For the Sake of His Brother
AU. Means no ninja, no Orochimaru possession, sexi-no-jutsu, or demon foxes. Although, some surprises may arise.
Disclaimer: See profile. (Although, to save you the trouble, if you DO go on my profile to see the disclaimer, it would say: Disclaimer-see story. Quite a pointless activity.)
Warnings: NO Uchiha-cest. Sorry, but I just can't stomach it. It will contain slashy undertones, most due to the fact that I can't write straight couples.
Important notes: In this chapter, Iruka is portrayed just as he is in the first episode of Naruto- a thoughtless and ignorant teacher who sees Naruto as the reason his parents died. Needless to say, it will change.
Chapter 1.
It all started on a wonderful afternoon, as all peculiar stories start.
Birds sang, people treated their kids to ice-cream, and other wonderful things happened in the near vicinity of the only private school in Alsager. When a metallic voice through the school speakers began calling, "Naruto Uzumaki, please come to the principal's office," the happiness of the picture above dimmed a bit.
Or so Naruto thought.
Naruto was the only ten-year-old blond boy with crookedly cut hair and worn clothes in the school. Currently, he had a bruised nose and the lobe of his ear was still bleeding, courtesy of a small row of teeth that clamped upon it. His cheeks were smudged with dirt and his feet missed their shoes, but had socks with plenty of holes.
Naruto Uzumaki fished his shoe out of the garbage bin and grinned cockily at the two boys on the ground, one of which was sporting a dashing black eye, and the other one was wailing loudly, clutching his shin.
"That's what you get for messing with my shoes, fuckers." He flashed a victory sign and laughed loudly, seeing one of the boys wince.
"What, haven't heard a bad word before?"
One of the boys stared hatefully at him. Nursing his eye, he urged his friend to get up and stop sobbing. When the wounded little boy stood on his feet and wiped his nice little pants, the one with the black eye glared at Naruto as if he were a mere maggot in this world full of wonders.
"Shut up. My father says only garbage speaks crudely. And judging by your language, you clearly are garbage." He sniffed disdainfully, but the overall effect was undermined by the black eye. The second kid stopped whimpering. He, too, tried to stand disdainfully just as his friend, but the leg still smarted and his nose was running a marathon.
"And people who beat up others are garbage. And those who don't have manners," the boy with the black eye pointed at Naruto. The second boy, feeling the cold snot on his lips, made a show of wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He then blushed, took out his hanky and repeated the gesture with the same disdain, looking at his friend.
"Yeah, garbage. And—and— a herden, because you're an orphan. Mom said so."
"A heathen," the boy with the black eye hissed, tugging sharply on his uncultured companion.
"Yeah, that. Because you're a worthless orphan. Dad said so."
"Yeah. Because Society doesn't need spongers."
They sniffed again, then walked away, dignified—well, as dignified as two ten-year-olds with a black eye and a bruised shin could walk.
"What's Society?" Naruto heard the boy with the shin ask.
"I don't know, but Dad says she's important. Like the president and stuff."
"Really? Is she, like, old?"
"Kind of. I saw her once, she was scary."
"Cool. Oh, what's a sponger?" They walked around the corner and their conversation was muted by a third exasperated murmur.
"Naruto, come to the Principal's office! NOW!"
The blond boy stared at the shoe in his hand, then at the one in the garbage bin and cried out,
"I'm not garbage! Stupid Fuckers!"
He defiantly wiped his bleeding nose with a worn sleeve. Hearing the intercom, he hobbled to the Principal's office. Then stopped, swore loudly and made a run back to the garbage bin to fish his other shoe out.
876
The Principal was a stern old lady. Naruto liked her when she dropped by his apartment and yelled at him, changing his bed sheets and replacing the empty milk cartons in the fridge with full ones. Naruto didn't like it when she drank vodka and then cried bitterly, hugging him to death and saying how much he reminded her of her dead boy. It was a bit creepy to see her like this. But her bosom smelled like basil, and she sometimes laughed with gusto, especially when Naruto painted teacher Ibiki's car with orange swirls.
