Little Rabbit knows what it feels like to be alone. When the warren is too full and there's no room left for him, Little Rabbit runs back to find the snake. But the log where the snake lives is empty, and the snake is nowhere to be found.

"Snake," cries lonely Little Rabbit. "Where have you gone? My warren is full and I have no one to sleep with."

No matter how hard he tries, Little Rabbit can't find him anywhere. The night is long and empty.

His sleep is broken and haunted for days, the subconscious part of him concocting a slew of gruesome fantasies that pervade and pervert his dreams. His mind's incorrigible obsession with tormenting him, while unsurprising, is as deceptively pernicious now as it was during childhood. The helplessness, the blood-curdling panic, the sudden awakening only to be met with a black, soundless room so unlike the vivid terror witnessed moments before; if Sasuke had to choose one of the innumerable ways his body wages war against him to hate most, it would be the nightmares. They're sharpened by the unrepentant whetstone of memory and more violent than any jutsu that has ever assaulted him. Lately they are, at the very least, formularized, and Sasuke can prepare himself appropriately—as much as his godforsaken body allows—before tucking himself into the cist that is his bed. It matters little in the grand scheme of things. Whether he lies awake dreading sleep or plunges fearlessly into it, the horrors remain the same. Sasuke learned that a long time ago: There isn't much to do about suffering other than to suffer it.

When he sleeps he sees a hole in the ground filled with newborn rabbits so starved their stomachs bloat out, squeaking and sniffing, eyes having yet to open. Sasuke feels his knees hit the grass before he leans over the hole. He can smell them and they can smell him; he's so close, his face looming mere inches away. At the back of his head, Sasuke feels his headband come undone. Sakura stares up at him from the bottom of the hole and her tears make Sasuke vomit. The bunnies shriek as hot bile washes over them, tiny mouths blindly gaping to devour his puke before the hole is flooded and all Sasuke can see are little bubbles popping on the surface. He lifts his hands to hide his face but his eyes are on the sides of his head and Sasuke can see both up and down the alleyway at the same time. The sky is red but the bodies are white and his feet are so long there's no way he can escape without stepping on them, without hurting them, without disrespecting their corpses just for him to escape the horrible things he's done—

Then he awakens and the room is dark and his eyes are back where they should be.

As a child he prayed for the gods to take his nightmares away, but every night they continued and each morning he arose discouraged. There were many days spent fearing Itachi had spoken with them first, terrified his weakness had been exposed before he could do anything to stop it. He began praying an hour before their parents had, dropping to his knees in the middle of the training field he haunted, hoping to intercept whatever messages Itachi was sending. Give me the power to kill my brother. I'll do anything. I'll never ask for anything ever again. He was only ever met with silence. The longer his devotion went unnoticed the more frantic he became. He tried everything: praying louder, praying harder, praying over the bloodstain where his mother and father died to show just how sorry he was—sorry for being powerless and hopeless and unworthy. I'll do anything you want. Nothing ever came of it. Sometimes he'd lie down inside their outline and sleep there. Other times he felt undeserving. On those nights, Sasuke walked home with chalk smeared across his forehead and nose; proof of his repentance, he pretended it was ash. Eventually the outline of their bodies completely vanished, lost down the drain in his bathroom or carried away on the pelt of some stray cat. When he realized it was gone, Sasuke had wept.

Please forgive me, he'd whispered beneath his bedsheets, too ashamed to be seen but so desperate to be heard, face pressed against his mattress in a bow. Even if the gods were angry with him, maybe his parents weren't. I'm so sorry.

The longer the nightmares continued the more Sasuke came to believe that was exactly what had happened: The gods, his clan, they had forsaken him. Itachi had robbed him a second time.

He stopped praying a long time ago. Sasuke does his best to forget the last time he did.

Beyond the tribulations of sleep, his forbearance is worn thinner by Orochimaru's obvious desertion. Even Kabuto—the cockroach that he is—makes himself scarce the moment Sasuke is stabilized, gunmetal eyes darting in his skull whenever they cross paths, mouth twitching in such a peculiar way Sasuke can't fathom what he's restraining. When Sasuke is lucky enough to run across Kabuto he mercilessly dogs him, stalks him all over the base with furious, glowing eyes.

"Where is he," he hisses under his breath each time. There's never an answer. Sasuke hounds him whether or not he complies, lurking outside his bedroom door for sporadic spans of time with the intent to strongarm Kabuto into acknowledging him. It never happens. Sasuke's refusal to step foot on the second floor is exploited the instant it's realized.

They avoid him as if he is a menace, an intruder, as if he is some hapless, meddlesome creature too cumbersome to remove whose existence rouses contempt and is thereby begrudgingly ignored. Orochimaru is nowhere to be found. Punishing me, Sasuke thinks. This is punishment. It's the only explanation for such nonsense: restricting his access like some elusive sage, expecting Sasuke to waste hours in desperate search of him—as though Orochimaru regards himself as one of the many dispassionate gods he cried and begged and slaved for as a child. The mere thought cleaves Sasuke's dignity asunder.

