.
.
I don't mean to make you cry.
I mean nothing, but this has not kept you
From peeling away my body, layer by layer,
The tears clouding your eyes as the table fills
With husks, cut flesh, all the debris of pursuit.
Poor deluded human: you seek my heart.
-Monologue for an Onion by Suji Kwock Kim
.
1.
It is near daybreak, but they have been awake for hours now, having walked through the fields and shadows to the clearing at their training grounds. They move without lanterns in the murky darkness, sandaled feet making footprints in the mud and wet grass.
"You carry your emotions like wounds," the leader says. The young ones listen, Sai sitting among them. "Emotions will hurt you. Emotions will keep you from being safe."
"Yes," the young ones say.
"Fear," the leader says. "Hate. Love. They are liabilities."
"Yes," the young ones say.
"The older ones do not understand," the leader says. "The older ones are weak. You must protect the older ones from their folly. They cannot help the way they are."
"Yes," the young ones say, and Sai glances back at Shin, who is staring silently at the ground.
"What is your name?" the leader says.
"Shin," Shin says. The leader backhands him across the face.
The group startles. Shin's head knocks back, a hand flying to his cheek.
"Names are for the weak," the leader says. "Names separate the one from the whole. Our unity is our strength. And so I ask you again: what is your name?"
"Shin," Shin says. A knee to the gut. The boy doubles over.
"Wait!" Sai says. The leader raises a fist but Sai covers Shin with his body, clutching Shin's arms and pushing him back. "Do not hit him," Sai says. "Please."
Shin raises his head. A trickle of blood smears on his temple.
The leader lowers his stance. He gives Sai a look, then straightens, turning toward the others.
"Remember this," the leader says. "You maggots have no names."
The thunder rolls. Sai and Shin stay crouched on the ground.
xXx
.
"Oi," Shin says. "Kid."
Sai raises his head. He is in the bottom bunk; it is dark and they are supposed to be sleeping. Above him, Shin grins and climbs down from the top bunk, the old wooden posts creaking with his weight. "What are you doing?" Shin says.
"Shh," someone says. Around them, the other orphans nod and glare as Shin rolls his eyes and squats heavily on Sai's bunk.
"Ignore them," Shin says. "You want to see something?"
Sai nods. His eyes are wide. Shin motions for him to follow.
"Come on," Shin says. Sai glances behind him while the other orphans poke their heads up from their blankets.
"You'll get in trouble," someone whispers. Sai shakes his head, then hurries to catch up with Shin.
Outside, the trees are frosted by the cold moon above them. Shin leaps forward; ahead of him, Sai can see the forest opening up into a clearing. "They're moon flowers," Shin says, and he kneels in the grass. Sai kneels beside him and watches as Shin plucks the delicate flower from the ground, its petals glistening slightly. "They bloom only once a year," Shin says. "Our clan used to collect them for healing powers. You can boil the leaves for tea."
Shin hands Sai the flower; he turns it over carefully in his hand. "I wanted to thank you," Shin says. "For saving me, that is. They could have beaten you, too."
Sai shakes his head. "The flower is beautiful," Sai says. Shin smiles.
xXx
.
"Faster," the leader says. Sai leaps as the other orphans leap, crashing through trees and tumbling into the bush. "Faster!" the leader says, and their chakra springboards them into flight.
Sai has no name. He nameless and weightless, cutting through the air like knives. They leap and whirl and they move as if strung together by invisible strings, a flock of birds ascending. Arrows pierce the flesh of the slower ones, but no one cries out. Their bodies thud softly against the loamy earth, the culling of the flock leaving the useless ones behind.
Later that night, Sai watches silently as Shin balls his hand into a fist and tries not to cry.
xXx
.
2.
As it turns out, Shin is not from the Hidden Leaf; he is from a small fishing town at the border of the fire country. "Here," Shin says, and he squats with his feet stuck squarely at the center of the river, and Sai watches delighted as he scoops up fish with makeshift nets. Sunlight skims across the water and glances off the delicate meshwork as Shin lifts it, the water dripping down Shin's arms and hands.