She laughed because Naruto had to clean the car by himself, and she was watching. Hag.
"Naruto, come in."
The boy was careful to put on his shoes before entering the office. The old lady was there, glaring at him, her nostrils quivering.
"I didn't do anything," he said immediately, hiding his hands into the pockets and lifting his shoulders a bit, like a turtle. Her nostrils widened, all dragon-like, and Naruto dropped his eyes.
"Alright, I did it. But it's not my fault."
"Naruto," she hissed with an unnatural stiffness. "Sit down, boy." She pointed at a chair that stood next to hers. He climbed it and glanced at the sofa that until that point was invisible to him. And immediately understood. After all, it tended to happen right after he's fight off a stubborn bully. There were a lot of them, too.
"Naruto, this is Missis and Mister Uchiha."
Naruto scrunched up his nose. A very well dressed man and a very pretty lady were sitting on the visitor's couch. The man was tall, taller than Naruto even though he was sitting. He had black eyes, black hair, and black clothes. Even the little hairs in his nostrils were black and trembling, and Naruto gulped. He had seen this kind of expression before, and it usually was present in an adult right before they hit him. So he gulped. Again.
"Hello."
The man frowned, as if Naruto's answer was something incredulous, like hearing a monkey speak.
"Naruto, they are here because you had an altercation with their son."
A sudden movement made Naruto snap his attention to the lady. She was wearing white gloves, and Naruto wondered why, since it was almost summer and he was sweating buckets. Maybe she was just cold. He nodded staring at the white flowers in her hat and the shiny black hair under it. She smelled good and looked like one of those fancy ladies on the cover of Vanity Fare that his old lady liked to read.
"Well?"
The lady looked at him with her dark eyes. He thought that they looked like the eyes of a deer. All pretty and shiny.
"Hello," he smiled, and instantly remembered that he hadn't washed his teeth that morning. Or the morning before. The lady instantly put a palm on her husband's forming fist and interrupted his words in French with a glare.
"Naruto," she enunciated, as if he was dumb or deaf. "I am Sasuke's mother. He came this Tuesday home with a swollen jaw."
Naruto bit his lip and stared down, crunching his nose. That was the point of pretty ladies who came to the principal's office. They were someone else's moms. And they usually looked at him as if he was something worth of contempt on their part.
"Well? Why did you do it, Naruto?" She said with an infliction on "do."
"I don't remember," Naruto said. "If your son is the little bastard with the scarf who threw my books in the water, then I did it because he threw my books in the water."
Missis Uchiha gasped loudly, putting her hand on her bosom and looking at her husband. Her husband was looking at Naruto with fury.
"Well, if your son isn't the bastard with the scarf, then maybe it was the one with red hair?" Naruto offered hurriedly, seeing a storm when one approached. "I remember clocking him once when he punched me. His muzzle was hanging kinda funny after that."
A strangled snort rose from behind Naruto and the boy turned, looking irritated at his old lady.
"What? Kiba is evil, and he steals my orange juice all the time!"
"Look, child," the man in front of him enunciated the word, as if he meant demon or as if something stabbed him. "My son, Sasuke, is not a hooligan."
Naruto brightened up.
"Is he the one with a weird birthmark on his buttcheek?"
Lady Uchiha gasped again, as if he said fuck. Or shit. And by her face, it was evident that her Sasuke never had birthmarks on any kind of cheeks.
"Well, maybe it was that kid with blue eyes who says stuff about nuvoricci, the hell that is."
"Nouveau Riche," the Uchiha sir gritted his teeth. "It's the Huugas," he hissed in his wife's ear. She nodded and stared at Naruto with disdain. And Naruto glared back at her with narrowed eyes and snarly little teeth. He called it the Hostile Art, and he practiced it many times in front of a mirror. He usually wore it when a bully tried to intimidate him. However, it didn't work on the lady.