His hatred has long since carried one name, but from now on it will carry two.

Sasuke unleashes his vengeance down in the cave; he sears his mouth with streams of fire, breathes hell up the countless flowstones, pounds chidori after chidori into the limestone staircase and imagines the look of rage Orochimaru will wear once the devastation is finally revealed. When his curse mark throbs and his ears bleed, Sasuke spears himself with the steroid shots Kabuto gave him, migrating all over his body—anywhere he can slam the needle in is good enough. They make him vomit and it reminds him of his dreams. Enraptured by the feverish longing to destroy what he knows Orochimaru holds dear, to destroy the abhorrent staircase that has clouded his mind since first seeing it, the resulting pain is a paltry price. Utilizing his body's limitations as distractions from his thoughts is second-nature to him at this point. So is the flood of untempered wrath that so often consumes his insides to which he relinquishes his control. With smoking nostrils and swollen lips, left arm stiff as death, Sasuke retreats back to his room when the anger is sufficiently bled out of him and the hatred turns inward again. He falls asleep and he dreams.

On the sixth day, when the limestone staircase is nothing but a ravaged monument of rubble to his resentment and the cave itself scorched black, Sasuke leaves the bunker.

"He left," says Kabuto, crouched on the floor with his head bowed. Eyes trained on his feet, he hears Orochimaru sniggering to himself. Not exactly what he'd anticipated. Fine. Kabuto purses his lips and braces against the burgeoning dread solidifying at the back of his esophagus. Hard to breathe with it. Hard to breathe with Orochimaru, too. "My Lord," he adds before falling silent. Every second of peace before the tides change must be cherished. Pause for approval.

"Go on, Kabuto."

Approval received. Fingers tenderly comb through his hair. Familiar, but sudden. It manages to startle him. Kabuto opens his eyes but can't remember closing them. He doesn't lift his head, assuming the position of 'skittish underling'—the one Orochimaru likes best. Besides the groveling one. While mainly fabricated, the entirety of his being, the fear is very real. Balling his hands into fists, Kabuto attempts to swallow it down. It proves difficult. The stench of vulnerability is the most pungent, he knows. The hand in his hair moves to cup his face and Kabuto realizes he's sweating. Orochimaru can smell it.

"The altar—"

"My altar?" Orochimaru cuts in with an offensive purr. The resonance of his voice raises the hair on Kabuto's arms. Asinine mistake. Swallow it down.

"Yes," says Kabuto. His heart's palpitations drum against his inner ears. "He destroyed it."

Orochimaru is quiet, thumb brushing back and forth over Kabuto's cheekbone. He's either processing the information or he knows something he doesn't. Neither is preferred. Combined would be worse.

"Howev—"

"Whatever placating sentiment you're about to offer me is unnecessary, Kabuto."

Combined is worse. Slowly he raises his head, mouth smearing into a timid grimace. Orochimaru continues caressing his face. Employing the lavender around his eyes, Kabuto gauges his expression. The sannin is suspiciously at ease. Approving.

"When did you find out?" Kabuto asks.

"Just now," says Orochimaru. "When you told me."

He tries not to furrow his brow in confusion. Orochimaru might take it as disbelief, and he's spent years crafting a reputation around the lie that he is honest. It's one of his easier fantasies to abide by; it's impossible to forget with how little he tells the truth. Kabuto draws in a silent inhale as Orochimaru leans in. He smells cucumbers. And musk.

"He's a silly thing, isn't he?" Orochimaru muses. "It was going to be lost one way or another. Sasuke's welcome to destroy the rest of the base. Let him do the work for us. Besides, I know he's upset. I can hear him dreaming about me." The last statement is a lascivious croon. It drives a nail into the back of Kabuto's neck. His expression remains the same. Heard it before. Heard worse before. Orochimaru sighs and Kabuto feels cold air ghost over his upper lip. "Isn't he, Kabuto?"

"I'm certain."

Eyes gleaming, Orochimaru smiles. "You've spent more time with him than I have." Kabuto blinks at his unintentional admission. Or Intentional. Not like anyone's going to call him out on it. He would never. "What's Sasuke like? To you, personally."

Kabuto widens his eyes with manufactured interest. "As in?" Now manufacture time to theorize what particular sort of answer he's probing for. The hand on Kabuto's cheek crests back into his hair and begins petting him.

"As in anything." Orochimaru playfully shrugs his shoulders, the sharp movement jangling his earrings. His coyish front is his least convincing. "I know you've gotten him to warm up to you—a skill you possess that I'll always admire."

Kabuto slips the mask off a second to quirk his brow. Sasuke interacts with him much the same as a rabid cat; the only thing warm is the foam around his mouth. He forgot his answer.

Orochimaru interprets his confusion appropriately. "Oh, Kabuto. Please. Am I the only one seeing it?"

Very likely. Don't say it. Not with his teeth mere centimeters away. Kabuto knows better. The lesson is timeless. Orochimaru clasps his hands together, tilting his head back and pretending to be lost in his thoughts. He only ever has one. It's what makes him dangerous. Kabuto's ankles ache from crouching so long and he relaxes the tendons with chakra.

