vials upon vials of painful venom, who grounded her, could so carelessly toss her life away. Was there anyone good out there? Is there anyone, really, who wouldn’t do the same, if it so benefited them?

And how to be now, as her doggedness wavers? It boggles her mind that she is the only one she knows who is so completely faithless in the salvageable nature of the world. A world like this hardly deserves to be saved. She’s adrift, really. Yes, the quiet part Sakura won’t say is that this plan is a desperate bid to uncover her limits. How much can she survive? How much will the universe let her get away with? Can she really get away with a murder of this degree? What comes after a success like that? (is there a point? There are so many more shinobi like Orochimaru crawling around out there. Why even bother with all of this?)

Sakura knows that the real reason she is so adrift is that she’d never had much faith in the world as a whole. Her tether here is love. And her loved ones are mere phantoms, shadows of the past, scrambling out of her grasp. Her purpose is scattered with no voices to keep her company, and a growing self-disgust stirs within. Her last drive is as simple as this: redeem. Earn her place. Earn love. She lies awake at night, shivering with nausea, remembering everything she’s done to others, every selfish thought she’d once been absorbed with. And she can’t help but think to herself I am just like these evil men, only I pretend to be different for some…misguided sense of comfort. They are us, unclothed, lacking inhibition. Deep down, all of us are just like Orochimaru.

Sakura is leaving purgatory, if she manages to pull this off. What to do when you can do anything? God, after all she’s seen, the concept of free will cages her, horrifies her so thoroughly it crushes the breath out of her chest. What she really wants is to go home, but she’s not sure where that is. So she’s left with this gaping loneliness in her chest. Sakura was born into a nasty place, a place of parents who exchange children for ease, and of hurt people spinning the cycle forward. She’s gotten out of that nasty place, but she’d never considered that, once she left, she would officially belong nowhere.

If she were a little less terrified, she might be excited about the concept of building something new. But the fear beats the hope, and she hardly trusts herself to make anything good.

If—when?—she dies from this, her escape from purgatory becomes a lot simpler: the afterlife. The thought both scares her more and less than the thought of returning to Konoha.  If Orochimaru doesn’t kill her, the sheer vastness of being alive just might.

So she puts back on that mask of bravado and bullheadedness, wondering just how cheap and flakey it looks to the outside world, and carefully folds up all of these feelings she can’t afford to feel. Her loved ones need her. They can’t have her running around feeling so damn much, needing so much from them when they have so many other things they all must do. This is her cross to bear. She swallows through her dry throat and the tears threatening to spill over, and the pathetic thoughts about boys, and dads who wouldn’t look at her, dads who died for her, and dads who want her dead.

The jutsu starts warmly. Like her blood is burning, tingling, hot blood in her throat, heat in her cheeks, and it feels suddenly like she’d pissed herself. The jutsu isn’t painful, but it’s hardly comfortable. Or maybe she’s lost perspective and it does hurt, but only, she can’t quite figure what pain is compared to every other sensation that seems so far away from her, so bland.

She activates her and Kabuto’s trial jutsu, and it’s all laisse faire from there. His outrage falls numbly upon her. She imagines a life where she never stole this jutsu from Ino, and feels gross for using it again. She has a lot to feel gross about. She doesn’t feel much when she jolts and there’s pain splitting her neck. Orochimaru is being sealed away, slipping into the dark, purpling mark on her neck, but she watches Orochimaru’s corpse shred and deteriorate with intense fascination despite the burning. It hurts. It feels like pain in the background, pain behind her mind and in the depths of her body, unreachable, hazy through a dream. Does she enjoy this? No. She wishes instead that none of this had ever happened. She wishes for the farm. Everyone who he has hurt is still hurt, will spend the rest of their days regurgitating the torment they endured under his blue-gloved hands, and revenge seems utterly pointless. Really, Orochimaru already won by the mere idea that something as cruel as him was made to exist in this world. They all know now. They know the truth of the human mind.

Is that what he wanted? To be known?

He dies in front of her, and she lives. Sakura sits there for the briefest of moments in sheer, toe-stubbing shock. Adrenaline soon beats through her and the endorphins win out. She double checks her seal and is soon sprinting. It is a reprieve from all the thinking. She can’t join the fight fast enough.

Sakura has never been good at thinking. She’s a decent fighter. So she emerges among the leaves and the flames and the dust of a fight and throws herself bodily into it. She acts on instincts. She dismisses all misery in place of survival and comradery.

And though Sakura left purgatory alive, she thinks this may be Hell all the same.

------

Obito isn’t expecting it when the white haired guy joins the frey, with such a vengeance even Itachi’s eyes widen a fraction. Kakashi’s one eye goi through more emotions than anyone else. Kakashi’s always so expressive. He’d bet good money his jaw is dropped as well. The white-haired guy—Kabuto, he re-learns, as Kakashi shouts orders at him—fights like he has nothing to lose.