"My son," the Uchiha lady said in a clipped manner, "is a very handsome and lovable little boy. His hair and eyes are black and he is a bit taller than you. He is very dignified and would never—"
Her speech was interrupted with a cry of recognition. He pointed at her nose, his eyes bright and huge, and his teeth sharp and small, adorning a wide grin.
"It's Cock-head! He has this stupid ugly hair, just like a chicken butt!"
He completely ignored the strange, tense silence in the room and laughed, turning his face toward his old lady.
"Hey, you remember when I lost that wallet of mine? It was that stupid Cock-head! I told him to give it back but he knew some kind of moves, so he kicked me in the gut."
He sighed, oblivious of the horrified stares from three different people and jumped off the chair.
"Well, since you know what happened, I can go, right?"
He grinned at the Uchiha Lady, but she simply flapped her lips and lifted one dainty hand as if trying to stop him or saying goodbye. Since the last one was the most logical action, Naruto grabbed her hand, jerked it up and down and wiped his nose with a sleeve.
"Well, I'll go now. Don't go too hard on Cock-head, ok?"
Then he waved bye, and before anyone could stop him, disappeared behind the door.
After ten seconds of shocked silence, Tsunade squeezed an uncomfortable chuckle, making Mikoto Uchiha close her mouth and Fugaku Uchiha lift his fallen hat.
"Well, boys will be boys, right?"
987
The Laundromat was two steps away from Naruto's apartment. It was a very clean house, and the lady who ran it liked Naruto well enough to let him use the machines gratis once a week. The house was popular enough in his neighborhood, because even those who had washing machines liked old lady Haruno with passion, and came many times to chat or buy flowers from her green house. In the East district, Haruno was the crème de la crème and nobody would challenge her.
The East district was not a district, per se, but more of a small village that crawled at the feet of Alsager. There was one school, the one that taught just enough so the education board wouldn't close it. Naruto heard that it was a horrible, horrible place, but he was happy not to go there. His parents, after all, wanted him to go to a private school and had paid the schooling even before he was born. And then he was born, but they died.
Jiraya, an old man with round cheeks and small, pebble-like eyes took care of him. He paid his rent, gave money for the groceries and generally behaved like an upstanding citizen until he'd find a woman he could jump and run away for two-three months. He called it the strike of inspiration.
Naruto swore he'd never catch that inspi-thingy disease. Jiraya smirked, called him a dickless kid with no imagination and usually left for another three months. Naruto was already eight then. It was also the time when Tsunade, his old lady found him. She insisted he should wash everything on Tuesdays, and get milk every day, and eat soup. And buy books. And get good grades. And…
And she pissed him off.
When he told her that, she spanked him so hard he couldn't sit for two days. She said if he talked like that again, she'll wash his mouth with soap.
He hated soap.
Naruto sighed, staring at the laundry machine and its swirling contents. There were flashes of neon blue, neon green, neon yellow, and neon orange. Sometimes a black sock would sneak in, or a white shirt, which would instantly become a washed out greenish yellow monstrosity with orange plops. But otherwise, Naruto's wardrobe always looked as if a unicorn fell to its death off a rainbow, pulling the whole damn thing onto the kid's laundry.
Oh well, at least it wasn't all black, like his laundry neighbor.
Naruto stared inconspicuously at the person sitting next to his laundry basket. He was a tall, pallid man with long black hair. His eyes were black, too. He was always here on Tuesdays, waiting for the third machine to clear. Naruto had never seen him use another machine. And the man never talked to anyone either. Weirdo.
Naruto snorted, and bit into the scruffy sandwich he made from bits of egg, ramen and a tomato. A weak sound of automatic doors made the man snap out of his reverie. He uncrossed his legs, shifted a bit, then crossed his legs again. Suddenly the boy flew off the chair, dropping his sandwich. He stared in the irate eyes of Iruka Umino, the English teacher, the one who never looked him in the eye. If he did, it would be because he was royally pissed off. Just like now.
