AN: The setting is an AU where Naruto successfully drags Sasuke back to Konoha without him ever killing Itachi. Persuaded by Naruto, he settles down and starts a family, but the guilt of not having avenged his clan consumes him, robbing him of much needed closure. On the plus side, this means Itachi is alive and well, which is really all that matters 3
Rewritten from the original from 2007. I may or may not rewrite chapters 2 and 3 as well, let me know what you think!
Chapter 1: Itami
My name is Itami. Uchiha Itami.
I was born to a man with dark hair, dark eyes, and an even darker soul. Looking into his coal black eyes, it was as if your very life was being sucked out of you. A man that commands power and respect. He is known to the ninja world as Uchiha Sasuke.
My mother is a woman with hair the color of the very first cherry blossoms that bloom, as if on command, at the onset of spring. A pastel pink that symbolized the very way she looked at my father - through rose-colored glasses. He could do no wrong in her bright eyes, green as life itself. If the eyes of my father could tear the life out of you, then the eyes of my mother were a ceaseless spring of joy and vivaciousness. A well he could never dry out, no matter how much he took out of them. In that sense, they complemented one another. Him taking with abandon and her giving gratefully.
The tales of my birth that reached my ears are cold and unfeeling. A young mother who bit her lip, fearful of disappointing her husband and a hard-set man frowning down at the newborn babe who bawled in his arms. When he chose my name, I could only imagine the bitterness with which he spat out the word. "Itami." Pain. Was it a curse or a prophecy? Only time would tell.
My father seems to regret the name he chose for me. He winces whenever he hears it. It is possible, however, that it is not the name he hates, but the person denoted with it.
I grew up in that home watching my parents. How my mother catered to my father's every whim and how my father waved off her affections while struggling with ghosts that seemed to live inside of him. Whenever he was alone, they would attack him. His gaze would grow distant, his fists would clench, and the angry set of his mouth would set me lurking back into the shadows. I once happened to catch his notice in such a moment, as I carelessly rushed to retrieve a ball that had slipped out of my grasp. I had newly learned to walk and my small feet pit-patted over the hardwood floor as I stumbled toward the red and white polka-dotted ball. My joy as I finally picked it up was cut short as I felt his gaze on me. His eyebrows drawn together in disdain, the lips turned down in a scowl, and the eyes that could see right through you, dark as death. That was the first time I realized - I was the ghost.
I burst into tears and he rose wordlessly and left the room. Following that incident, I made every endeavor to stay out of his sight and seldom spoke, so as to avoid drawing his attention. I did not question why my father so hated my existence. I took it for granted, as I suppose other children don't question why their parents love them. My parents, in turn, never questioned why I grew taciturn and withdrawn.
I remember an encounter with two elderly women outside of the Yamanaka flower shop. I stood on the sidewalk, watching the passersby as I waited for my mother to finish her business. An elderly woman with a cane and another, perhaps a decade or two younger, came walking down the road. They drew to a sudden stop catching sight of me. "Oh, my…" the elderly woman suddenly said and turned up her nose. "What's the matter, mother?" queried the other woman, who held her hand. "Just look at that!" retorted the elder, leaning on her daughter to point her cane at me. "The spitting image of that wretch, Uchiha Itachi!"
"Mother!" the younger woman admonished, "you shouldn't say such things!"
"Why not?" the aging woman huffed, "It's only the truth. That man was a cold-blooded killer. It's good to be rid of him. That accursed blood only brings chaos to the village."
She narrowed her eyes at me distrustfully, "Unfortunately, it seems, the Uchiha seed is strong."
"Mother, really! You can't go around saying such things!"
I watched the exchange with interest, only vaguely aware that I was the subject of the conversation and the object of that hatred.
"Can't say this! Can't say that! Why shouldn't I say what everyone with a pair of eyes can see?!" the old woman was shouting now.
"Because…" spoke a cool voice behind me. Turning around, I saw my mother approach me, laying a hand on my shoulder. Her figure was intimidating, straight-backed and strong. "The one you speak of is an innocent child." She fixed the elderly lady with a withering glare. "And my daughter."
The two women averted their gazes. "Sakura-san, please forgive us…" the woman's daughter appeased with a smile.
"No generation should bear the burden of the preceding generation." Sakura said coolly. "I'm sure you agree, no?" The pair offered profuse apologies and left the vicinity.
