Yea, and if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…
Being on the road by herself again was vastly different this time from the last.
For starters, Sakura no longer jumped at every little noise. She took immense comfort and pride that most anywhere she went, she was the most dangerous thing around. Occasionally she remembered what Orochimaru had said when she'd first arrived at his doorstep, about how the world was soon to be at war—but the forests were still serene and beautiful, and she passed enough civilians on the road that didn't seem particularly bothered or skittish.
At least, not until they caught sight of the sword sheathed at her side and hurried on their ways with little more than a Good morning, ma'am, or a polite dip of their heads. She learned quickly that acting inconspicuously was plenty more than acting, and just three days into her journey she nabbed a blue-and-white striped traveling cloak from a sleeping merchant.
Still, though, it didn't bother her as much as she would've thought to be so alone. Sure it was difficult getting to sleep at first without Karin there at her side, but making her own schedule and being able to dart off the path if a particular view caught her eye was nice. She hadn't traveled very far outside of Fire Country before, and certainly never alone, and she often found herself lost in a strangely spiritual sense among the rocks and the trees and the breeze.
Often she would retreat into her thoughts, which had clawed up from their respective places of rest like Orochimaru had reanimated them himself. In a way, she supposed, he really had, by explaining that he was still hopeful to possess one day an Uchiha body. She fought a shiver; of course she knew that the experiments that went on at the compound weren't exactly humane, but when she looked down at her curse mark, she realized she lacked an understanding of just how such a process would be done. Would he shed his current body like snakeskin? How would that even work?
All she knew was that the more she stared at the curse mark, the more paranoid she became of seeing his head pop out of it as if it were a portal. She pulled her loose sleeves back down over it and carried on her way, trying her best to think of other things.
Other things, though, almost always involved Naruto and Sasuke-kun. How dare those morons go and find the only masters on the planet equal to hers! Though, she thought, Naruto had been training with Jiraiya for some time before she left the village, and it didn't surprise her that he'd pawned him off onto Lady Fifth. Healing suited him, in her opinion, for all he cared about people who never even spared him a second glance (or worse, actively loathed him).
And of course it fit that Sasuke, who'd been ready to leave everything behind for power, would still chase it just as hard as he ever had. Sakura knew little of Jiraiya personally, and had only heard a few things from Orochimaru. He was a lighthearted fellow who, once he got serious, was not a nin to be taken lightly. Well versed in fire-styles and his fair share of grief, he seemed like a fine enough fit for Sasuke-kun, especially if Kaka-sensei still helped him with lightning-styles and that damned sharingan.
That, and all three were certainly known for their good looks. Sakura pursed her lips in distaste.
Well, Inner mused, let's just hope Jiraiya and Kakashi don't poison Sasuke's mind with their filth.
Then again, she knew that Orochimaru was equal parts as filthy—he was just classier about it. She'd seen the way he would brush against Kabuto just a bit too closely, listened to the subtle changes in his voice when he'd spare the younger man a compliment on his latest bit of research. She thought back on exchanging quizzical glances with Karin when a stray moan would echo down the hall late at night that did not sound like any of the subjects held in captivity there.
She grimaced, not willing to dwell on thoughts of her fifty-something-year old master doing anything like that. She kept on her way, sticking to the roads or as near the road as she could, keeping her chakra signature consciously suppressed to the levels of any ordinary civilian.
When all is lost, a voice whispered somewhere deep in her mind, find your way back to me.
Like Orochimaru's old team, she had similarly heard only snippets of the snakes. She stuffed down her jealousy that both Naruto and Sasuke had managed to make contracts with the toads, and knew that Lady Tsunade likely was working with Naruto to get him familiar with the slugs with whom she'd acquainted herself. The snakes, her master had told her, were not to be disrespected.
"They will judge your character," he'd said one morning when she asked over their tea. "It is no easy task, child, to have the Great White Snake look upon your heart."
She'd stared down into her teacup, puzzled. "If snakes are a symbol of deception, why would they care what's in someone's heart?"
He'd chuckled at that, glancing at her from atop the book he'd been reading. "Even I've made the mistake of misunderstanding them, Sakura-kun. True that many equate them with the art of deceit, but it's precisely why they're interested in one's character. Heavily they value intellect in all forms, and their knowledge of how to slither out of the bonds of their old skins and form new ones is invaluable.
"Do you know how many things you can learn in a single lifetime? Imagine, then, what you could learn with infinite."
Why, then, had the snake appeared in her mind when Sakura received the curse mark?
She sighed, adjusting her pack over her shoulders beneath her stolen cloak.
One foot in front of the other, she and Inner commanded in unison. There was little use in wondering about something that seemed so far out of reach.
