"They segregated us for a reason," Sasuke admits. His words hang heavy in the air, an ominous portent raising hair on skin. He smiles mirthless—a thin press of lips and narrowed eyes. Seals climb across his skin and shimmer in infinite loops. Those lines should have faded into skin by now and left only the seal matrix in stark relief. You can never trust a Uchiha, Kakashi knows.
Time has dulled the edges of Sasuke' knife-honed rage. It used to cut himself and others. Now, it is a dull ache, like hammer on bone. Instead of a thousand cuts, it is a thousand overactive nerves screaming in a pain that never ends. It does not heal. He has grown accustomed to carrying this burden.
The weight of his world rests on his broad shoulders. When he was a young boy, his shoulders were too slim and he carried the weight of his world in every body part. Each step he took left him mired in the earth. So long had he walked through mud and now to find water is a weightless revelation.
How funny that he has wings now. So long has he been tethered to this earth by blood in earth that the loosening of his moors comes as a relief. He would have thought that of all those who had survived, his brother would have grown wings, as if he could compress all his power and heritage into his short life. Itachi had been monolithic and cut down before he reached his prime. When he fell, the world shook in his wake. His bones calcified and he became a mountain.
How funny that Sasuke has lived long enough to grow wings. Perfect timing, he could almost laugh. He has wings and no winged cohort to accompany him in this transition. He will never be part of midnight flights, a Uchiha tradition that required more than one person. Creatures like him were not meant to be alone. He would devour himself whole with the force of his longing.
"You're so warm, nii-san," a high, sweet voice sighs. Fabric rustles as a tiny form nestles further into the chest of a larger form. They inhale in sync and exhale curling trails of smoke. One trail is more smokier than the other. They intertwine.
At night, the whole world inhales and exhales in a staid rhythm of sound. Insects buzz. Birds coo. Wind sings. Trees rustle. Footsteps resound. The silence of night is a myth created by the unobservant.
Nature never sleeps.
Nor do the Uchiha.
"When will I get wings?" Sasuke pouts. He stares at his father. His hands hover over an outstretched wing. It is a leathery black that engulfs Sasuke in its shadow. The smoothness of the wing tempts Sasuke into touch. He only manages a light graze before his father snaps his wings shut. A disapproving gaze and pressed lips meets him.
Sasuke shuffles away, staring at the ground. He scuffs a foot against the floor. A petulant pout continues to curl his rosebud mouth and wrinkle his forehead.
After a few moments of silence, Fugaku deigns to speak. "A boy like you," he says heavily, "would be better off without wings." His gaze redirects to Itachi framed in the doorway. He is picture perfect with nothing underneath that pretty facade—at least, nothing discernible to Fugaku. Blankness meets Fugaku's stare.
A boy like Itachi would be perfect for wings. There is a clarity of purpose in him that Fugaku cannot decipher. He sees hints of it in the carefully hoarded love from Sasuke. He is so empty that he cannot help but fill the void with whatever is available. His son, the void.
To what end, the puzzle pieces fit together is unknowable. Even with wings, Fugaku doubts the boy would join the midnight flight. He holds himself off to the side. Those dark eyes of his observe all and dismiss all in equal measure. Fugaku is the pinned butterfly as Itachi wields the scalpel. Incisive and cutting, the world shivers in his wake.
A subdued squeal escapes Sasuke as he peers outside the window. He hangs out of it and cranes his neck further and further as dark shadows cross the sky. Itachi places a restraining arm around Sasuke's thin waist when he wobbles. Softness transforms the angular planes of Itachi's face into a warmth that melts a soft smile across lips. His dark eyes are limpid in the moonlight.
"Be careful, otouto," Itachi chides.
Sasuke turns his head and beams a beatific smile. It is a gummy smile accented by a missing front tooth. The baby fat of his cheeks dimple and squish in that effortless joy universal to children. His eyes are happy slits concentrating the full force of his mirthful light.
Itachi's heart stutters.
His mouth waters.
His teeth tingle.
He cuts his lip on sharp canines.