And he goes straight for Itachi and the Susanoo. Itachi’s Susanoo is red and fiery. A large, destructive warrior tearing down trees, protecting Itachi as he stands amidst it. But he can’t possibly keep it up forever.

The snake Kabuto summons is enormous. Manda, he greets with something vicious and chaotic in his eyes. Kakashi asks where Sakura is, shouts, more like. Kabuto says nothing, and then, just as quickly, Kakashi’s calm slips from him, and he fights with the same steely vengeance Kabuto has. They’re both quiet and stormy in their rage.

Obito bites back the bile in his throat as he imagines what has happened to Kakashi’s student. The red haired girl has begun screeching quietly in the corner, hands on the ground, eyes clenched so tightly Obito wonders if her eyes have begun to burn with the pressure. Suppressing the chakra of Susanoo is clearly taking its toll on her. She doesn’t let up, though, not even for a second. Obito can feel her fiery chakra on him, something like hard cider. He thinks he can see her crying, and he gets the feeling it’s less to do with the pain, and more to do with the lack of a certain someone on the battlefield.

Kakashi fights. A chakra infused water-dragon joins Manda, and Kabuto viciously tears through hand-signs. On Kabuto’s command, as Manda’s fangs meet the chakra-formed body of Susanoo, and Kakashi’s water-dragon crashes against its fist, an Earthquake shakes them. But it’s not directed at Itachi. It creeps and rumbles the ground in the direction of Deidera, before bursting forward and causing the blonde to lose his balance. Something in his hand slips from his fingertips. Obito registers the shock on his face as the clay bomb hits the floor right beneath him, and then the quick retreat of Obito’s two comrades fighting them. They leap to the side, and an explosion shakes the Earth, knocking Deidera off his feet. Deidera shouts in shock and light flashes around them. Obito hears ringing. He grunts, and digs his heels into the ground, keeping an eye on Kakashi and Kabuto, even as he wants to watch and see what has become of Deidera. But no matter, even without the visible evidence, he’ll know.

The two young men fighting Deidera emerge moments later to stand right beside him. “Blown to bits,” one comments off-handedly. “Nice moves for a medic!” He shouts at Kabuto, hands cupped over his mouth, who doesn’t acknowledge them. That kid is a medic? Obito looks at Manda and gulps. One scary fucking medic. The new comrade that wields the Kubikiribochi has striking purple eyes. Obito has no idea what his skills are, because he hadn’t been focused on their fight, but he seems great with a sword.

His friend just shrugs, eyes now focused on Itachi. “Art is an explosion,” he says, and it must be some kind of joke, judging by the way the other kid cackles. Obito notices some sort of seal creeping up his skin.

Obito digs his heels into the ground. “Go help that girl, one of you.” The light-haired, fanged one nods sharply, hurrying over to Karin.

Obito jerks his head toward Itachi. He hopes Kakashi’s dogs still have the perimeter The other kid nods firmly. “Go around him, Itachi’s smart. He’ll run.” As soon as the words leave him, Itachi leaves his Susanoo to start sprinting toward the forest. Obito’s Sharingan catches him. He flickers, and he’s beside Itachi, who coughs into his arm before thrusting his sword at him, technique unwavering. Obito pushes back, and feels Kakashi rejoin him, followed by Kabuto. It seems the other kid knows how to listen, because he’s not here yet—probably running around in order to properly surround him.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of Susanoo crashing against Manda. Obito disengages. The other kid emerges from behind Itachi, and Kakashi and Kabuto stand mere feet away. Surrounded.

Kabuto pants, and then pushes his glasses up on his nose. Obito watches Itachi carefully. Kakashi digs his heels into the ground. Itachi’s Sharingan twirls and flips, unsure how to proceed. A stalemate, for one, breathless moment.  

Then, Itachi whirls around to blare his Sharingan at Jugo, to do something, but Obito saw the plan from a mile away, and he aims a fist his direction, then an elbow, flickering in and out. Whatever he was going to do, it makes the kid scramble back in terror. Kakashi joins him, and he fights with an intensity characteristic of Kakashi’s cold rage. Obito hears the Chidori burn from a mile away. He grabs Itachi, shoves him forward, and Itachi snarls, rips out of his grasp only to meet a fistful of senbon from Kabuto.  Kakashi’s chidori misses Itachi by an inch as he scrambles back, and then licks of fire from the Susanoo crashes down on them. Smoke cages everything, tell-tale of that snake-summon dispersing.  Itachi tries to run again. Obito and Kakashi pursue, even as smoke fills their mouths and coats their skin, and fire licks at them. The two young male comrades focus their attention on the Susanoo, this time with the help of Kabuto, who takes the lead, “Suigetsu, Jugo, with me!”

