Little Rabbit knows to burrow when the day is dark and the clouds are crying. Deep in the warren, it is filled with warm bunny-bodies. But the snake has no one to cuddle with, yet his skin never shivers.
"Snake," asks cold Little Rabbit, "why do I have fur but you do not?"
"Little Rabbit," the fatted snake croons, "not everything can be as soft as you."
It's quiet now with Sasuke gone. They're all watching him: Orochimaru sitting rigid at the head of the table, black hair spilling over his face—the only thing separating them from his broiling ire. Kabuto breathes in through his nose and scratches the cut on his neck. Have to heal that later.
"He barely uses his curse mark." Orochimaru's voice is soft like the lanterns, white skin tinted red beneath the glow; the horrifying prelude. "And when he does it's for that." Kabuto feigns interest in the mess littering the table. He knows better than to speak. Sasuke's sword is heavy in his lap as he nervously palms the hilt. The air is thick and difficult to take in. Killing intent; it's as familiar as the weight on the bridge of his nose. Kabuto recognizes it better than he does Orochimaru's chakra at this point; stinging cold, immense pressure, hands forcing their way through his narrow bronchi to dig into the pumpkin-guts of his lungs. "Like Anko." Kabuto's gaze warily drifts. Orochimaru's face is pinched steel, glaring at something only he sees—something inside his head that infuriates him. White fists slam the table, already-toppled dishware clattering at the force, Kabuto unable to suppress the flinch that seizes his limbs up. Everyone is still and quiet, Kabuto and the villagers; little hares hiding in the brush as the wolf passes over. "I hate Anko." The feral scowl twisting his maw ignites an instinctive fire in Kabuto.
"Give it time," he says, though it's barely above a whisper. He doesn't want a repeat of last year. It's difficult to gauge Orochimaru like this, when his intelligence comes into question and he's angry. Out of all the things his Lord requires, reassuring him is the most frightening of all. Kabuto can never tell if he's acting too kindly, or implying too much error, or if Orochimaru has suddenly changed his mind and now reassurance is not what he wants—and he changes his mind often, more often without warning. In those moments, Kabuto knows not to move, not to speak, keeps his head down; little hare hiding in the brush while the wolf passes over.
"I give him all of mine and yet he doesn't bend."
A ludicrous interpretation of reality. Kabuto doesn't dare to correct him. Don't let it see you.
"He'll come around. Don't tell me you thought an Uchiha would break that easily." He attempts to laugh but can't. Orochimaru cranes his neck inhumanly to stare at him with wide eyes, jaw cracking open to reveal thick, yellowed incisors. A low bellow vibrates the dishware. Kabuto feels himself paling. Killing intent chums the air enough to turn it copper-smelling. The hands in his lungs carve deeper, Kabuto stuttering on a small inhale, lips barely parting. He hears one of the villagers against the wall trying to muffle their sniveling. You led it right to us! "Have you—" He fumbles. The bellowing pitches up into puffing hisses, Orochimaru's eyes glossing over with tears. Kabuto can't move. He fists his hand around the blade of Sasuke's sword and yanks sideways. Warmth leaks between his fingers. "Have—you given any thought to Itachi?"
Orochimaru's jaw clicks shut. "It'll take them months to locate me," says the sannin, still bent in that ungodly way and staring at him. Kabuto shrinks—deep into the cover of the brush. The action seems to appeal to some primal machination within Orochimaru, yellow eyes flicking to something behind him before he looks away. "I'm not worried. I'll handle him. As always."
Kabuto swallows his fantasy with a thick gulp. Orochimaru's nostrils flare at the sound.
"When do you think?" Kabuto asks.
"We have time," says Orochimaru. "Bring his sword back to him."
Make sure he isn't drowning in his vomit, he means. Kabuto stands and wipes Sasuke's blade against his pant leg. The blood draws Orochimaru's attention.
"I thought I smelled that," he chuckles.
Good. Bored of his anger already.
Kabuto doesn't step away when his Lord rises, doesn't falter when he sees the wide-mouthed grin on his face. Orochimaru childishly holds his hands out. He knows what he wants and he gives it to him. Unfurling Kabuto's gore-slicked fingers, Orochimaru presses his nose to them, sniffing and chuffing and humming. A tear rolls down his white cheek. Kabuto feels his tongue slide across the gash and lap the salt off his palm. Out of all the things his Lord requires, this is by far the easiest.
Sasuke's sword is something to behold. Once a part of Orochimaru's private hoard, the blade now bears signs of use; scarred like that of a warrior. Sasuke should polish it. Could look better than it does now. Though comparatively unassuming—lacking elaborate mountings, denuded of its signature bells, handle lacquered a glossy, tenebrous black and braided with leather grip swells—there's a charm to its simplicity that reflects its new wielder. The blade itself is far more complex, but only to those better oriented to the craft. Regrettably, he isn't. Orochimaru speaks highly of the swordsmiths who forged Totsuka—his Totsuka, he must add, reminiscing better days somewhere far away. Kabuto wishes to meet them despite the voyage required. What would they think of an Uchiha wielding it, he wonders. It's so heavy and cold.
Kabuto admires it in the stairwell before his nose urges him forward, the stench of vomit having built up since Sasuke passed through. His glove is sticky with congealing blood. The cut on his throat itches. He needs to find Sasuke first. Kabuto prays he isn't dead somewhere. The kid didn't know where he was going and Kabuto can only imagine where he's wound up. At the very least, he sees that most of whatever Sasuke purged is on the walls and easy to circumvent; even better, it's only liquor and bile. Should've eaten when given the chance. Stupid. No, just naive.
