Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Age seven

They’re always just—there. Sometimes, if he’s very lucky, they stay in the periphery of his line of sight. Sasuke is not lucky, as a rule. On the whole, they are indistinguishable from reality, for all that he knows, of course, they aren’t; that the fact he is seeing his mother and father, cousins, aunts and uncles is just a cruel trick of the mind. It doesn’t help much. They look and sound real. The ghosts even cast accurate ghost-shadows, which is, admittedly, a trip.

Even a fully crazy seven-year-old orphan knows that this is a problem. This is the problem. He can’t be a shinobi if he’s crazy. He can’t complete the Mission if he’s crazy.

This latest curveball sits proudly at the top of the list of Things You Have To Deal With. Frankly, the honorary position is well-deserved. Getting strong is all well and good, but every vivid memory of his family walking, talking—sprawled unmoving in muddy puddles of blood—takes its toll.  Sasuke’s will to live is still strong, incredibly, but it is not limitless. Something must change. He must fix himself and the Academy is going to be of no help there.

He gets a lot of leeway, which is convenient. The instructors had most likely expected a breakdown of some sort. If he had to stumble into insanity, he could not have chosen a better time. Not only is a breakdown expected, but Sasuke is also further protected by the simple fact nobody cares to look. He doesn’t doubt a trained shinobi could spot the difference between depression and insanity, but the adults appear to invest considerable energy into moving past the Massacre. On the upside, he learned a lot about the not-ghosts while scrubbing the blood-stains from the Compound. They won’t disappear until he walks into them bodily, for one, and they re-appear once he moves away. Creepy, yes, but cool in a way.

His vague plans shift to suit the updated list of priorities. The simple plan of ‘train until nobody can hurt you ever again’ is replaced by ‘study until you figure out why you are insane, now’. The first one would have been easier, on the whole.

The only source of information he can count on is in the library. Uchiha have several. Pretty straightforward solution, there. The Konoha public library might be bigger and better equipped or whatever, but his are private. His are his. He can burn each book after reading it if he wanted to. Not that he would, of course. He might be wackadoo, but it’s not making him especially violent yet. If anything, he’s mellowed out. Not a year ago sitting still would have been physically painful. Now? Not even an issue. Not even a blip on the radar. Sitting in peace in his library is the best part of his day.

Life-wise, he’s more or less covered. He’s got money, he’s got plenty of space and all that. With hundreds of families slaughtered, he won’t have to worry about non-perishables for lifetimes. Hundreds of lifetimes, even. The only thing he has to do is buy fresh food and attend his classes. If he’s clever about it, he can pick up his groceries on his way home, and have two-thirds of the day free.

Most of the library is Sharingan-locked, which is not ideal, but not the worst thing ever, either. He’s got plenty of material to go over for now. From the accessible sections, he finds eighty-seven books on brains and minds, all of which make his head spin. He can barely understand the titles, never mind read the damn things.

Even the simple task of hauling his bounty home turns out to be a trial. If he were bigger and smarter and not an utterly disgraceful Uchiha, he’d have known how to use a sealing scroll. Since Sasuke is, well, Sasuke, he packs his books into baskets he pilfered from a bakery. The smell of stale blood is by now well and truly old news, but rotting food is new.

Well, if you didn’t want your books to stink, maybe you should have learned how to seal stuff away. You didn’t, so you get to settle.

Attending the Academy becomes less bearable by the day. He could handle the other kids; they leave him alone for the most part, and he learned to block them out pretty reliably. The adults, though, are more complicated. They might be motivated to ignore the Event, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t trying to do—Something. He can’t quite figure out what. The advice they give—often and at great length—is so terrible that he quickly concludes it must be deliberate. It has to be, right? There has to be some other goal?

Alright, so Umino-sensei is not bad, because he tries to teach him how to help himself. He teaches him how to use a dictionary and how to take notes. How to ignore the unimportant bits and focus on the bits that matter. How a long, confusing sentence can be divided into smaller, digestible chunks of information. True, Sasuke has the distinct feeling he does it at least in part so that he wouldn’t have to look at him much, but that works out. It’s not like Sasuke particularly wants to be looked at or talked at or whatever.

With a clear path forward, everything becomes all sorts of easier. Sasuke wouldn’t dare claim he had become a good student, especially with how little he cares about class, but he had improved. There is a chance, however small. He could become better if he tries. And, if he fixes himself quickly enough, he might have a chance to try properly.

First thing’s first—the dictionary. It doesn’t take long for Sasuke to file the dictionary into the part of his mind reserved for Gods and prophets. Fair enough, frankly. Nobody else teaches Sasuke fairly and without bias. Umino-sensei helped him out of pity, the rest of his instructors wanted something that Sasuke hadn’t thus far managed to pin down. Moreover, Sasuke paid money to attend those classes. When all that is put together, the picture is clear. There exists, in Sasuke’s life, not a single selfless human. Not a one. In contrast, there is the dictionary; a book about as long as Sasuke’s torso, hand-bound and beautiful, that was, in all ways, the ideal teacher. So what if looking up one definition means he will have to look up another one, and then another one after that. That is not only bearable, it’s fun. Like a scavenger hunt, only his rewards were bits of knowledge, precious kernels of information that would, ideally, help him stay alive past the year.

After spending about a month with his trusted dictionary, he feels like he has at least a general idea of what he needs. At least a solid starting point, which, in this case, means psychology. Child psychology to be more precise. (The dictionary assures him he is still a child, for all that he doesn’t feel like one. Since Sasuke’s feelings are not to be trusted as a general rule, never mind when they conflict with his most trusted source, the correct answer is clear. )

He chooses the first text at random. It doesn’t truly matter, he’s not naive enough to think that he will be able to read the thing. Foundations are first, as per Umino-sensei’s advice. First, he learns the unfamiliar Kanji; this eats up about two months. Once that is finished, it’s time to start the exhausting process of writing out words he doesn’t know, grouping them by category and looking up what they mean. He’s essentially writing a baby-dictionary of his very own, that he can consult when necessary. Lastly, he writes a separate booklet with more in-depth explanations of laws and principles that he can’t make sense of.

Foundations are set. He did the prep work while keeping to Umino-sensei’s standards of learning. Surely—Surely he can read a text. One measly text.

Apparently not. Even when he understands every word, he has no idea what the book is saying. Truly, he has outdone himself. Being slow for an Uchiha was one thing, but needing over six months to read a single text—that’s impressive. Sasuke is amazed by his stupidity. Try as he might, the sentence when read as a whole just doesn’t make sense. To make matters worse the more he tries to train his mind into some level of intelligence, the more mistakes he makes. Instead of growing sharper or stronger, his mind slows down and starts filling his head with a bizarre sort of not-whine, not-noise that makes his throat constrict and his eyes burn. Reading the paragraphs out loud doesn’t work. Writing them out doesn’t work. He memorises how they sound, but—doesn’t understand.

As he enters into the seventh month of reading the cursed book, he is forced to admit—there is no helping it. He is simply too slow and there is no helping that. If things were different, he would have made a good career-Genin, too slow to do any work more demanding than lugging heavy things around. As it is, nothing in his life suggests that he will be allowed to live if he doesn’t have anything valuable to offer.

Fine, then. Fine, whatever. Sasuke’s fine. He will work around it. Shinobi work around their disabilities all the time. If he can’t understand the text as it is, why not make it simpler? The second go-around is just as exhausting, especially when coupled with the strange blend of desperation and frustration that becomes his faithful companion. It’s fine. He decides to write out the text, simplifying a part of the sentence per turn. If he has to re-write a paragraph a hundred times but has a solid idea of what it tried to teach him, he will count it as a success. Write it out, word by word, line by line. He has time. (No, he hasn’t.)

Age eight

The ghosts—hallucinations, the books inform him—are still there, still life-like. A full year after the Event has gone by and Sasuke’s mind continues to be a very distressing place to be. Once, memorably, he could see three separate memories of Fugaku at the same time. Well, one of them was of his corpse, which maybe doesn’t count.

After some straightforward experiments and a couple of diaries, he concludes that the hallucinations are not invented. They are memories, projections of events that had happened to Sasuke. As such, the Compound is practically a ghost town. Everywhere he looks, ghosts talk, laugh, cry, and fight. It’s, yeah. It’s definitely getting worse.

You really should have moved out of the house, he thinks for the umpteenth time. You really should. How many times do you need to see ghost-Fugaku snap and snarl at ghost-Sasuke? Do you enjoy watching ghost-Mikoto’s eyes slide over her youngest son, as he’s punished for something completely normal and in no way deserving of punishment?

Yeah sure, okay, he sneers at himself. Sure, he will move out. He will just stop watching memories with Itachi, then? He will just not care about all the gentle smiles and soft touches? He will just go without ghost-Itachi’s insightful and boundless patience?

As if. Stop whining. What else is there? The dictionary is great, but it won’t pet you or thread fond fingers through your hair. Sure, ghost-Itachi won’t either, but ghost-Sasuke is you. Was you. Whatever. It counts. You can handle some randomly abusive parents.

Can’t you?

It’s difficult to say. The blade is very much up in the air when it comes to the whole abuse-thing. The concept itself is hard to internalise. Sasuke is a shinobi. Will be a shinobi. Has vague hopes about living long enough to become a shinobi. They fight and kill and torture. That’s their job. Surely, if that’s okay, then all the other stuff is, too?

The books say it is not. The books insist him many times in a lot of different ways that hurting children sticks with them. That, much like a bonsai tree, their spirits grow up stunted and crooked and grotesque. Basically, the books claim, children are not equipped to handle such prolonged, targeted malice.

That describes Sasuke so well, he slips into a solid meltdown then and there. Not equipped. It’s—He never imagined he would find words that describe everything he is so perfectly. Sasuke,  He Who is Not Equipped. Not to handle his family, not to survive Mission, not to meet the very concrete conditions required to be a semi-functional civilian. Even when he is given all the tools, he is mentally not equipped to use them. If ever there was a final nail…

Six weeks into the second year post the Event, he stumbles across an answer. A theory.

Sasuke is not actually an Uchiha. Sasuke is a child Mikoto and Fugaku raised, but he was never theirs. Why they agreed to take him in, to feed him and clothe him and call him Uchiha he doesn’t know, but Itachi is almost certainly involved. Sasuke was always told that he was Itachi’s Person, but not vice-versa. Neither Mikoto nor Fugaku never forgave him for having the audacity to burden Itachi with such a weak bonded, without having the respect to reciprocate the bond. Which, of course, is nonsense. Mikoto wasn’t Fugaku’s Person, for all that he was hers. Soul bonds are random, unpredictable and unknowable.

Never mind his parents’ hypocrisy. The point that it’s possible that due to a freak accident, Itachi bonded to a random orphan baby and was then forced to take him home. Itachi was strong and big and a genius. Fugaku would have done a lot to make sure he remained the Heir, and no Uchiha survives the death of their Person.

It explains everything. Why Fugaku despised him, why Mikoto couldn’t be bothered to look at him. Why he’s so soft and stupid and not equipped. (Why Itachi didn’t kill him.)

It even accounts for the hallucinations. Whatever Itachi did to him, it probably would not have been so bad, if Sasuke was a real Uchiha. Aniki probably forgot Sasuke was a foundling, tried an Uchiha-only technique and it backfired.

Or maybe Itachi didn’t cause this at all. Maybe his brain was always faulty. The books insist that hallucinations are caused by a mistake in the brain. There is a block or a missing part or something that is throwing everything else into disarray. The organ itself is the problem, is the point.  Something is broken inside.

Having an explanation makes everything easier to bear. It doesn’t do much to help his immediate problems—hallucinations, the fact that he can’t speak more than a sentence at a time, that he’s all alone and that life itself feels like a punishment. What it does mean, is that he will get to leave the Compound at some point. That is very good.

He doesn’t hate the Compound itself, of course. How would he even hate a place? Still—it’s exhausting. If he’s not an Uchiha, then he doesn’t have to deal with them. On one hand, he doesn’t get to live in their Compound, on the other hand, he doesn’t have to live in their Compound. It’s fair, really, when you think about it.

The point would be moot if he could just leave. He tried all sorts of things, throughout the year. He tried staying on the roof of the Academy. He tried sleeping in the forest. He tried sleeping in the training ground. The ANBU bring him back to the Compound every time, like clockwork. A spark of something tries to ignite. Anger, maybe. It fizzles out, as he knew it would. He doesn’t have the energy to feel much, these days.

It is not their fault, he reasons, watching a ghost-Itachi lead ghost-Sasuke through his Catspaw kata. They don’t know Sasuke is not an Uchiha. That is a problem, yes, but that particular problem has a very simple solution. How fantastic is that? To have a problem with a clear solution?

Now, admittedly, Sasuke doesn’t know what the solution is, yet, but he will. On the whole ‘proving to the ANBU I am not an Uchiha and can therefore be allowed to sleep in the forest’ seems like a very solvable, very reasonable problem. Unlike, say, ‘I am clinically insane and would like not to be’ or ‘I have to kill my brother but I don’t want to because he is the only person who had ever cared for me’.

In all honesty that last part? Not even a problem. The solution there turned out to be simple. After some weird dreams and a particularly heart-warming hallucination, Sasuke concludes that he won’t in fact kill Itachi. It’s, yeah, it’s all sorts of ridiculous. Like if a bunny made an oath not to kill a dragon. It’s a nice sentiment, but ultimately Sasuke is an insane foundling, slipping further into cuckoo-land with each breath. Itachi is an infamous S-ranked Missing-nin, and a genius Uchiha to boot. The maths is simple, even for Sasuke. 

One day at a time, try to stop being so damn insane and let your pseudo-brother be. Simple.

Age nine

Two important things happen in his ninth year, two years and six weeks after That Day. He can’t in good faith call them good, but Sasuke has stopped evaluating his life in terms of good and bad anyways.

He learns about inheritance in the Academy. It’s a serious topic. Konoha has many Clans, and blood is important. He knows this already, of course. Blood is power and power is life. After That Day, his mind never let him forget how much life there had been in the Uchiha Clan.

Never mind that. Blood is important, so the Konoha General Hospital has a method of studying it. Analysing its makeup can tell important things; heritage, health, and even origins to an extent.

It’s perfect. They cost money, but Sasuke has money, for now. After he has some proof he is not an Uchiha, he will have to give that money over. That’s fine. He will go to the orphanage; the books assure him he is an orphan, even if his older brother is still alive and could be considered his guardian. Then again, once Sasuke is not an Uchiha, Itachi will have no legal connection to him. So. Swings and roundabouts, he thinks, only he’s not sure which part of that sentence is the swing.

The nurses at the hospital look at him with eyes heavy with pity edged with disgust. It’s fairly surprising, in that most adults in his experience try to keep it all more discrete. Then again, Sasuke is usually surrounded by combat-oriented shinobi, not mednins. He isn’t surprised to know that medics don’t tailor their expressions as unconsciously as the instructors do.

Not that Sasuke blames them or anything. The weirdness within has started to seep out and outward. He’s skin and bones, not an ounce of baby fat to be found. He doesn’t look in the mirror much these days, but he’s struck by how feral he looks, whenever he does. Something about the way his eyes are too wide and the unintuitive pattern of his eyelids closing—Blink, Sasuke, seriously. You’re a human that blinks—makes him look deranged. 

That said, disgust or not, they’re kind enough. They dim the lights in the room at his hoarse request and don’t make him talk. A junior medic—Yakushi—and a senior medic—Kaname—administer the test and explain the results.

He is too an Uchiha. He asks for a second test, then a third. They oblige him and don’t even charge him for the repeat tests. He stops himself at number three; might as well, right? Nice number, is three. Plus, the first one was sufficient anyways. The medics are, if anything, incentivised to lie in the opposite direction, so the Village could claim Uchiha accounts and land and, maybe, Sasuke’s organs or something. 

No, Sasuke is an Uchiha. A runty sort, sure, but there it is, printed in nice, uniform Kanji: Uchiha Sasuke, age nine, second son of Uchiha Fugaku and Uchiha Mikoto.

Once his theory is so rudely destroyed, he is left at loose ends. What now? Why did Fugaku and Mikoto hate him? They could not have known that Sasuke is broken back then. He was just a baby. Sure, if Sasuke was then as he was now, he’d understand. He can barely keep himself fed properly and can't even understand why he’s insane, never mind the rest of it. But his parents, his actual, biological birth parents despised him way back when he was small and, honestly, pretty okay for a baby.

They didn’t even like Itachi that much. Mikoto—it is strange to think of her as mother after a year of being certain she was at best an unwilling caretaker—cared for Aniki a bit, he’s pretty sure. More than Sasuke, but that’s not saying much. He remembers she tried to talk to Aniki a couple of times. As for Fugaku, that could have been a strange form of love? It was very demanding and kind of selfish and mean, but he did say not-awful things to Itachi here and there.

He doesn’t understand, and he can’t help but cheat a little. Out loud—on the off-chance he speaks out loud—he would claim he believes the result. Inside, though, he lets himself have the lifeline. It’s possible. They could have made a mistake in he hospital. There could have been sabotage or a freak accident with their records or something. The best explanation is that Sasuke is an imposter.

The world, he will soon learn, is capricious about allowing such comforting, self-serving delusions to stand. In Sasuke’s case, it lets him have it for a few weeks more and then demonstrates, very thoroughly, how lying to yourself on purpose is never a wise thing to try.

The second important thing that happens that year is his first kidnapping.

He’s reading—he’s always reading—and then—he’s waking up in the hospital.

The smells and sounds are unmistakable, which is convenient considering he can’t see a thing. He is allowed a moment of complete peace, where confusion stops the rest of it—One breath, two and pain crashes through, freezing his veins and boiling his heart. Breathing presents an interesting challenge, his lungs feel like they’re collapsing—or they’re expanding—

Noises happen to him—At him—Over him—Machines beep and screech, voices rise in pitch and twist with agitation—The smell of antiseptic highlights the twang of iron, strong enough to make his teeth itch—

Look at that, fear can override confusion too—

Things are drastically improved when he wakes up again. He can breathe fine, his heart beats a steady, comforting rhythm and he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning, immolating and falling at the same time. That’s nice. Compared to the chaos of before, he can handle the burning pain stabbing up and down his face. Did someone take a saw to his head? No, doesn’t matter. It’s fine. Sasuke’s fine.

His arms are much too heavy to move willy-nilly, so he doesn’t bother. What would be the point? The bandages are stretched tight over two-thirds of his head, he is in a hospital and they most probably drugged him. He’s all sorts of floaty, to the point that even the harsh smell of whatever they soaked the bandages with doesn’t bother him.

It’s fine. Who’s fine? Sasuke’s fine.

The medic comes by soon enough, and Sasuke gets to hear the story. It sounds rather underwhelming. An enemy agent kidnapped him from the Compound; an ANBU saved him just in time to save his life but not in time to stop the shinobi from removing his eyes.

The strange thing here, remarks the small part of his mind not running in increasingly depressing circles, is that he cares about his eyes in the first place. He wouldn’t have thought that about himself, but here he is, neck-deep in a panic attack and over what? It’s not like he feels any real connection with his Clan. They can keep their Bloodline Limit, it’s more trouble than it’s worth.

Not to worry, the medics hurry to explain after his heart rate slowed down to something reasonable, Sasuke’s eyes are back in his skull where they belong. The organs weren’t damaged in the skirmish, and the ANBU was quick enough that the medics re-connected the eyes with minimal complications.

Another good thing, the medics continue in tones of adults trying to squeeze something good out of a wholly terrible situation,  is that the enemy made sure to activate the Sharingan before they took the eyes.

He waits for the bad thing. Nobody starts with the good thing if the bad thing isn’t much worse. Especially when the good thing is so obviously not good.

The bad thing, the medic adds, going for cheerful and ending up closer to forceful, is that there was a complication with the re-attachment. They aren’t sure what happened precisely, but something did, and now his Sharingan is stuck. Not to worry, shrills the medic, Sasuke is small now, but he will grow up. He could have Chakra to use his eyes on for hours one day if he trains hard. For now, however, he shouldn’t take off the blindfold at all. Chakra exhaustion will set in after about two seconds of use.

Sasuke more or less shuts down after it becomes clear they don’t have anything useful to say. His eyes are—as they are. He is most definitely an Uchiha. Desperate or not, it’s hard to lie to himself when confronted with two Sharingan eyes in his head.

The ANBU take him back pretty soon after that. They Shuunshin him to the main house, which is nice of them. They usually leave him at the front gate. Trying to crawl his way home now would have been sad.

The only rooms he cares about are the kitchen and Itachi’s room. Well. Sasuke’s room. His nest? Irrelevant. It’s not that he expects to find some, whatever, get-well present or anything, but. He kind of does. The ANBU that takes care of him is sweet, in an under-socialised, Clannish way that Sasuke recognises in his cousins. Every time Sasuke would fill out a notebook, they would leave a tangerine on the counter. If he finished a whole text, he would get a dish filled with mochi. It’s nice. Like being someone’s favoured pet. Sasuke had never been anyone’s favoured anything, so he appreciates his new, unexpected jump in value.

The investigation of the kitchen goes predictably slowly, but the results are worth it. His biggest fridge is full. Dozens upon dozens of very familiar pre-packaged meals are neatly stacked, towering so high above Sasuke that he will need to stand on a chair to get to the one on top. Good stuff, too, wrapped in fancy aluminium packaging and containing thirty per cent more sugar than the typical Shinobi meal. He typically buys that kind only to reward himself. Further investigation of the kitchen result in the discovery of six giant thermos bottles, five litres each, two filled with soup, two with tea and two with hot chocolate.

Everything is better with warm food in his hands, and a warm drink there to help it go down. Bit by bit, the aggressive quiet of his mind lifts, and slowly he can think again. Alright—what’s the situation?

It’s not ideal. He’s effectively blind for the next, what, five to ten years? Thereabout. The Academy is out; they had him sign the exmatriculation papers before he had even settled the hospital bill. He can’t say he’s surprised. The village won’t train a blind Shinobi. Things might have been different if he had been strong when he had gotten blind, but now, yeah.

So. The drastically shortened life expectancy goes on the top of the ‘downside’ column. The Sharingan is valuable. Not to Sasuke, exactly, but to other people? Very much so. And the sourcing of that valuable resource more or less equates to harvesting them. One is in the head of an S-ranked missing-nin. The other is in Sasuke the Ill-Equipped.

He sips his hot chocolate slowly and tries to let that notion sink in. Blind. No more training, no more reading, no more watching the moon reflect off the lake.

No more hallucinations.

A slow, tired smile curves his lips. No more pools of blood, no more Fugaku-ghosts. No more baby corpses. Even the less immediate problem of having to stay in the Compound grows irrelevant. It doesn’t matter where he is. Everywhere will be the same—black. There is freedom in that.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t languish in boredom for long. His ANBU takes matters into his own hands three days into Sasuke’s go at comprehensive physical and mental infirmity. He is pretty sure that the man wrapped them up in a Genjutsu during their talk. He can’t be sure of course, but the Sharingan is good for some things other than keeping Sasuke suspended at the brink of terminal Chakra exhaustion. Being sensitive to Genjutsu is one of the perks. The air is heavy and a bit damp and Sasuke’s eyes itch so, yeah. Point is—his ANBU teaches him ten Chakra-control exercises, likely to give him something to do.

As random as the gesture is, Sasuke is floored by it. He can’t find even a sprinkle of suspicion in the chaotic mess of his being. The ANBU has been keeping him alive for a good while now and hasn’t asked for anything in return. What’s more, Sasuke would embrace being financially or emotionally exploited or whatever, if it bought him warmth and safety and soft fingers combing through his hair. But, either the principle of supply and demand does not apply here, or the cons of having to be around Sasuke outweigh the possible financial opportunities. Whatever the case may be, nobody seems willing to take that deal, and his skin feels increasingly small for his body—

O-kay, time to grab that thread of thought and incinerate it with the heat of a thousand suns, there’s a boy. Man, but his brain can take off in weird directions sometimes.

He isn’t even—His new life is substantially better than his old one in many ways. There are challenges he has to face, but they’re all conceptually within touching distance. Walk ten steps without stumbling. Learn how to hold chopsticks. Learn how to pick up food with chopsticks. Learn how not to stab his face with chopsticks. Figure out the correct path to the bathroom so you can stop washing yourself in the kitchen sink. Simple stuff but not especially threatening to his self-concept, unlike most of his previous goals and ambitions. 

Most of it comes down to slowing right down to the point of absurdity and then a whole lot slower still. It is, yeah, a strange and unnatural way to live, but the physical and mental aspects of it are beyond rewarding. The results speak for themselves; the slower he moves, the more chance he has to interact with his environment safely. Plus, split-second decisions were never his forte. They often come down to luck, and Sasuke’s luck has only ever run one way.

The learning process is almost more valuable than the drop in broken furniture and sprained limbs. Walking mindfully turns into moving mindfully turns into thinking mindfully. The same principle applies. If you don’t know why you’re moving, don’t move. If you don’t know how to think about something, don’t think. There is no space for hysteria and loneliness and pain, not when walking takes all the focus you can scrounge up. It’s great.

The challenging part, in an ocean filled with every other challenging thing, is how he should approach Chakra. On one hand—his Chakra is still his, weak though it might be. Every shinobi child strengthens his body with Chakra to some extent. Sasuke, however, was either born a few kunai short of a full brace or had lost some along the way. If he messes with his body too much, he might break something and he can’t afford any more damn handicaps. He needs to be subtle with his Chakra. Gentle even.

What a wacky thought. Gentleness as a whole is a vague and threatening concept. What does a shinobi know about being gentle with himself or others? After running a few cycles of bewildered theoretics which only confused him more, he decides to set ’gentle’ as a distant goal, but settle for slow and careful. He knows slow and careful; it’s practically all he is these days.

It takes about three months, all told, to get himself to the point that he can feed, dress and clean himself in one day. That is not an insignificant accomplishment. He wonders, distantly, about his ever-decreasing sentience, but doesn’t have enough emotional capacity to care. He might be approaching flora levels of placidity, but he isn’t tormented by his mind anymore. Figures, that it would take cutting out everything to quiet down the screams.

Once he starts with the Chakra-control exercises, his fate is sealed. They’re very much entry-level games—leaf-sticking, branch-spinning, pebble-floating and so on. shinobi parents used them to get their kids to get accustomed to directing the physical with the spiritual.

The ANBU must be pretty disappointed. Even a faulty Uchiha should have been able to learn such simple exercises in a day or two. And he kind of did? But?

The simpler the exercise, the easier it is to lose himself in it, to slip into a state that his books would call meditation. It’s not; doesn’t even come close. Sasuke vaguely recalls what mediation had been like, before. This is to meditation what walking is to Shūnshin. His mind clears the noise, the emotions, the thoughts, the aches. His body falls away too. It’s still there, of course--what would the alternative even be--but the signals it sends lose all practical meaning. The aching cheekbones, the stinging eyes, migraines and aches and pains—he acknowledges them, understands they’re real, but that’s where it ends.

Things start becoming even weirder when he realises he can apply the same lessons to more esoteric aspects of life. It’s okay that his biggest accomplishment in the last year was to eat, dress and bathe all on the same day. It’s okay that he hasn’t spoken to a human in six months. It’s okay that he’s stupid and disabled and likely to die any day now. Whatever else he is, he is a part of a big whole.

His books had a lot to say on the topic of children like Sasuke and addiction. He did not understand, then. Could not. The dictionary could get him part of the way, but it couldn’t help him understand how it would map onto the real world. He gets it now, gets why a kid like him would prefer the numb oblivion, however it might come about. It didn’t take long for him to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he will die before giving up the sensation of artificial calm. Not all the stuff books lectured about applied to him. He doesn’t recognise the phenomenon of highs and lows, of mania and depression. He is not happy when he is in the in-between, or sad. Or anxious, or scared. He is—nothing at all, but also not?

Sane or not, it is a very comforting feeling. Fishwives in Kiri know by now that Sasuke is without consequence in the grand scheme of things. He doesn’t dream of denying that, considering the conclusion is informed by every single thing that has ever happened to him. For a while there, he wasn’t insignificant to Itachi, but only for so long. Even Kumo wouldn’t have bothered with him if he wasn’t the one Uchiha alive too weak to defend his own eyes.

Never mind that. The point of the exercise, as it were, was to increase his Chakra capacity. That has largely been laid to the wayside. Even if the village should decide he’s worth keeping alive, his role is clear. The village won’t train him to be a shinobi — they’re keeping him to make more Uchiha. He doesn’t need to see for that.

He isn’t all that sold on the idea of sight, on the whole. He had been worried; feared becoming bored or lonely. How short-sighted. (Hah). He’s never felt better. He sleeps easily, eats when he has to and spends his hours in a pleasant haze. Sighted-world brings with it anxieties and fears and doubts. To say nothing of the hallucinations.

He’s fine as is, thanks.

The more he thinks about it, the more he falls hopelessly in love with the concept of using Chakra. How could he not? It’s wild—like fairy stories come to life. He is touching the leaf with his soul. How he ever took it for granted is beyond him. His spirit can reach out and interact with the world directly.

Eyes—hands—lips—what is that compared to his soul?

It’s a religious experience. Uchiha worshipped Amaterasu-Ōmikami and the more traditional types extended that to all Three Precious Children. Sasuke kind of does too? Their hand was not lightly felt; just look at Konoha. You can deny Inari-sama until your lips go blue and it won’t help you when Their nine-tailed Avatar is bearing down on you to express Their displeasure.

That said, his spiritual practices feel hollow in comparison to the awe he feels now. The more he does it, the harder it is to stop. Bit by bit, he gains an awareness of the leaf he is touching. If coats it with his Chakra, his mind projects its image somehow. It’s not seeing—it’s nothing like seeing—but it’s the closest comparison he’s got. An awareness.

He repeats the same process with a stick, then a rock. Then a beetle.

The beetle is a strange experience. The animal has a considerable amount of Chakra, considering. It doesn’t emote as humans do, and while in the in-between Sasuke understands it, himself, and how the two are connected. How they exist in relation to one another. Great, cool, awesome, except whatever it is that he ‘gets’ in those moments, he loses it as soon as he comes up for air. He doesn’t become wise, but he does get calm. The animal doesn’t mind his gentle probing, which is a relief. It is, if anything, more relaxed, recognising perhaps that Sasuke is at his least dangerous when he’s whittled down his existence to spirit alone.

The animals start relaxing around him more and more as time goes by. Birds and squirrels roam the Compound freely, rabbits hop by undaunted and the ecosystem flourishes. Even the plants seem to appreciate Sasuke’s explorations. He can’t see for himself, obviously, but he thinks they grow quicker and stronger. They feel stronger to him, but that doesn’t mean much. It’s just as likely his awareness is growing.

In the few times he is forced to be in the ‘real’, he thinks back on the psychology books and is fairly relieved—as much as he can feel anything these days—that nature is re-taking the Compound. He’s read plenty about isolation, and what it can do to a developing mind. About how effective the lack of human interaction is as a torture technique. Flora and fauna thriving around him—communicating with him—keep him from the worst of it.

He hadn’t aimed for sanity for a good bit, but who cares? He is content now. The life around him thrives, and the Chakra is lovely. Animals have a measure of solidity, of certainty that humans can’t ever reach, at least not to Sasuke’s knowledge. Even when they’re scared, even when something will eat them, there is nothing in their soul that hints at the fear he knows is in himself. There is no anxiety and panic and all the ways a faulty brain could harm itself.

His ANBU is a constant presence, but Sasuke keeps his Chakra away from the man. And it is a man. A water-user, and a strong one at that. With Sasuke’s expanding pseudo-sight, he can feel him as a fluffy cloud of Chakra, swirling and shrinking and expanding; always in movement, always mercurial. He keeps his own at a precise distance away from the ANBU’s body, but not so far as to prevent all input. Plenty can be learned, he learns, just from analysing the immediate surrounding of humans, where their Chakra spills over into the world. It’s how he knows his ANBU is a man, how he knows his nature, and that his strongest emotional component is deep, complex despair.

Age ten

He is ten when his second, rather more successful, kidnapping happens. The medic from the hospital—Yakushi, he is pretty certain—paralyses Sasuke with a seal and takes him from his home. What happened to Sasuke’s ANBU is anyone’s guess, but he doubts it’s anything good. The medic is well-informed. He slips through the village like a ghost, avoiding any and all patrols with ease. Nara forests surround the Compound on one side and Hatake land on the other. The medic is wise to not try to sneak through either.

Being carried like a sack of rice is dull. Not painful—the medic blocked all sensation from his body—but dull. Why he felt the need to bind Sasuke so completely is anyone’s guess. Sasuke would not have made a fuss. What is there for him in Konoha? A slow stroll to irreversible insanity, while making babies for the village along the way. Everything points to the medic wanting him for the same reason so it doesn’t much matter. At least wherever they’re going won’t have any hallucinations of Sasuke’s massacred family.

Well, he thinks, disquieted. Unless they plan to torture him. It would probably be morbid to hallucinate his own torture after it had already happened. Is that an option? Well, it might be. He’s not that worried. Sasuke’s hold on the in-between is strong enough to stand through near-death from dehydration, as proved by his ANBU having to intervene that one time. As for the babies, he has a few years until puberty. Sage knows he is not likely to survive that long.

He’s not worried, but maybe he should be? Seems like the appropriate thing to be. To do. Whatever. About what, though? The medic is not as nice as his ANBU but comes pretty close. He sticks a needle into his arm and keeps him fed and watered that way, which is good planning. Other than that, he avoids hurting Sasuke when he can.

Without the need for food and water, he floats into the in-between state easier than ever. He envelops the man with his Chakra only once, which is revolting. The act is so intimate he can’t bring himself to do it, damn the intel. Plus the medic might notice, which could be bad? Maybe? To avoid any potential drama, he focuses his Chakra on the surroundings. The medic can’t run for long, for fear of detection. His route is well-rehearsed—he doesn’t hesitate for so much as a minute. Sometimes they’re jumping through the trees, sometimes they’re burrowing underground. Often they’re in caves or shelters or underground bunkers, presumably to avoid the pursuit. Konoha will chase their Sharingan eyes, Sasuke has no doubt. Why the medic didn’t remove them, is anyone’s guess. From where Sasuke is sitting, carrying two eyeballs is easier than a whole boy, underfed or not. Another strike in the ‘future-baby-making’ column. Damn.

The medic has him, all in all, between two and five days. Who cares? Sasuke sure doesn’t. There are wonderful things to explore. There are new species of plants, animals, and wind patterns. The Compound was nice but forests are paradise.

At some point, however, someone kills his erstwhile kidnapper and takes Sasuke for their own. A man. A big man. Lightning natured. Kumo? Eh. Whatever. The man is even nicer than the medic. He is big enough to carry him in his arms and radiates heat like a furnace. He doesn’t bother with the needle in Sasuke’s arm, but feeds him manually, by dripping broth and tea down his throat. It’s wonderful. Both the tea and the broth are warm and filled with exotic spices and herbs. Once, the broth was a tomato soup. Imagine that. Tomatoes.

This man is not as quiet as the medic. He hums when he is not running and even talks to himself sometimes. At night he tucks Sasuke into a blanket. That’s downright kind. The medic never bothered going that far. It’s all very quaint. Sasuke might actually like being wherever this man is taking him. Not very much—he doubts there is anywhere he will actually like very much—but enough.

When someone kills the Kumo-man too, Sasuke starts feeling exasperated by all this. Sharingan eyes or not, how far did news of his abduction spread? 

The fight is longer than the first. The Kumo Jōnin ambushed Yakushi with the sort of skill that speaks of long years in the field.  He is pretty certain Fūinjutsu has been involved. One moment, the medic was running, the next Sasuke was flying through the air, hitting the ground like a sack of coal.

The attackers were not stealthy at all. He doesn’t see, of course, but judging by the tidal waves of Chakra, Sasuke is most likely witnessing a real-life A-rank fight. His Kumo abductor is outnumbered, though, and isn't fighting Chūnin besides.

The winners—a group of five—pick up Sasuke and run like the dogs of Hell are on their heels.

All five of them are fascinating people, it has to be said. Two are kid-Jōnin, and three are adult-Jōnin. More importantly, their Chakra is two-fold. The normal, human Chakra is on top, complex, shifting and flighty. Underneath that, somehow, lies a second, discrete Chakra signature. The second one makes no sense whatsoever. He focuses on that part for however many days they have him. He can’t help it, it’s the most interesting thing he’s sensed, ever. Each one feels like they’re two people, but one of them folded into a teeny-tiny little piece.

The Human part is exhausting as all human Chaka is, fluctuating and nervous and changing. But this small, folded-up part feels more like the animals do. Like it is what it is, and it makes no excuse or reason or apology for being that.

The five that are maybe ten (maybe six?) get themselves killed by his brother.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take long for Itachi to slaughter the final batch of kidnappers with the type of prejudice Sasuke associates with psychotic breaks. Sasuke has been in their care for, what, less than a day? Timekeeping is a normal-person thing, not a Sasuke-thing. They haven’t fed him once or stopped to rest, he’s pretty sure, which is a decent enough indicator.

Itachi’s Chakra is unmistakable. Sasuke senses him coming from a kilometre away. A golden-warm sensation blooms from below his sternum and spreads syrupy tendrils through his body. It could be joy? He can’t quite place it. Even discounting this specific tragedy of errors, physical existence has grown irrelevant. But! He hasn’t seen Itachi in many years. There is no need to escape the shackles of his body just yet.

A strand of Itachi’s Chakra shoots straight into the brain of the man carrying him, doing—something. Oh, is that what Genjutsu looks like? The foreign Chakra pulses and swirls in the brain of the poor man, overpowering it in under a heartbeat. Sasuke expects it, but it’s still surprising when the man shifts his hold and falls back, breaking off from the group.

Many things happen very close together. Itachi is there. The four remaining Shinobi attack without pause or posturing. Their secondary-Chakra expands exponentially, to the point that Sasuke can’t be sure they hadn’t gone and detonated themselves. Someone invented that technique, he marvels. He can’t conceptualise the level of Chakra mastery necessary to fold so much energy in such an unobtrusive little pocket.

The secondary-Chakra doesn’t help them much. The battle, such as it is, lasts about ten seconds, nine of which the four men spend dying. The flames Itachi conjures are—something. Sasuke is damn impressed. The Chakra-pocket is cooler, but only just. Whatever Itachi did to make these flames, they are fascinating and a whole lot scarier. They are not Chakra. They appear to be its polar opposite? Maybe? An explosion of energy that nullifies other energy, or draws it in and destroys it? Okay, no, that’s stupid, energy can’t be destroyed. Holy Sage, what is this? 

What a freaky technique. The man holding him kneels on the ground, docile as you please, Chakra flat and serene. Itachi plucks Sasuke from his hands and walks away. Behind them, the man—kills himself somehow? Sasuke is a bit distracted, what with his long-lost brother carrying him in his arms, but the man’s life-signature winks out one way or another.

A thrill of something a lot like excitement sweeps through Sasuke's body. Without hesitation, he grips his Chakra and spreads a thin film of it over Itachi. Doing such things with strangers might have been invasive and unbearably intimate but this is Itachi. This is his brother, the only person to ever spare a single thought for Sasuke’s continued existence.

The projection he gets is the sharpest one he’s yet produced. He can ‘see’ each individual eyelash on his brother’s face. As far as he can tell, Itachi hasn’t changed much, but honestly, he might have. Not to mention that he ‘sees’ him as a three-dimensional projection. The only thing he can place is that his brother is taller and broader. Even his hair is the same, long and thick, pulled back into a loose ponytail.

His exploration might have been gentle and unobtrusive, but Itachi is an S-ranked Shinobi. He tenses, blanketing him with his own Chakra right back. What an unnecessary, brutish move, Sasuke thinks, charmed. Like dousing a spark with a lake. He lets the heavy torrent fall as it would; he’s got nothing to hide. If ever there was a Chakra devoid of aggression, it’s Sasuke’s.

A nice, probably unintended, side-effect is that with how much their Chakra is mixing, Aniki’s emotions are laid bare. Holy Sage, that is one intense man. Love is predominant, which is an unexpected but very welcome development. True to form, Itachi’s love is the burning, fanatical sort. Sasuke hasn’t been around many cultists, but if he had to speculate how their souls would feel, this would about cover it. Right behind the fanaticism are the darker, wilder emotions—and what a strange thought that is. There’s worry, a seething, corrosive flavour of rage, shock, pain, and a great, big ocean of self-hatred.

Damn. Sasuke doesn’t envy his brother at all. Sasuke’s go at raving lunacy boiled down to fear and loneliness, with some filial hatred sprinkled on top. Even at his absolute lowest, he didn’t feel a tenth of this horror show. A hundredth. Considering Sasuke had known moments when he was so full of emotions, he was ready to peel his skin away, Itachi must be ready to burn the world to ashes to get some rest.

When they’re a little bit away from the charred corpses, Itachi sets Sasuke’s prone body to the ground and starts talking at him. Sasuke ignores the words, busy studying Itachi’s beautiful nightmare of a mind. The harsh cadence and the creepy monotone might be impressive, but Sasuke’s Chakra is so wrapped up with Itachi's, they’re practically the same person. He can taste Itachi's emotions on his tongue, feel them skitter up and down his arms.

Still very much paralysed, he lays where he is laid and waits it out. Itachi is an unpredictable creature, bless his little heart. Sasuke hopes he will release him from the seal, but he’s not fussed either way. Whatever happens, happens.

Indecision floods the coal/flame/blood/pain of Itachi’s Chakra, soon joined by a flavour of concern three shades left from dysfunctional. Concern for Sasuke—how lovely! The rest of it is less lovely. Itachi should be a nominal adult. How had he survived all these years if he can’t make such a simple decision?

In the end, the neurotic tragedy decides to un-seal him. His Chakra surges, some of it distinctly directed to the eyes. Sasuke can practically hear the tomoe spinning, as the very texture of it changes. Tenses, if pure energy could tense or relax. It’s somewhat familiar; conscious use or not, Sasuke is still burdened with two Sharingan eyes in his head. He recognises the strange effect, even if it is far less obvious in Sasuke.

Itachi does—something, likely really impressive, and suddenly Sasuke is not paralysed anymore.

Abused muscles make their displeasure known, in part by vibrating hard enough he’s pretty sure he having a seizure, and in part by flooding his body with an alarming amount of pain. He isn't likely to die, he thinks, but it’s not a sure thing. He is tempted—so tempted—to fling his mind away, and come back when every single nerve isn’t screaming at him. But—Itachi is here. He exhales a long, steadying breath, admiring the wheeze rattling around his ribcage.

Itachi’s Chaka folds into itself, almost audibly sobbing in distress. His hands are steady when they remove his blindfold, though. Credit where credit’s due; no matter the boundless depths of hysteria, Itachi's hands don't shake. That, there, is an excellent Shinobi.

For a second he can see his brother’s beautiful, terrified face, arranged in a stoic facade. It’s a good facade! People who don’t know him would definitely be fooled. He really is the best of them. Hallucinations snap to life around him, Aniki’s smiles, Aniki’s frowns, a kind word, a gentle touch.

Sasuke settles for a smile—he can’t talk yet—and turns into Itachi’s hand, nuzzling it as best he can. He smells the same too, like blood and heat/flame/coal but also tea and silk. Sasuke’s hurdling towards unconsciousness but he can maybe—

He channels what’s left of his Chakra into a warm blanket-hug. It caresses his brother once, twice—

He passes out pretty soon after that.

When he wakes up, he is in a cave. Correction: they are in a cave. Itachi sits not half a meter away, curled into an undignified ball, head buried in his arms and arms wrapped around his knees. To Sasuke’s inexpert eyes, he feels—hectic. Some type of anxiety attack is either in the immediate future or the immediate past.

Interestingly, Sasuke’s Chakra-film is still stretched over Itachi’s body. Hah! Good work. Even in sleep, Sasuke’s soul knows its priorities. How fantastic is that?

Alright, that about covers Aniki; what about Sasuke? His clothes are changed, which is—fine? A bit creepy, maybe, but his clothes were rags, and he hasn’t had many opportunities to bathe. He is clean too, which he also chooses not to be upset by. The needle in his arm is removed—an uncomplicated, solid strike in the ‘pro’ column, but so is his blindfold, which is definitely one for the ‘con’. 

“Aniki,” he says, and the novelty of hearing his voice shocks him into muteness. He didn’t know for sure he could speak, anymore. “It’s been a long time.” His voice is strong; he suspects healing of some sort took place. Even the constant pain around his eyes isn’t as strong as it used to be. 

Itachi doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even breathe—but his Chakra howls in pain.

“It’s okay, don’t be sad.”

It doesn’t help but Sasuke didn’t expect it would. Words are cheap things. What it does, is send Itachi straight into the anxiety attack he was staving off. Okay, then. Sasuke sits quietly, relaxing his mind as much as possible. When Itachi wants him he will let him know.

“What did they do to you Sasuke?” Itachi shouldn’t sound so small; it doesn’t suit him. That said, he had just emerged on the other side of an intense self-loathing spiral, so who is Sasuke to judge?

“Who?” Many people did many things to Sasuke.

Itachi’s Chakra howls again, this time less self-harming and more rage/hunger/fire-and-brimstone/bring about the end of days and spit in the eye of the Shinigami type thing.

“Who has harmed you.”

“Oh—you mean since—?”

“Yes.”

Sasuke hums, amused at the contrast between the monotone and the dizzying hurricane of feelings barely kept in check. “Oh. Well. Depends on what you mean by harm.” He pauses. Is this a lying-down type of conversation? Probably not, right? “I will explain, but first, can you get me my blindfold? I will pass out otherwise. As you know.”

Itachi does. He even helps him sit up. Healing or not, Sasuke is a skinny little twig of a wild child. He didn’t have much weight to lose before the string of kidnappings.

“Thanks, Aniki. So—the harming.” Sage wept, where does he even start? Should he start with Itachi? “I was kidnapped once when I was—nine? I think?” Sounds about right. “The nice ANBU with water-Chakra and a Dōjutsu saved me, but whoever took me took out my eyes. The medics put them back, but they didn’t do it right? I don’t know, nobody explained. Anyways, I can’t turn off my Sharingan ever since, so I wear a blindfold. Keeps the lids closed.”

Talking is kind of awesome. Not for long probably, but a little? Great fun. His voice is nice too; kind of squeaky. Like a mouse. A rusty mouse. Squeak.

Where was he? “They put me back to the Compound then for—I don’t know, until now I guess? Then the medic took me.” Maybe expand on that a little? “The medic from the hospital with the glasses. Yakushi. Someone with lightning-Chakra killed the medic and took me. Then the five people with dual Chakra signatures killed him and, of course, you killed them.”

He can’t help but smile. Sure the whole kidnapping thing was uncomfortable, but it was also fun in a way. He got to Chakra-feel a lot of things, and nobody hurt him. It wasn’t precisely nicer than the Compound, but not worse either.

Itachi is quiet for a long time after that. He gives him food, though, and tea. It’s a thoughtful gesture, for all that Sasuke would rather  sit in peace and observe Itachi’s Chakra, or his own, or the worms’. But Aniki is gentle with him, and his hands are warm; it needs repaying.

“You—you go to the Academy, do you not? Are you graduating soon?”

The lost quality to Itachi’s voice matches the way his Chaka goes wispy, unfocused, without any of the concentrated weight of before.

“Oh, no, they can’t have blind children in the Academy.” Or, more pressingly, clinically insane ones. “No, they kicked me out the same day I got kidnapped.”

They sit in silence, and this time Sasuke doesn’t resist the temptation to fall into the in-between state and drift about. Itachi is a human without compare, to be certain, but is still a human. He feels too much too loudly and his Chakra is too big and exhausting. Sasuke needs a little time for himself.

He sinks down and out, spreading his soul around his body. For a while, he doesn’t do anything more than make abstract shapes with his Chakra. Then it’s time to see if there are any animal friends he can make. The more complex animals need longer to get accustomed to Sasuke but insects or spiders or lizards are usually pretty relaxed around him. Indeed, a phenomenal little green lizard climbs across Sasuke-body, nestling in the hollow of his collarbone, leeching his warmth. It’s a rainy day, outside, and Autumn is in full swing. Sasuke kind of thought that lizards hibernate, but there we are.

“-ke, can you hear me? Sasuke—”

Itachi’s voice is gaining both volume and emotion. Sage.

He seeps back into his body in time to enjoy a Chakra jolt.

“I’m fine, Aniki,” he says. “I was meditating.” He was not.

“You were not.” The audible tremble in Itachi’s voice is a major red flag. That his Chakra is about to bring the cave down on their heads is another. “Regardless. Konoha. What do you—Do you miss home? Are you scared? Hurt?”

