Blueberries

"Basket."
.

Skin wasn't meant to chill the pads his fingers. Skin was warm, radiating the heat of life from deep within.

He reminisced on the first corpse he'd seen, and like many of his memories prior to his Sharingan awakening, the images were hazy. He didn't remember what the body looked like. It might have been male, it might not have. It could have belonged to someone who was older, or even too young, like he had been. But there was no forgetting the sight of wide, dull, lifeless eyes. Blue, black, brown, he couldn't remember, but there they were – unblinking, unresponsive, and unreadable. Dead.

Those eyes had haunted him throughout his childhood; however, where there was war, there were bodies. Body after body, either being carted through the streets or laying still beside his door step, he'd grown used to the sight of them. And he had watched it from afar, feeling vaguely detached, as if he was the one who was dead and not them.

That carcass was it's own casket, one composed of flesh, an organic mass that did its best to survive and failed miserably. But Obito was too young to think of it as that, at the time. The body had reminded him of a machine – like those toys his family let him play with – a device functioning on electricity that shut off because its batteries had been ripped out. Why couldn't someone just put in a new set? Or better yet, why couldn't they make toys that didn't die out on him?

The very first corpse... It did things to him. A child's mind was delicate, ready to be built by what it absorbed. Though he was young and barely old enough to form complete sentences, he was quick to learn what death entailed. It meant goodbye forever. It made people sad and mad, so it had to be bad. Life in a Hidden Village where the economy ran on military service was bound to introduce children to violence before they learned their alphabets.

It wasn't much longer when he touched a lifeless body for the very first time.

Their eyes were hidden, closed upon their deaths. Yet, he didn't have to dig deep for a memory of their faces; they were his parents, so how could he forget?

There was no haze in these memories; he could still feel the prickle of contact beneath his gloves even right then. Dead, so dead. Their skin had been dry, cold, and if touch had taste, it could only be described as bitter. They had been dead for a long while, days, before he pressed the palms of his hands against their sunken-in cheeks. The bodies must have smelled from the early stages of rot, but that wasn't as easy to recall as the painful, final grasp he would have of them.

Her lips were rimmed with a dark indigo. Dead.

His skin was a splotchy, ugly canvas of pale green and pink. Dead as well.

Today, he felt nothing as he compared them to the overripe and under-ripe berries people picked out of the pint to toss away.

Though his arm was severed, it was his face that felt most bare. His mask was damaged, and as a consequence, a glimpse of his skin was exposed. His Sharingan itched, unaccustomed to the expanse of peripherals and exposure to daylight, as little of it as there was under the heavy clouds. Rain pelted down on him. Blood and water collected at his lashes. The drops met as one at his lips, passing between and touching his tongue, yet the taste of failure never reached his mind.

Konan eyes released a rage he knew she'd been carrying her entire life.

Tobi didn't care for it. She was a parasite in his way, a minor snag to his aim. He would have the Rinnegan; he'd already come this far.

Her voice rung like an angel's, melodic and lamenting in all of her sorrow, "You were a breeze that grew into a storm. And now your own clouds blind you. You think the rain's thunder made us deaf to your lies, but we know what you're trying so desperately to hide from the world... and yourself."

She was always speaking in riddles, as if her very existence was an allegory. Deciphering them was a waste of time. In the end, she spun a romanticised tale of life, deeming what was fantasy to be reality. Tobi snapped, "Get to the point."

"You can't hide from it. You can't run from it, Madara," Konan bit out the name, and continued on coldly, "What purpose is there to bask yourself with the sun, when it's inside you that needs warmth? How could you hope to bring happiness to a world when you have none to spare for even yourself?"

"Your words are meaningless," Tobi began, but he was cut off by Konan.

And cut, she did, in more ways than one. Tone sharp and words a blade, she said, "And him? Deidara? Are you forgetting him?"

He took a step back.

His name... That was all it took for him to...

Dammit all.

"What about that brat?" he hissed, playing ignorance. But he knew it was too late. Like a book, she'd been reading him from the very beginning, and he'd been unable to properly end the story. Deidara had wormed his way into his life, and he'd strayed from the plot, his purpose, and that ending the writer had planned would never quite be the same.