"Sasuke is a creature of habit," says Orochimaru, steepling his fingers beneath his bottom lip, looking absolutely thrilled to enlighten him. Kabuto adapts with an expression of submissive curiosity. "He's also a product of the Leaf, and the Leaf excels in fostering dependency in its shinobi. It's what made our job all the more easy."

Kabuto's neck hurt for weeks after smashing through that window and no amount of chakra had helped. Easy, it was not.

Orochimaru tilts his head and glances to the side. "Of course, I have Itachi to thank for that as well. I'll have to commend him whenever he decides to show up. Anyhow—" He snaps his eyes back to Kabuto's. "Sasuke is still young. The Leaf's teachings are fresh. He's groomed for manipulation and his insecurities are easily weaponized." Slitted pupils feverishly dilate. "Completely isolated. Naruto is gone. His brother is a sham."

He spits the word out as if related himself. Not surprising. He surely imagines such. Eventually, it'll be reality.

Reaching out, Orochimaru takes Kabuto's face in both hands. "No Kakashi around to compel him otherwise." Cold thumbs press into the thin-skinned shoals beneath Kabuto's eyes, dragging his lower lids down. He doesn't recoil when Orochimaru's upper lip grazes his. He knows better. Orochimaru only lusts for one thing—and it isn't him. It isn't any person. "But you, Kabuto. You're right here."

An elaborate explanation for an irrational proposal. Could be worse. He's heard worse.

"My Lord," Kabuto breathes against the sannin's mouth, "I need more time with him."

"Already arranged, coincidentally."

"I understand." Take a moment. Word it right. Kabuto attempts to blink but Orochimaru's thumbs make it impossible. The sannin blows out a huff of amusement. His eyes are burning. "I can work him into a better position than he is now."

"Hm." Expression flat, Orochimaru leans back and roughly scrubs his thumbs upward, forcibly closing Kabuto's eyes and jostling his glasses. His lashes clump, corneas shrieking. Don't try to fight it. "This requires your obedience, not your confidence. I'll make it impossible for him to lean any other way."

Kabuto holds his breath and waits for his sight to be returned. The weight of Orochimaru's hair spills down the front of his chest. His mouth is near his ear. Smells like cucumbers. And musk.

"Do you trust me, Kabuto?"

Absolutely not.

"Of course."

His watery eyes are peeled open.

"Good. Follow him."

The shop reeks of decomposition. The odor hit him ages ago and he's been in limbo since, his world having shrunk down until the only thing left was the cracked ceiling light directly overhead, the only thing he feels capable of looking at right now. There's no noise beyond the fast, trilling music coming from the shop outside and a strange droning. Sasuke wonders if it's the same song from before but attempting to remember only threatens his composure. He sees his reflection staring back at him in the ceiling light. His face stretches over the dome's curve, paleness tinted dark like the glass. He looks silly. There's something else; Sasuke can see what it is but he can't comprehend it. Every time he takes in the shape his memory folds over and he has to look again. It's like nothing he's seen before but he knows what it is, and he knows it's next to him—very close to him. It's right at his feet. If he looks down he'll see it. If he breathes in he'll smell it. When he swallows he can taste it in his spit, sweet and sour and oily.

I will have no cowards in this family.

Fisting both hands into the back of his hair, the crack of his neck is the last thing he hears before his chin hits his chest and the world goes silent. His vision bleaches at the rims. Sasuke opens his sharingan and sucks in sharp through his nose, face stretching wide like his reflection. He keeps his hands knotted in his hair, grabs himself by the scruff of his neck to restrain his head. This punishment will be delivered himself.

There's a dead woman at his feet. She's crushed inside the collapsed pantry and the shelves are squishing her. She has her arms stuck above her head. Sasuke feels his stomach drop into his heels as sweat beads his forehead. The fear swallows him up and leaves him shaking; he's fisting his hair so hard he can hear the muscles strain. The stillness of it all, the way her mouth hangs agape and her eyes are open—every organ inside his body is trembling. He makes a warbling noise inside his sealed mouth as he exhales through his nose, commanding himself to breathe, to smell it.

I will have no cowards in this family.

Sasuke fists his hair tighter, strains his eyes harder, feels his sharingan spinning and memorizing every detail, details he'll never forget. There are flies all over her, coalescing where her legs meet her peaking hip bones—just like that cow—so densely all Sasuke can see is a blanket of twitching black. She looks as if she's pregnant but he can tell it's just her insides being forced down. Her stomach is so profoundly distended—like the baby rabbits—

Sasuke snaps forward at the waist with a rasping gag and screws his eyes shut, too overwhelmed with nausea to cognize how much closer to her he suddenly is. There's nothing left to vomit so his body retches itself, the soft parts of his throat heaving and straining upward. It's the crack in the floodgate; his world abruptly expands. He hears everything all at once: distant music, buzzing flies, his chakra coils compressing around something hot—around someone else's chakra. Sasuke's eyes grow wide. All the flies drop dead.

"Get away from her."