Obito takes some sort of scrape to his arm in his flurry to catch up to Itachi. Warmth floods his forearm, but he drills forward. Kakashi and Obito stand opposite of Itachi, forcing Itachi to spin, with Obito able to see any move Itachi tries to make out of both he and Kakashi’s eyes. They beat on. He hears their three comrades grunt and shout in distress as the Susanoo burns through them, and he resists the urge to glance over and wonder. He quickly dispels a Genjutsu, but the image of Rin, torn apart by Kakashi’s Sharingan, still makes him stumble.

For a moment, Obito can’t tell the difference between Genjutsu and reality.

Obito should have seen it coming. The Sharingan can copy, after all. But he was in a groove of blades. He wasn’t expecting a Chidori. For a moment, the chirping birds sound like a beloved ally. 

He isn’t expecting it, aimed right at his chest, and even though he can see it coming, his chakra is low. There’s no time to flicker. No energy to flicker. Not when his chakra has been slowly chipped away from dispelling Genjutsu after Genjutsu. He hears a sound from Kakashi he never could’ve imagined, and the fucking Sharingan insists that Obito watch Kakashi’s face morph, that expression permanently engraved in his mind. Itachi has copied the Chidori. Itachi has copied the Chidori and is aiming it right at him. He can feel Itachi’s chakra prodding at Kakashi, and he wishes he had time to say anything, to warn Kakashi of the incoming Genjutsu, but he cannot, and he sees it sweep up Kakashi, cloud his gaze. His Sharingan tracks every movement, savors the slowed time, and the sparks of the Chidori start to shock him, bring hints of vibrancy into Obito’s skin.

But he sees Sakura appear out of the corner of his eye. Feels Earth bursts underneath their feet, hardened rock bursting into the air in thousands of pieces. The chunks spit and dig into his skin, and the pain snaps Kakashi out of the Genjutsu. Itachi is forced to spin and jump out of the way, Chidori splitting harmless through rock.

Time returns to him. His Sharingan throbs with exertion. He grabs the pale hand offered to him, and a flash of striking green eyes meets him. She moves light on her feet, the cracks splintering the ground seemingly less than a nuisance to her. Kakashi is already standing aside, feet digging into the Earth, gaze locked on Sakura. Obito feels a headache pound into him as his own gaze focuses on Itachi, but Kakashi’s hones in on Sakura, and he feels disoriented to see and absorb two separate images all at once. Sakura looks fine, so they need to focus. He swallows back the nausea and spins a Rasengan into his hand.

Itachi barely ducks out of the way, his foot catching. Obito pivots on his heel to redirect the Rasengan back at Itachi, and is surprised to see Sakura already right beside him, a kick aimed toward Itachi. Itachi moves quickly, jumping her kick and sidestepping the Rasengan again. “You eel!” Obito hears himself shout, and Sakura grunts in agreement, her hands flicking through two separate seals even as her foot spins to slow the momentum, stabilizing beside her. Kakashi is back, relentlessly pursuing Itachi with his Katana, feet slipping underneath and in front of him in a way that reminds Obito of how he looks when the two of them are dancing, cheek resting on Obito’s shoulder.

Itachi meets him with his tanto. Sakura’s jutsus finish, and mud sweeps underneath Itachi’s feet, who snarls like it’s an inconvenience, even as the mud creeps up to his shins and solidifies, effectively immobilizing him. Kakashi tries to take advantage. His shoves his tanto upward diagonally, and Itachi rips sideways away from it, unable to move his shins as his torso stretches awkwardly. His body meets Sakura’s second jutsu head on, and he sees a fraction of the widening of his eyes, having already forgotten Sakura’s fanciful trick of double casting. A stone arm emerges from the ground and grabs Itachi’s forearm. Kakashi swings his katana back toward Itachi’s face, Itachi barely able to swing his left hand up to guard. Kakashi thrusts his weight into him. Obito sees the opening and takes the opportunity, summoning up the last vestiges of his chakra to thrust his Rasengan right toward the center of Itachi’s back. Itachi lets Kakashi fall toward him, back arching and dropping down into a backbend, thrusting Kakashi forward.

Obito stabilizes and tries to focus the Rasengan back toward Itachi, but Itachi rips out of the stone hand with a burst of chakra, and then disappears in a flash, leaving two leg-shaped earth molds in his wake. Obito curses, Rasengan spinning out of existence, and is surprised to see both Kakashi and Sakura begin another pursuit of him.

For a moment, Obito feels hopeless. Then he notices the slight favoring of Itachi’s right ankle, and he knows that ripping himself out of the earth mold might not have been as easy for Itachi as he tried to let on. Sakura engages Itachi in a terrifying display of Taijutsu, Kakashi’s help with his Katana keeping Itachi just distracted enough to give Sakura leeway to engage. Obito throws a few Genjutsu Itachi’s way, keeping a vague eye on the chaos behind them that the white-haired kid—Kabuto, dammit—and the other two boys are involved in. He has the terrifying realization that if any of them were alone, Itachi would probably be able to end their lives in minutes, if not seconds.