Even when his words are choppy and his Chakra is screaming, Itachi is comforting. Sasuke smiles a little. It’s lovely, how quickly he is getting his facial expressions back. “I am not scared. I don’t feel much, these days. I am not hurt.” Well, okay, that can’t be true. “Which reminds me, thank you for the healing. Sorry I forgot to say that before.” Where was he? “Ah yes. Home. Do you mean the Compound? If so, no, I can’t say I miss it. I’m good here if you need to leave. You don’t have to stay; I’m sure you have, like, work or something.”

“Here, as in, right here?” There goes the pretence of a monotone. Itachi’s Chakra shifts into the familiar blend of howling/hungry/eat/kill/destroy. It’s impressive but it gives Sasuke a headache. “The cave? You—”

“I’m fine, Aniki. It was rough for a little while there, but ever since I started meditating, everything is golden. Plus the nice ANBU made sure I had food to eat and tea to drink. No need to stress. It can’t be good for you.”

“You’re not meditating, Sasuke.” Wow. Speaking with a jaw that clenched must be Hell on the joint. He can smell blood. Wha—Ah. Itachi dug wounds into his own palms. “You’re doing something else. It’s not—you can’t—”

Sasuke huffs a little, honestly amused. “Hey, so, one thing. Note how I’m not on your case for killing Mikoto and Fugaku and the babies and running away? Consider doing the same and letting me meditate in peace?”

Itachi’s entire Chakra-cloud flinches, which is something Sasuke didn’t know could happen. Outwardly he remains more or less the same, but a lot of the more outward-facing hatred turns inward.

“You’re harming yourself, Sasuke. You—”

That’s it.

“I love you Aniki, but it’s a bit too late for this. Now, if you would excuse me, there is a lizard here that I would like to make friends with.”

With that, he sinks in and wisps out, until his awareness covers about a hundred meters any which way. It’s nice—being so big. He is aware of Itachi’s slumped figure, and wretched Chakra, but there is also the happy baby squirrel, the fox eating a nest of hedgehogs, and an unfortunate snake about to slip from a branch..

He does feel a twinge of guilt; he was pretty harsh on Aniki. But if they wanted Sasuke socialised, they could have talked to him once or twice in the last five years.

Itachi sits there for the rest of the sun-cycle and the moon-cycle, only pausing to make some tea, and eat some rabbit barbecue. Sasuke’s body is fine, but he makes sure to seep back into it for long enough to drink a little.

When the morning comes, Itachi jolts him again, which—rude. He didn’t even try to talk to him this time.

“Alright. Help me understand. Please. What happened. I understand about the blindfold and the eyes. The rest—How did it—When did you start doing this to yourself?”

“Oh.” Hm. “Well—I was pretty messed up, since y’know. That night. Something in my brain broke, is my best guess. I was hallucinating constantly. Memories and stuff.” Talking about this is so surreal, it makes the situation feel even less feasible than it already does. “I tried to keep it a secret from the village, but I think they knew because they were very happy to leave me in the Compound until it was time to make babies.”

Itachi’s Chakra lashes out, sparks flying off his fingers and the tips of his hair. Okay. He’s never seen emotion cause a physical manifestation of Chakra. Would water-natured shinobi drip?

“Anyway, that’s when things started going weird. I was in the Compound all the time—not that I had much going on elsewhere, to be fair. My ANBU—the one who saved me and brought back my eyes—taught me some Chakra-control exercises. He also brought me food and hot chocolate and tea and stuff, which was nice. So. Yeah. That’s it, really. There’s not much more to say.”

“Let me just—” Itachi inhales slowly, showcasing his expert breath control. His Chakra is—odd; like he’s building a fence around it, or he’s sectioning it off or something. “Indulge me, please. I need to make sure I have the shape of things.”

“Sure.” He busies himself with trying to pinpoint where the smell of tea is coming from. He could possibly try to find it with his Chakra, but it’s spent by now. He’s been stretching it a little last night.

“Here, let me—” Itachi’s voice is effortlessly kind, the exact shade Sasuke remembers from when they were kids. Well—smaller kids than they are now. Sasuke takes a sip of tea, and warmth spreads through his body. Staying anchored in his body becomes that much easier.

“Thank you, Aniki.”

Itachi needs to meditate a little. Sasuke is getting pretty tired of his Chakra howling endlessly.

“To recap please, Sasuke. You were. Left alone. For the past five years. After your first kidnapping, you were removed from the Academy and locked inside the Compound alone, with only the ANBU for company.”

“And the animals,” he points out. “And the plants.”

“Right, right. Other than the wildlife and the ANBU nobody came to visit you? Not the Hokage, or the mednin or a therapist? Not even for a checkup?”

He nods, satisfied. “Mmm. That’s right. Then again, I suppose they could have visited in secret. I doubt it; I am a pretty decent sensor, especially within a hundred meters of my body.”

“And you would rather not return? To the point that you would rather be in this cave alone than go back there?”

Hmmm. “Thing is—I don’t want to have sex, Aniki. And I’m pretty sure that’s what would happen if Konoha takes me back. I am crazy by pretty much every definition of the term. They can lock me in an asylum, seize Uchiha property and move on. I don’t know why they haven’t done that already.”

“I have a few ideas.” Itachi’s tone is quickly edging into murder territory again.

“Seriously, Aniki, you need to calm down. You’re strong, you know? Your Chakra is giving me a headache. I’m trying to stay with you, but I can’t if it keeps screaming at me.”

To his credit, Itachi does try leashing his Chakra a little, but it’s a doomed venture. “Were you always a sensor? ”

Well. That’s a complicated question. “Since I can’t see, I became more aware of Chakra. I use it to move around and stuff. And to talk to the animals and plants. Like this here little guy.” He points to the little lizard, dozing on his collarbone. “They like my Chakra.”

On the upside, Itachi is less murderous. On the downside, it slips back to intense self-loathing. Are those the only two options? ‘Cause violence makes his head hurt which is bad, but now his heart hurts, and that’s worse.

“Alight,” Itachi says, voice slipping into an impersonal cadence. He must be gearing up to bring up something unpleasant. “Alight. Alright—Sasuke. Do you—Do you remember—That night—”

He has to bite down an incredulous laugh. “I hallucinate memories, Aniki. I remember everything.”

Itachi shudders, both Chakra and body. His voice wavers, but he forges on—kind of. “I never wanted to—But I have to—”

Sage wept.

“Listen, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I am over it. When it comes down to it, if I had to choose between them and you, I would choose you, so. It’s not the end of the world.”

Itachi’s hysterical chuckles wheeze out for a long time. Sasuke thinks there is something he should do about it, but the pain in Aniki’s Chakra is too much. “I need to go away now.”

Chapter Text

“We can’t return to Konoha just yet.”

Sasuke lets the silence settle for a long series of heartbeats, partly because he has just slunk back into his body, and partly because he has not a single clue as to what he could say. Give a boy a chance to settle into being a human person, maybe? Especially if you plan to ambush him with surreal statements like that.

“Alright,” he says, a bit fascinated by this man who looks to be even nuttier than Sasuke. Could it be genetic? “Do you want me to come with you, or am I staying here?”

“With me,” says Itachi. “I—I am sorry. If things were different I wouldn’t force my presence on you, but—”

Sasuke makes sure to verbalise his snort, and not just think it. “You are the only person who ever cared for me, Aniki. I love you. Why wouldn’t I want to be in your presence?”

This most obvious of statements stumps him, while his Chakra expands and collapses around him like a giant set of lungs powered by pain. “Thank you, Sasuke. Now. We need to find a woman, a woman that might help us.”

“She’s not Konoha, then?”

This time when Itachi struggles to speak, it’s not difficult to pinpoint the cause. He is shaking with rage, body jerking with these unnatural jolts. He’s trying, bless. It’s a very commendable effort, too, considering how much Chakra he has. Instead of destroying everyone and everything, Aniki’s Chakra sits underneath his skin, localising the damage to just himself.

“Not—not yet. I— There’s a lot you don’t know—”

Sasuke raises his hands  in a universal, if vaguely aimed, gesture of surrender. “Don’t hurt yourself. Aniki. I don’t care. I’m good anywhere.”

Somehow that fails to help. The animal pain in Aniki’s voice matches the wounded howl of his spirit. “Yes. Yes, I can see that. Senju-hime will help us. After that—We will see.”

“Cool.” He pauses for a second. “Are we leaving now? Because there are a bunch of koi about to get born and I’d love to see that. So. Are we good here for another couple of hours?”

It’s unclear if this helps soothe Itachi, or if it shatters him into a million shards of pain, but he deflates. Sags. “Whatever you want, Sasuke.” Huh. That, there is complete honesty. A hundred per cent pure devotion.

Uchiha brothers, Ladies and Gentlemen. Not a spoonful of sanity to be found between them.

“Thanks, Aniki.”

It turns out that finding the Senju princess is easy as pie. Sasuke doesn’t involve himself much. He has better things to do because Itachi agreed to carry him on his back, piggyback-style while he floats in the in-between. Sasuke is honestly touched by the gesture. It’s been so long since he was plastered to a warm back. He can physically feel Aniki’s heartbeat, leech his warmth, and chew on his ponytail if he wants to. Wonder how soft his skin is, considering he is a wanted felon. It’s nice.

He’s still floating when they find her, in a small village somewhere irrelevant. Sasuke could have sensed her from a kilometre away, that’s how large, loud and proud her Chakra is. She’s a storm-bright presence, with water-and-dirt Chakra that hugs everyone and anyone around her. How very delightful.

Nobody runs screaming from the infamous murderer Itachi Uchiha with a blind, underfed ten-year-old clinging to his back, which probably means some Genjutsu or other is in place. Again, none of his business.

The conversation is turbulent for everyone. Well, everyone except  Sasuke; he runs into himself as soon as Chakra started howling and crying. There is no need for him to be there when there is a family of snails not fifty meters away, that have just found a fresh leaf to snack on. He relaxes into it, connecting and leeching some of their unflappable calm. That’s another thing. Where human Chakra-cloud shifts and bends and twirls, animal Chakra stays in a neat, soothing sphere.

From the baby snail, he jumps to a carp, swimming along peacefully, not a single concern in the world. Then a spider, then a squirrel—

Then Itachi jolts him back.

He oozes back, and shakes his head a little. They’ve changed spots. They’re now in a room somewhere. Aniki is there, as well as the Senju princess, and another kid-Jōnin person. A girl—earth natured.

“Sasuke, meet Senju-hime and Shizune-san. She—I informed her of our situation, and—”

“Your brother tells me you’ve been kicked about by the fools in that cursed cesspool?” Interrupts the lady. “I can see he wasn’t exaggerating. I need to examine both of you.”

“That is not necessary—”

“Sure,” Sasuke says over Aniki’s—rather weak—protest. “My eyes are messed up. They were removed once, and the medics in the hospital re-attached them wrong.”

The lady is quiet for a moment. Whatever compartmentalising technique she’s using is fantastic, because her spirit is little more than hysteria and a betrayed flavour of grief. With all that in mind, it’s damn impressive her voice is as even as it is. “That’s not the only thing I’m worried about, kid.” She says. “Your eyes, Sage help me, are not even in my top ten list of things you need fixed.”

“Whatever Aniki thinks is best. He speaks for me in all things. ” He shifts slightly to turn his head in Itachi’s direction. It’s so weird, to have to indicate which person you’re talking to—it’s been so long since he was in such a big group. “I’m going to go away, Aniki.”

“No, Sasuke—”

Like hell is he going to remain here while some strange woman inserts her Chakra into his body. Uh-uh, no way. Aniki thinks it’s for the best, and Sasuke doesn’t care either way, but he has better things to do with his soul than let it stew in his meat sack.

The feeling of the woman’s Chakra rummaging around his body and changing things is hideous, so he does his best to stay away. Nothing but the best will do, so he finds the closest anthill. Ants are a rare indulgence for him, one he tries to keep for special occasions like these because they’re terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.

Each ant hill has millions of tiny sparks flowing in and out of one large, interwoven Chakra signature. It is beyond fascinating. The sparks are relatively simple; an animal going about its business, enjoying a sincere life. Their collective presence is a different matter altogether. An ant hill is a chillingly complex entity, with enough willpower to topple mountains. They have drive, more than any other living being he’s yet observed. Is drive the right term? Ambition? Even ambition feels simplistic. Wise perhaps? Enlightened?

The ants keep him happy for hours past the point when the medic stopped invading his body with her soul. He has no reason to return just yet; Aniki isn’t calling him. He’s good here, thanks.

In the end, they stay in the medic’s rooms for three weeks. It’s a weird time. He doesn’t ask, but he gets the feeling plans are made and scrapped on the hour. 

The first hurdle is straightforward, as much as Sasuke understands these things. The Lady has a paralysing fear of blood, and can’t bring herself to heal them directly. The solution—that she will guide her apprentice who will do it for her—seems straightforward enough, but it wasn’t to be. The first time the Lady performs a full medical scan, everything goes to hell. Her Chakra roars in outrage and fear, and the strange sort of arguing begins. Since both Aniki and, evidently, the Lady are very much prone to self-recrimination, they can’t bear to accuse anyone other than themselves, all the while defending the other. It would be delightful if their Chakra wasn’t drenched in anguish thick enough to make Sasuke want to puke.

“Stay present, Uchiha-kun,” says the apprentice. “Please. What you’re doing—It’s harming you. It’s—You think it’s meditation but it’s not. Do you know what Genjutsu means?”

He cocks his head at her. Trying to communicate with his body language again after all these years of near-complete isolation feels all sorts of alien. “I’m an Uchiha, like it or not. I know what Genjutsu is.”

“You’re casting Genjutsu on yourself. It’s dangerous.”

Ooooh. Interesting.

“Is that what I’ve been doing?” Huh. “Why is that dangerous? I’ve been doing it for years.” Plus, an average Uchiha spent at least ten per cent of their life under the influence of one Genjutsu or another. How harmful could it be?

The apprentice—Shizune?—shifts in her seat. Her Chakra isn’t nervous; it’s sad, and maybe a bit anxious. “The Genjutsu is new and untested. We don’t know what it does. Moreover, the brain is an organ like any other. It’s not built to sustain prolonged Chakra manipulation, day in and day out, for years. As it is, I don’t see how you can escape permanent brain damage. Sage willing, we will be able to heal some of it, but it is by no means a certainty.”

“Hmmm,” he says, not agreeing or disagreeing for now. “And the rest? The hallucinations, depression, suicidality?”

Her Chakra lurches forward and is yanked back just as forcefully. Wow, that must have been unpleasant.

“Hallucinations,” says the Senju, de-railing the not-argument she’s having with Aniki. “What hallucinations? Is that the side effect of the eye-trauma?”

“Oh no.” He turns around to face her. “No, the hallucinations started after Aniki killed everyone. They’re visual. And auditory I suppose. Like projections of memories, triggered by the place where the memory was formed.” Huh, look at that sentence. It almost sounds reasonable, considering. “They’re pretty life-like. I couldn’t tell them apart from the real stuff. Still can’t.”

The Lady is quiet for a long second and judging by her Chakra she’s having some silent-communication moment with Aniki. “And you didn’t mention this because?”

He shrugs. “I don’t see them when my blindfold is on. That’s a pretty good deal. No Chakra exhaustion, no visual reminders of dead family members. Nobody wants me to do anything for them other than have sex sometime in the future. Since Aniki doesn’t need me to have sex, even that problem is done away with. So. S’good.”

Things don’t calm down after that, which was perhaps foreseeable but no less exhausting. He sends an apologetic grimace in the girl-assistant’s direction, before sinking in, out and away. Brain damage or not, all this aggression and emotion is not good for his stress levels. He’s spent years free of all that human nonsense.

When he resurfaces again, it’s clear the adults haven’t progressed far with their plans.

“So what’s the problem,” he asks the only person in the room he has come to think of as somewhat reasonable.

“Your Aniki—and you—need surgery. Real help. Scans, beds, IV drips, operating halls. They can’t figure out where to get that.”

“Because they don’t want to return to Konoha?”

Shizune-san hesitates. It’s all sorts of endearing. “It turns out your Clan’s destruction was orchestrated by a very powerful man in Konoha.” The girl feels like she will start crying any minute now. “Listen, I shouldn’t be the one telling you this—I don’t even know you—”

Alright. Everyone is still crazy around here. Good to know. “Listen, you all need to stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourselves. I’m fine. I’m over the murders. If talking about this is stressing you out this much, feel free to skip it.”

“You’re not fine—you’re very much not fine. Both of you—You’re manipulating your brain, Uchiha-kun. That’s—”

Jeez. Sasuke would roll his eyes if it wasn’t stupid to roll your eyes underneath a blindfold. “Let’s not pretend my spiritual practices are the real problem here. I’m happy as I am, you know. The eye-thing, sure; that means a lot to Aniki, and I don’t care enough to mind. But the rest of it—Come on.”

Shizune breathes forcefully for a full minute, before speaking again. “You are right. Your coping mechanisms are not the most pressing issue. Your eyes and your brother’s lungs are. After that, we will see about the rest.”

Lungs?

“Is Itachi sick?”

“Very seriously so. He’s—There is still hope but he needs surgery. Complex, invasive surgery that needs considerable resources and a long recuperation period. ”

Sasuke thinks about this for a little while. The thought is just so odd. Aniki is so strong, and yes, crazy, but larger than life. Such a mundane hardship to have happened to an almost supernatural figure.

“If he needs a village,” he says slowly, “and we can’t go to Konoha, is there another village we can go to? For the machines and instruments and protection and whatnot?”

Shizune sighs, and is about to answer when Tsunade’s Chakra freezes. “We-ell.” She says slowly. “There’s an idea.”

Chapter Text

As it turns out, the woman Aniki ran to is Senju Tsunade, one-third of the Sanin. Sasuke knows about her, of course. Every man, woman and child in the Elemental Nations knows about the Sanin.

Because she is who she is, she’s got connections. Namely one of her teammates—the one that ran away from Konoha—has since created his village. Village Hidden in the Sound, or Otogakure. A ridiculous name, sure, but who is he to criticise someone’s method of self-expression? Creating a Hidden Village can’t be easy. If you’re strong enough to do that, then you can call it Village Hidden in Fuzzy Fur, if you get something out of it. 

Itachi’s Chakra has calmed down some. Not because of anything concrete, he doesn’t think. Sasuke is pretty sure his brother has reached the point where most of his higher brain functions have shut down, leaving behind a skeleton crew of obedience and woe. What bandwidth not invested into tragically gazing at Sasuke’s disfigured face, goes into following Senju-hime around like an anxious gosling.

The analogy is even more accurate because Senju-hime, loud voice and gruff manners aside, is one of nature’s mothers. Her Chakra is warm and thick and constantly reaches for her student or  Itachi—or even Sasuke. Not being an idiot, Sasuke doesn’t faff about and spends several delightful hours playing with it as discretely as he can. It’s much too warm for him to resist, even if he was inclined to try. How often do you see a human with a genuinely gentle Chakra? Itachi, for all that is single-mindedly devoted to Sasuke, is violent and sharp and cold by nature. Not Senju-hime. Her Chakra is made to soothe, comfort and heal. Her apprentice, on the other hand, is definitely more in Itachi’s lane than her Master’s. It’s a bit of a shame, but what does he know? Maybe sharp Chakra is necessary for, like, surgery or something?

The trip to Otogakure would take a

“We will be in Oto soon,” says Tsunade-sama, during their nightly healing session. “Orochimaru is—”

Sasuke hums, distracted. He’s slowly getting better at staying in his body, mostly because Tsunade-hime jolts him whenever he lets himself float. He could possibly power through it if he really wanted to, but why be rude this early in the game? Plus, her reasoning—that he needs to be present to tell her if something doesn’t feel right—is fair. 

“So your teammate is a Kage? That’s cool.”

Tsunade-sama huffs a tired sound, echoed by the darkening of her Chakra. “Yeah. We thought for a while—Never mind what we thought. He turned out to be the most honest one out of the three.”

E-ouch.

“Sounds like an interesting guy. You must be proud,” he tries, growing increasingly desperate for something to say.

“I guess I am.” Some of the tired, toxic grief lifts. “We’ll see how this goes. I can’t guarantee he will help us.”

Sasuke wouldn’t stop the amused noise that builds in his throat if he could. “People very rarely help others, in my experience. I certainly don’t expect anything from your Kage-teammate.” Expand on that a little, maybe. “Or from you.” Good work. “You don’t have to help us. I don’t know what Aniki said, but he’s very scared and he’s lashing out. I am grateful and all that, but you do you. If this is too much or it’s harming you or something, you can split, no hard feelings.”

Tsunade’s Chakra ripples in an odd way, folding in on itself. “There are some things you can’t just let go, kid. Once you reach a certain point, the excuse ‘not my circus, not my monkeys’ stops working, y’know? What happened to you, what happened to your brother—It’s not forgivable.”

Sage save them. “You don’t have to forgive anything?” What does that even mean? “But you don’t have to harm yourself just because stuff happened. That makes no sense.”

Tsunade huffs but pats his head. “You’re a sweet kid. I can’t quite understand how, but there we are. Never mind me. I’m a grown-ass woman, I can handle myself. Oro will help us because he knows an opportunity when it falls into his lap. You and your brother are both prizes. Just because Konoha was stupid enough to drive you to—this—doesn’t mean he will be.”

Sasuke thinks about this for a long moment. He can’t see how two half-dead, insane Shinobi could be a prize other than in the eyeball sense. Or in the reproduction sense, which Sasuke doesn’t want to think about.

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now. Let’s talk about your Chakra pool, how it’s six times the size it should be and how that is not a good thing.”

Tsunade-sama —

(“Just call me Tsunade, kid—”

“Sasuke, you will do no such thing. Senju-hime is the Head of the Senju and—”

“Should I call you Uchiha-sama, brat? Now pipe down—”)

—holds a summoning contract. Sasuke realises this stupendous fact when a presence pops into existence a meter away from him while he’s soul-stalking a grasshopper. He is so surprised by this development, he jolts out of his not-meditation and falls over into a pile of joints and limbs.

Tsunade-sama huffs, “You’ve sensed Katsuyu? Katsuyu, this is the little Uchiha, the one with the hallucinations. Over there is the big Uchiha, the one with tuberculosis.”

Sasuke stares blindly in the direction of the Chakra beacon, so calm and soothing and—

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, dazed. “Your Chakra—it’s so smooth and calm—But it’s—How are you—There’s more of you?” Her Chakra brings feels like a hive-mind; like what he sees is a discrete part of a big whole.

Tsunade-sama’s bark of laughter is a nice backdrop to the Noble Spirit’s voice, tinkling and fresh. Like a firefly. “Well-met, Uchiha-san,” says Katsuyu-sama. “Thank you. I haven’t met many Uchiha sensors. You must be very special.”

He shakes his head, sunning himself in the warmth of her Chakra. “It’s nothing. I’m functionally blind, so my awareness of Chakra expanded to compensate. There’s some other stuff too, but that’s not important.”

The body the spirit resides in resembles loosely that of a big, cartoonish slug. Even her slime trail is crackling with energy, that’s how lovely she is.

“Look at you, little charmer.” Laughter rings through Tsunade-sama’s voice, warming it. “I hate to cut you off, but I have a favour to ask of Katsuyu. Having said that—” She hums, a jolt of satisfaction rippling through her Chakra. “—Summoning her can be the incentive to stay in your own head. Deal?”

He doesn’t hesitate a single moment. The animals and the plants are lovely, but Lady Katsuyu is a Noble Spirit. “Deal.”

He tunes out their conversation and focuses on the wonder before him as best he can while limited by his physical body. Her Chakra-bubble is large, larger than Tsunade-sama’s, covering about thirty meters every which way. The colour and the tactile nature of it, the uninterrupted, faintly glittering sphere—all of it is stunning. He reaches out with his own Chakra cautiously and pokes it as politely as he can. Her Chakra responds immediately, poking back just as gently, which does little to hide the impression of a vast, alien intelligence amused by the silly mortal.

He feels a blush heating up his cheeks. “Sorry.” Who knows, maybe he was terribly rude.

“No need for apologies, Uchiha-san,” says Katsuyu-sama. “You were just saying hello. I commend you on your Spirit-sense. It’s not something I expected to see on this plane.”

Spirit-sense. That’s a nice-sounding term. Hmm.

Tsunade-sama’s teammate meets them before they reach his Village. He is surprisingly stealthy, considering. Definitely more so than Aniki, and that’s with his Chakra being enormous. Enormous and unlike any other thing he’s ever sensed. It is legitimately hard to even comprehend it, that’s how unintuitive it is. Thank the Sage that the adults are busy adulting because Sasuke needs to think about this.

Corralling wispy threads of attention takes some doing, but he’s motivated enough to give it a good try. Several things immediately pop out. Tsunade-sama’s Teammate-who-is-possibly-Orochimaru-the-Snake-Sanin has—

Sasuke focuses harder, straining to internalise this most abstract of concepts. The energy is present; Sasuke’s Chakra-sense can comprehend it like he can any other. It’s dense and settled, yes, with something intimidating, predatory twisting through it, but none of that is substantially different from the norm. What is different, what Sasuke’s mind is struggling to interpret, is that it doesn’t—It’s not kinetic, it’s auditory. It’s two things at the same time. There is the typical pseudo-cloud of energy hanging around his physical body, but there is also sound. Well, okay, Sasuke thinks, trying to remember to breathe. It’s not sound-sound; it’s not a real, physical sensation, but that’s what Sasuke’s mind is telling him. That’s how it chooses to interpret the sensory input. Which, okay, hold on. Is this sensory input? Should be. What else could it be? But—

Focus. It’s familiar. Why is it so familiar?

“Oh—you are the one who can fold up your Chakra real small and plant it in other people.” Whoops, he said that part out loud. “Sorry,” he says, trying for a tone closer to polite than awkward. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, continue.”

“No, no,” says—let’s go with Orochi-hiko. The note of interest that winds through his voice is matched with the fluttery note that ripples through his Chakra. Sasuke’s head spins. Oh boy, listening to this man is going to be a trip. “I don’t mind. What was that you said? Fold my Chakra?”

Aniki’s Chakra shivers with apprehension at the same time Tsunade-sama relaxes. She must have recognised the curiosity.

“Umm. The group that took me—after the lightning-Jōnin—had your Chakra? Underneath theirs? It was folded up all nice and tidy until it expanded and became not small or even a little tidy. It was really big, actually, uh. Yah. It was really neat to see. Or, y’know. Sense.”  Good work, Uchiha, very eloquent.

“What an astute child you are, Uchiha-san,” says Orochi-hiko. The rolling thrum of his Chakra sends delighted shivers down Sasuke’s spine. Man. Maybe that’s where the name ‘Village Hidden in the Sound’ comes from?

“Thank you, Orochi-hiko,” he says, embarrassed. Tsunade-sama hiccups a laugh.

“That’s a strange name to call me, little Uchiha.”

Man, Sasuke really lucked out on the whole blindness thing. Without having all these more reliable sources of input, it seems very likely that communicating with the Orochi Lord would be all sorts of unnerving. Like now, for example. While the words sound intimidating and stressful, the Chakra is, at best, vaguely interested.

“Umm. Sorry. It’s just—Aniki calls Tsunade-sama Senju-hime, and I thought—Because you’re from the Orochi Clan—”

“I am not offended,” he says. “But it is not warranted. Orochi were never a Noble Clan. Orochimaru-sama is enough.”

“As you say, Orochimaru-sama.” Man, adults are a weird bunch. Like there is any real nobility to be found, here.

“Well, Hime, I daresay we can come to an arrangement. You have my word I will not harm your Uchiha, yourself or your apprentice. In return, you will heal, oh, let’s say, ten of my subjects. We will negotiate the rest as we go along.”

“Thank the fucking Sage, let’s get out of this blasted rain—”

Life in Otogakure has the potential to be endlessly fascinating, Sasuke would be happy to admit. There are, incredibly, no less than four people around who like Sasuke. Like him, as in, they think he is valuable, or could become such, and not only for making better Uchiha later on. The rest of it is not quite as amazing, but he can’t be sure yet. He’s been stuck in the healing rooms since they arrived. Both of them have, actually.

On the other hand Aniki loves it here, no matter how deep a pit of anxiety he’s dug for himself. Sasuke’s not worried. Being anxious is Itachi’s base state. Anxious and morbidly depressed, yeah, that about covers it. He’s less soul-crushingly miserable here, which is all that counts. 

Another fascinating aspect of life in Oto is a kid-Jõnin called Kimimaro-san who follows Orochimaru-sama around whoever he can.

There are many fun things to note about Kimimaro-san. He is fanatically devoted to Orochimaru-sama, which would be more disturbing if Aniki wasn’t just as devoted to Sasuke. Orochimaru-sama’s pocket of Chakra on top of his own is objectively awesome. His Chakra is improbably dense, possibly caused by whatever heritage he carries. All that said, the most interesting thing is how disinterested he is in his terminal illness, and how well that communicates his fucked up worldview.

Most sick people become self-absorbed as their illness progresses. That’s the appropriate thing to do, Sasuke is pretty sure. As their body moves towards termination, becoming increasingly motivated to prevent it is fair and proper. Not Kimimaro-san. Kimimaro-san, Sasuke is pretty sure, has one goal and one goal only, and that is to please Orochimaru-sama. Cool. Creepy as shit, but cool.

He’s also a part of the deal between Tsunade-sama and Orochimaru-sama, as far as Sasuke bothers to follow the disjointed twists of their plans. (Typically, he’d make it to the second twist. Third, if he is feeling particularly sane.) Safety and hospital equipment in exchange for a gaggle of Shinobi Orochimaru-sama deems valuable.

Aniki’s negotiations with Orochimaru-sama, in contrast, aren’t progressing so much as an inch. Not unless they are sneaking away to do the real bargaining out of Sasuke’s earshot, only to return and dive back into the nonsense. That said, spending time with Orochimaru-sama and Tsunade-sama seems to be good for Itachi, so that’s fine. They can talk around each other as much as they like; Sasuke is content to sit in bed and spend time with Katsuyu-sama.

In other news, Orochimaru-sama has a summoning contract with the Serpents, which are Noble Spirits too. One would think that would earn him the ‘-Hiko’ honorific, and one would be wrong, apparently. The Snake-summons are every bit as amazing as Katsuyu-sama if you replace the ‘soothing’ aspect with ‘terrifying and lethal’. Sasuke is happy to observe them from a distance. Beautiful Chakra or no, predators are not to be messed with.

Why wouldn’t he be? What is there not to love? Katsuyu-sama is patient with Sasuke and ridiculously generous with her healing slime. Ever since Orochimaru-sama built their healing stations, Sasuke has been wearing two of her smaller slug-bodies over his eyes instead of his blindfold. No, really, because his life must be as ridiculous as possible, Sasuke now spends most of his days with two Noble Spirits keeping his eyes closed while healing the endless damage he accumulated over the years. It’s not even intrusive; how could it be? It’s Nature Chakra, for all that it’s Katsuyu-sama’s.

To further flesh out the newly discovered territory of body horror, whatever the adults are trying to do with and to Aniki’s lungs looks to be complicated. Complicated in no small part because Itachi, Amaterasu love him, is a whole nightmare. Whatever broke in him, whatever whittled down his spirit to this meek, anxious wreck, it’s at most tangentially caused by the illness. Itachi cares very little about normal, practical things like that. Oh, he plays along, submits himself to tests, exams and whatever arcane data the two Sanin are gathering with the beeping, squeaking machines, but he’s about as invested in any of it as he is in pickling plums. Itachi’s suicidality is a complex, three-dimensional web of despair that spread its tentacles into every aspect of his being. If he has reasons to stay alive, they are built by and from things divorced from goodness and hope.

Not that Sasuke has room to throw stones. If he could choose which animal describes him the best it would be that tiny being, invisible to the human eye, that lives in water and lets itself be carried by the current. Like it, Sasuke has no hope—or intention—to influence or direct his journey in any way. If people want to die, that’s fine. Vaguely proactive, too. It will probably save everybody a lot of grief at some point.

The more used he gets to Orochimaru-sama the easier it is to calibrate his Chakra-sense to the man. And boy, is it worth it.

It’s not that the man is any more deceptive than the rest of the Adults. He is, if anything, the most honest out of the lot. But he does lie, and always for inexplicable reasons.

Take the Sharingan thing, for example. Itachi—and Tsunade-sama—are dead-certain that Orochimaru-sama is obsessed with getting a set of Sharingan eyes for himself. Sasuke might even have bought it if he had only ears and eyes to rely on. Since he can skip the proverbial middle-man and go straight to the source, he knows that Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra is little more than distantly curious about their Dōjutsu. He is heaps more interested in Sasuke’s hallucinations than he is in the Sharingan, for all that he plays the part.

That said, when he talks to Sasuke about his Chakra-sense, that is real focus. He talks about it for hours and coaxes out every shred of information Sasuke can hope to verbalise. He is patient too; he has to be. Sasuke tries to stay present, but he shuts down under stress and can’t re-surface for hours, come what may. Pain, shock, electricity, water, the adults tried it all. He doesn't blame them. It’s dangerous for any human living in these strange times to become catatonic at the first sign of stress. The danger grows exponentially when that person has body parts that other, stronger people find valuable.

Since knowledge is what Orochimaru-sama is really after, he is on his best behaviour around Sasuke during these sessions. Chakra kept in check and a pot of jasmine Sencha ready, he talks to him for hours. There is always more, more specificity, more descriptions, more theories, and more concepts. Just—more.

A plan hatches—or at least a hope for escape from the Sanin’s endless thirst for knowledge.

First things first—make sure he doesn’t have an audience to play for. To that end, he waits until Tsunade and Shizune are out of the room, administering tests on Itachi that should take at least a few hours. Even Katsuyu-sama is absent, now that they engineered a bizarre sort of blindfold made out of her slime that covers the top part of his head. Like a slimy helmet. It’s very gross.

“You don’t care about the Sharingan at all, do you Orochimaru-sama?”

A sip of tea, a placid hum. A high note echoes through his Chakra. Amusement. “Oh? What makes you say that Uchiha-san?”

Not for the first time, the respectful—distancing—name rankles. “Please, Sasuke is fine. I can tell, I guess. If you wanted a Sharingan, you’d have gotten one by now. You can’t tell me you could not have caught an Uchiha Chūnin all these years.”

“Maybe I wanted the best set of eyes for myself.”

“Right,” he says, trying to remember how to inject human-worthy scepticism into his voice. “Because you believe that eyeballs can be good or bad. Please. You’d have snuck into Konoha on the day of the Massacre and stolen Mikoto’s eyes. Or Fugaku’s. Failing that, you’d have collected some genetic material and cloned yourself a body to harvest. No, if you wanted the Sharingan, you’d have had a set by now. So why do you make people think you do?”

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra tinkles like plucked notes on a shamisen, a sound Sasuke’s come to gingerly associate with indulgence. “I am in no way confirming your charming little theory, Uchiha-san—and nobody else would too. Everybody knows I am obsessed with learning every Chakra technique in the Elemental Nations.”

“What—really? People, what, believe that?” Wow, that’s foolish. “You’re a scientist. Why on earth would you need to learn all the techniques? They’re all the same, more or less, right? I don’t know a single Ninjutsu, and I already know that.”

A soft laugh—deliberate, but not dishonest. “People do indeed believe that. I am a scientist, and so it is not unbelievable I want to have all knowledge.”

“That’s not knowledge,” he says, a little offended. “That’s shortcuts. Learning without understanding. I know that you know better. I’ve seen what you can do with your Chakra. That Chakra-package thing you leave inside your Shinobi—You can’t tell me that’s not miles ahead of any Nin- or Genjutsu out there.”

“As charming as this line of questioning is, I can’t see where it’s going.”

Sasuke settles down, mouth curving into a sheepish smile. “Right, sorry. I got carried away. Yes—the point. The point is—I have an idea. A proposal if you will. We stop this questioning because I’ve explained everything I can about the in-between state.” Good Gods, did he explain. “Instead, when you figure out what is wrong with my eyes, I will put you in a Genjutsu and show you what it’s like and how it feels. It’s a good solution, I think. I can’t explain it; it’s too sensory, and I’m too non-verbal.”

A low, bass note echoes through the Chakra, suggesting a darkening of sorts. Suspicion, maybe? Caution? “Genjutsu? What brought you to this idea?”

“Oh, is that not done outside of the Uchiha?” Damn, he didn’t know that.

“Indeed not. It’s an interesting proposal, though. How does it work?”

“Umm—well, growing up Genjutsu was used for, y’know, everything. Telling stories, teaching lessons. Demonstrating techniques. Showing memories.” A tattered scrap of a memory swims forward from the wastelands of his mind. “Oh, okay. Um. I remembered why you wouldn’t know about it; it was all Clan secrets.” He considers this revelation for half a heartbeat. “Ah well. They’re all dead now, so. Too bad for them.”

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra laughs in tandem with the rasp of his physical voice. The duality of the deep bass note and the rather dry laugh is mesmerising. “You know, I always had a fondness for your brother; he was a formidable child, in intellect and body alike. You may be surpassing him simply because of how disturbing you are.”

“Aniki is very strong,” Sasuke agrees. “And I am very crazy. So you agree? About the Genjutsu? It doesn’t have to be me; I can give the memory to Itachi and he can give it to you if you want.”

“Oh, no, sweet child. In no way do I trust Uchiha Itachi to do anything with or to my mind. Look at what he did to you, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon.”

“Wow, harsh,” he says, a little amused. “It’s not Aniki’s fault I’m a defective Uchiha.”

Another gong of amusement. “Be the as it may, I might allow you to try; the key word being might. I do so love my mind. I would hate to have it damaged, be it accidental or otherwise.”

Hmm. “Good point,” he admits. “I’ll speak to Katsuyu-sama about it. She has been teaching me about Chakra-sense—she calls it Spirit-sense. Do your Spirits specialise in Genjutsu?”

“My snakes,” asks Orochimaru-sama, switching from amused to focused. “Why do you call them Spirits? And what is Spirit-sense?”

“Oh, um, they’re not animals, are they? They’re Spirits, who take the shape of animals, and even then very loosely so. Katsuyu-sama doesn’t look anything like a slug, right? They are pure Chakra, no blood or bones or anything. I—to me they couldn’t be more different.” He pauses, struggling for words. “As for Spirit-sense, Katsuyu-sama thinks that, because I’ve focused so much on the Nature-Chakra around me, I’ve learned sensing differently. Like the Spirits do? Maybe?”

Orochimaru-sama is quiet for a long minute, but the silence is relaxed if anything. “Konoha might never know what they lost, with the two of you. A deal, Uchiha Sasuke. Read my Chakra—my spirit—and know I speak the truth. An alliance between the Uchiha and Orochi. You deal with me fairly and I will reciprocate. Both of you will have a haven here and, in return, you will teach me Chakra-sensing as you know it.”

“What, really,” he asks, surprised. “I mean—sure. I don’t know how well I will teach though. I’m pretty slow for an Uchiha and insane on top. Umm. Is there a time limit?”

“No limit, within reason.”

“I—agree? Oh, wait, no, before I agree. I do not want to be—reproduced.” Good work, this is important. “I don’t mind having my body locked away. No walls can hold me, not really. What's more, a lot of people want to kill me, and I doubt I could defend myself. So, yeah, I don’t mind reasonable precautions. But no sex. Same for Aniki. Only the sex he wants.”

“Of course,” says Orochimaru, switching back to languid amusement. “In the spirit of goodwill I would recommend that, going forward, you make sure you understand what you are being asked before agreeing. In this case, I am perfectly willing to wait for your brother to return; he is more versed in Clan alliances.”

“Sure.” Is there a reason to complicate this? “Seems pretty simple to me, though. It’s what we’ve been doing already? You keep us safe, and we give you the knowledge you don’t have until you have it all. And then, I suppose, you kill us or we leave.” That’s the current setup, right? “I doubt you need us to fight for you. We don’t have money, political or social power and you don’t care about the Sharingan, outside of whatever psych-out op you’re running. The only other thing you could want is sex, but you don’t seem to be into sex with kids, so.”

“Who knows? Uchiha are known to be beautiful.”

Even without Chakra-sense, Sasuke would’ve called this one. “Sure. Your end goal is to coerce an S-ranked Shinobi into sex. That’s an excellent idea. Ten out of ten would recommend.”

Orochimaru-sama’s laughter bounces off the stone walls. “My, but you are an amusing child. Still, I take my Clan seriously, even if you do not. I offered an alliance in good faith.”

“Best to wait for Aniki, then. He’d know that stuff. In the meantime, I have an idea—”

Chapter Text

Orochimaru brings the alliance thing to Aniki’s attention himself, which is all sorts of hilarious to witness. Itachi—bless—jumps straight into a precarious balance of hysterical amusement and bone-bending anxiety. Even for him, this is a lot, Sasuke thinks. He could be missing something here, but—

“I don’t get it, Aniki. What’s the holdup? We already depend on Orochimaru-sama for our lives and reproductive freedoms. What’s the issue with making it official.”

“I—I—” Aniki is actually going to get a permanent stutter with how things are going.

Tsunade-sama takes pity on him. On all of them, really. “He’s afraid you won’t be able to fulfil your end of the deal, brat. We don’t know what you’re doing, how you’re doing it or if it has anything to do with your Dōjutsu. If it’s some odd expression of your Bloodline Limit, then Oro will not be able to learn it, no matter what he tries.”

He huffs a little, miffed. “Okay, first of all, if it were genetic we’d have had records of similar things happening to Uchiha over years. We don’t keep meticulous records about a lot of things, but best believe that the Sharingan variations? Written up to the dot.” For all the good it did them. Sasuke’s family died when he was too young to be entrusted with important knowledge, but the surface-level stuff was plenty damning. “If it’s a freak accident Orochimaru-sama can mutate the set of Sharingan eyes he clones for himself. Should he, of course, be dumb enough to try merging a foreign Bloodline Limit with the one he already has. Which I still claim he is not.”

“Why would he make a set of Sharingan eyes, if he can take yours,” she says with a fair bit of impatience.

“He can do that now! I’d let him, even!” Calm down. You’re getting worked up about all this circle-talk. “You came here yourselves, you placed our lives into his hands, and now you’re what—cautious? Please. You just don’t want to commit.”

Itachi makes himself even smaller, and the lost grey-green of his Chakra just makes Sasuke even more confused. “Last time I committed to a leader, they had me kill my family for the price of your life. Then they had me join the most gruesome mercenary organisation in the known world for the price of your health and happiness. How did that work out?”

Sasuke opens and closes his mouth a few times. He turns to where Orochimaru-sama is watching the drama unfold. “Do you understand this? Because I don’t understand this.” He spins back to Itachi, using up the last shred of patience he has. He’s overdue a jaunt to the spirit land to decompress. “He’s not your God, Aniki. He’s not going to make you his slave. If he orders you to, I don’t know, skin me and wear my tanned leather, you can just not do that.” Breathe, Uchiha. In and out. “As for blackmailing you with my health and well-being, that’s something you will have to get used to. Everyone will do that to you. I am, functionally, a crippled civilian. If you don’t want that weakness just leave me somewhere. I told you I’m good anywhere. I said.”

Aniki curls into himself, Chakra tinting dark red, dripping like blood.

“Okay, I tried. You do you, Aniki. I will continue teaching Orochimaru-sama whatever he wants to know. An official alliance or not, it’s all the same to me. Sage wept, you people.”

He closes his eyes, and exhales, sinking through as he goes. Up and up and up, he spreads his soul through the atmosphere, until he is so big, his awareness so large, that he can only notice the  large,  slow shifts. Birds fly, and mammals scutter. Life thrives everywhere around him. It’s a good day to be the air.

“As amusing as that little rant had been—and it was, indeed, very amusing—it was deeply flawed,” says Orochimaru-sama, once Sasuke wakes up and finds himself alone with the man. “You might be comfortable with dismissing your autonomy and divorcing yourself from the concept of self-worth, but your brother does not have to be.” Sasuke blinks. Ouch. “On top of that, he is responsible for you. It’s on account of your well-being that he hesitates to enter into an alliance with me. If he were alone—” He pauses for a moment, Chakra a prolonged spill of clear, bright notes. Amusement, maybe, but the sharp, cutting kind? “Alright, if he were alone he’d have burned Konoha and all of her people to ash and fallen on his blade. But, setting that aside, he would have accepted to be under my command. More than anything, your brother craves direction.”

Sasuke does his best to clear the whine from his voice. “It was their idea to come here. Why the half measures?” 

“Because he’s afraid. Because he’s traumatised. Because he trusted the wrong people and made terrible mistakes and you paid the price for it.” Another shift, notes of his soul melody stretching out into something deeper. “Uchiha Itachi-san has plenty of reasons to be skittish around powerful, older men who act in strange ways and have indecipherable motives.”

“But we know your motives—you just want to know everything.”

Orochimaru hums, voice falling into what Sasuke is starting to think of as his ‘teaching voice’. “First of all,” he says, with three fingers raised in the air. Most shinobi instinctively channel more Chakra into their hands and feet, so the gesture is crisp as anything. Slowly, he ticks off one. “You know my motives. You have a way of reading Chakra that is entirely unique. He does not. He knows me by reputation and by my actions. I make sure both of those things are unknowable and unpredictable.” He ticks off the second finger. “Second—just because an action isn’t in someone’s best interest, that doesn’t mean they will not do it. People often act against their best interests—usually for inexplicable reasons.” He ticks off the third finger. “Third—he is trying his best to account for your mental damage. Why aren’t you doing the same?”

Well, okay then.

“Why did you even suggest an alliance, if you knew what would happen?” Was he set up to fail?

“Because, little snake, I wanted him to know I am serious about courting you both to my side. I wanted to prove my honesty through your Chakra-sense. And I wanted you to start interacting with people and understanding how they work. You’re not half as insane as you think you are. As you pretend to be. You’re simply stubborn and resentful and frightened.”

He mulls that over for good ten minutes. In the meantime, Orochimaru-sama has made a fresh pot of tea—another Sencha blend—and is drinking it with languid sips. “Your teaching methods are awful and they make my heart ache, Orochimaru-sama,” Sasuke says when he can’t think of an objection. “But thank you.”

He hums, calm as the ocean, and as unknowable. “You’re a rewarding student to teach, I admit. I cannot lie to you directly, so I need not bother. On the other hand, I don’t need to go through the tedious procedure of gaining your trust over time.” A pause; Sasuke is pretty sure it’s mostly for drama. “You trust me because you can measure my truthfulness. There is still space left for manipulation, of course, and a world of psychological tricks, but the base suspicion is impossible. It’s a novel concept.”

“Right.”

Sasuke wastes no time after the gruelling conversation and tracks Itachi down to one of many libraries in Orochimaru-sama’s creepy underground home. It takes longer than it should, partly because of how new the space is, and partly because of how inorganic it is. He made his peace with bumping into things, but here he has to slow down even further if he wants to actually get anywhere. It’s great fun—he hasn’t walked mindfully for a while now.

Itachi sits, slumped over some text or another, and looks for all the world like he is calmly perusing it. Spiritually, he’s either coming down from or working up to a nasty panic attack.

“I’m sorry,” Sasuke says into the quiet. “I—I shouldn’t treat you this way. Orochimaru-sama is right—I use my damage as a weapon against you because I know it hurts you. I throw in your face that you’re free to leave because I  know you won’t. I—I will try to stop. Sorry.”

That’s apparently, more than Itachi can take. He crumbles, the exterior finally matching the interior, and curls into himself, heaving. 

He knows a bit more about what he should do. He climbs up and into his lap, angling his body so he can hook his chin around Itachi’s shoulder. Both of them can feel the other’s heartbeat through the material of their clothing.

“It will be okay, Aniki,” he says softly, He’s not even lying. It will be. “What happened, happened, and we can’t change it. But we’re here, and we’re together. We will be okay, you’ll see.”

Itachi’s lung surgery happens on a day like any other. Sasuke, in the spirit of being less of a terrible little shit, tries to be supportive and unobtrusive at the same time. He still needs to float for at least a part of the day; bad things will happen if he doesn’t offload whatever toxic nightmare his faulty brain cooks up. Two three-hour stretches are enough if he times them well—typically right before and after sleep.

With some more self-awareness and motivation, he starts to accept his brother is far from functional. He was beaten into shape with more force and intent than Sasuke. Sasuke was mistreated because of, who knows, personal dislike or something. Itachi, on the other hand, was formed carefully, over a long period of time, by people invested in doing so. Many people set out to make him dangerous, only they didn’t account for conflicting loyalties, instructions and methodologies. The result was a superb weapon, too dangerous and unstable for anyone to wield. Even himself.

Now that he has nobody to listen to—and his genius plan of dying at the right time is going down the drain—Itachi is at loose ends.