"Naruto," the man scowled barely restraining himself. His nostrils quivered. "How could you!"
And there it was, that phrase.
It always began with "How could you!" then "what were you thinking," then "I don't want to hear any excuses!" It was so predictable Naruto could recite the speech without thinking.
"The Uchihas are very important people and—and you, you!" The man in black startled, staring at the Naruto's teacher covertly, but with interest. "How could you do this? I am so disappointed! Everyone is disappointed!"
"But—"
"No buts! You will come to school tomorrow and apologize to Sasuke! He is a very brave boy, standing up to you like that!"
"But—"
"I don't want to hear it! Right after your lessons, you will come to the Principal's office and apologize, understand?"
Naruto lowered his eyes, his fists clenched. No matter how much he defended himself, the adults were always considering him the bad one. Even the teachers, who should be paragons of impartiality and moral upstandingness, always watched him with those cold eyes, full of hidden hatred. All adults did. And Naruto hated them back.
"I understand," he said quietly. Umino Iruka huffed with irritation then said good day and left. Naruto climbed his stool and stared at the laundry swirl, not noticing that it had stopped already. His hands were trembling. He really wanted to go home and bawl his eyes out, but something huge, something bitter and cold kept him there, enjoying his humiliation.
"You are upset."
He started, looking up and noticing that the man in black was sitting on the chair next to him. He had a strange velvety voice, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time. Naruto shied away from the black and somehow familiar gaze.
"Uh, not really. It happens all the time, so I'm used to it." He looked down, avoiding the man's face and noticed his lunch on the floor with a shoe print on the bread slice. The man followed his eyes and made a small sound with his throat that sounded like "hn."
"I know a ramen stand nearby."
Naruto narrowed his eyes.
"And I know the capital of Albania."
The man in black made the same sound. He watched the boy open the door of the washing machine, empty the contents into the drying machine and trying to squeeze the quarters into the designated slot.
"If you tell me the capital of Albania, then I'll treat you to three bowls of ramen," he said silkily, then smiled without actually using his lips when the boy spun around, his eyes just as round as the quarters with which he was molesting the drier.
"It's Tirana," he said fast, then flashed a victory sign. "I'm good at geography 'cause it's about places far away from here."
The man cocked his head. Something in the words of that child told more than their actual meaning.
"I believe I owe you three bowls of ramen. Do you think you can finish before your laundry?"
Naruto stared at the stranger, then at the drier.
"You're not gonna drug me and rape me or sell my kidneys, are you?"
The man opened his mouth, then closed it, delicately.
"Do I look like a bad person?"
Naruto squinted, rubbing his chin in an inquisitive manner.
"You look like a gigolo." Seeing the man's blank look, he elaborated. "A whore man. A-a whore person." The boy tch-ed, feeling restricted by political correctness. "A whoreson."
The man lifted one brow.
"A whoreson means a dislikable person."
Naruto frowned.
"Well, that's not what I meant. You're actually likeable; I heard that many serial killers are very nice, treat you to ramen and such. So yeah, you're like that."
The man's lips finally tugged up into a full smile. Naruto frowned.
"Why are you showing your teeth?"
The man's lips snapped back into the habitual straight line.
"I was smiling. I believe it is to show friendliness."
Naruto snorted, murmuring something about strange bastards under his nose. The man hn-ed again, then lowered his head to the boy's level and said distinctly.
"How about I go to the ramen house and bring you three bowls directly here? And I won't smile."
Naruto's throat bobbed, swallowing an influx of saliva.
"Damn, you're really nice. Ok, do you kill people? Just say it. Just-I won't call the police."
The man lifted one brow again in that surely-you-jest look. He then smoothly picked up his phone and ordered four bowls of pork ramen directly into the Laundromat. In five minutes (Ichiraku ramen was three houses away) they were swallowing noodles noisily, Naruto more so.