Things went on this way for a few weeks, which passed by with excruciating slowness now that her usual routine was broken. She found herself struggling to sleep in past sunrise, craving that bitter, earthy tea, and doing her stretches and meditative sessions before hitting the road. When she camped, she would throw punches and swing her sword, then forage for food while pushing for any suspicious chakra signatures.
If someone had asked her just where she was going, she would've shrugged her shoulders and said she had no clue. And it was true, mostly, and it didn't necessarily matter. She wanted to see the world, find her place in it, learn what it meant to be strong and content and proud of herself in a way that felt genuine. When she happened upon a few of the roadside towns and villages in the many countries between Earth and Cloud Countries, she kept her ears open for the general opinions of those there on hidden villages, always keeping what Orochimaru had said close—and her own thoughts and feelings, too.
If the way of the world wouldn't change, then I would change instead.
And she heard much proof of that first part, that things were the same as they'd always been, and getting worse. Shinobi dying here or there, far away on foreign soil or defending the home front; a kunoichi who'd infiltrated a feudal lord's palace and slit his throat while he slept, only to return to find that her lover had been killed in retaliation; mothers and fathers mourning a genin life at a makeshift memorial set up for him; genin teams on the road with their sensei or chuunin-level teams out on their own, some her own age or barely older.
She had been so steeped in that very same world, but none of it made a lick of sense anymore.
Some might have said she was becoming quite jaded, and she was fine with such a thought. If no one else was going to be pissed off and do something about it, it might as well be her. But then came the issue of—what exactly was she going to do?
Dunno, but we'll know it when we know it.
Fate, something which she still wasn't entirely sure she believed in, perhaps could have revealed her next move the moment she had that thought. As it were, it was another slow week of heavy thoughts and much philosophical musing that, late one evening, Sakura veered off the path to make camp and happened upon two men.
They were still far off, sitting near a riverbank and separated from her by about a hundred yards and rows of thin, straight-trunked trees. Both of them wore stark, black cloaks with high collars with rolling red clouds embroidered into the fabric, outlined in a silver so delicate it was nearly white. One was a great deal taller than the other, sitting on his haunches with a massive sword wrapped in bandages slung around his back; the flat of his hand was pressed to the smaller man's forehead. Whether he was sick or simply suffering from fever, Sakura could help—and she liked to think of herself as a kind person, despite her selfish tendencies.
It was not until she approached that she noticed two things that made her stomach flip with unease. For one, when the taller man turned to look at her from over his shoulder, she saw even in the setting sun that his skin held a blue tint, his eyes strange and sharp like a shark's. She stopped dead in her tracks, for his gaze held such a vicious air of possessiveness that warned her not to take another step.
The second thing she noticed now was that the man lying on his back was Sasuke, and she sucked in a harsh breath.
"Sasuke-kun?!" she called, her eyes wide. How had he gotten all the way out here? Had this fish-man struck him down? But then, why were they wearing the same clothes?
He stirred, and the tall man looked back down at him as Sasuke tugged weakly at his cloak. She stared on, watching as she began to understand that this was not Sasuke at all. Whoever these men were, they shared a connection so deep that they seemed to be communicating without speaking a word to each other, and she knew that her Sasuke didn't know anyone who looked like this man.
"Approach," Fish-man said without looking back at her.
Though she'd been granted permission—commanded, maybe—she walked slowly. Last thing she needed was to put herself in danger with two unknown nin, one of whom looked like he could pick her up by her waist with one hand. From Not-Sasuke tore a cough, and she smelled a faint trace of blood on the air as she closed in.
"Forgive me," she started, giving a respectful bow. "I mistook you for someone else, but...I'm a traveling medic. I can help you." When she straightened, she looked down at his face. The family resemblance was unmistakable, but hadn't Sasuke been the only survivor...?
"Proceed," said Fish-man with no inkling of kindness. "If I suspect foul play, I'll cut you down."
Like to see you try, Fish Face. "I'm not the sort of person who has qualms with strangers," she said as she got to her knees. Gently she placed her index and middle fingers at his forehead, hovering a few centimeters above his skin. He had a fever indeed, and a bad one. She moved her hand in a straight line down over his face, slowing at his throat and especially his lungs. There she felt phlegm and blood, his chakra slow and lethargic as it fought a losing battle. She could tell it had been happening for a long time, likely since birth, and whatever they'd been doing in the days (or perhaps hours) before he'd collapsed hadn't been with his own health in mind. As subtly as possible she looked over his skin for any signs of a battle, and saw a few bruises here or there, but nothing serious.
She sent her own chakra into him then, monitoring as his fever reduced in mere seconds and the ache in his lungs receded. It would not hold it off for very long, but if he avoided strenuous activity, he could avoid any flare-ups. But surely he knew such a thing...?