“Do you think Aniki would make a good medic,” he asks Orochimaru-sama, while they’re waiting outside of the operating room, drinking tea. Neither of them is worried; Tsunade-sama can bring a man back from the grave as long as there is a spark of life to be found in his pinky. What’s one lung transplant next to that?

“You want the Senju Clan Head to claim the Uchiha Clan Head as her apprentice?” It shows, at times like these, that Orochimaru-sama is a Clan-brat to the core, missing-nin or not. The incredulity sprinkled with a little bit of malicious glee is genuine.

“I mean—Aniki needs some guidance, and his options are limited. There is me, which, yeah. There is you which, no offence, is a terrible idea.” Orochimaru-sama would chew him up and spit out a perfect little toy soldier to crank and direct. “Tsunade-sama, on the other hand, is the kindest person I’ve ever come across.” He pauses for a moment, judging how much personal information is too much, before deciding the man who cloned Itachi a set of lungs can surely be counted as family. “Between you and me, Aniki could use a mum.” 

“And what about you, little serpent? What do you need? I thought you would claim Hime for yourself, with how much you’ve been fawning over Katsuyu.”

Sasuke tilts his head a bit. Was he more subtle than he thought? Huh.

“I thought I’d stay with you? If that’s okay?”

The sudden hitch in Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra-melody is, he’s pretty sure, sincere. “What would you gain from my tutelage? I am an assassin, first and foremost. You have no aptitude or, indeed, ambitions, for combat.”

What even is this? “You’re a scholar, with all due respect. Scholar first, scientist second, politician a distant third.” Sage wept, does this need to be said? “I have insight into spiritual energy flow, which would be useful for you. You have a very settled, self-contained Chakra that doesn’t make me want to cry. That’s more than everybody else. Even Aniki makes my head hurt after a while.” A short while, unfortunately. “You also don’t talk down to me, which is nice.”

“I also have a compound full of human experiments and developed sociopathic tendencies that make me irrationally possessive of what I consider mine. I would rather not have the drama of your inevitable attempts to escape.”

“Wait—” Sasuke says, feeling a little like the entire world is tipping sideways. “Are you kicking me out? Is that what this is?”

“Sage, but you can be an exhausting child. I am trying to explain why being my apprentice is a serious commitment.”

Good. Phew. The balance shifts back; not the whole way, but it never does. “Oh-kay. How about your assistant then? Guest? Mascot? House pet? I am not picky.”

“And your brother—the S-ranked Clan Head? Who will soon be healthy and perfectly capable of burning my home to the ground if he hears mention of me keeping you as a house pet? Where does he fit into this?”

Amaterasu grant him patience. “And that’s why I brought up Tsunade-sama. Aniki needs to heal, and grow a personality. Ideally, he would do those things away from me, a living, breathing guilt trip. He needs to leave me somewhere safe. Nowhere is safer than with you—another S-ranked shinobi who only wants me for my sensing?”

Orochimaru stews in incredulous outrage for a sequence of heartbeats, and Sasuke makes a valiant stab at locating the teapot. Usually, Orochimaru-sama is polite enough to pour for them, but Sasuke’s very reasonable plan has apparently thrown him.

“I’m vetoing this discussion until you work it out with your brother,” he says finally. “Your—everything—is exhausting, and I do not appreciate being cornered into the role of the reasonable adult.”

Sasuke huffs a laugh—a real, honest laugh, how lovely—and nods. “As you wish.”

Aniki’s recovery—aided by the greatest medic in the Elemental Nations—goes predictably smoothly. Within a week, he’s on his feet, and Sasuke can see how much lighter his Chakra is. Chakra is a mix of physical and spiritual energy—it makes sense a terminal disease would mess with it.

It takes more than one long, exhausting conversation to build something like a real relationship with Itachi. Sasuke tries his best, but he has to stop several times when it all becomes too much for him. It’s either stop, drink some tea and cuddle with Katsuyu-sama or cast his mind out of his body to decompress. Aniki is very kind about it, but he knows it’s upsetting him that his best attempts at being a proper family still overwhelm Sasuke so quickly.

“It’s not you—” he tries to explain for the umpteenth time. “I can’t help it. Your Chakra is very active; lovely, without a doubt, but it’s expressive and vibrant. You feel so strongly Aniki, and my mind is fragile.”

“I do not blame you,” Itachi says. “I would never. Your defensive mechanisms are what kept you alive, and I adore them for it. I am simply—”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a while, a clone of Lady Katsuyu the size of a medium-sized dog sitting in Sasuke’s lap. By unspoken agreement, Itachi continues the medical text he has been reading, and Sasuke plays a game with Lady Katsuyu where they match the shapes the other makes with their Chakra.

“So—Tsunade-sama is pretty awesome,” he says when he’s as calm as he’s going to get for now.

Itachi’s Chakra ripples with love. Pure yellow, like sun rays.

“Yes, Otōto, Tsunade-sama is a remarkable woman. We are beyond fortunate she took pity on us.”

‘Aint that the truth.

“And your Chakra control—it has always been really good, hasn’t it?”

Itachi puts down his book. “Where are you going with this?”

“I mean—I was just thinking. You have this pacifism thing going on. And Tsunade-sama loves you. Like, really loves you.” He hesitates for a moment. “Don’t tell anyone, but she loves you more than she loves Shizune-san. Or at least in a different way.”

Itachi stills, surface-level denial undercut by the much stronger current of hope twisting underneath.

“Trust me—you know I can see these things. She loves you like mothers love their children. I don’t know how you managed that so quickly, I really don’t. She fixed her haemophilia for you, that’s how much she loves you.”

“Sasuke—”

“Oh, don’t bother Aniki—I can feel you too. Don’t bother with the self-sacrificing shtick. I can see how much you care for her. And you should—she is the mother you should have had.”

“Our parents—”

This time Sasuke doesn’t even bother interrupting—he knows Itachi won’t be able to finish that sentence to his benefit.

“They—”

Sasuke gentles his voice as much as he can. “They were horrible parents, Aniki. How they treated me was bad—but you? Who sends their child into ANBU at, what, ten? Don’t tell me it’s—forget healthy—it’s sane for parents to send their ten-year-old pacifist son to murder and seduce on behest of an uncaring village.”

“That’s unfair, Sasuke.” There’s so much pain in Itachi’s voice, so much blind, betrayed love, it takes a solid chunk of effort to keep his mind in his body.

“It’s not. Look at it this way—would Tsunade-sama give a ten-year-old to ANBU? Any ten-year-old, much less her son?”

“They can’t be compared. They had the Clan to worry about. They had responsibilities to all Uchiha, and our Clan was in a bad place, politically. They needed to show strength.”

Sasuke shrugs. “I’m not saying they were evil. I don’t know or care what was in their hearts. I’m sure there were plenty of reasons and plenty of pressure. They were likely traumatized beyond the point of being functional—especially after the Kyūbi. I am saying they were horrible parents. Abusive, terrible parents whose children should have been taken away from them. Can you deny it?”

“What’s the point of this, Otōto? They did their best.”

“Point is—since our parents were what they were, I am very happy you found a mother worthy of you. And I am trying to encourage you to stay with her and let her help you. Just being near her makes you happy.”

“Sasuke-kun is correct,” chimes in Katsuyu-sama. “Tsunade-chan would move mountains for you, Uchiha-sama. She talks about nothing but your treatment, and getting justice in your name.”

“I—Let’s change the topic.”

“Sure. As long as you know I support you.”

“So—Tsunade-sama. My brother—he’s awesome, isn’t he?”

“Shut it, brat. Katsuyu told me everything. I am still working on not slapping you into next month.”

“As long as you know I support you.”

Chapter Text

Now that Aniki is out of the woods, lung-wise, it’s time to address the Bijū in the room. He can feel Orochimaru-sama’s impatience grow by the day, as both Tsunade-sama and Aniki continue to tiptoe around the topic.

Alright then, it’s time to step in. That seems to be more or less his most important role in this family.

Might as well not even try for subtlety. He won’t succeed, and will only waste energy by trying. “Our eyes,” he says when they’re all conveniently all together and the adults are sorting through the impressively large pile of blackmail Itachi had collected over the years. “More specifically—my eyes. What’s the plan.”

“Sasuke—”

From zero to a hundred in point two seconds flat. It’s like a panic-switch; on and off.

“I just want to know, Aniki. Do we have a plan? I’m fine as I am, but I think we should at least be all on the same page.”

“Uchiha-san is correct,” says Orochimaru-sama. “There is nothing to be gained by avoiding the topic endlessly.” The room was already tense, but now that Orochimaru-the-infamous-Sharingan-thief has expressed his interest, Aniki’s heart threatens to rabbit straight out of his chest. Oh no, Orochimaru used the word ‘gain’ and ‘Sharingan’ in the same sentence, death approaches.

“Nobody here wants my eyes, Aniki,” says Sasuke, keeping the exasperation from his voice as best he can. “Don’t buy whatever Orochimaru-sama is selling. He’s playing all of you.”

“Is that true?” The hope in Tsunade-sama’s Chakra is thrown in sharp relief by the flat tone. “Are you fucking with us, Oro?”

Orochimaru-sama hums and doesn’t hide the note of humour. “I can neither confirm nor deny. I am certainly satisfied with the terms of our agreement so far. You’ve healed all my subjects perfectly—and I have done the same.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” says Tsunade-sama. Incredulous joy spills from her Chakra into her voice and radiates through the room. “All these years—you horrible old reptile, you let us all think—”

“Now, now. I never so much as implied I wanted the Sharingan. You all made your assumptions. I didn’t deny them then and I don’t deny them now.”

“Going back to my previous topic,” Sasuke says before the two old people start emoting over one another. “Our eyes. Aniki, you said something to me, way back when. Something about wanting my eyes? About me wanting yours?”

Itachi shrivels into himself. In a normal person, Chakra wrapping around their body would be a self-protective gesture. In Itachi, it’s a clear sign of self-hurt.

“I hoped you wouldn’t remember that,” he says, voice a tiny bit hoarse. “I’m so sorry Sasuke—”

“Pish-posh. Point is—there is something there, right? People keep swapping Sharingan eyes like candy, there must be a reason why. The Hyūga certainly aren’t doing the same.” As far as anyone knows. Maybe they’re just being clever about it and keep eye-trafficking on the down-low.

“I—there’s a legend. About Madara-sama and his brother, Izuna-sama. That he took his brother’s eyes and was made exponentially more powerful by them,” Itachi admits after a long struggle with himself.

Wait. “You knew about this? All these years?” What an utter bag of cats, is his brother’s mind. “And you haven’t taken my eyes already—why? You may note they’re not exactly being used.”

“I would never,” Itachi snaps, tipping head over ass into fanaticism. “Sasuke, surely by now you know I never wanted to hurt you. I made a mistake, so many horrible mistakes that I can never atone for but I only ever wanted you happy.”

Sasuke waits until the end of the little monologue, just in case any relevant information surfaces.

“I know all that,” he says slowly. “Itachi—I can literally see your love; I don’t doubt it. That said, I am not saying you should maim me. But—and correct me if I’m wrong here—as things stand, I am functionally blind, carrying two Sharingan eyes that I cannot use. One way or another, Tsunade-sama will have to operate on me to try to fix that. Why don’t we simply—swap? Nobody needs to be blinded. Although, note how I am already blind. No great loss there.”

“It’s like you’re from a different species,” says Orochimaru-sama in the dead silence that follows Sasuke’s rant. “Doesn’t the idea of having someone else’s eyes in your head bother you in any way? Where is your obsession that all Dōjutsu users share? Instinctive panic and possessiveness about your Bloodline Limit.”

“Remind me to tell you the story about the year when I was convinced I was a foundling that Itachi rescued and brought back to the Compound,” Sasuke says absently. “But seriously, Aniki, why not? What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I am too old for this,” groans Tsunade-sama. “You are all mad. But not, in this instance, technically incorrect. I would have to operate on your eyes one way or another. How certain are you about this legend, brat?”

“I—pretty certain,” says Itachi, with the dull tones of helplessly overwhelmed. “There is this shrine—and Tobi—”

“Tobi?” Orochimaru-sama’s voice lowers into a sharp rasp, all previous amusement wiped clean. “The Akatsuki member with the orange mask?”

“He was there. On the night of the Massacre. He has the Sharingan. He—he called himself Madara, and I—”

Oh, wow. Okay. “You believed him.” What a lovable idiot. “You believed a random rogue Uchiha that he is our long-departed ancestor back from the dead.”

Itachi’s silence is damning.

Does this matter? No, it doesn’t. “Alright. Note how I’m not even touching the issue of whatever Akatsuki is. Why don’t we just—” He turns to Tsunade. “You couldn’t maybe summon Katsuyu-sama for a little bit?”

She sighs, a wealth of tired humour in her voice. “I will have to wean you off Katsuyu at some point. But sure.”

As soon as the pristine Chakra of his favourite Noble Spirit materialises, Sasuke feels his blood-pressure smoothing into acceptable levels. He slides to the floor and flops onto Katsuyu-sama’s body, this time the size of a large dog. “Thank the Sage,” he says into the smooth, slippery Chakra construct. “They’re all mad, Katsuyu-sama. Save me.”

“Always, Sasuke-kun,” she says and hugs him with her Chakra.

“You’re an angel.”

The Plan is, as Sasuke understands, a writhing mass of ifs and buts and whyfores. Having cut his reading teeth on texts he had no hope of understanding, he is well-prepared for it.

“We switch our eyes, recover, go to the Fire Country Daimyo, hand over our evidence, spread the news of Konoha’s shame enough that it can’t be buried, and then run like hell back to Oto until Konoha solves her own problems. Without Aniki’s mercenaries slaughtering us for his betrayal.”

Shizune-san swallows a laugh, but the adults are not as amused. Well—Orochimaru-sama is amused, but hiding it. He’s pretending to be something other than an agent of pure chaos. It’s a fair attempt that’s nonetheless doomed at the start. There is only so much Orochimaru-sama can do to mask the glint in his eyes that hints at orange stripes in an otherwise tiger-less jungle.

“You aren’t going anywhere, bratling,” says Tsunade-sama. “The saner half of the Uchiha Clan will come to the Daimyo. I am Senju, I have a standing invitation. He is Uchiha, he does too. Oro—do I remember correctly—?”

“Orochi are, as it happens, barred from entering the Fire Country Capital,” he says, voice wrapping around the ridiculous statement like it’s a treasure he wants to protect.

“I thought so,” she says. “Your Lady Mother, wasn’t it?”

“Mmm. She was simply the final straw, as I remember. Regardless, my relationship with Yua-san is more than good enough to compensate.”

“Oh?” Something shifts in Tsunade-sama’s Chakra, which implies both surprise and amusement. “That would be the Takeda heiress?”

“Lady now, and Daimyo of what was once Ta no Kuni—now, of course, Oto no Kuni ”

“My, but we’re old, Oro,” groans Tsunade-sama. “I remember hearing something about a miraculously appearing daughter. It can’t have been more than a couple of years ago.”

“I assure you, Yua-san is all grown up and is busy deposing despots and backing up her authority by making alliances with unsavoury characters.”

The two adults share a smirk, and Sasuke realises—innuendo. Gross.

“In any case, the three of us will be more than enough to present our case to Otake-sama.”

“Pardon me,” says Itachi, voice ringing with a steely twang. “Sasuke and I haven’t agreed to be separated. It’s only been two months since we found each other.”

Wait. “You want to bring me to the Daimyo,” he asks with all due incredulity that suggestion inspires. “To the Capital? Aniki, be reasonable. The volume of Chakra in that place—I’d be catatonic before we pass the gates.”

“Either you go, or I stay, Sasuke.”

“You can’t stay,” he says, outraged. “You’re our main witness. You’re the entire case. Without you, we have some papers any Genin can forge and Tsunade-sama’s word, and she hasn’t been in Konoha for years.”

“Well tough, because I’m not leaving you—”

“Alright brats,” says Tsunade-sama. “Let’s first see how the surgery goes. We will worry about politics later.”

The surgery, Sasuke comes to understand, is not as simple as taking out Sasuke’s eyes and sticking them in Itachi’s head. They’re too small, for one. And Itachi’s will be a hair too big.

While he doesn’t mind eye-swapping in principle, the details gross him out a little. Not that his input is all that necessary. Aniki, in hopes of impressing his kind-of-mother, is involved in the planning, but when Orochimaru-sama starts talking about devices to artificially age the removed eyeballs, Sasuke bows out gratefully and without hesitation.

The itinerary is all he needs to know and the itinerary is simple. Sasuke’s surgery is first, what with it being less of a worry. In his case, no eyes are better than the eyes he currently has, not that anyone agrees. After removing the aforementioned eyes, they will be, ah, edited, in whatever fashion is required, which should take about ten days. After that, it’s Itachi’s turn.

The day of the surgery is theoretically bright and lovely, however little such things matter when living in a creepy underground maze. Tsunade-sama and Shizune-san knock him out and remove his eyeballs without issue.  When he wakes up, he feels—drugged, but in a good way. A blindfold made out of slime-gel covers everything from the bridge of his nose to the end of his forehead. It’s chock-full of Chakra, pulsing a long, soothing beat that is almost hypnotising. Ta-ta-ta-thump. Ta-ta-ta-thump.

In contrast to Sasuke’s delightful state of chemically-induced bliss and optimism, Tsunade-sama is entirely manic. “Whoever operated on you should be drawn and quartered, kid.” Sasuke has become used to her expressing her worry through aggression, but it seems whatever mess happened with Sasuke’s eyes, it was bad enough to drop her from aggression straight into anxiety. “I can’t even reverse-engineer their procedure, that’s how fucked it was. Your optical nerve is mangled, the muscles weren’t attached properly and don’t even get me started on the damage to the eye sockets. I don’t even—Did anybody think to even repair the lacerations to your skull?”

Ah, so that’s why Aniki isn’t here yet. This is pretty upsetting, probably.

“It wasn’t that bad.” The slur in his voice is warranted, appropriate and well-earned. “After a while, my body learned to filter the pain out. ’S fine.”

“It is not fine, bratling. I examined you fuck knows how many times, and I hadn’t spotted the ridiculous level of trauma. Medics learn pretty quickly to never go near a Dõjutsu wielder’s eyes. I guess it stuck with me.” Her voice shifts again, somehow upping the note of Omni-directional rage. “It’s almost funny how often my generation’s holdups fuck you up, specifically.”

Without his Sharingan, his Chakra-sense is diminished exponentially. It’s a strange feeling. He had gotten used to his Spirit-sense serving as a stand-in for sight. It seems that a part of that was Sharingan’s ability to see and track Chakra flows.

“Okay,” he says, possibly a little distracted. “I—don’t mind? It’s okay?”

Tsunade-sama’s sigh communicates her state of mind very well. “You have some nasty surgeries in your future, so that will be fun for all of us. I will need to remove a lot of scar tissue, not to mention see what can be done about your eye sockets.”

“After Aniki, though, right? Wouldn’t it be best to have at least one functional Uchiha around?”

“Your brother is plenty functional now, brat.” She pauses for a moment, before dissolving into a fountain of hissed profanity. “Unless he’s also carrying a mountain of trauma that I didn’t check him for.”

“Well,” he says in his best reasonable tone. “I doubt anyone took a kunai to his eyes, so he’s probably better off in that respect. But he has been using the Sharingan for a long time. Screwy things happen to Uchiha who overuse the Sharingan.”

“Right. Well, let’s leave that pit of scorpions to the side, for now. For now, I need to figure out how to rebuild your eyeballs enough that they can be transplanted at all. Sage help them when I get my hands on the so-called medics who butchered you like this.”

“Good luck,” he says and means it. It’s good to have goals. “Thanks, by the way. I know all this is a bit much to ask of you. Healing us was one thing, but this eye-swapping business must be pretty creepy.”

“Shinobi medicine is creepy as a rule, especially when you start fucking with Bloodline Limits.  Oro’s got one kid that has four arms and four legs and spits spiderwebs.” What, really? That’s—okay. Sure, why not? Why not that? “The Kaguya child I healed can re-grow his skeleton at will. He almost died because of malnutrition of all asinine things. Your eyes are far from the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

Uh-huh. That’s why your Chakra is lashing about like the tail of a very large, very angry cat. “If you say so, Tsunade-sama.”

He clicks his mouth shut when he senses—

“Heads up, Aniki is coming and he is upset.”

“Of course he is.”

Sasuke excuses himself from the upcoming discussion of his state of physical, psychological and, possibly, spiritual ruination. His senses might be dulled, but Aniki is not subtle.

A much more promising line of thought, that. Without the Sharingan-enhanced Chakra-sense, he is left with his learned sensing. It’s not impossible but he has to slow down his movements about ten times to account for objects moving in and out of the Chakra bubble he keeps around his body.

It’s one of the most hilarious ways he’s found to exist, ever—if a bit strenuous on his body. Moreover, it seems that the punch-dunk feelings are here to stay. He could have the time of his life just by sitting down and not doing anything. Is it the absence of pain?

“Alright, I’ll bite. What are you doing? As precisely as you can, Sasuke-san. Use small words, if possible,” says Orochimaru-sama, once Sasuke has stumbled close enough to his office that he came out looking. “And what are you doing to your Chakra?”

Sasuke tilts his head in the approximate direction of the blob in his senses. He’s getting better, but living things give him issues. Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra makes it hard to map out the physical lines of his body, which kind of makes the man appear as a morphing, egg-shaped blob in his mind.

“Tsunade-sama successfully removed my eyes. That’s the good bit. Apparently, the medics in Konoha bungled up my surgery and now both my face and Aniki’s future eyes are ruined. That would be the necessary bad bit. I am re-training my Chakra-sense to account for being eye-less.”

Orochimaru-sama is quiet for a long sequence of moments, while Sasuke snails forward bit by bit, arms still thrust to the sides. “That would explain why I can feel Itachi-kun’s Chakra about to bring the sky down around our ears.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Aniki adores Tsunade-sama. But—he’s pretty upset. Tsunade-sama is pretty upset too. That’s why I came to you. I figure you would be, at most, cynically amused by my misfortune.”

“You weren’t wrong,” Orochimaru-sama throws back, but his Chakra doesn’t quite match the flippant tone. “For all that you’ve upended my life irreparably, the endless stream of ways Konoha has found to damage you is morbidly fascinating.”

“I know, right,” he says, grinning a little. “You have to admire their style. Way to kick a person when they’re down.”

“And people call us the nice village.” Sasuke politely doesn’t call him out on the very inappropriate possessive pronoun there. The man is, after all, very old.

“Eh,” he says, see-sawing his hand, which is very funny to do when you have to move at about five per cent of your normal speed. “Maybe we are. Who knows what depths of depravity Taki has sunken to?”

Orochimaru-sama huffs. “You’re more right than you know. Regardless. Come, if you are to stay here, then I must fatten you up. I can’t risk forgetting to feed you once and having you promptly keel over from starvation.”

“Oooh—will there be tea? Do you know—”

Sasuke is not surprised when it turns out that the news of his messed up brain circuitry shifts the plan a bit. Aniki throws his version of a hissy-fit, which is kind of adorable what with him being a kitten at heart.

Tsunade-sama folds like a wet tissue, ‘cause she adores Aniki and agrees to first fix Sasuke’s head as much as possible. Which includes having Aniki’s eyes in his head. Which necessitates that Aniki’s surgery is done parallel to Sasuke’s.

“This is madness,” he tells Orochimaru-sama, over a game of chess, ostensibly meant to help Sasuke with his Chakra-sense. “This can’t be how adults tackle problems. We’d have surely died out as a species if this is how we dealt with life.”

“I chalk it up to excessive mental trauma and leave it at that,” says Orochimaru-sama. “Tsunade-hime and I have many decades of war and death to get us where we are. You and your brother got the condensed version. You, especially, I have to say.”

Sasuke snorts a little. Orochimaru-sama is the worst person to whine to about this. The man lives and breathes chaos. If he feels for a moment that somewhere in the world there exists a plan that is going well, he will go to great lengths to disrupt it just because.

“So, just for the sake of clarity. The plan now is to fix both myself and Aniki in parallel, and then go to the Daimyō.”

“Child, there is no fixing you. Or, for that matter, Itachi-kun. The plan, as you say, is to appease your brother, do what can be done about your excessive physical trauma, and re-group after that.” He pauses for a moment, trying to see if there is any move he could make that wouldn’t win him the game. Sasuke is shamelessly terrible at this game. “I also need to finish the soul-transferral ritual, which I had planned to do once I didn’t have two S-ranked Shinobi living under my roof.”

“What.”

So it turns out, Orochimaru-sama is somehow even more outrageous than Sasuke first thought. The energy pocket things were, among other things, anchors that the man would use to just—soul-hop to a different body.

A body that he would then, via a possible slew of arcane rituals, shift and tug and nudge until it was identical to his own, down to the genetic material. It had to do with Chakra, which is as much Sasuke cares to know.

Aniki and Tsunade play the ‘you’re a villain and I can’t believe you’re doing this why or why must you be this way’ game to the point where Sasuke is forced to point out that all of them here other than Sasuke have done much worse than accept a willing human sacrifice. Tsunade-sama’s kill count was likely in the thousands by now, and Aniki’s, well. There are only so many infants you can murder before the issue of ethics becomes a thorny one.

Orochimaru-sama runs a few cycles of what Sasuke has come to think of as ‘crazy sequence’ after Sasuke defends him. Shock, pleasure, shame, anger, exasperation, all tied up in a little bow of disbelief. It’s an expected reaction by now; all three of his adults go through it whenever they feel they don’t deserve affection, kindness or respect.

That said, the circular debates about the ethics of the whole thing distract Aniki and Tsunade-sama so well, that Sasuke is completely and entirely suspicious.

“No way will you take over Kimimaro-san,” he says, once Aniki and Tsunade-sama have exhausted themselves and gone off to continue living in their fantasy worlds. “Is this another expression of your psych-out operation?”

“Oh,” says Orochimaru-sama. “Why would I not choose the Kaguya bloodline? Kimimaro is the last of his kind, and is nigh unbeatable in combat.”

Sasuke purses his lips. “Is it some sort of Snake hypnosis? Do people just believe everything you say just because it’s you saying it?” Could be, frankly. He’s seen weirder things. “You, Orochimaru-sama, have somehow convinced your teammate and Aniki, who is not as stupid as he acts sometimes, that you would give up your Clan heritage? You, the conclusive Clan-brat?” You, who re-named yourself after your fallen Clan, he thinks but doesn’t say. That seems like a low blow, and also something that Sasuke might have done if things were just a bit different.

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra jingles in amusement, every bit as inhuman as his bloodline allowed.

He continues, on something of a roll. Talking to Orochimaru-sama is always so simple. “It’s like you do something, and people just stop thinking. Is it pheromones? We already established you can change your host-body to become identical to your Orochi-body. Why would you use a Kaguya then?”

“Why, indeed? Kimimaro-san will not be my host, as it happens. I have plenty of willing and less willing volunteers and Kimimaro is fulfilling a valuable role as the de-facto Otokage.” The Chakra-melody darkens in pitch, as the notes swoop from clear and discrete to low and crooning. “Now that Kabuto is gone, I wouldn’t have even considered Kimimaro. Alas, things would be much simpler if your kidnapping didn’t become as ridiculous as it had been.”

Hold on. “The medic was one of yours? He didn’t have your Chakra-pocket,” he asks, honestly curious. He wouldn’t have thought a guy as uninteresting as Yakushi would slink into the good graces of Orochimaru-sama of all people.

“He was, yes.” A deep but quiet rope of regret resonates through the bass of the Chakra. “He was a pleasure to teach.”

“Oh.” He pauses, thinking back. “He was pretty nice. The lighting guy got him mostly by accident, I think.”

“I doubt that,” says Orochimaru, voice hardening a shade. “I very much doubt it was an accident. We were simply outmanoeuvred. Shimura knew I had made my play, and he countered it beautifully, by leaking intel to Kumo.”

Wow. “That makes sense.” No, it doesn’t. Sasuke was out of it, but not that much. He’s pretty sure it was, in fact, straight-up bad luck. “So you sent your Kabuto, then Danzō sent a Kumo Jōnin, then you sent a team to kill the Kumo Jōnin, then Aniki killed your team.”

“And then you came to me by your own volition, yes, I am aware of the irony.”

Is irony the right word? It’s not ironic. Absurd, maybe. Cruel. Ridiculous. “You have to admit, it’s pretty funny. But I am sorry about your student. He got caught up in a strange keep-away played for a pair of eyes it’s possible nobody can use.”

Orochimaru-sama, for some reason, isn’t comforted by this very reasonable framing. Indeed, his Chakra tightness, shaving away the highest and lowest notes. “You know very well it’s not your eyes that are valuable, but your reproductive capacity. A fertile male Uchiha can re-populate a Clan within, what, a decade?”

“Gross,” mutters Sasuke. “It’s not polite to bring that up. I’m not even past puberty yet.”

Orochimaru barks a short, harsh laugh, soul-melody lightening a little, rustling with a cascade of strange, whispery sounds. “You’re so inhuman at most times, it’s hard to think of you as a child at all. You’re more like a Summoning Spirit than anything else.”

A pleased blush tingles across Sasuke’s cheeks, as he smiles at the man. “Thank you. I mean, I wouldn’t dare claim anything like that but. Yeah.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Chapter Text

The slew of surgeries that follow is complicated. One would think that having every advantage in the book would even things out, and one would be wrong.  Even Sasuke, a Shinobi child fortunate enough to have access to the best facilities and the best medic, struggles with living through it.

It starts with something of a bang, too. While Tsunade-sama spends the first week fixing the damage done to Sasuke’s erstwhile eyes Shizune-san is doing the prep work on Sasuke and fixing up the most immediate problems. Since they are primarily focused on eyes and eye-related issues, that means Shizune applies all that creative problem-solving to removing and healing the scar tissue that accumulated in his eye sockets. It’s not the pain; the pain is fine. No, it’s the fact that after Shizune-san cuts the scar tissue out, she then needs to heal it without generating scars all over again. Which means Katsuyu-sama. With means Sasuke gets to, now, know what it feels like for two tiny slugs to crawl inside his skull, healing him with the power of their slime.

Orochimaru-sama in the meantime gets the dubious honour of keeping Itachi out of trouble. Not at all an easy task, that; whatever little calm his brother managed to claw together swiftly evaporated when he started to internalise just how damaged Sasuke is. Orochimaru-sama, bored f the endless fights, tried to set him on his minions and conveniently net himself an S-ranked instructor. That plan got scrapped when he had to jump in to save Kimimaro-san from being beheaded a minute into the bout. He doesn’t forbid his Shinobi from challenging Itachi, after that, but he makes sure to spar with him for a few hours every day, just to make sure Itachi won’t start taking his wrath out on the plebs.

Sasuke knows all this because, in a strange twist of circumstance, Aniki started sprouting the first inklings of a personality; it being that of a vindictive little monster. It’s getting more and more obvious to Sasuke that Aniki, for all that he played such a major role in his life, is still a sixteen-year-old. A sixteen-year-old with a lot of power in his hands and even more anger in his heart.

Naturally, their relationship flourishes. Sasuke can’t quite connect with Itachi-the-sublime-model-of-perfection but Itachi-the-petty-asshole is right up his alley. He visits Sasuke at the end of each day to whine about this or that, or vindictively brag about a training ground he demolished or Orochimaru-sama’s Jōnin he humiliated. That, too, he can understand. Aniki is, well, adorable. Small, lean, with Uchiha-pretty features and enormous, liquid eyes. The type of shinobi Orochimaru-sama collected were, by all accounts, brutish, macho-types who have one way of perceiving supposed vulnerability.

Orochimaru-sama is endlessly exasperated by all of it. This, too, Sasuke knows because of how often the man complains about it. They’re both giant marshmallows, really, bitching and whining while being not-so-secretly pleased by the lighthearted foolishness.

Neither of them goes all out in their fights, obviously. Aniki is still more or less preparing for his surgery and is strictly forbidden from using his Sharingan. With that handicap in place, he is forced to fall back to Taijutsu and Shurikenjutsu because Nin- and Genjutsu are, for them, so closely connected to the Sharingan, it is almost impossible to untangle them.  Aniki’s illness and prodigious control over their Bloodline Limit meant his Shurikenjutsu is rusty and his Taijutsu terrible. Orochimaru-sama takes great joy in helping him re-learn the skills. At the end of each day, Aniki is sweaty, bloody, and even Sasuke can tell how floaty and pleased his Chakra is.

“Are you as delighted by all this as I am,” he says to Shizune-san during one of their eye-socket-healing sessions.

She snorts, hands steady at his face, emitting a steady stream of healing Chakra. “My life has never been boring, but it has grown increasingly bizarre recently. I can’t say I ever expected any of this.”

Sasuke hums, stretching a little Chakra over hers, trying to get a read on her. “Are you upset? We monopolised your time with your Master.”

“Not at all. I’m a Jōnin in my own right. I could leave any time I want. Returning to Konoha, though—it would not be my wish.”

Wait, what? “You’re Konoha?” 

“Of course I am.” The reply is dispassionate enough to signal a wealth of bad blood, there. “My brother, Dan, was Tsunade-sama’s fiancé. When he died, she took me in.”

Oh wow, okay, that sounds even more thorny. “Umm. So,” he says, suddenly conscious of the fact that this conversation is maybe best left for a time when her fingers aren’t literally touching the inside of his skull. “I think I should—say sorry? Maybe?”

Amused fondness sparkles through her Chakra. “Oh?”

“Umm. I may have. Encouraged. Aniki to—gethimselfadopted. By Tsunade-sama. Who I am now realising is your mother.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

Sasuke pokes carefully through her Chakra, looking for any trace of resentment or anger. “And you’re not—upset?” He says slowly. “I didn’t know, in my defence. That you were, y’know. Her kid.”

“I am not upset, no.” He can hear the smile in the easy lilt. “Tsunade-sama and I are not what she and Itachi-san are. We have a cordial, functional relationship but I don’t see her as my parent. She doesn’t see me as her child. I am in no way jealous of Itachi-san.”

“That’s very reasonable.” Frankly, he is both shocked at and suspicious of this outpouring of unyielding common sense. “Not what I expect from shinobi.”

“I am not much of a kunoichi,” she says easily. “I’m a competent enough medic, and am decent with poisons, but the lifestyle never held much appeal to me. When I was a kid, I wanted to work in a library.”

“Wow,” he says, his shock slowly overtaken by admiration. “Shizune-san, don’t get me wrong, but you might be the most grown-up grown-up I’ve ever met. That’s amazing.” He pauses for half a moment, thinking back. “Although it sucks that your ambitions have been messed with so much.”

“S’okay,” she says, mirth adding a lovely thrum to her voice. “I like travelling, and Tsunade-sama is a brilliant woman. I learned a lot from her.”

“I bet your book collection is spectacular,” he says with no little wonder.

“It’s pretty awesome, yes. Tsunade-sama is generous with our funds when she’s not gambling them away. I probably have the biggest private collection out of everyone you’ll meet. It’s all sealed up, though, and I never have the time to organise it all.”

“I’ll help,” he says, thrilled by the idea of doing something not Shinobi-related. “When this whole mess is sorted out and I can see and we all have a little time to breathe, I’d enjoy it. We can rope in Orochimaru-sama; I bet he knows a lot of library seals, he’s such a massive nerd. It’ll be great.”

A bit of flustered confusion shines through her steady Chakra. “I’ll never understand your easy relationship with Orochimaru-sama. He’s so—Aren’t you intimidated?”

Hah. If only he was sane enough for that. “Eh. When you’re as weak as I am, you’re more or less constantly at the mercy of everybody around you. I am as helpless against you as I am against him.” That’s mostly true. “Plus Orochimaru-sama is very reasonable when it comes down to it. He plays a lot of games and enjoys messing with people, but he’s also kind to those that show him kindness. Look at everything he’s done for us. Look at how much fun he’s having training  Aniki.”

She sighs, the sound growing complicated in her throat. “I can see it, obviously. But then I remember his reputation and this creepy underground compound, and the experiments—”

Sasuke shrugs a little, careful not to move too much. “Konoha has a giant T&I department. Konoha has the Yamanaka. You can’t tell me that’s not heaps worse. They push their Shinobi to madness and then feed them to the Yamanaka who happily cut and prune their minds into something the village can still use. At least Orochimaru-sama is open about it all. And, most importantly, he can be reasoned with.”

“I suppose you’re right. Still. I don’t begrudge you your friendship, but it’s not for me.”

“Fair enough.”

“Sooo—”

“I am developing a physical reaction to that tone,” Tsunade-sama declares. “It’s dread, in case you wondered. I am saturated with dread. What now, brat?”

Sasuke pouts a little for effect. It is most likely a grotesque grimace. It’s been a good few years since he pouted last, and he’s been blind for most of them. “Mean. I was just wondering what the plan is. It’s been, what, three weeks since it was decided my surgeries take precedence over everything else. Well, I’m getting there, yeah?”

Tsunade-sama softens unexpectedly, her usual offhand demeanour melting into something much smoother. Calmer. “A month here or there won’t change a thing. Oro is having a blast with your brother and the three of us have done wonders with the Fūinjutsu on the Compound. Oro has a clone pop out there to  do the expected fear-me-the-slimy-villain routine, so I don’t think anyone suspects we’re hiding here.”

Oh. “I’m not worried about that,” he says, and pauses. “Oh, wow, sorry, I am very worried about that.”

“Yeah, you’re not a subtle child.” Sasuke doesn’t think he is imagining her tone colouring with fondness. “Our biggest advantage is that us hiding here is beyond belief. Oro has been gaslighting the world for so long about his Uchiha obsession, even I sometimes don’t believe it.”

Sasuke huffs. “I get that I have the advantage of sensing his Chakra, but honestly, I think everyone is overstating the value of the Sharingan. It doesn’t make you smarter, or I don’t know, live longer. If anything, having a Sharingan without the matching physiological adaptations would lead to severe mental trauma. Insanity, even.”

“Yeah,” she says a little wistfully. “We are all very quick to believe the worst of him, to the point of overlooking some damn obvious holes in the narrative. I don’t blame him for leaving us; we left him first.”

Umm. Well, this is a fine opportunity to ask something he has been on and off curious about for weeks. “You have a third, no? The Toad Sage?”

“Jiraiya.” Her tone grows complex and heavy. Sasuke’s heart lurches a little in his chest. “He—I don’t think I consider him my teammate anymore. Oro never once pretended he was something he was not. If anything he pretended he was worse than he was. But Jiraiya—I don’t think I could stop myself from attacking him on sight.”

“Because of Aniki?”

She sighs and smooths a warm hand down his hair. His heart lurches again, rabbiting in his chest. “In part. Because of you, too. Nothing happens in Konoha that Jiraiya doesn’t know about. And your brother reported to Jiraiya directly. Week after week, month after month he lied to a kid the village manipulated into killing his own mother. That’s not—There’s pragmatic cruelty, and there’s evil, and I can’t see how this isn’t evil.”

He chews on this for a long moment, “I mean, to play devil’s advocate, he was, in the end following orders. Sounds like your—Like the Toad Sage is really committed to Konoha. Like, a ride-or-die type thing. I think it’s possible to do evil things without being evil. So.”

Tsunade-sama is quiet for a long sequence of heartbeats, and Sasuke thinks the conversation might be over when she speaks again. “See, the problem is. You’re not wrong. But it is hard to hear your words and not be disgusted that you have been made to think them so soon.”

Yeah, alright. Sure. Get over yourself, lady. “Uh-huh. In the grand scheme of things, it’s my immaturity that I should miss most.”

She hums in response, running soft fingers through his hair again. “Yes. Yes, it is. But never mind this maudlin old bat. We were talking about your recovery.” Were they? Were they talking about that? He’s pretty sure they were talking about everything else, actually. “I would like to have at least ten seasons to heal residual damage to your CNS and see how I can repair and strengthen your optic nerves. If it works, it will go a long way in helping integrate a fully matured Dōjutsu without much complication.”

She busies herself with writing something for a few short minutes, while Sasuke works through all the emotions. Calm down. You’ve been good. You haven’t been startled or otherwise forced outside of your body in weeks. Your discipline paid off and six hours of floating a day are enough to keep him more or less there.

“Your Chakra pathways have stabilised some, which is an excellent development,” she says out of the blue as if the conversation never stopped. “That is one area where nobody can help you. Your body was pushed too fast too soon, so your Chakra pathways almost got blown to shit. Which is a singularly painful way to die, let me tell you. Now that the main stressor has been removed, your body has finally had a chance to repair some of the damage.” She trails off again, before adding as if an afterthought, “All the time spent with Katsuyu has helped, too.”

Well, isn’t that swell?

“Honestly this Sharingan business seems to bring more harm than good,” he says, a little wistfully.

“If you didn’t have half of the Elemental Nations after you, I’d have already implanted a pair of baby-blues and shipped you off to raise sheep on top of a fuck-off mountain, somewhere. With  things being as they are, you’ll need every bit of firepower you can find.”

“Right.” It’s not that he doesn’t agree. It’s just, whatever mind break happened back then, it left Sasuke without some aspects of himself. Aggression chief among them. “Because a pair of eyes are going to make a difference.”

“I can hope, kid. Someone will try to take you sooner or later, and when that happens, Itachi-kun will burn the world. It is not lost on me that he was an S-ranked threat before we healed him and started teaching him shit.”

“I don’t want to make trouble for Aniki,” he agrees. “I can deal with the eyes if that will make him feel better. I’m just saying; If someone comes after me with the intention to harm, I’ll faint from fright right away.”

“Baby steps, brat. First, we get you healthy. Then we work on your instincts. If I have to throw you into the Summoning Realm and count on the Spirits to whip you into shape, then that’s what I will do.”

Spirits. Summoning. Now there’s an idea.

Between all the surgeries and (gross) repairs that reportedly have to be done to Sasuke’s eyeballs, it’s not too difficult to age them up for a few years. He doesn’t think about it much. The way he figures, even if they screw it up, both Itachi and Sasuke will be too dead to care. That said, because Tsunade-sama likes messing with Sasuke’s brain, she schedules the surgery for a Tuesday. Like a monster. Everyone knows nothing important happens on a Tuesday. And there she is, cutting into Aniki’s skull and removing his eyeballs.

It’s cute how unbothered Aniki is about being put under and having his mentor-mother cut him open. Yeah, Sasuke’s done it first, but Aniki is way more Uchiha than Sasuke is, and he probably feels the taboo of it much more.

“Hey, so, do you think I will be able to read again,” he asks Orochimaru-sama. The man demanded to observe Aniki’s surgery from the side room. Sasuke doesn’t see what he could possibly get from watching Tsunade-sama re-arrange organic matter inside Aniki’s skull, but whatever. What does he know? At least Sasuke can track the shifts in energy so he is not completely bored.

“Why? Do you like reading,” Orochimaru-sama replies, not bothering to censor the creepy glee from his voice. Conceptually, Sasuke gets where the glee is coming from; they’re transplanting a solid chunk of Sasuke’s optical nerve into Aniki’s skull. Medical discoveries are being made right now, and Orochimaru-sama is nothing if not a dedicated man of science.

“I did,” he muses. “Mostly dealing with, y’know. Insanity, what with non-stop hallucinations and inability to distinguish them from reality.”

“Admirable attempt, but ultimately useless,” Orochimaru-sama replies, barely investing a shred of his attention into the conversation. “Shinobi psychiatry is very different from civilian psychiatry. Civilians will never have hallucinations as strong as you, or as vivid. Partly because of your upbringing and experience with Genjutsu from an early age, but mostly because of your Dōjutsu. You weren’t insane, your body was just malfunctioning.”

Huh. What a casual way to talk about the most defining problem of his life. “Isn’t that what insanity is? My brain malfunctioning?”

“Mm. Yes and no.” Orochimaru-sama says, not taking his eyes off the odd chakra-cylinder Tsunade-sama is using to cut into Aniki. “Technically yes. Not in the context I am talking about. I will not get into a philosophical discussion about free will and the nature of consciousness and the complex interplay between the physical and the spiritual. Your malfunction is likely much simpler, and can be fixed with surgery.”

“Cool,” he says, feeling the first stirrings of irritation. This sounds like important information for Sasuke to have, but whatever. “Cool, cool, cool.”

“Where did you even learn to speak like that,” mutters Orochimaru-sama to himself. “You’ve not been around street-rats to pick up their bad habits.”

“Excuse you, I slept out in the streets of the Compound for four years. I am so a street-rat.”

“You’re the Uchiha Prince, brat. You and the Uzumaki Jinchūriki are the legal Heirs of the wealthiest, oldest Clans in the continent.”

Wait. “Uzumaki?” No way. “From my class? Blonde homeless kid?”

“What.” The shrill sounds of an unwelcome surprise resonate through the hypnotic thrumming of Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra.

“The blonde orphan boy,” Sasuke repeats, just in case something wasn’t clear. “The boy who couldn’t read or talk properly? That everybody low-key wanted to murder or at least neglect to death. He’s actually an Uzumaki?” He thought it was just a name they gave him in the orphanage.

“I would think so, yes,” says Orochimaru-sama slowly. “He is your age. Should have blonde hair and blue eyes. He is also the Uzumaki-Namikaze Heir.”

Sasuke chews on this for a long moment. “Are you telling me,” he says, just to be certain, “that Konoha exiled the last Senju, crippled the last Uchiha and beat down the last Uzumaki?” He blinks once, twice, three times. “Why?” It’s the only thing left to say, frankly.

“That is the question, isn’t it? My people in the village report the boy lives in his own apartment and is a reasonably cheerful child.”

Sasuke shrugs, trying to infuse his body language with scepticism. “I mean—I suppose everything is a matter of perspective or something. Also, I knew him for a little bit, before I got kidnapped and kicked out of the Academy.” He wasn’t anybody’s idea of a cheerful child, no matter how you slice it. “He was in a bad way, though. Spoke real rough, and looked real rough. Skinny, wild. Sadder than you can comprehend. Like I said, a homeless orphan.”

This is new, Sasuke thinks with no little interest. He’s never seen Orochimaru-sama truly disgusted. Not angry—he doesn’t know what it would take to anger him or if he would trust it if he felt it. Disgust, though, is more his speed, wouldn’t trust anger if he felt it. As it is, the harmony of his Chakra shifts and flows into something a lot like war-drums. A determined, settled cynicism.

“The blonde Uzumaki Heir is to my knowledge the last possible candidate to access the ruins of Uzushiogakure. That is enough to treat him like a prince, never mind the rest.”

Huh.

“Maybe someone taught him how to read since,” he says helpfully. “That’s the first step, right?”

“Unless you want me to inform Tsunade you are passionately interested in the comparative uses of medicinal plants across the Elemental Nations, you will stop talking. A never-before-done medical procedure is happening before our eyes that will fundamentally alter how ocular transplants are done. Be. Quiet.”

Yeesh. What a grumpy old reptile.

Chapter Text

The surgery is predictably successful and Itachi’s recovery is equally awful. It takes longer than expected, which puts everyone on edge. Something is happening with his Chakra; it’s changing before their eyes, minute by minute, hour by hour.

Sasuke is transfixed by it. It’s just—It shouldn’t be possible that something as meaningless as two fleshy bits of organic matter would have a tangible effect on a soul. And yet, the proof is right there before his eyes. (Aha-ha). Itachi’s Chakra feels like patched silk; like an exquisite piece of pottery mended with gold. The breaks have been mended with prodigious skill and, while the seams themselves are stronger than ever, the rest of him is that much more vulnerable.

“Dare I ask how it feels like,” Itachi says, voice thrumming with amusement. He doesn’t even realise what’s happening, bless his lunatic little heart. He knows that he is weak and off-balance, but he wrote it off as resistance that comes with using foreign eyes, instead of his own. He is wrong, as it happens, and the fact Sasuke spent every waking moment post-surgery breathlessly watching him must clue him and the rest of the family in at least a little.

“You look like. Like. Like if you and I had a child,” he says, mesmerised.

Itachi jolts, a wave of pure outrage slamming through him like an earthquake. “Excuse me?”

“My eyes—somehow, don’t ask me how—still retained, well, me. My Chakra. Somehow. You absorbed it; you’re absorbing it as we speak.” He pauses, frowning. “That’s not a good way of putting it. You took my Chakra, bits of my puzzle, and implanted it into your own. Like a mosaic, kind of, but also not at all.”

“Are you saying my Chakra signature changed!?”

Sasuke hums, ignoring the note of panic in Aniki’s voice. Adults are so jumpy. “Of course it did. It changes all the time; no need to stress. The difference is about what you would expect to happen after a significant life event. I can only place it ‘cause I know your signature so well. And, of course, I can recognise my Chakra when I feel it.”

“Alright,” Itachi says in the tones of the helplessly overwhelmed. After a beat, he adds, “They feel better. It’s difficult to describe. They feel finished. Reliable.”

