A/N: First Naruto piece, featuring three of my favorite characters. It was originally supposed to be a quick drabble, but it manifested into something resembling a flashfic. Comments and feedback of all sorts are welcome.
Warnings: Mentionings of slash, some odd comparisons to religion. I suppose this can be considered dark by some.
To Suffer Poison
If a god cannot have proof of faith, then He creates it. That's why the curse seal was created – to choose those worthy of His blessings, and to ensure that He'll have a loyal congregation until the end of their days. They're bishops in His name, calling upon the power given and wearing it like a cross.
They are all converts by choice, and they love Him.
After all his years with Orochimaru, Kabuto wonders who depends on whom anymore.
His influence was like pervasive venom, soaking into the land and its people. There was no antidote. The promise of strength was temptation, bringing stragglers of every sort – misunderstood geniuses, runaways, the vengeful and the curious. Those with potential were culled from the rest of the misfits (and they were usually the best-looking, Kabuto noticed after a while, for obvious reasons) and marked by poison, an inky, all-consuming stigma.
But despite all those with growing talent, Orochimaru's interest always drifted back to him. Sometimes when he was meditating, his master came, demanding attention of a different sort. Pale hands would glide over his face, his neck, his chest. When he growled in dissatisfaction, Kabuto would merely urge an eye half-open to see prisons of amber and do nothing more.
Instead of battle scars or curse markings, Kabuto earned blossoms of pink and red in the most obvious of places. Occasionally, there would be crimson pinholes meticulously placed at the side of his neck. He never worried about them; he simply used his knowledge of whimsy cures to treat them. New ones would appear soon after.
"Orochimaru-sama," Kabuto had asked dryly at one point, "you have other subjects to tease. Why don't you go after them for a change?"
The Sannin chuckled and traced a finger along the bottom of his subordinate's jaw. "Because you're interesting. You have the gall to think for yourself, but you've pledged yourself to me."
"The rest of them do the same thing." Kabuto noticed how very cold his hands were as one settled above his heart; he willed himself not to shiver.
Orochimaru smirked, "But you're alive," while his other arm slithered around his neck. His face was captivating; Kabuto wasn't aware that the chill was lifting until his master pulled away, and he almost stumbled forward from the lack of support. He pushed his glasses back in a single act of salvaged dignity and resumed his meditation, slightly chagrined.
Like any snake, Orochimaru basks in warmth. Kabuto doesn't mind.
Every day, Kabuto treated a living corpse treading the line of death. Kimimaro was dull-eyed and sculpted of marble, tied to the world only by plastic tubing, bandages, and brushstrokes forming an elaborate pattern around him. He was a sacrifice in every meaning of the word.
Though he barely spoke to others, he reminisced to the ceiling about times long since past. Orochimaru was a deity to many, and he was no exception. Kabuto treated him well, of course; he was the ideal doctor for a reason. Kimimaro only hated him because Kabuto arrived painted with bruises and scratches, negligible color in a shade of gray.
"He called me beautiful once," Kimimaro always said as Kabuto pushed excess out of a syringe. "I never had to be a traitor. All I had to do was follow. He gave me reason to live." In turn, Kabuto nodded without listening and pushed the needle in his arm with nothing resembling pity.
There was the odd time when Kimimaro looked at him as he took the needle out. He looked at Kabuto's latest reward: almost-there purple streaks fanning out on either side of his throat.
For once, Kimimaro smiled. "No matter what you think, he still thinks of me. I'm going to be him – that's closer to him than you'll ever be."
Kabuto merely wiped off the syringe before tossing it into a nearby wastebasket.
"He took my hand and promised me freedom." Kimimaro closed his eyes, the side effects of the antidote beginning to take root. Kabuto gave him a sideways glance before turning away.
"He's closer to me than any of you –"
"You're going to die in two months." Not caustic, but matter-of-fact, just as a doctor should be.
Kimimaro didn't protest; instead, he whispered nonsense while falling into slumber. Kabuto supposed that it might've been a prayer.