"They don't want you to remember these things," Shin says. They're sitting at a campfire now, the nighttime sounds of insects and wind rustling through the trees. It is a recon mission, but they have finished their objectives early; there was no reason to rush back. "Do you remember your name?" Shin says. Sai shakes his head.
"I do not have a name," Sai says.
"Everyone has a name," Shin says.
Sai says nothing. He stares into the fire, and at the smoked fish's thin charred skin. Earlier, they had scoped out the docks outside Kumogakure. It had rained then, and the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and rope. The prawn sellers packed their goods in wicker baskets, and Sai could see the longing on Shin's face as they passed. Even now Sai knows Shin is remembering.
"My father used to make rope like this," Shin says, and Sai watches as he twists the fibers in his hands. "You don't remember your family?" Shin says.
"I told you, I do not," Sai says. Shin frowns.
"No one remembers," Shin says. His hand is clenched. "Nobody does."
Shin's face is tight, and it's only until the smell of burning fish wafts into the air that Sai realizes their dinner has fallen into the fire.
"You are angry," Sai says. "Why?"
Shin is shaking. He shakes his head dully, staring at the ground. "Everyone forgets," Shin says. Sai watches the rope slowly begin to twist in the flames, the thin hemp fibers sparking orange embers. "How many people died the other day?" Shin says. "For nothing. And no one will remember."
Sai does not understand this feeling. The confusion is acute, as is the regret and sorrow.
Emotions make him vulnerable, and if Shin were an enemy, Sai could kill him without blinking an eye; but Shin is not an enemy. Quietly Sai shifts, then moves to sit beside him.
Shin raises his head. Slowly, methodically, Sai begins to spear the flesh of another fish, and wordlessly begins roasting it over the fire.
xXx
.
"Humility, ability, and self-sacrifice," Danzou says. "That is the shinobi way."
Sai watches as Danzou tosses a katana to the first hapless recruit; the boy's face is pale as he steps forward, taking the sword in one shaking hand.
It is a practice taken from Kirigakure: where Academy graduates fight each other to the death. Sai watches as the others are paired off and forced to fight each other, the members of Root flanking their sides. Some survive; most do not. The others that do show no pain, because pain is weakness and fear is a plague.
The boy is not killed; merely maimed, one clean slash to his torso to remind him of his carelessness.
"You won't remember, will you?" Shin says.
Sai glances up. He had been sketching again, something which the elder members of Root and discouraged, but Shin had secretly admired. "You should draw them," Shin says.
"Draw who?" Sai says. Shin shrugs, then rolls back on the cot.
"The ones who died," Shin says. "There's no one left to bury them."
Sai frowns, then stares at his notebook. A drop of ink falls on the paper.
"I wish you knew your name," Shin says. He leans back on the bunk, staring at the ceiling. "I'm sick of calling you 'kid.' It's just weird. Maybe I should give you a name. Or maybe you can name yourself?"
Sai considers. Quietly he presses the nub of the pen against the paper, scratching it, slightly. "I wouldn't know what to call myself," Sai says.
"How about I call you 'dickhead,'" Shin says.
"That isn't very nice," Sai says.
"How about 'Assface?'" Shin says.
"Stop it," Sai says.
"Douchewipe," Shin says.
"Stop!"
Sai is laughing. Shin smiles.
"Come up with a name," Shin says. "Or else I'll give one to you."
xXx
.
The battles last over seven days.
It is a weary affair, the members of root slumped with aching muscles and breath-starved lungs. No one wants to fight, but Danzou stands, and the elder stands, because what good is an assassin who doesn't wish to kill?
No one wants to fight each other, not really. Sai watches as Shin forces his body upright, the fatigue and physical ache stretched tight over his face. Shin's opponent is equally weary. They hold their kunai almost half-heartedly, their leader watching from above.
"Go!" the leader says. The two boys launch into each other, the sound of metal clashing ringing in the air.
The end that comes is quick; the boy's eyes widen, Shin's blade buried to the hilt in the boy's chest. Horror blooms on Shin's face as the boy falls limp, the blade sliding out from the chest wound and dropping listlessly by Shin's feet.
No one mourns the boy, whose body is hefted onto a wooden cart and covered with a plastic sheet. If anyone is close to mourning, it is Shin, who staggers forward and throws up over the unmarked grave.
xXx
.