Unsurprisingly, the smell is easy to follow. Kabuto plods through the lower level's halls with direction from the scent and, sooner than later, the sound of a shower running. Turning a corner, one of the doors is open. He got lost. Of course he would. He was drunk—admittedly, not his fault. Kabuto's stomach knots, a familiar sensation now that Sasuke is here and he keeps having to act like a fourteen-year-old. Kid asked for it. Pausing halfway to the door, eyes falling to the small, black sandals hooked onto his fingers, Kabuto stares at them for a quiet moment.
"Sasuke?" he calls out prior to entering the bedroom, hesitant to incite another meltdown. Something happened in the cave that set Sasuke off and—though Kabuto would ask—he knows neither Orochimaru nor Sasuke is aware of what it was. They weren't perceptive—not like him. Not in the same way. Sasuke's clothes are scattered over the floor around a soaked-in stain. He frowns. The bathroom is wide open with the shower on, water leaking out and turning the carpet three shades darker. "Sasuke?"
Eerily quiet. Kabuto drops Sasuke's sword and it bounces off the carpet. Checking the bathroom, he overlooks the mess in the sink to spot Sasuke in the tub. He isn't moving. There's water all over the floor; showerhead is crooked for some reason.
"Sasuke," repeats Kabuto, louder this time, biting his bloody glove off as he approaches. Sasuke is curled up in a ball under the spray. Deeply concerning; his arm propped against the wall, wrist limp, rivulets running off motionless fingertips. He turns off the shower. Has it been on cold this entire time? "Hey!" Kabuto shouts, voice resounding off the acrylic. He knows he's talking to himself. Kid is motionless. The soft splat of Sasuke's sandals hitting the wet tile doesn't seem to rouse him. Kneeling down, knees hitting cold water, Kabuto brushes back the hair matting Sasuke's face. His skin is ice, dark eyes barely open. "Sasuke?" There's no response. His chakra signature barely registers. Shit. Gently, gently, be gentle, Kabuto reaches in and tilts Sasuke's head back. He needs to dry him off somehow. Get him out of the tub. Resting his hip on the edge, Kabuto sizes up the alcove, debating how he's going to go about getting in. The kid's small, but not that small. He sees a flash of sulfur-hued eyes.
"Okay," mutters Kabuto under his breath, squeezing his way over Sasuke's crumpled form, doing his best not to disturb him. He positions himself so that his ear presses against Sasuke's flushed lips. Nothing—no, he hears it: weak puffs of air with an accompanying rattle. Shit. Left foot balancing on the tub's corner, his other planted in the gap between Sasuke's stomach and knees, Kabuto begins the arduous task of repositioning him onto his back. No to chest compressions; cardiac arrest. Breathing, anyways—even if it's barely there. "Idiot," he hisses under his breath, hand slipping behind the base of Sasuke's neck to tilt his head back again. Suddenly, the kid jolts. Kabuto tenses.
"J-j-th—" stutters Sasuke, jaw brutally clenching down on his tongue, apparently trying to communicate something before his muscles seize. Shit. He takes his hands off of him, Kabuto staring wide-eyed as Sasuke comes back to life; a wet fetus at the bottom of the bathtub. Every inch of splotchy, pale flesh is trembling, abdomen flexing so hard Sasuke's diaphragm lifts.
"Okay. Okay," Kabuto soothes—self-soothes, knees coming down on either side of Sasuke's narrow hips. "You're fine." He weaves his fingers together behind Sasuke's head to pillow it, watching him snort and gurgle around his bleeding tongue. "Okay." Roll on his side. Cushion head back. The amount of drool that leaks out Sasuke's mouth doesn't faze him. There's a loud bang, Kabuto lifting out of the way of Sasuke's spasming leg. "You're fine. You're having a fit."
He hasn't done this in years. Almost forgot how to talk so soft. Eventually, the tremors subside.
"Sasuke? You hear me?"
The kid doesn't respond, slipping back into the twilight state Kabuto found him in. His breathing is a little louder, though. Resting his head back down on the floor, Kabuto gently takes Sasuke's jaw and guides it open with a warming pulse of chakra. No resistance.
Alright.
Get out of the tub.
Despite his size, he's heavier than expected. Orochimaru lifted him so easily. Kabuto swashes his way out of the bathroom, cradling Sasuke during his dash to the bed. He's making noises, but Kabuto can't tell if he's conscious or not. Relax. Don't shake him. He's still cold as hell.
"—ashi?"
"Hang on," mutters Kabuto, leaving to grab towels before patting Sasuke's skin dry.
Don't scrub.
Don't rush.
No, he's awake. Lucid, probably not. Kabuto hunches over him with the towel, rubbing his chest and back. Bring the baby back to life. Sasuke lets out a rolling mewl, rocking between Kabuto's towel-clad palms, voice wavering. Bring the baby back to life. Craning his neck, wet bangs dragged across his face, Sasuke looks him in the eye. Kabuto stares back. He looks tired—as tired as when he first showed up, drenched and bleeding and half-conscious. Kabuto didn't care then, either. Brought baby back to life then, too.
"You here?" asks Kabuto, running the towel down his arms to his legs.
Sasuke blinks. "Huh?"
With a deep, slow inhale, Kabuto pauses to take a moment and settle his rattled nerves. "Finally."
"Huh?"
