Chapter Text
"So you're really leaving, Zabuza?"
Kisame's tone isn't accusatory. It isn't sad. It's matter-of-fact and plain, and addressed to the back of Zabuza's head.
Zabuza nods, but doesn't turn around to look at Kisame.
"Were you even gonna tell me?" Kisame tries very hard not to sound hurt.
"Didn't see a point." Zabuza replies.
"And you're taking the kid with you?"
The little child beside Zabuza peers over at Kisame with those wide, brown eyes.
"Yeah." Zabuza answers.
Kisame frowns, but, of course, Zabuza doesn't see it.
"Try not to get yourself killed." Kisame says.
"Same to you." Zabuza replies.
Kisame's frown turns into a half-smile.
"Hey, if you don't die, maybe we'll meet up again."
Zabuza doesn't answer. He gestures to the sad-eyed boy glued to his side.
"Haku, we're leaving."
The boy follows obediently, little hand grasping for Zabuza's, as if afraid of losing him. And Zabuza- callous, uncaring Zabuza- does something Kisame never thought he would do.
Scarred, calloused, crooked fingers curl around that tiny, fragile hand.
Almost like (as absurd as the thought is) Zabuza is afraid, too.
(He never sees either of them alive again.)
Kisame's first impression of Uchiha Itachi is, to be frank, not a good one.
Konan has to prod the boy out from behind her to properly meet the rest of Akatsuki.
"This is Uchiha Itachi- formerly of the Hidden Leaf," Leader says, his low voice tinged with what might be happiness. "From now on, he'll be one of us, so treat him kindly."
He's such a tiny little thing- the top of his head only reaches Kisame's collarbone. Skinny, too- there's no meat on that sack of skin and bones in front of him. Were it not for the blood sprayed across his body, nobody in their right mind would take him for a killer.
Despite being small and terribly non-intimidating, however, this tiny brat carries himself with all the haughty arrogance of a lord. He regards Kisame with flat, soulless black eyes, a disinterested expression on his blood-spattered face.
"Kisame, he'll be your partner."
How annoying.
But, if Leader said this was his his new partner, then so be it. Kisame doesn't care enough to argue.
"Sounds good to me," is what he chooses to say. "Let's get along, shall we, Itachi-san?"
Kisame offers the boy a smile that's really just teeth.
Itachi's expression (or lack thereof) doesn't change a millimeter.
Annoying. "Well then- shall I show you to our room?"
He doesn't get a response, but when he turns to leave, Itachi follows behind him.
His footsteps are so quiet that, for one brief moment, Kisame wonders if perhaps the child is a ghost.
(Of course not. That's ridiculous.)
"You're pretty young to be hanging around here, aren't ya?" Kisame asks, the silence beginning to make him quite uncomfortable.
No answer (again).
"Well, I hope you can keep up with me. I'm not a babysitter, ya know."
It's like talking to a damn brick wall.
"Well, here's home sweet home, Itachi-san."
It's a plain room, but more than large enough to house two people. There are two beds (With two footlockers at the ends), two bedside tables, two small desks, a single large closet, a bathroom tucked away in an unassuming corner, and a sliding paper divider to separate the two halves.
"That half's yours, Itachi-san." Kisame gestures to the empty portion of the room, where crisp white sheets lay neatly folded atop the bare mattress. "You can take a bath if you wanna get that blood off you."
Itachi nods, once, and wordlessly closes the divider between them.
Kisame huffs, and glares at the shadow of Itachi still visible through the paper.
So. His partner is some uppity punk from Konoha. Fair enough. So long as the bastard doesn't get in the way too badly, he supposes he can make that work.
He grabs Samehada and heads out to do some training. Taking out his annoyance on a few training dummies seems in order.
Scalding water washes over Itachi's skin, washing gore down the drain in a pinkish spiral pattern.
Sobs bubble out of his throat like soap suds, so loud and so sharp that someone on the other side of the door might think he's laughing.
His knees give way beneath him, hitting the slick shower tile with a dull thud. Blunt fingernails dig into his shoulders, drawing blood. His entire body quakes with the force of his grief, every cell wracked with unendurable anguish.
