Chapter 13 - Held Candle

Sasuke did not go home, after training with the genin. Nor did he let his family know that he would not be home.

He had somewhere to be, first.

There was a building near the back of the Uchiha memorial grounds where all of the old family records were kept, where the Nakano Shrine used to be. The records had managed to survive the Day of Pain, thank goodness, because they were largely underground. Just like all the other records.

And while technically part of a "memorial," it was still owned by Sasuke, and thus private property, kept far apart from the official archives of Konoha. It wasn't like they would be read and understood by most people, anyways. Uchiha records were written with a deliberately tiny hand, half of the time, easiest-deciphered by Sharingan and Sharingan alone.

Scrolls of genealogies were kept there. Records of births, and deaths. Weddings, the rare separation.

Sasuke wasn't all that interested in that, tonight. He was searching for possibilities.

Exiled. Imprisoned. On a religious pilgrimage. Just flat-out missing. His eyes were hungry for those words as he opened scroll after scroll and whipped through the words at incredible speeds, and abandoned the records just as quickly when they yielded nothing for him to take.

Just a coincidence, how could it have been just a coincidence.

He didn't even know why he was doing this in the first place. It was foolish, it was stupid, it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

And yet, here he was. Frantically searching for any sort of chance that Yakata, that shadow-boy, was maybe, was maybe…

Not Itachi's, but… some other unknown relative's child.

After all, what were the chances of some random Uzumaki showing up, practically on Naruto's doorstep? The resemblance had been so strong that even Sasuke had shoved aside all of his preconceptions and almost believed that they had been father and child. Almost. For a while. And never aloud.

Who was to say there weren't other Uchihas somewhere?

Maybe that was fueling all this madness.

He tried not to think too hard on the matter as he opened another scroll, the paper unfurling with a dry whine. Focusing on the words.

So far, most of the records had been for people who had died long before he had been born. People who were old when his father was a boy.

He had laughed bitterly when he saw a scroll labeled "Notice of Exile: Uchiha Madara." He didn't bother opening it.

He finally managed to stumble into the present, the dates within a reasonable time. The names began to look familiar, and he checked each and every one.

There was a list in his mind, and he compared every name he found to it. For every match, he crossed the name out with a large, imaginary black line.

It started to get dark out. He got a candle, and lit it, even though his night vision was excellent.

(But Sasuke didn't trust his eyes much any more, and he wanted as much certainty as he could find.)

He didn't know what time it was when he finally finished going through every scroll. And every name had ended up being crossed-out, in the list in his mind.

The Uchiha clan was very efficient in the keeping of records on its members, and his brother had been just as efficient in his eradication of them.

There were even reports, from shortly after the massacre, of a great-aunt of living as a nun in the northwestern Land of Fire being found murdered in her abbey. A third-cousin living as a vagrant found with his eyes gouged out in the Land of Rivers. A handful of stories, official Konoha reports in the thick binder of records on every victim, accounting for all of the distant others, picked off in the days following the Massacre. Too close together to be a coincidence.

Sasuke had little doubt as to who was responsible for those.

He threw down the final scroll and rubbed his face with his hands.

Every single one. Not even a remote possibility. And he had thought, for a moment, that maybe some distant exile from centuries in the past had remained unaccounted for, Uchiha genetics surfacing again after dormant generations. But no, everything was accounted for. An Uchiha was an Uchiha, and nobody could escape. Nobody wanted to escape, it seemed like.

There was no possibility that Yakata was…

Delusional. Sasuke knew he was just. Delusional.

Why did Sakura have to say that, putting those thoughts in his head.

It had been months. Months since he'd last had those thoughts. He'd folded all of that away and tried to forget.

He started to put the scrolls away. Haphazardly, without much order, the way he had found them.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

He was better than this.

Really, was he that easily-swayed by a single coincidence? That was all it was. Coincidence. All of it. All of…

"…all this time, and you still feel that way…?"

There was a voice above ground, coming closer. It was soft and almost childlike, and he recognized it immediately.

He grit his teeth.

Her.

He threw the rest of the scrolls to the side, not bothering to put them away properly. He blew his candle out and went out to deal with her.

"…that's fascinating, really. Though it must be very difficult, all things considered…"

"Murasaki."

Sasuke stood directly in her path, and the woman stopped there. Her eyes looked closed, from where he was standing, like always.