"Geez…"my mother sighed, and sat back on her haunches, taking my hands in hers. "I'm sorry you had to see that Itami-chan. Are you okay?" Concern shone in her emerald eyes, her pastel pink hair framed the soft features of her face. She was otherworldly to me. Her very being was bright and beautiful in such stark contrast to my own, shadow-like existence that I admired her helplessly, hopelessly, as if she were out of reach. As if she weren't my mother.
I nodded quietly. Up until that point I had only ever heard the Uchiha name attached to three people. Uchiha Sasuke. Uchiha Sakura. Uchiha Itami. "Who is Uchiha Itachi?" I asked my mother without missing a beat. Someone that I resembled, whose name sounded like mine, someone I seemed to be related to. I was fascinated with the name from the moment I heard it.
I saw mother's eyes widen as she averted her gaze. "It's been a long day, Itami-chan. I promise we will talk about him another day, okay?" I nodded, not really having any other choice. Mother stroked my hand kindly. "Itami-chan, can you do me a favor?" My mother was the only soul who acknowledged my existence. The only one who spoke to me with kindness. I could never refuse her a favor. "Please, don't mention that name to anyone. Especially not your father."
I was spellbound. How could a name hold so much power that mother seemed terrified of father hearing it? Her concern was ill-founded, why would I voluntarily seek out father's attention or speak to him of my own volition? "Promise me you won't mention it to your father?" Her expectant eyes held my gaze and I spoke as was expected of my four-year-old self, "I promise."
Laying in bed that night, I let the mystery name float through my head. Uchiha Itachi. I let the name roll over my tongue soundlessly for fear someone should hear me. It was so different, captivating. I felt it belonged to me alone. "Uchiha Itachi," I whispered aloud and immediately ducked under my blanket, sure the consequences of speaking the forbidden name were looming over me. I peeked out from under the covers, and seeing nothing but the safety of my own, empty room, I smiled. That name had become my secret treasure. I whispered it once more into my pillow, promising myself to learn more about the only thing I had been likened to, identified by.
Weeks passed. I learned day by day how better to escape father's notice and learned also, that when mother sat by his side on the couch, her head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her, that I could not approach her. She was in enemy territory and beyond my reach. I learned to hold my breath as I passed them and to tuck myself into bed.
It was on one such night that I awoke with a start. The first thing my eyes met was father's black cloak. I saw his hand hovering over my chest and thought, foolishly, that he had come to tuck me in. "Otou-san…" the word died on my lips, the moment I saw his crimson sharingan glowing in the night. Red as blood, severe as death. I could recognize the malicious intent in them, even at that age, and felt the chakra surrounding the hand he held over me. My breath caught in my throat. Terror gripped me with an icy claw. A moment like an eternity passed as those hateful sharingan stared down at me in the darkness of my room. Finally, the chakra dissipated and he withdrew his hand slowly. His red sharingan receded back to black and the room, devoid of the eerie red glow, was shrouded in darkness. Only the sound of my bedroom door opening and then closing revealed that he had left the room. I could not sleep that night. Nor the night after. Night after night I lie awake, staring at my bedroom ceiling, waiting for sleep that would not come. Dark shadows collected under my eyes, but sleep had forsaken me.
Unable to rest, I stole books and scrolls from everywhere in the house I could find them and spent my nights poring over the complex reading material by candlelight. On such nights, I often heard my parents arguing. They only ever argued about me.
My father's voice was low and calm, his words indecipherable, but my mother's agitated tones were loud enough to hear clearly and supplied the half I could not hear. "How could you say such a thing?! She's your daughter!" she cried. "A resemblance is just a resemblance; it doesn't mean anything!"
"Send her away? How could you say that?!" their voices drew nearer, and I knew they were passing by my bedroom on their way to their own. I hastily blew out the candle for fear of being discovered. I heard his deep baritone, close and clear, and realized he stood just outside my bedroom door. "We have to do something about her before it's too late." A shiver ran down my spine and I shut my eyes tightly, praying he would not come inside. Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Itachi… I repeated the name over and over in my head until I heard father's footsteps fade away.
Some people just don't like children, I knew, and assumed my father was one of these people for most of my early childhood. At five years of age, I happened to be alone at home; mother was nowhere to be seen. I sought comfort in an especially large tome I had hauled in from the living room. I was engrossed in the texts describing the chakra pathways and networks when a shadow fell over me. I shuddered involuntarily and turned to see my father standing over me. How had he entered without me noticing? I swallowed, and looked towards the door, wondering if I could run. If I would make it. His sharingan was not activated and his hands were not clenched into fists. He seemed almost amiable, but I was not fool enough to consider myself safe.