His right hand is at his sword but his fingers refuse to close, spasming before going rigid. Attempting to shift backward ends up locking his knee out straight. He stares at it, dumbfounded. Chidori? In the midst of his shock he sees a woman appear on his right—an alive one. Sasuke immediately recognizes cloudy, blue eyes; his sharingan remembers her vividly. She's about to stab him. Her arm is lifting in slow motion. Measuring the gaps between his muscle's convulsions, Sasuke tears his left hand from his hair to snag her wrist, the narrow tip of a dagger hovering at his temple. A look of brittle confusion flashes across the woman's face. Feet between the legs of the corpse, black hair floating with static, she glowers at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes. Sasuke blinks. Crying? The rush of violence coursing through him is immediately traded for shame.

"I didn't—" I didn't mean to. The words sputter out so fast Sasuke doesn't have the chance to catch himself, sharingan flickering out. The buzzing in his teeth subsides and leaves the roof of his mouth itching. The woman's hair falls flat and she lets out a stifled sniffle. Tightening his grip around her wrist, Sasuke straightens his back and squares his still-trembling shoulders, a swell of undeserved confidence arresting him upon realizing he is taller than her. There's little resistance given as he pries her dagger away, the shape of which is like nothing he's seen before; the blade looks more like a snake. "I'm not here to fight." His curse mark burns at the sentiment despite Sasuke knowing it's his imagination.

The woman roughly wipes her eyes with her free hand, lips curling around a mute snarl. "What are you doing." The way she nasally spits the command out strikes his memory hot. She has the same accent as the villagers, but not nearly as thick. Her clogged nose smothers the fury of it all, dampening Sasuke's own proclivity to aggress. He steels himself against the corpse lingering in his periphery.

Itachi, why do I have to burn grandma?

"You can't leave a body like this."

The woman's nose squares. "And this is your business?" His fingers clamping down prove little to dissuade her ire, Sasuke yanked forward by his hold on her. Blue eyes calcified with revulsion, she forcibly brings their foreheads together.

It's okay, little brother. You won't hurt her.

Sasuke violently recoils at the touch, throwing the woman's wrist away and slinking back three steps. She doesn't budge from where she leans over the corpse, spine bridged in a possessive arch.

"You did this."

The fact knocks the wind out of him and he curbs his initial desire to argue it. It wasn't me, his insides beg. It isn't my fault. His hand hurts where he's gripping the dagger's hilt in a vice, a flash of anger quickly swallowed back down his throat. It's not my fault. He chokes the voice out. Sasuke knows it's been his fault for a long, long time.

"I know." He's heard the same phrase enough to comprehend its meaninglessness, often echoed in the bleak recesses of his mind. Sasuke feels helpless just saying it. Upon his admission, the woman's expression becomes one of anguish. The tears welling up in her eyes carve out his thoughts and leave his head empty. Sasuke hates looking at her. She scrubs her hands over her face hard enough to redden the skin. The desperation in the motion is painfully familiar. "I'm sorry." It's another meaningless phrase he's heard one too many times, but it's the only thing he has to offer. Sasuke notices her lower lip shaking and grimaces. This is cruel.

"Just—" The woman shakes her head and signals with her hands. "Stop." Sasuke deliberately avoids where her gaze wanders. At the cost of his pride, he obeys her. Adrenaline creeping back to a baseline, Sasuke suddenly registers the sweat making his sleeves cling. The woman ignores his shifting and crouches down over the corpse. Having evidently lost interest in attacking him, she wrings her hands together and lowers her head. Sasuke does his best to hide the fact he can't look down all the way. There's a loud, forceful sniffle and the woman stands back up. She attempts a pitiful sneer at him, using the flats of her wrists to brush the tears off her cheeks. "Why are you here." This time, the stuffiness of her nose doesn't soften the command.

But I don't want to.

"You can't leave a body like this," Sasuke repeats, almost fooled by his own confidence. He feels anything but.

It looks scary when they have all the fire on them.

The woman sucks in her lower lip and balls her hands into fists, wrestling with an invisible assailant. She doesn't have to tell him for Sasuke to know what it is. The sight is as upsetting as it is unnerving. A rush of bitterness warms the tips of his ears, resenting her grief—resenting her for making him witness her grief. You don't deserve to be angry right now.

"How," she whispers. "What were you to do with her?"

Sasuke narrows his eyes and takes a second to ponder his reasoning himself. "I was—" His throat seizes. His ears are hot as coals and his right hand is shaking.

It's how an Uchiha honors the dead, Sasuke.

"Bodies deserve respect." Whether or not it defuses the situation is irrelevant; he has a duty to complete. Who even are you? he refrains from spitting. Slightly tilting his head, Sasuke notes the woman's face going three shades paler. The milky-blue of her eyes evokes a distant vision of Neji. She can't possibly be a Hyuga.

"What were you going to do," she repeats in a low voice. A bead of sweat rolls down the canyon of Sasuke's spine.

Bodies deserve respect.

"I . . . was going to burn her."