She tilted her head slightly, after a few seconds. "…oh, did he really call me by my name? That's very interesting," she said.

He ignored her. "I have told you, time and time again, that you are forbidden on my clan's property."

"…I know, Sasuke-san. But they requested I meet with you tonight. I hope you understand."

He clenched his fists, a flood of new anger coursing through his body.

In the strange symbol-language that Murasaki used, "they" meant his family.

He started to forget about the boy.

"Leave," he said. He knew better than to get wrapped up in acknowledging her "ability," because then she would never go.

("It's harmful to humor her," Sakura had even told him, "even though it's just a… coping mechanism.")

(That had been ten years ago, and Murasaki was far from "healed.")

There was always a strange sort of disconnect between replies, when talking to Murasaki, a period of… thinking, or processing, before every reply.

It took her several seconds, after Sasuke spoke, to change her expression from sleepy peacefulness to some sort of drowsy worry. "…please do not get terribly mad at me, Sasuke-san. I am only trying to help."

"Did you not hear me the first time? Get out of here," Sasuke said again. "You are not helping anyone."

There was the usual pause as she processed this. "…would you rather they have no way of contacting you?"

He grabbed her arm, and he held it very, very tightly. "Enough. Leave. Now."

She didn't even squirm as his grip intensified. "…if that is what you wish, then I will leave. I am very sorry I could not stay longer, I hope everyone understands."

There she was again, talking to herself. Sasuke let go of her, sighing, and she brushed off the front of her fog-colored robe. She dressed like an old woman, and her hair was very long and very dark.

She suddenly smiled. "…now, now, I'm not going to say that, that is very rude," she said.

Sasuke glared at her, Sharingan blazing. He crossed his arms. She didn't seem affected.

"…all right, I'll try and tell him that, at least." She was still talking. "Sasuke-san, they want you to know that they're very excited for your son Inou in the upcoming chuunin exams. They all wish him the best, and hope that he will not shame the clan this time around with another failure."

Sasuke's eyes quieted.

"…that is what they wanted me to tell you, the most." A pause. She tilted her head, as if listening for something. "…oh, and some support for little Karai, but especially Inou. They know much of a disappointment he is to you sometimes. Doesn't act like an Uchiha at all, that's what someone is saying..."

It was at times like these that Sasuke almost believed Murasaki.

Almost.

He knew better now than to believe her strange little tricks, her sweet little words. She wasn't well in the head. Anything that rang particularly true was just a coincidence.

(Besides, wouldn't she have been able to contact Itachi if she really could speak to the dead?)

He grabbed her arm again and walked with her to the gate. He yanked at first, but he found her keeping pace, not resisting.

"If I catch you here again, I won't be nearly as kind," Sasuke said, letting go with a push.

She stumbled for a moment, but her face remained placid, sleepy. "…I cannot deny when help is asked of me, Sasuke-san. Please understand."

She always gave those same, frustratingly vague answers. And she always kept coming back. It was too much effort to try and get rid of her for good, because he knew, he knew, it wouldn't matter, no matter how much he threatened, no matter how many times it happened. It was easiest to just ignore her, in the end, which is exactly what Sasuke did then.

He turned his back on her and began on his way down the road, leaving her standing in the cooling summer air, by the gate.

"…is there anything more that you want?" she asked.

But nothing more was wanted.

Inou closed the door to his bedroom behind him and sighed, tired, relieved. He'd just been in the bathroom - and he'd been waiting, patiently, to go and use it, so that his mother or Karai wouldn't fuss over him if they caught a glimpse of him.

He hated how they did that. "Oh, Inou, are you feeling better?" "Oh, Inou, did you have a good nap?"

He got back under the covers, and the sheets were still very warm. He'd get better on his own.

So far, he'd done a good job of staying out of their way. He'd napped, most of the day. His mother brought him lunch, and medicine, in the afternoon, and he ate it in bed. He dozed some more. Read a fair amount.

And when he started feeling a little better, he sat up and prepared to work on his technique.

He had started developing it about a year or so before. It was born from a comment of his father's, actually, during an argument in which Inou was trying to justify his training in the Yamanaka arts, when he could be so much more well-trained in proper, Uchiha techniques.