She bore her gaze into his, assessing him. As if finding something she liked, the quality of her tone softened, "Tobi. You thought yourself unfeeling, yet your existence bloomed on hatred. But that cannot sustain you. Love will have you thrive."

Even he was aware of how feeble his words were, yet there were all he could muster, "You know nothing."

She didn't. How could she? How could she possibly understand how deeply he yearned for Deidara to stay? It had been easier to see him go, of his own violation. He wouldn't have to lie awake every night, wondering if tomorrow would be the last. It was simpler to watch him walk away when otherwise, he would be forced to see Deidara rip out his own batteries. Tobi let him go, before Deidara did it for him.

Obito was no stranger to others disappearing from his life, but Tobi – Obito – he couldn't bare the thought of Deidara choosing death over him. That... that would be the end. Of it all.

Before he could dive into an area of his mind that grabbed him by the ankle and pulled, Konan broke through his thoughts, "Perhaps. But perhaps you don't either. You have chosen madness and death. What else could you possibly lose? You have nothing left."

She was wrong.

Deidara had chosen death, not him. He had chosen life. The plan promoted life. There were no batteries. There were no blueberries. It was perfect. There was no flaw with Tsuki no Me. Happiness was within reach, once the genjutsu was cast. The plan would work, and everyone, even him, even her, would know true joy.

"I know what you're thinking. I still have Tsuki no Me," she seemed about to scoff, and she would have, if she were anyone else. Her frigid eyes burned through him, "Yet did you ever stop to think... what if the roles were reversed?"

His brows knit together. There was something about the way she said it that had his hair raise, "What are you saying?"

"All these years, you've been manipulating the world, blind to see that it's been you who is truly being bewitched. You may not carry Madara's body, but in exchange for his name, you carry his ideas, his beliefs, and his hatred."

So.

She knew he wasn't Madara.

So be it.

She had no leverage over him, not like Kabuto did, but he had to be sure. Tobi demanded, "How did you come across this information?"

Konan didn't answer his question, but continued from where she left off, "You're no longer your own person. He made you no one, an empty vessel to be filled, so he could spread his never-ending hatred with the world, even after death. You're a fool, Tobi, but you're not brainless. Surely, you've wondered. Why did he select you?"

He would kill her.

She was aware of detrimental information.

Konan was another loose end to be tied.

"Because you were easy. You were an angry little boy who needed one final push. Am I wrong?"

This time, he didn't answer her. He couldn't.

Because she wasn't wrong. She was right.

He had nothing left. He had been strung like a compliant puppet, but he'd known that for years. Madara had used him like Tobi used everyone and everything, like tools and ingredients to be used. What Konan was implying...

"How much do you know?"

"Hit the mark, did I?" the corners of her mouth quirked up in a lifeless smile, "I know you're not him."

"Who told you?" he asked.

It couldn't have been Deidara. It couldn't.

"A hungry bird will hunt the lone snake," she hinted, and Tobi could think of only one hissing reptile with too much knowledge, "I may not know who you are behind Madara's tempering, but I know you're not him. You were his prey, and you need to escape his hold."

She wasn't saying anything worthwhile, nothing he could use, and he didn't care for her speech, "You said something about a final push."

"I did."

Tobi didn't like where this was going, at all. He remained silent, waiting for her to explain further.

"I've come to understand him through you. You both target desperate children and crush what's left of their hope, until they have no choice but to think like you," she all but admitted she was aware of Madara's involvement with Nagato's Rinnegan, "What would stop him from doing the same to you?"

"I'm not telling you my story."

But now he was reliving it. Him, broken, young, and alone, clinging onto some false hope for his team. He recalled every sensation he had felt when he'd opened his eyes to see a dark ceiling: the pain between flesh and DNA, the numbness in muscles where nerves had not healed yet, the tickling of foreign chakra infusing with his blood, and the fear and confusion of waking up – he was meant to be dead, after all.

"I'm not asking you to," she whispered. He barely heard it over the rush of rain.

Madara was there, reminding him that the world was a cruel place and he needn't bother with it. There were more important things to consider. Guruguru, a walking joke, giving his naïve, frazzled mind a false sense of security. We want to help you, you special boy. And Obito, having been a nobody, ate it all up. There was Madara, the greatest Uchiha in history, paying attention to him when no one else could.