The woman's composure collapses and she releases a guttural sob. "No!" The declaration is loud enough to make him flinch. Stooping forward, shoulders heaving, she weeps into her hands. Every cell in his body begs Sasuke to run away. He realizes his face is pinched up, lips shamefully pressed together in a deep frown. What did I do? His guts are shaking and making his insides itch. The woman cries for what feels like hours—long enough for Sasuke to completely withdraw into some vacant portion of himself he hasn't touched in years. I didn't mean to. The world becomes small and quiet and dark.

If you get scared you can hold my hand, okay?

Her voice draws him out from the deep hole inside of his head. "Hm?"

The woman isn't looking at him. "When did she die?" she asks, soft and raw.

Sasuke hesitantly eyes the body from the corner of his vision, utilizing the stench so as not to perceive it again—not fully. "Maybe a week. I don't know." Another sob hits his ears and Sasuke pinches his eyes closed. Sakura's haunting cries come back to him so violently his sharingan bursts open. The guilt contorts into fury.

Don't coddle my son, Itachi.

"You should've buried her sooner," Sasuke blurts out. "Stop crying." Enough, Sakura.

The woman hisses something he can't understand before shoving his chest with both hands, the same flood of electricity seizing his muscles and causing his mind to go blank with roaring static. Sasuke barks out a strained yelp and feels his hand clamp down around the dagger's hilt. Stumbling backwards, his back hits the splintered wall and he sputters out a clipped, "Who are you?" Whatever jutsu she's using is something unheard of; even with his sharingan there's no trace of it. The tingling numbness that follows is so similar to his chidori that Sasuke is left frustratingly stupefied.

She points a finger at the corpse beneath her. "My aunt."

You'll make him weak.

Cocking his arm back, Sasuke throws the dagger, the woman's black hair fluttering as it whistles past her jaw. She doesn't flinch, cloudy eyes narrowing as the blade thunks into the wall behind her.

"And you left her here to rot. Don't act like you give a damn abou—"

"Damn you."

"You could've honored her." There's ash every time he exhales, his lungs beginning to smolder. "But you didn't do anything."

"Damn you."

You've earned the fire in your chest.

He's towering over her. Their faces are so close he can't see her properly, but Sasuke can hear her breath coming out and he knows she's baring her teeth.

You've made your father proud.

His sharingan beats with his heart. "You disgrace her." Each word carries blistering smoke.

You will do what every Uchiha must.

The woman's face stretches wide. Ripping his shirt wider, she slams both of her palms against his bare chest. For a moment, his vision goes white as lightning.

Big brother—please, hold my hand.

"You don't understand," she seethes between clenched teeth.

Sasuke's hands come together despite the rush of electricity assaulting him, left arm functioning well enough despite the tremor in his right. The woman gawks in horrified astonishment.

I'm sorry, Sasuke.

"Stop!" Her eyes are flooding with enraged tears. She's digging her fingernails into his skin, sending shockwaves through his hammering heart, hair a halo of floating black. Her gaze trails down the column of his throat. Realization flickers across her face.

Sasuke takes air into his broiling lungs and closes his eyes.

I can't.

Suddenly her hands slip upward, clamping down over his curse seal. The touch draws a visceral flinch out of him but it's lost beneath his trembling, red eyes snapping back open. Sasuke hears a sharp hum as he breaks the horse sign to reach for his neck. The tight focus of chakra in his lungs collapses.

"Stop, Orochimaru!" the woman screams. Sasuke's jaw clenches at the name. "Don't do this to her!"

The accusation is as offensive as it is shocking. "Get'ff me," snarls Sasuke with a harsh puff of soot, tongue fat and uncooperative. He shoves her away and his right arm falls stiff at his side, staggering when his knees threaten to give out. She immediately throws herself between him and the corpse. Grimacing, Sasuke lours at her as the fire in his chest snuffs out. "He's gone." The heat leaves his voice gravelly and raw.

"Liar," she hisses, eyes darting to his curse mark. "You sleep in his thro—"

"He's gone," Sasuke cuts her off, blowing lingering smoke out his nose with a loud huff. The anger he'd thought left behind in the cave raises its steaming head. "He left." Me behind. "I haven't seen him for days. He's gone."

Her dark brows lift in surprise. For a moment, both of them are completely silent.

"He left you?"

"No."

"Oh," she exhales and relaxes her posture. Sasuke balls his hands into shaky fists. All she does is stare at him. "Why did he abandon you?"

"He didn't."

"Does it upset you?"

"No."

By the look on her face, Sasuke can tell she doesn't believe him. "Oh," she whispers again with a slow nod. "Where did he go without you?"

Sasuke scowls and slaps his right palm over the end of his sword's hilt. "If I knew that, I would be there." Beating his head in.

"Really?" She thoughtfully crosses her arms. "What a loyal dog you are."

"I'm not a dog."

"Are you not?" The tear stains on her cheeks are the only remnant of her past desperation. Her tongue now holds a teasing lilt, expression purposely flat, eyes scrunched with an invisible smirk. Sasuke recognizes the look so fast he doesn't have time to conceal his stunned revulsion. "Because that's what he calls you. He calls you his 'stray'."