Exhausted and sweating, Obito barely musters up the strength to throw himself back toward them. Itachi is too fast. He meets all of them blade for blade, fist for fist, balancing fighting the three of them like it’s child’s play. He twists and pushes Sakura out of the way by each of her limbs, leaving colorful bruises in the wake of his hands, nicks Kakashi’s knuckles and forearms with his blade, and bats away every one of Obito’s attempts to gain an upper hand.

He throws Genjutsu and Rasengan out to no avail, simple wastes of chakra. He is breathless when Sakura, without pausing, grabs Itachi’s blade with her bare hand to give Kakashi a chance to aim for Itachi’s knees. Itachi attempts to slice through her palm, but she grabs the hilt of his blade with her other hand, and Itachi is forced to abandon the blade to her. Palms slick with blood, Sakura tosses Obito the tanto, which is a smart move on her part: many Uchiha train with this blade. Itachi jumps to dodge Kakashi’s slash towards his knees, and Sakura and Kakashi share a frightening smile between them at the unspoken ploy to rid Itachi of his weapon. Itachi lashes out at their display of triumph, and Obito doesn’t even consider to be frightened of Sakura’s inability to dodge as he himself sidesteps out of the way of two kunai. He miscalculates.

Sakura is standing frozen, caught in a Genjutsu that unlike he and Kakashi, she cannot see through. Itachi’s shuriken thuds right into her eye, missing her skull only because Obito is able to wrap his hand around her wrist and tug her to the side, halting the momentum of the blade and dragging it across her face instead of through her head. He hears a squishing sound, followed by a longs spurt of blood that trails from the corner of her nose out toward the top of her ear. “Sakura!” Kakashi shouts, alarmed, but Sakura just reaches up, wipes the blood across her eye, and sets her uninjured eye on Itachi. Of course an Uchiha would go for the eyes, Obito thinks resentfully as he tries to ascertain the damage.

Sakura doesn’t pay his gaze much mind, mouth as quick as a her fingers flying through seals. “Careful. You need me alive.” She tosses Itachi’s way, squeezing her eye tighter shut and causing another slime of blood to creep across her cheek.

Itachi—

Well.

He loses it, really.

Obito almost takes a step back in surprise as the first real hint of any emotion overcomes Itachi, as he spits, furious, “What have you people done to him?!” and practically throws himself toward Sakura, shuriken and chakra infused fists overwhelming her. Kakashi hurries to intervene, but something stops him, and he halts in his steps, eyes wide. A genjutsu, and he has no chakra to fight it. Sakura stumbles backwards as Itachi lands a punch right into her stomach, and she wheezes.

He grips her hair, and pull her head back, and she whips her head around wildly, eyes squeezed shut, shouting furiously. “I won’t let you! I won’t let you!” Itachi works to restrain her, fingernails digging and peeling into uninjured eye, clearly trying to achieve something.

“You did something to him!” Itachi accuses. “I’ll break you! I’ll tear every one of your limbs off before I give up! Show me what you did to him! You poisoned him against me, didn’t you?!” Sakura’s uninjured eye is forcefully pulled open, her eye bloodshot and red, Itachi’s eyes spinning.

Obito sees it, finally, finally, finally: an opening. Kakashi breaks out of the Genjutsu. He and Kakashi move together, Chidori and Rasengan blazing, and Obito is certain this is the last jutsu he has left in him. His chakra is throbbing, seriously, how does Kakashi work himself to chakra exhaustion so frequently, this is awful. Sakura scratches at Itachi’s arms, even as his fingernails scrape her cornea, and Kakashi’s Chidori slams right into Itachi’s shoulder. Itachi rips away only to be forced into Obito’s Rasengan, and both of his shoulder’s must burn with the impact of both. Itachi’s chakra surges, and then he disappears between them, smoke and dust in his wake. Goddamn, how did he have enough chakra for a Shunshin?

He wonders what Itachi wants from the girl. Is she the most vulnerable of Sasuke’s friends, the only one that isn’t guarded by the Leaf? Is that why he has targeted her? Itachi coughs, stumbling away, hand gripping the heated injury bursting forth in his two shoulders, bleeding, burning, the smell of dusty wind and electricity swarming them. Obito look towards Sakura and realizes just how injured she is, a black eye forming on her good eye, bruises all over her small, small frame. So young, and so girlish, to be fighting so ruthlessly, to be beaten so unforgivably. Obito feels sympathy burn through him as looks at the bleeding in her eyes, and wonders if her vision is salvageable.

Then, a slash of a tanto, a ping of metal, followed by iron and a sea of red across his vision. The blade creeps just past his vision. He hadn’t seen it coming at all. Pink and black strands of hair, strawberry scented lotion mingling with sweat, and pale freckled skin peeling toward him.