"Ok, so you're not a bad guy." He slurped some more, finishing his second bowl before the man could finish a quarter of his order. "You're even likeable. And you don't seem like a crazy killer."
The man smiled with his eyes, and Naruto was pretty sure that he wasn't a bad person (as stated before). But there was something, something that bothered him.
"Alright, so are you with the police?"
The man suddenly laughed with his mouth closed, if that was possible. Naruto dropped the fistful of noodles he had just stuffed into his mouth. The man laughed very nicely, but in a strange manner, as if he hadn't done that in a very long time.
"I'm Itachi. And no, I don't kill, arrest, or rape people. I give you my word," he said quietly. He ate daintily and Naruto finally recognized what was bothering him. He resembled the upperclassmen in his school, nice manners and all that. He frowned and swallowed more noodles.
"You come here every Tuesday, and use the third machine. Why?"
Itachi looked at him with hooded eyes. Naruto noticed that when he was chewing, his ears moved up and down, like a cat's.
"Because it's the busiest."
"I don't get it."
Itachi made another "hn" sound, but this time it was amused.
"Yes, you do. You use that machine too, do you not?"
Naruto lowered his eyes, starting his third bowl. He slowly nodded.
"Yeah, I guess. Gives you time to think."
Itachi smiled with his eyes. He could do it much better than he did it with his mouth. For a few minutes they just slurped the food in a comfortable silence. Naruto frowned privately at the strange moment. Sure, he had seen this guy many times, but today was actually the first time they spoke. And already there was some kind of understanding.
"What was that teacher talking about?"
Until that second.
Naruto stilled. The food suddenly seemed to turn against him and he slowly pushed the half finished bowl away. The man noticed the movement, and amended the situation quickly.
"I know Iruka, and I have never seen him like that."
Naruto lifted his eyes, noticing how his reaction moved the man. He pulled the ramen back to him with a sigh.
"I don't abandon food. And this thing is great."
Itachi smirked inwardly. The kid was much older than his ten years. Much older. But then again, it wasn't a good thing. Kids were supposed to be kids. Or so Kakashi always said. But then, Kakashi was an idiot, and Fugaku always hissed when he was brought up at the dinner table.
"I got in a fight with a bastard at school. His parents came today and started yelling at me. I left, the teacher followed me here." Naruto made an attempt to divert the attention from his clipped tone with his chopsticks, fluttering them wildly.
"Fight with whom?"
"Cock-head."
Itachi bit his chopsticks and almost winced, hearing the mental scolding from his mother.
"Uchiha Sasuke. But he has this ugly hair like a chicken butt, so I call him Cock-head."
Itachi snorted delicately into his broth.
"Am I correct to assume that you mentioned the name in front of his parents?"
Naruto fluttered his chopsticks around, almost pocking his own eye.
"Of course! His mother was like, 'he's such a good, wonderful boy," he sighed and mumbled, "all mothers say that. Seriously, when someone beats me up and I kick their asses, they come to school and say that their kids wouldn't do something like that. Are mothers blind or something?"
Itachi stared at the top of the boy's head. Yes, mothers were more than blind. The majority of parents saw their children as a trophy, something you raise and polish and put on a shelf to be admired. But—
"I always wished I had a mother, but if my mother were like that, I'm better off without one," Naruto continued talking, his voice just a bit more resolute.
"What did he do, that Sasuke boy?" Itachi set his empty ramen bowl down and noticed that the boy's laundry was done a long time ago. Naruto didn't, so he carelessly slurped the last gulps of his broth, avoiding the answer. But when even the bowls were so empty that the boy couldn't claim full mouth and not talk, he simply sighed and began chewing the chopstick.
"I dropped my wallet. It was really cool, 'cause I made it myself, and here comes this guy, picks it up and refuses to give it back when I asked for it."
"Maybe he thought it wasn't yours."
Naruto interrupted the man with an impatient grunt.
