The first time Itachi had ever experienced the power of his clan's doujutsu, he had been merely six years old.

His father's eyes had been the ones to entrap him, the small black tomoes swimming in a pool of crimson.

It had been a type of punishment when Itachi had refused to eat the dinner is mother had made (he had always hated tofu; it was bland and boring to both look at and eat. He didn't want something so ordinary and mediocre to enter his mouth, much less sit in his stomach digesting for a few hours).

After just one look at the disgusting clump of white nothing on the table, Itachi had immediately excused himself, claiming Shisui had taken him to get something to eat earlier that day, and that he was still full.

Mikoto had said nothing as he stood and walked to the back to go to his room. But Fugaku could see the disappointment brimming at the edges of her eyes; everything she did she did completely for her family, and dinner was one thing that she prided herself immensely on. If both her boys seemed satisfied with the food set before them, she would always wear a smile of satisfaction while she ate, cleaned, and even washed the dishes.

But that evening, her face was stoic, her lips set in a thin line as her hands swept over the dirty plates left from dinner.

Fugaku had left his wife in the kitchen to seek out his son, only to find him cross legged on the floor of his room, a pack of sushi beside him, and one clutched between the chopsticks in his hand.

The young boy glanced at his father, mouth still open in ready for the awaiting sushi at hand, and felt his cheeks flush slightly at being caught in the lie.

He was going to say something- anything- to erase the condescending look his father was boring into him, but the air in the room quickly changed as a good amount of chakra was called upon, and red eyes cast the Uchiha heir into a genjutsu.

He felt a slight tremor shake at the chopsticks in his hands, and he turned to face the sushi that sat near his mouth, watching appalled as the rice bristled and squirmed, the small white grains suddenly appearing to be tiny insects- maggots! They swarmed over each other and began to ooze down the wooden sticks holding them until a few plump ones plopped onto Itachi's small quivering hand.

Utterly disgusted, Itachi quickly dropped both the chopsticks and the offending food onto the floor, horror twisting his attractive young features as the maggots continued to wiggle about near his left foot.

The bits of raw crab nestled in the middle of all this chaos bubbled and churned, one corner forming a claw, snapping open and closing threateningly. Another corner began to form what looked to be the head of a crab, but a good portion of it stayed unformed, making it appear as if it had been partially smashed with the butt end of a kunai. One eye blinked up at him, the claw still snapping, the rest of its chopped body making disgusting bubbling noises.

He felt his stomach tighten in nausea as the seaweed wrap unfurled itself and begin to flap back in forth in an erratic manner, like a fish caught on a fisherman's hook, and he scampered back in panic when it's twisted and hyper motions sent the still writhing maggots flinging up at him.

The feeling of small gooey bodies touching him made all his muscles instinctively tighten, and when he caught a glance of something white dangling in his hair, his stomach lurched as he was thrown into a state of close panic. His hands smacked at his clothes and pulled at his hair in a desperate attempt to ditch the small larvae.

When he breathed in he could both taste and smell the rotting flesh of crab meat, and he could already taste the subtle threat of bile in his throat.

Movement at his right enticed him to look, only to find the rest of the sushi still sitting in their pack behaving in a similar manner to the initial one he dropped.

A small pale hand clasped his mouth when his stomach clenched in a half-ass attempt at purging itself of its current contents when Itachi realized he had been so close to eating that!

All at once he found himself sitting cross legged on his floor, the sushi intact and still in the hold of the chopsticks.

He immediately dropped it, watching its still form on the floor with eyes that held both deep suspicion and barely restrained terror.

Itachi felt dazed. The memories of the monstrous sushi were too real to be considered dreamlike, but were obviously… what? Not real?

He had seen it happen; had felt the slimy bodies of the disgusting insects when they made contact with his skin; had smelled the horrible deathly scent that had seeped into his being.

It was real. It had to have been!

He stared blankly at the ruined food before him as his mind swam in a chaotic torrent.

Itachi felt as if his brain had just experienced a mental blast of crimson TNT, the chemicals and flames left in the wake of the explosion swimming in the folds and currents of his thoughts, twisting and charring them into something grotesquely surreal.

It was… frightening, having his own mind turned against him.

Swallowing down the last remains of nausea in his system, he fought against the demanding pull of paralysis, and turned to meet his father's still crimson gaze.

At seeing the unabashed shock in his son's slightly widened eyes, Fugaku's eyes narrowed in slight satisfaction, but he kept his expression completely blank and stern.

"Maybe next time you'll eat what your mother makes for you." He said simply, leaving the room with a swish of his traditional robes and a forceful slam of the sliding door. Itachi simply continued to stare at where his father had stood, his eyes focusing on the Uchiha crest sewn into his door that now replaced the image of his father's daunting red eyes.

Needless to say, Itachi never really did have a taste for sushi after that.