Title: False Grave
Word Count: 666
Rating: PG
Challenge: My Not So Happy Ending
Characters: Itachi and Kisame
Bonuses: ANBU mentioned. Maybe an unusual unhappy ending?
Side notes: I need to learn to use other characters.

He was supposed to bring back the corpse to the organization. Although he was sure that Itachi-san was the one they had expected to be lugging back dead weight. Shinobi bodies contained a multitude of secrets and hidden jutsus, and Itachi-san's body would have unlocked the secrets of the Sharingan. But Kisame couldn't stand the thought of his partner on a metal slab, his organs piled into different bins for weighing and inspection (although Itachi-san's organs had been coming out of him perfectly well on their own, no help was needed). His skin torn to shreds looking for a certain seal under the flesh but above the muscle (if one existed).

But it was the thought of Itachi-san's eyes lying on a plate, being inspected, mulled over, dissected, that made Kisame start up the bonfire and burn his partner. He hadn't been worried about the ANBU who had done this to them. They had met an end as well, although it was doubtful they were going to have a burial like Itachi-san.

There were two piles of ashes. One was swept neatly into what had once been Itachi-san's coat, held together with his marred hitai-ate. The second was near the stream, in the clearing. If the bonfire spread Kisame would have been able to put it out that way. A bonfire is less noticeable than a wildfire.

Sweat stuck all over his body and blood ran down to his foot. Idly Kisame noted that it was hard to dig a grave with only one arm. Only idly because he was lightheaded from the loss of blood. Didn't matter. The grave was deep enough. With a dull thud the shark like man was on his knees, placing the Atkatsuki wrapped ashes in the grave, and recovering the earth he had dug up.

Would he ever get up again? Kisame didn't think so. It was good to feel the ground under more of him than his feet. He hauled his body up, eventually. Since when was it this heavy? Should loosing a limb make it lighter?

Water in the stream gurgled as he staggered towards it. His vision was blurring now. He couldn't see much ahead of him. When Itachi-san was starting to go blind, was it like this? Was Kisame going blind too? No... These were just stupid thoughts from the loss of blood. Only when he could feel water over his bare toes and the muck from the stream bed oozing up from the bottom of his zori did Kisame know he had reached the water. He scrapped out his foot on the bank, hitting the second pile of ash and sending it scattering into the stream. He scraped his foot a few more times as well, lest not to miss anything.

The palm of his hand--his only hand--rubbed over his eyes. For a second he could see clearly, the grey ashes swirling away in the current, the blood from his wound mixing in with them. Sort of a testament to Itachi-san. That was good, seeing as how Kisame was sure the Uchiha never wanted to be washed downstream as nothing but wood cinders lie in a make-shift grave for him. But Itachi-san would have understood. He would have known that Kisame's motives were to protect his lineage and his essence. It was rare, and it was difficult, but a shinobi could have resurrected him to be their slave. Even Orochimaru. So Itachi-san would have understood.

The colors of the world blurred again, the red of Itachi's last tribute taking over the water. Dully, Kisame wondered why his face was wet, and why there was water in his mouth and nose. Wondered why the red was now the sky and taking over. Wondered why he could taste the old, recycled flavor of himself.

Was this what the world Itachi-san put himself into with those cruel and somehow eerily beautiful eyes of his? Nothing but red... Nothing...

And the stream took both the men away.