"But that's the thing. My school ID was inside, so he knew it was mine since he had a picture. So when I said to give it back, he said 'go die, fucker.' I punched him in the jaw."
Itachi bit his chopsticks again, and suddenly assessing his faux de pas he took them out of his mouth and put them carefully onto the margin of his bowl.
"He fell, then he got up and hit me in the guts with those boots of his." Naruto crinkled his nose and rubbed his stomach. "I bet they were steel toes or something, 'cause I pissed blood latter. Ur… Sorry," he grinned apologetically, pointing at the food. "I didn't mean to mention it during eating, but you asked."
Itachi lifted one brow with a "squeamish? Me?" face and took two bars of chocolate from his pocket. Silently giving Naruto one, he divested the other and took a bite gingerly.
"I didn't realize that boys your age fight so seriously," he said, noticing that Naruto was fiddling with the wrapper of the chocolate bar. "Here, let me," he added, taking it upon himself to unwrap it. Upon receiving it back, Naruto bit into it happily.
"Well, I don't really like fighting, 'cause I come all scratched and dirty to school and they start saying that I'm like this 'cause I don't have any parents."
"Hn."
"Exactly," Naruto grinned, showing his teeth smeared in chocolate. "I mean, just because I don't have any parents, it doesn't mean I have to be dirty." Then he snickered. "Kinda ironic that I'm talking about this in a Laundromat, isn't it?"
"Hn," Itachi grunted, getting two more bars of chocolate out of his pocket. Naruto's eyes widened.
"You have Willy Wonka in your pocket or something?"
Itachi's eyes glistened in a very odd way.
"How do you know Willy Wonka?"
Naruto looked at him with suspicious eyes.
"Well, the TV of course, stupid. I mean, who wouldn't know Willy Wonka?"
Itachi averted his eyes and hn-ed, staring at the sweet in his hand.
"I believe I have only read the book," he said calmly. Naruto chocked.
"There's a book?"
"Hn," Itachi said, and took out yet another bar, opening it up immediately and nibbling at the edge. "Roald Dahl wrote it."
"Eh…" Naruto stared at him with wonder, a speculative glint in his blue eyes. "Don't tell me—" he pointed at Itachi's nose with a messily bitten Hershey's bar, "you've never seen the movies?"
"Hn," Itachi said, looking away. Naruto whistled softly. They sat in silence a few seconds, after which Naruto smiled.
"I know. Since you treated me to ramen, I'll treat you to my favorite movie. With Johny Depp, of course. I hate the 1971 version, which is why—" Naruto stilled, his eyes wide and blue, and full of wonder. "But you've never seen it, right? So will rectufy that!"
"Rectify," Itachi said quietly, but the kid was already putting the backpack on his shoulders and stuffing the rainbow horror back into his bag.
"Let's go! My house is just a house away, Jiraya rents it for me. It's nothing special but the TV works and the roof's not leaking!"
"Hn," Itachi said, disposing of the plastic ramen bowls and chocolate wrappers. He then was promptly dragged to out by the doors, and narrowly escaped being hit by a small green car with a yellow hood. It jumped aside and crashed into a water hydrant. The water spilled in a wonderful wave, and a person in green came out of the car yelling,
"Oh youth, oh Joy!"
"Ah, don't pay attention," Naruto dragged him past the wet man who still danced around his vehicle. "He's a bit of a nutcase, but he taught me how to land a punch and how to change shower heads."
"Shower heads," Itachi repeated, feeling out of his depth. Naruto frowned.
"Yeah, it's just that rented places have horrible shower heads. They are almost always clogged all the time."
"Hn," Itachi stared at the boy, pulled by his brisk walking. He couldn't imagine a clogged shower head. What would it be clogged with?
"Sand, stupid," Naruto sighed. "It looks like white hardened sand."
Itachi inwardly frowned. His face, though, was extremely wrinkle free.
"Mineral deposits?"