(In reality, Inou wasn't much suited for the techniques of his father's family. He was better at subtle techniques, tricks in chakra control, the arts of the mind. His mother's arts. None of this flashy stuff to do with fireballs and blades. Those left him exhausted. But he had to learn them, anyways.)

"Really. 'It's for surveillance.' Good enough," his father had said, with a scoff. "But is there anything remotely useful you can learn that doesn't require you to faint like a woman every time you use it?"

His mother had glared at her husband there, but she didn't say anything.

Now, Inou knew just about every trick in the book. Mind Disruption, which let you remotely control the body - Inou was already very good at that, but he didn't like using it, finding it brutish and rough, impractical. And the Mind Switch, which let you take over a body entirely - one of the first things he had learned how to do, and master. And Mind Reading. Which was almost second nature to him, really, but he didn't get to use it often.

None of them were "practical" enough. Mind Disruption was an offensive(-ish) technique, but it had little to no use in surveillance work. Mind Switch was useless unless you had backup - that most poisonous, offensive word, backup. And Mind Reading was absolutely out of the question, unless you had a lot of time on your hands - and, again, with the backup.

Inou didn't have an answer that night, but it did give him an idea as he curled up under his sheets and tried not to bring attention to himself.

He'd develop something useful. Something useful enough.

He practiced, first, by seeing how far out he could extend a packet of chakra, the same principle behind the Mind Disruption and Switch techniques, without losing control. He usually did this in his bedroom, alone, so he'd be able to fall back onto his mattress if he if he lost consciousness. Which he did, frequently, in the beginning.

Next came developing the control itself. It was going to be difficult - he'd have to not only stay conscious, but also get a hold on the target's thought centers and thought centers alone, not their motor centers. It was so much easier just to grab the whole brain, or just the parts that controlled the body, but those were indelicate methods.

And besides, grabbing the whole brain meant devoting your whole control to it, and as a result losing control of your own body - the trademark fainting of the Mind Switch technique. And controlling just the motor centers meant that you were still conscious, but your own body was rather frozen from the concentration - the weakness of the Mind Disruption.

No, Inou just wanted to hear the thoughts. Which was where his experience with Mind Reading came in. He knew which parts of the brain to aim for, what he could reach his chakra into and pull things out of. But he didn't need the deep concentration of memory-scanning, no, that wasn't what he was interested in.

All he needed were the surface thoughts.

In theory, it'd work perfectly. Maintaining a strong enough link to get into just the surface thoughts and short-term memory - in essence, telepathy. But not the internal-dialogue sort of telepathy that could be shared between Yamanaka clan members. Inou was thinking real, honest-to-goodness mind-reading telepathy, that could work on anyone.

(Like the kind of stuff in Nadeshiko's comics.)

In theory, anyways.

Inou had nobody to practice with, but he tried, all the same. There was a tree outside his window, and birds liked to roost there. He practiced on them, first.

Birds didn't possess much, in terms of thoughts. But he'd practiced possessing animals before, with the Mind Switch technique. And they had smaller brains, anyways. It made things easier.

The birds helped. And, later, a little stray cat that showed up in the autumn; a black cat, with white paws. It liked to hang out on the roof, outside of Nadeshiko's room, though it was quick to leave whenever his father came home.

It liked to move in circles around the roof, lazily, as if on patrol. And Inou managed to figure out how to stay focused on a large, moving target before it disappeared, in the winter.

(Strangely enough, it reappeared in the spring, just a little fatter, just a little more reluctant to remove itself from near Nadeshiko's windowsill and her planter of marigolds.)

(The thoughts of cats were not much more fascinating than birds. Mostly feelings of contentment and superiority, and satisfaction upon the acquirement of foodstuffs.)

Inou found that he was able to get the best hold on a target if he held his hands palm-out, ring fingers and middle fingers touching, the space between them forming a diamond for the chakra to focus and pass through. It felt weird - it probably looked really stupid to others, Inou thought - but it worked.

His first human target was Chouko, who had smiled almost uncomfortably when he asked her if he could try out a new technique on her.

"Okay, so, what do you want me to do?" she said, laughter in her voice. "Is it a physical technique?"

"No, just stand right where you are," Inou said.

And he held his hands out in the stupid-diamond pattern that stretched his fingers uncomfortably but always worked with the birds, and the cat.

He concentrated his chakra, and out it went.