"I have some medicinal pills," she said quietly, looking up at Fish-man, "in my pack. I'll get them for you if you want. I made them myself, so they have my chakra in them and should combat any symptoms he might get for...a few days..." She could feel herself rambling as he stared down at her, his expression unreadable.
At her side, the sickly man braced his arms on the ground and sat. Seeing him upright, the differences between him and Sasuke were much more noticeable, but she felt her heart flutter anyway at his delicate features. His eyes held a passive kindness, almost as if he made a conscious effort to make them cold and uninviting to keep up the appearance that he was tough. He studied her, but the voice that came next was not his.
"Who are you?" asked Fish-man.
"I'm Sakura," she said, rising from her knees to stand. She was greatly accustomed to not being known at all, and without her forehead protector bearing Konoha's emblem, she felt secure enough giving this information. "I'm Haruno Sakura."
But Fish-man bared his teeth, revealing them to be just as shark-like as the rest of his face. She kept her own impassive, but her whole being felt gripped by fear at that look he was giving her. What kind of messed-up smile was that? "Orochimaru's girl, isn't it, Itachi-san?"
What the fuck?
"Indeed," this Itachi said as he got to his feet with shocking grace. His voice was deep and held a certain tone to it that made Sakura swallow. Just who the hell were these guys?
"No," she said, holding up her hands and forcing a smile. It wasn't like she could lie about something like that, but the truth of it would hopefully be enough to get them off her case. "Sorry, but you guys got it all wrong. I don't—I left, three weeks ago."
"I'm afraid, little Sakura-san," said the shark, "that we can't risk letting you slither back to an enemy of ours. And with chakra like that—pretending to be some traveling healer, too—I think your talents are better suited to our needs."
She stared, not knowing what to think. She pushed for their chakra, and while Fish-man had powerful reserves and precision, what she felt in the other man shook her to her core. His chakra, rejuvenated now that it was not occupied with helping his crappy immune system, held such a sinister undertone that it made her swallow again and take a step back.
The shiver that racked her frame could not be stopped as she remembered Sasuke's voice from their first day together as a team:
My dream is to kill a certain man.
"Sizing us up, are you?" laughed Fish Face. "Allow me to spare you the pain of a slow death, by my hands or his." He cocked his head towards Itachi, who watched with that bored expression she would've expected on Sasuke-kun. "Maybe we should try this again. My name is Hoshigaki Kisame. Ring any bells?"
She'd only heard mention of such a name when Karin had briefly explained her soon-to-be promotion, taking charge of the east wing of the compound. She'd talked about a long-running experiment on a missing nin from the Village Hidden by Mist, noting that they were known to be exceptionally violent even among shinobi.
"Yeah, I'm well aware," Sakura had said. "We fought one of the Swordsman on one of my first missions ever. I thought I was gonna die about fifty times over."
"They're brutal," she agreed with a frown, as if any of the goings-on in Orochimaru's lair were any less so. "I heard one of those guys killed a bunch of his comrades to keep Leaf from getting their intel. His name is so stupid—something about persimmons, if you can believe it."
They'd laughed, and then Sakura had said, "My old sensei is named after a scarecrow."
Well, now she knew, and here that very man stood, someone capable of murdering his own team. Worse, he was staring her down alongside the man she was quickly beginning to suspect had murdered his entire clan back in her home village.
"You may fight us or join us. The choice is yours."
So much for not settling, Inner grumbled. Maybe we can fight them by joining them. Kill 'em in their sleep, or something.
Something tells me, Sakura thought back, it won't be that easy.
"Pleased to meet your acquaintance, I guess," she said, trying not to make her fear too obvious by coating it instead with sarcasm. She'd go with them, sure. Not like she knew exactly where she was going before now, anyway. And didn't she set out to find adventure in the first place? Who was she to tell Fate, Sorry, but this isn't what I had in mind? "But I meditate every morning at dawn. Is that okay with you?"
Kisame chuckled once, turning to walk back into the treeline. "Funny. So does he."
Slowly she turned to look at Itachi, who still watched her wordlessly. Then he held out his hand, gesturing for her to follow the other man. It looked like too much of a suggestion rather than a demand, but she shut such a thought out of her head. If this truly was the man responsible for the Uchiha Massacre, then he had to be cunning and smooth and strong and fast beyond her wildest imagination.
As they stared at each other, she saw his mouth twitch just so, and when he spoke, it was not entirely what she thought he wanted to say.
"Thank you," he murmured, "for getting me back on my feet." Then he merely brushed past her, walking after Kisame with steady steps.
Just what the hell had she gotten herself into?