Huh. “None of those things describe me at all. But good for you.”

“That’s not true.” Itachi’s voice smooths out into something simpler, now that they’re back in familiar, fanatical waters. “You are the kindest person I’ve ever seen.”

Sasuke’s lips twitch. “Sure I am.” There’s no sense in arguing with him. Itachi, the proud son of the Uchiha, is such a walking stereotype of the Clan it’s actually very funny. Beautiful, fire-crazed, mad. Cruel. Fundamentally comfortable with his obsessive tendencies. “But! I am eager to see if the intel you got from a crazed Uchiha deserter is any good.”

Itachi’s Chakra shudders in outraged delight. “I can confirm my sight is back to a hundred per cent,” he says, keeping most of the laugh from his voice. “My eyes—your eyes—the eyes appear to be capable of channelling Chakra without issue. It’s the rest of the body that’s lagging, oddly enough.”

“It pays to have the world’s best medic doting on you,” he says reasonably. “Also—shame on you, Aniki. You haven’t even mentioned you had been going blind.”

“Tsunade-sama knew.” Itachi’s tone goes sort of silky-smooth, which sits oddly with the deranged murderer aesthetic he’s been cultivating since infancy. “I thought it a bit gauche to bring up, considering your escalating blindfold situation.”

He snorts, a bit taken aback at the unexpected humour. “Oh, you think so? You think me and my slime helmet would mind?”

“I think that was payback.” A theatrical pause. “Is payback. Nobody here is above it, I’m afraid.”

“Well, the joke’s on you. Not only do I love the slime helmets, they’re made of Katsuyu-sama’s slime. I am, like, thirty per cent slime by this point. Two of her clones spent the night in my empty eye-sockets, you know.”

“I do know, Amaterasu preserve me,” he says, equal parts disgusted, amused and in awe. “Spending time with you is uniquely harrowing, in that you manage to not only reach the heights of body horror but are so blasé about it that you gaslight the rest of us. I think Orochimaru-sama is taking notes.”

Sasuke lets his lips curl into a satisfied smirk. “His little throat-seal trick is outclassed, yes. Although he has more material to work with. He can blend eerie, gruesome and sexual. I’m both too young and deranged to consider going down that path for now.”

“And thank Inari-sama for that,” Itachi says, voice thrumming with serene bloodlust, a suggestion of near-terminal insanity hiding just beneath the surface. “I have a few years until you dip your toes in those particular waters, which I will use to squeeze every bit of training from the S-ranked shinobi that have taken pity on us. Let me first get strong enough to kill everyone and everything, and then you can go around swallowing blades and emerging naked from torn bodies like Orochimaru-sama.”

“Deal.”

It takes about two weeks more for Itachi’s Chakra to settle into something that Sasuke can give his stamp of approval to. After that, Tsunade-sama cautiously clears him for light physical exercise. Her worry ends up being unwarranted for the most part, because Aniki is happy to spend most of his time meditating with Sasuke and Orochimaru-sama. Both men are working on further developing their Chakra-sense, even though Sasuke doubts they will get there anywhere any time soon. It took him over a year to fall into the trance, and he was actively lobotomising himself with Genjutsu throughout.

Then again, it’s not like Itachi is really trying. He’s only meditating to stabilise his fluctuating Chakra and spend time with Sasuke. Getting anywhere with sensing would require years of self-analysis that Itachi is in no way interested in. Orochimaru-sama is, but being immortal isn’t all that rushed about it.

With them being conveniently out of the way, Tsunade-sama and Shizune-san throw themselves into preparing for Sasuke’s upcoming and, Amaterasu-willing, final eye surgery. Itachi’s eyes aren’t a problem; they had been ready to be implanted for a good bit. Sasuke’s skull hadn’t been as ready to receive them, what with being too small, but Tsunade-sama dealt with that while they were repairing his eye sockets. Which is all to say that there is no reason to delay things further. As soon as Sasuke’s surgery is over, the three of them—Tsunade-sama, Shizune-san and Aniki—will go to the Daimyo, and Sasuke will stay in Oto with Orochimaru-sama.

The surgery takes sixteen hours and forty-one minutes, in the end. While the eyes were less mangled, Sasuke’s optical nerve was—yeah and his skull was—yeah. What Tsunade-sama couldn’t heal, Orochimaru-sama could grow, and between the two of them and Katsuyu-sama making sure his heart and lungs soldier on, they manage to finish the operation successfully.

He would love to say that was the end of that. Sasuke has been blind in one way or another for years, now. In the rare times he thinks about it, he thinks he will be—relieved, maybe. Even happy. He’s not too stressed about being blind, but not being blind would be better, right?

He wakes up, and his brain just—knows. There are eyes in his head. This should feel natural. It doesn’t. He can move them, which tightens the twist of wrong-bad-surreal. He could move his eyes, back when, but these aren’t his eyes, are they?

Something between terror and panic overtakes him, and it’s only Itachi’s intervention that prevents him from ripping the organs from his skull on the spot.

Right-o. It’s time for this little shinobi to take a trip outside of his body. Why stay in the flesh-bag if it’s gonna be like that? There is a world out there, full of spiders and foxes and ladybugs.

He doesn’t, as it happens, get to stay away forever, because Tsunade-sama—or, more likely, Orochimaru-sama—comes up with an interesting solution. They pump Sasuke full of mood-stabilising drugs until he can barely string a coherent sentence together, much less focus on anything. He doesn’t slam back into his body, he oozes back into it, one confused drop at a time.

It’s an interesting sensation, being drugged so thoroughly. It’s a similar state to what he had achieved when he first started meditating and had to add Chakra to make sure his mind doesn’t wander. It’s like that except in the opposite direction; instead of focused, his mind is aggressively uncoordinated and wispy.

“What the fuck happened, kid,” says Tsunade-sama. “Your brother says you woke up—”

He frowns, trying to remember how to move his lips and tongue and head. Someone had the presence of mind to put something over his eyes, so that’s a plus.

“Feels wrong,” he says finally. “Weird to have eyes. Uncomfortable.”

“What does the pain feel like? Itching, burning, stabbing? Give me something.”

Pain. Hah. If only. “It’s not pain. Pain is easy. This is—wrong I guess. Scary. I panicked. I’d still be panicking, if not for whatever you drugged me with, I think.”

The pause is long and incriminating even to his shloopy mind. “Right. Okay. So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re gonna have exposure therapy. That means we will get you used to having two working eyeballs bit by bit. If I have to stuff you full of lithium to do it, then that’s just something you will have to live with.”

  Hmm. “I could always try the Genjutsu thing,” he suggests. “When I lost my eyes, I think I subconsciously put myself into something like a forced-calm state just to, y’know. Get through the day of being blind, alone and insane.”

Tsunade-sama makes a harsh, entirely unamused sound in the back of her throat. “Yes, I know. Do you want to know how I know? Because I removed what little of the residual scarring I could.”

Okay. “Wow, I didn’t know that. And the hallucinations? ‘Cause, let me tell you, I love you all a lot. But you will not make me go through that again, on the pain of, well, pain. That is, like, my literal worst nightmare.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she says, a little calmer. “I’m ninety per cent certain I fixed the issue. Several things were wrong, actually, but most of it was a severe Chakra burn through your optical nerve, damaging your occipital lobe. On top of that, your amygdala was fucked to hell—” Oh, his amygdala? Well, if it’s his amygdala—Some of his incredulous outrage must register because she huffs and drags a soft hand through his hair twice. “Never mind all that. Point is, there’s a reason I worked so much longer on you than I did on your brother. Some of the damage is here to stay, but at the hallucinations are probably a thing of the past. And I highly doubt anyone, anywhere could hope to put you in a Genjutsu ever again.”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” e says, enjoying the way his tongue catches on his front teeth. “What were we talking about?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake—”

“There is never a dull moment with you, monster child,” says Orochimaru-sama. “How are you the only person in the world who is so opposed to a working pair of Sharingan eyes?”

“Yeah, ’s pretty ironic,” he replies. “I don’t know. The exposure therapy helps, I think. Having Aniki there is nice, too. It’s just—it feels unnatural, somehow. Imagine if someone just—stuck another pair of eyeballs somewhere on your body. Somewhere you know you shouldn’t have eyes. And you can feel them moving and wiggling and ugh.”

“Who knows what you did to yourself with your proto-Genjutsu experiments. I have thought it was impossible to get a human mind to the point of rejecting a natural sensory organ, but here we are. You’ll get over it. What’s more, you’re a fascinating case study. We’re learning so much about the structure of the human mind; you should be in no rush to stop being an impossibly dysfunctional wreck.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Thing is, while the drugs work, while his wrecked mind is leashed with chemicals and meditation, it’s nice to see. There we go—Nice. Nice is a bautififuly noncommittal word. He should use it more.

He can only bear it for a few seconds in the beginning. Over time, and with constantly adjusting antipsychotics, he brings it steadily up. Aniki is, obviously, his first visual study.

Sasuke can’t quite be a human person enough to judge what is considered beautiful. Itachi looks like a dangerous animal; like he’s grudgingly allowing you to live, but that can change very easily. The symmetry of his features is so flawless, it is off-putting. The skin looks too smooth, the hair looks too shiny. Everything about him screams ‘design’. Like toads that advertise their skin being venomous with bright colours, Itachi wears his physical perfection like a threat it is. It’s all probably unhealthy for everyone involved.

Now, Tsunade-sama, Orochimaru-sama and Shizune-san are weird ‘cause he has never seen them properly, only with his Chakra sense. The information he gets from sensing is accurate, yes, but miles more abstract than sight. It takes him a long time to come to terms with how striking his two—guardians?—are.

Tsunade-sama looks like Amaterasu herself come down from the heavens. Golden hair, smooth skin, fierce curves. Every single line, curve and gesture speaks of, well, a mother—with all the danger that concept implies. Orochimaru-sama on the other hand looks most like what he had expected. You can tell more about Orochimaru-sama by what isn’t there, than by what is. The way light chases the shadow on the planes of his face keeps the eye from settling; there is always something that catches the attention. The weight of his attention is an additional problem; when the golden eyes focus on you, really focus, well. Sasuke’s strategy with blatant predators has long since been abject surrender.

Really, next to Aniki, Orochimaru-sama and Tsunade-sama, Shizune-san is very out of place, and she looks to be aware of it. Not resentful, he doesn’t think, but aware of it, and slightly annoyed. Like they all know she doesn’t belong, but they’re too polite to admit it.

Sasuke is pretty dangerous-looking himself, to be fair. Orochimaru-sama bullies him into looking into a mirror—for the first time in many, many years. It’s a trip. He doesn’t feel any particular attachment to the image, so he can objectively say he would have been attractive if not for the deranged aura firmly settled about his person. Even his scars wouldn’t matter, he doesn’t think. Like Aniki, he also has an air of wilderness, except where Aniki embodies the elegance and beauty of a born and bred predator, Sasuke is the flip side; the starving, beaten underdog, skinny and driven into the corner. Still dangerous, but without the aloof air of superiority.

“The scars are badass,” he says, tracing the thick white vines snaking from his eyes over most of his face. “Can I ink them?”

“Absolutely not,” Itachi says without a beat of hesitation. “You’re twelve. You will not get any ink until you’re either sixteen or an S-ranked Shinobi.”

“Boo.” He remembers the day the Inuzuka boy got his Clan tattoos when they started the Academy. The boy was ecstatic, and Sasuke was so jealous. Uchiha, as a rule never did Clan markings of any kind. If they did, it would have been fans, which is such a lame thing to do. “Imagine how pretty they would look, Aniki.”

“Then you best train very hard,” he replies, serene. “You are part-way there already. With your sensing abilities, you would be formidable. You’ve made yourself immune to Genjutsu, your grasp on Chakra gives you a leg-up in Ninjutsu, your Chakra pool is enormous for your age and you can incorporate sensing into your Taijutsu quite easily.”

“And you are stuffing me full of anti-psychotics just to make sure I don’t mutilate myself.”

“You brought it up, Ototō. If you want ink, then you know what to do.”

“You know,” muses Orochimaru-sama from where he was lounging nearby. “It wouldn’t surprise me that something as trivial as tattoos is what finally pushes you to train. It should, but it doesn’t.”

“I am the very essence of good sense, yes.”

Tsunade-sama and Aniki have about three weeks before they need to leave for their meeting with the Daimyo. Under their gimlet eyes, Sasuke doesn’t dare not to make progress Day by exhausting day, he breathes through panic and fear and a sort of white-out state where he’s beyond reason. It’s—something. He’s not used to working on himself like that.

The adults aren’t that much more sanguine about it than he is. Tsunade-sama thinks he’s too young for this type of work. Aniki thinks Sasuke is strong enough to do anything in the world he wants to and Orochimaru-sama is caught between them, obviously unwilling to even be roped into the conversation.

Really, he thinks, if any one of them stopped to take stock of where they are and what they’re doing, they would surely realise how overly invested they all are in Sasuke. Itachi, fine, he gets that he’s Itachi’s Bonded, and that there is the biological imperative to take into account. But Tsunade-sama, not to mention Orochimaru-sama, have their own lives to worry about. And yet, they spend day after day, week after week, month after month trying to fix a boy they don’t have any real obligation to.

Okay, Tsunade-sama loves Aniki, so there’s that, but Orochimaru-sama? Learning how to Chakra-sense is one thing, but surely this level of investment goes beyond that?

Chapter Text

“Alright, brat, it’s time.”

Oh boy. “I’m sure it is. Time for what?”

“Time for you to deliberately channel Chakra from your fingertips into this piece of paper.” Orochimaru-sama’s voice flows syrupy-sweet, not exactly daring you to argue, but communicating what his likely response will be to anything approaching a challenge.

“I mean. Sure.” He’s not working on his sight at the moment, that particular bit of torture is reserved for day-time. Evenings are Sasuke-relaxing time. He feels ever-so-slightly betrayed by this change in schedule. “Just channel some—how much? How thick? Should I coat it or inject it or what?”

“Start with making contact with it. That should be enough.”

“Sure.” He reaches out with a solid tendril of Chakra and pokes the paper Orochimaru-sama is holding out in his hand.

“How—never mind. That’s a stupid question. Of course, you don’t need to physically touch the thing.”

“That would really suck, if I had to physically touch things to reach them with my Chakra.” He says. “I would’ve been really blind.”

Orochimaru-sama hums, a little interested but unwilling to be diverted. “No matter. You’re lightning-natured, congratulations. In more interesting news, your balance is—amusingly terrible. You’re at ninety per cent spiritual and ten per cent physical Chakra. I would have thought it impossible to fall beyond a sixty-forty split, but here we are.”

Oh no. “Dare I hope that this doesn’t mean—”

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra hums in delighted anticipation. “Sage has smiled on me, brat. This means exactly what you think it means. Physical conditioning.”

Shit. “Is this really necessary?” He tries, in no way above begging.

“It is. Not only for my petty satisfaction but for getting you to where you need to be to perform Chakra techniques. I even came up with an incentive.”

“Oh?” Incentive, his knobby knees. Whatever it is won’t be worth—

“Summoning. If you get to where you need to be, I will teach you Summoning.”

Sasuke’s thoughts screech to a halt. “Deal.”

“I thought you’d see things my way. Now—onto your schedule. For the first two weeks—”

It’s not surprising that Orochimaru-sama takes the concept of training and runs with it. Painful, but not surprising. After some experimentation, it turns out that sight-training goes really well with physical training. It gives him something to focus on other than the agonizing panic of his mind. Such as the agonized distress of his body.

“Why is this so difficult.” He says, sixteen days in, not even to be a brat. “I’m genuinely confused. I was never what you would call a prime Uchiha specimen, but I was better than this when I was three, for pity’s sake.”

Orochimaru pours him another cup of a disgusting protein concoction that tastes and smells and looks like vomit. “Your bizarre inferiority complex has somehow not lost its appeal. More to the point, it is so difficult because a human shouldn’t survive having such a tiny amount of physical Chakra. You survived by some horrifying happenstance that I’m sure will haunt me yet.”

“So no quick fix, then?” He says, gulping as much of the goop as he can.

“This is the quick fix, baby Uchiha. And the slow fix. This is the only fix, is the point I’m trying to communicate. You need to get to a point where your body isn’t actively burning your Spiritual Chakra just to survive.”

“Joy. How long do you think it will take.”

“About a year.” Says Orochimaru-sama, and Sasuke doesn’t choke on his goop, because he’s got manners, but he does scan the man’s Chakra aggressively for any sign of deception.

“You’re—not joking?”

Schadenfreude colours both the man’s voice and his Chakra. “Not at all. I am, if anything, conservative with the estimation. I’m putting a lot of stock in your genetics. Tsunade repaired organ damage you accumulated over the years, which helps.”

“You lured me with the promise of Summoning—how even dare you?”

“The fact I had to lure you out of complete physical ruination is concerning in itself, bratling. Alas, while I would like to claim subterfuge, Summoning is just about the only technique you will likely be able to do. You’re basically a Spirit now, if saddled with a physical container. I am about forty per cent certain killing you would just push you that extra step to becoming one.”

Sasuke perks up, brightening—

“No. I will not kill you. Those are not good odds, nightmare-child. I will not spend the rest of my days being chased around the world by your brother. I like it here. It’s humid, and my delicate complexion appreciates it.”

“You are very pretty.” He allows, pouting a little. “I doubt it’s the humidity, but what do I know? You’re probably the prettiest one here, after Kimimaro-san.”

“Benzaiten-sama guide me through these difficult times—”

“What I don’t get—”

“Sasuke-sama, please, I have important business—”

“Kimimaro-san, for the last time, drop the honorifics. You’re older than me, stronger than me and prettier than me. As much as I can tell these things, anyway. Now, to my question—”

“All due respect, Sasuke-sama, now is a very bad time. Please, I will attend you as soon as I am able—”

“You don’t need to attend me, what the fuck. Wait, Kimimaro-san, don’t go, I have questions—”

“So what did we learn today?”

“We—learned—that—”

“Less speaking more breathing, brat. I can practically see all the oxygen that isn’t entering your blood.”

“What—does—that—even—mean—”

“I see. You want more sets? I am very pleased with your enthusiasm, and I will of course oblige you. Who am I to stand in the way of such passion?”

“Oh—come—on—”

“To answer my rhetorical question, today we learned we don’t pester the de-facto Otokage when he has a meeting with our Daimyo. Now—”

“No, but really. What must I do to get Kimimaro-san to talk to me properly? He’s so unnaturally polite and I’m like, the most pitiful creature he’s ever going to come across. It’s like being polite to a lamp.”

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra harmonizes amusement and annoyance in a very fetching melody. Really, as interesting it is to re-learn visual cues, simply focusing on Chakra is a much more insightful way of interpreting social interactions. “Kimimaro sees you as the answer to all his hopes and dreams. He believes he failed me by becoming ill and sees you as a chance to, ah, outsource his devotion to me, let’s say.”

Sasuke thinks about this for a long moment, taking the opportunity to gulp down another serving of fish. “Well, that’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard.” He concludes. “Not only is it very strange to think I am someone’s solution and not just a never-ending source of problems, but. He is aware you’re letting him run your village? Like, he knows that’s not something you would just let a random Shinobi do?”

“The problem with your line of reasoning is this: I don’t habitually go around comforting children and propping up their self-esteem. Kimimaro does a good job and until that changes, I have precisely zero interest in involving myself in his internal dialogue.”

“That’s not true, you comfort me all the time. You are comforting me now—”

“I am doing no such thing. You oozed into my living room and refused to leave. Expelling you would be too much effort.”

“Well, I’m hurt. That’s what this is. It’s my hurt face. Cause I’m hurt.”

“I’m swiftly re-calibrating my decision to not expel you from my apartment, my village and this very plane of existence.”

“I don’t have any advice to offer, Sasuke-san.” Says Shizune, soft-green Chakra leeching the worst of the pain out of his muscles. “Kimimaro-san is his own person and a young man under a lot of pressure. He is doing work he was in no way trained to do, running a village with next to no support. If I see you adding to that strain because you are bored, you will not like what I will do.”

Sasuke thinks about this a little, amazed by the fact that someone thinks he is capable of not causing strain. That’s practically his whole identity.

The good days become better—the bad days become worse. Seems to be the way of the world. He’s working on self-control pretty extensively, which allowed them to lower the amount of mood-stabilizers by about a third, in the ten days the rest of their family has been absent.

The first time Sasuke snaps outside of the expected ‘freakout’ window is the worst one. He is eating dinner, and a wave of disgust and loathing hits him so hard he only barely manages to stop himself from stabbing his own throat. Manly by burying the damn chopsticks into his thigh instead.

Its a blur from there. Orochimaru-sama immobilizes him instantly, applying a paralyzing seal as easy as breathing. Considering that the only thing keeping him from bleeding out is the fact that the chopsticks are still buried in his thigh, it’s a damn fine precaution.

The closes medic they have is Shizune-san, and she is sequestered in her rooms, much too far away to be immediately useful. Thankfully, Orochimaru-sama is who he is, and he’s picked up a few things in the billion years he’s been alive.

“Alright.” He says after Sasuke wakes up in a hospital bed, cuffed and drugged up and feeling like a damp tissue. “I admit I had not expected that. Thankfully, no lasting damage has been done. We were too ambitious in lowering your medication. I will re-calibrate the dose and come back to you. In the meantime, I leave you in Ukiya’s care. Tsunade’s brat will be with you shortly.” He leaves almost before the last word is out of his mouth. Sasuke would have been hurt if he couldn’t sense the baffled distress ringing through his spirit. He is rattled by Sasuke’s actions, emotionally unbalanced. It’s all sorts of heart-warming.

“Honor, Sasuke-san.” Hisses a mid-sized serpent, the red of her scales fading into purple and then yellow at the tip of the tail. “We’ve heard much about you.”

Holy Sage, he’s about to spend time with a Noble Spirit that isn’t Katsuyu-sama for the first time. Alright. Alright. You’ve got one shot at this, and it’s not great that your brain is scrambled, sure,  but. Just reach out carefully, like a handshake but with your Chakra—

Of course, it slips, and his Chakra pours out and over, jerky, uncoordinated. Did you just—soul-vomit—over a Noble Spirit.

“I am so sorry,” he says, voice dead, mind blank. “I—I promise I don’t usually—”

“I—understand.” The lady hisses, but even Sasuke can catch the strain in her voice. “You are, as I understand, under the influence of some strong anti-psychotics. I will not hold it against you.”

“I just wanted to say hello.” He’s not even embarrassed. He’s blown through shame, dread, horror and now is in the stratosphere, floating in the temporary but pleasant numbness.

“Why don’t you get some rest, Uchiha-san. I will stand guard.”

“I suppose you aren’t willing to put me out of my misery? Judging by your colouring, a drop of venom should be enough to send me off.”

“I am afraid not, Uchiha-san. I am here as a guardian. But thank you for the compliment.”

Izanami wept, is that rude? Is commenting on a serpent’s colouring an incredibly invasive thing to do?

“Anytime.”

“One of your brother’s crows is here, bratling, and it’s currently grooming Kimimaro. Dare I ask if this obsession with my second in command is a genetic trait?”

“Okay, I am not obsessed with Kimimaro-san. But also, yeah, absolutely it is. Uchiha love pretty things, and Aniki is like, the most Uchiha to ever Uchiha.”

Orochimaru-sama’s sigh is complex and layered, but Sasuke picks out the fondness in it easily enough. “Your speech patterns are revolting and you should be ashamed. Go, brat, and get your letter, before Kimimaro has to go to a meeting with a crow in his hair.”

“Right away. Can I—”

“As I said, Kimimaro has a meeting. If you keep yourself from delaying him now, I will invite him to dinner in two days, and you can try to, ah, befriend him then.”

“Deal.” Is this what a transaction with a pimp looks like? Is Sasuke buying someone’s time and attention? Huh. He never thought to be on this end of the sexual service industry.

Best try to never call Orochimaru-sama a pimp to his face. It might horrify him, which means extra torture disguised as physical conditioning, but it also might amuse him, which means he will lean into the role with everything he has. With his looks and his fondness towards performative creepiness, he would make a devastatingly good pimp.

Little brother,

I hope you are well. We have had moderate success thusfar. Tsunade-sama is in non-stop talks with the Daimyo and I am kept under strict but fair surveillance by the twelve. They understand, as I do, that keeping my presence here a secret is the only thing that will keep them alive. I have not encountered any of my former colleagues as of yet but we agreed that, should that happen, Tsunade-sama and myself will remove ourselves from the city to cut down on bystander casualties.

As  I understand it, the rumours more or less agree that I had found your mangled remains months ago and had summarily killed myself. I assume this is Orochimaru-sama’s doing, but it’s a decent enough cover.

My Chakra has largely stabilized, and I had begun to explore the possibilities as best I can under the circumstances. I encourage you to do the same—I am certain you will be pleasantly surprised. It is still very uncertain, what the outcome of this excursion will be, but one way or another, my name has been cleared. The documents in question are sealed to the best of my and Tsunade-sama’s abilities, but copies have been ratified, archived, wide distribution pending the end of the talks.

Please take care of yourself. I have no doubt I had left you in capable hands but try and lessen Orochimaru-sama’s strain as much as possible. He has done more for us than I had known.

Katsuyu-sama sends her regards.

All my love

Itachi

“So is it your doing?” He asks as he’s digging his fingers into the worst of the cramps littering his body. “The rumours? How did you pull that one off?”

Orochimaru-sama looks to be miles away, mind churning through Itachi’s mess of a letter. For such a well-educated Noble, Aniki certainly doesn’t communicate well on paper. “I didn’t.” He says, voice crisp. “Any rumours I would think to start would be traced back to Oto, which would defeat the purpose.”

“Oh? So, who then?” It makes sense. From what Sasuke understood, their presence here was overlooked because the world thought Orochimaru-sama’s lair was a place the Uchiha would have to be dragged into, not out of.

“Who indeed?” Hums Orochimaru-sama. “There are several people that would benefit from the Uchiha brothers being conveniently done away with. It depends, in the end, on the number of assassins that come for your brother at the Daimyo.”

Wow. “Who would one even send?” He asks, mystified. “I mean, Aniki is really strong, yeah? In terms of full-frontal power, you can take him, but an assassin—”

Orochimaru-sama snorts and gives him a chocolate. This positive reinforcement thing is really working out for Sasuke. At least in this aspect. Since it’s paired with negative reinforcement during training, it balances out overall. “The type of attack will almost certainly lead us to who ordered it. Your brother’s terminal illness is known by a select few. ”

Sasuke raises an eyebrow. “That would be the terminal illness you fixed months ago would it?”

“Yes.”

“So—”

“So, if the attack is focused around exploiting that presumed weakness, we conclude?”

“That it was someone who knew about the illness but not about the fact that Aniki batted his eyelashes and slinked his way into the good graces of two of the Sanin?”

“Abominable phrasing aside, yes, that’s the gist of it. Several groups would benefit from you and your brother dying. All of them have one or more pieces of the puzzle, but nobody has all of them. By analyzing how they attack, we learn what they know and by extension who they are. Simple mission eval, brat, how do you not know this?”

“Academy dropout, remember. I can probably barely read anymore.”

“You can—alright. Listen carefully. New information has come to light so our objectives shift to compensate. The main objective is to design a course of medication that you can take constantly. Several hours of sight is clearly not enough. Barely read, Benzaiten-sama preserve me.”

Orochimaru-sama keeps his promise, which is something Sasuke has come to not only expect but rely on. For a villain, Orochimaru-sama has come closest to what the books had told him a reliable adult is.

“So, Kimimaro-san, tell me about yourself.” He says. There are many disadvantages to being among the sighted, not least of which is the dizzying cocktail of anti-psychotics Orochimaru-sama settled on. The upside, in this case, is clear. Kimimaro is lovely, in a startlingly human way. It is attention-grabbing for Sasuke who is used to spending time with very inhuman people. Itachi and Sasuke—and Orochimaru-sama and Tsunade-sama, truthfully—are very settled creatures, sanded down to their base components. Kimimaro accepts and embraces the duality of his personality. He is a strange mix of Itachi and Sasuke, of life-long, well-earned confidence, and shattering psychological vulnerability.

“What would you care to know, Sasuke-sama?” He says, as polite as ever. Orochimaru-sama had to excuse himself from the proceedings once it became clear Kimimaro-san’s processing power was all taken up by gazing adoringly at him and trying to anticipate any possible request he might make.

“Anything, I suppose. You are very interesting.”

Sasuke had not expected Kimimaro’s eyes to be as expressive as they are—although that is probably on him. Orochimaru-sama is very deliberate with his facial expression and Sasuke has come to expect everyone to be similarly controlled. But Kimimaro-san’s expressions are both transparent and unguarded. Innocent, almost. Like it hadn’t occurred to him to be anything but himself, completely and brutally, in a way that bruises lesser hearts. 

“I can’t think of anything interesting about me. I am a Kaguya, as you know. They all died, and Orochimaru-sama saved me before I died too. I have been his since.”

What a creepy way to phrase that. “Do you like it here? In Oto? I understand you are new to your, ah, position.”

Kimimaro’s brow furrows a little, which is unfairly adorable when combined with his clan-marks. The two red dots inch closer together, and Sasuke sort of wants to poke them. “I am fortunate and grateful that my Lord has a use for me, yes.” He says carefully, like he’s aware there is a glitch in their communication channels somewhere, but he’s not sure where it is or what to do about it.

Adorable. “Not exactly what I meant, but good enough.” He says gently. “Orochimaru-sama thinks very highly of you. He told me so himself, on several occasions.”

As expected, the sentence brightens the young man to a ridiculous extent. He’s not grinning, but his Chakra is bright enough to make him radiant with it. “I am undeserving of any such praise.” My, but Sasuke would’ve been in for a rough ride if he were trying to rip out the fanaticism from this one. Thankfully he’s not a complete idiot. Sasuke’s more or less Orochimaru-sama’s minion himself, so it would be kind of hypocritical of him to try. He’s also an Uchiha, which means his personality matrix will be overwritten as soon as he meets his Person. He has not a single stone to throw, here.

“Agree to disagree. I think you’re amazing, Kimimaro-san. It can’t be easy to hold your position, considering how young you are. Plus all the admin work must be so boring.”

A light blush dusts Kimimaro’s cheekbones. “I enjoy the administrative side of things.” He says, almost like he’s admitting a shameful secret. “I was little more than an animal before Orochimaru-sama found me. I couldn’t even speak, much less read. To be trusted with the position that I hold—it is beyond my wildest dreams.”

“Wow, your family was actually worse than mine was.” He says, with no little wonder. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“They’re all dead now.” Says Kimimaro, flicking his hand in an offhand gesture.

He beams. “That’s what I always say!”

“I trust your playdate was successful?” Says Orochimaru-sama once he has returned Sasuke to their part of the underground horror-maze he calls home.

“Very. It’s very nostalgic, spending time with Kimimaro-san, he’s a much better Uchiha than I am. He’s got the fanaticism down pat, plus the creepy tone, and pale skin. ’S a shame his eyes are light—Wait.”

“I will not be implanting Sharingan eyes into Kimimaro. No. Bad brat.”

“But why, though—he’d be such a fantastic Uchiha—”

“He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t have the physiology to withstand it. He has one bloodline-limit, that he’s already hard-pressed to manage. Take your pick.” The ‘I’ve got more’ hangs in the air.

“Okay fine, but I’m getting Aniki to adopt him anyway. It’s not like he has an emotional attachment to his long-dead Clan.”

“As long as you don’t mess up his already fragile physiology, you can name him Carrot, just leave me out of it.”

“I will, thank you. It will be so amusing and Aniki will love it, you’ll see.”

“Why do I feel like I had not thought this through.”

Aniki

I am doing very well. Orochimaru-sama has started me on remedial physical conditioning, which was and remains a disaster, but I survived so far.

Orochimaru-sama is keeping me hale and healthy. Nailing down a dose of medication that works is tricky, but I am confident we will have found a version that works by the time you return. I am sighted for a minimum of eight hours, which sucks, but I understand the reasoning behind it more or less.

In other news, I have made friends with Kimimaro-san, and I must have him as a cousin at least. You must adopt him for me, Aniki. You’re our Clan Head, it’s well within your power to do it. He’s adorable and would be the answer to every prayer made by our Elders if only he had two spinny-twirly eyeballs in his pretty head. Orochimaru-sama forbids even the mention of a transplant since he is convinced that it will play badly with his bone-thing. Still! A paper-cousin is better than no-cousin, yeah?

Alright, have to go now, it’s time for dinner, and Orochimaru-sama promised me tomato-soup if I sat through some Chakra-tests without complaint.

Love you

Sasuke

Chapter Text

Dear little brother,

I do not have much time to write, as circumstances here have grown rather strange. Suffice it to say that, in regards to the Uchiha at least, the Daimyo has decided Konoha owes us reparations. I have chosen to spend that favour to get the Uchiha Clan officially removed from Konoha.

There are two sets of documents sealed up in the blood seal at the end of the page. One set is for Orochimaru-sama, an application for the Uchiha Clan to officially join Otogakure. The other set is for Kimimaro-san, an invitation to join the Uchiha Clan, should we be accepted as a legitimate Clan.

Tsunade-sama and myself will have to stay for a while yet, to finish paperwork addressing the intellectual and financial assets of the Uchiha Clan. Until such a time as Orochimaru-sama accepts us, the assets will be held in trust by the Fire Nation’s Daimyo.

Once that last bit of admin work is completed, we will be returning to Otogakure. As you can imagine, secrecy will no longer be possible. I urge you to train, little brother, because we have powerful enemies snapping at our heels.

On our way back, I hope to collect a few individuals that could be open to an alliance, temporary or otherwise. Inform Orochimaru-sama that my crows inform me there are at least two Jinchūriki that could be persuaded.

Either way, we will hurry. The Daimyo has made several polite hints at the unravelling socio-political situation in Suna and how that will likely come to a head soon. I hope to be behind Fūinjutsu well before that happens.

Stay safe, little brother, and be good for Orochimaru-sama.

All my love

Itachi

Sasuke considers whooping—it sounds like something a kid should want to do. Against all odds, it seems Aniki’s plan is going as smoothly as possible. Oh, it’s all ridiculous. The Uchiha Clan is seceding from Konoha—what Uchiha Clan? There’s just Itachi and Sasuke and they are objectively more trouble than they’re worth.

“Hey Kimimaro-san, d’you have a sec?”

“Always, Sasuke-sama.” Kimimaro stands from his desk—and even that is somehow funny. It used to be Orochimaru-sama’s desk, is the thing. As with everything Orochimaru-sama owned, touched or even glanced at in passing, Kimimaro now considers it a holy relic. He keeps the damn thing pristine, polishes it at least twice a week and never allows more than three pieces of paper to touch its surface. Considering that Sasuke knows first-hand how much of a disaster Orochimaru-sama’s current desk is—considering Kimimaro knows it too—the ritualistic worship is just endearing. “How may I be of service.”

You need his help, he reminds himself. Leave the creepy phrasing be for now.

Best go straight to the point, before too much fawning can happen. “How do I unseal a blood-seal?”

Kimimaro guides him through the—admittedly straightforward—technique patiently, like a good brother figure would, and Sasuke rewards him with a smile and a pat on the hand. Kimimaro doesn’t wag his tail, because he doesn’t have one, but the implication of tail-wagging is strong.

“Alright. I need to talk to Orochimaru-sama real quick, Aniki sent him some important documents, and then I have to talk to you straight after. Can you squeeze me in for an appointment this afternoon?”

Kimimaro tilts his head a little, fanatic light making his jade eyes sparkle. “I always have time for you, Sasuke-sama, you needn’t ask.”

Holy Sage, he’s getting worse. Sasuke’s campaign to befriend Kimimaro has backfired, it looks like. Orochimaru-sama was of no help—he found the whole thing hilarious. Shizune-san thinks that Kimimaro has only one way of expressing positive emotion about a person, and that is slavish devotion. She assured him it’s a step in the right direction, even if Sasuke has his doubts.

“Great, perfect. You’re so helpful, Kimimaro-san.” He gushes, overdoing it a little, but the poor thing is starved for praise and it’s not like Orochimaru-sama is going to help any time soon. (Although, to be fair, if Orochimaru-sama were to honestly praise him, Sasuke isn’t sure the boy wouldn’t expire on the spot from acute rapture). “Such a good friend.”

Kimimaro drops him off at Orochimaru-sama’s office after a few more cycles of comment-compliment-furious blushing-stoic deflection-comment and so on. It’s, yes, a weird way to structure a conversation, but an amusing one and variety is good for the soul. He’s been alone with Orochimaru-sama for six weeks now, and while Sasuke very much appreciates the older man’s company, he doesn’t want him to realize that he doesn’t have to have Sasuke around at all, actually.

The man is going through some reports when Sasuke waltzes in. “Good afternoon, Orochimaru-sama, I come bearing gifts.”

“If they’re not blood-samples, I am not interested.”

“Way ahead of you. I already dropped them off at the lab, labelled and numbered as you requested.”

Orochimaru-sama sends him a deeply suspicious look, finally looking up from his reports. “Why are you being helpful. What nightmare did you concoct this time?”

Fair. “I am just having a good day.” He says, smiling. His real smile too, the small twisted one that makes one of his incisors poke out, and the scars on his left pull so one of his lower eyelids is more open than the other. “The drugs are working, I slept through the night, I napped in the sun with Yū-sama and not once did I feel the urge to stab myself at all.”

The suspicious light doesn’t abate at all, but Orochimaru-sama hums. “We will see. What is the news, then?”

Sasuke beams. “Aniki sent word. Here—it’s best if you read it yourself.” Orochimaru-sama doesn’t like to be handed things and Sasuke generally tries to be respectful of that, but there is simply no place on the desk to put the documents on. “The letter is on the top, and the—other stuff—is in the folders.”

All the chairs are covered in books, scrolls, papers and who knows what, so Sasuke clears himself a spot on the couch to perch on and wait.

As he expected, trying to interpret Orochimaru-sama’s facial expression and body-language is useless. As a rule, the man is either completely blank when he’s relaxed like now or deliberately projecting when he’s not. Whatever you see on Orochimaru-sama’s face, it’s precisely what he wants you to see. His Chakra, however, cannot lie. And his Chakra tells Sasuke that the man is all but sobbing in laughter inside. There’s a fair bit of confused pride there too, like he recognizes he’s feeling proud, but he’s not sure why exactly, who he’s proud of and if there is something that needs to be done about it.

“He wants the Uchiha Clan to join Otogakure.” He says. “The Uchiha Clan. One of the founding Clans of Konoha. Arguably the oldest Clan in Fire Country. To join this joke of a village.”

Harsh. “I think Otogakure is amazing.” He says loyally. “It’s got plenty going for it. Such as Kimimaro-san. And all these creepy underground facilities. And like. Your Daimyo sounds cool. So.”

“Rousing endorsement, brat. Well—I can’t see a reason why not? You already clawed your way inside, and Sage knows the damage you would do if I tried to kick you out at this point.” He signs the document, first with a signature like a normal person, then with a bloody thumbprint, probably just to make it creepy. “There you go. Uchiha Clan is now the first Noble Clan to officially join Otogakure. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Orochimaru-sama.” He freezes for a second, a thought bubbling up from his already syrupy brain. “Do I need to call you Otokage now? Otokage-sama? Do I need to call Kimimaro something else?”

Orochimaru-sama sends him a dead look, but Sasuke can feel the fond exasperation just fine. The unique nature of Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra makes it really pleasant to be around him, he thinks for the millionth time. It’s so nice to listen to music again. “Is there something else you need brat?”

“Just your okay on Kimimaro’s adoption papers?”

“Kimimaro’s what?” A spark of real surprise thrums across his spirit-melody.

“I mentioned this, like, at least twelve times in the past two weeks. That I want Kimimaro to be mine. Well—not mine. Not even I can make Kimimaro be anything but your number one zealot. But also mine. And Aniki’s. Kimimaro can be the family zealot.”

“You want to formally adopt Kimimaro Kaguya.” Says Orochimaru-sama. “Into the Uchiha Clan.”

Sasuke nods a few times. “Absolutely.”

Orochimaru-sama looks at him for a long minute, one hand propping up his head. “I pity everyone who comes in contact with you.” He says, apropos of nothing. “I really do. Alright, brat. You get your way. I approve your request. Get Kimimaro to agree or not, but leave me out of it. If he wants to file the paperwork to change his name, he can do it himself. Now go away, please. I appear to have to schedule a meeting with Chiharu-kun that I have to attend in person. Sage, Uchiha Clan moving to Oto no Kuni, what is the world coming to?”

“Thank you Orochimaru-sama, you’re the best.”

Yū-sama walks him back to Kimimaro’s office. Well, kind of. Yū-sama wraps herself around Sasuke to leech some of his body-heat, and Sasuke waddles back to Kimimaro’s office carrying ninety kilos of snoozing Serpent. He’d not have had the stamina for that even a week ago, but Orochimaru-sama’s nightmarish training schedule is good for this at least.

“Kimimaro-san, I have good news.”

He ignores his future brother's deep bow and tucks himself into what he has come to think of as his armchair. There should be a sign. He should get Kimimaro to make him a sign. Sasuke’s chair. Maybe a little drawing.

“First off, Orochimaru-sama has just approved the Uchiha Clan’s application to formally join Otogakure.”

“Congratulations.” Says Kimimaro immediately, without so much as a spoonful of understanding. Not a drop. Kimimaro’s Chakra is not as interesting as Orochimaru-sama’s is. It’s dynamic for one, which is the standard, but it’s beautiful in its own way. It’s slightly less chaotic than most humans’ is, for one, and it maps almost one to one to his expressions and actions. Very honest, is Kimimaro.

“I know, it’s not that big of a deal, honestly. But it does have one perk. It lets me make you my family, like, officially. We’re not missing-nin anymore, we can set up a Clan registry and everything.”

Kimimaro sort of glitches, like he heard and individually understood most words that came out of Sasuke’s mouth, and he wants to comply, he wants to agree, but he doesn’t have the first clue what that would entail and how to go about it.

“You—want me to be your family?” He says, mystified. Or what passes for mystified for Kimimaro. It’s a very complex emotion, they’re working up to it.

Sasuke gentles the manic edge of his smile into a more human-appropriate curve. “Yeah, yeah I do. I think it would be awesome. I already cleared it with Orochimaru-sama, he gave you his blessing. Us. He gave us his blessing.” Is this what proposing feels like? Is he brother-proposing to Kimimaro?

As expected, the mere mention of Orochimaru-sama’s name in relation to himself makes something important shut down in Kimimaro’s brain. Sasuke graciously allows him a little time to come to terms with the fact that his hero has spared a thought about him.

“Orochimaru-sama wants me to—have a family? With you?”

Sasuke hiccups. “Not exactly.” He see-saws his hand. “He wants you to know that he supports you if you want to be my family. The phrasing is unexpectedly important in these things. But yeah. That’s the gist.”

Kimimaro chews on this for a minute, while Sasuke observes his Chakra with interest. It’s not churning, or upset. It’s sort of—vibrating a little. Not restless, just processing. “I would be—your family?”

He nods. “And I would be yours.”

That seems to shake something loose in Kimimaro and his eyes widen owlishly, in an expression Sasuke hasn’t seen so far. “You would be—mine?”

This is adorable. If even Sasuke thinks this is adorable, then it will be paralyzing to Aniki once he comes back. It’s like Chakra-spying on a baby-deer before it takes its first steps. This sort of fragile awe at the world, a mix of a real fear of falling down and hope that, yeah, you might fall but you might not and isn’t that more than worth it?

“I would be your family yes. You would have me and Aniki, and Aniki and I would have you.”

“And Orochimaru-sama approves of this?” He says, tone gaining a little urgency, a little weight to it. His Chakra grows heavier too, a sure sign that Kimimaro is in the very rare situation where he wants something for himself and is able to get it. Not only able, but encouraged to get it. “Approves of you being mine and me being yours.”

“I mean—this is all possible because it’s understood the three of us are already his. But yes. He approves of it. I checked, just now.”

“And Itachi-sama—he wants this too?”

“He wrote the request, didn’t he? Read it—it’s there in front of you. A formal invitation to become an Uchiha. From Itachi Uchiha—our Clan Head—to you, Kimimaro Kaguya, some day Kimimaro Uchiha if you want to be.”

Kimimaro breathes deeply for a long moment. He is too well trained to let his heart speed up and slow down this easily, but the buzzing in his Chakra increases, a proto-version of impatience threading through.

“Alright—what must I do? Is there a test? A challenge? A ritual?”

“No test. Just—sign there. At the bottom. Then file the paperwork—I can’t help you there, I have no idea what filing paperwork entails. But yeah—that’s it.”

With painfully slow, cautious movement, Kimimaro picks up a brush and signs his name. First in hiragana, then in kanji, every line and hook perfect. “And I am permitted to change my name? To not be a Kaguya anymore?”

“If you want. We’re kind of making up the rules, here. But you don’t have to be an Uchiha to not be a Kaguya. You can be a completely different thing if you need like. Time or whatever.” Sasuke gives himself a pat on the back for this little bit of emotional sensitivity. He’s nailing this!

“I—want to?” Says Kimimaro, as slowly and precisely as he had written his name before. “Uchiha are now Orochimaru-sama’s, are they not?”

“Oh, absolutely. As I said, that’s the cornerstone of this whole little arrangement.” Arrangement is a nice euphemism for this whole fictional bit of performative hand-holding, that is in truth little more than the adults indulging Sasuke.

“Alright. I will change my name. And be your family.”

Sasuke beams at him again. “Perfect. Now—which role, specifically, do you want to hold—”

“Shizune-san! Meet Kimimaro Uchiha—the middle Uchiha brother.”

Shizune cranes her head so she can peer into Sasuke’s face. It’s an awkward movement, considering he’s hooked his jaw over her shoulder to see the document she is working on. Kimimaro stands behind him, radiating nervous anxiety, in a typically Kimimaro-fashion. He is too well trained to have anything but perfect control over his body, but he is not self-aware enough to recognize his emotions, or how to stop projecting them in ways other than fidgeting.

“Nice to meet you, Uchiha-san.” She says smoothly. “Congratulations. And to you too, Sasuke-san. I know you’ve been working hard to make this happen for a while now.”

That’s a bit of a stretch. He wrote one letter, with full confidence Itachi will indulge him like always. “Thank you! Do you want to have lunch with us?”

He unsticks himself from her person and ambles back to his brand-new Uchiha. “Shizune-san is like, the epitome of good sense,” he says in a faux-conspiratorial tone. “Really. If you want to learn how to be sensible, she’s your woman.”

Kimimaro nods at him, taking his words at face value. “Thank you for telling me, Sasuke-sama—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” He wags his finger. “You’re my brother now. Just Sasuke.” Better not tell him to call him Otōto just yet. Itachi is coming back soon enough and he will need some time to adjust to his new reality. Best not make it more difficult for him. Kimimaro is lovely and all sorts of strong, but he will probably not survive Itachi in a snit.

The expression of scandalized offence that twists Kimimaro’s face is a work of art. “You still outrank me, being Orochimaru-sama’s student.”

“Family trumps military hierarchy,” Sasuke says comfortably. “At least in informal settings. Itachi still outranks you in the family so you can be formal to him.”

Kimimaro thinks about this for a long moment, clan-marks almost touching with how much his brow is furrowed. “So, Itachi-sama or O-ni'i-sama, and Sasuke-san?”

“Just Sasuke is fine. I already call you Kimimaro.”

“You can call him Sasuke-kun if it makes you more comfortable, Uchiha-san,” says Shizune-san, sending Sasuke a quelling look. “It’s perfectly appropriate for an informal setting.”

Kimimaro actually blushes a little at being called Uchiha-san and he bows deeply to Shizune. “Thank you for your guidance, Shizune-san. Will your duties permit you to join us for a meal?”

Shizune shakes her head with a very polite smile. “Unfortunately not, Uchiha-san. Some other time. My schedule is less flexible than Sasuke-san’s is, and Tsunade-sama has asked me to finish up some—administrative duties for the Senju.”

Hold on—is Senju still a Clan? They haven’t disbanded, officially?

Wait—

“Shizune-san, are you a part of the Senju Clan?” He asks slowly, parts of his mind he hasn’t used much slowly waking up. “Shizune-san—is the Senju Clan—”

“I am afraid I cannot divulge any Clan secrets at this time, Sasuke-san.” She says with a perfectly blank face. He sees the somewhat resigned humour glinting in her eye. This is—

“Say no more.” He says, feeling a little like he wants to laugh at everything forever.

Is the Senju Clan officially moving to Otogakure?

“Let’s go, Kimimaro, I need some food in me. Today has been absolutely wild, and my strength cannot sustain it.”