There is a rumbling within him that defies humanity. His body cannot handle this much emotion. His body is too small for the depths of his desire. The only feeling he can translate into human understanding ishunger . His stomach twists and coils as his jaw aches to unhinge and swallow Sasuke whole.
Itachi falls deeper into the chasm of his love.
A mouthful of bloody muscle drips liquid onto the earth in a steady plinking rhythm. It is almost inaudible in the summertime noise. Blood streaks across a mouth and indistinguishably dots dark clothing.
"Nii-san," Sasuke says, "what are you eating?" He plops himself next to Itachi in a careless sprawl. He flicks viscera off his clothes. How annoying, he thinks. Mother won't be happy when he comes back dirty. Silly nii-san. He knows mother taught Itachi table manners. How uncivilized, father would say.
"I don't know," Itachi admits with a blank wonder. He stares at the carcass before him. Porcelain flesh smeared in red and gaping wide into pink muscle meets his eyes.
"I am very hungry," Itachi says after a beat.
"We can go hunting later," Sasuke gamely offers. He is always eager to spend time with his brother. The venue of their mutual entertainment is of no matter.
"Is it pu-ber-ty?" Sasuke sounds out with a sort of childish wisdom that delights in his own accomplishment.
"Perhaps," Itachi murmurs. He stares at Sasuke, limned in the sunlight. There is a vitality to him that is missing in the hunk of flesh and bone in his hands.
His jaw stretches wide and crunches.
"I always thought it would be my brother."
"Maa, Sasuke, you know thinking is not your strength."
"Even my father thought it was more likely…how funny. I thought he'd transform. He was already so close. It's a shame he didn't live long enough. He would have been a sight to behold. He would have had scales like mercury." Sasuke could wax poetic about Itachi for years. His usual economy of words has been traded for rambling musings.
The Uchiha are reborn in the fires of creation.
It goes like this:
The first Uchiha was a dragon. In the midst of a flight, he beheld a slim and dark woman. A bloodless complexion, dark hair, and even darker eyes incited that hungry temptation to rend flesh to shreds in both carnal and carnivorous ways. And so he dived down and caught her in his maw.
She tried to kill him. The ground rumbled with his amusement.
They fought for days on end until exhaustion claimed her. Then he claimed her in turn. His mountainous form compressed into the comparably tiny form of a human. His body was a thing of beauty—carefully crafted to be so human that it veered into inhumanity.
His body was not meant to be looked upon. Too much power stuffed and crammed into a tiny form. Too bright to bear, his porcelain skin shimmered with the brilliance of a star. In his eyes, there was a volcano ready to erupt—bright and burning.
She could not help but be enamored by his form. It was an eye-catching beauty that made the world pale in comparison. He seemed more real than anything else, such that her lust became obsession. Her world narrowed down to one being.
The dragon did not mind obsession. Obsession had long been in his bones in an indelible etch. Well-suited to the volatile rigors of obsession, he was obscenely pleased. To have captured such a beauty satiated the void inside him—for the moment, at least. He would not satisfied with anything less than devouring her whole.
He had already taken the first step. He desired her so much that he became her. His appearance mirrored hers so closely that their relationship seemed incestuous to outsiders.
It was only natural to have children. Their intertwined blood made manifest. A wild joy suffused the dragon. His children were the truest representation of their union. He cannot confess to loving them as much as his beloved but he was vast enough that such love was only a drop in the well of his emotions.
Their union is a tangled string in the world's tapestry.
Red welts crisscross Itachi's back in a bloody lattice. The most mauled portion centers around his shoulder blades. Curiously enough, twin abnormalities of bone growth bulge slightly around his shoulder blades. Those raised bumps elicit a hiss when pudgy hands stroke them like the tailbone of a cat.
"This body," Itachi gasps out, "is too small for me." It is more emotion than Sasuke is accustomed to seeing. How frightening it is so see Itachi unravel. He peers into the core of Itachi and adrenaline prepares his body for flight. Itachi is a predator; Sasuke is a prey. The system of their relationship spins on its axis.
A rapturous moan of pleasure resounds when elongated nails scrape across shoulder blades. Trails of blood drip-drip to the tiled floor. The white floor turns red in a macabre form of interior decorating.
