SG: Eh-heh...I swear, there was this rabid plot bunny, and it jumped out of my closet and tied me down to make me write this. I promise!
LL: Yeah, right...
SG: Um...yeah.
Title: Bloody
Author: Soccergirl13
Rating: K+ for angst and blood
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, Itachi, Sasuke, Akatsuki, or anything else. The theory's mine, though.
He hadn't known what was going on. He had been training (Wasn't he always?) in the woods, toasting poor trees into oblivion. Night was starting to drop, warm and comforting, a shinobi's greatest ally, over the town; his town.
He loved his town, its warm climate, blistering hot in the summer, but very comfortable in the winter, which suited him just fine (There was few things he hated more than the cold), towering trees surrounding it's wall in a majestic, wooded fence, cutting it off from the rest of the world, the huge cliff towering over the village, four serious faces peering down at him, serious faces that always seemed to be smiling at him.
He didn't even mind the people of the village, who were generally kind, compassionate folk who gave him his space, with the exception of his own family, the most grasping, insidious group of humans (of course, that generalization excluded his mother and little brother) he had ever had the displeasure of meeting. He avoided the majority them as much as possible.
That's why he risked his life, and, more importantly, his sanity to protect it (He wondered if he didn't, who would?) from all it's various enemies. That was why he stained his still childish hands with the crimson blood of those enemies. That was why he endured the feel of his sword cutting into the flesh of those enemies, even though he wished fervently that he would wake up, and have it all a nightmare, even as his own body and stomach revolted against his mind's domination. That's why he pushed himself to the edge with training and missions, working his body until it collapsed, then forcing himself up to continue.
That's what he had been doing, pushing himself, firing first a fire ball, then a spout of water at tree after tree, even as his chakra levels fell dangerously low. Fire, water, fire water. One tree, two trees, three trees…
He froze, staring almost stupidly at the being that appeared in a puff of smoke in front of him, staring back at him stolidly, blankly, through a white and red porcelain mask, the rest of his body cloaked in a layer of black fabric, blending seamlessly with the rapidly growing shadows. An ANBU. He regained his composure, pushing his sweat soaked bangs out of his black eyes.
"The Hokage requests your presence immediately." The ANBU whispered in a gravelly, not often used voice. He winced. An ANBU summons from the Hokage was never a good thing. But even as it was phrased, there was no request in the guard's voice. He had no choice. He followed.
He didn't know what was going on. Even as he ran, jumped, leapt, and landed over the roofs of his town, he worried. The night had a nip in it. He shivered, the sweat from his workout cooling on his skin even as he approached the Hokage's tower. He vaulted into the old ruler's office, through the window always left open for such shinobi-style entrances.
The Hokage himself sat at a great oak desk, papers piling in mountains high over his head, staring at him in an almost grandfatherly way, pity in his deeply lined eyes, sorrow written into every line of his body. His gaze hardened. He hated pity.
"I'm sorry, Itachi." He frowned, (Sorry for what?) and reached one slender, calloused hand up to brush sweat from his brow. He said nothing.
"The ANBU didn't arrive in time. They were wiped out before we got warning." His eyes widened, his breathing quickening slightly at the announcement (Who was wiped out? His friends? His ANBU squad? Some of his cousins? Some one had already killed his best friend…please don't make him hurt again!). He still said nothing.
"Itachi…the Uchiha clan is gone." His fingers found the edge of his chair, squeezing until his fingertips bruised and his knuckles turned ghost white. He felt numb, almost hysterical, in his mind. (Gone? He can't possibly mean everyone? Not Mother, not Sasuke! No, no, it wasn't true, it couldn't be true!) Now he said something, little more than a whisper, his voice breaking in the middle.
"How- what ha-happened…?" He was shaking, trembling slightly, the smallest tremors moving up his arms and legs, the only outward sign of emotion.
"It was a missing-nin. He managed to slip into the village. He attacked the Uchiha compound this afternoon." The Hokage was holding something back. He didn't even need his Sharingan to tell that. Something worse than his family being gone. (What could be worse? As much as he disliked them, they were still his family!)
"Are-" His voice cracked again. He stopped, cleared his throat, forced himself under control, and began again. "Were there any other survivors?" The old man bowed his head, eyes closing, his face tense.