He doesn't bother answering. Kid's still drunk. It's thick on his breath; why he isn't shivering enough. Sasuke hugs his chest and burrows his face into the mattress when Kabuto finishes toweling him off. His hair is still wet. Kabuto dries it as best he can without shaking him too much. Satisfied, he slowly pulls the sheets down and out from underneath him—Sasuke moans in protest no matter his delicacy—and covers him up.
Baby brought back to life.
Almost done.
Good job, doctor.
Slipping off his sandals, Kabuto crawls up onto the bed and lies down next to Sasuke, eyeing him. Probably wasn't a cluster. He moved him too fast. Kabuto frowns. That was his fault. The silence isn't unwelcome, Sasuke muttering and beginning to shiver as the minutes roll by, his liver working overtime to clear his system. Once he's stable, he'll heal his tongue, but not right now. Kabuto folds his hands over his stomach and patiently waits. Breathe. His neck itches. Kabuto swipes his palm over the cut, then it's gone.
It takes three days for him to feel like himself again, or more like himself. His memories are so fogged-over it reminds him of his brother's Tsukuyomi. Sasuke measures the time with Kabuto's routine; he comes to wake him in the morning, checks again before lunch, a third time at dinner, and once more before he sleeps. Whether or not it's accurate doesn't matter, really. There's no sun underground. Kabuto fills him in on what happened every once in a while, often when he's annoyed about something unrelated. Sasuke knows he wants to annoy him, too; wants to make the suffering fair between them. He has no recollection of the event either way so it bothers him little—maybe a little more than little.
His apparent amnesia intrigues Kabuto, whose mouth quirks up at the edges upon hearing it each time: I don't remember that. While discomforting, Sasuke deems the behavior harmless. There isn't much to be done about it, anyways. Kabuto enjoys the freedom to torment him easier, manhandling him in deliberate, derogatory ways. Sasuke bides his time for when he can get even. Quiet and subdued, he spends his energy imagining all the ways he can break Kabuto's knees.
"You seem better today," says Kabuto off to his left. Sasuke doesn't bother looking at him, gaze focused on the popcorn ceiling. "How're you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Walking getting any easier?"
Sasuke's head falls to the side, pinning Kabuto with a stare. "Do whatever you need to and leave."
"Be patient," Kabuto grunts. "Doing my part."
Sasuke huffs and faces the ceiling again. He would think it odd that Orochimaru hasn't bothered checking things himself if not for Kabuto's obvious middlemanning. Sasuke assumes the sannin is too busy self-aggrandizing to his masses. The images pass behind his eyes. Sasuke doesn't think he could panic even if he wanted to. His body feels heavy, as if Kabuto dissected him and filled his extremities with cement.
"I know you've heard me say it a million times by now, but—"
"No hard surfaces," interrupts Sasuke. "Still hasn't happened."
Kabuto hums. "Just be careful," he mumbles, digging through his bag. "Still have to take blood."
"Why."
"To check your electrolytes," says Kabuto. "Do you know what those are?"
Sasuke sighs and clicks his tongue, drawing a laugh from the medic.
"Didn't think so. It's why you don't take this seriously. Or your health."
Glowering, Sasuke remains silent. This is your fucking fault, he imagines retorting.
"Stop pouting," Kabuto cuts into his thoughts. "It's not your fault the Leaf is lacking."
Exploited if you stay. Shunned if you leave.
"Open your elbow."
Sasuke doesn't argue, arm flopping out from beneath the bed sheets. Cold cotton swipes over his vein, Kabuto's callouses sandpaper against his skin. The intruding needle is no better a feeling and Sasuke looks at the wall to hide his discomfort.
"If you're feeling up to it, Orochimaru wanted to speak with you."
Sasuke blinks. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," says Kabuto.
"About?"
He can't see him but he can hear Kabuto shift. "Beats me."
"Thought he told you everything," says Sasuke, turning back to him. The edge of his mouth threatens to draw up. "Suffering for my sins?"
Kabuto arches a brow but doesn't meet his eyes, sliding the needle out and capping it. "Always," he chirps, expressionless. "Maybe he wants to not teach you summing?"
Sasuke scowls. The medic looks up with a brutal simper.
"Leave," mutters Sasuke, getting his arm halfway beneath the covers before Kabuto snags his wrist.
"Hold up," he says. He tapes a cotton ball over his inner elbow and smacks it for good measure, Sasuke hissing in response. "Now I'm done." Standing and grabbing his bag, he grouses out a low, "Really, go talk with him."
"Where is he?"
"Second floor. . . I'm guessing." Kabuto's eyes gloss over with something indiscernible. "Green room."
Sasuke's eyebrows raise. "Oh, no. Hard surfaces," he monotonously drones.
"Hasn't happened yet," mocks Kabuto in a stupid voice. Glaring from his bed, Sasuke goes quiet. For a moment, he remembers Naruto. The blond's visage is forcibly expunged from his mind the moment it appears.
"Where's the green room?"
It's Kabuto's turn to be quiet, pausing in front of the door. "Actually," he begins with a glance over his shoulder. Sasuke meets his gaze. Kabuto stares at him, seemingly lost in thought. He has that look in his eyes again.
"What?" grunts Sasuke.
Kabuto faces forward. "Forget it," he says. "Stay here and rest." With that, he steps out, leaving Sasuke to lour at the door closing behind him.