"Come," the monosyllabic command was the most he had spoken to me in months, and I dared not disobey. I scrambled to my feet and rushed after him, as he had already turned and was heading out the door. He led me through the village streets, and I followed at a safe distance, always at least three feet behind him. I could feel sweat beading on my forehead, equally as terrified to follow him as I was terrified of the consequences of disobedience. He came to a stop at the entrance of Konohagakure's hospital and looked over his shoulder once to see if I followed. I held my breath as his gaze fell on me, scrutinizing and heavy. He entered the hospital and I followed with haste.
We arrived at a mint-blue door labeled "105 B" with black lettering. He knocked once and then pushed the door open without waiting for a response. To my surprise, I saw my mother sitting on the hospital bed, beaming. I looked her over carefully. She did not seem to be in poor health. "Sasuke-kun!" she smiled broadly at father, who placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. How mother did not recoil at the touch was beyond my comprehension. She then turned her gaze to me, "Itami-chan," she smiled, "come here." I saw them standing there, together, and struggled to obey. Father's gaze narrowed at me, irritated by my hesitation. I willed my feet to move towards the mother who seemed to love me. She would surely protect me, no? I crossed towards her but remained standing at the foot of the bed, more than an arm's length away from him. I saw that mother held a bundle close to her chest and realization dawned on me.
"Maternity ward," the nurse who showed us the way had said. I knew what that word meant. There was a baby. "Come closer, honey, have a look at your brother," mother encouraged me. "There is nothing to fear but fear itself," had been written in a book I once read. I took courage from those words and approached my mother, turning my back towards my father, my skin prickling with alarm as I did so. "Ichiro," mother crooned, "your sister is here." Peering into the bundle she held, I saw my brother. He had uneven patches of hair on his scalp, and his face was wrinkled into a perpetual frown. He did not open his eyes. He was ugly, but all newborns are, I suppose.
"He will not like me." The words were out before I could stop them. Mother was taken aback. "Of course, he will, Itami, you are his sister!" But I shook my head resolutely. Was it the resemblance to my father or an otherworldly instinct that made me so certain? I did not know. I sensed, however, that I had made both of my parents immensely uncomfortable. I felt, even without seeing, that father scowled down at me. In an attempt to salvage the situation, I patted his head. "but that's okay. That's how siblings are." Mother smiled, but father's frown only deepened. I saw his hand tighten on mother's shoulder and as if on command, Ichiro broke into a cry. My parents immediately turned their attention to the babe, mother clucking comfortingly and father stroking his head gently with a genuine smile on his face. It was a picture-perfect moment that I was seeing for the very first time. Mother, father, and child – all smiles and warm embraces. Proud and pleased. Their world had grown too small for me.
I retreated to a corner of the waiting room and watched the villagers bustling about from the window. On either side of the glass, I was a stranger. I sneaked another glance at my parents and saw that my father was now seated on the hospital bed by my mother, holding Ichiro in one arm and holding her hand with the other. He did not dislike children, I realized. His hatred was reserved for me specifically. Not because of my age but because of something inherent in my being. I was the child he neither needed nor wanted. I was not his heir. I was not a boy. Such a simple thing, really.
Fear takes root in mystery, in the unknown. The mystery cleared away like clouds on a summer's day as I understood for the first time, my place in their world. It was a paradigm shift that made fear give way to detachment. I watched them wordlessly from the shadows until it was time to return home.
Mother's attention belonged solely to the infant. If I wanted to speak to her, I held back, knowing she had to tend to his needs. On the rare occasions I approached her anyway, I was sent back by the look of disapproval that father would cast my way. Don't be selfish, his eyes seemed to say, the baby comes first. I took advantage of the new dynamic and left the house unsupervised at every opportunity. I would frequent the library and watch the ninja academy from afar.
On one such day, as I saw the young children that seemed to be my age filing out, I was surprised to hear someone call my name. "Itami-chan…" I looked up with a start and saw a blond man with brilliant blue eyes, smiling kindly at me. His white cloak was embroidered with flames and I knew instinctively who he was. "Hokage-sama…" What did he want with me? "How do you know my name?" I was sure I had not met him before.