He hears the girl scream first, before his mind can process the sight before him: an unusual occurrence, for one with the Sharingan. It’s evidence of his exhaustion. She stumbles forward, and before he notices that her arm is missing, he notices that her arm is on the floor beside him, twisted and limp. He vaguely registers himself stumble, regaining his balance to watch in terror as blood gushes from her missing limb. The stump on her arm bleeds black and red globs onto the charred grass under their sandals. A flash of Rin, images resurfaced from Itachi’s relentless Genjutsus: Kakashi, saying Sakura’s name so gently, as gently as he once said Rin’s name, the old spark resurfacing in his usually morose expression. He’s watching her and Itachi at the same time, because Kakashi’s focus has been ripped away from their opponent and is fixated on Sakura.

She’s dying, Obito realizes in a daze. She’s going to die if she keeps losing blood. Her eye socket stares forlornly back at him—no, at Kakashi. But she has the slightest, most hysterical little smile on her face. She digs her hand into the stump on her arm like she’s awed and disgusted by it at once, and Obito suddenly can’t see her, because Kakashi isn’t looking. He can only see Itachi. He hears the girl laugh, and all the same, he feels like he’s still staring at her, like the sight is engraved in his soul permanently. Itachi, the bastard, grabs Sakura by her good arm, and begins pulling at her eye again, shouting something over her moaning breath. Shouting “let me see him, let me see him!” and all of the breath leaves his beloved, who looks haunted as he tries to grab Sakura back. Obito wonders if Itachi is catching him in his webs of Genjutsu too, even with their Mangekyou. Their Sharingan throbs: he feels Kakashi’s like it’s ghost of a limb, buzzing with energy and pain.

His gaze is on Kakashi, who has gathered himself just barely, trying to step forward, and failing. He shouldn’t have summoned that last Chidori. Kakashi’s arm twitches with the force of the electricity that just ran through it, lightning burns licking up his arm, charring through his glove and long-sleeved undershirt. Obito can see the cruel design of the electricity painting itself across his skin, and he realizes belatedly how his own Sharingan is flickering on and off, chakra sluggishly trying to keep him alert.

Itachi coughs even as he pulls tiredly at Sakura, and Obito is sick with the knowledge that Itachi targeted him likely because he knew that Sakura would defend. Is she so careless with her own life? He swallows at the prospect of an enemy so dishonorable, so willing to exploit the kindness of his enemy. When he looks at Itachi, he sees family. He sees Konoha’s failures: his own failures. Sakura has been reduced to simple moans of no, no, no a denial of what, Obito isn’t privy too. He knows that she is adamant of it.

His beloved takes a step forward, but his knee crumples beneath him, and Kakashi wails with his inability to save his student. Sakura’s curse mark bursts forth from her neck, and Obito is filled with a sense of panic as the seal overtakes her. He feels some sort of relief as her arm is cauterized by the effects of the seal, even as she screams in what must be awful, terrifying pain, but mostly, he feels horror as the seal melts through her neck and face, then weaves its way down her arms.

Obito can hardly breathe, lungs screaming, chest screaming, every chakra pathway in his body drained and painful. That blade that took Sakura’s arm would’ve taken his neck. He got sloppy, he got excited. Itachi gave him that opening on purpose, goddammit. Itachi manages to pull Sakura’s eyelid back again, but his Sharingan spins uselessly at her, even as he shakes her and quickens the flow of blood, demanding her to let him see. “Fucking Orochimaru!” He hisses, like he can’t believe that Sakura can fight him in this. What does he want? Does Sakura have to consent? Does her dual chakra system, the one that allows her to wield two jutsu, the one he can vaguely sense with the flicker of his chakra and Sharingan, give her an edge?

“Sakura!” Kakashi tries to stand, but he can’t, and Obito is hardly able to stand up himself. “Just give him what he wants!”

Sakura doesn’t even turn her head to address Kakashi’s shout, probably can’t even hear him. She holds steady to Itachi’s violence, like it doesn’t scare her—it probably doesn’t. She’s greening in the face, ready to vomit at any moment. Itachi suddenly whips his head around, because Kabuto has appeared, leaving those other two boys, and now, the red-haired girl, too, to barely survive against keeping the Susanno at bay. The red-head has an army of her own snakes, now, and a sense of urgency about her. She seems to have been relinquished from her chakra concealing duties now that Sakura has arrived. What did we walk in on? Obito wonders. He feels that he has, unwittingly, joined a masterful scheme. Sakura and Sasuke were close. Did Sasuke tell her Itachi’s techniques and weaknesses? Did Kabuto know a thing or two, from his time in the Akatsuki? Did they plan for this?

He isn’t expecting Kabuto to literally throw himself at Itachi’s back, giving Sakura enough leverage to yank away from Itachi and scramble backwards.

The red haired girl immediately appears, throwing herself at Sakura with surprising intensity. The Susanoo crashes behind them. Obito turns to see just how horrifying the Susanno is, ginormous, daunting, red and angry, before he is barely conscious enough to leap away from Susanoo’s chakra infused fist, grunting as the fiery flickers of the warrior’s chakra licks at him. He suspects that will leave a nasty burn scar on his leg.