…supposed to be happening? He's just standing there like he's doing one of those techniques with the mind body switching for Our Formation, goodness he looks like he's concentrating so hard, his face is so adorable when he's concentrating like that, he'd get mad if I told him that, what is he even doing anyways?

"You think I look adorable when I'm concentrating?" Inou said, with a laugh and a wild grin, gasping for air, after he released the technique.

Chouko turned bright red, and then giggled and demanded an explanation.

After Inou told her what had just happened, and a further demonstration of his abilities - how did he know she was thinking of chocolate-covered pretzels? - she gave him a hug and a congratulation that was nearly as warm as she was.

All Shikake gave him was a dry glance and a warning. "Before you even ask. I am not letting you probe my mind. Like, ever."

Inou was too happy to really give her anything more than a nod.

Then Ishi-sensei asked him who had taught him the technique; surely one of his family members? He'd known many Yamanakas, but he'd never seen anything quite like that before.

And Inou stopped for a while and thought.

"Yeah, it's a pretty advanced technique," was what he said.

Confirming it would be lying.

And nobody would believe him if he'd said that he'd made it up himself.

He began to push himself, in his practice. Whenever his team went out to lunch together, or something similar, he'd always excuse himself and walk a distance away, and try to hear Chouko's thoughts and memories from further and further distances. She was fine with it, for the most part. "How else are you gonna get practice? Go right ahead." As per her request, he never practiced on Shikake.

That was how Inou found out that he could hear the thoughts of many, if he directed the pulse in a certain way. It was a weird sort of feeling, like suddenly flipping through every channel in a television, every channel a mind. It had first happened while he was trying to get a hold of Chouko's mind, down the street, and a woman had walked by, in the path, and Inou suddenly found himself bombarded with thoughts of a baby shower and she hadn't gotten a gift yet and then he was back in Chouko's mind as the woman walked out of the way.

A few tries later confirmed it. He could even redirect targets, with practice, shifting them from person to person, or just doing a slow, general sweep until he found something worth looking more deeply into.

Oh, this technique was useful.

And, on missions? It was incredibly useful. Absolutely. He didn't need anyone to back him up, even. He could disengage it at any time. He didn't faint. He just needed to concentrate.

He was able to scan the area for hidden persons. Get intel from civilians, from hostiles. He seemed to find a new use for it on every mission.

This was the skill that would make him a chuunin.

He was unable to really practice it since the chuunin exams began looming, and with them the descent of his father's most-watchful eye upon his training. But he managed to keep improving while on missions, while making enough effort at conventional training while at home to keep his father pleased.

(And, in the early mornings, before he met with Shikake and Chouko for training together, he'd sit on the roofs of the city and listen to the thoughts of people waking up, knowing he was wonderfully alone.)

It was an incredible skill. He knew this. He knew this.

But for however much he knew how useful, how practical it was, he could never bring himself to show his father how it worked.

He didn't know why. Maybe it was the suggestion of rejection that kept him from saying anything; either rejection of the idea that Inou had the ingenuity to create such a technique, or rejection of the technique altogether.

He could practically hear his father's voice. "Oh, so you can read minds. So, tell me. How is that useful, beyond being a neat little parlor trick?"

He could come up with a million answers, but he had no idea which ones his father would want to hear.

And so Inou devoted his weak body in the daytime to the things he knew his father wanted to see. The things his father could see. Tangible proof of effort.

Even though Inou had slaved for nearly a year and a half over his technique, there was nothing to really show for it.

And besides, his father was such a skeptic.

Inou had heard the terrible things he had to say about that Murasaki woman, the sick one, who said she could talk to ghosts.

(And the things his father left unvoiced were even worse, even stronger, even more hateful, even more pained.)

(Inou was inclined to believe that she really had such abilities, though it was more out of pity and commiseration than any sort of true belief. She was crazy, after all. Everyone knew that.)

Mind-reading? Honestly? What a joke.

Maybe that was why Inou was trying so hard. At… everything, really. This was His Year. The year he'd become a chuunin, finally. And maybe he'd find a way to prove to his father that he wasn't such a weakling, dependent on everyone.

He'd find a way to show him his technique.

So even though his headache really hadn't gone away yet, Inou got out from under the covers and sat against his pillows. He made the diamond-sign with his fingers, and concentrated his chakra.