Konan hushed, "In this brutal world we live in, there's no such thing as coincidence, Tobi."

Rin, of all shinobi, forced to host Isobu. The light leaving her eyes with her last breath, only to be replaced with the dazzling reflection of a sparkling Chidori. Her, the person he had loved most in the world – for being kind and understanding when no one else would – killed because circumstance had it so. Kakashi, the boy he'd trusted with his thought to be dying wish, breaking his promise, and Obito being right there to witness it. Him, an unlucky boy being at the wrong place at the wrong time, awakening his Mangekyō Sharingan.

Madara's plan requiring him to have them.

"Whatever he did to you, you can't let it consume you. You mustn't let him win," she said. Or you'll end up like Nagato, she didn't say, realizing your mistakes once it was too late.

Obito, so lost in his grief, did not think. He did not think to ask himself why it was her who'd they hurt, why it had been Kakashi to do it, and why he had been present through it all. He did not think to ask why Madara had been so interested with him, a weak, sad child with Uchiha blood running through his veins.

Like a dream, he remembered putting on the orange mask, so sure that Madara was right. The world was hell, and they were trapped under its feeding flames.

Madara – and Zetsu, his mind supplied – would pay.

"Our lives are meaningless in the end. We all die when fate has finished with us. But it's up to you to decide how you want to live what short time you have, be it with the one you love, or playing slave to a demon that took everything away from you," and if that wasn't enough, she whispered to him – to herself, "...Like we had."

She sounded so much like Deidara right then, that images of a carefree smile and untroubled eyes lurched into his mind. The surfacing violent thoughts of Madara's scheme washed away, quickly burying themselves under Deidara's distant memory.

Guilt tore open his chest, and Deidara prodded into the gaping wound with hands that weren't there.

Tobi could not stop the dread from spilling out in words, "What have I done?"

It was then she let something slip into her features, as if him feeling remorse had broken the last piece of foundation holding her stable. Her grief over the losses in her life reflected in her gaze, and Obito wondered if he'd ever held such an expression before. Because finally, he understood.

Konan closed her eyes, and a calm washed over her, "It's not too late. Undo what you've done."

Something tightened in his chest, and it wasn't from emotional distress. The physical nature of the pain surprised him; it wasn't something he'd endured since being modified by Senju DNA. He clutched at it, now certain of what it was, "Madara placed a cursed seal on my heart. Betrayal will have me killed."

The pain it gave him in warning for his treacherous thoughts was proof enough. It was suffocating. He'd only been assuming before, but now the feeling of something enslaving his heart was apparent.

"I see," her eyes opened, gleaming, "Then let me give you the Rinnegan. Use its strength to guide you down the right path."

"You trust me so easily?" he asked, appreciating her ambiguity with her words. But it was useless. His subconscious was well aware of what she meant. Either way, he held doubts, "I may be pretending to be swayed by your words."

"You came to the truth yourself. I did nothing to persuade you, besides give you a little push," she smirked, mocking Madara's influence on him. She then sobered, firmly sharing, "The way you are around him, around that fierce, irrepressible man... I don't trust you. I trust that."

Feeling exposed and vulnerable under the heavy rain, he retaliated, though he himself was unsure of what he meant, "You're mistaken."

"No, I'm not. You're an open book with its pages torn out. Let me provide you with more, a chance to start fresh," she offered, and the paper around her fluttered in approval.

"You cannot give me the Rinnegan," he told her. The tag had burned at her words, being connected to his conscience. Taking it willingly, in a conscious effort to put an end to Tsuki no me, would result in his death.

"Kill me. Aim for my heart," was all he said before he attacked.

She hardly had a chance to react, but she gave the hint of a smile before her expression turned fierce.

The thought of killing himself had the seal reacting, and soon they were fighting. The cursed seal would not permit him to attempt suicide – Madara truly had him caged. He could neither betray him lest he die, betray him on purpose in an effort to die, nor could he simply choose to die, as that would be a betrayal in itself.

Then he would have to kill this woman for getting in his way and implementing false ideas into his head. And he'd always been good at lying to himself; he'd been doing it well for years now.

He'd use Izanagi at the most precise moment, he thought, then aggressively added, to survive.

