It was the first time Uchiha Itachi had experienced torture.
Some may think it odd that he hadn't earlier, given his credentials. He knew what happened from gleaning information from his subordinates. He had never allowed himself to be captured before. Which, in all fairness, was no excuse.
He was drained from the day's work. Mentally, physically… He was exhausted, really, and nearing the end of what he could do with seven pots of coffee in him. His chakra was ridiculously low.
The raven was pouring himself yet another cup of coffee when he sensed his little brother. No one else seemed to notice, luckily. Kakuzu was distracted.
But Deidara seemed intent on following his every move. Which wouldn't do.
"… Sasori needed help with something." He began to leave the makeshift kitchen, mug of dark brown liquid in hand.
"He did, un? What was it, un?" The blond pursued the Uchiha. Which wasn't a good idea.
Crimson eyes fixed on the other. "…. Would you like me to clean your ears out with my katana?"
Needless to say, the Uchiha proceeded outside with little argument. Just as his revenge-bent brother jumped down from his tree to confront his elder, however, Deidara made an appearance. Naturally, Deidara found himself kicked into a wall. He also received the pleasure of having the rest of the Uchiha's coffee dumped on his head.
Which, in hindsight, was not the raven's best idea. But he was tired and irritable and didn't care whose feelings he stepped on.
He couldn't properly pay attention to whatever words his younger brother spat at him once they reached a clearing. In fact, he flinched away. Deidara had gotten through his clone.
You'd think being thrown into a TV would faze the blonde. But no, Itachi sighed, it didn't.
One Tsukiyomi and short fight scene later, Deidara had been settled down. Mostly. But he was now completely out of chakra, something Sasuke sneered at. He was free to make threats. Uchiha Itachi did not enjoy being threatened.
Overwhelmed with exhaustion, he returned to the base, going directly to his room. But Deidara was there. The bomber wasn't giving up.
Looking back, perhaps Kakuzu removing Deidara from his room wasn't the best. But, in all honesty, he blacked out after that.
And so began the torture.
Perhaps he shouldn't have attacked Kakuzu's makeshift family.
As he lay in a heap on the floor of his room, many thoughts crossed his pain-stricken mind. And sleep did not come easily.
When he awoke, however, (as he had passed out at some point during the late night hours), he had another problem to deal with.
It had been brutal.
I didn't cry, or scream, he would remind himself.
But I'm so weak.
No! He would argue. Not weak! Just..
I should have planned for that, he countered. I shouldn't have let my chakra..!
The bickering went back and forth endlessly, only making the prodigy feel worse. And worse. And worse.
He closed his onyx eyes.
Laughably weak.
Hours later, he stirred again, still on the floor. Logic was his counselor. He told himself that whenever he started panicking.
I need to get up, he told himself.
I need to leave this room.
I can be found here.
I can be attacked again.
But would Kakuzu attack him again? He wouldn't put it past the man. Five hearts, and not one of them had any trace of compassion. He was fully prepared to play dirty.
The Uchiha would never admit he was scared.
But he was.
He drifted off again…
..and woke with a start. Now was not the time for sleeping. It was only a matter of time before..
He needed help. Desperately, desperately needed help. But he didn't want help. He wanted… wanted…
His eyes drooped again.
No!
A pale hand clenched. An alabaster jaw drew taut. The raven heaved himself into a sitting position, wincing. He stopped to catch his breath. Where were his stupid medicinal..?
Was he really going to rely on medicine? Absolutely not. The thought was banished from his mind. Kakuzu hadn't tortured him that badly. Well, he had, but that didn't mean he would show it.
He tried to collect his scattered thoughts, to no avail. Instead, he stared at the wall in front of him. His gaze lowered to the floor. Pinpricks of blood dotted his coat, but Kakuzu had been careful not to let the Uchiha bleed out. No, all his wounds had been burned shut, much to the sadist's enjoyment.
Kakuzu. The name made a scowl grace his features. He'd get his…
…no, he wouldn't. This needed to end. He was tired. He was…well, he was weak. He bruised easily, he was thin… His endurance was quite literally crap. As for his strength, it was average. Average in a batch of murderers, though… Well, that was asking for it.
He relied on speed in battle. Hit first, hit last. Sure, he pushed himself to his limits during training. But Kisame was always around to..
Kisame. That's why this had gone sour. If the damned shinobi had been there..!
No, that wasn't fair of him. Still, though, he couldn't help it. He had become codependent. He hated himself for it, but that didn't take away from the simple fact that he needed the shark-man around.
And what would he say when he got back from his mission?
It certainly wouldn't be good. His head began to fall to one side. The pain it caused made him straighten.
How many bruises had he suffered? Many. Numerous on his ankles and wrists; he fought as hard as he could, not that it had made any difference. Once the crow had been caught, well..that was the end of it. He relied on not getting caught.
Kisame usually ensured the Uchiha was free to kill during battle, keeping an eye out for anything binding. It was part of their strategy.
His throat burned where Kakuzu had punched it. He made sure to sear the skin there, too, but that was just for fun. Now he had a damn handprint on his neck.
The Uchiha was vain. It was one thing he indulged himself in; his appearance. He hated getting injured, not because of the physical pain, but because it marred his skin. Who knew if the burn would go away?
He knew, actually. But his psyche wanted to be pitiful.
Which was a loathesome quality.
Which only added to his self-hatred.
Which made him mad.
Which imbuned energy he didn't have.
Which he used to drag himself onto his bed and collapse.
Itachi used this trick often. There was always a way to motivate himself, if he pushed hard enough. Now, as he lay sprawled on his perfectly made bed, he wondered just how long it would be until all hell broke loose. Probably not long, depending on when Kisame deigned to return.
He certainly had some explaining to do, but he doubted he'd be in the mood, so he didn't linger on that thought.
Instead, he began to plan ahead. He needed to ensure he could restrain Kisame… But, that was hardly possible. Maybe if he asked nicely?
He scowled into the bedsheets. Uchiha Itachi did not say please. He demanded compliance, and if you didn't give it to him, then..
…but that was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He had gotten obsessed with making himself the perfect killer. He desperately needed to be something he wasn't, and so all those pacifist ideals had been buried under a cold, battle-hardened exterior. Part of him thought he was a cold-blooded killer sometimes. Part of him denied his past ever existed.
He used to give in to anything Sasuke asked of him, with exceptions, of course. He used to do whatever his Mother told him. He used to work hard and be kind. He used to have patience.
He didn't lie.
All that changed. Sometimes he forgot about what he used to be like. How much had Konoha cost him?
He closed his eyes, sinking into the mattress. It didn't matter. But it mattered a lot.
The Uchiha was entertaining these thoughts because he was tired. That was really his only excuse. He hadn't dwelled on them recently, but now..
Now he didn't have anything else to do. It wasn't like he could walk around.
He had thrown up the contents of his stomach, which amounted to coffee. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, as did thirst.
What if he died here?
The thought made his eyes open again. His fingers dug into the fabric beneath him.
He couldn't die here.
He couldn't.
It wasn't an option.
It wasn't up for debate.
He needed to eat, sleep, rest and heal.
But he couldn't move.
Could he?
No.
Black eyes squeezed shut. He needed his partner. He hated that he needed his partner. He loathed his dependence. He loathed his reliance. He stood. He staggered to the kitchen. He shoved a piece of bread into his mouth, drank from the faucet and staggered back.
He passed out on his bed again.
Time waited on no man.
Uchiha Itachi included.