It hurts so much...
If only I could just die...
He looks up from the shower floor and catches the glint of a razor sitting on the edge of the sink, and drags himself the short distance to get it.
With a trembling hand, he reaches to grab the razor's handle, pulling it down toward him.
I can't. I can't die yet.
When the cold metal bites into the flesh of his thigh, phantom voices play at the back of his mind.
"You can't keep do this to yourself, Itachi! You'll end up dead if you keep this up!"
I'm sorry, Dad ...
"Itachi, darling- you're breaking my heart. Please tell me what's wrong…"
I'm sorry, Mom...
"Itachi-kun, what're all those bandages for? Did you get hurt?"
I'm sorry, Izumi...
"Damnit, Itachi! You don't have to do this! Don't shut me out! Let me help you!"
I'm sorry, Shisui...
A fresh bout of sobs overcomes him. He slashes his skin once, twice, a dozen times, as if he could bleed out all the rotten feelings inside him.
His father never understood. His Mother never understood. Shisui never understood.
How could they?
It doesn't matter anymore…
The pain on his skin takes his mind away from the pain in his heart, if only for the moment.
I'm sorry, Mother…I'm sorry, Father...
Itachi watches the blood spill from the gashes in his pale skin, washing away under the spray of the shower and spinning lazily toward the drain.
I'm so sorry...Sasuke…
Itachi can't quite bring his eyes into proper focus, so he stares at some point a great distance away, while the man's words wash over him without really registering in his mind. He's vaguely aware of Danzo's hawkish gaze burning into him while Sarutobi speaks.
(He's glad that he's kneeling right now, because he's not sure if he has the strength in his legs to stand.)
"I'm so sorry it had to come to this," the Hokage says, his voice heavy. "But you've done well. Thank you, Itachi."
Itachi manages to nod, though it's hard to even keep his head upright.
"It's unfortunate," Sarutobi continues, "but from today on, you'll have to be branded as a Rogue Ninja, and an enemy of Konoha. I'm sorry."
"...That's alright," Itachi croaks, though it makes his heart ache to say it. "I only have one request- if I can make it."
Sarutobi looks pityingly on the boy kneeling before him.
"Of course. What can I do for you, Itachi?"
Itachi bows his head, and takes an unsteady breath.
"Please look after Sasuke." Desperation makes his voice waver ever so slightly. "Make sure he's safe, and taken care of. Make sure he never learns the truth of what happened…"
Black eyes rise to meet brown, full of sorrow. Pleading. Begging.
"Please. He's all I have."
Sarutobi sighs heavily.
"Of course. He'll be safe- please don't worry."
Using his sword for leverage, Itachi drags himself to his feet. His entire body feels like lead.
"Where will you go now, Itachi?" Danzo asks, speaking for the first time since he arrived.
"Oh, he'll be coming with me."
The sudden deep, imposing voice makes both the old men jump.
A masked man with messy hair materializes behind Itachi, grabbing the boy's shoulders in a manner far too intimate to be appropriate.
"Wh-who are you?!" Hiruzen demands.
"Oh, I'm nobody important. You can call me Madara."
Both Hiruzen and Danzo blanch, gaping at the man before them.
"You can't be- how are you-"
A dark chuckle rumbles in Madara's chest.
"You see, this clever boy found me, all on his own," he continues, ignoring Sarutobi entirely. "And he and I struck up a bargain."
Madara's hand lifts Itachi's drooping head, not allowing him to hide his face.
"As it so happens, we both had something the other person wanted. I've been looking to recruit members for my little organization, the Akatsuki. As luck would have it, Itachi-chan is a perfect fit. So, Itachi will be part of Akatsuki from this day forward- in exchange, Akatsuki and myself will leave Konohagakure untouched. I think that's a fair trade, don't you?"
Neither of the men answer.
"Hey now, why the troubled faces?" Madara teases, pulling Itachi against his chest in a mockery of a friendly embrace. "I'll take care of him. After all- Itachi is such a good boy."
Before either Itachi, Danzo or Sarutobi can utter another word, Madara pulls Itachi into the spiral vortex of the Kamui, and they're gone.