Kabuto is shoved off of Itachi’s back, rolling across the ground, Susanno’s fire immediately catching onto his clothes. The boy releases a half-formed shout, both from the impact and the burning. Obito pulls himself up to his hands and knees, ears ringing and throbbing. He watches Itachi yank a senbon out of his neck in petulant rage.

He tries to run after Itachi again, but Kakashi is laying prone, his sleeve on fire. Further off, the Susanoo shoves at one of the boys and the young man screeches, unable to hold back the beast for much longer. He looks different than before, and Obito tries to connect the seals on his skin with the seals on Sakura’s, but his mind is moving so, so slow. And out of the corner of his eye is Sakura, with her teeth sinking into the red-haired girls neck. Kabuto is beside her, his glasses suspiciously fogged. Kakashi can’t tear his eyes away from Sakura. Obito glances back at Itachi’s figure, then turns his head away, jaw clenched.

Dutifully, Obito sidesteps another roaring burst of chakra from the Susanno, and sets to work retrieving the two exhausted boys from their fight. Live to see another day, he tells himself, but his mouth is sour.

A few minutes later, the Susanno disappears, and with it, Obito knows, Itachi.

------

Sakura’s arm feels fine, she tells herself. It’s just a little breezy. Karin’s blood lingers on her tongue. She tells herself it’s from an iron supplement.

Kakashi-sensei is crying. Sakura hurts. She’s trying to comfort him. “It’s okay, Kakashi, see? We match.” She’s muttering. And he’s crying. She reaches up and remembers kneeling before him. She feels wrung dry. “Stop, don’t cry. Don’t cry, we did it. We’re alive. He didn’t get us.” She doesn’t usually ramble. But she can’t remember what she said from one second to the next, and she needs to make sure they know.

She sees two blurs of white. Maybe. It’s hard to see. Everything hurts. It’s dark, in her left eye. She tries to open it and she can’t. Weird, wrong. Kabuto’s hands are underneath her head, holding her. She smiles. “Fuck him, we did it. We won, Kabuto.”

And Kabuto inhales raggedly at her. His hands are grounding.

“Bastard got away,” She hears, and there’s something red above her. Karin, and her sharp features. Karin used to squish her face and coo at her cheeks, when Orochimaru was rearranging her, and she’d have to drink Karin’s blood if things went astray.

Sakura frowns at the pain in her voice. “Karin,” She celebrates, “are you okay?

“You’re hurt,” She hears, and ow, yeah, well, duh. She does hurt. Everywhere. She sniffles at the reminder. She tries to move her hand, but it’s heavy. It’s so heavy, her hand, where’s her hand?

She uses her left hand instead, and reaches to touch her chest. Someone stops her. “It’s okay, we treated it. You had a pierced lung. Was that Orochimaru?”

Maybe. No. Itachi punched her in the chest. She nods. She thinks she does. Who’s above her? Kakashi-sensei. He’s still crying. “You’re whimpering, Sakura,” He tells her. “It’s okay, you’re alright.”

“I’m scared,” She admits. “It’s dark.” The dark haired man from before, Kakashi’s friend, breathes sharply and Kakashi looks so, so sad. Wrong, that’s wrong. Why is she like this? Why can’t she ever make anyone happy? How is it so dark, but she can see them?

“I’m alive.” She tells him, and she feels giddy with it. Why aren’t they happy? She’s alive. “Who’s the cockroach now?” She jokes, and she hears a satisfying choked out laugh from somebody who must be Kabuto, because only he would know that’s her nickname for Orochimaru.

Then she sniffs, because it hurts. It hurts. She’s whimpering again. She tries to stop herself, it must be awfully annoying. Voices flow in and out. She can’t be bothered to listen, because the pain is too all-encompassing and nauseating. She thinks about her arm and her eye, and then thinks of nothing.

------

“We’re the best around, we know how to handle these wounds. It’s going to be okay.” Kabuto reassures him. The sound is absentminded as he fiddles with some sort of monitor.  

Karin glances at Kabuto impatiently. She’s sitting on some sort of strange medical chair, and her arm is hooked up to thick, wide needle, where her blood sluggishly travels through a rubber tube and into a bag for Kabuto. She’s donating for Sakura, because she’s an O- and her blood has healing components. Kakashi listened raptly to the explanation of it all, even though Kabuto was loathe to give it to him. Admittedly, Kakashi is uncomfortable in Orochimaru’s lair, but it’s better, he relents, than not having any supplies at all. Obito is standing off to the side, something haunted on his face. Is he thinking of Rin, Kakashi wonders? How Kakashi told Obito he killed her?

