Characters: Kabuto, Orochimaru
Summary: The process of getting a new skin.
Pairings: None
Author's Note: Kabuto is erm… sick. There's something seriously wrong with him; that's all I can say. I was trying to put that across clearly here; tell me what you think, please?
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
No explanations needed of course, because how, how, how can this ever sufficiently be put into words? It is a cascade of thoughts that leads Kabuto from Point A to Point B and no words will he ever find in his mind—not his heart; words don't come from the heart, not for him—that can accurately describe the sensation of a new, powerful skin fusing with his own.
—Between the axe and the block, there calls a darkness—
It is a bitter pill to swallow to be alone and realize that there is no identity that is independent of that of his master. Orochimaru casts his long shadows, and they only grow longer after he is dead—or absorbed into that arrogant Uchiha brat; either way the result is about the same.
Orochimaru's skin spills across the floor, glinting in the dull lamp-light like a thousand stars scattered on Earth. Frowning speculatively, Kabuto picks up a single snow-white flake—it feels far more like a scale than anything else, clammier than he expected; how odd, aren't snakes supposed to have dry skin?—in experiment with the nerves in his fingertips, getting a feel for the texture.
The shadows of Orochimaru become his own as he frowns at the skin.
An idea—overwhelming compulsion born of sheer morbid curiosity—sweeps over the breadth of him—a devouring beast—and begins to whisper suggestions in Kabuto's ear.
—and that darkness is forever calling to me, calling me home to it—
A patch of skin—human flesh, screaming to be dislodged and ignored—is removed from Kabuto's arm to make way for the scale of Orochimaru's skin, glinting dully as it is grafted on with needle and thread—crude, he knows, but there is no one here to help him; Orochimaru had a distressing habit of killing all the medics who are not Kabuto whenever they annoyed—and made to linger with pale human skin.
Kabuto knows he has succeeded when he closes his eyes to sleep, and hears a voice out of the darkness, calling to him.
—before it devours me whole in the blackness, sweeping me up to be part of it.—
I know you.
And now, I will become more than you.