The Art of Being Used

DISCLAIMER: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended and no funds have been acquired for this work. This is an adult themed story and may contain some of the following: violence, swearing, and strong sexual, and/or adult situations.

SUMMARY: Kabuto Yakushi was comfortable being used. However, what's a spy to do when he finds himself longing to be more than a tool to Orochimaru: a master he knows he must betray?

Chapter 11: Introspection

Kabuto roused himself. His body was numb and his room smelled sickening sweet. Moving lethargic limbs he forced one foot in front of the other. He went about his duties, making sure that nothing of importance was left behind. He tried to keep his mind blank but his nightmare crept up; visions of red spurting out from severed limbs and the shocked faces of the fallen as their blood was spilled by a mere child.

Shaken, Kabuto dropped to his knees and curled up. He hadn't experienced the nightmare while he was awake since his academy days. In, out. Breathe. In, out. It's only a dream. Kabuto repeated the mantra over and over again, unaware he was rocking himself. The rocking slowly stopped and Kabuto was left only with his shame. When had he ever been so weak? Kabuto never let his fear rule him. He used fear but it was not an emotion that controlled him and he would not let it now. Kabuto fought for control against the debilitating emotion and stood back up. He was not weak and he would not allow his memories or lack thereof dominate him. He was better than that, stronger than that.

He made his way along the empty corridors down to the dungeons, the little bit of candlelight flickering, creating monsters out of shadows. Face your fear, use it, leash it, harness it, but never let it rule you. It was a lesson learned the hard way. From his academy days, from his harsh tutelage under Sasori, from his training with Orochimaru-sama, even from his former adopted father in Leaf

Kabuto entered the room Orochimaru had kept him in. It was bare, save for the mangled ruins of a metallic chair, broken chakra chains, and a single wooden table attached to a rack. It smelled old, musty, and the sweet sour stench of dried blood and vomit filled his nostrils.

Kabuto circled the table, running his hands over it. It was here that Orochimaru had forced Kabuto's memories into waking consciousness. A small smile tugged at him. It was here that he truly saw Kasa's face clearly, heard her voice, and actually felt her presence again, instead of a faint whisper in the back of his mind. He had even managed to catch a glimpse of his mother.

He would cross the wastelands of the dead to see such things again. Not only for the sake of regaining his memory but because his very life depended on it. Orochimaru-sama was correct. Kabuto was a threat, and it was only logical to get rid of a threat if it could not be controlled.

Those weren't the only reasons, of course. Perhaps the strongest desire for remembering was if he did, perhaps he could find some way of breaking free of the binding. True freedom. The chance to choose whatever he wanted, without having to worry about anyone else. To be in charge of his own fate again, without having to worry whether someone or something would suddenly snatch it away with mocking laughter.

For those reasons Yakushi Kabuto sat cross-legged on the old table and meditated. When his body was calm and his emotions at peace he looked inward. He stood before a looming door and knew there was no going back. It was here that Kabuto's fate would be decided and the young medical ninja would find out just what he was made of. He pushed against the doors and with a loud whining creak they inched slowly open.

"'buto!"

A happy baby fat toddler pulled on silver hair and a little boy fell backwards. Tears welled up in dark eyes.

"Mama, mama," he cried and ran as fast as his short legs could carry him. He wrapped chubby arms around his mother, begging to be picked up. He was lifted by strong arms and soothed by gentle touches.

"It's alright baby. See," his mother crooned softly, petting his silver hair. "All better my Kabuto."

"No 'air! Why 're you holding, 'buto and no' me! Up," little Kasa demanded and Kabuto stuck his tongue out at his sister churlishly.

"Now, now. You two behave yourselves," their mother admonished. She leaned down and gathered Kasa into her arms as well.

"You both share a special connection with each other and that connection is very precious. You shouldn't be fighting each other. Kabuto is younger than you Kasa. You have to watch out for him. And Kasa is sometimes a little too headstrong. You have to make sure she doesn't do something she shouldn't Kabuto. Because...," their mother's voice hitched a little and she hugged the twins fiercely. "Because, I may not always be here and you two have to watch out for each other, okay?"

The twins nodded solemnly and quickly teamed up on their mother to find her tickle spot. It had been a warm and lazy afternoon.

In the real world Kabuto's face was soft. He could see his beautiful mother! Her gentle voice, her strong arms, and soothing hands. Her short spiky silver hair and wide smile. Her raucous laughter when her family ganged up on her in play. Her fierceness when protecting them.

He could remember Kasa and actually felt their connection as if it were a live wire instead of the faint lurking sensation it had always been. He brushed against it. Her heartbeat, strong and sure. Her emotions poured into him and he felt her surprise at his sudden presence and her joy. She linked back for the briefest moments.

He couldn't sustain the link. He needed more. Concentrating, he pushed the heavy door open a little bit further, the hinges rusty from disuse. Not enough, it wasn't enough! He backed up a few steps and really pushed, his muscles straining and the door slowly gave way. His face contorted as the memories came rushing up at him from the darkness of his own mind and he fell into them.