It’s hard to breathe through the guilt, so mostly, Kakashi doesn’t. Instead, he stares blankly at his student, lying on a medical examination table, arm wrapped in gauze. Kabuto was able to put her severed arm back on, but he’d said the motor functions would be latent and gimmicky at first. He’d also spoke of excruciating aches and a lifetime of chronic pain. He’d been unable to do anything about her eye, though, even though he’d muttered something about having spare eyes lying around. Apparently, the severed nerves and the time it took to begin addressing her empty eye socket made a transplant impossible. Kakashi doesn’t pretend to understand medical ninja. He was confused by all of what transpired in the last few hours. Mostly, he would never forget watching, sickened, as Kabuto ran a scalpel through his students severed arm, and stitched and grafted her skin back together. Beforehand, Kakashi held her down as she thrashed, and Kabuto sedated her. Kabuto called Sakura lucky. He said it was a miracle that Itachi’s sharp tanto severed her arm so cleanly.

Kakashi looks at the thin scars—ones he knows will fade—running up and down the pale skin of her shoulder, forearm, and hand, and doubts Kabuto’s assessment. This was far from lucky. His student is so young and already burdened beyond her years.

There’s a rustle of fabric, and then his student is sitting up. She looks sluggish. She glances sideways at her arm and snorts at the mound of fabric, before turning her head to the side and promptly disappearing back into the realm of sleep, flopping back down. Kabuto barely glances her way, but Kakashi’s heart is running a mile a minute. “Is that, is that okay for her to do?” Kakashi asks, bewildered. Karin sends him a reassuring look that falls flat, considering she has a bandage on her neck from where Sakura bit her earlier, and a needle jammed into her veins and sucking away her blood like a sanitized leech.

“She’s fine.” Karin answers breezily, “She might do that a few more times as the sedatives wear off.”

Obito isn’t saying anything. His deranged nephew just tried his very best end all of their lives, so Kakashi can’t blame him, and honestly, he doesn’t feel like being comforted right now. Honestly, Kakashi can’t believe they’re all alive. Kakashi himself is feeling pretty…not alive. Very, very injured. But he wants to stay permanently by Sakura’s side until she’s fully awake. Kabuto has warned him that while Sakura can handle pain well, this will take its toll on her, and she might become very solemn.

“Sakura’s addicted to saving you Uchiha from your own goddamn brethren,” Kabuto suddenly blurts, tapping the blood beside Karin and causing her to send him a raised eyebrow. Kakashi startles as Kabuto stares Obito down, glasses glinting. The angry burns on his arms and legs are untreated, Kakashi realizes with a hint of sorrow. He has half a mind to tell Kabuto to take a break and look over his own injuries, or, he supposes, drink some of Karin’s blood.

Obito glares back, always rearing for a challenge. “Fuck off, Kabuto.” Bold words from a guy who couldn’t remember Kabuto’s name earlier.

Kabuto continues on, wiping Karin’s arm and unplugging her from the satanic devise she’d been strapped to, plugging some sort of clear liquid back into her and causing Kakashi to cringe and subconsciously rub his own arm, even as Karin stares blankly at the wall, unbothered. “It’s her own damn fault,” he decides. “She made it out from Orochimaru practically unscathed. And I probably could’ve saved that eye, if Itachi hadn’t gone all…well.” Kabuto’s voice grows increasingly tense, and Kakashi can’t help but notice that, despite the steady thrum of his hand as he slides the IV over to Sakura to resupply her with blood, his eyes have a deranged tint to them. He wipes calmly at her forearm with a small towel, wraps some kind of thick bandage around her upper arm, then jabs her again with a fresh needle. He clicks some buttons and taps some things as they all sit in the discomfort of his aggression.

Something about Kabuto screams, try me, I dare you, and Kakashi isn’t in the mood to play with fire. He’s almost intimidating. Perhaps because Kabuto has no boundaries, and is scarily observant, willing to say or do anything to get out on top and justify himself. The silence reigns on, and Kabuto looks almost like he’s regaining his composure, before Obito scoffs. Kabuto, surprisingly, doesn’t snap. Merely laughs a bit, shaking his head, and in a tone that sounds like he’s marveling and resenting her all at once, he declares, “I knew we should’ve taken our chances with helping Itachi. She had moral qualms.”

Kakashi feels his brow furrow as Kabuto brushes Sakura’s hair out of her face, protective, and brotherly, as he pats her scarred cheek and glares into the abyss. Kakashi, throat dry, asks, “is it…is it really still touch and go? She’s safe now.”

Kabuto’s gaze is steady as he responds, “Mmm. She might reject the healing, yet. It’s a lot to ask of her body to heal all at once, and her chakra is exhausted. Only time will tell if she’ll pull through.”

“She will,” Kakashi offers, “She’s strong.”

Kabuto laughs at him, though. “The fuck that does mean?” Kabuto questions. 

Kakashi is struck with the realization that he doesn’t know how to answer him. He knows in his bones that Sakura is strong, but what does it mean to be strong? How has being strong ever helped her? Is strong just what survivors call themselves, to justify all the pain, to earn something from the struggle? Kabuto admires Sakura a moment longer, before pushing his glasses back up his nose. Kakashi notices for the first time that the side of the glasses are crooked, a screw out of place. That’s probably why the glasses are constantly falling down.