The revelation leaves him temporarily mute, Sasuke's mouth going dry. "Who are you," he seethes.

"Does it upset you?"

"Who are you."

She hums inside her mouth and lowers her chin. "Ask your mighty sharingan."

Flaring his nostrils, sharingan flickering out, Sasuke pushes past her. "Bury your family," he spits, moving to retreat through the busted entrance of the shop. This was a waste of his time. Better than wasting it on him. The sweat making his sleeves cling is almost enough to have him ripping at his clothes.

"Imina."

Sasuke glances over his shoulder with a sour frown. The woman has her back to him.

"My name is Imina."

"Your name is Imina," he incredulously scoffs.

"Yes," she says, head down while she glosses over her aunt's body. Sasuke rips his gaze upward before it trails too low. "He gave us names, too." The muddled contempt lacing her voice is familiar. He doesn't understand what she means, but the sentiment is clear enough.

"You're part of it," says Sasuke. Imina whips her head around to face him. Even with its subtlety can he see the way her mouth twitches. Sasuke meets her wide eyed glare with cold disdain. "The cult."

Her lips curl wolf-like. "And I," Imina begins, voice coming out harsh and feral, "hate him." The intensity of her proclamation brings Sasuke's head back, startled by her conviction. "Do you hate him?"

His nails dig into his palms, scorn thundering beneath his flesh at the ghost of Orochimaru's obliterated staircase. Yes. His reluctance to voice such is evident enough for Imina to take notice of. The tightness around her eyes fades.

"It doesn't matter," she relents. Her chest expands with a rushed sigh. Beneath the fold of her shirt, Sasuke catches a glimpse of what look to be bandages. "I'm—sorry." Her hands come together over her stomach.

Sasuke blinks. "Why?"

Imina is staring at the floor but he can tell she's looking beyond it. "You were here to show respect." Her mouth draws into a thin line and she furrows her brow. "When I saw you, I thought—I didn't know." Cloudy eyes flicker to him. "You aren't who he said you are." They stare at each other, Sasuke eventually lowering his chin. The thought of Orochimaru spreading lies about him further emboldens his violent fantasy of mutilating the sannin whenever he returns.

"It's fine. I get it," grunts Sasuke. He would have done the same—probably.

Imina motions toward the body beneath her. "Would you come with me? To bury her."

It's the first question she's asked that doesn't appear to be a command, voice soft with her eyes down; submissive, almost. Sasuke takes in a breath and feels the soreness in his throat. Imina looks up at him, silently awaiting an answer.

"I don't want to stop you—if this is important to you," she adds. Sasuke grits his teeth behind closed lips.

If you need to cry, cry.

Imina clasps her hands together and rubs her thumb over her knuckles. "I don't know what Uchiha culture is like."

But you will keep your head up, son.

"Fine," he mutters. Lowering her chin, Imina offers him a soft stare. Sasuke slips his palm off of his sword and takes a step backward, motioning with his head. "I'll follow."

Imina's eyes crinkle with the ghost of a smile. "Good."

I will have no cowards in this family.

He looks away when she stoops to gather the corpse up, brushing the back of his hand under his nose and clearing his throat.

There would always be one.

They wander further from the village, following a winding dirt road threaded between flooded, terraced rice paddies and sloping down the whistling hillside. In the evening light, the wilderness looks boundless and preeminent; the village, he realizes, is nestled safely within a valley, surrounded on all sides by mist-capped mountains. Beneath the shroud of overcast, everything looks black in the distance. Sasuke finds himself falling behind Imina as he tries to take it all in, starved for fresh air and sunlight, listening to the chorus of frogs that grows louder each time they pass over babbling irrigation channels. He opens his sharingan to record all of it, so that maybe tonight he will dream of something new. In the back of his mind, drenched in liquor, Sasuke sees deepwater rice and red-crowned cranes.

It makes sense why Orochimaru would claim this for himself. The Leaf never felt so serene. He can only assume the sannin enjoys existing somewhere so unlike himself, enjoys tainting things more beloved than he would ever be; derives pleasure in the corruption his mere existence brings. When Sasuke looks out over the valley, wind billowing his sleeves and drying the sweat that once soaked him through, he wonders if Orochimaru is out there somewhere in the blackness—hiding from him. A gnawing, compulsive hunger drives his eyes to scour the vast forests of evergreens. Where did you go? The world seems infinite from his little perch over the grassy outcropping. Sasuke takes in a breath and feels small in the mountain's shadow.

"Uchiha," Imina spurs him, "it's not far. No distractions."

Abandoning his fruitless search, he returns to his dogtrot behind her. Sasuke keeps his gaze off her sickening shadow. He's thankful the wind is at his back; the stench is strong enough as it is. The workers dotting the paddy fields—nearly just as unpleasant and impossible to ignore—watch them in somber silence, their expressions unlike any he'd witnessed in the cave. They act nothing like the villagers who fawned over Orochimaru; in fact, they retreat back whenever he draws near, as if expecting to be struck. Sasuke wonders what sort of horrors Orochimaru must have described him as. He wonders if any of them are true.