"Yes." He jerked his head up, hope reflecting painfully in his eyes. Hope that only made the Sandaime hurt inside, hurt for the brothers whom Fate had torn apart, hurt for the child he was about to ask to throw away his future, hurt for both boys who were going to grow up alone.
"Sasuke survived. He's in the hospital right now…" He was up from his chair, moving for the open window almost before the Hokage could call him back.
"Wait, Itachi!" He paused, half out of the window, squatting on the windowsill. "There's a problem. The missing-nin…Itachi, he killed them while under a henge jutsu." The man suddenly looked, and felt, so much older than he actually was. (Henge jutsu? Why would he have been under a henge jutsu?)
"Itachi, he killed them while looking like you. He used some strange blood limit to force Sasuke to watch him kill them, while in your guise." The man's next words brought him closer to crying then he had been since the age of three. "Sasuke thinks that you killed the Uchiha clan.
"No…" He whispered, shaking his head like a petulant child that had been denied a toy. "No…no…"
"I'm afraid it's true. I'm sorry, Itachi." He buried his face in his hands, not crying, but trying desperately to block out the world, to block out this nightmare. The Sandaime nodded to the guards in the room, watching as they left as silently as ever, leaving him alone with a grieving teen.
"Itachi," The Sandaime was out from behind his desk, one hand resting gently on his shoulder.
"Itachi, I'm going to ask you to do something. It's going to be extremely dangerous, but I think you're the only one who could do it. Especially with the current situation." He glanced up, slightly over-moist onyx eyes searching for something in the elderly leader's face.
"Do you know of the Akatsuki organization?" He nodded, eyes training themselves on the ground, bangs hiding his eyes, and shadowing his face.
"I want you to infiltrate it. Masquerade as a missing-nin, join the Akatsuki, and, when the time is right, destroy it. I'll give you authorization for any means necessary, if you accept."
"Will I get to see Sasuke before I leave?" The Sandaime wanted to wince at the sheer hopelessness in those words, only barely managing to keep himself under control. The man nodded, unable to shake the feeling that it seemed like a last request, and he waited for an answer. Then he whispered, answer barely audible.
"I'll do it…"
Ten minutes later, he was beside his brother's hospital bed. The eight-year old was unconscious, breathing uneven and troubled, cold fear-sweat appearing on his forehead, his clothes draped over a nearby chair, stained with dark, drying blood, discarded by whatever nurse had put the boy into a hospital gown.
The room was cold and impersonal. White walls, white ceiling, white floor, white curtains, white sheets. He hated the color white. (What would happen when Sasuke woke up? Would someone be there? Would anyone hold his hand? Would anyone check under his bed for the monsters that he was so terrified of?)
He wasn't a fool. He knew he would most likely never see his brother again. He knew his brother probably hated him. And soon, the town -his town- would hate him, too. After all, he was a missing-nin now. Or would be in a half an hour.
He bent down, smoothing Sasuke's wild black hair, so much like his own, back from his face, taking on last look at his precious little brother's face, to memorize it so that he would forever have some happy thing to look back at, something that was still there, even if it was forever lost. He gathered the boy into his arms, avoiding the IV and heart rate monitor's wires, and gave him one final hug.
And then, he left.
He made it outside the village with no problems. He stood on the cliff, over top of the Yondaime's head, looking down over his village, as still as if he were one of the carvings, protecting and watching over his village.
He closed his eyes, and started building walls in his mind. He separated himself from everything, creating someone else entirely. He left part of his soul, the big brother and protector of Konoha Village, there on top of the Yondaime. He became, right then and there, just another criminal, a teen who murdered his whole family, who betrayed his village, who wanted to be in the Akatsuki. He locked everything he cared about in an alabaster tower, and then…
…he threw away the key.
The next year had been hard. There were ANBU on his tail all the time; he was always on the run. He never had enough food, enough sleep. He searched long and hard for the Akatsuki headquarters, barely ever stopping.
He was fourteen when he found it. Six months later, he became a full-fledged member, coat, ring, fingernail polish and all.
The next day he went on his first assassination for them.
When he was fifteen, he killed three children and their mother along with his target. The oldest was eight, and looked enough like Sasuke that his mind began conjuring images of his sword descending on his brother.
He never slept well again.