Sakura rolls over and peeks an eye open. Kakashi swallows back the realization that it’s now her only eye. “Shap talking showwww mucchhh!” she complains, and she tries to pick up her arm with the IV in it, but noticing the needle stops and glares. Kabuto pats her face, right across her eyes and her mouth, and Sakura huffs against him.

“Sorry, your grace,” Kabuto mocks, his voice pitching upward, then he lowers his voice and smooshes her face with his hand, “the grownups are talking.”

“Point stands.” Sakura mutters, somehow capable of all that spice even half-awake and half-alive. She nudges his hand away with her nose, scowling. “’port?”

Kabuto responds quickly. “Everyone’s safe. Orochimaru is dead. Itachi is gone. We escaped a full-fledged Akatsuki assassination mission, I mean, that’s pretty neat, right?” Kakashi blinks because, well, he says that. Sakura must have said it, and Kabuto learned it from her, and something pounds wildly in his chest that anyone could have something of his so subliminally. Sakura, passing on Kakashi’s traits, like, well, like they’re a real family.

“The neatest.” Sakura agrees, before she groans a little, obviously remembering her pain. “Fuuuuuck, noooo.”

Karin slips on a pair of gloves and begins undoing the clear liquid from her arm, saline solution, Kakashi hopes, and not some sort of creepy drug, and bandaging up her own arm. She’s moving quickly, and then she’s suddenly beside Sakura, cupping the girls face in her hands. “I’m so proud of you,” Karin murmurs, and it jolts Kakashi to see the affection between the two girls. Karin presses a quick kiss to Sakura’s forehead, who sniffs a little. Kakashi tries to make his legs move, but the guilt eats at him. If he’d been faster, she’d never have felt the need to run straight into a Itachi’s sword like that. He stops breathing, and he feels a familiar obsession begin to cling to him. He won’t soon let this go. He’ll refuse to. Because if he lets it go, he’ll let himself repeat this mistake. He won’t. Yet, no matter how many times Kakashi tells himself he won’t, he still does. Because he’s a failure.

“I’m a married woman!” Sakura protests blearily. Kabuto scoffs in amusement at her as she declares it, but Kakashi feels something like distaste burn in his gut. What’s she going on about, married? She’s barely a teenager. “Unhand me!” She repeats, and Karin bursts into a round of giggles and just like that, the two previously tense teens beside Sakura relax at Sakura’s tomfoolery, making herself the butt of the joke to ease their worries.

Her singular eye manages to find his, even in her impaired state. She swallows visibly. Kakashi can see the milky tone of her skin, and it dulls the green of her eyes—eye. She needs more blood, he supposes, and wonders why Kabuto’s IV thing is taking so long. She smiles at him, much to his surprise, and it feels wrong, because she should be furious. She’d needed him. She’d created a plan that hinged on Kakashi protecting her and he hadn’t. Why would she smile? Is she faking? “Heyyy, twin!” her toothy grin is familiar in some ways, but the way it pulls at the taut scar on her cheek is unfamiliar. She looks grown. Kakashi missed it.

“Sakura,” Kakashi scolds, because his voice has a mind of its own, and his chest hurts, it hurts so much he can hardly bare to look at her. She must hear the sternness in his tone, because she flushes a little, mouth twisting into a pout that reminds Kakashi vaguely of Sasuke. Her eye isn’t funny, she shouldn’t be making it a joke, and Lord knows, the only thing Kakashi has ever wanted for her is for her to be less like him. He can’t even get that right.

“Yelling at your student for saving your life is gay as fuck,” Sakura accuses, interrupting his stream of thought, and surprising him so thoroughly he ends up clearing his throat. “Wait, no wait. You’re gay as fuck. So, that doesn’t work. Hang on.” She shakes her head and squints her glimmering eye, and Kakashi is laughing, startled and pleased. Nothing like him, really. She’s far too funny to be anything like Kakashi. She gasps, forgetting her mission to find a suitable insult to call him, and he recalls her and Naruto muttering nasty things behind his back about what might be under his mask as he forced them to run. “The Uchiha guy is your BOYFRIEND! I thought he was just your buddy this whole time. Ohhhh.” Sakura closes her eye and nods to herself, and sounds genuinely frustrated. Kakashi has no idea what she means until Obito laughs, and he realizes that she was probably trying to figure out who he was this entire time.

Kakashi shoves his face in his hand and laughs, but before he can explain anything to her, she’s shifting onto her scarred cheek, sniffling and closing her eyes. “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do while I’m gone.” Then she opens back up her eye to add, “’cept your boyfriend, you can do him. Because I’m an ally. Sorry. Shouldn’t have called you gay as an insult.”

“You’re going to sleep, Sakura, not on a trip.” Kakashi reminds her, but she hisses aggressively between her teeth about going back to the farm, and fuck if Kakashi knows what that means, but she seems very assertive about it. He is startled, of course, when Obito, despite the slump he’s in, manages a small smile.