Chapter Text

Very much true to form, Itachi returns to Oto with two ex-Kiri-nin, a worryingly gorgeous Jinchūriki, a big-ass sword and a severe case of depression. Sasuke doesn’t even have the time to process the extinction-event wrapped in a body that has just walked into his home, that’s how cuckoo the whole things is. He leaves Kimimaro to his fate, sends a thought to anyone who might be listening to, if at all possible, keep Orochimaru-sama away from the initial burst of madness lest he snaps and kick them all out, and goes after his brother.

Tsunade-sama rushes Itachi straight into bed, but Sasuke, wise to the ways of self-sacrificing idiots, climbs in without hesitation.

“I will talk to Oro and get your ducklings settled in. You rest, as much as possible.” Be gentle with him, say her eyes when she levels them at Sasuke. Or else.

Which is fair, but entirely undeserved this time. He’s been practising with Kimimaro. He likes to think he has gotten better about thinking through what he’s going to say—because, somehow,  Kimimaro trusts him and takes his nonsense at face value. Even though it started off as a whim, it’s not anymore.

“Missed you, Aniki.” He says, keeping his voice light and gentle. “It’s been a long time.”

Itachi makes a small, hurt noise into the space between the pillow and Sasuke’s shoulder where he’s wedged his face. He’s never looked younger—he has no business being this small and vulnerable. Itachi fucking Uchiha—S-ranked Clan Head, with a bounty big enough to buy a small country—is crying into his pillow, making these choked off little noises that bruise Sasuke’s heart more and more as they go on.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Let’s keep it light, somehow. “I’ve been well. Orochimaru-sama enjoys spoiling me. He’s built this reputation of like, a heartless, irrational monster, and it stopped being fun. He can’t shock people with being evil, anymore, they just expect it. So he satisfies his pathological need for chaos by indulging me outrageously at every turn.”

Itachi makes an inquisitive, wet little chuff that’s kind of gross, but also adorable and definitely a step in the right direction. Let’s up the crazy, then.

“Oh yes. He’s not quite up for cuddles, but he lets me trail him to what few meetings he deigns to attend personally, and dares anyone to comment when I make myself a pest. When he has an especially irritating meeting he even encourages me to be as disturbing as possible. Like, I spent a whole four-hour meeting with twelve of the local lords being a lie-detector. It was hilarious. I could have just as easily sat in the other room, but he let me stalk them creepily and flail about all dramatic and over-the-top when I catch them in a lie. It was the best day, no joke.”

It was a fun day. With his drugs making it easier to stay checked in, being around people is not an insurmountable obstacle, anymore. Especially when he’s hiding behind a very powerful, very stab-happy S-ranked Kage.

Carefully, he smooths a hand down Itachi’s shoulder and then when that doesn’t get him skewered, runs his fingers through his hair. It’s all sorts of gross, unwashed and stained what looks to be oil of some kind, but also blood? Maybe?

“I also adopted Kimimaro, as you know. He is a delight. You will love him to bits, you have no idea. He’s like, a strong Shinobi no doubt, but emotionally, he’s got nothing. So formal and honest—I didn’t know people could be so honest—no wait, hey—”

For some reason, that pushes Itachi over the edge, and he curls into himself, body racked with sobs. Shit, Tsunade-sama might actually kill him—he thought he was doing so well—

“Let it out, Aniki,” he babbles. “It’s okay, whatever you’re feeling is okay and yours and thank you for sharing it with me. Just, come up, there you go, you must be uncomfortable all twisted up like a noodle.” He tugs the tense body as gently as he can, straightening the hunched in position until Itachi is laying down in a much more natural line. He is still crying, which is not ideal, but Itachi is an emotional little bean, there’s no helping that.

He tugs the gross pillow out of his hands, replaces it with a clean one, and goes about tugging off the armour of his body. Man, it would be so much better if Aniki had a lover or someone to do this for him. What the fuck does Sasuke know about taking care of another human being? Unfortunately, Itachi shuts right down as soon as his face touches a clean surface. At least he stopped weeping?

Okay, so. Someone fucked Aniki up, and that’s just not on.

Best finish dealing with the armour somehow. Sasuke hasn’t had much opportunity to look at armour with, y’know, his own eyes. Chakra-sensing isn’t as precise with inorganics, and it just isn’t the same as seeing. He distracts himself by admiring the clever stitching. That’s a nice, safe thing to focus on. Much less depressing than possible reasons his brother is weeping, who all those people are, and what on earth has happened.

It takes him a bit under an hour to wrestle the damn armour off and bully a half-asleep Itachi into a comfortable jinbei, stuff his feet in a pair of fuzzy socks with little rabbit ears sticking up on the back and tuck a blanket around him. He’s still gross, and the bedding will likely go into the bleach-tub, but it’s good enough. Sasuke is absently wiping away the tear-marks on his face with a damp towel and humming a melody he’d picked up from Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra when Tsunade-sama comes knocking.

“I just wanted to check in real quick,” she says, her deep voice softer than he’s ever heard it before. “But I see I left him in excellent care. Thank you, Sasuke-kun. This is a lovely thing for you to do.”

Should he be embarrassed by this? This sounds like a thing he should be embarrassed by. He’s not, though. If anything, he wants to preen. He is preening presently, in fact. “Is he okay? Like, physically?”

“Not a scratch on him. We had a bit of a rough trip. He did what he had to do, but—” She breaks off into a conflicted pause. “I have to go. We brought a lot of drama to Oro’s doorstep, and I can’t—”

Sasuke nods at her vaguely, “We’re fine. Aniki is asleep, and Yū-sama is here to keep us safe. I will come find you after the nap.”

“How we ended up with the sweetest kid in the Elemental Nations I will never know. Alright. Come find us when you’re ready. Itachi-kun needs to eat.”

Sasuke feels Aniki’s Chakra shift from sleep to wakefulness about an hour later. Outwardly nothing changes, even his heartbeat remains slow and deep. Who does that—how does one even train that, goodness?

“You don’t have to pretend, Aniki. If you don’t want to talk, I am the last person who will force you.”

A bolt of shame spikes through Itachi’s Chakra, painting it a hot, cherry red. Huh—okay. Shame? Why shame?

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that, Otōto?” He whispers into the pillow. Aniki’s voice has always been deep, Fugaku-deep, but it’s grown raspier, heavier after all the crying. He would sound mean if he didn’t look so fragile.

“I’m not. I don’t know, Aniki, I feel like we have the type of relationship where we can cry in front of one another. Like—you saw me when I had multiple snails crawling around my empty eye-sockets. I’m afraid we’re simply in different weight-classes when it comes to being in embarrassing situations.”

A pouffy, red-rimmed eye peeks out from behind the pillow, narrowed in outrage. “Boxing—are you making boxing metaphors at me? How did you—do you even know what boxing is?”

“Not really.” He admits easily. “I started eavesdropping a lot recently. Orochimaru-sama’s den of thieves comes with the added benefit that you can overhear the most fantastic speech patterns. It drives Orochimaru-sama up the wall, bless his snobbish heart.”

Itachi huffs a weak laugh, but it looks and sounds honest enough, so Sasuke will take it. “What else have you been doing? I caught a few snippets earlier, but—”

“Nothing too interesting.” He makes himself comfortable, rolling the blanket tighter around himself. “Mainly rest, I suppose. We found a good daily dose of mood stabilizers, which changed my life, you have no idea. Other than that—yeah, I’ve been irresponsibly indulged by, like, everyone around me. Training is a bit of hit and miss. It’s best to go to Orochimaru-sama about that stuff, I  zone out when he starts going on about it.”

Itachi hums but buries himself back into the pillow, so Sasuke guesses he’s tapped out of the conversation for now. That’s fine. He can practice Chakra-sensing while staying awake. It’s almost shamefully watered down when compared to the real deal but it leaves him more self-aware, in case Itachi wants to talk.

“I killed a friend.” He says out of the blue. “Maybe my best friend, after Shisui.”

Oh-kay.

“That sucks.” He says lightly. “I’m sorry. How did that happen?”

“He—he wouldn’t stop—and I—”

Itachi breaks off into a tense, choked up silence. He’s not crying, Sasuke doesn’t think, but it’s might have been better if he were, honestly.

“It sounds like you didn’t have much choice.” He places a careful hand on Itachi’s shoulder. “He sounds strong, your friend. I’m sure you did everything you could have.”

Itachi barks a harsh, violent laugh. “Not at all. I am—well, a bad matchup for him. I’m faster, more agile, and I—I could’ve escaped so easily.”

“But you didn’t.”

The agonized Chakra wails again, folding into itself, a visible manifestation of guilt and shame. “No, I didn’t. I could have but he—He said—”

Oh boy. Sasuke’s getting something of an idea of what happened.

“Did he threaten Tsunade-sama?” He says, voice free from all judgement. He might be a sucky Uchiha but even he knows what treading certain paths will get you.

“He did—but that’s fine. Tsunade-sama is a Sanin. Kisa— he was strong, but not that strong.”

Ah. “Me, then.” That was—a choice, Sasuke supposes. Not how he’d have chosen to die, himself, but horses for courses and all that.

“I destroyed him on the spot. The sentence wasn’t even out of his mouth and I—Nothing was left, not even ashes. Amaterasu burned through him until only his sword was left, and that was because he flung it away.”

Sasuke is quiet, quietly carding his fingers through Itachi’s disgusting hair. Okay, so on one hand, you need to say something. On the other hand, his people-skills are still very much in their infancy, Kimimaro or no Kimimaro. He is so emphatically not qualified for this. Honesty worked so far, though. “So let me first preface this by saying: my sensitivity training is still ongoing. I’d like you to be aware that the subtext of everything I say is that I love you, okay?”

He waits for the nod, which takes longer than it should. A whole minute goes by, until Itachi understands he should at least in some way show he hasn’t checked out of the conversation.

“Alright. With that in mind, here goes: saying stupid shit gets you killed. It’s just how it is. Everyone knows what Uchiha do for their People. There are sayings. Shit, there are proverbs.”

“Red eyes to see the red thread—” Itachi trails off, and Sasuke picks up, practically without thinking. “—and red flames to defend it.” Something a lot like nostalgia skitters down Sasuke’s spine. It’s a nice saying. Very snappy, very civilian. Most other proverbs are more in the lane of red-eyed demons filling lakes with blood, cursed to be driven insane by love.

“Back to my point—there is another thing to consider. Your Person happens to be me, and I’ve been messed with so much that your biological imperative is probably been kicking you halfway to madness for a while now. Even if it didn’t—it’s just bad form, going after vulnerable brothers. If someone talked shit about you while you were napping just now, we’d have discovered if my eyes can do the Chakra-sucking flames of terror too.”

Which—okay. Not really super fair. Sasuke loves Itachi—really, truly loves him—but they both know Itachi is not Sasuke’s Person. Oh, he’d absolutely destroy a hundred per cent of beings who came at Itachi while he was hurting, but that is just regular, human love. It’s debatable if Sasuke, a scrap of a person that he is, is even capable of the Uchiha-style compulsion anymore.

“So in conclusion: I think your friend had committed some sort of ritual suicide, using you as a method of delivery. He had to have known what would happen. Which, okay, now that I say it out loud, I realize that is actually much worse—”

Itachi’s shoulders shake, and Sasuke panics again. “Oh no—Aniki—I’m sorry—I said, subtext remember—man, I’m bad at this—” His hands flutter uselessly over Itachi’s back, not sure what to do, when he realizes that the muffled noises aren’t sobbing.

He falls back dramatically, rubbing the side of his palms into his eyes. “You—you’re laughing, you nightmare person! Wait—no—I mean—good, great, laugh, let it out—” What is he even saying anymore?

To be fair, whatever this episode is, the laughter has little to do with any actual humor. It’s clearly a way to expel some of the anxious energy buzzing under Itachi’s skin—his Chakra is writhing in distress, jerking with this heart-wrenching little jolts. “I know what you meant. It wasn’t—I killed less deserving people than Ki—than him. I will get over it.”

Sasuke frowns a little, uncomfortable with something about that sentence. What though? It’s true—Aniki has in fact killed many less deserving targets. He will get over it, that’s true as well. Still—

“I don’t know if that’s how it works,” he tries. “I mean—you do you. What do I know about like, emotional balance and processing your trauma? I just—I don’t think looking at it in those terms is very—helpful? Like, our lives are messed up, there’s no escaping that. But I think starting to compare your kills in any way is, I don’t know. Asking for trouble? As I said, I haven’t killed anyone yet—Sage knows I probably won’t have the guts or the skills to go through with it even if I tried. But if I did, I like to think I would try to look at them as discrete incidents. Seems less messy.”

Itachi sighs, a complicated, multi-layered exhalation that Sasuke is in no way capable of deciphering. “I don’t think I can bare talking about this anymore. Thank you. Your brand of wisdom is unique but priceless.”

Wisdom, sure. “I’m glad I could help some. But remember the subtext, yeah? It’s always going to be true. So.” There. That should be enough.

Itachi’s smile is all the more precious for how wobbly it is. Sasuke kind of wants to lock him up in this here room, until his eyes lose that soft slant and stop being so shiny and vulnerable. Sasuke also wants to submerge him in a tub of puppies and feed him sweets for a month, so what Sasuke wants is not, perhaps, the best way to go forward.

“Do you want to tell me about the people you’ve brought back home?” That should be an easier topic, plus it would prevent Itachi from showing his vulnerable face to Orochimaru-sama. The man would keel over and die, and then where would they be?

With an adorable little wiggle, Itachi scoots up, taking his blanket and his pillows along the way, until he’s sitting up, propped by the headboard, still covered head to food, only his left sock poking out slightly. Sasuke tucks it in. There.

“I can’t imagine you are interested in where or how we found them, so I’m going to skip to the parts you would find interesting.”

Sasuke wiggles in place, always eager for a good story. Aniki has a way of cutting through the meaningless details that is perfect for Sasuke’s joke of an attention span.

“All three are missing-nin, from Kiri specifically. First, we have Momochi-san and Yuki-san. They’re—well. How could I describe them? They’re each other's polar opposites. Where Momochi-san amplifies his viciousness to hide his gentleness, Yuki-san amplifies his gentleness to hide his viciousness. Both are very principled in their own way. Momochi-san follows some arcane set of rules I can’t quite pin down but they look to be Kiri-version of Samurai codes from Iron. For example, Tsunade-sama saved Momochi-san’s and Yuki-san’s lives in passing. They will now follow her until they’ve repaid the debt.”

“So weird,” wonders Sasuke, morbidly fascinated. “So weird, Aniki—how would they even—they know who Tsunade-sama is, right?”

Itachi shrugs, acting bewildered, but he’s not fooling Sasuke. He can tell that Itachi is impressed by their steadfast adherence to their creed. Even if it is so, so stupid to do so.

“Tsunade-sama explained at length, but in the end, even if she could run them off, Momochi-san is one of the Seven Swordsmen, and Yuki-san is last of the Yuki bloodline. They would be a valuable addition to Oto, even if they are here temporarily.”

Sasuke shakes his head. “Tsunade-sama is going to be the best-guarded S-ranked Kunoichi in the world, and she needs, like, no protection whatsoever. What did they say when they recognized you?”

“They did not believe I was who I said I was at first.” He says, smirking like a well-fed cat. “They still don’t. They believe me to be one of Orochimaru-sama’s experiments. Or at least Momochi-san does, and Yuki-san indulges him in all things. Evidently, between my overblown reputation, various accounts of my death, and some enterprising soul in Iwa having successfully claimed my bounty, it is impossible for me to be Uchiha Itachi.”

Everything about that concept makes Sasuke so happy—he wants to roll around in that concept, wants to bask in it and make it his home. “I mean. They’re not wrong. About you being an—ahaha—an experiment—of—” He can’t speak for a little while, drowning in belly-deep, gurgling chuckles. “Sage, I hope I’ll be there if they bring that up—imagine—Orochimaru-sama will totally run with it, Aniki, I can just tell—”

“I am certain he would. Do you know why I am so certain? Because that’s exactly what Tsunade-sama did. Looked Momochi-san straight in the eye and said she can’t disclose confidential medical information.”

“I love that woman.” He does. He really does. She doesn’t look it, but she can be just as bad as Orochimaru-sama. You can really tell that they grew up together, at times like these.

“I thought you would appreciate that. But worry not. I saved best for last.”

Sasuke’s metaphorical ears prick up. “There’s more?”

“The third man is Utakata-san. He is the Jinchūriki of the Rokubi, Bijū with six tails. He is also very even-tempered, gentle, likes peace and quiet and fights with bubbles.”

Did he—did Sasuke just hear—

“Yes, bubbles. Large, iridescent soap-bubbles. I am not joking. He flies inside them, too. They’re Ninjutsu—I think. And he can sense Nature Chakra.”

“Aniki—” breathes Sasuke. “Did you bring me back a husband as a present?”

“The thought had occurred to me,” Itachi says, Suna-dry. “Same rule applies, though. No husbands and no ink until you are sixteen or an S-ranked Shinobi. I would put extra caveats on the husband, but I feel like I don’t really have to, in your case.”

That’s torn it. Sasuke dives under the blanket, crawls up Itachi’s body and wraps himself around his torso like a scarf. “You’re the best brother, seriously. I can’t even—I will do something, it’s my turn now. I will do something spectacular for you, you will see.”

“You got Tsunade-sama for me. You got Orochimaru-sama to take us in and give us a home. You love me, against all reason. What is one husband against that?”

“That’s all old news. I can’t be upstaged like this. I will figure something out, and it will be fantastic.”

A chocolate fountain? No. Aniki doesn’t even like chocolate that much. A wife? Husband? Honestly, he gives off some serious aromantic vibes. A pet? He’s got Sasuke, he’s all tapped out for pets. Hm.

Chapter Text

Itachi Uchiha went to the Fire Country’s Daimyo to procure a pardon and returned with two A-ranked Ninja and a husband for his brother, or so the story went.

It was a good joke. Cute, even funnier if you take into account how Uchiha are as a, well, sub-species of human. Then even funnier still, considering the frankly inconceivably fucked up situation of those two Uchiha specifically. Then even funnier still since the supposed husband in question is a Jinchūriki who is also a missing-nin, which, if ever there is a wacky concept—

And they all live under the protection of Orochimaru of the Sanin

You don’t even need to be funny about it. You just need to not forget all the varied ways their lives are messed up.

This thing, with Utakata, it starts slowly.

Sasuke doesn’t ignore the newcomers, but he does forget about them. He hasn’t seen his brother in untold weeks, after all. Not to mention how important it is that Itachi gets to know the officially named—whatever little that is worth, in a den of missing-nin ruled by Orochimaru-sama of all people—Kimimaro Uchiha.

There is not a single reason to worry. Kimimaro may have been absorbed into their cooky little family more or less on a whim, but genius strikes when you least expect it. Sasuke is pretty certain that’s an actual proverb. Point is: the whole thing is magnificent. Kimimaro hits all the beats necessary for Itachi to fall deeply and irrevocably in love with him. Brotherly type of love, unfortunately. So far Itachi has stayed true to his apparent asexual, aromantic build.

It would be all sorts of poetic to say Kimimaro loved them in return. It would also be a lie. Kimimaro doesn’t really know what love is. Doesn’t understand it. He knows devotion, he knows obsession and he knows sacrifice. In a normal family, that combination of traits might have been inappropriate. Lucky for Kimimaro that he had joined a group where those traits mark him family more readily than any others.

Itachi takes one look at the desperate desire to please, interplayed with the clueless, inexperienced gaze and his heart swallows Kimimaro whole, never to be seen again. No, really. Itachi can’t love Kimimaro like he does Sasuke—he can’t love anyone or anything like he loves Sasuke—but that might be for the best.

The three of them spend a week building some sort of dynamic together. Kimimaro and Sasuke already have something of a dynamic going, which consists mostly of Kimimaro doing anything and everything Sasuke wants, and Sasuke slowly learning not to abuse that privilege too much.

Itachi, on the other hand—perhaps remembering all those times he had petulantly thrown Kimimaro around a training ground as a way of getting Orochimaru-sama’s attention—feels the need to spoil his new sibling. Spoiling Kimimaro is something of a challenge, it turns out. The only thing Kimimaro would openly express his desire for, is to make Orochimaru-sama—or, failing him, Sasuke—happy. Since some sort of lizard hind-brain in Itachi tells him he should not play favourites with siblings so shamelessly, he decides—stupidly—that Orochimaru-sama is the better choice here.

The whole thing is wild. Kimimaro, bless his cultist heart, doesn’t know the first thing about what could make Orochimaru-sama happy. Itachi doesn’t either. Their first attempt is to improve Otogakure. They storm through the bureaucracy department—very much in its infancy—and under the threat of Itachi Uchiha’s wrath, increase productivity by a large margin.

Orochimaru-sama, obviously, doesn’t notice.

Department after department, they comb over Otogakure, ostensibly improving operations at every step, incidentally cementing Kimimaro’s position at the top of the hierarchy very thoroughly, and still, Orochimaru-sama doesn’t notice.

They don’t think to ask Sasuke, which was their first mistake. Sasuke is all too happy to trail behind him, wildly entertained by the disaster. They’re a good team, is the thing. They both possess the rare combination of confidence born from inborn talent and the earnest ease of mind that is characteristic of cultists once they have accepted their place in the world. They are just incredibly badly suited for this particular task, and the very confidence that makes them lethal Shinobi stops them from doing the reasonable thing and asking for help.

“You are aware of what has been happening around your village, Orochimaru-sama?”

“I can’t say I am.” Says Orochimaru sama absently, busy with some sort of complex mathematical nightmare. The man has decided he must have a more precise brain imaging instrument, and if one doesn’t exist he will simply have to invent it. Tsunade-sama, desperately glad to be away from politics and back to her chosen field, has thrown herself wholeheartedly into the project. Her part of the project, however, has to do with Fūinjutsu. A field so awe-inspiring to Sasuke he can’t be in the same floor as her research because he will try to sense what she is doing and will promptly knock himself out.

“Kimimaro-san and Aniki are bonding.” Sasuke says with relish. “Aniki only has one way of expressing his brotherly emotions, and that is blank devotion. He wants to indulge Kimimaro. What do you think Kimimaro’s greatest wish is?”

That is enough to break the man’s concentration. His hand freezes, carefully removing the charcoal from parchment before something gets smudged, sets it aside and meets Sasuke’s eyes squarely.

“In small words, brat. Are Itachi Uchiha and Kimimaro Kaguya currently running around, trying to please me?”

Sasuke see-saws his hand. “Kind of. Itachi Uchiha is trying to support, enable and celebrate Kimimaro Uchiha, who is trying to please you, would be how I would phrase it. They’ve revamped your mission office no less than three times. Your Shinobi might all get terminally overworked any day now, but your operations have never run smoother.”

Orochimaru-sama props his forehead with a closed fist, elbow planted at the table and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to—his Chakra is laughing for him. Credit where credit is due, once Orochimaru-sama got used to Sasuke being able to sense his emotions and a fair number of his less complex thoughts, he adapted without looking back. 

“I know. It’s ridiculously charming. I will let them flop about like beached whales for today, and intervene soon. You might as well get something out of it, right?”

“Oh—and you think you would do better?” It’s not a challenge—and Sasuke isn’t at all susceptible to such things anyways—but an honest, curious question.

Sasuke shrugs. “I suppose it’s possible that someone, somewhere knows you better than I do. I can’t rule it out. Not likely, though.”

Orochimaru-sama’s lips twitch up, even as his spirit-melody smooths into a quietly content flow of notes. “That would be more disturbing if you weren’t what you are.”

True.

“Is your Daimyo happy? The Senju and the Uchiha are officially part of Oto no Kuni. You’ve got a Jinchūriki now too.”

“Chiharu-kun can’t afford to think in terms of happy and unhappy, I’m afraid. That he allied with me and agreed to build a new Hidden Village was an act of desperation. He won the initial conflict, became the Daimyo, stayed alive very much against all odds. Now he needs to keep his country, and thereby his life, safe. The bigger Otogakure gets, the more attention it will receive from its neighbours. The more powerful Oto no Kuni gets, the less likely are they to be overlooked.”

Sasuke considers this. “I get that. But in my experience, the whole ‘there is strength in weakness’ argument is a whole lot of nonsense. Case in point—my whole life.”

“I happen to agree. Chiharu-kun agrees too. A country without a Shinobi population will be picked apart without mercy.”

Sasuke snorts. Mercy. “Hey so, did you know the ex-Kiri guy, the swordsman. Do you know he thinks Aniki is dead, and the man running around telling people he’s Itachi Uchiha is one of your experiments?”

“I did, yes.” Hah—there it is. The expected delight of an addict getting a hit. Orochimaru-sama can’t help himself—he must have chaos or he will perish, dry out like a raisin. “I think Tsunade let them discover one of my more outlandish facilities. Purely by accident, you understand.”

Silly Aniki—this is how you make Orochimaru-sama happy, not by handling admin duties. “I gotta—as soon as I set Aniki and Kimimaro straight—I gotta meet up with this guy. The type of mind who sees Aniki burn an S-ranked nin with the power of his eyes and thinks, nah, this can’t possibly be Itachi Uchiha, is the type of mind I need in my life.”

“He’s Kiri.” Says Orochimaru-sama, like it’s an explanation and it kind of is. Even among the Hidden Villages, Kiri has a reputation of being a breath away from frothing insanity.

“True. Well—I need to go and amuse myself by watching horrifically overpowered Shinobi work out more efficient bureaucratically frameworks. But don’t worry. I will herd them soon.”

“Excellent,” says Orochimaru with zero interest, already miles away, deep in the throes of nerd-dom. “Very good. You go and do—that.”

Sasuke snorts internally and scurries away, ears and Chakra perked to hear the wails of the poor souls caught in the crossfire. This is the best Village, he thinks with no little sated glee.

“Hey, Kimimaro,” he calls, giving the Oto Shinobi the opportunity to make a break for it when both Kimimaro and Itachi turn his way. “Hey Aniki. How are things?”

“Acceptable, Sasuke-kun.” Says Kimimaro immediately, aborting his usual bow at the last moment. “Itachi-sama has provided invaluable insight into the inner-working of a Shinobi Village. I am undeserving of his patience but grateful for it nonetheless.”

Sasuke cuts his eyes from Kimimaro’s earnest expression to Itachi’s pained, adoring one. “Now, now. It is Itachi’s job to be the best older brother he can be for you, Kimimaro. You are by definition deserving of it. Just as he is deserving of your respect and care.” Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Pretend you are the type of person who is in any way capable of making statements like these, and not just someone reciting what he had read years ago in a psychology text.

“Yes, Sasuke-sama—Sasuke-kun.” Corrects Kimimaro with a serious nod, deep enough it’s edging into bow-territory.

“I have some insight of my own to offer, as it happens.” He says before Itachi evaporates from acute brotherly feelings. “I have devised a way that you can make Orochimaru-sama happy. Proper happy.”

Kimimaro’s eyes flash with a combination of fanaticism and a clueless faith in Sasuke, which makes him feel a little guilty he let them flounder this long. “I welcome your wisdom.”

“Please,” murmurs Itachi who is considerably more aware of just how much of a disaster this has been. On the other hand, Itachi doesn’t really care about making Orochimaru-sama happy, or at least not in the same way. Kimimaro’s perspective is a great deal smaller than either one of theirs. He thinks in terms of actions. I do this thing, Orochimaru-sama is happy. I then do another thing, which also makes Orochimaru-sama happy. I continue doing these things in perpetuity, and Orochimaru-sama will always be happy. It’s a charming perspective, in a lot of ways, but doesn’t really mesh with, well. Reality. Especially since Orochimaru-sama thinks in abstract, convoluted ways, and things that make him happy must be equally abstract.

“Right. Aniki—I know you can play the Koto. Kimimaro, I don’t want to presume, but I kind of doubt you had any musical education?”

Kimimaro blinks at him, not at all ashamed, thank the Sage, but confused. He does know what music—is? Right?

“I cannot play any instruments, no,” he says. “Nor sing.” He says the words ‘instrument’ and ‘sing’ with a vague sort of disbelief that they could be used in relation to himself in any way.

“Well, we need to fix that. Trust me, between the three of us, we can make Orochimaru-sama a present so priceless he won’t know what to do with himself. More to the point, we will make him something he can’t get anywhere else. A completely unique experience. Thank you, I will bask in your praise now. My preferred currency is head-pats, but I am open to negotiating an alternative method of payment.”

“It’s an ingenious idea,” says Itachi quietly, both of them observing Kimimaro as he’s dutifully going through his breathing exercises. It would take far too long to train Kimimaro in an instrument, let alone one of the courtly ones, but he is a Shinobi. And Shinobi means excellent grasp on one’s body. Which means—singing. “Why music, though? I’d have thought you would suggest something along the lines of a rare text or some arcane bit of Uchiha-lore that Orochimaru-sama would find interesting?”

“Orochimaru-sama is obsessed with music,” he says, a bit surprised that Aniki has to ask. “Not only did he pick the name Village hidden in the Sound, but his Chakra is auditory. Yours—and mine, and everybody’s—is visual and kinetic. If yours is a dance, his is a concert. My plan is to transcribe some of the melodies I can hear from his Chakra and you two perform it for him.”

Itachi looks at him for a long minute, which Sasuke would have found upsetting if his Chakra wasn’t doing the visual equivalent of squishing his cheeks and cooing at him like he’s something small and adorable. “You want to compose Orochimaru-sama’s spirit and play it back to him.” Itachi checks.

Kimimaro sort of stalls, having caught that bit of the exchange and is staring into nothing, Chakra oddly still.

“I mean.” He says, a little flustered now. “It’s a good idea. There aren’t many things Orochimaru-sama wants, that he doesn’t already have. Even fewer things he can’t get himself, quicker and easier than we could. Art, I figure, is where we have an advantage.”

“You know,” muses Itachi. “We joked about getting you a husband, but now I regret even mentioning it. If it wasn’t already painfully obvious you are too good for this world, it certainly is now that you decided to turn your attention to spreading love and joy around the world.”

Sasuke swallows, not uncomfortable exactly, but all sorts of dazed. Itachi doesn’t verbalize a lot. He’s an awkward, introverted man by nature and by choice. When he gets like this, honest and entirely too intense, it cuts you. Cuts you deep.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he says, voice wavering a little. “It’s cute. Let’s just—it’s cute. A cute idea. Like, I don’t know, pressing a flower in a book or sewing a custom plushie pillow. Cute. None of that—other stuff.”

“Of course, dear-heart,” says Itachi and woah Sasuke isn’t in any way prepared for pet-names from Itachi. Not in any way. “Composing someone’s soul music is—cute. Nothing more.”

“A thousand apologies,” says Kimimaro, wide-eyed and shaky in a way that suggests his mind is so far past blown, it’s practically stardust. “If you don’t mind—I am slow in these matters. You, Sasuke-sama, will write down. What Orochimaru-sama’s—our Lord and Master’s—soul. Sounds like. And Itachi-sama and I will. Play that. For him. For Orochimaru-sama. Perform the music of Orochimaru-sama’s soul.”

Sasuke may have overestimated Kimimaro’s capabilities here. “Don’t think about it too much,” he soothes. “Just think of it as—” As what? Think—“As tribute.” Good, excellent, keep going. “A tribute to Orochimaru-sama’s greatness and, ah—” Damn what else— “Beauty.”

That was too far. Beauty? What were you thinking?

“Beauty of spirit.” Says Itachi, cutting in smoothly. “Nothing more than our celebration of Orochimaru-sama’s accomplishments, both in the matters of state and in the matters of spirit.”

Sasuke wheezes—he can’t help it. He needs to—he needs to—

He needs to figure out how to cast memory-transfer Genjutsu-thing and show this glorious scene to Shizune-san and Tsunade-sama and Katsuyu-sama and maybe even Orochimaru-sama.

Itachi Uchiha playing the Koto to celebrate Orochimaru-sama’s spiritual accomplishments. Sasuke might as well die now. This is it, he reached peak awesome. There is no going further. Only a slow descent into boring.

“Yes.” He croaks. “That is exactly it. I will help you compose the, ah, tribute to Orochimaru-sama, and you and Itachi will perform it.” He pauses for a moment, thinking— “Actually, I should probably be involved in the performance as well. I will be the one with, as it were, first-hand knowledge of how the music should sound like.”

“Sasuke—you are my entire heart. But you will not ruin this for Kimimaro.” Says Itachi serenely. “You don’t play any instruments, or have any vocal training. More to the point, you will get distracted halfway through and wander off, or get bored, or will hear something interesting from Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra and will change the composition on the spot. We should play to our strengths.”

“Wow,” Sasuke says, mouth stretched in a grin so wide his scars pull on both sides. “Harsh. Good on you, ‘Tachi. Good work. You put me in my place. I am thoroughly place-put.”

Itachi smiles, properly smiles, not so much as a suggestion of endless bloody violence anywhere in sight. “I am the very model of a responsible authority figure, yes.”

Kimimaro chooses the time to waver a little from his lotus position, hands trembling enough that the scroll he was holding is in immediate danger. “A tribute.” He says, like he’s convincing himself. “A celebration of Orochimaru-sama’s person. That is, essentially, what I am for. It is a natural, no, an appropriate expression of my devotion.”

Wow. Sasuke doesn’t often get such an unfiltered insight into the mind of cultists. Even his Chakra-sense doesn’t extend to precise thought-patterns. “You don’t have to.” He says, just in case that wasn’t clear somehow. “We can make up a different way to, ah, celebrate Orochimaru-sama’s person. This is just—” He breaks off, uncertain how to continue without saying that it is the best way. That would undermine the point he was making a little. “My suggestion.” He says lamely when he cycles through a few options that all amount to ‘it is the best idea’.

Kimimaro looks at him a little wild-eyed. A little like the very idea of performing for Orochimaru-sama is mind-wrecking, but the idea of not doing it, now that ‘soul music’ is on the table, is grounds for a physical fight.

“We don’t have to decide anything today.” Itachi jumps in. “You are now an Uchiha, so it is appropriate for you to have musical training. After you completed that necessary part of your education, we can revisit the topic.”

Wow, smooth. Sasuke holds his fist out and waits—and waits—

“Bump it.” He says under his breath. “With your fist.”

Ever so gently, Itachi reaches out with his fist and sort of—caresses Sasuke’s curled up fingers with his knuckles. No, really, does a few slow little circles, petting Sasuke’s fist lightly. Sasuke’s heart melts further, somehow.

“Perfect,” he says, misty-eyed. “Perfect.”

Chapter Text

The music-project is every bit as thrilling as Sasuke hoped it would be. It is at this point, mostly a Sasuke-run operation, which is a wacky sentence if ever there was one. It’s not even his doing—everyone in the village bar himself has grown-up work they need to do.

Kimimaro runs the village, Itachi trains to be the world’s most lethal medic—or the world’s most ironic assassin—and Shizune-san runs the Senju Clan and works on her research. Orochimaru-sama and Tsunade-sama are lost in the throes of academic zeal, and ex-Kiri lunatics are so-far content to be left to their own devices. Inasmuch as Sasuke can tell these things of course—they could be stashing bodies in the water supply—what with being Kiri—but as long as they’re out of sight, Sasuke is happy to play pretend. He’s learned some semblance of resource management, and so far he has plenty of cuckoo things to do to keep himself sated. It’s unnecessary to exhaust all his resources at once. Leave the Kiri madmen for later.

There are a few kinks in Sasuke’s otherwise stellar plan. The first problem, of course, is that Sasuke isn’t trained in any of the shit-million musical notation scripts. The second problem is that, while they are incredibly lucky that Orochimaru is as big of a nerd as he is and has shelves upon shelves of literature on music and composition, most of them are, well, the traditional stuff. The three-plus-the-vocals setup doesn’t at all apply. Maybe in a few years, Sasuke could learn the samisen, and Kimimaro the shakuhachi but for now, they have one koto and one (as of yet untrained) vocalist.

So, that’s a problem. Also, the notations are highly dependent on the school of teaching, and Sasuke—being the well-established runt of the family—wasn’t welcome in those lessons. Itachi might know which school the Uchiha followed, but that wouldn’t bring them any closer to the real solution.

In the pro-column is that the creative part of the project is more or less solved. Sasuke’s memory, at least, is Uchiha-perfect. He remembers multiple instances where Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra was especially lovely. Choosing the right one ended up being a fun ride—and miles more thought-provoking than he had first assumed. Sasuke may not have planned to half-ass this from the get-go, but he had thought to choose the loveliest piece and be done with it. As it happens, the process ended up being both more involved and more absorbing. Once he decided to go with the right melody and not just the prettiest one, the whole thing got—philosophical.

Thing is—adult Shinobi, or at least S-ranked Shinobi Sasuke’s been around—they are all, well, one-dimensional a lot of the time. It’s possibly a defence mechanism of some sort, to make yourself into something of a caricature. An exaggeration of a concept that you invent for yourself, and then spend so long hiding behind that idea, that you sort of forget you can be other things too.

Orochimaru-sama embraced his flighty nature and his need for movement and change, but he often then forgot that he could be, well, more. Now and again, though, never for very long and never because of anything Sasuke can predict, his melody would grow complex. Multi-layered almost. A harmony would ring through his spirit, melding multiple facets of his being that he normally keeps under tight control.

He chooses one of those times. Sasuke doesn’t recall what triggered this mind-state, what caused a deep bass of determined, calm certainty to meld with the mercurial notes Sasuke had come to expect, but he remembers the tempo and the cadence and the way it made Sasuke feel all sorts of emotions of the mushy, weepy kind.

Alright, that part’s done. Now, onto the method of communication. If they have to wait until Sasuke invents a system of musical notation that works for him, they will have to wait for a damn long time, because Sasuke is already bored by the material and he’s been at it for less than a day.

When in doubt—Genjutsu. The Uchiha have a few such axioms, the chief one being, of course, ‘When in doubt—fire’, which is excellent but this is one of the sad times when it is not appropriate.

It’s time to send Aniki some memories.

Hmm.

“Hey ‘Tachi, have a minute?”

Itachi looks up from his soul-mincingly dull anatomy text, and raises his eyebrows as if to say ‘when have I ever not had a minute’. This would be a horrendous, outrageous sentiment if Sasuke wasn’t depressingly aware of the fact that Itachi spends a lot of time earnestly thinking of his life as having begun after he had crashed Sasuke’s kidnapping.

“Cool. I was thinking—this composition thing. We have hit something of an obstacle, in that I wasn’t taught any systems of musical notation. I have the perfect melody in my head, ready to be, exported or whatever, but communicating it? A problem.”

Itachi nods, eyes slanted in an expression entirely too soft for this occasion. For any occasion. For this messed up world as a whole. “I agree. Did you have a potential solution in mind, other than the obvious?”

Does Genjutsu count as an obvious solution?

“I was thinking we could try Genjutsu.” He says, just in case it doesn’t. “We did it all the time, haven’t we. And like, you all went through so much trouble to make sure I keep the eyes, why not take them for a spin.”

Itachi hums at him thoughtfully, just as a long-disused part of Sasuke’s brain sputters into life and suggests that, not only is it a terrible idea that anyone as cracked as Sasuke tries doing anything to anybody’s mind, Itachi letting him try would be arguably even worse. “A perfectly valid solution. Alright. We will try. How is your afternoon looking?”

Shit.

“Maybe we should—talk to someone?” He throws out wildly. “About it? First?”

“I would hate to spoil the surprise for Orochimaru-sama.” Says Itachi, frowning a little.

“Doesn’t have to be Orochimaru-sama.” Bless your inability to prioritize, you twisted up little sponge cake. Spoiling the surprise doesn’t come into it. Orochimaru-sama is fond of his pet Uchiha, that much Sasuke knows, but academic zeal is still his main motivating force. If Sasuke so much as brought it up, Orochimaru would agree without hesitation, not because of any confidence in Sasuke’s plan, but because the horrifying aftermath would be a fascinating data-point. “I was thinking Tsunade-sama? No reason to keep her out of the loop, and she practically stitched my brain back with her own two hands. She would know.”

“Oh, an excellent suggestion Sasuke,” he says, brightening at the very idea of talking to Tsunade-sama. “A very elegant solution, well done.”

Sasuke preens. Yeah, getting praise from Itachi is low-hanging fruit, but Sasuke has absolutely no issue with that. Low-hanging fruit, in his books, is the far superior fruit. In fact, the only good fruit is the fruit you can actually get. What is the point otherwise?

What was he talking about?

“Thank you Aniki,” he says, after a moment. “She’s probably busy now, but I’ll go see if she can squeeze us in before dinner. Have fun with your horrible book!”

“I will. Come get me when you need me. I will be here for the rest of the day.”

Poor Aniki. Sasuke really needs to get him something fun to do. It’s sweet that he wants to impress his new mother, but there are better ways, surely?

“Love you, bye!”

Tsunade-sama agrees to squeeze them in, because Sasuke, wise to her ways, phrased it as a medical consultation about his future use of the Sharingan. She was suspicious as hell at Sasuke’s uncharacteristic maturity, but let it go easily enough.

Alright, then. Time to find Orochimaru-sama. He doesn’t need him, per se, but he has a few hours to kill, and he missed the other man. Sasuke’s brand of insanity plays well with Orochimaru-sama’s. Some of Sasuke’s best work has been done when playing off of the Sanin.

Orochimaru-sama’s door is closed, which happens from time to time, and Sasuke has learned to knock. Petty retaliation aside, Sasuke lives in fear of interrupting something other than a normal meeting.

The question now is—how bored is Sasuke? He could meditate, he could float about for a few hours, but that is kind of against the rules of his new lifestyle. He promised he will stay present as much as possible. Does boredom count as a valid reason? Well, yes, yes it does, but does preventable boredom count?

Probably not.

He knocks.

“Come in, Sasuke-kun.” Oh boy, he shouldn’t have knocked. He should’ve just bothered Shizune-san. Nothing good happens when Orochimaru-sama calls him ‘Sasuke-kun’. The presence inside is—an adult. Civilian? Civilian. But—Shinobi born? There is something off about the signature. The Chakra is too dense for a civilian and too small for a Shinobi. It’s an adult, too, which rules out that it could simply be immature.

Interesting.

He comes inside, tugging his features into what he hopes is a polite, even expression, eyes scanning—

Well. Who is this, now?

The man in the office with Orochimaru-sama is, well. Certainly phenotypically blessed, isn’t he? Curly auburn hair, which okay, Sasuke’s seen exactly one person with curly hair and that was Cousin Shisui. (He makes a note to never, ever let Aniki into the same room as this man. It is, frankly, a ridiculous oversight on Orochimaru-sama’s part, that he let this man into the same village as Aniki.) Blue-grey eyes and cheekbones on the other side of too sharp. Lips slightly on the thinner side and a straight nose. Sasuke smells a rat. Either this man is a product of very careful selective breeding, or there was Chakra involved.

His inspection takes a bit too long, which in Sasuke’s experience means his subject is unnerved. The man isn’t. The closed-off gaze studies Sasuke just as intently. His Chakra is—hmm. Dense, way more controlled than it should be, civilian-small and very difficult to read. If Sasuke were deeper in his mind—or higher, depending on your point of view—he could perhaps sense more. As it is, he just seems like a—like a monk? Like he trained his Chakra, his spirit, for a long, long time, but in a totally different fashion and for a totally different purpose than a Shinobi would have.

So interesting. Sasuke lucked out. If ever there was a meeting to crash, it’s this one.

“Greetings,” Sasuke says, bowing his most polite bow. “I apologize for interrupting your meeting, Orochimaru-sama.” Woah, so polite!

“No matter.” Says Orochimaru-sama, with an alarmingly amused twang along his Chakra-melody. “It is even appropriate. Sasuke-kun, meet Chiharu-kun. The Daimyo of Oto no Kuni. Your Daimyo, in other words. Chiharu-kun, this is your youngest Uchiha.”

“It’s a honour, umm, Daimyo-sama?” He says, all sorts of awkward. What else is he going to call him—Chiharu-sama? Damn.

“Honor is mine, Uchiha-san.” Says the man, in a very professional, detached tone. His Chakra betrays a little of his interest, but nowhere near as much as it should. Movement-wise it’s as still as you could hope, but it does colour slightly, from a steel grey to a metallic blue. “It is a fortunate coincidence you arrived. I had wished to meet the Uchiha Clan.”

Shit—okay. Umm. Sasuke tries his hardest to picture the scenario of Aniki meeting this man and try as he might, his mind only gives him a long series of question marks. “I don’t know if I can be thought to be an accurate representation of the Uchiha Clan, if I’m honest, Daimyo-sama.” He says, clawing onto some remembered manners, but visibly losing. “But it is—nice of you to want to meet us?”

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra-laughter rings through the room, even as his face remains as pleasantly blank as always. Sasuke doesn’t resist sending him a reproachful look. If he doesn’t want Sasuke insulting his guests, then he should’ve sent him away. Sasuke accepts no responsibility. His mental state is well established by now.

“Sit, Sasuke-kun.” Says Orochimaru-sama, a mean little smile hiding in the dip of his lips.  Who is the target here? Is this meant to irritate his guest or confuse Sasuke? Probably neither, honestly. Orochimaru-sama just wants to throw volatile ingredients into a pot and laugh at the ensuing forest-fire. “Please, have some tea. Chiharu-kun is here in an unofficial capacity. We are all friends here.”

Sasuke shrugs a little, but grabs his cup and scuttles up to the couch, folding into his spot. He’s getting more and more of these perches around the compound, and that makes him so pleasantly content. “As you say, Orochimaru-sama. Apologies in advance, Daimyo-sama. I will probably say and do a hundred impolite things, so. Yeah. Head’s up.”

“As Orochimaru-sama has said, we’re all friends here.” Sage, even his voice is lovely, a deeper end of a tenor, soft and commanding. Did Orochimaru-sama grow this man in a lab? Is Momochi onto something, here? “How are you settling in? The transferal of Uchiha property to Otogakure is, technically, in process, but I hope you weren’t counting on it arriving any time soon.”

Sasuke cocks his head a little at this beautiful man who Sasuke can only assume is—fucking with him? Maybe? “I mean. I can’t say I would bet my life that we would never see any of our old stuff, but like. It is pretty unlikely? Aniki and I are—not all that concerned about it, if I’m honest. Seems a bit silly to expect a Kage to just—transfer the Uchiha accounts to a different country, y’know. Shinobi killed a lot of people for a lot less money.”

“Now, now. I’m sure the Hokage won’t disobey the direct order of his Daimyo.” Says Orochimaru.

Sasuke looks at him blankly. Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra is amused, ringing with chaos-lust but other than that, Sasuke gets nothing useful. “Is this—Are you using some sort of code? Orochimaru-sama you haven’t taught me any code. It’s unfair to assume I’d understand.”

Another spike of laughter in Orochimaru-sama, mirrored by Chiharu-san’s. What are these people even drinking? He sniffs his tea discretely—smells like tea. Huh.

The problem is, Sasuke thinks, growing ever more confused, that if he makes a run for it, it’s all too possible Orochimaru-sama will summon Aniki. And then they are all going to find out how one Itachi Uchiha feels about a wickedly-sharp civilian who coincidentally looks like a prettier version of Shisui Uchiha. So. Sasuke shouldn’t leave. Not until he absolutely has to.

“Right.” He drawls uncertainly. “Yes, of course, naturally, the Hokage would, um. Honour the. Order. From the civilian Daimyo. About transferring, what, a sixth? Of Konoha’s liquid wealth? To—Oto no Kuni. That’s totally a thing that will happen, any day now, not a doubt in my mind.”

“Excellent. I’m glad we cleared that up.” Says Chiharu-san, with a perfectly inscrutable expression.

“After all, the Shinobi serve their Daimyo.” Says Orochimaru-sama. The words physically leave his mouth, and no God in heavens smites him for it. Sasuke feels a little betrayed, honestly.

“I am a fortunate man, to have such loyal subjects.” Says Chiharu-san. Sasuke chokes a little, or wheezes, or hiccups, it’s not certain. A little strangled noise of scandalized outrage cut with hysterical glee escapes his mouth and the two adults look at him tolerantly, like they are indulging the strange little wild-child.

“Right,” Sasuke says, just about done. “Chiharu-san—I feel I can call you Chiharu-san now, I feel like our relationship has evolved so far since we’ve met—is there anything specific you wanted to discuss with the, ah, Uchiha Clan?”

“Why, yes,” says Chiharu-san lips curving into an expression that has once seen a smile, shanked it and ate its kids. “I thought it only appropriate, considering I have requested one of you to guard me in the following months.”

Sasuke blinks at him once, before a helpless smile finds his way on his face, and he surrenders. “Sure, great, makes sense. I don’t suppose you would—elaborate?”