It is easier for Sai, because Sai wants to live. "It shouldn't be like this," Shin says. They're sitting in their bunks again, Shin and Sai whispering furtively in the dark. "We're people. They can't treat us like this."
Sai says nothing. Shin is right; Sai cannot remember. The boy who sat next to him in the mess hall; the girl who stood behind him in line. "Do not linger over these petty attachments," Danzou had said, and Sai doesn't, he really doesn't, he can't remember even if he wanted to. And so Sai draws because he does not wish to forget.
"What are you doing?" Shin says one day. He looks over Sai's shoulder, frowning.
"I am taking your suggestion," Sai says. He shows Shin the little picture book, flipping the page. "This is so I don't forget."
"They're the ones you killed," Shin says.
"Yes," Sai says. Shin knocks the book from Sai's hands.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Shin says.
"I don't understand," Sai says.
"They were our friends!" Shin says.
"They were not my friends," Sai says.
"The fuck are you talking about?" Shin says. Shin is shaking. His hands are clenched into fists. "We trained with them, we ate with them, we fucking lived and breathed with them! How could you be so cruel?"
"I am not cruel," Sai says, quietly. "They are not my friends because I do not know their names."
Sai watches, carefully. Unlike the others, Shin was never good at holding back his emotions. Sai watches his face change, watches the hunch in his shoulders and the way his hand shakes. Quietly he picks up the book, then hands it back to Sai.
"I'm sorry," Shin says, and Sai knows that Shin feels sad.
xXx
.
3.
Some nights, Sai can't help but feel grateful he never knew his family. Unlike the older boys like Shin, who have memories of their parents and friends and do not know how to dampen their feelings, Sai knows he is nothing but a stone. The things he feels are just that: the sensation of the grass against his skin; the subtle way the air shifts when an enemy is around him; the feel of calloused hands around the hilt of a sword.
The older ones have the most difficult time, and even Sai can guess the killing exercises are Danzou's way of eradicating them. The older ones do not wish to fight; they feel protective toward the younger ones, and angry that they're forced to do this. Once again, Sai is confronted with even more proof that emotions are nothing but liabilities; it is this affection, this fraternal instinct that leads to the older ones' deaths.
Sai was born and raised in Root; he would not make the same mistake.
xXx
.
The sky is an irritated charcoal when the survivors take up their posts, crouching silently on the ground as a Root elder tells the tail of a young Konoha nin ordered to kill the rest of his clan.
"I was just a kid when it happened," Shin says, quietly. "You could say Uchiha Itachi was one of the first members of Root, doing the stuff no one else wants to do."
"Wow," Sai says. They glance back at the leader, who's still speaking.
"Emotions cause pain," the leader says. He takes out his scroll, shows the younger ones the order written in faded ink. "We live to be without emotion. Without weakness. We are the roots that make the tree of our village grow. We have no choice but to be strong."
"Uchiha Itachi was a patriot," someone says, and the circle looks up to see Danzou coming up from behind them. "He did what no one else would, all for the sake of Konoha. But he was in agony," Danzou says. "His emotions made him unpredictable. No one could know for sure if he would be able to carry it out."
Sai watches as Danzou steps forward, his wooden staff pressing softly against the grass. "Root came into being after that fateful night," Danzou says. "To ensure that all shinobi could carry out their missions without those doubts."
Even Sai knows this is only a half-truth: Root existed long before the night of the Uchiha massacre; it was only until after the clan's fall that Root reached for a higher purpose, its goal to eradicate all emotion from its warriors. Unlike Shin and the older members, who raged against its oppressive tactics, Sai knows it is for the best. "He is probably still suffering," Sai says. Shin gives him a look.
"An astute observation," the leader says. "Our comrade did not have the benefit of our training. We exist to erase those doubts."
The meeting ends, and the others stiffly rise, blearily waiting until the next match is to begin.
"Shin," Sai says. "May I ask you something?"
"What is it?" Shin says. Sai frowns.
"You do not wish to be a part of our organization," Sai says. "Why is it that you stay?"
Shin is quiet. The breeze stirs, gray storm clouds looming over the grass. "I joined to avenge my family," Shin says.