Screw you, too, he thinks, sitting up and looking for his shirt. It's been long enough. He's sick of doing nothing. Sasuke dresses himself languidly, limbs stiff and uncooperative. His head spins as he walks the length of his room, eyes on his feet, hands roughly pulling up his stirrup pants. Whatever happened three days ago—was it even three days?—is lingering somehow, a proverbial tumor somewhere between the grey folds of his brain. Sliding his sandals on exhausts him. Putting his shirt on exhausts him. Deep within himself a paranoid inkling fears Kabuto has done something to him, something awful to make him feel this way, but it isn't true. Ripping the cotton ball off his arm, Sasuke slips into the hallway. Kabuto is nowhere to be seen.
He finds it by himself. The green room is not green. The sight beyond the door causes his heart to stutter, sharingan bursting forth with a bone-deep throb.
Bodies.
Numerous bodies.
They're strewn across the floor and hanging off the walls, hooks in the meat of the shoulders stretching the skin up like wings. Steel tables separate burgeoning mounds of bodies, and on top of the tables are bodies. There are chains connected to the ceiling connected to bodies. Gelatinized muscles are worm-like where arms separate from the shoulders, deadweight slowly degloving the skin. Their groins are pink, skinned beneath the navels. Yellow holes of fat replace nipples. At his feet, Sasuke sees plumes of chakra veins flooding out sawed throats; reed stalks growing in moist banks.
Sasuke sucks in a breath even though he doesn't mean to. The light is yellow but everything is red and he can smell the alleyway—
"Oh, Sasuke. It's you." Orochimaru's voice filters into his consciousness. Sasuke doesn't answer him, doesn't bother looking for him. He can't breathe. Orochimaru's giggles hurt just as much as his teeth; buried in his skin, burrowing into his head. "I've never seen your eyes so big."
How many bodies are in this room?
There are fourteen bodies in the street.
Seven of them are on the walls. Twelve of them are on the floor.
Nine of them are face down. Four of them are face up.
There are hands on his shoulders pushing him backwards. Sasuke looks up and sees Orochimaru's white face. His lungs shudder around an exhale.
One of them is facing him.
"Don't—" Sasuke barks, grabbing Orochimaru's wrists and forcing his hands off. The sannin's broad chest blocks sight of the room. "Don't touch me." His voice is small and compact, blinking to rid himself of the images, willing his sharingan closed. Orochimaru is quiet. He twists at the waist and shuts the door behind him. Sasuke flinches as it slams shut.
"Mmh," drones Orochimaru, reaching out. Sasuke bats his hand away, the reflex bringing a grin to Orochimaru's face. "Kabuto mentioned this." He wishes he could think of something to say but his tongue refuses to cooperate. Sasuke tucks his chin close to his chest. He misses his old shirt. There's a moment of silence before Orochimaru bursts into laughter, sulfur-hued eyes becoming crescents. He's all but howling. Molten heat burns Sasuke's throat.
"Shut up," he snarls. The words are lost beneath Orochimaru's cachinnation. Sasuke balls his hands into fists and resigns himself to waiting. The way the sannin's face twists with glee is godawful.
"Oh, Sasuke. Forgive me," his master breathes out, laughter abating into throaty chortling. "You're precious when you're scared."
Sasuke lours with his palm on his sword. "If you want to talk, then talk."
Sighing to reclaim his breath, Orochimaru looks him over with heavy-lidded eyes, mouth falling back into a frown. "Are you not feeling sick?"
"No," he lies.
"Ah. Thanks to Kabuto."
"No," he lies again.
Orochimaru snorts and glances down the hallway. "You wouldn't happen to know where he is, by chance?" Sasuke grips his sword, metal scraping as he unsheathes an inch. Orochimaru returns his stare with an arched brow. After a moment, the sannin seems to relent. "Yes, I did. But not here," he says. Motioning down the hall with his head, Orochimaru's earrings jingle. "Go up top and wait. We'll speak outside."
The idea—while a welcome change—leaves Sasuke wary, dark eyes narrowing. "Outside," he repeats.
"Yes. Outside."
Sasuke's sword slides back into its scabbard with a dull thunk, hand migrating to his hip. "Don't take forever," he sullenly mutters.
Orochimaru grins and ruffles his hair before Sasuke can fully recoil. "I'll do my best, Sasuke."
The village looks better at night for some reason, listless and quiet and docile. Sasuke stands inside the mouth of a vestibule, shoulder squished against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the rain carve little rivers in the dirt road. Shops and houses line either side of the street with squat doorways, bars over windows as mistifying as the patchwork of materials used for roofing. Readjusting himself, Sasuke takes a peek at the door behind him, examining the old folding chair nearby surrounded by half-smoked cigarettes. Whoever lives here hasn't come out yet to ask why he is skulking on their doorstep—thankfully. Fidgeting, Sasuke debates wandering around some more; enjoy his time aboveground while he can. He harrumphs. Of course he takes forever.
There are two dogs staring at him from across the road settled beneath a leaning thatchwork awning, tongues lolled and flopping with heavy pants. Sasuke admires them from his perch opposite the portico. The few people that pass by send him curious glances but they're easy to ignore. A low roll of thunder rumbles overhead, swallowed up by a black tapestry of low-hanging clouds. The dogs' ears perk at the sound and their mouths slowly close. Sasuke can see one's lower teeth behind black lips before they both resume panting. Leaning out the vestibule, Sasuke notes a few stragglers around a shop entrance further down: six men with wide-brimmed hats and muddy-bottomed waders. He studies them for a pensive moment. They leer back, dark silhouettes backlit with an orange glow, whatever noise they're making blanketed between sheets of rain. Four of them look lopsided, their limbs uneven. Stepping out into the rain, Sasuke sees one twist at the middle and spit something out. There's music coming from the store that floats in and out of earshot, fast-paced and trilling. Sasuke narrows his eyes. Whatever they're doing, they're no threat to him.