Chiharu-san tilts his head ever so slightly, eyes as closed-off as ever. If not for the steadily purpling Chakra, Sasuke would think the man was entirely emotionless. In a way, he’s even better at the whole ‘marble facade’ thing than Orochimaru-sama is, what with his tight grip on his Chakra.

“The intelligence provided by your esteemed brother, Uchiha Itachi-sama, suggests that Sunagakure will soon be engaged in war with Konohagakure. Since our country is small and relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of things, we will be required to take a side. I do not want to take a side. That makes my life not just expendable, but undesirable. Hence, my request. I will be relocating to Otogakure within the month.”

“Oh-kay.” He says, drawling a little. “That sounds very, ah, reasonable. So we are staying out of it, are we? Otogakure is going to just—not take part. In a war. Against Konoha. And you, Chiharu-san, will be guarded, personally, by Itachi. Bodyguarded, one might say.”

“Precisely.” Purrs Orochimaru and Sasuke sends him a look so full of helpless, awestruck admiration, that the man blinks back in surprise.

“I—okay. Great. That will, ah. Work out. So well. Really, I can’t foresee a single problem. No, nope. You will stay here with us, Chiharu-san, and have a grand old time. Love your hair by the way, is it naturally like that?”

That of all things brings the man to a pause. He blinks slowly, not in an expression of shock, but like a defensive mechanism. Like he is a cat signaling it is not afraid. “Thank you for the compliment, Sasuke-san. It is natural, yes. A quirk of genetics, or so I’m told.”

Sasuke smiles a little wider, swaying into unhinged-territory. “It really suits you. I mean, everything would, let’s be real, but the hair really, ah, brings the whole thing together.”

The more Sasuke speaks, the more confused the civilian becomes, and Orochimaru-sama looks like a shark that smelled blood. It doesn’t know where, exactly, the source is, or what it will find in the end, but there is blood, and it is fresh.

“How unusually forward of you, Sasuke-kun,” says Orochimaru-sama, fishing for information.

“Is it unusual?” He says back sweetly. “I don’t know that it is.”

He turns to Chiharu-san and softens his smile as best he can. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, Chiharu-san. I spoke the truth but I may have been pretty, um, gross about it. I try to stay in the ‘eerie and disturbing’ territory, but I may have crossed the line to ‘gross and inappropriate’. You are beautiful, but I am not like. Objectifying you, I promise.”

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra practically wails in laughter, at the same time as Chiharu-san’s composure finally breaks, as evidenced by his slightly widened eyes and a disbelieving tilt of his perfect eyebrows. “I am not offended, Sasuke-san. It would be hard to feel objectified by a child.”

Sasuke smiles, small and honest and probably a bit gruesome as all his smiles are these days. “Thank you. That is very sweet of you. I am—looking forward. To your stay here. It will be—something.”

He scrambles to leave before he does something stupid like start petting the man’s hand and clucking over his bad choices in life. Not that it wouldn’t be justified. Every choice Chiharu-san made that lead him here, about to put himself and his curls and his elegant collarbones in Aniki’s path, should be closely examined and re-evaluated.

“I—just remembered. Something I need to do, very urgently. Do you mind if I—”

“Not at all,” hums Orochimaru-sama, golden eyes light and mesmerizing. “It was a pleasure, as always. Have a productive day, Sasuke-kun. Give my best to your family.”

“I will. Nice meeting you Chiharu-san. Take care, bye!”

He speed-walks out of that room as fast as his legs can carry him without using Chakra or breaking into a run. Whoo boy, he doesn’t want to know anything else. Ignorance is his friend.

Why the Uchiha, Sasuke thinks, making his way through the winding corridors, on his way to vomit his questions over Tsunade-sama. Chiharu-san could have chosen Kimimaro—hell, he could have chosen Tsunade-sama. Why Uchiha? Is it an intimidation tactic—look at the mass murderer I am not afraid to be guarded by? If so that’s a damn stupid gamble. However many enemies the man thinks he has, Itachi has more.

What on earth is going on? It could conceivably be one of Orochimaru-sama’s games, but even for him—he usually settles for causing chaos outside of his damn house. Why would he want to bring the drama home?

Holy mother of chickens, this village is the best village.

Chapter Text

Tsunade-sama barely waits for Sasuke to finish speaking before she nicks the whole Genjutsu-memory-transfer thing in the bud.

“Listen, kid, I am on your side here. I want for you to finally train your Sage forsaken eyes as much as the next person. But nobody will be doing any serious mind-manipulation until I am damn certain your near-fatal brain trauma is properly healed. That goes for both of you. All three of you, damn.”

Sasuke grins at her, so, so relieved. He doesn’t want to back out of this project, not even a little. He also has somehow managed to grow human enough to be able to think about things properly. The soul-concert is important, but keeping their madcap little family whole is more important still. Aniki is barely a grown-up at the best of times. With everything that is coming their way, the Uchiha siblings need to focus on keeping together, both internally and as a family unit.

“That’s fine.” He meets Itachi’s eyes and tries to communicate how unbothered he is by the delay. “That’s why we thought to talk to you. My mind is a pretty strange place. I was—and am—honestly worried if it even compatible enough with your average human to transfer any memories.”

Itachi’s Chakra twitches in upset, tinted purple-blue of concern. Alright, some more damage control. “We’ll just have to do things the old-fashioned way.” Did that work? “In fact, didn’t you say Uchiha are trained in music traditionally? Why not throw in some lessons for me and then I can just play you the parts you need to know.” Perfect.

Not perfect. Instead of relieved, Itachi’s eyebrows curve into a high arch. “You will sit down for long enough to learn an instrument. You, Sasuke Uchiha, will spend hours each day going through repetitive drills so that it becomes muscle memory. For years.”

He shrugs. “Or I will heal enough of my, what was it, near-fatal brain trauma to transfer my memories after all. Or we will come up with a different solution altogether. We’re in no rush, ’s far as I can tell. The Uchiha are in Oto now, and it’s not like it's safe for us to go, well, anywhere else.  Well—you can leave and Kimimaro can leave, but me? Not for like, a decade yet. So. I have time. I have nothing but time. I am practically all time.”

Itachi cocks his head. “Is everything alright?” He says, cutting to the chase, as it were.

Hm. “Sure. I mean, I may have just learned that Suna will throw down with Konoha soon. So, That’s a thing. I also crashed a meeting Orochimaru-sama had with the Daimyo of Oto no Kuni. That was—a lot.”

Aniki’s already steady purpling Chakra solidifies, and he tugs Sasuke into a hug. “First thing’s first—you don’t need to worry about the war. Nobody with any sense will attack a relatively unimportant village when it is guarded by two of the Sanin, Jinchūriki of the Rokubi and, well, me.”

Sense, he says? Well, it’s good to know Shizune-san won’t attack Otogakure, goddamn.

“As for the rest, was this man—unpleasant? Rude in any way?”

The man? Which man? Oh, the Daimyo.

Damn, this bud needs nipping quick-like. “Not at all—not even a little. He was—”

How to phase this? How on earth does he go about priming his brother to Chiharu-san’s very existence? Other than outright saying: I’m worried the civilian coming to live with us is practically engineered to drive you up the wall. Also, what is your thing, assuming you even have a thing, and how might that thing interact with a civilian sharp enough to make Orochimaru of the Sanin look soft.

“—Polite. Very noble. Very, I don’t know? Pedigreed? Our Elders would have loved him so much, you have no idea.”

Some of the mounting venom leeches out of Itachi, taking with it most of the interest in the topic. The problem with fanatics, everywhere, is that things fall in neat little categories of ‘trivial’ and ‘must know, come what may, the Gods themselves will rue the day they thought to keep me from that which is mine’.

“A typical civilian Aristocrat,” Itachi says, dismissive air so condensed that it could probably be bottled. “He should be fairly harmless. This is not Fire Country, Daimyo of Oto no Kuni needs Orochimaru-sama considerably more than the reverse. Unlike Konoha, Oto doesn’t get any funding from their—our—Daimyo.”

You say that now, you sweet little murder-lamb. You say that now.

“I wouldn’t say he was harmless.” Why not start there? “He is—impressive. Real pretty. Smart. Sharp. Kind of dangerous, if we’re honest.”

Whoops. Wrong choice of words.

“Not to me.” He hurries to add, because his earlier assurances haven’t, apparently, been enough.  “He was, like, bafflingly polite to me. But—in general. As a person.”

“Ah.” Back to indifference, then? Sage help them all. “I imagine he would have to be capable. I haven’t met the man but I caught rumours and suchlike. Chiharu-dono was—is—a base-born son, with quite a few half-siblings before him in the line of succession. Quite a few after him as well. The previous Daimyo of Oto no Kuni—then Ta no Kuni—was by all accounts a fully-fledged psychopath. That Chiharu-dono survived at all is a testament to his will.”

Sasuke pauses for a moment, partly exasperated but also—well, amused, honestly. What even, must everyone have a messed up, tragic backstory?

“Capable civilian.” He says, hoping that, if nothing else, repeating that might increase the chances of it sticking in Aniki’s memory, if he ends up being as extra about this as Sasuke thinks he will be. “With a lot of enemies, from what I gather.” He waits to see if that made any impression—not a one. Okay, so that might not even ping on Aniki’s radar anymore. If anything, someone not having a lot of enemies would raise a lot of red flags. “It is decent of him, though.” He tries again. “That he’s keeping his country out of the coming war.”

Itachi hums, finally the slightest bit invested. “That is true. I can’t see how he could possibly manage it—the smaller countries have never succeeded in staying neutral in these types of conflicts. But Otogakure is pretty unique, these days.”

Huh—is that? Success? Did he succeed? With, what, pacifism? Goodness, let’s all of them join hands and pray for that not being the case because whatever might be motivating Chiharu-san, pacifism wasn’t it. “Maybe we’ll be a safe zone.” He says weakly. “We’re a den of missing-nin already—maybe we’ll collect more.”

Itachi sends him a look filled with helpless adoration that communicates very well how stupid that thought was, but how much stronger still Itachi’s love is. Which, okay, maybe collecting more valuable people other people want dead and dissected and possibly harvested for parts isn’t the best way to stay secure.

“In any case, it will be a turbulent time for Kimimaro, and we should try to help.” Says Itachi with a note of a man back on firm ground. “I don’t know this Daimyo in particular, but they’re finicky as a species. Organizing his stay here and supplying the requisite levels of extravagant wealth will be tedious. I am surprised Orochimaru-sama agreed to it at all.”

Sasuke carefully doesn’t think about the possible reasons Orochimaru-sama could have for agreeing to this newest insanity. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s in character, overall. Orochimaru-sama is nothing if not eager for new experiences. Plus, from what I’ve seen, Chiharu-san is as down-to-earth as any adult is.”

Itachi’s lips quirk up. “You use the honorific ‘san’ for the Daimyo?”

“Oh, that’s nothing. I also called him pretty and asked if his hair is natural. Like I said—sweet guy. Maybe. Definitely polite, and, ah, difficult to read.”

“Again with the compliments.” Says Itachi with a teasing lilt. “Should I interpret this conversation as you easing me into the idea of starting a harem one day?”

Oh, if only.

“Naw.” He says, grinning hard and wide. “Not only would the weight of Chiharu-san’s attention crush me into fine dust, he is much too old for me. Old and scary. Mainly scary. My adrenaline-addiction seems to be blessedly absent, and thank the Sage for that.”

“That’s a weight off my mind. I’d support you and your stable of spouses, but it sounds like a logistical nightmare.”

“He had made a point of introducing himself to me,” he adds, after a short break for snacks. Which, of course, means sweets and a sunny place for them to bask in. For a creepy underground facility, Orochimaru-sama built a surprising amount of hidden little nooks where direct sunlight can reach inside. Then again, Orochimaru-sama’s snakes would require a robust basking system. “Chiharu-san. To the Uchiha Clan.”

“Oh?” Itachi’s eyes are closed, and the word is slightly muffled by the sheer volume of mochi in his mouth.

“Yeah. It seems that making his intentions about staying out of the upcoming conflict have made his life—unlikely to continue without intervention. Our intervention. Well—your intervention. I don’t imagine anyone expects me to keep anyone alive.” Including himself, really.

One of Itachi’s eyes cracks open, sending him a lazy glance. Itachi looks like a cat pretty much all the time, but in times like these, it’s really damn stark. “Our, as in Otogakure, or our as in mine?” 

Here we go. “Yours specifically. Well—Uchiha Clan’s specifically, but I don’t think he meant Kimimaro.”

“A moment.” He sits up slightly, swallowing a truly improbable amount of sweet bean paste. “The civilian Kage of Oto no Kuni has requested me to guard him during his stay in Otogakure?”

Sasuke shrugs a little, keeping a close eye on Itachi’s Chakra. So far it’s calm, for the most part. Lazy and sated, if tinged pink for confused curiosity. “Yeah. Said so himself. Orochimaru-sama seems okay with it. Although to be fair, I think he mainly thinks it's funny.”

“Did he seem—crazed to you? You read him, I assume. Is he paranoid? Delusional? Plagued with an over-inflated sense of importance?”

He can’t help a small huff of laughter from bubbling up. “Not in the slightest. I can’t speak to his mind, but his Chakra is like a steel trap. I’ve never come across a man with such a firm grip on his spirit.”

Itachi chews on this for a long minute. “Is it—do you think this is one of Orochimaru-sama’s schemes? Does he want the man to die?”

Well. “I don’t think he wants the man gone, no. I’m pretty sure they were—involved at some point. Just a vibe I picked up. As for the why—I have no idea. It could be a power move of some sort? He had just gotten the official brief from the Fire Country’s Daimyo that Uchiha Clan’s assets will be transferred to Otogakure.”

Itachi turns an incredulous look on him, Chakra shuddering with shocked laughter. “The Uchiha assets. Our Clan funds. Will be—transferred. To—where exactly? What—”

“I know, right,” Sasuke says, all sorts of vindicated. “The two of them, Orochimaru-sama and Chiharu-san, had this quiet sort of cynical humour thing going on when they told me. I don’t know.”

“Do you think Orochimaru-sama wants the Fire Country’s Daimyo to die?” Asks Itachi, Chakra still rippling. “Because ordering the Hokage to hand over the Uchiha accounts to a different Village—one founded by Orochimaru-sama—even if we had any financial or investment institution capable of receiving them—”

“I mean, he might?” It’s absolutely a thing that Orochimaru-sama would find amusing. “Sounds like something he’d get a kick out of.” Wait. “Now that I think about it, that request would make Chiharu-san pretty unpopular with Konoha, wouldn’t it?”

Itachi, now fully sitting up, loses his battle with composure, and barks a short laugh. “So you think Chiharu-dono requested me to guard him against Konoha?”

“I sure hope so.” Wow, Orochimaru-sama is a bad influence. Sasuke has always been a wild card, but Itachi never really had such an appreciation for chaos. “Sage, imagine. Who would they even send—who would even take that mission?”

“To be fair, Konoha probably wouldn't assume Orochimaru-sama would allow the civilian Daimyo to take shelter in Otogakure. Much less, that the man would be bold enough to request me as a bodyguard. If Chiharu-dono had stayed in his civilian residence, a half-trained Chūnin could solve that problem quite easily for the Hokage.”

Sasuke lets that idea sink in, tries to imagine what it must be like in Konoha, to be the outside observers of the sheer volume of chaos that has been spun by, like, three Shinobi and a blind, insane untrained child. “Man, I never knew politics could be so fun. You gotta keep that man alive, Aniki. He’s such a masterpiece of chaos—you do realize how much of this insanity is only possible because of Chiharu-san? Because of his completely empty title?”

“I am starting to realize that, yes.” Muses Itachi. “It is admirable, truthfully. We Shinobi tend to look down on civilians—I often wonder about how they can stand being so powerless in a world this dangerous. Then someone like this Chiharu-dono comes along who knows the game so well, he somehow outplays men and women that could crush him with a flick of a finger.”

Well—Sasuke’s goal was to prepare Itachi a little. Does this count as success? “Sounds stressful.” He says for lack of something better to say. It’s true though. As far as he can see, Chiharu-san’s life consists of constantly playing his opponents against one another, making daring moves and constantly shifting the board around to suit him. It doesn’t sound like a very sustainable model to Sasuke, honestly.

“I imagine a man of his background didn’t have a lot of choices in life. The ‘do or die’ motto is true for us, but it is especially true for him. The question of motivation is, perhaps, more interesting.”

That is true.

“Well, we might find out soon enough, what with him in the process of moving here. Who knows—maybe we will make a new friend? With how cracked everyone is in this village, Chiharu-san sounds like someone who will fit right in.”

Chapter Text

Now that Itachi has been primed on the danger of Chiharu-sama’s presence—or sabotaged even further by making the civilian fascinating before his curls and collarbones even came into play—it is time to make sure the third Uchiha brother gets the support he needs. In this case, support means helping Kimimaro develop a framework for handling the situation in any way. It is very unclear to Sasuke if Kimimaro has ever seen a civilian in his life, much less one as—complicated as this one.

Kimimaro’s grip on hierarchies is another thing Sasuke isn’t very confident in. It is entirely possible that, in the tried and true Uchiha way, Kimimaro’s personal hierarchy goes something like Orochimaru-sama—his family—nothing else. Where a civilian Daimyo—who is technically Orochimaru-sama’s superior—fits into that, is anybody’s guess. Especially since the very idea of someone being Orochimaru-sama’s superior would likely cause Kimimaro to start some creative problem-solving by means of indiscriminate murder. 

Otokage’s—Kimimaro’s—office door is always closed, which means different things to different groups. If you’re Orochimaru-sama, Sasuke or Itachi, it means absolutely nothing. Kimimaro will sense your arrival and push the door open well before you are in reach of doing so. If you’re anybody else, you wait or fight for your life.

The charming part of the whole song and dance is when Kimimaro interrupts whatever meeting he’s in. Like what will happen soon. Sasuke doesn’t need to be a sensor, to be very physically aware of the Avatar of Kisshōten-okami-sama shackled inside a puny human shell. The trick, now, he tells himself firmly, is to keep your soul away from it. Which, okay, sure.

“Sasuke-kun, Itachi-sama,” Kimimaro says. “It is a pleasure. Come, please, sit and tell me how I may serve.”

Sage wept, the phrasing.

“Hey Kimimaro,” he says brightly, stretching as far as he can to give the stupidly tall ex-Kaguya a hug. “Sorry for interrupting your work. Aniki and I missed you and thought we should come say hi. See how you’re doing. Maybe help in some way.”

Kimimaro shakes his head off-handedly as if they don’t have a very curious audience  “You are always more important. If you would be patient for just a couple of minutes, I will be finished here.”

“We’re here to help, Kimimaro.” Soothes Itachi, with admittedly more success than Sasuke would have had. “Please, direct us as you would.”

“’S right,” Sasuke adds, just to be a pest. “We are here, reporting for duty, acting-Otokage-sama.”

It's a testament to how far they’ve come, that Kimimaro not only understands the joke but is somewhat willing to play along. Somewhat. Enough not to fall into a hole of endless denials.

“Well, let me introduce you to Otogakure’s newest residents. Ex-Kiri, meet my precious brother, Sasuke-kun. Touch him and die screaming. Sasuke-kun, in order of seniority, meet Utakata-san, a Jōnin of Otogakure as of today, and Momochi-san and Yuki-san, Tsunade-sama’s temporary guards.”

Sasuke bites his lip to stop himself from cooing adoringly at his awkward duckling of a brother and turns instead to the Kiri-crew. Leave the Jinchūriki for last, you know you won’t be able to look away otherwise.

Momochi-san, well. Hmm. He’s certainly striking. Huge, too. Easily the tallest man he’s seen so far, about a full half taller than Aniki—a good head taller than Orochimaru-sama, and that’s not an insignificant height at all. Hulking build, too—kind of. His shoulders are much, much too wide for his body type it seems to Sasuke. Probably something to do with a big-ass sword strapped to his back. A sword with a Chakra-signature, what on Earth—

“Hey big guy,” he says, eyes trained at the impossibility. “Did you know that your sword is alive? Alive-alive, too, not just like, Chakra-conducive.”

“Sasuke.” Sighs Itachi, fooling no one. Sasuke can feel without looking how Itachi’s Charka is snickering.

“Hey shrimp,” grins the Kiri swordsman who either files his teeth into sharp points like a complete maniac or is born that way, which is somehow even better. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. In the case you’re talking about Kubikiribōchō being alive, I’m a hundred per cent down for that.”

Wow, the sword has ‘Kiri’ in its name. Dedication.

“Awesome.” He says, craning his head so he could look the man in the eye. When you strip away the layers of artifice, Momochi-san’s features are actually quite delicate. A very narrow jaw, and cheekbones curved so finely, they wouldn’t be out of place on a Geisha. Deep-set dark eyes outlined by thick lashes, and a heavier brow-line than the norm, almost jutting out, casting the face in a soulful light. It’s a study in contrasts, almost, an even split between harsh lines and soft curves that made for a very eye-catching man.

If not for keeping his Chakra very close so as not to come in contact with the impossibility lounging in the corner, Sasuke would love to sink his teeth into Momochi-san’s Chakra and see what makes him tick.

“Honor, Uchiha-san.” Calls a quiet voice from the side—presumably Yuki-san.

“Hi!” Shinobi don’t, as a rule, bare their necks to other Shinobi, but Sasuke is entirely too cracked for any such reasonable misgivings. He bows his head easily, hair falling down.

Huh, he thinks after he straightens and looks the man-boy over. That’s Yuki-san, is it? What did Aniki say—Momochi-san hides his gentleness, and Yuki-san hides his viciousness?

Wow, is Aniki bad at reading people? Yuki-san isn’t hiding anything. Yuki-san flaunts his shiny alligator scales with the smug boldness of an animal comfortably at the top of the food chain. Much like Aniki, actually. There is nothing in the too-perfect slope of his cheeks and too-soft angle of his eyes that doesn’t scream ‘design’, ‘danger’ and ‘death’. Honestly, if Yuki-san told him that he has fatal venom in his teeth and nails, he’d believe it in a second. Even the heavy curtain of perfectly straight hair looks dangerous, somehow.

“Wow.” He says, blinking a little. “You’re terrifying. Don’t eat me, please. Or like, be quick about it. You look to be the type who prefers keeping your prey fresh and tasty for a long time.”

Yuki-san smiles an empty, meaningless smile at him, still somehow conveying how pleased he is with Sasuke’s assessment. Momochi-san huffs a laugh, shark-teeth glinting. Oh, okay, they’re real, not just cosmetic. There are two rows of them, for one, and that certainly doesn’t happen on its own. Goddamn Kiri.

“Nobody is eating you, Sasuke-kun.” Says Kimimaro automatically, but he looks as confused as he is capable of. Which, okay, Kimimaro is also bad at reading people. Are they—do they think Momochi-san is the dangerous one here? Really?

“I wouldn’t even if I could,” says Yuki-san.

“Of course you could,” he dismisses. “All of you could, but you especially. No offence to your Master, but you fit in well, here. I’ll see about corralling Orochimaru-sama into working with you a little. He’s playing a similar game as you are, I think.”

“Oi, no poaching my apprentice, shrimp,” says Zabuza, going for a half-hearted grumble. “Haku is mine.”

“And Orochimaru-sama is mine.” Says Sasuke, wholly reasonable. “Mine and Aniki’s and Kimimaro’s. Doesn’t mean we can’t share. Plus, no offence, but between you and Yuki-san, I’d put money on Yuki-san.”

“Now, now.” Says Itachi, amused to the point that it rings through his voice. He had tucked himself into the armchair behind Kimimaro’s desk while Sasuke was talking, and his sprawl is a thing of beauty. That there is pure Orochimaru-sama—or maybe Mikoto Uchiha? “Don’t be rude. You’re ignoring Utakata-san.”

“My bad.” He gathers his composure as best he can, sucks in his Chakra way, way back until it is buzzing under his skin nervously, not a wisp outside that could connect to things it shouldn’t. “Hi—”

The man—teenager, really, somewhere around Itachi’s age—is the only one of the Kiri-crew that is sitting down. Way back in the corner of the room, resting comfortably in a lotus position.

The first thing Sasuke thinks is—the man could be Orochimaru-sama’s son. With black hair falling over one eye, the visible one a deep amber that looks back at Sasuke with a mild curiosity—the boy is the spitting image of Orochimaru-sama.

Wow, Sasuke thinks, taking in the spectacular cut of Utakata-san’s smile, and the long, long lines of his neck. He’s even dressed in a similar fashion to Orochimaru-sama if miles more provocative. The blue kimono is, even to Sasuke’s ignorant eye, opulent, with its purple silk collar and a bright orange sash. The embroidery on the sash alone would be a statement, never mind the rest. The Uchiha are as noble as you can get in Fire Country and even they wouldn’t dare wear orange so boldly.

Sasuke is staring—he knows, Itachi knows, everyone other than, perhaps, Kimimaro knows. He doesn’t have a single problem with it.

Utakata-san, perhaps a bit more socially adjusted, breaks the silence. He rises to his feet in a strangely fluid motion that hints at a lack of any joints to speak of and bows formally. “I am humbled, Uchiha-sama. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am indebted to you and your family for my safe haven here.”

Sasuke blinks once, twice, three times. Alright, he thinks, completely unprepared to feeling flustered. So this is happening. Also—what a strange way to start a conversation?

“Okay.” He says, a couple of beats too slow. “That’s. You know I had nothing at all to do with any of that? You don’t need to thank any of us, of course, but if you really feel like you must, try Aniki. Maybe Orochimaru-sama if we’re being pedantic about it. Me, though? I’m more of a mascot than anything. I can’t tell you what to feel and stuff, but surely you have better things to do than be grateful to me of all people.”

Kimimaro sends him a look of outrage, genuine enough that Sasuke is a bit proud. “You’re not a mascot. You’re Orochimaru-sama’s apprentice. You’re the second most important person in the village.”

Bless.

“Sentimental value doesn’t count,” he says, managing to tear his eyes away from the possible-Orochi in their midst. “But let’s not get into family drama with our new friends.” Almost against his will, his eyes snap back to Utakata-san. “Are you settling in well? I admit I kind of forgot you moved in. Things are always hectic around here.”

Holy Hell, was that a sane, well-adapted thing to say. It’s like he’s a real boy!

Utakata-san is still smiling his mind-bindingly sweet smile, but he’s stopped with bowing which is not nothing.  He’s tall, remarks Sasuke with the part of his mind not fixed on the way both amber eyes were visible for a moment before hair obscured the left one again. “Kimimaro-sama is an exceptional leader. I am grateful for his kindness.”

Which isn’t an answer, really, but he gets the impression that getting a concrete answer out of Utakata-san will be a trial.

“Aniki tells me you can fly.” He says, instead of something less appropriate. He’s already objectified one beautiful man today, let’s not make it two. “And that you can sense Nature Chakra.” And that you can be my husband once I’m sixteen. “That is, like, the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“My Dragonflies give me the ability, yes,” Utakata-san says, as serene as a cloud. “Thank you for your kind words.”

His—his—

“And you summon.” He says, voice rising in pitch. “Of course you do—what was I thinking—Dragonflies?”

Something—strange is happening to Sasuke’s Chakra. Keeping it under his skin is getting difficult enough to almost be undoable. The pathways around his eyes are especially restless.

Utakata inclines his head slowly—softly. “I am lucky enough to have forged a contract with the Dragonflies, yes.”

Alllllright.

“That is—super.” He manages to say, all his focus going towards keeping his restless Chakra away. “Really impressive. You are amazing, Utakata-san. I—Aniki!”

Itachi’s head snaps up from where he had it pillowed languidly on one palm. “Yes.” Bless his paranoid heart, for once it’s warranted.

“I need—can you take me to—the training ground real quick.” He says, rushing through his words. “So sorry, Kiri-crew, you’re all wonderful and I’m, like, awe-struck by all of you, really, but I’m, as you will come to learn, not the straightest kunai in a set.”

Itachi doesn’t waste his time with pleasantries but unfurls from his sprawl with all the ease of an animal born to stalk and slink. Kimimaro moves to join, but Sasuke waves him off. “Please, stay with our friends.” Best reinforce the notion of friendship for his more volatile brother—who knows what conclusions he could come to with Sasuke’s abrupt exist. “I would hate to distract you from your work.”

Whatever else is said, Sasuke ignores it, keeping his Chakra where it should be with baffling difficulty. This has, to his knowledge, never happened before. What on Earth—

Itachi spirits him towards the training ground as efficiently as he does anything Sasuke-related. They may have ploughed through a Shinobi or two, but they’re in their own private wing of the Compound and sequestered in the warded-off training ground in less than three minutes.

Sasuke melts into a heap of sweaty, confused boy-child as soon as Itachi places him on the ground. “What is happening,” Itachi says, sitting down next to him.

“I—don’t know.” He says, with complete honesty. “I was—you know how I read people’s Chakra with my own, right?” Nod. “Well, as soon as I realized I would be close to a real-life Bijū I thought to myself, Sasuke, unless you want to try soul-touching an actual Avatar of the Gods, you had best keep your Chakra nice and tucked away beneath your skin.”

“Very clever.” Praises Itachi, apparently unable to stop himself.

“Thank you. It would be even better if it had worked. But—something about Utakata-san makes my Chakra—restless. The longer I stayed in the room with him, the more it just—bucked. It’s bizarre, Aniki, my soul is, well, mine. It’s like if your legs just—moved on their own.”

What makes it extra weird is that, as soon as he moved away from the Kiri Shinobi, it had settled. It takes almost no effort to keep it nice and contained now, for example.

Itachi hums a thoughtful noise, eyes evaluating. He knows something. His Chakra, for one, is shading into a blue-white Sasuke has come to associate with rapid thinking. “Can you narrow the source? I suspect the answer might be fairly obvious, for all that I am not sure how to feel about it.”

Sasuke spends a long moment just—breathing. In and out, stay where you are. Remember—straight to Orochimaru-sama after this. You definitely need to get your drugs adjusted, if you’re going to keep emoting this intently, damn.

“I’d say it was Utakata-san if I had to guess.” Huh, look at that. He wasn’t even certain of the fact until he said it out loud.

“Right.” Itachi’s expression melts into something very, very soft and melancholy. His Chakra shifts to match, wrapping itself around Sasuke with airy wisps, engulfing and caressing in equal measure. Sasuke legit tears up, it’s so lovely. “Now, I could be wrong, of course. But I suspect you have your heritage to blame for this.”

No.

“No.”

Itachi shuffles closer and hauls him partway into his lap. Not being an idiot, Sasuke relaxes into it without a thought, burying his nose into the soft skin under Itachi’s jaw, luxuriating in the warmth of the embrace. “Yes.”

“Are you—is that even possible? For me?” He would have bet both his eyes—Hell, he’d have bet things much more valuable than his damn eyes—that he was much too cracked to have a Person at all.

“Of course it is,” sighs Itachi. “I had hoped you would get a few more years to heal before you had to deal with this. But all signs point to it. Something very similar happened to me when I first met you. I couldn’t feel my Chakra as well as you can, of course, but I could feel the—connection.”

Sasuke feels dizzy and small and a strange flavour of lost. He hadn’t felt this way—for a good many years. Since he had discovered meditation, in fact. It sucks and he doesn’t like it.

“No connection is made, though.” He points out, not appreciating for a second how uncertain and wobbly his voice is. “I kept it from forming.”

A warm hand cards through his hair, and he leans into it, soaking every single atom of warmth and love he can. Being needy is not a foreign sensation, but it was mostly play, before. Endless self-indulgence. Not like now. Now he sort of feels like he might randomly burst into tears at any point. Like he has lost something or gained something or both. Whatever it is, he is hormonal, emotional and not getting calmer. If anything he’s unravelling by the moment.

Itachi presses a kiss into his hair, and Sasuke loses the battle with composure entirely. Wow, damn, is it weird to cry. He hadn’t cried in—a long time. He hadn’t felt this strongly—potentially ever.

“And how long do you think you can keep it back,” Itachi says, softer than Sasuke had ever heard him. “You won’t last a day. I am sorry, little brother, but as exceptional as you are in everything, you are still an Uchiha. You’ve sat the lessons. You know better than to go against it.”

“Were you like this?” He whines, shifting so he’s at least not tracking tears and snot onto Aniki’s skin because that’s gross. “All wonky and teary and stuff?”

The arms embracing him tighten a little, and the soft tenor hardens just-so. “Oh, I was much worse. Remember, you are the kind one between the two of us. I stabbed the person who tried to take you from me in the stomach and ran. The MPF were entirely unprepared for having to subdue a feral five-year-old carrying a newborn without damaging either one of us.”

Wow. “You’re so amazing, Aniki,” he says—wails, really. “Why can’t you be my Person? I don’t know this Utakata, no matter how handsome and soft and cool he looks to be.”

The wispy blue-green of Itachi’s Chakra sours into a red-violet of rage-jealousy-greed, which sobers Sasuke right-quick. How stupid are you? Really? Is this what you say to Aniki right now? You remind him that his Person has another Person who is not him? Really? Do you want all three of you to die?

“I have decided.” He says before Itachi had managed to force down his more primal response. “I have decided that no matter what Utakata-san ends up being, you will always be my Person first. Damn the biological imperative. And, like, he looks like a cool guy. We could share him. Like Kimimaro. He could be the family Person. Deal?”

Whatever Itachi gets from that deranged little bit of word-vomit, it’s enough to lighten his Chakra back to the brown-blue-green cloud of love and care and comfort, which is such a resounding success that Sasuke is both proud of himself and slightly suspicious. He’s not that good at comforting people, as a rule.

“I don’t know about sharing.” He says. “I am bound to adore your Person either way because they are yours. But you never know how these things develop. You may end up with a familial bond as I have with you, but you may not. I would like to avoid even an implication of anything—improper, if you please. I love you with all my heart, but there are some lines I am not prepared to even acknowledge much less cross.”

Ew.

“Well, that’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard.” He says with all the earnestness he can produce. “Thank you for that. That’s just what I needed right now.”

The vibrations of Itachi’s chuckles spread through Sasuke, making him shiver in delight. “You’re welcome. I am serious, however. You’re far from a child, you know as well as I do how unpredictable these things are, especially if your Person is not an Uchiha.”

“Especially if your Person is a Jinchūriki.” Adds Sasuke. Thing is, the more they talk about it, the more, well, comfortable with the concept he gets. It’s beyond strange, the ease with which his mind has bent itself to accommodate this new reality, this new state of being.

Another laugh, this time slightly tinged with wonder. “There haven’t been that many Jinchūriki, overall. Uchiha have bonded to all sorts of people over the centuries, but never a Jinchūriki. You’re sailing uncharted territory, here. The only advice I have is to try not to fight it. You will tear yourself apart, and won’t get anywhere. It’s a curse as real as the Sharingan, and you can’t even rip it out.”

Damn.

“We had best talk to Orochimaru-sama.” Sasuke sighs, very comfortable in his puddle of self-pity. “He will laugh so hard, he might never stop.”

“And Tsunade-sama.” Says Itachi.

Yeah, Tsunade-sama would help, actually. She won’t laugh—not out loud anyways. “And Shizune-san. And Kimimaro. But later. Kimimaro is a delicate little bean. Best break it to him carefully.”

Chapter Text

It really says a lot about how rattled Sasuke must have looked, that Orochimaru-sama abandoned all Chiharu-sama-shaped schemes and cleared out of his office without a word. Tsunade-sama, having spoken to them earlier, is even quicker to abandon her Fūinjutsu research. Not an hour after Sasuke’s heritage decided to announce its presence with a full band and a fire-show, his family sits in an unused lab space, Chakra laden with varying degrees of dread.

“Alright, devil children.” Says Tsunade-sama. “I don’t even doubt that whatever is happening is important. Just—spit it out, quickly and without mercy.”

Sasuke tries for a smile. It doesn’t work out. His face hurts from crying, his scars feel tighter than usual and when he spreads his lips into his best approximation of a grin, they pull and tug, skin stretching oddly over his skull. As awful as it probably looks, it’s a very honest representation of his emotional state.

Everybody’s Chakra grows sharp, dense and sort of—expectant? Maybe? Orochimaru-sama’s soul-music loses the top, fluttery notes and gains a thick, solid sound that envelops the rest into a somewhat harmonious bundle. It makes Sasuke feel safe but also weepy and a little concerned. Huh.

“How familiar are you with the imprinting phenomenon characteristic to the Uchiha?” Says Itachi, cutting to the point, as it were.

“As much as can be expected.” This, from Orochimaru-sama, means precisely nothing, what with him gaslighting the world about his Uchiha obsession for however many years. “Not really interesting other than in contemplating the challenges that phenomenon poses in the socio-political context of having a large number of Uchiha under one’s command.”

A flash of humour skitters down Sasuke’s ribcage. If only more people were as capable of extrapolating basic truths to the future, there would have been much less drama.

Itachi sends the older man an impressed look but doesn’t let up. “You know and accept it to be the truth? Not a self-serving excuse?”

Tsunade-sama makes a small sound, entirely devoid of humour. “Kid, if I ever meet a self-serving Uchiha I will be the first one to congratulate the sorry bastard for having unearthed a modicum of sense. We all know about Uchiha and their People.”

“Well.” Says Itachi, visibly gathering his composure. “There is no simple way to put this—”

“I met my Person.” Blurts out Sasuke. He had not planned to do so—he was grateful that Itachi would be the one to break the news. And yet, he couldn’t stand not being the one to say it first. “It’s—yeah. It's true. Visibly, demonstrably true. My Chakra is reaching out for theirs, trying to make a connection. I’ve been able to keep it back for now, but I can’t do it for long.” He will be too crazed to even try if he keeps this up for too long. Already he can feel threads of his hard-won stability unravel.

The silence that falls on the room is—complicated. Tsunade-sama and Shizune-san are relieved, if anything. Kimimaro is blank, like he has no earthly way of exploring the information for any degree of meaning. Orochimaru-sama is the only one with a—less than stellar reaction.

“Who is it.” His Chakra reacts in a new way, the notes flowing together until the result is a sort of determined, unified wall of sound. Wall—or a river. A deep, complex mass larger than you can truly understand, but still dynamic, still changing. Moving.

“Woah.” Sasuke isn’t really sure if he wants to cry more or less right about now. “That’s spectacular, Orochimaru-sama, can you feel your—”

“Focus, apprentice,” says Orochimaru-sama, voice as pleasant as you can wish for, lilting and airy. “Which human have you imprinted on?”

“I—” Itachi shifts uneasily, which, okay, Sasuke gets it. He does—a threat to Sasuke’s Person is a direct threat to Sasuke, that is very, very established. Still—Sasuke hasn’t gotten this far by doubting his found family.

“Utakata-san,” he says, smiling a little. “I will spare you all the gushing I want to do, but you can assume it’s always the subtext of everything I say going forward.”

Not a muscle twitches on Orochimaru-sama’s face, but his Chakra lets off a little, the wrathful thunder of sound easing into a more leisurely stream. Still very, very determined but less Godly Disapproval and more You Have The Whole And Undivided Attention Of A Kage.

“Utakata would be the Jinchūriki child from Kiri? Kimimaro.”

Kimimaro straightens, Chakra shivering in delighted anticipation. “Yes, my Lord?”

“Your opinion on this Utakata, first as an individual, then as someone who would hold your youngest brother’s life in his hands.”

Kimimaro, to his credit, gives this due thought as far as Sasuke can see. “As an individual, the subject is weak, blinded by sentiment and hobbled by lack of direction. He has no purpose, so he would fight back only nominally. Appears to be a pacifist, unreasonably averse to conflict. More intelligent than myself to the point where I cannot estimate it with any degree of precision. Everything I would look for in a subordinate and nothing I would accept in a leader. In no way deserving or worthy of Sasuke-sama’s attention.”

Well shit. Whatever the hurricane in his belly thought it was doing before, it certainly gets it’s act together now. Something a lot like overwhelmed pride cut with self-conscious longing rages inside of him, making spots dance in front of his eyes. His Chakra rises slowly but surely, expanding from his body, for once not bothering with being in any way subtle.

Five pairs of eyes snap to him and he grits his teeth, very aware of how audibly his Chakra is crying for its Person. Not to mention, Sasuke’s Chakra is, well. Not all that human, most likely. Also, dense. Concentrated.

“Sorry,” he grits out. “I am—not really all there at the moment. It’s—I’m trying, but talking about my—about Utakata-san, while I’m holding my Chakra back from connecting with his—You can’t expect me not to be affected.”

“And what, exactly, must you do?” Whatever little calm he found before is gone. Orochimaru-sama is right back in Godly Wrath territory. “What will your biology shackle you into? I can guarantee that biological limitations can be stretched further than you’d think, if what is required is not something you are—inclined to do. I understand there is a psychological element to consider. There are also options. Many options, which we’ve barely begun to explore.”

Oh—h, so that’s what the problem is?

“Nothing like that!” Best get ahead of this before Aniki gets in on it and they have a proper Situation on their hands. “I don’t need to do anything, other than stop preventing my Charka from forming the connection. I don’t—I am Itachi’s Person, and he didn’t have to—I mean, he bonded to me when I was, like, a newborn—”

Golden eyes snap to Itachi’s, intense enough to melt steel. “Is this true? Will nothing—else—be required of him? The Jinchūriki boy, he can be handled. There are steps I am perfectly able and willing to take that will leave the boy living and arguably healthy, while not in possession of anything colloquially known as free will.”

Itachi’s eyes are as wide as they can go, not intimidated as much as confused. “No, of course not. Not more than a third of Uchiha soul-bonds result in a romantic partnership. As for any—alterations, maybe that can be—our last option?”

The problem is, Sasuke thinks, not even sure what he should be concerned about, is that now that the thought is out there, it would be all too likely for Aniki’s possessive insanity to latch onto it. Never mind, that’s a problem for future-Sasuke. For now, Itachi seems to be holding it together pretty well. He continues, after a brief pause. “I don’t—for all that our stories tend to end in tragedy, abuse between soul-bonded is a vanishingly rare phenomenon. Plus—speaking from experience—if someone suggested keeping Sasuke lobotomized and pliable was enough to keep my, as you say, biological imperative under control—I would not be very receptive to such arguments, flawless logic or not.”

“Receptive,” hums Orochimaru-sama, the howling in his Chakra growing even deeper somehow, gaining a discordant note, a raspy, mean twist of an otherwise clear melody. “We are not discussing your brother’s comfort. We are discussing his freedom. I will not have his will bound to that of another. He is under nobody’s thumb, at the end of no leash. If you think I will not engage in some morally questionable actions to make sure that remains the case, you do not know me very well.”

Itachi’s Chakra bristles right back, and Sasuke is finally privy to the rare sight of his brother growing angry.

Alright then. Time to step in.

“Now hold on just a mo’. Let’s be real here, I am no more bound to him than I am to you, Orochimaru-sama. You’re like, both my parental figures rolled into one. I love you heaps. Would absolutely do weird, unwise things to get you back if you were taken from me. Having a Person is no different, when you get rid of the frills and whistles.”

That’s the expression, right? Doesn’t matter. Orochimaru-sama is jarred from one of his weird overreactions—fear of being controlled—and is on the verge of plunging into another—fear of having, and therefore eventually losing, someone’s love. Itachi is similarly stuck between misunderstandings. On one hand, there is the notion that having a Person—in his case, Sasuke—is like being enslaved and that it would be acceptable to maim that person so as to keep your autonomy. On the other hand, Itachi likely assumes that Orochimaru-sama’s anger comes from a possessive angle, and not a, well, traumatized one.

“That’s true,” says Kimimaro, with the air of a man who finally had something click together in his mind. “You are describing devotion, no? The hierarchy of devotion, to be more precise. It is what you have been teaching me, Itachi-o’nii-sama? Of spoken and unspoken web of social contracts that a person forms to manage being devoted to multiple people or causes?”

Wow. “Kimimaro, you’re so smart,” Sasuke gushes. “That is exactly it. I don’t know why everyone here forgot how obsessive Uchiha are about a wide range of things and people, not just their soul-bonded. I have it on good authority that our mother loved her blades significantly more than—” Me “—almost any of her friends. I am perfectly capable of being equally irrationally obsessed with both of my brothers, my Person, my parental figure, the cool aunt that teaches me how to drink and have safe sex and the sane cousin that keeps me going when the world becomes too weird to live in. ”

Well, that did—something. It stopped the two S-ranked divas from going at it indoors, which is a strike in the ‘pro’ column. It catapulted both of them into heights of emotionally overwhelmed shock, which is—maybe in the ‘con’ column? Maybe? It’s unclear.

“So, to recap,” Sasuke says, well and truly ready to get the fuck away from here. “I met my soul-bonded, who seems by all accounts to be as close to harmless as a Shinobi can get. The nature of the connection and how it’s formed will likely make me a weepy, clingy mess, so that’s something to keep in mind. Most importantly, I will in no way neglect my wildly unhealthy attachment to all of you because of my newest unhealthy attachment.”

Tsunade-sama’s Chakra has been growing lighter and softer for a while now, but by now it’s practically sugar-fluff and butterfly-kisses. “Got it. I can’t say I expected you to be the first of the kids to bring back a boyfriend, but unlike all of you here, I actually spoke to Utakata. He’s sweet, polite, timid and wouldn’t hurt a fly. I can’t say I’m not disturbed you have to deal with this so young, but you lucked out, as far as these things go.”

“Thank you, Tsunade-sama,” he says, misty-eyed both because of the comforting words and the earnestly loving Chakra-hugs enveloping the entire group. “That’s kind of you. I’m not surprised, considering it’s you, but I am grateful.”

“Fuck, kid, c’mere.”

Bingo. Sasuke darts around Itachi who is still processing the outpouring of emotion, Orochimaru-sama who is running some mental algorithm necessary to fit the idea of a child looking to him for parental guidance into his view of the world, and finally into Tsunade-sama’s arms. Man, but it’s nice here. If ever the was a huggy person, it was Tsunade-sama. She should teach a course. 

“You’re awesome,” he says into her shoulder. “So awesome, you have no idea. Your spirit—your Chakra, whatever—it’s like honey but also like whiskers and Katsuyu-sama’s healing slime, all tied together with sunshine and glazed almonds on a balmy Autumn night.”

Her hands squeeze further around him, her scent joining her Chakra-impression, making the overwhelming feeling of comfort and safety even more complete. “Kid, I don’t know if I dread or am thrilled by the idea of you being emotional on us. It’s going to be devastating and none of us here are in any way equipped to take it.”

“Shizune-san is,” he says without pause. “Shizune-san can give every single person I’ve ever met common-sense lessons.”

“Thank you, Sasuke-san,” says Shizune-san, laughter in her Chakra not betrayed at all by the tonelessness of her voice.

“Don’t mention it. I’m glad you all are more or less chill about this. Because, if I’m honest, this thing with Utakata is going to be wild. Not just because I’m me, but because he’s basically a wrapper of a Bijū.” And I am not a hundred per cent certain that it’s Utakata that’s my Person, and not, in fact, the Bijū.

“I’m trying not to think about it too much,” says Tsunade-sama. “I have come to expect mind-bending weirdness from you, and this is just more of the same. That aside, as much as I’d like to have set you up with a nice carpenter or a weaver, if it had to have been a Shinobi, I’m glad it’s Utakata. It could have been so much worse.”

It could have been Yuki-san. It could have been Kimimaro. Hell, it could have been Orochimaru-sama. That last thought cracks him up, and he burrows further into Tsunade-sama’s shoulder, shaking helplessly from laughter.

“Note how I am not asking what’s so funny. Please don’t feel obligated to share. Let’s all just—take a moment to relax and internalize the concept of two of the sweetest babies I have ever seen interacting with one another.”

Well, that’s torn it. Sasuke’s chuckles turn into sniffles, and he is having a completely different emotional outburst. How strange, he notes with the part not focusing on making his Chakra dense enough to physically hug Tsunade-sama.

“You’re coming with me, right?”

“Absolutely,” replies Itachi without a pause. “Where?”

So cute. He smiles and slides one of his tea-cakes onto Itachi’s plate. “To talk to Utakata-san. I need to—we are all Konoha, we know about Uchiha and our neuroses. Kiri might not be familiar with us. He deserves to know.”

“That’s very kind of you.” The glint in Itachi’s eye and the sharp click of his teeth as they bite through the cake with entirely too much rigour provide a sharp contrast to the soft words. “I would just like to point out that the notion of deserving something is very idealistic in itself. You can move at your own pace, here.”

Straight into double standards, huh?

“I need to let the bond form either way. Plus, you know I’m not very good at conflict resolution. The best strategy I can think of is to try and get ahead of any dramas that might form. In this case, that means being completely straightforward and informative about this mess.”

“Very wise. I will definitely come with you. I admit to being curious about your Utakata’s reaction.”

Hmmm.

“Hey, so, following along similar lines of preventing future dramas—are you cool? You seem to be less okay now than you were when we first spoke about this.”