"I am the Hokage," he said with a bright grin, "all the children of the village are like my own children to me, so, of course I have to know their names!" I bit my lip as I considered this unlikely statement. I pointed towards a brown-haired boy leaving the academy. "What's his name?" I asked, unconvinced. He broke into a laugh. "Nee, Itami-chan, you're a tough customer!" He stepped beside me and we watched the children filing out together. They walked in pairs or groups of three, laughing and talking amiably as they headed off to their respective homes. "Looks like they're having fun, eh?" he asked me with that same dazzling smile. "Hn." I answered vaguely. What did it mean to be happy? Being safe was the most a person could ask for, wasn't it?
"Most children your age are enrolled sooner or later. What do you say? Do you want to join the academy?" he asked me gently. I looked up at him in surprise. My gaze torn between the last of the stragglers leaving the academy and the Hokage. "I… don't think I can." I answered finally. His expression fell ever so slightly, disappointed. He sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Itami-chan, this is no way to have a conversation. I'm absolutely starving, eat with me?" A question like that, when posed by the Hokage, was no question at all. I nodded mutely, and we walked through the village streets toward Ichiraku Ramen, a place I had heard mentioned often between my parents, although I had never been there. The seventh Hokage was like a shining sun and I trailed behind him like a shadow. Everyone who saw him greeted him cheerfully and had something to say to him. He, in turn, had time for everyone and greeted them just as warmly. When we finally arrived, he ordered two bowls of Miso ramen and we ate companionably.
"Itami-chan," he was saying around a full mouth, "I'm actually pretty good friends with your parents." I could not remember hearing my parents talk about the Hokage, but another name was mentioned often in conversation. "Is your name Naruto?" I asked tentatively. He grinned, "in the flesh!" I nodded, he did seem to be a friend of my parents, then. He took out a manila envelope and slid it across the table towards me. I looked up at him in surprise. "Everyone who wants to become a ninja should be able to go to the Academy, Itami-chan." I looked down on the envelope and saw the seal of the Academy in the upper left corner. "Give this to Sakura-chan, and if your parents give you any trouble, come straight to me, okay?" He winked at me. I was not entirely comfortable with how affectionate he was being. It felt foreign. I merely nodded. The waitress cleared away the empty bowls. "Ahh, that was delicious!" the Hokage exclaimed, getting to his feet. I followed suit. The sun was setting slowly and though I doubted my absence would be noticed, I did not want to take any chances.
"If you ever have any problems, my door is always open for you." He looked at me now, seriously, as we prepared to leave Ichiraku's in opposite directions. "Don't be afraid." His sky-blue eyes were reliable and comforting, so honest that they were unsettling. I nodded once more. I paused and considered asking him about Uchiha Itachi but remembered my promise to my mother and thought better of it. "Ja-ne!" he waved in parting and I wordlessly raised my hand as well, bidding farewell to the kind stranger.
It was only a few months later that I wanted to make good on his offer and stood by the gates of the Hokage tower, hoping for his help, friend of my parents and father of the village, when I was turned away by the guards. The seventh Hokage was dead.
My enrollment in the Academy was uneventful. Father's lips were set in a grim line of disapproval as mother filled out the paperwork, but he said nothing. That was when my life truly began. I learned many things in my time at the academy. I learned that my peers were anything but my peers. Initially, the children in my age group sought to partner me in sparring, to teach me a lesson, as they said. Not one of them, however, was willing to spar with me twice. In combat training, I was always paired with the teacher instead. The written lessons themselves seemed elementary in comparison to my nightly studies and so, I passed every test at the head of the class. At a loss, the teachers unanimously agreed to have me graduate with the class of that year, mere months after my initial enrollment.
The most valuable knowledge that I took with me from the academy, however, was the knowledge of Uchiha Itachi's identity. I did not need to ask about him. The children served as mouthpieces for their parents, and I learned the things I had always wanted to know. Uchiha Itachi was my father's older brother. He was a mass murderer who brutally slaughtered his own clan, sparing none but my father. He was renowned for his battle prowess and his cunning. I was the spitting image of him. Their parents felt uncomfortable looking at me, the resemblance was so uncanny. My father had sworn to kill him and had left the village to do just that before the seventh Hokage dragged him back. My uncle was a criminal, my father was a criminal. I was the spawn of a family of criminals and evil that would undoubtedly wreak havoc wherever I went. Clearly, the imaginations of their parents were running wild.
