Itachi's fingers weave through silky blond hair that's slowly becoming coarser, the anti-aging jutsu cast on it wearing off. The other hand holds tightly to a razor-edged sword, crimson blood steadily flowing down its blade and dripping onto the ground at his feet. He's done it. A lunatic smile breaks out on his face, fiery red Sharingan eyes lighting up like torches, their Shuriken shaped design spinning rapidly. He holds the 5th Hokage's head in his hand, the fight is over.
But the war has only just begun.
It was only yesterday he held Orochimaru's head in his hand as well. It was amazing, killing that bastard and taking back his brother. At that moment the wheel set in motion, and once it got rolling it couldn't be stopped. The Akatsuki against the Sound. They had gone down easily, their curse marks nothing more than fancy tattoos against the Akatsuki's power. Now is time for something much bigger. Akatsuki against Konoha. Akatsuki against the world.
Itachi tosses Tsunade's head to the side unenthusiastically, the excitement from the kill already wearing off. It hits the dirt with a dull thud, blood spraying across the ground and oozing slowly from the cleanly sliced neck. For an off-hand second Itachi wonders what's happened to him. Peace used to be his favorite word, now all that matters to him it the thrill of war and the contrast of bright scarlet blood against pale skin. An affect of the disease, he reasons quickly, the damage it's done to his brain and body have caused him to lose all sense of self. Not that he minds. The other Akatsuki members seem to be enjoying his lead as well.
He glances around him. Already the other Akatsuki members have moved in, flooding the streets with blood and battle. The sight is grim, buildings toppling like toys and corpses littering the streets. But to Itachi, it's electrifying.
Ah, well, he thinks to himself, running past all the battlers looking for Kisame, hoping for a double team, I'm going to hell anyway, why not enjoy my stay in the mortal world?
Sasuke tilts his head upwards slightly as the rough voices circulate above him - the shouts and cries of war. They sound so distant, but he can feel them with amazing clarity. Every chunk of earth carved out by a kunai, every drop of a corpse, sends small coats of dust raining down on him, dulling the colors of his hair and skin to pale monotones. Hearing the energized and worried screams of ninjas prepared to die (and ninjas probably already dying) for their homeland, a memory shoves it's way into Sasuke's time-weathered mind. A face of warm colors and soft lines, eyes that seemed to always smile no matter how hard the mouth scowled. Naruto. Instinctively Sasuke extends his hand outward, as if to cup the face of his vivid memory, but his hand hits dirt wall only a foot away. He doesn't remove his hand from the wall as he's pulled gently into a rise of memories.
That first day they met. They were so young. Their mothers were friends, they knew each other before they even knew themselves. Sasuke has no true memory of it, obviously, he's only heard stories, of them lying together in a blanket while the two women talked over them. Of Naruto's insane crying subsiding to giggling as soon as Sasuke was close. His mother had called it a miracle.
The first day at the Ninja Academy. Sasuke hadn't always been popular. At first he had simply been "Itachi's little brother". And he was satisfied with that. For some unknown reason that gave him elevated status. As if through pampering Sasuke, the other ninja would gain Itachi's trust. That was mostly true. This was when the paradox began to shift. Naruto was lower than him, an orphan (his mother had died just after him and Sasuke had met for the first time, his dad was never heard of). Sasuke was brought to the top of the social ladder, Naruto had barely stepped on the first rung. And yet they met, they played, they were friends.
They became a team. Sakura had driven between them. Naruto started to like her, wanting her to notice him and like him too. But she was too focused on Sasuke, who truly (he would never tell anyone) only had eyes for Naruto. Naruto started to dislike him, blamed him for "stealing" Sakura away. I'd rather you steal me away, Sasuke had thought sullenly, before dismissing Naruto's comments with one of the first rude remarks of many.
The escape. What a horrid memory. Horrid but necessary. Seeing Naruto chase after him like that, the pure desperation in his eyes, so much that he would have torn him apart just to bring him back to the village, almost made him change his mind. Almost. The etch was too deep. They were separated. (But they were never really separated. They are always connected.) Only later, when Itachi captured him, did he realize the horror of his mistake and regret the entire ordeal.
And this brings the memories to Sasuke's current point. Sitting slack on the cold floor of a secret cave beneath Konoha, listening to the din of battle, his hand pressed against the dirt wall, the face of the one he wishes for more than anything in the world fresh in his mind.
Naruto evades blasts of jutsu, strikes of kunai, and slashes of sword as he dashes toward his destination. Itachi, his back pressed confidently against Kisame's, his mouth curled up in a sickly pleasured smile. Blood streaks down the front if his cloak, definitely not his own as no cuts are visible on the pale skin of his face or the dark fabric of his clothing. Where Itachi is, Sasuke can't be far. And so Naruto runs into the face of his worst enemy, his lips curling back from his teeth as they sharpen to points, scowling.
Then he lunges, straight toward Itachi's throat. How his teeth ache to curl around that delicate extension of human flesh and rip the veins right out. But Itachi side-steps him easily, his inhuman eyes practically seeing into the future. Naruto's body moves methodically, out of instinct. As focused as he tries to be, his mind keeps slipping, sliding smoothly down into a memory.
The memory is of him and Sasuke, he last time they were just together, alone. Neither of then were talking, but Naruto can feel the knot in his throat just as if it were happening right now. Sasuke seems totally cool, like always. That's something he loves about him, his ability to keep total control with just the right amount of focus.
A sharp pain grips the muscles of his left arm, and he's snapped out of his unintentional reverie. Itachi stands across from him, smirking menacingly, a kunai raised and specked with blood. His body jerks to a halt and he glances over at his wound, shallow but swimming with blood. So much he worries first about dying of blood loss.
But then he becomes conscious of Itachi's mouth moving, words spilling it's contents into his ears. "...You'll never find him. Why don't you just give up now, ne, Naru-chan?" That nickname comes from the old Itachi. The one who protected and loved his younger brother. It's hard to imagine that Itachi ever existed. Then the force of what he actually said hit him. He was talking about Sasuke.
Naruto's anger flares, his hair standing on end and the lines on his face becoming jagged and more prominent. He launches himself at Itachi, his finger nails extending to lethal points, sharp like razor wire. His hands extend forward, intending to crush the raven-haired man's skull to pulp, when a rough smack to the back of his neck brings the darkness up around him.
He can feel himself being carried somewhere. The noise around him sounds blotted and distorted. That memory flings itself to the front of his mind again, the one of their last meeting. Only this time something presents itself to him, something becomes much more clear.
That's why he looked so nervous. That's why his throat was in knots. That's why his stomach was doing backflips. He was going to confess. He loved Sasuke (and still does, more than anything). But he didn't confess. He should have. Why didn't he?
The air around him becomes dank and musty, his lungs strain to get the necessary oxygen for living. Finally, to make it easier on his body, he lets himself drift off, further into the darkness