The bandages wound around Itachi's leg rub against the soft fabric of his plain gray pajamas every time he moves, a quiet reminder of what he's just done.
He fixes his bed up with the crisp white sheets, and crawls under the heavy black blanket with a dull sigh.
His eyes feel heavy. His body feels numb.
(Three days. It's been three days since he's last slept.)
He hugs the pillow tightly and lets exhaustion claim him.
Obito finds his new charge asleep, tossing and turning and whimpering like a wounded animal.
Ah. A nightmare.
Well, that's to be expected, given all the boy's gone through. After tonight, he might very well never have another peaceful night's sleep again- if he'd ever had any to begin with.
Kisame is snoring away at the other side of the paper divider, oblivious to his new partner's distress. Obito sits at the foot of Itachi's bed and watches him wrestle with the demons in his mind.
The boy's pretty face twists into an expression of anguish. He groans like he's in grave pain, grabbing handfuls of bed sheets like that would keep him anchored. His breath comes in quick, panicked gasps.
Obito sighs.
"Wake up," he commands- loud enough to rouse Itachi, but not enough to disturb his partner.
Itachi wakes with a jolt, flying upright in bed with a startled gasp. Sharingan flashes briefly in his eyes, but fades when they come into focus.
Obito doesn't insult Itachi by telling him he had been having a nightmare.
"You holding up alright?" he asks, instead.
Itachi blinks at him, once. Then, he makes a small, sad sound.
"I'll take that as a 'not really' then."
The boy swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands up. He leaves the room without looking at Obito again.
Well. How rude.
He'll let it slide, though. Just this once.
Itachi's been through enough for one day.
Itachi stares blankly at the kettle on the stove, transfixed by the steadily flickering flame below it.
His stomach hurts (is it because he's ill, or because it's been so long since he's last eaten that he can't remember?). His muscles ache. His head is throbbing.
The pain is nothing, though, compared to the oppressive numbness that settles inside him, as reality sets in.
He'll never go home again.
He'll never hug his mother again.
He'll never hear his father proudly proclaim "that's my boy!" again.
He'll never see Izumi or Shisui again.
The reality of this should make him sad. But he doesn't feel sad. At the moment, he doesn't feel anything.
"Up a bit late, aren't you, Itachi-kun?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Itachi catches a glimpse of a quite familiar face.
Of course, he'd mostly seen that face in the bingo book, with an admonishment that he was volatile and extremely dangerous (something that seemed quite at odds with the placid expression he wore in the photographs). But he'd seen it in person, once before.
He'd been young, then. Oh so very young. Shaken to his core, burning with a question his father couldn't answer.
He'd wandered to the graveyard, walking amongst the rows of dead shinobi, as if their headstones held the answer for him.
And that's when he'd spotted him.
Standing alone, before a pair of nondescript graves, gold eyes a million miles away. The student of the Third Hokage and one of the Sannin. Even someone as young as Itachi knew his name. Orochimaru.
Itachi had approached him that day, a million years ago. Fists clenched, brow furrowed, he had asked the one question no other adult could answer.
"What's the point of life?"
The man had given him that same pitying, sad sort of smile he has on now.
"There isn't one," he had replied, bluntly. "If there was any meaning to this life, why would it ever end?"
He'd left before Itachi had the time to ask him any more.
But Itachi never forgot.
He doesn't say a word to acknowledge Orochimaru, keeping his gaze fixed on the stove's stalwart flame.
"If you're making tea, I'll have some too, if you don't mind."
Again, Itachi doesn't speak. However, he does oblige the man, and retrieves another mug from the cupboard.
The kettle whistles at him, signalling that it's done with its work. Itachi reaches for it without realizing how badly his hands are shaking.
"Hey, be careful-"
Itachi yelps, heat searing his hands and arms. He jerks backward and nearly topples over, only barely able to steady himself. Orochimaru catches the kettle in one swift motion, and returns it to the countertop.
"Itachi-kun, are you alright?"
Orochimaru reaches out toward him. Fear, white-hot and blinding, turns Itachi's blood to ice.
A feeble "no" slips from his throat as he backs away, feeling his whole body begin to shake.
Orochimaru sighs.