"Where are we going?" he asks. In his periphery, he catches Imina aiming an ear back at him.

"The river."

No matter how far he strains his sight, he can't see anything beneath the blanket of fog shielding the nethers of the valley.

"Has Orochimaru shown it to you before?"

"No."

Imina makes a thoughtful noise at the back of her throat. "We were forced further out," she explains. "There are no burials done in the village."

A breath of wind tosses his hair into his eyes, Sasuke's mouth drawing into a thin line. "Why?"

"Because he hates my family. He hates everyone." Sasuke can hear the way her voice is moving toward him but he doesn't meet her gaze. "He hates you, too."

Focused on where the road further down fades into mist, he ignores her comment. Like I care. The wound is still tender; the frustrating humiliation sinks a hole inside his chest. It's the last thing he wants Imina to know—or himself to think about. Orochimaru's haunting laughter rings in his ears. He pretends it doesn't hollow out his stomach.

Imina hums as if to request his attention and Sasuke disguises his refusal with indifference. "You won't look at her. Why?"

Her candidness is fast becoming a nuisance. Because I fucking hate it. Sasuke puts distance between himself and answering by needlessly adjusting his obi. Imina forfeits her curiosity and they continue down in silence. When the earth flattens out and the paddy fields look more like a stairway into the heavens, Sasuke makes out the edge of the forest looming across the breadth of soft rush blanketing the belly of the valley. Without the veil of mist obscuring it, every limb looks black beneath the canopy. It's nothing like the woods around the Leaf or the evergreens coating the mountains; the trees are squat and gnarly, the air humid and cold. Head tilting back, he admires the hills rising up around them and the alps further beyond, cresting waves of black trees and stretched clouds. The Land of Fire seems so flat in his memory. Even the village, nestled high on just one of the many flats, appears fluid and dreamlike. Wind whistles through the tall grass and everything sways with it. The village, however, remains still. The observation is bizarrely nostalgic. Sasuke looks away.

Imina has already veered off the path through the thick sedge without him noticing. Dark figure stark against a canvas of swaying green, she's wading through toward the forest without so much as a glance back. Following, Sasuke feels his heel catch and looks down. He's standing on nearly a foot of still water, chakra rippling out. The further he cuts through the deeper the water becomes, Sasuke deliberately brushing past cattails loud enough to alert Imina of his course. He doesn't want to startle her—not with what she's carrying.

Imina, however, has become eerily silent.

The ripples beneath him swell as he searches for her chakra, instinctively finding his sword's hilt. His eyes go wide. Imina emerges from the dense rush in front of him and grunts a terse, "Hurry up." Red eyes fixate on the body in her arms, Sasuke able to feel his tomoes flex around his pupils. Wordlessly, Imina disappears back into the rush. "This way, Uchiha," she calls out. It takes him a moment to gather himself, but the task is becoming easier. Sasuke doesn't know whether to feel accomplished or ashamed. To his disappointment, the grass stops short of the treeline and he is once again facing Imina's back. Sasuke distracts himself by scanning the area, admittedly curious of wherever she's taking him.

"This isn't a river," he states. On the contrary, there is nothing but water, stretching out as far as the mist and forest allows. Muddy ridges mark where the tree roots overlap, sparse tufts of greenery peeking out of the water and fringing the scattered islands. There isn't a grave in sight.

"It floods during the wet season."

Somewhere in the distance, something disturbs the water.

Imina makes a shrill whistle. "You stop when I say stop."

"Stop?"

"Walking."

It sounds sincere enough to heed, Sasuke silently furrowing his brow. This isn't like any burial ground he's ever seen.

"Have you prayed?" asks Imina.

The word raises his hackles and he bites out a curt, "No."

"You should before we enter," Imina says, turning to face him, the body in her arms abhorrently limp and empty looking. Sasuke's eyes oscillate between her and it, the tendons in his throat flexing with a choked-off swallow. Imina makes a face. "Oh," she whispers. "You're scared. That's why."

Chirping frogs fill the silence that follows, Sasuke grimacing where he stands frozen in plumes of wispy sedge. Imina's expression softens and she turns back around, making a clear effort to shield the corpse from him with her body.

"I didn't realize. I'm sorry."

A part of him wishes he could tell her it isn't true, but the relief is more appealing than his pride.

The forest is more a swamp than anything, little lizards clambering across dark limbs as they pass underneath. Sasuke passes the time counting the empty nests scattered across the muddy islands, childish intrigue wanting to tear each one apart and reveal whatever is inside. He's old enough now to know the possible cruelty of doing so and thus abstains. Cocking his head back, Sasuke begins to count trees instead. A soft noise slips out his throat when his knees lock and his teeth shiver.

"Stop."

"Just say it," growls Sasuke. "What jutsu is that?"

Imina chortles inside her mouth. "I can explain after we're done."