Maybe the new technique would be working today.

The new technique was… experimental. He had a hard time controlling it. But he couldn't help but try and develop it, to see if it would even work. He couldn't help himself. Inou's ambition was a quiet, but insistent sort of thing.

(A little voice in his head told him that he shouldn't exert himself, he was sick, for goodness' sake, but he ignored it.)

He moved his hands, still in the diamond-sign, in front of his face, and he slowly began to move them apart. The chakra near his hands began to spread as well, and he could feel it stretching out. Like blowing a bubble, it's like blowing a bubble, he told himself. Concentrating.

His headache started to intensify, but he ignored it.

This technique was like a radio scanner; that was the best way he could put it. He could scan for thoughts with his current technique, but it was so… slow. This was - when it worked - so much quicker. It gave him a more generalized feel for the thoughts in the nearby area, flipping through his mind without much control, but at an incredible speed.

(It was exhilarating, when he first tried this in the early morning hours. He felt like a king of rooftops and dreams.)

The only real problem was transitioning from this split-second scan, thoughts flooding into his mind, to his usual technique, allowing him to hold onto the thoughts instead of finding them zipping out of his grasp just as things were getting interesting.

He figured he'd work on that later. Had to get the basics done first.

He spread the chakra, thinner, and bigger. He could feel his heart beating in his eyes.

Then, finally-

-visit Shusuke again on Saturday, I haven't - hasn't left his room in hours, I should go check on-

Yes, yes, yes! There it was! In his excitement, his concentration slipped. The thoughts grew quieter. He flooded his hands with chakra, a bigger bubble, a stronger bubble.

-probably faking it for sympathy, what a - Sasuke's been gone for a while, I shouldn't probably ask him where he - honestly I'm worried maybe I should just try and talk to-

He knew these thoughts. They sounded like the people they belonged to. More chakra.

(His head felt like it was going to explode.)

-really who even does that - wonder where Father is-

Inou pushed himself further, further. He could go further. He could do better.

He felt something warm on his face, over his lips.

-the way you worry about that boy, honestly, it's more than just a little sad, it-

He lost control there. His head finally exploded. He collapsed against the pillows.

But that last voice. He did not recognize that last voice, a rough, polite voice. And he knew that his house was too far removed from anything resembling a neighborhood for him to have reached into someone else's home.

What was that?

Something about that fact left him incredibly unsettled. He tried not to think terribly hard about it.

When he finally got control of his limbs again, he noticed that his nose had started bleeding. He'd been out for so long, in fact, that it had started to run down the side of his face and onto his pillow, into his mouth.

"Oh crap!" he said softly, and pinched his nose, out of bed in an instant. Blood got all over his fingertips, his palms. He could taste it, and smell it, and it made him feel sick.

He had to get to the bathroom. Again. He prayed nobody would see him.

He ran into Takeru on the way.

And Takeru just tilted his head and almost smiled, not letting him pass. "What happened to your face?" He sounded like he was laughing.

"Godda nodebleed, ged oudda da way, Dageru," Inou replied, trying to shove his way forward. Come on, the bathroom was just a few feet away… Why did it have to be Takeru…?

"A nosebleed? What from?"

Inou didn't respond, trying to shove past him again. He was still too weak for much of anything, though. His lips felt disgustingly sticky.

"You aren't taking time off from training for anything questionable, now, are you?" Takeru widened his normally narrow, smug-looking eyes in mock surprise. They reminded Inou of Shikake. "For shame, little brother."

"Cud id oud, Dageru! Lebbe go clead ub!"

Takeru wasn't much taller than him, but he looked for all the world like a giant to Inou, there. Standing there, condescending, as usual.

"Fine, then. But I don't really believe you. I bet you're hiding something."

Inou could settle for that. He had nothing to hide, and he told Takeru this. His brother finally let him pass, and Inou went to the bathroom and washed his face.

"Mo-other! Inou got blood all over his pillow!" Takeru was in his room, like he'd promised. Probably looking for… some sort of magazine or something equally embarrassing or incriminating. The sort of thing you'd find in Hajime's room, with his hidden pinups and questionable magazines under the mattress; not in Inou's room.

