But as usual, the world's most unpredictable child soldier completely derailed Sasuke's thought process.
"Sasuke," he said, voice still stretched out like warm taffy from the laughter of a moment before, "I have something for you. From your brother."
Sasuke tried to sneer, and found that he could. So the fool had allowed for a good eight or nine cubic centimeters of void in his belly in order to pave the way for the crudest manipulation imaginable? Typical. Naruto still had the subtlety and sense of self-worth of a typhoon.
Sasuke could swallow, and he could sneer, so he could speak. "Itachi may have been manipulated into loyalty, but he'd never have reached out to the likes of you. You should have asked Danzo to fake this gift – he, at least, was in contact with my brother."
Naruto's eyes were full of something that on any other face would look like empathetic insight (on him, it just looked like one of his master's frogs had got ahold of a fuzzy-haired marionette.) "I still don't know why he asked me. Except… well, what I feel for you isn't all that different than what he felt. Except for the whole mortal enemy thing. He wasn't too keen on tearing you to shreds."
The wolf-boy, who Sasuke could have smelled a hundred paces upwind, guffawed. So he, too, decided to like Naruto after the Kyuubi's strength bled through. Typical. Leafling hypocrisy seemed a tragically certain outcome in this fortress of cripplingly small bonsai and gargantuanly encouraged ;usequoys. No real strength here; no real weakness; even a new bloodline like Sakura's demanded the dedication of a princess to prune a scraggly sapling into a monster.
And the only living monster was the monster that served without question or doubt. The only living monster was an Itachi, or a Sasuke protected by an Itachi. Or a Naruto.
A Naruto's mere existence made the arms race moot; made the dreadful experiments of a dead monster - like Orochimaru - no more than flies on an elephant's hide. Who would dare strike against the fortress-retainer of the Nine-Tails? Who would dare treat the Nine-Tails as anything but a hero? The wrath of the Beast had nearly destroyed the fortress not so long ago. What class of Leafling fool would dare treat it with anything but faux friendship?
Only Sasuke's feelings towards Naruto were genuine. Only Sasuke was brave enough to face the truth of Konohan corruption and the horrors it imposed on its children.
"I would take away your burden," he thought, and suddenly he was standing in ankle-deep water before a regal beast and a small human child whose skinny arms twined around Sasuke's midriff.
" I know," the towheaded little boy said, lips moving against Sasuke's flesh; too-loud voice, still teased through with rambunctious notes, reverberating through Sasuke's still-whole chest.
The boy stepped back, eyes clear and crinkled at the corners. "God, I know. We've been trying to do it for each other for years. Sometimes death has seemed like the only way to spare you the pain of… all this. And you've felt the same."
It was somewhat hard to call a five-year-old a pussy, but Sasuke managed to cuss the child out quite nicely nonetheless.
"Itachi's gift…" the boy said, ignoring Sasuke's artfully arranged bouquet of profanity, "it can go both ways. You can choose which gift to pick."
A crow was suddenly perched on Naruto's shoulder. A crow with the most sentient gaze Sasuke had ever seen – no, that wasn't right; he'd met, manipulated, and been manipulated by his fair share of sentient beings.
This crow was more than sentient.
It was achingly familiar.
Naruto faded away. He seemed to think privacy was in order.
Damn straight it is, Sasuke thought.
The crow reappeared, not on Sasuke's shoulder, but on his arm. Without moving its wings, but tilting its head slightly to the left, it brought Sasuke's arm up so that it was eye-to-eye with Sasuke.
Did the crow choose you, Sasuke wondered, or did you choose it? It's the tengu in us, isn't it?
The crow's answer was serious and yet somehow mischievous. Like Itachi always would be, right before leaving bright red marks on Sasuke's five-year-old-forehead. You know that's not why I'm here, brother. You know I can't stay long, no matter what you ask.
"Then maybe I won't ask anything," Sasuke breathed. "Words never did much for us anyway, did they, brother?"
The crow swirled around Sasuke, around the cavernous darkness, around the amber glory of the god in front of them, closer and closer and closer until everything was feathers and curved beaks; bright eyes; the scent of coal and wind, crushed leaves and shuriken polish, clean sweat and a grownup's soft warmth.
You know it's not real, little one, the crow breathed. But maybe… maybe it'll be enough. To help you make a decision that won't destroy you or my legacy.
Surrounded by the old training field, watching his brother's silhouette in perfectly spontaneous throwing-form against golden evening sunlight; a crow-winged man landing star after star on sequoy after sequoy, Sasuke found himself wishing he were stupid enough to trust this marvelous illusion.