It's perhaps the first time he finds himself looking toward her willingly, heart thrumming in his ribcage. Imina is a meter or two ahead of him with the body still in her arms. The chakra beneath her feet flickers out and she drops down into the water, the accompanying splash causing Sasuke's shoulders to hop. She wades forward with the water up to her thighs, turning it dark with kicked-up mud, whispering something indiscernible to herself. Sasuke stays still and silent—how mother said to behave during funerals. He never imagined attending another after the Third's, besides his own. Imina bends forward and the body in her arms bobs. Sasuke stiffens and immediately scours around his feet. If this is a burial ground, then where are all the bodies? His sharingan conjurs an image of the green room and he nearly slaps his own face to punish it. Something cracking against the surface of the water has Sasuke fretting he accidentally did, but he soon discovers the sound came from Imina.

There's rippling movement all around her, long shadows snaking through clouds of mud. Some sort of fish, he surmises, all of them fleeing from her, thick tails whipping the surface with how wildly they disperse. Imina is wading further out and guiding the body with her; she is submerged up to her waist. Just beyond a stretch of soggy greenery, where the canopy is low and the trees tight, the surface of the water drags as something passes beneath—something very big. Sasuke's eyes widen.

"What are you doing?" he breathes out in a tight voice, shock galvanizing him forward. This isn't a burial. "You said you were burying her."

Imina waves a hand to signal for his silence. "Quiet. This is holy ground."

Horseshit. It isn't going to stop him this time. Each step closer bathes him in static as if the air itself is vibrating, as if his body is being rejected and repelled; many teeth of many gods nipping at him and whispering, Unworthy. His ears pulse with rage and the thrumming produces a skull-splitting ache. I don't care if I am.

Hearing his approach, Imina looks back at him over her shoulder with watery eyes. "Calm down, Uchiha."

"You can't—"

A dark shadow streaks through the clouds of silt and mud, a flash of orange breaking the surface before the corpse is yanked out of Imina's arms and pulled underwater. Sasuke freezes. His heart hammers against the inside of his ribcage, lips parting around a shriveling exhale.

Imina smiles. "It's okay," she assures him with a breathy laugh. "Calm down." A tremendous head rises up from the water in front of her; an eel with its mouth yawning open, staring at Imina with round, blue eyes. Sasuke takes a step back. In the tunnel of its throat there are two feet squished between frills of glossy flesh. The eel slowly closes its mouth before opening it again. The feet are gone. Beneath the ringing in his ears and the deafening static trembling his skin, Sasuke barely registers the pathetic whine he slips out, face contorting in distress. What have you done?

Imina reaches inside the eel's throat with the dagger in hand, forcing it down the depth of its now-bleeding gullet, whispering soft against the blunt end of its snout. Neither his sharingan nor his brain comprehends what exactly he's witnessing. When she pulls her arm back out it's glossy with fresh blood, her dark skin glistening red. Imina plants a kiss over the top of the eel's flat head as it slowly closes its mouth and sinks beneath the water. It takes six heartbeats for the length of its body to fully curve before it disappears back into the silt, taking the electricity in the air with it. The many gods biting at him vanish with a soft burble and leave him speechless.

Imina lifts her leg high enough to get her foot back on the surface and pulls herself out of the water, swiping the flats of her wrists over her cheeks and scrubbing the back of her hand under her nostrils. "Are you okay?" she asks with a congested sniffle. "That really upset you. What's wrong?"

Red eyes lift from the water to bore into clouded blue. "You lied to me."

Imina pulls an incredulous face, obviously offended. "How?"

Fisting his hands, Sasuke looks back down to where the eel disappeared, eyes shifting left and right, both halves of his brain struggling to digest whatever just happened. He shakes his head in bewilderment. Imina shifts to stand beside him and flares her nostrils with a poorly-suppressed smirk. For some reason, she's tittering, staring at him with bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sorry," she laughs. "You're—you're so—" Imina makes strange, tumbling movements with her hands as if physically digging for the word, huffing out little giggles. She seems upset. Sasuke frowns and braces himself for whatever she's about to say. "He lied. About you. About so much—I don't know why I'm surprised. It's just—" She looks up at him and shakes her head in disbelief. "It's just—You're so—soft."

Sasuke's head cocks back at the word, mouth smearing into a scowl as his brows knit together, glaring at her. "What?" he growls.

"You're so thoughtful." Imina breaks their staring to whirl her hands in front of her chest again. Sasuke scrunches his nose but waits for clarification, hands balling into fists. "You're so different. From him." Blue eyes find him. "You aren't like him at all."

Clenching his jaw, Sasuke tilts his head and leers down at her, heat flooding his throat. "I'm not him," grunts Sasuke. "I already told you."

Cheeks lifting, her teary eyes becoming crescents, Imina reaches out to place both hands on his shoulders. "Sasuke," she whispers with an open-mouthed smile. "Kill him."

The following silence is filled with the chorus of chirping frogs.

AN: Yes, the first part of this chapter makes me cry. I have cried on my way to work while editing it. I don't know what that says about me. I still get teary-eyed reading it now.

This took a little longer to work through due to introducing an OC, sob. I'm so sorry for the extended wait.

Listened to a lot of Lights by Ellie Goulding editing this chapter.

Actually introducing some plot! How exciting! It only took *checks watch* thirty thousand words! We're doing great, laddies.