Itachi sighs, nibbling moodily on the second-to-last tea-cake. Which is really saying something, because there were at least fifty of them not an hour ago. “Orochimaru-sama’s reaction threw me. I don’t know—I feel like I should have been the one to try and get you out of this. Instead, I just accepted it, easy as you please. My own baby-brother is soul-bonding to a stranger I don’t know from Hagemono, and I just—accepted it.”

The hundreds of thoughts and ideas and half-baked notions rattling around Sasuke’s skull all sort of—quiet down. They don’t disappear, of course. Nothing could make his head be anything but a chaotic nightmare, but they do have the decency to pipe down for a little while, just until they’ve talked their very volatile Aniki off of a bizarre, unforeseen ledge.

“And you were—right to do so?” He tries. “You know you were. Orochimaru-sama is great, super smart, really, but he knows nothing at all about being an Uchiha. And that’s disregarding his maniacal fear of being tied down by anyone or anything. Why would you ever think Orochimaru-sama’s reaction to a personal, emotional problem was the correct one?”

“That is—true.” Itachi’s voice is still too uncertain for Sasuke’s liking. “Orochimaru-sama is known to be a bit volatile when it comes to interpersonal relationships.”

“Also, and I’m just putting this out there. Having a Person is not, like, the worst thing in the world. We don’t know how or why these bonds form, but they do tend to work out, broadly speaking. I’m not saying Utakata-san will be perfect or anything, but let’s leave lobotomization for when he actually does something wrong, yeah?”

“Having a Person is a blessing.” Itachi is, for once, not being dramatic. His voice is tender and sort of scattered, like the sound got transported from his head to the world without his throat even being involved. “I would never begrudge you the experience. Alright, little brother. You have a point. I will be a good boy and won’t Tsukuyomi your Utakata as a cautionary measure.”

Was that even on the table?

“Thank you, Aniki.” Best leave it be, for now. “So, are we going?”

“Whenever you want.”

Chapter Text

Utakata’s rooms are located in Jōnin quarters, in a part of Otogakure somehow more bizarre than the rest. While Orochimaru-sama’s private lair was entirely underground with heavily camouflaged openings to let his snakes bask, this part of the village stretch under a patch of wildlife so fraught with danger that camouflage is really not that necessary. It’s like if a jungle had a swampy-phase and also had multiple geysers sprinkled through for funsies. Naturally, because the area is so deeply hostile to human life, less emphasis was placed on security. The reasoning being—entirely correctly to Sasuke’s mind—that no sane outsider would wade into the death jungle where, even if one survives all the ways the terrain will murder you gruesomely, every animal, insect and plant is venomous, Chakra-producing, carnivorous and violent. Most of the living quarters were obviously underground, built around the swamp somehow, but closer to the surface, with many balconies, glass ceilings and so forth.

Where Orochimaru-sama found the funds, the time and the motivation to build this rather fantastical structure is anybody’s guess. Then again, he escaped Konoha, what, ten, twenty years ago? Plus, making a village under a murder-swamp sounds like something Orochimaru-sama would do, just because.

The home assigned to Utakata is one of the structures built part under- and part above-ground, bracketed by two geysers and a quick-sand pit. He has a balcony—let’s say. It is either a balcony or an empty pool, because it is made out of some sort of metal, and it sits on the surface of the ground. Why is it metal? Because it is placed right next to a pool of water so hot it’s almost boiling—that would be the geysers. The house itself is built out of a mix of metal and glass, and it is shaped a little like a long tube, with many tiny floors stacked on top of one another.

It’s like a dream. Not a very good dream, not a very bad dream. One of those trippy ones you get after drinking too much milk before bed.

“Uchiha Itachi-sama, Uchiha Sasuke-sama,” says Utakata-san, when they knock politely on his door. For the purpose of leaving a not wholly terrible impression, Itachi suggested they not visit the boy straight after their talk, what with it nearing ten at night. Instead, they’re here at noon, armed with a box of homemade Dango in Itachi’s case and a basket of tomatoes in Sasuke’s. “I—welcome? This is an unexpected pleasure. How may I help you?”

“We apologize for visiting unannounced,” says Itachi. “Kimimaro assured us you don’t have any duties in the village today, and Sasuke and I hoped you might spare some time to have tea with us?”

Sasuke nods helpfully. Speaking is out of the question. All the focus he has is spent in keeping his Chakra in and away. The bond will be completed one way or another, but it would be best if it could be done with Utakata’s informed consent.

“Of course.” The part of Utakata’s face not curtained away shows nothing but gentle curiosity. “Would you care to come in? The furnishings are a little sparse, still, but I am sure between my water ninjutsu and your famous fire ninjutsu we can cobble together an interestingly novel way of preparing tea.”

Sage, that’s cool. Endearing yes, but so cool. “You are most gracious, Utakata-san.” Itachi seems to agree with the ‘endearing’ part at least, because his voice is slightly strained, flowing in an uncharacteristically soft cadence. “I admit we have not really thought the logistics through. If you are willing to be patient with us, we eagerly accept. Alternatively, we can have tea in our rooms in Orochimaru-sama’s residence.” A bluff and a transparent one. Orochimaru-sama would pick apart Utakata cell by cell if he stepped foot in his private wing, especially so soon after yesterday’s discussion.

“Please, come in.” With a last polite bow, the man spins around, black hair fluttering slightly by the movement.

Sasuke shares a wide-eyed look with Itachi. Tsunade-sama said the boy was sweet, but she may have underplayed it to a villainous extent.

The house is really bare. Utakata-san leads them to the third floor—each floor being more or less size of one smallish room, and Sasuke spotted maybe—four pieces of furniture? Something to keep in mind. If Sasuke in any way follows along the footsteps of his forebears, it is good to know there is a nice, big avenue for practical gift-giving for him to explore.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” comes the voice from the fourth floor. “Or as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.”

If nothing else, it’s a riot to see Itachi try to make himself comfortable on a single cushion, in a way that is at all appropriate for the occasion. In true cat-fashion, Itachi can make himself comfortable on of a bed of nails, if he wants to. But his usual sprawls are not what you would call polite, especially not in a semi-formal Yukata.

Utakata-san comes back with a tea-set somehow reinforced by Chakra—Fūinjutsu would be Sasuke’s guess, which, awesome—a jug of water and some tea leaves. “Alright, here’s what I suggest.” Soft glee shines from his eyes, without even an attempt at keeping it inside.

Sasuke watches the, well, tea-making theatre, spellbound. Utakata-san captures a sphere of water in one of his bubbles—not the typical bubbles either, but a thin membrane made out of a combination of water and air, from what little he had understood. Itachi then weaves flames in a half-sphere under it as delicately as possible, heating it up to just before boiling temperature and stopping. Sasuke’s contribution is to drop tea leaves into the water. He’d loved to have used his Chakra to do it—he is in no way above showing off—but his Chakra stays nice and tucked away for now.

It’s a beautiful spectacle, which encompasses everything Sasuke likes and wants to see more of. Chakra-work done for purely peaceful, soft ends, no death or pain or aggression to be found. He breaks out in applause, physically unable to stop himself after Utakata-san funnels the brewed tea into the teapot. The tea leaves, Sage have mercy, he strains with a mesh made out of air. It’s a whole thing. Many feelings make themselves at home in Sasuke’s battered, patched-up little heart.

“That was beautiful,” he says eagerly. “More than—it’s the best, most unnecessarily showy way of preparing tea barring—I don’t know if there is anything worse, actually? Maybe if it were sexual it would’ve been worse—”

“Sasuke, please.” Itachi’s voice flows smooth and cool as silk. Or a snake? A silk-snake? Focus! “—ot get distracted.” He takes in a sip of the tea, and hums. “The tea is rather wonderful, Utakata-san. I applaud your ingenuity.”

“Ah, thank you, Uchiha-sama. I have grown accustomed to using Chakra for my day to day work. I am glad you are not offended by that.”

Offended? “Why would we be offended? Is that—a thing that happens?” He asks, forgetting to be a terrible disaster for a moment. How could doing anything with your soul be offensive to another person?

A legitimate flash of surprise widens Utakata-san’s eyes, and his eyes cut between Sasuke and Itachi briefly. “Oh—I would have thought—I apologize if I assumed—”

Itachi jumps in to rescue the poor man. “Most traditional Clans have very involved mythology developed around Chakra use. You wouldn’t remember it, but it was not to be used outside of battle without copious ritual and pomp. Definitely not for something mundane like heating up the water for tea.”

“Wow.” That’s the dumbest thing Sasuke has heard, possibly ever. “That’s pretty wild. You never mentioned and I use Chakra to, like, brush my teeth.”

“If I were the type to be bothered by your lack of adherence to tradition, you’d have long since buried me. Everything about you, me, or this entire village is an affront to what our Elders considered proper.”

“Damn straight.” He turns to Utakata, grin gentling into a smaller, stiffer thing. “No need to worry about any of that stuff here. I think using Chakra for non-murder purposes is not only beautiful but, like, moral.”

Utakata-san’s smile is easy and uncomplicated and completely clear. Sasuke’s Chakra buckles, trashes under his skin and he hunches into himself, physically trying to keep it in. It’s—shit, it’s a lot.

“Are you alright?” The innocent question, unsurprisingly, doesn’t help.

Itachi comes to his rescue, appropriately. “He’s fine. Will be fine. It’s actually somewhat connected to what we wanted to talk to you about.”

“Is it something—connected to my, ah. Nature?” Some of the fluffy kindness dries up from Utakata-san’s tone, not becoming stiff as such. Firm, perhaps?

“If you are referring to the Avatar of the Gods sharing your body, then no,” says Itachi. “But it does have something to do with you, in an arguably roundabout way. If you would be so kind to indulge me, are you familiar with the lore surrounding the Uchiha Clan?”

Sasuke manages to claw himself back together enough to straighten from his slouch and re-join the conversation, at least in part. Good thing, too, because Utakata-san’s expression clearing back into gentle softness is a thing to see. It’s beyond charming, how unguarded he is, expression-wise. Perhaps he had forgotten the need to keep his thoughts from his face—or he had never known it to begin with? Either way, since Sasuke can’t rely on Chakra-sense for the moment, it is very helpful to at least have some clear visual cues.

“I—I know the basics, I suppose. The Uchiha are an old Clan, one of the seven Noble Clans in the Elemental Nations. You predate the other six by a considerable margin, only matched by the samurai Clans in Iron, Uzumaki, in Uzushio and a couple in—Iwa I believe? You have a dōjutsu, called the Sharingan and specialize in fire Ninjutsu and Genjutsu.”

Well—as nice as it is that he used the present tense, the knowledge is—not as extensive as Sasuke’d have liked.

Itachi hums a low, contemplative sound. “Excellent, good. Well, if you would forgive a follow-up question, are you familiar with the stories about Uchiha and, to use an incorrect but well-known civilian term, their soulmates?”

Wow, soulmates, that’s hilarious.

Utakata must agree because he breaks into a quiet, restrained chuckle, that peters out quickly once he realizes Itachi is, in fact, seriously asking. “Soulmates, Uchiha-sama? I—I mean, I’ve heard of it, of course. I think everybody had. That the Uchiha had red eyes that let them see their fate-string. But, surely that falls under, well, civilian mythology? Like the legend that Senju infants aren’t born but grown in a special type of tree?”

What—

“Is that a thing? Aniki, is that a legend—does Tsunade-sama know? Wait, no, never mind that, do you think it’s true—it’s true isn’t it, Tsunade-sama is an acorn-baby—”

“No, it’s not true, yes, Tsunade-sama knows, no, I wouldn’t mention it to her unless you want your inner ear to be messed with in retaliation.  Now, if you could focus, please. Where were we, Utakata-san?”

“I am—not sure,” says Utakata-san. “I can’t quite follow your narrative thread, I’m afraid. Because it sounded like—well, it sounded like—”

Itachi inclines his head, lips quirked in a very solid approximation of sympathy. “Yes, I am aware how fantastical it sounds. It is also, for the most part, true. Every Uchiha, barring one or two tragic exceptions in the hundreds and hundreds of years we’ve kept records of such things, has had a Person. Someone they, well, imprint on, for lack of a better term. Someone they form a Chakra bond to and, well, love. Someone they love, beyond anyone and anything. It doesn’t have to be romantic love—it’s only romantic love about one-fourth of the time. But platonic or romantic or familial, it is love, and it is—powerful.” Dangerous, hangs in the air, clear for all to see.

Sweet, he might be, but it’s clear Utakata-san is not a blithering moron. Something a lot like mortal fear flickers in his eyes, as he looks at Itachi.

“Do you—believe me?” Itachi’s voice is gentle, gentler than Sasuke has heard him talk to anyone outside of their family.

“Do I believe—what? That a part of your bloodline limit is…love?”

Itachi’s smile grows strained, but in a sheepish way, not, like, annoyed which is really a massive win, considering his reaction would have been considerably less tame for practically anybody else. Still, maybe he should step in for a bit.

“I mean, not to be a jerk about it, but your Kiri friend has two rows of teeth. The Aburame have hives in their bodies. And I’m not even getting into all the other wacky shit Sharingan can do. Why not love?”

Utakata-san sends him a flat look. “There is some adaptive value in a symbiotic relationship with insects. There are side-effects of a Clan binding too close to their Spirit animals. What adaptive value is there to love?”

Both of Sasuke’s eyebrows rise and a grin tugs his lips up and to the side until he can feel the scars under his eyes pull. He doesn’t even need to say anything.

Indeed, a little crease forms between Utakata-san’s brows once his words have had a little time to sink in.

“Do you need me to say it—”

“No,” Utakata-san grumbles, in a fairly performative manner. “No, you don’t. Yes, love has adaptive value. Yes, I was a cynical old man.”

Old man. Utakata-san can’t be over sixteen.

“Age, you will find, is largely a matter of choice in Otogakure,” he says, which is true but so wildly beside the point. “But never mind that. Now that we’ve established that particular side-effect is peculiar, but not really any more than any other weird Chakra fuckery, we need to maybe get back to the point.” The urge to smother Utakta-san in his Chakra is getting overwhelming again. To make matters worse, whatever the fuck it is that directs these bonds, it’s sneaky. He can already feel the mental aspects setting in, and soon enough he won’t even have the inclination to keep his Chakra away from the man, much less the ability.

“I—Dare I hope the matter is academic?” Asks Utakata. “And that you Uchiha Itachi-sama and you Uchiha Sasuke-sama are just—strong believers in the free dissemination of knowledge.”

Itachi takes over again, correctly reading Sasuke is once again wholly focused on not losing it so close to the finish line.

“I’m afraid not. You see—” he pauses, clearly really uncomfortable, which, fair. It’s so weird, having to explain any of this shit at all, never mind spell it out this much. “What I mean to say—”

“It’s me,” Sasuke manages to force out. “You’re—I’m—we’re—”

“Oh thank fuck,” says Utakata-san, slumping into the floor, grinding both palms over his eyes. “Kisshōten-sama preserve me.”

Itachi huffs a small laugh, finding some humour in this, but Sasuke—

Sasuke is a little stung.

“I mean,” he says. “Not that I am not, like, glad the reaction wasn’t reversed but still. Aniki is—beyond awesome. So cool. And, like, the prettiest, right? Again, not really complaining, but—maybe complaining a little? Actually?”

Itachi looks at him, eyes shining with so much laughter and love that he can’t help but preen a little. “See—this is what I mean. Aniki is awesome and anybody would be lucky to be his Person. So.”

“Not, perhaps, the time to discuss this,” says Itachi, cutting his eyes to Utakata-san pointedly.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Utakata-san says, voice so quiet it’s barely audible. He doesn’t, at least, look intimidated just—wildly embarrassed? “I just—Uchiha Itachi-sama is, well. Somewhat, ah, imposing? Not that there is anything wrong with that, of course, you’re very dignified, Uchiha-sama and very, ah, accomplished? I just—I mean—”

Oh, you sweet little fawn.

“I am not offended,” says Itachi. “I am glad, as Sasuke is, that the reaction wasn’t reversed. Especially since, as it happens, Sasuke is my Person. I tend to take insults made to him—personally.”

Aniki couldn’t resist, could he? He just had to sneak that in? Sage.

“In any case—that’s the situation. Sorry for the—roundabout way of going about it. But it’s—personal, yeah? And I am even more neurotic than usual because I’m trying my best to keep my Chakra where it is, and not let it connect to yours without your consent, so.”

“And what would that binding entail, exactly? What would be required of me?”

This again.

“Nothing at all,” he says, with as open an expression as his face can make. “Not a single thing. My Chakra would touch yours, a connection would form and—that’s it. I will, yeah, probably always consider you one of my most important people but you don’t need to do anything about it if you don’t want to. I won’t bother you, or like, make unwelcome advances or anything. I might stalk you a little? But you’re a Shinobi, that’s not even remotely weird, for us.”

Utakata looks at him with a blank expression, like he is rewinding the last few minutes of this conversation and getting nothing even remotely sensible back.

“This is—I am having some trouble with the concept. Partly it’s because, forgive my bluntness, you are a child. I don’t—”

“It’s not ideal,” says Itachi. “It’s not something we can choose or control. I, for example, bonded with my Person—Sasuke—at the age of five. It’s a fact of life, with us. For me, it was a blessing—most Uchiha consider it such. Now, there are many complicating factors, in your situation. Uchiha generally bond in-Clan. Bonding with an Outsider has been known to happen, but not often, and always until they were fighting-capable. That’s why we don’t let our children outside of the Clan Compound before they are either in puberty or can perform a Fireball technique adequately. But Sasuke is, legally and intellectually, perfectly capable of defending his interests. I am not worried you would take advantage of him.”

Utakata-san’s eyes widen, gaping in disbelief. “Me—I would—how could I, a Clan-less, home-less, village-less Shinobi on the run ever take advantage of Uchiha Sasuke-sama? Infamously adored brother of S-ranked Uchiha Itachi-sama, apprentice to Orochimaru-sama of the Sanin.”

Itachi doesn’t comment about the use of his name in the third person and instead spears Utakata-san with a stern look. “Very easily, I assure you. I am, naturally, glad that you don’t even seem to be aware of it, but there is nothing gained by being coy about this. You hold Sasuke’s heart in your hands. He would do—anything, really, to help you if you were in peril. So would I, by association. You have become very, very important to—all of us. Congratulations.”

Great, okay, the important stuff is done. “Hey so, super sorry to break this serious-talk, really. But I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to hold my Chakra behind my skin for much longer, so if we could move on to talking to Rokubi-sama, that’d be fantastic.”

“I—beg your pardon?” Whatever part-terrified part-defensive mindspace Utakata-san occupied shatters, leaving behind disbelief and maybe a little outrage. His hair parted, and he can see both pretty, golden eyes—and a strange scar that looks suspiciously like a brand, spanning from the corner of his eye to the temple. Never mind that, he soothes the increasingly pointed questions from his steadily growing obsession. There will be plenty of time for that later.

“Rokubi-sama? The unknowably powerful Avatar of Kisshōten-sama? The other soul inhabiting your body?”

“Yes, Uchiha-sama, I am aware of what I am—that doesn’t make what you said any more reasonable.”

Wait. “Did you—” He pauses for a moment, too thrown to even be shy. “Did you think I would—let my Chakra bind to yours without even consulting the being that is the closest thing we have to a Kami on this plane? Without even—talking to them? Are you serious?” Wow, no offence to Utakata-san, but Kimimaro’s appraisal was way off. Theoretically intelligent he might be but he’s sure as hell suicidally unwise. “Please tell me you would have talked to them at least?”

Utakata-san has the good sense to look at least a little sheepish about his monumental error in judgement and sense. “We’re—he hears everything I hear, sees everything I see—which is beside the point. How did you plan on talking to him? I will not just—channel his Chakra here—I like this house, thank you and—”

“Aniki will take us. I mean, I could probably take us too, but I’m pretty new to having eyes, and I haven’t used them much. But Aniki’s very clever, and more to the point, very comfortable with our bloodline limit. A flick of the Sharingan, and in I go, easy peasy lemon squeazy.”

“In—” Utakata-san’s voice legit cracks, it rises so high. “What do you mean in? In where?”

Whoops.

“No need to worry, Utakata-san,” If Itachi could stop sounding so wildly entertained, that would be just swell. “I will project Sasuke’s spirit into your mindscape. Like Genjutsu, let’s say.”

Genjutsu he says. Sasuke sends the lying liar a look halfway between stern and sympathetic. On one hand, rude. On the other hand, what else is he supposed to do? Explain—how? Bloodline limits are in many ways entirely instinctive things. Explaining them to another Uchiha is an exercise in frustration. To a non-Uchiha? Impossible, hands down.

Utakata-san blinks once, twice, three times, before his expression settles on something resigned and slightly humorous. “You know what? Sure. You might as well do that. I will just sit here, then, with my Bijū, and let myself be the target of Itachi Uchiha’s dōjutsu so that his little brother can ask my Bijū for my hand in marriage.”

“Okay, number one, I am doing no such thing,” squeaks Sasuke. “I am not. You can’t just—I am not. I’m not sixteen, in any case, and—and—Aniki—tell him. Tell him I’m not sixteen and so am not allowed to have a husband or get ink—Aniki—stop laughing, you grated carrot—”

“Sorry, sorry, I just—Do excuse me, Utakata-san, that was very impolite of me. I—Once you spend some time with us, you will learn how, ah, cathartic it is to see Sasuke be in the position he routinely puts us in. Ah, I needed that. Now. As much as I appreciate the spectacle, time is running out. If you would be so kind to look at me real quick, there’s a boy—”

The Bijū with six tails, Avatar of Kisshōten-okami-sama, Kami of hearth and home, takes the form of a slug.

It is. It’s a lot.

“You, I—Utakata-san, I might faint.” It’s true, he might. It’s—

Well, it’s certainly taken some creative liberties, hasn’t it? It’s a slug, in a sense. It’s also bipedal, with six tails, and a humanoid mouth.

“You—you’re so spectacular,” he babbles, losing what little futile battle he was fighting with his sanity. “Bijū-sama, I am honoured, you have no idea. Are you—do you—by any chance know Katsuyu-sama?”

The giant Slug-God wiggles, opens their mouth to speak and a—a voice?—comes out? “Kata-chan, is this—have you brought home a   b  o  y   to meet your   f  a  m  I  l  y ?   How  c  u  t  e .”

Every word out of the Bijū’s mouth is so heavy with Chakra and supernatural, unknowable weight that it feels roughly like two gongs smashed together with Sasuke’s head caught in the middle. He coughs, suddenly, and spits out a glob of blood. Well, okay then.

“Sasuke-sama!” Utakata’s tone sounds much too deep and serious. Where is the gentle, confused tenor from before—

“Leave off, Saiken, unless you want his family to murder us slowly and with deliberate relish? You know very well that he is only here so he could talk to you, so he could show respect to your autonomy—”

“Yes, that is very kind of you, I appreciate it very much. That will not save us—”

“You know you are limited in what you can do through me and I will not last one second against Uchiha Itachi. Do you want to see what tortures they can devise for us both? Do you want to see how much of your Chakra they can extract in neat little parcels? Would you survive, sealed into a thousand different containers? Ten thousand?”

“I don’t want to learn how much pain a human can be made to experience, thank you. So—leave the boy be.”

After the first bout, Sasuke’s mind started filtering out the Bijū’s part of the dialogue, presumably to try and salvage what can be salvaged. Even with that attempt, Utakata-san’s intervention was very timely. Sasuke’s vision is gone, blood drips from his ears steadily. He can’t smell it, of course, not here, where he’s little more than a Chakra impression, but he’s pretty certain that something similar is happening to his physical body. Which means—

“You’d best keep quiet, Utakata-san, and let me handle this—”

With a piercing whine, the construction around them shudders, wobbles and—

—breaks—

He opens his eyes—with, admittedly, a degree of difficulty and has just enough time to step between his brother and Utakata-san, who sits, shoulders hunched inwards as far as they would go.

“Now, let’s all just calm down—”

Itachi’s eyes spin so fast, his Sharingan patten is not even discernible. A terrible stillness has frozen his features into a wax-doll mask. If you couldn’t feel his Chakra—and even a comatose-civilian could feel his Chaka, vast and lashing and howling—you’d think he was a very well-constructed wind-up doll.

“C’mon, Aniki, I know it looks bad, but it was an accident. Plus—you know how these things always go. Something happens, then someone escalates and before you know it, we’ve destroyed Oto, Orochimaru-sama is pissed, and Shizune-san won’t make us homemade Dango ever again.”

“I assure you, I know better,” says Itachi, in a concerningly flat tone. “I won’t leave him the option to, what was it you said—escalate? I let you, I sent you myself, foolishly trusting his good nature—you were seizing on the ground, gasping for breath, blood leaking from every orifice—they will pay, both of them—”

“It wasn’t Utakata-san’s fault.” Goddamn, if ever there was an ill-advised moment for the Bijū to make a statement, it is now, when trust is still tentative. If something similar happened with Orochimaru-sama or Tsunade-sama, Itachi would be perfectly willing to accept it was an accident. “Aniki, please, listen. It wasn’t, I swear. He tried to help as soon as he realized what was happening—”

“A very quick accident, wouldn’t you say? You weren’t in his company for over an hour, and he’s already torturing you—oh, accidentally, of course—”

Sasuke inhales deeply. Man, he really needs to get better at conflict resolution and quick-like. “He didn’t even want me there. It was our idea, mine and yours. He didn’t even have time to refuse. It would be beyond cruel to blame him. Aniki, please.”

That last plea does something, shuts the more insane parts of Itachi’s mind down, or at least quietens them down enough for things like reason and mercy to kick in. He inhales sharply, air whistling sharply through clenched teeth. Bit by bit, the frenzied spin of the Sharingan slows, and the furious hurricane of Chakra stops, well, destroying Utakata-san’s house.

“Fine.” The word rips out from Itachi’s throat slow and fast at the same time. It sounds painful—it looks painful. “Fine. I know better than to refuse you, Sasuke, especially since you ask for so few things. I won’t—”

“I—I’m so sorry,” says Utakata in a low voice. “I will leave immediately, I promise, you won’t have to see me ever again. I never wanted any of this to happen—I can’t control him, I’m not strong enough—I’ll never be strong enough—”

Oh, bother.

“You don’t need to leave, Utakta-san,” he says, not really daring to turn away from Aniki just yet. “Please don’t leave. This is your home—you’re a Jōnin of Otogakure. Moreover, I would really like you to stay. I don’t know you personally, of course, we’ve met, like, yesterday, but I really admired the little I saw. At least think about it? Stay a week, and then decide. I promise I won't hold this against you.”

“Not only would your brother disagree, but so would the—oh, two S-ranked and several more A-ranked Shinobi swiftly making their way here.” Utakata’s voice is—hollow. Like he isn’t even sad, like he expected something like this would happen sooner or later.

“I’ll talk to them, don’t worry. I routinely do worse shit to myself than this. A little nosebleed? Please, I tried my very best to stab my eyes out on the regular only a month ago. This is nothing. So why don’t you go upstairs—no, never mind, scratch that, maybe it’s best for you to stay close to me, just until everybody is all caught up. We will all laugh about this soon enough, don’t even stress.”

In a delightful bit of irony that Sasuke would appreciate in almost any other situation, it’s not Orochimaru-sama that needs to be talked down. His serpentine parent accepts Sasuke’s account without a pause. He levels him with a stern look, tells him the whole idea was reckless as Hell and next time he had better put some safe-measures in place.

Tsunade-sama, however, is furious. Beyond furious. She doesn’t harm Utakata—violence is not really her first instinct. Oh, she reacts explosively, temper getting the better of her, but she very rarely aims to hurt others. It’s—betrayal Sasuke reads in the flat of her lips and the whiteness of her knuckles. The way her lip curls when she so much as looks at the hunched in figure of Utakata-san. Which, okay, Sasuke gets it on some level, but it’s not—not cool.

Between one breath and the next, his thoughts flow together into a seamless unity of ‘that’s enough of that.

“Alright, you are done.” He says, perhaps a tad more sharply than is usual for him. “You’re being so—mean. To my Person, who I would remind you yet again, did nothing wrong. You should all be mad at me, and comforting him. Do you think it’s nice, to be an unwilling instrument in all this? No, it’s not, and he’s beating himself up about it and it’s not fair. Stop it.”

He inhales deeply, feeling—weirdly—tears of frustration well up in his eyes. This is all so—so—

“Stupid,” he says under his breath, and turns his back to his suddenly quiet family, to see Utakata-san better. “They don’t mean it. They don’t, I promise. They don’t blame you, they are just scared. I’m—I’m the baby of the family, and I’m, like, super breakable and stuff. Please—don’t leave? I will get you new stuff, and fix your house—maybe get someone else to fix your house—and buy you new Chakra-crockery and—stay? Please?”

Utakata’s exhale is shaky, his eyes are too wide and the way he tries his very best to make himself small twists something in Sasuke’s belly. “I—if you want me to? I don’t want to hurt you—I don’t want to hurt anyone—”

“I do.” He says quickly before the man rescinds his offer. “I do want you to stay. This is all a lot of drama. Let’s not—overreact. Nobody was harmed, not me, not you, not your Godly—housemate? Flatmate? Body-mate? Not your companion-Bijū. We would all be harmed if you left, in various ways. So—yeah.”

“I—okay. Who am I to spurn such kindness? Thank you. I will just—if you would just—”

Right. He swallows down the—rather irrational—pangs of rejection, and smiles as best he can. “Of course, Utakata-san. We will leave you alone. Sorry for the drama, again, and, like, your house. Try to—relax a little, maybe? I don’t know. Yeah. Okay. Take-care-bye.”

He might not be the most people-sensitive person in the world, but he knows better than to let himself be disappointed if he can pretend otherwise. So he scurries outside before Utakata-san has time to reply, dragging his Aniki by the sleeve, hoping to Kami the rest of his family follows.

Man but this was a weird day—and it’s not even lunchtime.

“I need to meditate and I need stronger drugs. This is all really hard and I hate it.”

Chapter Text

“Come.”

Well—that sounds ominous.

“Dare I ask—”

Orochimaru-sama’s hair flows behind him, the centrepiece of his rather spectacular flounce. “No questions. I have decided to solve your problems for you. Come.”

Well, then. Sasuke doesn’t have problems as such. He made up with Aniki, which was laughably easy since he wasn’t really mad at him, to begin with. Alright, his unsettled Chakra is not ideal, but he’s taken to spending all of it he can spare early in the morning, so it doesn’t bother him all that much. The project ‘give Utakata-san some space to prevent him from booking it out of Otogakure’ was flourishing.

The room Orochimaru leads him to is not one he has seen so far. Connected to his personal chambers, two corridors and a seal-locked door later, it is a lot like a—well— 

“Orochimaru-sama, is this your hoard?” It figures he’d have one, makes all sorts of sense. Dragons are reptiles when you get right down to it. With his colouring, his nature and his flamboyance, it wouldn’t surprise him if the man was, in fact, a dragon under some sort of curse.

“One of them. More to the point, it is where I will pick out things you will grovel with. Now, tell me. What do you know of this Kiri boy?”

Sasuke very carefully doesn’t ask why the word Kiri always sounds like a particularly disturbing sexually transmitted infection when Orochimaru-sama says it. There are vastly more important things to talk about.

“Grovel?”

“Yes, nightmare-child. You want back in the good graces of this boy. Well, there are several ways of going about this. The simplest one is bribery. Considering the boy looks to be desperately starved for affection of any kind, even crude methods should suffice. Now—interests. What does he want? Money? Jewels? Fine clothes? Drugs?”

Sasuke doesn’t even have to think about it. “Definitely not drugs. I don’t know what a high Jinchūriki looks like, but I don’t want to find out.”

“Granted. What, then? Hurry, child. I have more important things to do. Chiharu-kun is heading back to his civilian residence today and I need to provide an escort. There is also a war on the horizon, that will provide so many opportunities for amusement. I can only spare so much time for your problems.”

“Understood.” Sage, he had somehow let the matter of Chiharu-san slip to the back of his mind. Whoo boy, that will be a trippy time, having both Chiharu-san and Utakata-san living in Oto. “Umm. He likes tea? He has—had—a seal-enforced tea-set. Also, his clothes are, like, you level of bold. Did you see his sash—he wears orange on purple, all in silk. Other than that—I don’t know. Not jewellery, I don’t think.”

“Seals, you say?” The pause is significant, somehow. A lilting, spiralling melody twirls around the man’s Chakra-music, suggesting interest or curiosity. “That has to be Uzu work. Interesting. You may not have such terrible taste as I feared. Alight, I can work with that. Household luxuries, is the theme. Hmm. Wait here.”

Like Sasuke would be so stupid as to go poking around a hoard. Please. He’s read enough stories to know how that usually goes. Orochimaru-sama may be pretty laid-back as dragons go, but it’s best not to test those particular limits too far.

“Here you are. Scroll for Uzu household items. Scroll for clothes. Scroll for various trinkets. They are basic, with no special protection. You will report your results at dinner. And for the love of Benzaiten-sama, do something about your brother. He is sulking, and it is unbecoming. More importantly, it’s affecting Tsunade’s work and that is unacceptable. We were weeks away from finishing my scanner. Are we clear? Alright, shoo.”

Sasuke scurries off, not really sure of what Orochimaru-sama is talking about—Itachi has been pretty normal whenever he has been around Sasuke. Which, now that he thinks about it, is a bit less than usual.

Goddamn it.

“Hey, Aniki, do you wanna come buy Utakata-san’s forgiveness with me?”

Itachi tilts his head, playing dumb, like Sasuke can’t read how interested his Chakra is. “Wouldn’t my presence work against your objective?”

“Honestly, I think it’s best to play this thing straight.” Plus, being around Utakata without Itachi feels—a little like he’s being unfaithful somehow. “We’re a package deal, yeah? He’s my Person, I’m your Person. The degree of separation is trivial. Will be the same if you get married, yeah? So, let’s go grovel. I have the best bribes. I think. Orochimaru-sama gave them to me, so they’re either spectacular or humorously terrible.”

Itachi brightens by the word. By the end of the little speech, his smile is almost back to its typical soft, relaxed curve. “Alright. Let’s go.”

On the upside, Utakata-san hasn’t moved. His shoes are still at the front door—Sasuke notes their size, style and make, for future-grovelling purposes—as well as several pairs of tabi. Nobody would leave their  tabi  behind, surely? Shoes, sure, shoes can go die, but tabi are things of awe and majesty, and these are especially fine. So Utakata-san hasn’t moved. They’re clear on that. That doesn’t diminish the very glaring downside of the house being distinctly Utakata-free.

It’s possible Sasuke hasn’t thought this through.

“Man, it sucks not to be able to sense properly.” He’d have known precisely where Utakata-san was to the meter if he stayed within his sensing radius—ten kilometres, easy. Fifteen if he’s clever about it.

“True. Well, you have options. Option one is to leave your offerings here and let him open them at his own time. That would be the polite way. Option two is to shamelessly lean into nepotism and get Kimimaro to point you in his direction.”

Well, that’s simple. “I mean, it’s obviously option two, right? That’s the correct answer? As if I wouldn’t be there to see the effect of my bribe? C’mon Aniki, I’m not much of a Shinobi but I’m not that clueless.”

“Off we go, then.”

Utakata-san is not, as it happens outside of the village. Kimimaro, as per the direction of Orochimaru-sama, has kept him home-bound, only assigning in-village missions. It would be bad form to interrupt his mission, though, even if it is a fancy version of a construction job. They’re not that pressed for time and according to their—very reliable—intel, he should be finished with his mission before dinner.

“Orochimaru-sama is really good at this.” It’s true. Not only the gifts, either, but the foresight to keep Utakata in-house, as it were.

Itachi hums, idly plucking through the remaining sweets. Both of them put away food like they haven’t eaten in a decade, but they’re Shinobi children. That’s par for the course. Now, for those who don’t realize how energy-costly Sharingan is, Itachi’s daily consumption of sweets could appear excessive. Nonsense. Aniki might ingest twenty thousand calories a day in sugar, but his eyes alone burn double that.

“Orochimaru-sama is not only a certified genius, he would climb over a mountain of hearts for you. This is really to be expected.”

Orochimaru-sama would climb over a mountain of hearts just so he can know what climbing over a mountain of hearts is like, but the point is made. “Once this whole business is settled, and the war is over, we should double-down on the music thing. Which reminds me. Why do I have to be the one to transfer the memories? Can’t you, like, break into my head, or something?” He did it to Utakata-san. Not only had he done it to Utakata-san, he threw Sasuke in there, easy as you please. 

Itachi blinks, nibbling idly on a tea-cake. “That’s—not a bad idea. You would have to work on meditation—proper meditation, not your otherworldly soul-travel nightmare—to organize your thoughts properly, but it’s a sound concept. Well done.”

Sasuke preens because he always does when Aniki compliments him, as often as that might be. Preening is fun, and Sasuke is, in fact, a very good boy. Best boy, one might say.

“Perfect. I’ll get right on it.” Meditation sounds like fun. Sasuke has the advantage, in that there is nothing he fears in his own head. An upside of relentless hallucinations of his terrible childhood is that he had little choice but to get to grips with it.

“Utakata-san, hi! If you have a few minutes to spare, that would be awesome. Aniki and I have come to grovel.”

“You—what?” Why is Utakata-san always so flustered around Sasuke? He gives off such a chill vibe, from a distance. Sasuke should work on it. Somehow. “You don’t need to  grovel  Uchiha-sama you did nothing wrong—I—”

“Stuff and nonsense,” he says, hopefully cutting through the pointless part of the conversation. “We hurt your feelings, and that’s not okay. So! Gifts! May we come in?”

“Of course—I can’t offer you any refreshments, unfortunately, I didn’t have much time for re-stocking and—”

“That’s alright. We brought our own, haven’t we ‘Tachi?”

Itachi nods, face set in a polite-but-contrite mask that is so devastating Sasuke must learn to replicate it  immediately . “We have. I would also like to apologize. My—our—reaction was not proportional. We should have followed Orochimaru-sama’s example and taken Sasuke at his word. Jumping to conclusions just because we don’t know you very well is not acceptable.”

Utakata-san—pale as a sheet—stumbles right back into choppy denials, which is charming in its own way, but not really moving them any closer toward the goal.

“Our tea is getting cold, Utakata-san, and I am consumed with a burning curiosity to see what I am bribing you with. We all know where we stand—we are sorry, you are sorry etcetera etcetera. Isn’t it better to move on to the interesting part, which is the loot?”

“Of course—but surely—if we are all, as you say, even, then there is no need for—further gestures?”

“That’s very sweet of you, Utakata-san, really,” Sasuke says, as the flustered Shinobi leads them to the third floor yet again. It is—in bad shape. Itachi’s Chakra is fire, and it manifests as such. The floor is beyond repair, the wood will need to be ripped out entirely, in his inexpert opinion. Really the whole house could do with a re-touch, third floor most of all.

Leave that for later. Let’s not rob the man of even the little bit of stability he has managed to claw together.

“But?” Says Utakata-san. Sasuke looks at him curiously. “I apologize Uchiha-sama, the way you worded that sounded like there would be a ‘but’.”

“No buts. It is very sweet of you. You are very sweet. Although, if you do feel the desire to, whatever, make amends, I will take payment in the form of you putting an end to the Uchiha-sama business. Both for me and Aniki. He, admittedly, does have some hilarious claim on authority, what with technically being a Clan Head, but I am at best Otogakure’s most useless organ dealer lure.”

Itachi sends him a reproachful look, but it's soft around the edges. He is not only used to Sasuke, he knows, deep down, that the description is entirely correct.

Utakata-san sits down and does a whole round of very visible focusing technique, complete with measured breathing and closed eyes.

Sasuke kind of feels bad for putting him on the spot so often, but if they are to have any hope in any sort of friendship, it’s best to rip any formality out as soon as possible. Sasuke can make some concessions, but manners and polite distance are well beyond what his mind is capable of mimicking, never mind producing.

Wait—why is he standing? Why are they both standing? They don’t wanna loom over Utakata-san, that’s just rude. Sasuke spills to the ground, only slightly morning a lack of cushions. Itachi follows suit, with a bit more dignity, but arranges his limbs fairly casually. He’ll take it.

“Uchiha-san, then,” Utakata-san says. Even more of his face is hidden behind his hair, one golden eye peeking out, rounded and hopeful. Very expressive, that sliver of an eye. 

Sasuke tilts his head, “I mean—it’s up to you of course. But there are two of us, you know. It’s bound to get confusing. Also, and this is a me thing, I often legitimately forget I am an Uchiha, so I might not even answer to the name.”

“It’s true,” says Itachi, smoothing a fond hand through Sasuke’s hair. “He does forget. I echo Sasuke’s sentiments. You are invited to use our first names, but are in no way obligated to do so.”

Utakata wiggles in place a little, a strange not-grimace, not-flinch flashing over his face. His eyes grow distant for a moment, mouth ever so slightly poised as if to speak.

So cool—he must be talking to his Bijū companion.

“Sasuke-san and Itachi-san, then.” Instead of being even more stiff and awkward about it, Utakata-san finally relaxes a little, gracing them with a shy but genuine smile. A quirk of the lips, really, but it’s a giant step in the right direction.

Itachi inclines his head, quirking it a little to the side, so one lock of hair falls over his face. It’s bewilderingly endearing and makes him look approximately as dangerous as a butterfly. Even for Sasuke, who generally sees Itachi as a kitten most days, it’s a damn impressive feat. “You are beyond kind,” he says. “Now, before Sasuke starts with the, ah, grovelling, can I interest you in some tea? A dessert perhaps?”

There is no mistaking the flash in Utakata-san’s eyes at the second part of Itachi’s offer. Especially not if you’re Sasuke who knows what a sugar addict looks like very well. Another note in the ‘future gift’ category.

“I would love some, thank you.”

The silence that falls is—comfortable? Huh. Really? Sasuke hadn’t hoped things would go this smoothly. Utakata-san is stiff, still, but definitely unthawed a little, like he is considering taking them and their good intentions at face value at least in part.

They don’t have to wait too long, thank the Sage. Aniki is curious about Orochimaru-sama’s choices as much as Sasuke is, so he doesn’t make a production about the tea and the rest. The sweets go to Utakata-san—Itachi already ate what he could physically withstand—and the man is still too shy to go to town on them like Sasuke knows he wants to.

“Alright. So. Fair warning: I got these grovel-gifts from Orochimaru-sama. As much as I love the man, he is not what you might call predictable. I trust they are things he genuinely thought you would value, but there is a chance he went in the opposite direction, just to spread chaos and be entertained. So. With that out of the way—ta-daa.”

It’s not surprising that Utakata-san doesn’t immediately reach for the offered scrolls. Slightly underwhelming—Sasuke executed his flourishing bow and matching grin very well. The comedic value of the moment is undercut by Utakata’s selflessness, but he will try to not hold it against him.

“Sasuke-san, Itachi-san, surely giving me gifts of any kind is a massive overcorrection? Much less gifts given by the leader of the village I am now a part of?” He pauses for a second. “In fact,” he continues, with the air of a man who just came up with the answer to a difficult problem. “Wouldn’t that be favouritism? To receive gifts from the top echelon of Otogakure’s government?”

Favouritism?

“I mean,” he says, mystified. “I suppose—it would be? You are my favourite, outside of my family. So, um, if you wanna label that—sure.”

Wait.

Best make sure. He turns to Itachi. “Small side-note—favouritism is a good thing, yeah? It’s making clear that someone is your favourite? So, like, being honest but on a bigger level?” Sasuke can get down with that. Grand gestures are part and parcel of being an Uchiha. He didn’t know there was a term for that, but if the tabi fit?

Itachi shakes his head gently, a deeply understanding, even commiserating smile spreading his lips. “Ah—I’m afraid not. Favouritism is by and large considered a sign of social corruption. It is the practice of showing partiality to a person or a group within a system, at the expense of others.”

Say what now? “So, hold on. I was right about what favouritism is in everything but the connotation? It’s a—bad thing? Why would it be a bad thing? Like, I am Orochimaru-sama’s favourite. I am a hundred per cent fine with that. Treat me partially, shower me with love and affection. Sounds like a good time.” People are so dumb, Sasuke really can’t, a lot of the time.

“As you can see, Utakata-san, I don’t think that particular argument would hold much water with Sasuke,” Itachi says. “Or with me, for that matter. As Sasuke said, I don’t see any downside to making it clear you are valuable to us.”

Utakata-san, who has been watching his little back-and-forth with Itachi, sports a rather cute little overwhelmed-but-charmed-around-the-edges smile. “Understood. Unfortunately, I still don’t know. Our earlier troubles can be understood as a misunderstanding that resulted in equal harm being done to everyone involved. Gifts move the scales to a place I am not comfortable with.”

“Then think of it like me trying to buy your attention.”  Wait . “No, no, please don’t think of it like that  at all , especially not when Orochimaru-sama is around. Think of it as me—bribing you into…liking…me?” No, that’s not it. “Is that worse? It sounds worse. I don’t know, look, I’m bad at this. Just think of it as—as housewarming presents. Yes. Housewarming presents, from your friendly neighbourhood Uchiha.”

“I think that what this little speech has made clear,” says Itachi, whose calm, pleasant expression isn’t fooling Sasuke at all. The man is howling in laughter inside, he just knows it. Would know it if he could get his sensing back. “Is that you can be confident that the gifts have no strings attached to them. Sasuke wanted to apologize and to make you happy. It’s a friendly gesture. You can refuse it, but it would make him both sad and determined to find another way to achieve his goal. I could tell you the subsequent method would be tamer, but I might expire from laughing before I am done speaking.”

“Well said,” Sasuke beams. “So—did we win? Will you take the gifts now?”

“Sure,” says Utakata-san, eyes clear and merry—finally. “I admit defeat. I will try to be gracious about it.”

“Yay!” He sits down, grovel-bounty successfully handed over and wiggles closer to Itachi, grabbing his hand in two of his. “This is gonna be good. I have only caught glimpses of Orochimaru-sama’s hoard—I wasn’t stupid enough to make my interest obvious and get eaten.”

“Very clever,” praises Itachi. “Orochimaru-sama adores you beyond anyone, but some things are simply a biological imperative.”

The first scroll Utakata-san opens—at random because Sasuke forgot which is which—leaves him with—

“That would be the clothes.”

Utakata-san stands frozen, a decent-sized pile of silks and brocades laid out on the hardwood floor.

Itachi makes a small noise, a hum of approval cut with gentle amusement. “Very in-character for Orochimaru-sama. You will be the best dressed one among us—well, second best dressed. Some of the pieces Orochimaru-sama wears are beyond price.”

“I—Itachi-sama, this is not  funny —I can’t wear this—is this  seal-work  in the stitching?”

Is that a problem? ”I mean, it’s all well and good to wear pretty clothes, but you are an active-duty Shinobi, right? Even Orochimaru-sama doesn’t wear silk without some manner of enhancement.” He pauses, taking in Utakata-san’s expression that has gone a little wild around the edges. “I mean—that’s the problem, right? Aniki wears seals when he goes out on missions, right?” When that doesn’t help, he decides it’s time to get help. “Aniki, help—” That always does the trick— “I know your armour has layers of Fūinjutsu.”

“It does, you are correct. While that is not as ordinary as you seem to believe it is, I don’t think that is what Utakata-san is concerned with. The haori especially are—quite extravagant. Bold, even.”

Too—bold? For  Utakata-san ?

He opens his mouth, closes them again and repeats that sequence for a beat. It’s—what is there to say here? “I mean, they’re your clothes now, you do you, but I can’t see how on earth they could be considered bolder than a purple silk kimono tied with an  orange   obi .”

Whoops. Judging by the blank look Utakata-san sends him, and the exasperated noise that escapes Itachi, he had made a misstep somewhere.

“Not that it—doesn’t suit you? Because it does? Very much?”

“I like orange,” says Utakata-san tonelessly. “I wasn’t—aware? That there was any specific significance to the colour?”

“There is not,” Sasuke lies, like a liar. “You can wear whatever you please.”

Utakata-san cuts his eyes to Itachi without hesitation, which yeah, rude, but also really, really funny.

“Sasuke is—correct,” Itachi hedges. “Broadly speaking. You can wear whatever you please. Not only are you strong enough to be given leeway, you are not at this time planning to claim any Noble titles. The traditions need not apply.”

Utakata-san doesn’t look very appeased by this very reasonable explanation.

Reading Itachi’s expression is always a treat because it feels a lot like being in on the joke. For most people, he would probably be considered blank and severe. For Sasuke—for any Uchiha, really—he is almost flamboyant, that’s how emotive he’s become in the past months. Like now, the cautious, wary angle of his eyebrows and slight tightening around his lips and cheeks are so transparently showing how little he wants to have this conversation. “If you were interested in what a traditional read of your colour choices is, I could explain? The Uchiha do have a vague claim to a Noble title.”