When he was sixteen, he almost broke, almost left, almost went back to the home he didn't have, because he realized he couldn't tell the difference between himself and the front he put up for the Akatsuki anymore. He was losing himself with every kill, and every lie.
But he persevered.
When he was seventeen, he ventured to his old village for the first time, as a "scouting mission". For the first time, when he looked up at the Hokage mountain the carvings…
...they didn't smile back at him.
When he was eighteen, he heard of an invasion in his village. It was pushed back, but the old Hokage had died. He had been the only one to know of his mission.
There was no going back now.
Two months later, he was charged with kidnapping the Kyuubi brat from his own Konoha village. He vaguely remembered the little blonde boy, the same age as his brother, wandering around the village. It should have been easy. Except for one little flaw in his plan…
Sasuke appeared, just as he and Kisame (dratted shark-looking partner of his. If it hadn't been for him, he would have spared many more people on his missions. But no, he had to keep up his cover…) had found the boy. It was the first time he had seen him since the hospital nearly five years before.
He had grown, but that was to be expected. His hair was longer, but the same black. The Sharingan showed red in his normally coal black eyes, two tomoes spinning rapidly, hypnotically, around his pupils. But in those eyes, was hate. Hate such that he had never seen in anyone's eyes. Sasuke hated him with all his being. And it was consuming him.
It killed him, trying to keep up his mask, his apathetic, detached "Akatsuki personality", around him. There was nothing he wanted to do more than to run and give his little brother a hug, to explain everything, to beg forgiveness. But Kisame was there. He would report everything back to the leader. There could be no slip ups.
So he fought the thirteen-year-old. He hurt him, snapped his wrist, hit him with punches and kicks, slammed him up against the old, cracked plaster wall hard enough to splinter it. He whispered horrible, hurtful things in his ear, and then let him slide to the floor, spitting blood out of his mouth, staining the rough wood red. And all the while, he knew only one thing for certain.
He would never, ever forgive himself.
When he was nineteen, he heard that Sasuke had become a missing-nin; he had left to join Orochimaru (If he touched Sasuke, he would rip that (bleep) apart with his bare hands!).
He was angry for the first time in a long time.
Three months later, he learned that his eyesight was deteriorating. If he was going to carry out his mission, it would have to be soon. Very soon.
Or he wouldn't be able to do it at all.
When he was twenty, he found out that Orochimaru was going to steal Sasuke's body. The time for plotting and planning was over.
Now was the time for him to act.
On his twenty-first birthday, at midnight, he moved through the Akatsuki base. He was silent, wraithlike with his pale skin and demonically red eyes, a stained katana in his hand.
He left blood and death in his wake.
The only one awake was the Leader. The man put up a fight, of course, but he wasn't going to lose. Not after waiting so long; he wouldn't. But he did get hurt. Badly hurt, but he barely stopped to bandage his numerous wounds.
His work wasn't done.
He was at Otogakure before dawn. It didn't take him long to find the self-proclaimed Otokage, and took him even shorter to kill him. (No one messed with the Uchiha without consequences. Besides, for a Sannin, the guy was a wimp.) No one heard him.
No one saw him steal out of the ramshackle village with a rather heavy, very unconscious bundle draped over his shoulder. No one saw him running through the trees at a full, chakra-powered speed, pushing himself past the point of chakra depletion to get his brother back home safely.
He didn't care what would happen to himself. It didn't matter. He already knew what it would be. Execution, torture at the hands of Morino Ibiki, or some variation thereof. His work was done;
He had nothing left.
He made it to the village by nightfall. He breezed by his old home, leaving Sasuke lying on his old bed. The now fifteen-year-old, lay there, asleep, all the anger and hate that had been present smoothed out, gone; leaving the same slightly troubled expression that had been there in the hospital so long ago.
A tiny, almost non-existent, smile played across his lips. He was shaking, chakra depletion, blood loss, exhaustion, and pain wearing him down, leaving him pale and sick. But still, he bent over, gathered the boy into his arms, and gave him one, final hug, silently apologizing for everything. He lay him back down, set his ring on the bedside table, and left.
He walked through the streets of the town –still his town- staring at the sights he hadn't seen in years, blurrier now, less defined, due to his sight going, but still beautiful to a weary traveler. His feet carried him on their own to a small outcropping of rock that overlooked the Hokage monument.