They are quiet for a long time, Sai watching as Shin keeps his eyes forward, staring out into the dark. "They promised to make me strong," Shin says. "I was maybe your age, then."
Shin falls silent. Shadows cross his face, and his eyes are unfocused, as if he's looking at something far away. "I hate this place," Shin says. "I wish I could leave."
"Why don't you?" Sai says. Shin shakes his head.
"Where would I go?" Shin says.
Sai says nothing. Slowly they stand, moving forward and hitching their packs over their shoulders.
xXx
.
There is a festival going on at the outskirts of the village, and while the members of Root are forbidden to go, Shin sneaks there anyway, stealing candied snacks and paper masks, then returning to the compound with ninja stealth, sneaking Sai a paper bag of festival candy under the bunk.
"We aren't supposed to eat this," Sai says. Shin makes a noise, then motions for Sai to follow.
They sneak onto the roof of the Hokage compound, chewing on sticks of dango and watching the fireworks in the sky. It's a nice night, a festive one, and Sai is struck by the contrast in colors. Red and white fireworks blaze against the indigo sky, and Sai irrationally wonders if Root can control the weather as well: whenever Sai and the others trained, it was always under a thin grey sky, worn boots squelching in the mud.
"It's how civilians live," Shin says, and Sai understands: civilians can afford to waste time on such unimportant matters as decorating the village square, can afford to hang paper lanterns across doorways as if their lives depended on it. "The leaders in Root don't have time to decorate like this," Shin says. "It's too bad. Our living quarters are shit."
Sai catches himself stifling a laugh. Quickly he rearranges himself. Shin's mouth quirks.
"Hey, kid," Shin says. Sai raises his head; it's the first time Shin has ever addressed him directly. "We might have to fight each other, sometime."
Sai nods. "I know," Sai says.
Neither one of them speaks. Fireworks bloom, and Shin's face is backlit by the orange flare.
xXx
.
They stand at the foot of a windswept hill, Sai and Shin and the members of Root standing in a circle around them. "Do not let your emotions cloud your purpose," the leader says. "He is not your brother. This is the only way."
"I don't want to do this," Shin says. Sai grips the hilt of his sword, and tightens his jaw.
"We kill because we're meant to kill," the leader had said. "We fight because that is the only way we can survive."
A sword strikes. Metal clang, blocking the fall.
Sai is thrown back, the edge of Shin's blade just a finger's breadth above his neck. Sai struggles; there's something in Shin's eyes.
The pressure of Shin's knife lets up and Sai dodges, grabbing his kunai and in one swift movement spears through Shin's stomach. Shin gasps. Blood burbles from the corner of his mouth.
Sai's eyes widen. "Shin!" Shin pitches forward, collapsing into the mud.
It begins to rain. Thunder rolls and rainwater falls in thick sheets, making eddies of water in the mud. Shin is dead. Sai watches, numb, as the members of Root methodically load up Shin's body onto the wooden cart, rolling him in a thick black tarp and throwing him onto the heap of other dead bodies from earlier in the day.
"I think I know what I'll call you," Shin had said. Sai remembers how he leaned over the bunk the night before, lank strands of hair falling over his eyes. "I'll call you 'little brother.' And that would almost be like having a name."
There's a warmth behind Sai's eyes, which he struggles to suppress. He thinks of his picture book, and at the unfinished drawing at its center.
xXx
.
Emotions hurt. They leave you vulnerable to attack; they make you easy to kill.
Sai has no name, and neither do the others. Names are not necessary, here. "We are Root," the leader says, and Sai and the others turn, nameless, faceless soldiers of war. "Forget your past. Forget your pain. You exist for Konoha and nothing more."
xXx
.
4.
Naruto is training again. Quietly, Sai watches under a makeshift umbrella, the rain falling as Naruto struggles to master his latest jutsu.
"Hello, dickhead," Sai says, pleasantly. Naruto glares.
"Shut up, Sai!"
"Make me," Sai says, and he smiles a not-so fake smile.
A/N: So it's totally my head canon that Sai was the one who killed Shin, and then suppressed any memory of doing so. Also, I like to think Itachi's story was something of a folk legend to the members of Root, especially since Danzou was the one behind it all. *nods*