"Yeah, that." Naruto cussed softly, searching for the keys in all of his pockets. The man suddenly became aware that he had spoken out loud his thoughts. It hasn't happen before. He was usually in control of what he said, what he thought, and what he showed on his face.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Come in!"
Itachi realized that somehow he has been lost in the conversation with the boy the entire time they walked. In fact, he had no idea which way they came from, but somehow, he knew exactly how to change a shower head and how to prepare a cheap solution with vinegar for the aforementioned purpose; "the stuff they make at Wal*Mart is horrible," Naruto had said. But now that he noticed his surroundings again, he saw himself standing at the stairs of a small, green house with an extremely narrow door and bolted windows.
Before he could notice anything else, he was dragged inside, forced to climb two flights and an iron ladder mounted into the wall, and squeezed through a small square hole into the attic.
"Uh, just take your shoes off," Naruto yelped, trying to close the attic door without jamming his fingers. "Just, uh, sit over there," he pointed at a small Japanese table with a scratched top and two or three round sitting pillows of a rather eclectic origin. He sat on one, and discovered that it was well padded.
"They're, uh, Turkish," Naruto mumbled, red in the face, noticing the interest with which Itachi followed the pattern on his pillow. "My old lady bought them for me."
Itachi noticed the reluctant sounds the boy made. Probably because he was self-conscious.
"I would say the pattern is bastardized Armenian," he said, trying to relieve the tension.
Naruto lifted his brows. He held two cups of milk in one hand, and a DVD in the other. He sat next to the man and put a glass of milk under his nose, then a small plate of chocolate cookies. Without a word, he started the movie, running around the room and draping the windows.
Then he sat back on his pillow, grinned at Itachi and squirmed with excitement.
"I'll make a Johnny Depp fan out of you, just you wait."
987
It was already seven when Itachi finished reading the movie credits. He had sat rigid, straight backed during the movie, not moving one muscle. Only once, when the actor mentioned cannibalism, he let out a small, amused "hn." Surprisingly, the boy had not spoken from the start of the movie, and just sat there, deviousness in his eye (because he was sitting with his left side to Itachi, the man couldn't see his other eye, so he refrained from adjusting his observations for the sake of objectivity.)
When the screen became dark and the DVD automatically ejected, Itachi turned toward his host, and let out a small "hn."
The boy was sleeping, half covering the table. His cup of milk was empty, as was the cookie plate. Soft snores filled the room, and Itachi frowned. Inwardly of course. It was very not Uchiha-esque to show any kind of emotion, save haughtiness, displeasure and disdain. His father was apt at emphasizing displeasure.
"It keeps people where they should be," his father had said. "And it gives you the control. Control is everything – all be damned MIND YOUR POSTURE!"
And Itachi, eighteen years old and four miles away from his father, straightened his nonexistent hump at the memory's remainder.
987
After somehow finding Naruto's bed (he dug through the laundry bag, to find clean sheets of an eye-popping orange) Itachi put the sleeping boy in, and began to explore the attic. He rapidly found out that the attic was a very big room with several walls made out of furniture to change the role of the space. Naruto's bedroom, for example, was a corner made by a plywood wardrobe with plastic corners and a tall board with ramen posters on it. The bed itself was a green cot with a spongy mattress which was taken out during the day to make place for homework doing.
The kitchen was just as small and decrepit as the rest of the place, but was installed by professionals. Or, at least the stove and sink were. Itachi opened one of the many drawers, and blinked, his Uchiha-ness overwhelmed by the sight.
It was, almost literally, a shrine for ramen. Different types of ramen, from some obscure Vietnamese brands to very popular American ones littered the place. There were also two cookbooks with the titles, "Two Hundred Twenty Two secret recipes to create the ultimate Ramen!" and, respectively, "So You Like Ramen, But Does Ramen Like You: How to Keep Yourself In Form for Ramen Tasting." Opening a third drawer, Itachi blankly gazed at a small cut out of a newspaper article, "Do You Suffer from Ramen Withdrawal? We Can Help!" including a hotline and an email address.