"I just want to have a look," he says, patiently.
"Don't touch me."
Itachi's legs buckle dangerously as he tries back up further-but the back of his right calf meets the edge of the kitchen table, and stops him.
"I'm not going to do anything, Itachi-kun. I just want to see those hands of yours."
He gently sits the boy down at the table. Itachi hears the faucet running, and a few moments later, Orochimaru returns with a cold towel.
The man kneels at the table as well. A whimper escapes the child, Sharingan spinning to life in his eyes.
"Shh. It's alright, Itachi-kun. Here- this will help."
This time, when Orochimaru reaches for Itachi's hands, the boy reluctantly yields them.
The man's hands are dry and rough, his touch clinical and to the point. Itachi can't look at him, because any moment, he's going to find those-
"Oh dear."
Itachi doesn't need to move his head to know what Orochimaru sees.
The newest scars to Itachi's collection. The pair he'd added not quite a month after Shisui's death. The scars he'd made in the bathroom in the dead of night, sobbing from the pain and the utter hopelessness of it all. The scars that aren't quite scars yet, still red and raw and angry.
(The scars he'd hoped would finally take his life.)
"Oh, Itachi-kun."
Itachi almost wants to hit Orochimaru, just to be rid of the pity in his voice.
The pain in his hands is relieved by the cool cloth wrapped around them. A little shiver involuntarily courses through him.
"There. That's not so bad, is it?"
The soft, reassuring tone of Orochimaru's voice is not unlike Mother's. She always spoke to him in that tone when she knew he was upset.
That voice I'll never hear again…
He chokes, and can't stop the tears that fall as his emotions overwhelm him.
He feels childish, and so painfully weak.
"Itachi-kun."
Itachi shakes his head.
Another sigh.
"...They got you, didn't they?"
Itachi makes a small sound of confusion, and finally turns his head.
Orochimaru's expression isn't anything like he thought it would be- there's no hint of disgust in it. That not-smile graces his face once more, gold eyes looking at him sympathetically.
"It's okay, Itachi-kun." Orochimaru's voice is quiet. Understanding. "They got me, too."
They got me, too
Itachi's blood runs cold in his veins. Crimson eyes go wide, as the weight admission settles on him.
His breath is trapped. He can't mean…
"You poor child."
What Orochimaru does next, Itachi wouldn't have expected in a million years.
The man wraps his arms around Itachi, and pulls him into a hug.
Itachi flinches, but ultimately decides not to pull away.
Because Orochimaru is surprisingly warm. He smells like lavender and jasmine, and his arms are strong like Father's. Because, right now, he's desperately in need of any sort of comfort.
So, instead of pulling away, Itachi lets himself be held- just once. Just for awhile. He buries his face in Orochimaru's shoulder, as if he could hide away from the world like that forever.
"It hurts…" The boy whimpers.
"I know." The man replies.
Itachi allows himself to pretend he's being comforted- just for awhile. And when he pushes Orochimaru away, the man obliges him.
"I'll make us that tea, Itachi-kun. You'll feel better then."
(It's a lie. They both know it's a lie. But that's okay for now, isn't it?)
"Yes. Alright."
Silence reigns between them. Orochimaru rustles around in the cupboard, and Itachi keeps the cool towel around his throbbing hands.
In a few minutes, Orochimaru hands Itachi a hot cup of ginger tea, and sits down with one of his own.
The warm tea eases Itachi's sour stomach with the first mouthful. He keeps a careful eye on Orochimaru all the while, though he, at last, allows his Sharingan to fade.
"If you're worried about Kisame-san," Orochimaru says, apparently trying to make pleasant small talk, "you don't need to. He's a bit prickly at first, but I think you two will get along well."
"Hmm."
"He's not an unfriendly person, Itachi-kun. You might end up liking him."
Itachi makes another small sound of acknowledgement, and they lapse into a companionable silence for a few minutes.
"I suppose I should head back- Sasori-kun will wonder where I've wandered off to."
Orochimaru stands up, mug of tea still in hand.
"If you're having trouble sleeping, I could mix you up something that will help," he adds, almost as an afterthought.
Itachi nods once.
And he's alone again.