Looking back at the dogs across the muddy street, Sasuke cautiously wanders over, squinting against the rain. The windows are dark and curtained over the wooden porch. Pausing just before the awning's cover, he waits to see if there's movement inside. I just want to pet your dogs, Sasuke silently rehearses, blinking when raindrops hit his lashes. Both dogs stand up as he comes closer, the thick chains around their necks tinkling and scraping the porch. Holding his palm out, Sasuke crouches a foot or so away, wet sleeve clinging to his arm. The dogs' nails tap as they bump into each other in their effort to pace. One of them stretches its neck out to sniff, the other mimicking when it finds the courage.
"Hey," he whispers. One dog makes a halfhearted bark, black lips puffing around it. "It's okay." Fast huffs of air tickle the pulp of his fingertips. Smiling briefly, Sasuke leans in. Both dogs scour his palm with wet noses. Their fuzzy chins are soft on his skin when cupped. Even with the storm curtaining him, he swallows down a laugh, refusing to grin. Their curly tails are cute. Suddenly, both dogs look up and take a step back.
"Hey."
Hand slapping down on the porch to balance himself, sharingan opening, Sasuke turns to see the men from before standing along the trim of the porch. With the rivulets of rainwater running off their hats, he can't make out their faces.
"What," he mutters. He hears one of the dogs growl. In his imagination, Sasuke is too. The man closest makes a peculiar movement with his hand. He says something, but his accent is too thick to understand. "What?" The stranger motions again, this time pointing with a crooked finger at the dogs. He garbles. Sasuke doesn't answer. Heavy boots stamp the porch, Sasuke's free hand shooting to his sword and drawing it out halfway. The man lumbers closer and jabs his finger again at the dogs.
"Dogs," he emphasizes. Despite the distance, his breath is foul. He shifts to point at Sasuke's face, nearly scraping his nose with a jagged fingernail. "Yours?"
"No," answers Sasuke, coiled and low; a snake honing its strike. The man goes quiet, his group standing stiff in a five-tag line behind him. One of them spits. Beneath the awning's cover, the stranger's expression is easier to decipher. One of his eyes bulges outside the lids, jowls heavy around a pronounced scowl. Sasuke wordlessly stares. Fingers splayed over the wood between his feet, he pushes himself up straighter, sword scraping its scabbard's insides. "What do you want." The man seems to have similar difficulty decoding his words, tonguing his cheek from the inside. Sasuke repeats himself. He blinks when the finger in his face hovers over his left eye.
"Mata roda?" the stranger murmurs. The men in the street shift in an attempt to look closer. Sasuke feels a drop of water run down his temple. "Co-py-cat?"
"Sharingan," one of the others says in a deep voice.
The man slowly lowers his finger. "Uchiha."
Sasuke waits for them to realize who he is, waits for them to back away and leave him alone. They don't. A few of them laugh, breathy and shocked-sounding. Behind him, the dogs' growling carries through another roll of thunder.
Taking in a slow breath, the stranger snarls out, "Bajingan," before reaching around to the small of his back. Sasuke's sword is at his throat in a matter of seconds. The dogs burst into a flurry of barks, snapping and grinding their metal chains. A sconce turns on and the portico abruptly illuminates. Sasuke's sharingan archives the strangers' faces in the citrine light: stygian, war-torn, contorted with rage. His eyes descry the glint of a blade before his brain does. Muscles rippling, Sasuke throws his fist into the man's windpipe and sends him across the street. A woman screams inside the shop, barely audible over the thunder and the barking dogs. The group in the street turn back to him, having rubbernecked at their partner. Flipping his sword backwards, Sasuke holds a hand up.
"I don't—"
Water whips his face, raindrops coating the storefront in a thin sheet, deflected off a burst of chakra he has only moments to witness. The dogs yowl in shock. Rubbing his eyes, Sasuke bites back a curse. Collapsed in the mud on the other side of the road is the man—or what was the man. His body is bulging and ripping his clothes, a mass of writhing, uprooting flesh. The telltale flames of a curse mark smolder like coals through the darkness. Sasuke blinks in surprise. The men start shouting, speaking a language he can't understand, grabbing at one another and tugging. Their panic is almost as thick as the killing intent flooding the air. Sasuke looks past them, red eyes glued to the man on the ground, watching him crunch and twist and contort. Fuck. The screams from inside the store don't stop, the barking devolving to whimpering, thunder reverberating up his legs through the porch. He clenches his teeth. How many others did you bite? Flicking his sword straight, Sasuke wills Kakashi's seal open, slipping his arms free of his clinging sleeves. A guttural bellow erupts from the street, the men scattering like rats. Shivering, Sasuke feels his wet hair slipping lower down his back, bangs falling past his jawline. The muscles in his back tremble.
Against his better judgment, Sasuke whips his sword down on the chains keeping the dogs in place. They don't break. Sasuke pales. Fuck. Idiot. There's a low noise suffusing the air, rising an incomprehensible scale, sweltering chakra turning the rain into steam. Within the mist, the stranger's naked silhouette rises. Curse mark glowing hell-hot, his body is nothing but amorphous, pillowing limbs. Fuck, you're an idiot. Sasuke strikes the chains again. The dogs whimper and shrink away from him, looking up with terrified eyes, frothing and confused. The chains hold. Sasuke's upper lip twitches, face pinching up with a snarl. Another sheet of water slaps the side of his face and he looks back to the street.