He shut the drawer and stared over his shoulder at the small boy, whose scruffy hair was very gray in the fallen darkness. Noticing the difference, the man threw a quick glance at his watch, and finding out that it was almost eight p.m., he collected his jacket and approached the trapdoor that led out of the attic. Just a few seconds before leaving, Itachi dug into his pockets and took out his last bar of chocolate. After of a moment of hesitation, he put it on the table, on the Willy Wonka DVD case. He then sled through the door and left with a small parting "hn."
987
"Your posture, dear."
Itachi inwardly flinched. It wasn't directed at him, but he tensed anyway. He sat next to his little brother, who was glaring at the lettuce in his plate and straightening his shoulders. Curving your back just because you were having dinner was not very Uchiha-esque. His father always, (literally every second of his day) bore a very straight, dignified and haughty posture. Itachi looked at him. Fugaku was cutting the stake and seemed to pay no attention to anything around him.
Even though he was, and Itachi knew it very well. The same habit was verbally beaten into him from an early age, and he easily noticed it in other people.
"I don't want the lettuce," Sasuke suddenly said, his voice already lower than the majority of his peers. At this, three pairs of absolutely black eyes met him, silencing his protest. Fugaku calmly put his fork down and said,
"You will finish your plate. Uchihas always finished what they started."
Sasuke's upper lip twitched into a snarl, but he controlled it. Lowering his eyes, he stabbed the lettuce and chewed it. Sterile silence filled the dinner table and for the first time Itachi felt uncomfortable even though his body didn't betray it. And then, then something terrible happened. The words came out of his mouth, and he didn't even know it. It was after all, a thought.
"I saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory today."
Fugaku dropped his fork.
Itachi has never seen his father, the almighty Uchiha, drop anything in his life. The absence of dexterity was a severe impairment for an Uchiha. And yet, his father's eyes were on him, his jaw slack and his fingers glaringly forkless. A weak hur-hur of a clearing throat snatched his attention, and he looked at his mother who was just as stricken as Fugaku.
"What do you mean, dear?"
Itachi watched her redden in the face with the idea that she couldn't understand the situation. After all, she was an Uchiha. And she understood any situation much better than the situation understood itself. Even if the situation hasn't formed yet.
"I watched the live action version of Roald Dahl's book. I was told that Tim Burton made the movie much deeper than the book, because it provided a background for Willy Wonka's seemingly mad attitude," he repeated the last sentence from memory with a deadpan voice, briefly remembering the strange enthusiasm the blond boy displayed when talking about the two movies.
More silence ensued. Itachi saw Sasuke stare at his brother with something akin to horror. His mother too, seemed perplexed. Finally, Fugaku collected his fork from his lap and made a very confused 'hn.' To outsiders, however, it was a very all knowing "hn."
"And why exactly is this important?" He asked, his face not betraying his puzzlement. Itachi watched him without flinching.
"It is not."
Fugaku didn't choke. At least, not visibly.
"Itachi," he said with a cold voice, "see that such trifling matters are not brought to the dinner table."
"Yes, father."
Itachi lowered his eyes. If he didn't, he would have betrayed a flash of defiance in his eyes. Defiance so powerful that he couldn't mask it.
After all, Itachi could see where it led.
When he rose from the Uchiha dinner table after they all have finished eating, he decided that the time has come. His eyes fell on Sasuke's small figure with straight shoulders and tense back, and the spikes of hair that did not stay down, no matter how Mikoto, his mother, lamented over their uncouth nature. It was time.
He'll begin to save his family, or at least those who could be saved.
At any price.
TBC
A/N My first try in the Naruto fandom.
All grammar Nazis over the world, unite (and judge). I don't mind. In fact, I insist.
To everyone else, common folk, I would be very grateful if you reviewed. It is the greatest compliment to an author.