"This body," Sasuke echoes, "is too small for me." His voice is hushed in the bone-white bathroom. It bounces off tile and wall. Harsh panting follows soon after with every scrape of nail against skin. Soon, the skin of his back hangs in tatters as ill-used as worn clothing outgrown. Jutting bone peeks coyly through skin. The coquettish peek of muscle shines in the fluorescent lighting.
The door creaks open.
"What the hell are you doing, teme?!"
The voice is a roaring blaze in a drought-stricken forest. Wildfire-bright, it illuminates the grisly nature of the situation. A moment of clarity overcomes the rapturous relief of clawing at skin.
"Hn," Sasuke grunts out. He stares at his bloody hands. He does not have nails. He has claws .
His student looks monstrous. A pithy remark hovers on the edge of his tongue—the outside matching the inside.
How funny that he has two monsters for students.
He is too old to deal with this.
Kakashi has lived too long. He has lived long enough to rediscover horror and struggle. The things he will have to do already begins to haunt him.
Naruto's hands hover over Sasuke's back. The bandages do little to hide the twin bumps on his back. Kurama perks up in interest. The full force of his attention muddies their chakra.
Recognition floods Naruto. It is a foreign emotion. Kurama whispers, He is as monstrous as we are. Kin.
He wants to yell.
"You're too alone for us to let you go, Sasuke," Kakashi murmurs. His voice is a painful gentleness that stings more than harsh bluntness. This kindness is cruel. It is the temptation of hope hanging over his head, like the carrot to the stick.
A cool hand strokes Sasuke's face. Calluses catch on skin. He suppresses a flinch. If Kakashi had long loose hair, then it would be exactly like a memory. Golden eyes and dark hair sketch the vague outline of experimental procedure. Now, Sasuke, let's try writing a lab report with your blood. A laugh, high and deliberate, echoes in his ears. It deafens him to all other stimuli.
There is not enough chakra to spark the sharingan to life. Gathered chakra slips through his body. Sand turning fluid in behavior. How infuriating and fearful it is to be powerless again.
Sasuke snaps at Kakashi's hand.
A growl rumbles deep from his chest.
Kakashi's lips draw back in his own snarl, revealing sharp canines. "Impudent whelp," he whispers so low that Sasuke can barely discern the words. Even his newly enhanced senses strain to comprehend.
"Did you think you were the only one with inhuman blood? Maa, terribly self-centered of you, Sasuke. Dragons are too big to live among humans for long. But wolves, oh, we're small enough to fit into these shells. And all the more deadlier for it." Kakashi smiles. It is a grotesque contortion of the mouth that reveals far too many teeth and a surplus of darkness that draws in the light from the room.
With careful hands, Kakashi buckles a muzzle onto Sasuke. Sasuke does not make it easy. He jerks and thrashes to no avail. The student never truly surpasses his teacher.
"I always thought that Obito felt too familiar," Kakashi muses. The dregs of his halcyon days stain the interior of his mind. "I think we all knew, deep down, what the Uchiha truly were. I wonder what it takes…what it took…to make your kind truly mature."
The conversational tone does little to disguise the predatory nature of Kakashi's words.
"You remind me of Danzo."
"Maa, Sasuke, that truly pains me."
When Sasuke breaks free, or, perhaps, when he is freed, he sheds his skin. It slides off him like a poorly sized coat. His bones lengthen and contort into an inhuman anatomy that destroys his cell. Deep underground, his body expands and breaks through dirt to bask in the sunlight. He curls up. He is a mountain.
In the sunlight, his black scales shine iridescent. His horns crawl up to the sky in lazy spirals, razor-sharp with a mirror finish that reflects all light in a blinding refraction. In the loamy dirt of Konoha, his claws sink to the core of the world. His tail unfolds in a spiky whip that lashes from side to side. A wind buffets the world into movement.
Sasuke exhales a breath that rumbles the earth and sets the world aflame. He feels so right that the world seems like a dream. The world is a dragon's dream.
You cannot restrain the Uchiha for long, Konoha realizes.