He feels the wind before anything else, the muscles in his abdomen flexing and bending him backwards on instinct alone. A monstrous hand shoots overhead and crashes against the storefront, windows shattering on contact. The screams inside abruptly end. Sasuke's back hits the porch hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. Beside him, one of the dogs yanks at its chain and yowls. The other is crushed above the ribs, pinned against the wall by the hand, flank still twitching in a death-rattle. Memories of Gaara flood the space behind his eyes; this time, the limbs aren't sand but sinew. Wiping his cheek, his fingers come back bloody.
The hand above him retreats, the back-end of the dog dragged off the porch with it, connected by its head being swallowed down to its hackles. Sasuke gawks. The dog disappears into the center of the palm with a series of wet cracks, the man in the street gurgling and retracting his limb back into himself. In the darkness, Sasuke only identifies his mouth by the white plumes puffing out, located somewhere too low on his person. What the fuck? Scrambling, Sasuke moves to grab hold of the other dog and—gods, the glass feels like razors—bring it against his chest. It writhes and snarls within the cage of his arms, biting and scratching and bruising his skin. Sasuke's spine bridges upward and his wings erupt from his back, catching the chains and ripping them out of the wall. Frazzled further by the noise, the dog sinks its teeth into his left pectoral, black-red blood splattering around its growls. Sasuke shouts. He hears the chain thud the porch and lets go. Whipping around, robbing a strip of his skin, the dog takes off down the road with an inhuman shriek. Gore dribbles over the thin folds of his stomach.
Sasuke doesn't bother checking the wound, attention returning to the man in the street—who's been unnervingly silent. Blinking, he notices the addition to his person: the back-end of the crushed dog, hairless and pink and curse-marked, jutting out the side of his bulbous leg. It takes a moment for his brain to digest, but his sharingan has already memorized every blue vein. What the fuck? Retrieving his sword, leaping out from under the awning, thick mud swallows the soles of his sandals.
"I don't want to fight you!" he hollers over the storm, shoulder giving off a familiar throb. Orochimaru. Eyes scouring the darkness, Sasuke blenches when the man's arm shoots at him again. The muscles in his calves flex against the suction of the mud. Cursing through bared teeth, Sasuke's ankle twists his left foot free from his sandal, throwing himself out of the way. Wind whips his hair and clothes, the tremendous hand streaking past him. The limb extends another few feet before the muscles constrict, Sasuke turning to see the stranger stumbling and falling into the mud. The arm collapses with him and begins retracting. Sasuke sharply exhales, curse mark biting into his skin. Something fists around his heart.
yes you do
He stabs his sword down with both hands, the vibration of his blade piercing layers of muscles and tendons sending goosebumps up his arms. Hopping, he hooks his knee around the handle and he's yanked sideways, rain cutting his wet face. Sasuke pales at the sight of the man rising up as he nears. A head emerges from his amorphous body, waxy eyes watching him. Sasuke's sharingan spins and everything slows down. He can see the legs of the dog kicking and flailing, storm clouds overhead backlit by a flash of lightning. He realizes he's already formed the last hand seal.
Electricity seizes up his right arm. The sudden burst of screeching pops both of his eardrums. Roaring through the pain, rigid arm poised javelin-like, Sasuke plunges his chidori into the man's center. Bones cave beneath his fingers, Sasuke's hand passing through up to his shoulder before their bodies collide. The momentum knocks the wind from his lungs. Eyes going wide, Sasuke feels the man tip backwards, struggling to dislodge his arm. His wrist snaps when they hit the ground, pinned beneath the other's weight and locking Sasuke in.
A shivering cry clashes his lungs like cymbals. "Fuck!" he screams. If not for his chidori having fried his nerves, he knows it would hurt even worse. Trapped against the man's front, Sasuke sees his deformed body writhe.
yes you do
Eyes pinching shut with a snarl, a second wave of electricity floods from his heart down into his palm. The stranger convulses, Sasuke bracing himself against the burning current, blood filling his ringing ears and dripping down the curve of his jaw.
Open your eyes.
A rush of nausea assaults him at the sight of the dog's legs spasming.
I will have no cowards in this family.
Sasuke closes his eyes.
Something whips over his head and the body slackens. He doesn't halt his onslaught; continues funneling chakra into his hand, overlooks the pain erupting in his shoulder. He vaguely registers his name spoken somewhere beyond the shrieking of his chidori. Agony cinches his stomach up into his ribcage. Sasuke's wings abruptly withdraw. The muscles in his back react by clenching his shoulder blades together, right arm torn out the man's gaping chest. Stuttering on a scream, body quaking as his curse seal retreats, Sasuke catches Orochimaru's white face lurking overhead. The sannin grips his sword in one hand. His sharingan closes with a thick beat of his heart.
"Very good, Sasuke," Orochimaru lauds, voice distant and muffled. Panting, tucking his broken wrist to his chest, Sasuke takes in the man beneath him: beheaded, smeared with mud, body a mess of fat and stretched skin. The hole in his chest leads all the way to the street, charred around the rim, the veins of his chakra network nothing but black, dead roots. Sasuke sways. A hand falls on his shoulder to steady him. "Don't cry," laughs Orochimaru, cold breath blowing over the shell of his ear. "He's only sleeping."
Sasuke's thoughts jumble, staring wide-eyed at the corpse, down into the gaping wound his chidori created. I killed him? The hand on his shoulder moves to cup his face.