And later as he sat crouched down, mask broken, right limb missing, and a deep hole in his chest, he'd never felt more certain he'd made the right decision. It hurt. He brought his only hand to touch what bled for as long as he could remember. Beneath his glove, his heart beat stronger than it had in years, and the strength of the organ under his fingers told him he was alive.

He would live.

Obito stood to his feet, giving the Senju DNA an opportunity to close up the wounds and regrow his arm.

Konan continued to stare impassively as the limb spurted out, before she said, "Will you go search for Deidara?"

"Soon," he grunted, not comfortable with discussing any of this with her. He wasn't any of her business.

She must have sensed it because she directed the topic of conversation to something else pressing, "We have enemies on all sides now. The shinobi won't trust you."

"They'll come around," he told her, "Besides myself and Zetsu, Madara has no followers. The Akatsuki have their own goals. Kabuto is who I'm concerned with. He has Madara."

"Give that snake what he wants. Don't fight him. It will mean the end of the world as we know it," Konan warned.

Tobi thought it over, but not for long, "He says he wants the Uchiha brat, but that can't be all. Kabuto finds pleasure in chaos. He will not stop with Sasuke."

She didn't seem surprised, "So we fight. Is the Rinnegan safer hidden? If so, kill me, and it will never be found."

"No. Madara's strength is unparalleled. He does not need it to destroy us. We may fail without it."

"Then I will give it to you," Konan tilted her head, and something in her tone shifted, "You haven't asked me about him."

He didn't have to ask who she was referring to, and she spoke as if she knew his whereabouts. That was frustrating enough in itself, but what else did he expect from her? She was the Akatsuki's best spy, second only to Zetsu. Konan knew where Deidara was, yet he didn't. Tobi could have searched for him, though he could never bring himself to do it.

Finally, Tobi replied, and he said truthfully, "I don't need to know where he is."

"Why?"

"I'll go after him if I do," he told her, then stuttered as a wave of fear washed over him, "But. I – Deidara? Is he...?"

"He's safe," she assured, then turned her back to him, as if to leave, "I'll be there should you need me."

He parted ways with her, mind elsewhere. Relief dumped itself on him, and he breathed his first breath of air in months.

And in that moment, he hated her. He felt nothing but hatred for her, for the blunt truth of reality. He would never stop hating it. From the moment he breathed his first breath of air, fate had decided his very existence would swim in a sea of betrayal. His parents abandoned him to fight in war. They never returned. His clan forgot about him. His grandmother. His team. Kakashi. Rin. Madara. Himself.

All he'd had left was Deidara, and that mad had vanished from Tobi's life without looking back.

It was his fault; Tobi was to blame. He chased away the last fragment of his humanity because of his fears.

Oh, Tobi had been weak, so very, very weak. His cowardice was veiled by an opaque sheet woven out of his defensive vice. All it took was the edge of a blade to slice it clean open, for the truth of his stupidity to come oozing out, so he could see it for what it was. But the knives they all used had been too dull, and these people – all these people, Deidara too, in all his ferocity – had tried to warn him, but it hadn't been enough. They just hacked away, chipping at his blindness unsuccessfully.

But this...

Madara had killed Obito. He had emptied the cup of water, drained it from all its potential to promote life, and poured in poison... for another to drink. Madara carried the most pristine of weapons, and he had ripped him open in one swing, one cruel, strategic swing.

Now, Tobi was ready to be selfish. He wanted to think for himself for a change.

Kami. He missed Deidara.

She had disappeared in a flurry of paper, but he'd hardly noticed, because she gave him more than the Rinnegan's location before her departure.

•

Soaked to the bones, mask cracked, and cloak shredded from the fight, he stood at the centre of a valley caged by the endless sight of mountains. Snow blanketed everything he could see, insulating the few ambient sounds of nature there were. The cold was bitter, something he could recognize, despite his mutation. Owing to the silence and lack of colour, this place was deathly still. Not even the wind blew here, trapped by the enormous bodies of rock around him. He suspected he was standing over a lake, as there wasn't a tree in sight, not for miles. These weren't ideal living conditions.

The Land of Snow.

This was the last place he expected Deidara to be.

I'd like to thank everyone who's still reading, a bigger thank you to those who've been providing feedback, to those who I never get back to, and an extra special thank you to the guest reviewers who never receive replies because this site doesn't allow it.