I returned home, disappointed and disillusioned that the man I had spent the last years idolizing was a hardened criminal. I was ashamed of myself. My detachment apparently hid a killing intent. I was capable of terrible things. I was a monster. Like him. That was why I felt no alarm seeing the wounds of others, or my own. I knew no empathy. I, too, was a hardened criminal at heart. I must be.
I pored over every text I could get my hands on that had any mention of him, desperate to learn more about who he was, and in turn, about who I was. Most of what I read, however, agreed with what I had been told. Itachi was a cold-blooded killer… and I was no better.
One night, I slept despite myself, and dreamed fitfully. I was flanked by my parents, pushed into a corner of the room. They were hiding me from something, or someone. "Go away!" My mother cried, "She's nothing like you!" I tried to see past them, her words convincing me that the man who stood beyond must have been none other than Uchiha Itachi. The one the world compared me to. "You are right," he said at length, his eyes meeting mine from where I peeked out between my parents, "perhaps, she is not." He turned to leave, and I stretched out my hand, desperate to reach him, desperate for him to stay another moment.
I awoke to the rays of moonlight shining down on me. I scanned the room for my father's presence, but he was nowhere to be seen. I let out a low breath. Itachi. Why did the world get to judge? Why did people get to decide the worth of others? Why was Itachi a monster simply because society dubbed him one? I decided then that I would not seek out Itachi to find myself, but I would look inside myself to find out who Itachi was. I resembled him, in appearance and personality. That was why my father hated me. So, what better way to understand him, than to understand myself? I continued my studies with this scale in mind. What was not true of me, could not be true of Itachi.
The years went by and my fixation with Itachi never wavered as I grew both in strength and intellect. In appearance, I knew that I mirrored the notorious Uchiha. It was something I saw every morning in the mirror, that neither my eyes, nor the planes of my face resembled either of my parents. My father's increasing discomfort in my presence confirmed just who my countenance reflected. The whispers of the villagers underlining just how strong that resemblance was.
The new Hokage saw no reason to keep talented Shinobi under rank, merely because they were underage. In his eyes, the brutal realities of battle were a lesson the shinobi of Konohagakure should face sooner, rather than later. I climbed the ranks one after the other, picking up skills from my comrades and my foes as well. At the age of 12, I was promoted to ANBU and at 15 I was promoted to the rank of ANBU commander. Nearly in line with my uncle's accomplishments, but not quite.
Missions, teammates, rankings… I regarded them all with aloof detachment while fixated on a single goal. Understand Uchiha Itachi. Even at my age, the name provided, without fail, a sensation of relief. As I walked through the deserted streets of the Uchiha compound, in the echoes of an emptiness that was Itachi's abiding legacy, his mystery beckoned to me. I stood still, a moment caught in time, and turned, taking in the boarded windows and the overgrown gardens. Abandoned marketplaces and faded symbols of the once proud Uchiha clan. They had all been killed, I knew, and Itachi had killed them all, was what the world reported. I did not trust the reports of the world.
That was how my father found me, in ANBU gear, the wind blowing my raven hair away from my narrow, angled face, standing still in the abandoned road, my eyes coldly taking in the lifeless buildings around me. He paled, only this time, I knew why his features contorted in furious disgust. "What are you doing?" he growled. I did not answer, regarding him with derisive detachment. To think the man I had grown up fearing was this, a pale-faced, stricken coward shaking in turn with anger and terror, unable to differentiate between his nightmares and the reality in front of him. "Nothing." The one-word answer, spoken stoically, would do little to appease his anger, I knew, but there were other concerns on my mind. Uchiha Sasuke had become part of the surrounding world that I had learned to ignore. His existence was inconsequential in the face of my greater goal. To me, he had become nothing but white noise, meaningless.
AN: I've done it! I've finally, officially, rewritten this chapter! :D
Rewriting is somehow much harder than just writing, for some reason, but I'm really pleased with the result! For those of you new to the story, it was originally written in 2007 back when no one could have known that Itachi was one of the good guys, but I was secretly holding out hope.
As I was 14 when I first wrote the story, I really felt a rewrite was overdue. I hope you like the new version, which provides much more backstory into Itami's childhood and how she came to be the way that she is.
As always, please read and review! Especially if you still have the first version in mind, I would love to hear what you think of the changes!