"Using your curse mark so judiciously. Aren't you clever?" Orochimaru's thumb swipes his cheek. "You'd be dead right now without it—without me." Sasuke tenses when he begins to sink. The corpse is disintegrating, melting into the mud. He shields his mouth and nose with the back of his hand and scrambles off. All but the head deflates into nothingness. Leaning down, Orochimaru scoops it up by the hair before offering Sasuke his sword back. "I told you not to lose this."
After a few heavy breaths, Sasuke snatches it. "Where the fuck were you?" he snarls.
"Watching," Orochimaru says.
"Wa-tching—" barks Sasuke, attempting to rise but crumpling back to his knees. His eyes throb with an attempt to open his sharingan. The curse seal bites into his skin. Dropping his sword, Sasuke grips his shoulder with a pained wheeze. "You were watching?"
"I intervened when I knew you were at your limit," Orochimaru informs. "No more talk of this." With that, he lifts the stanger's head up high. Sasuke turns away when Orochimaru's jaw opens, expression contorting in revulsion. Peals of laughter fill his ringing ears. Cold fingers snag his chin and force him to look up, Sasuke squinting against the rain. "You thought I was going to swallow it?" cackles Orochimaru. He forcibly cuffs the side of his head. Sasuke bares his teeth around a whimper. "The look on your face! Stupid boy!"
He doesn't engage Orochimaru's absurd tormenting, staring down at the mud pushed up under his knees. His head is stuffed with cotton and static. Everything hurts; exhausted from his rage and enraged by his exhaustion. His wrist aches with every breath, every beat of his heart, every roll of thunder and laughter coming from above. Brushing aside his hanging sleeve, Sasuke picks up his sword and manages to sheathe it with some difficulty. The cramping in his right arm is indescribable; the familiar aftereffect.
"Get up."
A low mewl crawls out his mouth when he's pulled to his feet by his arm. His vision swims. Orochimaru pets his hair, carding long fingers through his tangled bangs, preening him for some obtuse reason. Sasuke doesn't have the energy to argue; instead, he leers at the head his master is holding. Something coils in his guts and he closes his eyes.
Once satisfied—or bored, Orochimaru playfully pats his cheek. "Come, Sasuke." He's already stepping away.
Fuck you.
Shuffling after Orochimaru, Sasuke stops to pluck his lone sandal out of the mud, looking back to the ruined porch where the dogs once were. He can't see any movement inside the shop. A clap of thunder rattles his insides. He doesn't look for long.
The barn's air is thick and musty with the plastic curtains zipped up, Sasuke standing in the alley and watching Orochimaru saunter up and down a line of cubicles. The storm outside has eased and the cows are awake, hanging their heads through the neck rails and staring at him with curious eyes, chewing their cuds and licking their nostrils. Sasuke stares back at them and shifts his weight between his feet. He keeps his right arm tucked against his bleeding chest, lips thinning with a wince. Every inch of his body is aching. The sound of whirling cupolas makes the ringing in his ears worse. At the very least, the barn is warm.
"Have you seen a cow before, Sasuke?" Orochimaru asks, having paused in front of a stall, swinging the head he's still holding onto by the hair. Sasuke listlessly blinks at the stupidity. Orochimaru turns to look at him, the sharpness of his visage casting shadows down his face in the overhead lights. After a minute of silence, he cocks an eyebrow. "Blood clogging your ears?"
"No."
Returning his gaze to the pen neighboring him, Orochimaru gestures for him to approach. Sasuke hesitates before obeying, ambling down the alley toward him. His eyes can't help but be drawn to the head that he lazily swings, Orochimaru's lily-white fingers tangled in black hair. A mongrel parading its carrion-trophy. Disgust besets Sasuke's stomach.
"Look," says Orochimaru. A pregnant cow is standing toward the back of the pen, tan hide stretched over pronounced hip bones. She swats her tail against her flank, shifting on heavy hooves, watching them with keen interest.
Sasuke slowly looks up at Orochimaru. "My arm is broken."
The sannin presses a finger to Sasuke's lips before meeting his narrowed eyes. "Your wrist is," he corrects. "It hurts, doesn't it?"
Glaring takes too much energy so Sasuke settles with a vacant stare.
"Do you know how baby cows are born?" asks Orochimaru. Sasuke takes a deep breath through his nose and gazes into the stall. "Don't stare," Orochimaru whispers. "You look like a little predator to her."
Sasuke stares at him instead. "My arm—"
That cold finger is over his lips again, Orochimaru's eyes hardening for a brief moment. "Lis—" He sighs. "Listen." The cow in the stall makes a low noise. Another answers her somewhere in the barn. Something thuds near their feet, Sasuke tucking his chin down when Orochimaru cradles his jaw with gentle hands, tense to his touch. Goosebumps raise the hair on his arms. "You are a baby cow," whispers Orochimaru, slitted-pupils dilating. Sasuke blinks. "You are being born." Sasuke grits his teeth as the hands on his jaw glide upward to his cheeks and begin squeezing. "You are in the birth canal." Orochimaru pushes against his skin, stretching his face. Sasuke leans his head back in response with a growl, feeling Orochimaru's cold breath puffing over his Adam's apple the more his throat is exposed. "Now—" Neck craning, Sasuke squints against the overhead lights. One hand leaves his face to wrap around his left wrist, pulling his arm in front of him. "Your legs are in the right position, but your head is caught."