Sasuke shook. The pain was intense, even worse than when Orochimaru first placed the curse seal on him. He tried to hold back the grunts and whimpers of pain and finally managed to roll onto his back. He opened his eyes slowly and stared up at the cloudless sky.

It was so clear and bright. His gaze wandered hazily over his surroundings. It was so quiet here. Scenic. It was wrong. This place should be as dark and evil as the man who ruled it. His bruised hands fisted by his sides.

Tears leaked out and he brushed them away angrily. He hadn't cried since that day and he never would again. Weak, he was so weak. The snake had tossed him about like a rag doll. Not even the Sharingan had been of much use to him. Some genius he was. He hadn't been able to think clearly once it became obvious that his life was in serious danger. He had always assumed that Orochimaru wanted him alive, that he wouldn't do anything that would jeopardize his vessel.

Sasuke tried to stand but his legs simply wouldn't hold him. He was going to have to crawl his way to the infirmary on his belly. Humiliated, Sasuke let his anger feed him. Anger at his family for dying and leaving him all alone, his anger at Itachi for leaving him alive, his anger at the snake for showing him just how weak he still was, but most of all his anger at himself.

Inch by inch he crawled forward fueled by hate alone.

Orochimaru stood by himself in the empty lair. He knew Sasuke was probably still somewhere in the training field nursing his broken pride. It would have been nice if Sasuke willingly handed over his body and after their little conversation in the kitchen it had seemed like it. Sending him out on that mission hadn't exactly encouraged loyalty and submission to him. But, it had proved that Sasuke was willing to go any length to achieve his revenge against Itachi.

While the curse seal did bestow incredible power, such power was useless unless wielded properly. Sasuke had potential, more so than Itachi, but he never really tapped into it. He didn't train hard enough. He skirted by on his bloodline limit and his natural talent. It was the curse of being gifted. When everything came so easily you didn't push yourself, you didn't test the limits and force your way past them.

Orochimaru once had the same problem. Ironically enough, it was Jiraiya who had enlightened him. Jiraiya had lain in the dirt after exerting himself trying to learn how to control his chakra and raised angry eyes at his two teammates. Tsunade had laughed at him as usual, gloating over the fact that she had near perfect control over her own chakra. Orochimaru had looked on his comrades with irritation. Those two were always going on about something. He turned to leave and had only gotten a few steps before the Jiraiya's words stopped him.

"Oy! Keep laughing Tsunade! You'll see though. I'm going to have better control than you and Orochimaru! Because I don't stop training! I'm going to keep practicing until I perfect it and then I'll train some more and that's why I'm going to beat you! Because you two don't realize that there is always room for improvement!"

Orochimaru had left soon after, not bothering to listen to the two arguing, pondering Jiraiya's words. Most of the time the silver haired boy was an utter imbecile but there were times when he showed surprising insight. After some deep thought Orochimaru came to the conclusion that his teammate was right. From that day on he pushed himself harder, exhausting himself alongside Jiraiya. Tsunade, not one to be left out, soon followed their example and from those long tiring days formed the beginnings of the Legendary Sannin.

Hopefully, after his beating today, Sasuke would drop the attitude and seriously devote himself training. Natural talent would only take him so far. Power, the kind of power Sasuke so desperately wanted, wasn't free and didn't come easy or overnight. It was earned in sweat, pain, and blood. Itachi was the perfect example. Oh, he had been gifted alright. But, what had propelled him above his peers was his endless devotion to practicing his craft, the never ending training he engaged in.

It occurred to Orochimaru that training Sasuke like this wasn't the wisest of ideas. There was a good possibility that Sasuke could one day take him on. He could always train the body once he was in possession of it, but Orochimaru preferred having his bodies already trained to handle the massive amounts of jutsu and chakra he possessed. If he were to be perfectly honest, he wanted to test himself against the boy. It struck him with a morbid fascination that he might actually die in battle against the younger Uchiha if Sasuke lived up to his expectations.

The middle aged man chuckled softly. He flexed his left hand, feeling the ghost pains of losing his original one. He hadn't even seen Itachi move. Of course, he had been preoccupied at the time with trying to take over the younger nin's body. After it became obvious that Itachi's will was just too strong, he had shifted his focus to keeping his remaining body parts. It had been an interesting battle. One that required a retreat on his part. It had been a humbling experience. He had been touted as the genius of the Sannin for so long he had lost sight of the fact that there was always someone stronger.

Flexing his hand again, Orochimaru pulled his thoughts from the past. Jiraiya had been right, there was always room for improvement, and there was no reason he couldn't better his own abilities along with training the younger Uchiha. He would prefer not to die when the time came to take over Sasuke's body.

He wandered down the bare halls and tapped a scroll against his hand. Training Sasuke was not his only priority right now. He had a hidden village to run and a war to plan. Akatsuki was not going to like it but that was a risk he was going to have to take. Should everything pan out the way he expected he would finally have his turning windmill.

He moved down corridors and peered into silent rooms unconsciously seeking out his right hand man. The situation with Kabuto couldn't have come at a worst time. Orochimaru expanded his reach and combed through the empty lair. A threat or not, Kabuto was intricately involved in his plans and he needed the medic. Orochimaru rubbed his chest absently. He really shouldn't have slept with Kabuto.