He sat there, on a small wooden bench, staring up at their faces and waiting for his doom to come. He squinted for a moment, and then his face blossomed into a grin, as hands roughly grabbed his wrists, and he was dragged off the bench by a masked, cloaked ANBU squad. He fell into the waiting blackness with that grin on his face, and a final thought drifting through his head…
The Hokage were smiling at him once again.
When he came to, the first thing he saw was white. A hospital room. He shuddered, and sat up, wincing as one of his half healed injuries made its presence known. He stared around him, taking in the last place he had thought he'd be at. (He hadn't believed that he'd wake up at all, and if he did, he'd been sure that he'd be in some cold, damp prison cell, on Death Row.)
"Awake, are you?" His head whipped around, surveying the woman that apparently had been sitting by his bed. (Why hadn't he sensed her?) She was blonde, her hair in pigtails, didn't look a day over twenty, and was wearing a rather revealing shirt. Any self-respecting ninja knew who she was.
"Hokage-sama." He gave her the best equivalent to a bow that he could while sitting down. She ignored him; instead thumbing through a folder marked "Top Secret" in big red letters.
"You are Uchiha Itachi, correct?" He stared at her. (Was she joking?)
"Yes." She smiled at him. Smiled at HIM! She was supposed to be condemning him to death!
"The strangest thing happened two days ago. Apparently, both the entire Akatsuki organization and my old teammate, Orochimaru, met their unexpected demise. And a highly promising genin was returned to the village." Her eyes searched his expectantly. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, would you?"
He said nothing, keeping his face carefully blank, not allowing himself to hope for some thing that was obviously impossible.
"That and I found this highly interesting file in the Sandaime's personal papers. It's an ANBU report of the Uchiha massacre, stating that you weren't even in the village proper during the event. Any comments?"
"How is Sasuke?" He asked, changing the subject. He had to know. It had been a huge risk bringing him back to the village. They could charge the boy with treason and kill him right alongside his elder brother. He was banking on the fact that Sasuke hadn't harmed anyone in leaving, and since leaving.
Tsunade sighed long-sufferingly. "He is perfectly fine. He has been cleared of all charges, providing that he has an escort any time that he leaves the village."
He nodded, a small smile playing over his lips. It would be a blow to Sasuke's pride, but he would live. And he would be better off because of it.
"I would like to do the same for you."
"What!" He gasped, before getting himself back under control, mentally scolding himself. (Uchiha's did NOT gasp!)
"According to this mission file, you were assigned to infiltrate the Akatsuki, and all necessary force was authorized."
"Sandaime-sama said that he would not write up a report. It would have endangered my mission." He whispered, barely able to take it in. He had been so sure he would die…
"Well, apparently he did." She snapped, continuing on with a brisk tone. "I'm going to go change the records of your status right now. I hope you don't mind that there will be an ANBU tailing you for awhile." He shook his head silently, and the blonde woman got up and walked over to the door.
"Why?"
"Hm?"
"You…" He cleared his throat, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. "Why are you putting yourself in such an unfavorable position, just for my sake?"
A small, wry smile passed over her face. "You defeated two of the biggest enemies to Konoha's continued existence single-handedly. You're a hero." Then Tsunade laughed, startling him.
"And besides. Executions make so much paperwork."
Even after that, his life wasn't perfect. He was provoked, spit at, slandered, and even attacked once or twice. It took Sasuke years to allow him in the same room without trying to kill him. But he was happy. He was alive, protecting his village, and he was certain that eventually his brother would come around.
He knew he had his happily ever after.
Thoughts:
Well, glad that's over. I really have been on an Uchiha brothers kick lately. Stupid plot bunnies...
Anyway, I honestly don't think that Itachi's real reason for the whole massacre thing was really "To measure his capacity". There must have been something else going on nobody knows yet. Kishimoto just doesn't create characters that one-diminsional. And to tell the truth, Naruto is set in a world where even children can take on the exact likeness and voice of someone else. Is it really so far-fetched that someone could have impersonated Itachi? At least, that's what I figure. I'd love to know other people's thoughts on that. Just please be nice.
Special thanks to my wonderful Beta reader, MistressofCeleritas, for proofing this for me. Thanks, MiC!!!
Reviews are loved, constructive critisism is adored, and flames will be given to Axel and used to roast marshmellows. Ja ne, minna!