"This is—" Sasuke's voice cuts off with a sharp cry, Orochimaru grabbing the underside of his jaw and pushing down. His neck pops. If not for the bruising hold on his wrist he'd topple backwards. Everything hurts.
"The more mommy pushes—"
"Oro—"
"The more—"
Sasuke gnashes his teeth the further he is bent, voicing a furious shout, broken arm twitching in his attempt to tuck it closer.
"—you break."
He's yanked upright so fast his head spins. Orochimaru cups his cheeks again.
"So I have to reposition y—"
Sasuke rips himself from the sannin's hold, stumbling backwards and hitting the neck rails. "Stop!" The cattle all jump and shuffle. Sasuke's command booms over the cupolas, spitting down his chin with the intensity. "Stop toying with me, you—fuck-ing bastard." His knuckles are white where he grips the steel bar. Orochimaru stares. Gulping down air, choked on his frustration, Sasuke glares back at him. The barn is quiet beyond the whirring of the fans.
"Calm down," says Orochimaru. It's spoken so softly.
Sasuke bares his teeth like an animal. "Fuck you," he seethes. His body shakes.
"Calm down. You're scaring them."
Sasuke glances at the pregnant cow in the stall. She's distressed; head down, nostrils flaring, pressing herself into the back corner. He can see the whites of her eyes as she watches him. Sasuke grinds his teeth.
"Why," he exhales, "are we here."
"May I finish?" Orochimaru asks. Sasuke's brow furrows. Taking his silence as submission, his master approaches him. Sasuke remains leaning against the railing. When Orochimaru reaches for his broken wrist, he twists away. "Give it to me."
"No."
Orochimaru takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He stays that way, Sasuke counting the seconds with the beats of his heart. Low chuckling fills the barn.
"My deepest respect for Kakashi's patience," Orochimaru sighs and opens his eyes. "I'm trying to reward you." He holds his hand out. "Give it to me."
Sasuke eyes the sannin like the cows do him, gnawing the inside of his cheek. Fucker. He relents. As Orochimaru unfolds his arm from his chest, Sasuke bites down on his tongue.
"Forced extraction."
With both of his arms outstretched, the ungodly way his right hand hangs is worse in the harsh light. Sasuke tries not to stare at it. Every movement sends threads of thunder through his body.
"If a baby cow can't birth himself, you have to force him out."
Orochimaru's grip tightens. Sasuke pinches his eyes shut and snarls.
"You wrap chains around his front legs and you pull."
"You—"
"And sometimes you break the baby cow's legs."
He's thrashing, sharingan flickering out every time it manages to open, curse mark threatening to eat away at Kakashi's seal and blow out every vein in his body.
"But he must come out."
"Liar!" Painfully twisting his wrists so his palms meet, Sasuke forms broken hand seals. Orochimaru doesn't move to stop him. Whimpering, Sasuke stutters on a breath and folds forward as far as his arms allow it. Sweat runs down the canyon of his spine. His master's guttural laughter floods his ears.
"You don't have any chakra left to spare, I'm afraid."
Sharingan blinking, Sasuke reels his head back and hawks, spitting a glob of mucus in Orochimaru's face. It splatters over the bridge of his nose and into his eyes. The sannin doesn't even blink. Flashing his incisors, face contorted wolf-like, Sasuke sees Orochimaru's lips quirk up at the edges. His wrists are let go and he snags the railing again, tucking his arm back up to his chest where it's safe.
Orochimaru straightens to his full height. "Very good, Sasuke," he lauds. Thick tongue spilling out his mouth, Orochimaru laps his mucus up. Sasuke blanches. "We need to heal that wrist of yours." Long fingers comb Sasuke's bangs out of his sweaty face. "Tomorrow, I will teach you how to summon."
The barn is swallowed by thick silence, Sasuke staring up at him with wild, feral eyes. Orochimaru continues carding through his hair, radiant in the fluorescent light; a carrion-God admiring his favorite carrion-trophy. Sasuke lowers his chin and glares.
"I don't want it anymore," Sasuke seethes in a small voice. Orochimaru stops his preening. "I'll teach it to myself," he spits through his gritted teeth.
The look on Orochimaru's face is enraged, abject shock.
Neither of them speaks, gazes locked. The sound of heavy bodies bumping against steel bars is the only noise Sasuke registers. Orochimaru's tongue disappears back behind pale lips. He rips his fingers out of his hair. Sasuke's head jerks sideways at the suddenness. Silently, Orochimaru departs, his body tearing into nothingness before he reaches the plastic curtains; a nightmare vanishing in the morning light.
Sasuke leans against the steel bars and breathes. Abandoned in the alley, the head of the stranger looks at him with horrified eyes.
AN:
me: do you ever wonder what a cow thinks when you're pulling it out of the womb? I feel like that sometimes, I think
therapist: *stares*
Yes, I do think it was fucking stupid of Orochimaru to give Sasuke a blade literally named after the one used to kill Orochi in the myths lmfao so I made it so Sasuke names it that after he kills him alright.
I love writing for Kabuto. I love depicting him in this style/viewpoint. He's just a young guy and I like to think he kind of enjoyed Sasuke being around because he got to be boyish for once in his life, because I think Sasuke was very boyish at this age. Two hateful peas in a pod, if you will.
Orochimaru has crocodile eyes/attributes. Change my mind.
Thank you so much to everyone who has read/commented/liked/kudos'ed/followed. It means so much to me and I'm so happy that my interests can entertain someone else. I hope reading this helped some time pass easier for you.