Inou didn't even like girls, not that way. He'd read some of Hajime's mattress-books in a fit of relapse a few years before (from when he was still too scared to even glance at Nadeshiko's door, after he had gotten caught there), and he wondered what all the fuss was about, more than anything. It was boring at best, disgusting at worst. Nothing he'd want to keep hidden under his pillows.

(Inou hid comic anthologies under his mattress, but they were never kept there for long. What if he was caught? Again?)

But Takeru was his older brother, and he showed he cared by antagonizing Inou at every instance. Inou preferred Hajime's distance, personally.

"Wha-at? Inou, what happened?" His mother was coming up the stairs, accompanied by a flurry of smaller steps.

He came out of the bathroom, drying his face with a towel, and there was Karai, looking like she was close to tears or something, his mother at the end of the hall, looking mildly concerned.

Karai cared too much.

When they asked him about what had happened, he just said that it was because his nose had gotten dried-out from all the sneezing, or something.

And then his father came home, and he was in a bad mood, so they had a quiet dinner. Inou had gotten out of his pajamas before his arrival. He had gotten blood all over them. He wouldn't have kept them on, anyways.

"Recover soon," was the only thing his father said to him that night, from across from the dinner table. It could have been a lot worse.

Inou had all but forgotten about the strange voice he'd heard, earlier in the evening. But something still stayed with him that left him feeling jumpy and hollow inside, especially as he tried to get to sleep. He told himself that it was just because he was sick, convincing himself to doze off, not bothering to practice again.

The chuunin exams were that Friday. He'd still have time to work on it.

Karin's reply arrived on a Wednesday.

Sakura,

Got to be kidding me. Taki in Konoha? Big trouble, likely.

Hozuki and I both dealt with Taki clan before. He does work for them occasionally. I know them through Sensei.

Boss Kuni asked Sensei to treat daughter, Mikan, about 30 years back. Uterine cancer, incredibly advanced. Very young, very unfortunate.

Boss Kuni tried other doctors. Went to Sensei as last resort. Sensei asked for new body as payment. Boss Kuni agreed, no questions asked. Anything to save Mikan. Devoted father, heartless otherwise. Sensei liked him.

Sensei brought me to assist. Used my blood as part of treatment. Possible explanation for cells in Kiine's blood, if Mikan were still fertile. Treatment was effective, not perfect.

Still wouldn't explain Uzumaki heredity. Know for a fact Mikan is not Uzumaki, neither is husband, Boss Tensho.

Highly suspicious. Will look into this further. Send you information from archives if possible.

Would come to Konoha if not weighted down. Apologies.

Word of warning: do not bring this up to Taki. Boss Tensho very touchy on subject of family. Worse when ninja are involved.

Stay out of Taki's way. More trouble than worth. Lay low.

Regards to your Sakari. Sweet girl.

- Karin

Sakura had to read the letter a couple of times before she felt like she really understood what it was saying. Notes from Karin were always like this. Terse, but precise. The language of a scientist with very little time to spare.

(It always struck her as more than a little unnerving that she referred to Orochimaru, in those letters, as Sensei. Just Sensei. Always.)

Sakura pushed a bang behind her ear as she processed all the information.

It was uncomfortable information, about uncomfortable things - the Taki syndicate, Orochimaru, cancer - then again, that was Karin, for you. Frank and direct. Unblinking.

Somehow, though, none of it surprised her. A crime syndicate going to Orochimaru for cancer treatment? Goodness.

Then again, 30 years ago, Sakura doubted anyone was even remotely skilled enough to treat the more advanced stages of cancer, except for maybe Tsunade.

And 30 years ago, Tsunade was still living at the bottom of a bottle, surrounded by gambling debts.

…it still felt questionable to Sakura. Especially the whole asking for a body as payment thing. That… that didn't surprise her.

The way Karin had put it made it seem like Kiine's mother - Mikan, that seemed to be her name - wasn't even capable of having children. Did that mean… Kiine was adopted? That did nothing to explain Karin's cells in her blood, though. And Karin probably knew this.

So maybe Mikan had somehow become fertile again? But, how? And she wasn't an Uzumaki, but Kiine still was; that stood to be explained…

Karin was right, it was suspicious. Very suspicious. But Sakura didn't know what in the world it could mean.

Maybe Karin did. Or would, eventually.

Sakura decided not to tell Naruto about this, not yet.

At least until Karin got back to her again.