“I am aware. All due respect, the hedging is making me even more nervous. What is wrong with orange?”

“Nothing,” says Sasuke, a little rebelliously, because—true.

“As Sasuke says, orange is—ah. If you were to, for example, visit the Daimyo—or the Royal Family, before—you would notice that only the ruling family wears purple. A select few monks. Generally, those who have a great, demonstrable claim to virtue would be allowed to wear a few pieces. The court—and as wide a population that can be controlled—follows a tier system. Colours known as kinjiki are strictly reserved for the highest-ranking government officials.”

Utakata deflates a little, which is good but also really damn weird. The man never reacts in anything approaching a reasonable way. “Right, okay. That’s not—that bad, surely? It can be argued this is closer to indigo than purple anyway.” Something about Itachi’s—or even Sasuke’s—expression clues him in that the matter  is , from a certain perspective, that bad. Sasuke doesn’t blame the man—the fact that he knows all this nonsense, when he can barely remember what days of the week are, says a lot about the screwed up standards of the Noble Clans. “I gather there is more?”

“I promise I will stop bringing this up, but just one last time—all of this is entirely irrelevant to you. You do not move in these circles nor do you show any inclination to do so. If you were, however, you’d find your choice of an orange obi—especially such a lovingly, expertly embroidered obi—to be especially evocative of a certain—status.”

“A favourite lover, basically,” says Sasuke. Itachi will tiptoe around it forever, seems like, and they have better shit to do. “Reds, in general, are worn by the pleasure-workers, entertainers, stuff like that. Ōtan—the shade of orange that you’re wearing—is only worn by the kuge, the Aristocrat class. Combine the two, add in a purple Kimono, and bam. You’ve got yourself a Noble son of a family, who had likely devoted himself to, well, sex-work, basically, but the fancy, prissy kind where you get paid in political power and, like, commoners’ lives and estates.”

The slightly scandalized but mostly amused pearl of laughter that bursts out of Utakata-san is lovely. Also—warranted. They’re Shinobi. To be thought of as sex workers is a massive step-up.

“How scandalous,” he says. “And here is me, a Clan-less missing-nin orphan, wearing a pretty outfit.”

Oh, wow, awesome. “So, that’s a yes on the clothes, yeah? That’s the conclusion here? That clothes are just clothes, and thinking too much about is just a waste of time?”

“I suppose so,” says Utakata-san. The more they talk, the more the boy defrosts. They’re doing so  well .

“I don’t suppose you would consider extending that utterly reasonable approach to the other stuff?” Why not push his luck a little? Utakata-san seems to be in a relaxed state, best get his assurances now, before whatever stupid hangup in his head trips them up.

Another laugh ripples out from him, and Sasuke’s ever-developing psychotic fixation grows another foot. “I will try, Sasuke-san.”

In the end, Sasuke’s new friend accepts almost all of the household related items, barring those with any gold. He outright declines jewellery of any kind, which is a shame, because Orochimaru-sama has fantastic taste, but Sasuke can compromise when it’s unavoidable.

While he is still very jumpy around Sasuke, Utakata-san is, somewhat ironically, well on his way to building a very solid friendship with Itachi. They are alike in some ways. More alike than he and Sasuke. Sasuke’s rough edges and unwillingness to bend to, or even consider, most social rules rub Utakata-san in an odd way. Not bad, per se, but not good either. Superficially, they don’t have a lot of common interests other than Sasuke’s love of nature. But where Utakata-san adopted a more pacifist, idealistic outlook, Sasuke’s has evolved into a distant, amoral flavour of realism.

All in all, Sasuke considers this particular excursion a smashing success. He doesn’t need the man to share his views, he just needs to get him integrated into life in Otogakure. Friendship and all that will come later, if it comes at all. Honestly, Sasuke has a lot on his plate right now. He might be significantly more fond of Utakata-san than vice versa, he isn’t too bothered by it. Plenty of other people appreciate Sasuke, almost more than he can reliably keep happy. If Aniki is Utakata-san’s entry-point into their slapdash little family, that is a triumph that must not be under-appreciated.

There is one more thing, sadly.

“So—I hate to bring the mood down by talking about, like, serious things. I kind of have to, though. The Chakra connection.”

Utakata-san tenses a little, but it’s practically nothing in comparison to before. “I think I understand the why’s and some of the how’s. I just—I bring this up for your sake, Sasuke-san. I don’t personally doubt your word. I don’t see a reason why you’d lie about this—especially since you are who you are and your brother is who he is. If you wanted a pet Jinchūriki, you could get one without going this far. Still—for the sake of transparency, if this is some sort of manipulation or a trick, my companion, as you put it, will not react well.”

Okay, so that is both confusing and incredibly thoughtful. His Person is so kind!

“I mean, thank you for—informing me? I thought that was a given. Plus, the spinny-swirly eyes are cool, but I doubt they would do anything against a pissed off Bijū. No offence to the great Uchiha Clan or whatever, but I’ve felt Rokubi-sama a little. They would overpower us in—less than a heartbeat. I don’t—we don’t have enough Chakra to match a drop of its slime.”

Utakata-san’s glaze over for a moment, conversing with the (Goddamn fucking) Chakra Deity sharing his body. “My point stands,” he says, once he’s back with the puny humans. “I doubt you would lie, but I warn you nonetheless. I am not a fan of mutually assured destruction. If this was a trick of some sort, I would not hold it against you if you backed out now.”

“Would that it were so simple,” hums Itachi. “It’s not a trick. Sasuke has been working hard to give you as much time as possible. I have never heard of a bond being kept from forming for so long, before. It cannot last.”

It really cannot. Sasuke’s drugs are already becoming insufficient to deal with the waves of anxiety and panic that threaten to drag him under. This added stress of a half-formed soul-bond—whatever the Hell that even means—is not something he needs.

“Alright. I believe you. Under the condition that there will be no leashes or triggers on my side of things, I consent.”

For the first time in a good long while, a spark of something like bitterness bubbles up from deep in Sasuke’s belly, skitters up his spine and makes its home in the roots of his teeth, the beds of his nails and roots of his knuckles. He feels, well, pissed. His fucking body has been pulling him this way and that, has been plunging him from one disaster to the next, and he very much doubts this mess is going to be the end of it.

He didn’t ask for this—he  has  his family, his people, even if they aren’t his People. It’s all well and good that Utakata-san doesn’t have leashes and triggers, but Sasuke  does  and by extension so does Itachi. Now there is this stranger, who Sasuke would have likely adored otherwise, and any hope of building a healthy friendship is torn apart by the baggage of it all—

Alright, time to calm down. His Chakra is barely present, spent and pulsing sluggishly through his body, but what little there is has grown stiff and cold and sharp. Itachi noticed—Itachi always notices—but so does Utakata-san. He watches him with caution, now. No fear, thank the Gods, but a healthy dose of wariness.

“Never mind me,” he says. “I’m just wallowing in self-pity. Thank you for your understanding. This should only take a second.”

He reaches out with a tendril of Chakra—man, but he hopes he didn’t lie. It should be painless and straightforward. With Sasuke being as broken as he is and Utakata-san being two souls in the same body, one of which being a damn Bijū—

The Chakra connects, hums, bucks—sparks. Like, really sparks. Real, visible flashes of light and Sasuke—

—blinks—

“Oh, hi, possibly-murderous-Bijū-sama? I did not expect to see you again this soon, but it’s a pleasure. Unless you want to rupture my brain again, in which case, y’know, less than ideal.”

Whatever subconscious part of his mind that is running his body right now is doing an excellent job with keeping up appearances. Every bit of his attention is focused on the—magic around him.

It’s Chakra, he knows it’s Chakra. But—what does that even mean? It’s such an arrogant notion, truly. Such a bold notion—labelling a form of energy so deeply mystical with a simple term like Chakra and thus creating the illusion of it being understood. Known.

It  is  Chakra—it is spiritual Energy, and not of this world, either. Bijū are connected to a higher power, that much is known and accepted. Every soul has a spark of the divine, every living thing. But this place, this phenomenon that takes the whimsical form of an anthropomorphic slug, is all spark. All Godly magic.

“I like you, little human,” says the—impossibly large wall of sound being funnelled through a bubbly, cheerful voice. “I do. You’re not like the others of your kind.”

“Oh good, no rupturing today. Thank you. To your point, yeah, I’m not very good at human-ing, I don’t think.” Wow—he’s still speaking. He’s so good!

“I don’t harm without cause, human. Those who say otherwise are just bad at seeing causes. I brought you here for your benefit, believe it or not. Your body was about to shut down from the shock of trying to bond with us. With your spirit here, I can funnel some of my Chakra into you, keep your body alive through it.”

Oh—

“That’s so cool, Bijū-sama—Rokubi-sama? What should I call you, by the by?”

“Bold of you to ask, human. Names are both a sign of respect and a measure of trust, of power given over.”

Oh.

“You can call me Sasuke, then. Or human, or whatever. I’m easy. Sorry for being rude, humans don’t have rules like that, ’sfar as I know. Not that I know many human rules. Do you have anything you don’t want me to call you, then? I don’t know, Rokubi sounds a little mean, yeah?”

It’s getting easier and easier to focus, somehow. Everything is still enormous and unknowable, his body is still doing this weird thing where it’s feeling every single emotion as strongly as it can without pause, but he is learning how to filter it out, maybe? Point is, he is slowly taking his mouth back under conscious control.

“Interesting. The question is well-meant but fundamentally incorrect. You and I experience the world in very different ways. Do you think I have ears to listen with? A throat to speak with? This is all a game for your benefit. That is why I will not speak my name so easily and why the sounds you make with your mouth to address me do not matter. I will hear your meaning and will be offended or not based on the concepts you wish to convey.”

Well, that’s  swell .

“Very cool,” he nods, voice grave. “Makes sense, too. Kind of. Maybe? Okay, so, my mind can more or less see the outline of the things you’re talking about. That is surely more than enough? I’m not sure I would be able to understand even that much without you keeping my body together.”

This is the best moment of his entire life, he thinks absently. Every single thing that happened to lead him here, chatting casually with a God, or as good as, is a triumph that should be celebrated.

On the other hand.

“In the interest of preserving the peace, you know I don’t—this thing with Utakata-san is not my fault? I can’t control it, I don’t even want it.” No point in lying. He doesn’t want it. “I’m barely keeping up with my life as is. Utakata-san seems like a good guy, but the relationship is sunk from the get-go. He needs a safe space to stay and that makes keeping me happy important. My biology makes me very, very motivated to keep him happy. It is, no matter how you look at it, very unhealthy.”

“It is a very human situation you have found yourself in. It is not something that I can understand. I care for Utakata in my own way, we have built a language of respect. For that, I will keep him as safe as I can. Even from you. I do like you, I appreciate how far you’ve come from unshackling yourself from the limited perspective of your species. But one way or another, my Utakata comes first.”

Well, that was unhelpful.

“You still think too much like a human,” continues the Bijū. “Intentions and wants and needs are a narrow way to look at the truth. I can know and accept what you  wanted  to do and grind you into dust for what you  did . That is, for the most part, what I was created to do. Looking to me for guidance on your behaviour would be a mistake. I can no more understand your struggle to find meaning than you can understand how clear my meaning is to me.”

Sasuke gives this strange sequence of words their due attention. “Nope, sorry, I got nothing. I think what is happening, is that you are saying big things and filtering them to my brain. The filter is simplifying what you want to say so much, that the output is a string of vaguely important-sounding sentences that sound true but aren’t really saying much.”

“Most likely. Interestingly, communicating with you is even more strained than it would be with a less spiritually aware human. You are aware of some of the distortions, which is interrupting the flow of it even more. Believe it or not, others can hear my words—a laughably watered-down version of them they can understand—perfectly clearly.”

“Sucks to be them.” He doesn’t currently have the mental capacity for any real awareness that there might be other humans, somewhere. “I would hope I could get better at this, with time. Maybe if we met while I was meditating out of my body? I tend to have more success with understanding the world, then.”

“What do you think you are doing now? It is precisely because your soul is used to travelling the world, that I was able to pull you in here. You would have died, otherwise.”

Huh. “Neat. Well, there goes that hope. I guess I’m doomed to ignorance, then. I doubt I can improve all that much, soul-wise.”

“We will see. You have come far, and you are so very young. Off you go, now. Time is immaterial here—time is immaterial everywhere—so your humans should not be worried. Your connection with Utakata is forged, made even stronger by the addition of my Chakra. That in itself is interesting enough. What makes all this truly novel, is that your connection with  me  is forged. Something to keep in mind. Keep growing, spiritling. You might grow into something wise.”

Chapter Text

Sasuke didn’t lie. The connection with Utakata-san is quick and painless for the other man. Sasuke’s soul-excursion to whatever esoteric plan Bijū have access to went by unnoticed. A part of him wants to talk about nothing else, possibly for the rest of time. Bigger part of him is entirely too rattled by the whole thing.

Utakata-san suspects something had happened, which informs his behavior in polite but unsubtle ways—the man is jumpy as a squirrel and half as sociable. Sasuke—well. Sasuke needs a little time. He had not expected it of himself, not at all. But, in keeping with the theme of his entire life, this celebrated part of the Uchiha experience drives him up the wall in unforeseen ways. Now that his Chakra is settled, he finds he isn’t that eager to actually spend time with his Person. Especially when his Person is just as fine with keeping a healthy distance between them.

His family doesn’t bring it up. Aniki is quietly anxious, a fact that doesn’t much worry Sasuke. Being anxious is an integral part of Itachi’s being, only made more visible by the short bursts of unburdening. Orochimaru-sama, on the other hand, is smug as a cat. Going against the orders of nature or fate or the Gods or whatever—it speaks to a very important part of his personality. They don’t speak about it, but every day that Sasuke doesn’t spend fawning over his soul-bonded is a day Orochimaru-sama finds some round-about way of making his approval known.

They spend a whole, peaceful week like this. Sasuke meditates, either inwardly or outwardly, for most of the day. He trains a little when he can be bothered and makes a nuisance of himself when a wave of emotion floods him and he has to get cuddles, head-pats, and affection or he will die.

(There is a corner of his mind that he can’t go near, much less examine. Two softly-but-also-really-not bands of Chakra live there. One of them, the white-blue-green one, he knows to be Utakata. It’s startlingly human—miles more human than Sasuke is—and beautiful in a complicated, messy way. The other doesn’t have a color that Sasuke can name. It is a strange thing to identify in one’s mind. Seeing things—for a given value of seeing—in his mind-scape that have no counterparts in the physical world is not odd or unexpected. That doesn’t do much to help. The unmistakably otherworldly tendrils of Rokubi-sama’s Chakra that have spread like roots in his mind aren’t to be described, understood or examined. He is changing by the moment, his own Chakra gaining things and losing things, adapting as best it can. It’s a messy way to be, to exist, and adding additional stress to an already precarious situation sounds like a recipe for terminal insanity at the very least.)

Another dimension to the strange atmosphere that enveloped Otogakure is the looming date of Chiharu-san’s arrival. Nine Jōnin, lead by Kimimaro and Shizune-san were chosen to be the escort to and from the civilian capital Sasuke should really learn the name of. Oto no Kuni, and with it, her Daimyo, lacks the wealth that the Land of Fire has. Ordinarily, Chiharu-san’s trip would be a tame affair.

Naturally, such a travesty would never have been allowed to happen. Sasuke doesn’t follow the whole thing in any detail, but he is aware of just how outrageous a production Orochimaru-sama wants to make of Chiharu-san’s re-location. He would have escorted the man himself if he didn’t think it would have been a sign of weakness. Aniki was his second choice. Alas, neither death nor disease would move Itachi from Sasuke’s side, when he’s as vulnerable and emotional as he is now.  So they have this, Kimimaro and Shizune-san will lead a ten-person squad, accompanied by several serpents, and a clone of Katsuyu-sama.

It’s all very amusing, and at any other time, Sasuke would have been ecstatic for the chance to flit to and fro and add his two bits on how to make everything that extra bit more chaotic and divorced from reality. As it is, he meditates, glues back the things he can, and grows around the things he’s lost or can’t change. It looks to be a long process, but there are things that could help.

Such as summoning.

The concept of ‘try not to be a terrible human being’ —or ’try and be the Person you want to have’, no come on, stop it with the angst, you moldy lemon—includes informing at least one Adult of any strange shit he wants to try.

The choice is not an easy one. Aniki is the obvious pick, but—well. Aniki is entirely too game to try anything Sasuke wants to do if it is at least vaguely shaped like something reasonable. Tsunade-sama is another option, but she is both busy and not-so-quietly fretting about Shizune-san being outside of her sphere. She sent her ill-gotten Kiri bodyguards with her, which helps a little, but as far as he’s aware, Shizune-san hasn’t been apart from her in good many years.

Orochimaru-sama?

“Hey Aniki, do you have time to go pester Orochimaru-sama with me?”

“On one hand, yes, of course, always. On the other hand, is it—wise? He has a lot of work to do.”

Sasuke waves an airy hand. “Work, shmork. What I have in mind will be miles more interesting than any old politicking bear-trap he is setting for his arch-nemeses.”

An eyebrow climbs, as brown-reds seep into Itachi’s Chakra, indicating both curiosity and caution. “And what do you have in mind? You seemed pretty content to meditate, the last I checked. I could hardly tear you away for meals.”

“Summoning,” he says, beaming. “Orochimaru-sama baited me with it a while back, and I figure now is a perfect time.” He could really use some non-human companions right about now. Katsuyu-sama is a gem, but she’s not around a lot and Orochimaru-sama’s serpents are entirely too intimidating for Sasuke’s prey-soul to cope with for a prolonged period.

“Summoning?” Confusion quickly replaces caution in Itachi’s Chakra. “Not—what I had expected. I don’t know why—it is a technique tailor-made for you. You certainly have the capacity for it.” The more he talks, the more his Chakra, batting around him in animated flips and flops. “There’s also the extra layer of protection. A spectacular idea, Sasu, let’s go presently.”

Well, he had not, admittedly, expected this level of enthusiasm, but what works, works, hey?

Orochimaru-sama approves—at least in part because of his generous mood when it comes to Sasukepades not involving Utakata-san and thus cementing his autonomy as a strong, independent baby-murderer who don’t need no man.

“There are two established ways of going about this,” he says, easily falling into lecture mode, voice deepening with authority. He almost looks like a real Adult and not an unknowable pit of chaos “Option one is to sign an already established contract. This means less than one would think. A contract serves as a beacon. The spirit-Clan would send a representative, typically from the upper echelons of their hierarchy, which would conduct the test specific to that Clan. In your case, you could try the Snakes, the Slugs, and the Crows.”

Something about the performative way Orochimaru-sama rattles off option one tells him that option two is where it’s at.

“The second option is to try an open-summoning. This is how the contracts were first formed, and it is less popular because it is more Chakra-intensive and less reliable. It could happen that your ‘signal’ isn’t picked up by any Clan, for one reason or another. You could be summoned into their realm, instead of the other way around. You could end up with a spirit-Clan you don’t find valuable.”

Well.

“I don’t find valuable? Man, people have a very strange view of their relative worth in the grand scheme of things. Okay, so option two it is, yeah? No offense to any of you, but we are all drastically different people. Any Clan suited to you would find me deathly boring.”

He waves off Itachi’s immediate denials. “As I said, we are different people. If they do, for some reason, pick up my invitation to chat, well, then we know for sure, yeah? Let’s do this.” He’s so pumped, melancholy of the past few days peeling away, exposing bright, hopeful skin beneath. Gross. His analogies are weird these days. Make a note to scold his brain—this is really no way to conduct itself. Himself. Or something. Whatever.

What was he talking about?

Yes, summoning, and how exciting it is.

“Do I need to do something? Prepare an offering? Bribes seem to be working out pretty well, all thing’s considered.”

Orochimaru-sama sends him a deeply approving look. “Good instincts, but no. In this case, you are enough or you are not. There is no tipping the scales one way or another.”

Well, that’s a novel approach. “How does it work, then? What do I do?”

“The technique itself is fairly simple. I suggest you use your overpriced eyes to copy the Chakra-flow of it being done. I could do it, but perhaps your brother is the better choice. The alternations to my body and self are fairly advanced. I don’t channel Chakra like the average human does, anymore.”

“So cool,” he murmurs, wondering—is Aniki the better choice here? They are both Uchiha, yes, but Sasuke is—well. Not a shining example of his species, much less his Clan. Especially with the added footnote of being bonded to a Bijū—no, nope, no, leave that be. Let’s just have a normal go at it, for once?

“Before any of that happens, however, Tsunade needs to be here. Logic dictates even you can’t wring any nightmares out of this perfectly tame situation. I have learned to expect a lot from you. Any and every Chakra technique performed by you requires a medic on hand. The best medic, as it may be.”

“Perfect, wonderful. I miss Tsunade-sama, I haven’t seen her in a while.” Almost full six hours even. “Let’s get to it, no time to lose!”

The technique is laughably simple, all told. He doesn’t even need his Sharingan to be able to follow the simple shifts and folds of Chakra that Itachi runs through to summon one of his crows. The bird squawks at them with very eloquent reproach—which is a lot of bullshit, because he knows the bird could talk if it wanted to—and dismisses itself immediately after it realizes it was yanked about for demonstration purposes. Which—yeah, fair, but also, rude.

“Alright, here goes.” Please, don’t be a shitshow. Please, give him this. He’s been good, he’s been trying—

His Chakra follows his will obediently, forming the necessary shape—

Reality shudders around him—but it doesn’t, actually, nothing changes—what are you talking about, the world is clearly shattering around him—

He disappears—folding—expanding—dissolving—

“Whoo, boy,” he exhales, heart rabbiting in his chest, covered with sweat from head to foot, eyes spinning madly. “That was a fucking ride. Hey, magical drug-land. Is this in any way real? Because it looks a lot like I’m underwater and I can’t breathe underwater.” He inhales experimentally—yeah, no problem. Something a lot like air fills his lungs—but—

“Greetings, human-child.”

If he didn’t have some experience with Rokubi-sama, he’d have likely thought the sensation happening to him—for him—at him?—is that of a voice speaking. He does know better, now. This is Chakra-speak. Magic-speak? Whatever it is, it’s got nothing to do with a physical sound-wave entering his physical ears.

“Hi, possible God in heavens? Is this it? Am I dead?” Weird way to die, not very polite, what with having summoned his family to see it. But hey, there’s no point in stressing about it. You gotta die if you gotta die.

“No.”

He waits for a moment to see if more information is forthcoming. Nope.

“Alright, disembodied-voice-sama, I’ll take your word for it. What am I, then?” Not the real-world, that’s for sure.

“You are here.”

Hmm.

“Is that—a joke? I don’t mind random rejoinders and going in circles, but let’s just set up that is what’s going on.”

“A joke, a test. A conversation. You asked and we answered, human-child.”

“Oh cool. Cool, cool, cool.” What else to say. “So, do you want me to talk?”

“If you want.”

Hmm.

“Do you mind if I meditate?” Talking is not bad, as things go, but it’s definitely not on top of the list he enjoys doing.

“Do you think it is our place to mind?”

Whooo, finally, a reasonable person. Being. Spirit. Whatever.

“A refreshing perspective, disembodied-voice-sama. You do you, then. I’m but a nudge away.” Unless there is something more interesting around, but that more or less stands to reason.

It’s both easier and harder to slip into and out of his body. Part of that is the wholly bizarre sensation of being suspended in magic-water or magic-air or the soup dreams are made of, who even knows. Meditation is not a physical activity for him, but it is rooted in the physical as all things are. Honestly, he’d think it would be an order of magnitude more difficult to meditate in such a deeply alien setting. It works out—okay. Accepting bizarre shit his body throws him into is part and parcel of life, as far as he’s concerned. This, at least, is an interesting situation.

With his mind free to roam he gets—well. Something of an awareness of what is going on. Kind of, maybe? If you take the concepts of ‘something’ and ‘awareness’ and ‘going on’, turn them inside-out, give them a vigorous shake and blur your eyes at the results.

The Chakra-signatures are—well, he’s certainly in Spirit-land of some sort. Whatever Clan of spirits called him, they’re more like Snakes than Slugs, in that they’re sharply individual, discrete beings. On the other hand, they’re calm like Katsuyu-sama could never be, much less Orochimaru-sama’s companions. In fact, now that he zoomed out, it seems like he could—see—

Jellyfish.

They’re spirit-jellyfish, lazily bobbing about in, to spare his limited mind the run-around, Chakra-water. Different sizes, iridescent with hundreds and thousands and millions of colors.

His own mind slows down to match, if soul-walk could be thought of as having speed. Perhaps it is best to think of it as flowing into the way of things? His thoughts slow down and the slower they become the more he thinks he can hear a—hum? A pulse? A general feel of rhythm or tempo to this strange, beautiful paradise Sasuke in no way deserves—

After a certain point, there is no purpose in assigning Chakra-presences any size, comparative to his own. They are all ‘huge’ whether in the case of Katsuyu-sama, Manda-sama, Rokubi-sama, or this new presence that politely brushed over his soul. What can be said, is that this presence, unlike all previous ones, feels almost as inoffensive as Sasuke’s own soul feels. Like, yes, it is big, but size is a very unimportant metric with which to describe the world. It is not warm, or cold, or describable, really. It is—it is.

Ah—that would be the signal.

“We agree, Sasuke-child.”

Now that he knows a little more about this world, he can force his eyes to adapt—which, again, a ridiculous thing to say even in his own mind. Whatever it is that his mind is interpreting, it has nothing at all to do with his eyes or his ears. His best bet is that the Spirit is communicating with his soul directly, with varying results.

“To me?”

“Yes. Do you agree to us?”

“I mean.”

“Your point is taken. And yet the ritual, such as it is, must be observed. Do you agree, Sasuke-child?”

“Sure.” What a damn stupid ritual. Even in the abstract, tricking or exploiting uninformed consent is more or less dependent on verbal communication. This is soul-talk. There is no lying there. The spirit is well-aware that Sasuke’s agreement is ceremonial at best. “So, quick question. You say ritual, but, like. How did that come about? Who even made it? And who were they trying to mess with, the Spirits or the Humans?”

“Don’t lie, Sasuke-child. Those questions might be quick, but the answers are long. Knowledge isn’t free. You will earn your answers in time.”

“That’s fair.” What will he earn them with?

“Your truths thus far have earned you a contract with me and mine. Call on us and we will answer. Abuse the privilege and we go our separate ways.”

“Amazing.” Wait. “You can—I know you’re not really jellyfish, sure, but you can breathe and stuff in our world? You know what I mean.”

“I do. We are Spirits, Sasuke-child. It would be even more extraordinary if our constructs were in any way bound to the physical laws. Summon us and we will answer.”

A pause falls, comfortable and thick and relaxing. “Can I—how busy are you? Theoretically? Cause, Imma be honest, I don’t do a lot of fighting. If I can only summon you for combat, we’re not gonna see each other much.”

“Combat? I would hope you had the good sense to avoid such nonsense. Why would you think we are especially interested in combat? Are humans associating jellyfish and combat these days?”

“Ah.” Why did he think they would be interested in combat? “I suppose that, well, humans only ever talk about combat- or support-oriented Spirit Clans. Y’know, Snakes, Slugs, Toads, Crows, Wolves, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Oh. Those. Well, we don’t seek out conflict, Sasuke-child, nor would we support you in any such pursuits. We will aid you, within reason. Mostly, though, you will teach and you will learn and we will do the same.”

“That’s swell, Jellyfish-sama.” That’s getting a little unwieldy. “I know you have a thing with names, but maybe—I can’t call you Jellyfish-sama.”

“Mm. You learned some truths from our Avatar. You may not have my true name, yet, but I would accept a human-name if you think of one that suits.”

Woah, now hold on just one moment now.

“Your Avatar?” They can’t mean—

Something a lot like laughter, or maybe like the concept of laughter, is transposed into his mind. His mind, perhaps unsurprisingly, chooses to interpret this as a meld of every laugh Sasuke ever heard. It’s—a lot.

“We are joined in purpose, in a way. Those truths you haven’t earned either. Suffice it to say, the Avatar was created to serve as our Lady’s hands and we were created to communicate Her wishes.”

The Jellyfish bobs a little in place, weirdly but successfully conveying the sentiment of sharpening intent. “That is no coincidence, Sasuke-child. We are drawn to each other, we servants of our Lady. Were you not bonded to our Avatar, we would not have answered your call.”

Well.

“I can’t wait to do something you find valuable, Jellyfish-sama. The stories you have to tell sound beyond fascinating. Would you send me back, now? My family is likely very worried about me.”

“Of course. You had—but to—think it—”

Somewhat to his pleasant surprise, Itachi is not, in fact, tearing up Otogakure in panic. He does, nevertheless, pluck Sasuke from the ground into a firm embrace.

“Congratulations, Sasuke-san,” says Katsuyu-sama. “It is no small thing, to be chosen by one of the Nine.”

Wait—

“Are you—”

“Indeed. We will speak of it at a later time. Not all have gone as far as you have.”

Does—does Tsunade-sama not know? Does Orochimaru-sama not know?

Holy shit, Sasuke can’t keep secrets to save his life. Possibly literally. Orochimaru-sama would likely sew himself a pair of Sasuke-slippers if he learns there is a piece of knowledge—involving him personally—that Sasuke kept beyond his reach.

Right, then.

“Before we continue, Orochimaru-sama, Tsunade-sama, I want you to know I have been made aware that I possess knowledge you do not. I am not allowed to give you any specifics, apparently. I will, however, suggest that you have a nice, long conversation with your Noble Spirits.”

There. Safe. He cranes his head from where it was comfortably squirreled under Itachi’s jaw and meets Orochimaru-sama’s eyes. Look at that—not a single spark of murderous rage to be found! Not an inkling of an overwhelming urge to dissect Sasuke into itty bitty bits. Mission—accomplished.

Itachi’s—somewhat forced—chuckle vibrates through Sasuke, and he relaxes, much like a kitten when it's picked up by the ruff. He tucks himself back, absorbing all the warmth he can. It’s been nice, but cuddles? Easily in the top three best things to do.

“Sure, kid,” says Tsunade-sama. “Thanks for that. Now if you don’t mind getting back to the point?”

“Yeah, no, it was fantastic. Super cool. The Clan that took me are Jellyfish.”

A silence falls over the room, stunned and maybe a bit rueful. Orochimaru-sama is the first one to break it. His Chakra brightens, in a way. The steady, controlled flow of sound gets—shaken up, with several trilling notes wound into it until it feels like a complicated braid of several, rather jolly melodies. It’s a lot like if music could laugh. “Jellyfish? You now summon—jellyfish?”

“Yeah. They’re so cool—their land is like, I don’t know, like an ocean but made out of Chaka. They are all tinted with these snazzy colors and their voices—it’s paradise. Like, okay, you might expire from boredom on the spot, but me? It’s hands-down the best, most calming place I could have ever have dreamed up. I legit want to go spent eternity there after I die, reincarnation can suck it.”

“I’m happy for you, Sasuke,” says Itachi, always steadfastly on his side. Since Sasuke can feel him—and thank the Sage for that—he knows that is the truth. Not all of it, but definitely a significant chunk. “What do they specialize in?”

“Oh—I don’t know, actually. Hadn’t thought to ask. They don’t really—do combat? I asked if I could summon them to fight, and they seemed pretty confused by it.”

“Not all summons fight.” Itachi’s voice goes a bit conciliatory like he’s sorry and he wants to make Sasuke feel better. “My crows, for example, mainly gather intel. I’m sure your jellyfish are specialized in a similar way.”

“I mean—yeah, sure. But also—why would a combat-oriented Spirit Clan choose me? I am not sure I could kill a tree, never mind an animal. Never mind a human, Aniki, have you met me? I would just as likely seize on the ground in panic. No, I’m pretty certain my Jellyfish specialize in meditation.”

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra grows even more entertained somehow, all high, fluttery notes spiraling with one another. “You are a gem, child. A marvel. You and your jellyfish will meditate together. You have been chosen by a spirit-Clan, who I in no way believe are as harmless as you are making them out to be, so that you can—meditate.”

Not a hint of a lie. Sasuke huffs a little, endeared beyond belief.

“Thank you, Orochimaru-sama. My jellyfish are awesome. I am happy you accept them and me.”

He knew it, he knew summoning was a good idea.

Chapter Text

It’s time. He never thought—he never even dreamed he would—they could ever get to this point. He thought his childhood, such as it was, prepared him for how unacceptably, inhumanly terrible life can get.

He was incorrect.

Hatake are wolves, he was taught. Loyal creatures, sticking it out to the bitter end. He is, evidently, even worse at being who he was supposed to be than anyone could’ve guessed. He’s no wolf—he’s a rat. Fleeing a sinking ship.

(—you could stay—you have to stay. You owe your life to the village. Your friends—your brothers—your team—)

His cub—

(—not his—never his—you had your chance, friend-killer—)

There are many things the last and worst son of the Hatake can withstand. Many things he could do with his own two hands, against every edict of decency, of humanity—of truth. Somehow, this newest fucking nightmare is worse than even he can live with.

His life is a worthless thing—nobody would trade anything of value for a human as spectacularly without purpose or consequence. He could, however, do one last mission. The past ten years have been little more than taking one-way missions and cruelly surviving them. Well, this one last go should be enough. Should be the decisive strike that would cut the miserable string of failures and monstrosities he calls his life.

“Can you hear me?”

The child is delirious with fear and hunger. It has been— who even knows? Between a couple of days and three months, is his only guess. Three months—fuck, he should have suspected something was off. His missions never last this long. He had thought—never mind what he had thought. Obviously, he was wrong.

“I’m going to touch you, cub. I’m going to get you out of this cesspit, and you and I are going to run. Do you understand?”

Not a spark of intelligence is visible in cloudy blue. His sunshine child is damp with sweat, mind clouded with whatever cocktail of drugs they stuffed him full of. His nose twitches, sending wholly unwelcome information into his already spiraling mind. Well—at least there is no currently bleeding wound?

The shackles are good work. Uzu work. He can deal with them, but not quickly or easily.

The walls are not Uzu-work. Stealth is not important here. Anyone in the immediate vicinity is already dead, torn apart by Yuri of all fucking beings. He hasn’t seen Yuri since—

Never mind the fucking wolf. Get going, you walking fucking nightmare.

Is it a sign of evil that even now, his hands don’t shake? The thought of touching the child makes him want to vomit, but forming hand-seals is easy as fucking breathing.

Just a little more. Just a day. Then you can deliver yourself into certain death and rest, dissolve into nothing, let the faulty fucking bag of pain and regret rot in the ground.

His dogs are trackers, but his dogs are—not summons, in the traditional sense. They’re nin-animals, but not Noble Spirits. Not like his fath—not like the wolves are.

The wolves run with him today, perhaps sensing he walking a similar path as Sakumo once had. It’s a good thing, too. His dogs are trackers, but wolves are killers, brimming with Chakra and blood-lust. They tear apart anyone and everyone in their radius. ROOT men and women and children fall like so much inconsequential organic material, and Kakashi—

—runs—

“Taicho!”

Don’t stop—don’t flinch—run—

“Wait, fuck, come on buddy, you know I can’t run this fast—”

What?

“Shit—hold—stop—”

Against his better instincts, he slows down ever so slowly. There are nineteen wolves in a twenty-meter radius. Even with his hands full with—even with his hands full, he is in no real danger. He can spare—what? A minute? He can spare a minute.

“Oh thank fuck. Let me just—catch my breath real quick—”

A spark of something tingles through his mind, lighting up a small section separate from the agonized howling he had almost gotten accustomed to. What is he—

“Alright, alright, I’m good. So—Gai is on the way with my chicks, Rai’s putting finishing touches on a nasty string of ET’s underneath the Hokage tower. Yuu’ is helping the Aburame and Tenzo is tunneling out the Branch Hyuuga.”

What—what is he—

“ETA is in twenty-five, in spot three—we’ve got you covered Taicho. Iruka refused to leave without the civvie kids, so we staged a first-class ambush in his place. He’ll be fine, no worries, but we had to make it real, yeah? Mad bastard broke his own leg, it was a whole thing—”

“What are you talking about Gen’?” Look at that, he can talk. Is that good? He had hoped he already said all the words he needed to, in this life. Possibly all of them. Reincarnation as such is a touchy concept, but reincarnating to a human is surely too cruel even for Friend-killer Kakashi.

“The ETA? Where? Spot three, y’know, our usual spot Taicho, what is tripping you up? Iruka? I told you he’ll be fine. A day in the hospital, a little Chakra, bam, good as new. He might even have better standing than before. As I said, we made it very real. Burned his books, blood everywhere, the whole deal. He did get to stab his bitch of a girlfriend seventy two times in the eyes and blame it on Rai, so he really owes us—”

“You—What did you do Gen’—You were supposed to be safe and home and together not—”

Genma looks at him with earnest disbelief. “Are you high, Taicho? Did they get you with something? We were planning this op for fucking months, did you forget—Wait—We told you, yeah?”

Tell him? Nobody spoke to him for—

“Oh holy shit, wow, we fucked that one up right well, haven’t we? Wow, that’s hilarious. We thought we were so clever, too, planned the whole thing to start on the day of your return. You fucked it up by being early, which, if ever there was a time for you not to be early Taicho. At least you had the decency to announce your arrival. The murderous pack of horse-sized wolves was a nice touch. Well, what’s done is done. There is no home there for us there. The Uchiha kid made that painfully obvious, and after Anko and Hayate—”

Shit—don’t think about it—don’t think about it—

“Fuck, sorry Taicho. Point is, think of this like a prison break. And, as I said, what’s done is done. I certainly can’t return, what with having beheaded our esteemed Hokage’s advisors. I’d have mounted their heads, but there are children around, you know? They don’t have to see that shit. I left them in Shimura’s potted plants, being a polite guy my momma raised me to be.”

His head spins, the howling in his ears is joined by a sharp, painful whine, like an ET about to go off. This isn’t—this isn’t how the story goes. He is supposed to deliver the boy to safety—the closest approximation of safety he can think of—and get to fucking die already. Not—not whatever this fucking shit it.

“I don’t—I don’t have a plan.” One would think it wouldn’t hurt to say that. For once, it’s not his duty to have one. And yet—his Genma, his teammate—his pack—looks to him, for him, has found him, still calls him Taicho and he can’t— “This was supposed to be a one-way trip. Deliver the kid to the Uchiha and just—stop. Not. I was supposed to get to—not.”

“Wow, Taicho,” says Genma. “That was a shit plan. No can do, I’m afraid. Change of plans, if that sorry bit of morbid depression can be called a plan. No, we meet with the rest of team Karasu at MP-three, and sort of—meander our way to Otogakure. We have a lot of people, y’know.”

“I—we will never make it—”

“Who will stop us? C’mon, Taicho, don’t be dumb. We know our shit, okay? You alone cut down a lot of ROOT. Now, with Aburame, half of the Hyuuga and the rest of our team? You think anyone in that smoking ruin will have the manpower to chase us down? Please. Now, c’mon. I know you had, like, a rough day but we gotta go. We’re not late yet, but I really don’t wanna see what Tenzo will do if he arrives at the meeting point and you aren’t there.”

Chapter Text

Sasuke is braiding Itachi’s hair when Orochimaru-sama sweeps in. Everything about him speaks of danger. Doesn’t scream it, doesn’t suggest it. The shadows deepening already sharp angles of his face speak of severity. The low, deep thrum of Chakra speaks of a settled, unhurried well of violence just below the surface. The deceptive looseness of his limbs speaks of just how comfortable he is with that violence.

“Urgent meeting, children. Come.”

Sasuke drops Aniki’s hair immediately and the two of them scramble to catch up to the already retreating man.

“Do you know anything about this?”

Aniki shakes his head, apparently too rattled to talk just yet. Fair. Aniki is a gentle soul.  Suddenly dropping him straight into drama always leaves him functionally mute and spazzing out.

Wait—He catches Itachi’s hand more securely, and casts his Chakra out and away—is it—oh please God, let it not be—

Thank the fucking Sage. Utakata-san is in his house, doing something fairly relaxing, if the lazy, unfocused cloud of his Chakra is to be believed. Rokubi-sama notices his attention. Which—unsurprising but still damn creepy. The Bijū-painted part of Sasuke’s mind pulses, somehow conveying indulgent amusement, sprinkled with confusion. Fair. They must not have had many people concerned for Their safety.

The lump in his throat disintegrates slowly. Alright, so. Whatever it is, the core of Sasuke’s family is safe. Aniki is here, Orochimaru-sama is here and—whoever his Person is—is here. Cruel as it may be, everyone else would be a greatly missed but ultimately survivable loss. Well, maybe Aniki would disagree, but his Mother-figure is here, too, so.

Orochimaru-sama leads them into his office, where Tsunade-sama waits for them already, tense and every bit as intense as her teammate. Damn. Maybe he should really be worried about Kimimaro and Shizune-san?

“Alright, children. Sit down. There is news to be shared and plans to be made.”

Sasuke inhales, deep and grounding. Alright. “There is no easy way to ask this. Are Shizune-san and Kimimaro—”

“They are fine. The news impacted them, but not in a damaging way. They’re scheduled to arrive within the day. We can’t afford to taunt anybody, anymore.”

Okay, so that’s—everything he cares about really. He relaxes fully into his chair, a little lightheaded from the whiplash. Okay. This is good, this is the best option.

Orochimaru-sama and Tsunade-sama join them at the table. “Konoha is currently either on the brink of civil war or dissolution.” Sasuke would have expected some glee to be involved, here. Instead, internally and externally, Orochimaru-sama is just plain pissed off. “They lost two—arguably two and a half—of their Noble Clans and a fair chunk of their A-rank Jōnin.”

Itachi—freezes, Chakra tinting red-and-black, shuddering and turning inwards protectively. What could it—oh. Yeah, okay—

“When you say lost—” he says, keeping his voice light and unconcerned. Swear to Kami, if Konoha is still in the business of blackmailing children into mass murder—

“I mean they ran. I didn’t have many spies in the Village and the few I did weren’t so deep undercover to learn any secrets and internal workings. What they did see, before they ran for their lives, is that the Hatake boy returned from a long mission, promptly had a mental breakdown, summoned a pack of Wolves and tore through the village before running. His ANBU team defected with him, detonating the Hokage tower and massacring a fair few people, including two of the Hokage’s advisors.”

Orochimaru-sama surges from his chair and starts pacing around the room. Sasuke uses the short break in, well, cuckoo shit, to catch Itachi’s hand in one of his and try to calm him down a little. Why is any of this so bad, though? Alright, if the village managed to brainwash another one of their kids to cut down their families, yeah, Sasuke can see how that would be upsetting. But a few defections? That’s practically beat for beat what everyone in the room did. Other than Sasuke. He was technically kidnapped, but the point stands.

“What cuts against the mental breakdown theory,” continues Orochimaru-sama. “Is that the entire Aburame Clan and the Branch line of the Hyūga joined them. Used the cover of the chaos and slaughter to evacuate so efficiently that it had to have been planned and planned well. So. Where does that leave us?”

Umm.

“Okay, so, I am probably missing something. But, the way I see it, Konoha did some cooky shit again, tortured some kids or something, so some of their Shinobi decided they don’t have to put up with that stuff anymore. Good on them, end that cycle of abuse, internalize your self-worth, hoorah. Why do we care?”

“Where do you think they are heading?”

Sasuke blinks once. Twice. Three times. Inspects that sentence, gives it a thorough pat-down. Nope, no, not a speck of ambiguity.

“Here? They’re coming here?” Being shocked doesn’t happen often to Sasuke. He’s a very ambivalent sort of mad-child. He is proper surprised, now.

Not badly, though. It’s—hilarious, when your mind has had more than a moment to marinate in the idea. The only Noble Clan left in Konoha are the Akimichi Clan and half of the Hyūga Clan. Oto will be more Konoha than Konoha.

On the other hand, Sasuke’s steadily increasing optimism is in no way matched by the rest of his family. Best try to tread carefully here.

“And how do we feel about this?” Good, okay, good start. “Because I mean. There is solid precedent. We’re basically a safe-house for missing-nin and Konoha-rejects.” Okay, read the room, slow it down. They’re not ready for the truth. “But, uh, it’s—your village? So you can just—not let them in? If you don’t want them here?”

Orochimaru shakes his head sharply, hair whipping like a banner. “Never mind that, child. Why would they come here? Otogakure—everybody knows this village is little more than a whim. It’s run by Kimimaro, for goodness’ sake, and he’s never more than a misunderstanding away from investing all mission-funds into a solid jade monument to me.”

Well. He sends a look Tsunade-sama’s way—no help. She’s miles away, stewing in some pretty dark thoughts, not even pretending to follow the conversation. Aniki is just wholly overwhelmed.

Sasuke it is. Good thing he’s gotten somewhat used to talking Orochimaru-sama down whenever he gets like this—which is pretty often. He ties himself in knots, with how clever he is, entirely missing the way his preconceptions and schemes are blinding him to the truth.

“First of all, Otogakure has, what, solid four S-ranked Shinobi? There’s you and Tsunade-sama, that’s two. Aniki makes three. Utakata-san, arguably, makes four—or at least Rokubi-sama does. Kimimaro is not weak, neither are Yuki-san and Momochi-san. And that’s discounting your summons, or any of the hundreds nameless Shinobi that live here. I don’t see how we’re so weak. How many S-ranked Shinobi could Konoha have, if they didn’t stop their Hokage tower from being detonated and a single team of ANBU from killing the Hokage advisors?”

“At least one,” says Tsunade-sama, in a tone of voice so dangerous that Itachi hunches into himself, and Orochimaru-sama halts to a stop. “There should be at least one S-ranked Shinobi.”

O-kay. Time to deploy some more serious Aniki-calming measures. With an internal sigh, he vaults from his chair, straight into Itachi’s lap, grabbing his arms and winding them around himself. Itachi reacts—entirely on automatic—and squeezes him close. His heart is even, which is really respectable considering his Chakra is almost audibly whining in distress.

“Right, not the point. The immediate issue—”

The immediate issue doesn’t get discussed, because Orochimaru-sama unfreezes and explodes into action. Movements too quick to be followed with a Sharingan-less eye, he crouches down, Chakra flexing—

“I know you speak to the Toads, Mayu, so spare me. Jiraiya—tell me. Is he—”

The mid-sized serpent, Chakra so dense and calm she must be both powerful and old, visibly hesitates for a long, damning moment.

“I grieve with you, snakelet. The Toad Sage fell, three weeks ago.”

Okay—Okay—

Sasuke twists in his seat. “Aniki, you need to take Tsunade-sama to her rooms. Get a Kage-bunshin to bring you some booze. Now, go, I will talk to him—”

Itachi doesn’t hesitate—their relationship has progressed so much, bless—to nod, press a swift kiss to his hair, and spirit his mother figure away from the motionless figure of Orochimaru-sama.

Now—okay. Sasuke is, yes, a disaster. This much is clear to everyone. If he tried to speak now—well, it would be like adding temperature to an already unstable chemical reaction. Good thing if you need to save time, but the explosion, in this particular case, might be more trouble than it’s worth.

He focuses slightly, feeling his Chakra—soften, grows loose and bouncy and comforting. Alright, next step—expand. Bit by bit, he expands his Chakra-cloud, slowly growing to fill a meter around him. Two meters. Three. Breath by breath—it reaches Orochimaru-sama who doesn’t really notice—it reaches his serpent who absolutely notices and sends him a scandalized look a serpent should have no way of doing—and—it reaches the edge of the room.

Alright, the first overture of peace is made. Orochimaru-sama would never harm him willingly, and now even his subconscious is aware Sasuke is here to spread peace and love. Alright.

Next—hm. Sun? Warmth? Tea?

Tea.

Sasuke knows Orochimaru-sama’s office better than his room—man, much better than his own room. He’s slept inside his own room maybe ten times. Point is, he knows the comfy spots, knows where the tea is, knows where it’s warmest.

With carefully unhurried—but not in any way sneaky—movements, he closes the distance to Orochimaru-sama. “Hey, so, will you stab me if I touch you?”

No answer.

“I will keep you safe, spirit-child,” says the serpent—Mayu.

“Wonderful, thank you Mayu-sama. Do you wanna—be on guard, then? I need to—tea, but also warmth and comfort. The first step is gonna have to be sitting down.”

He’s babbling. It’s nothing new, but it’s usually funnier. Thing is, he doesn’t really understand the emotion Orochimaru-sama is consumed by. Sasuke doesn’t grieve—he did, maybe, back when he was an itty bitty baby, but his solution was to lobotomize himself to an apathetic state. He knows some of the theory—that you should let people grieve at their own pace, for example.

You should let him be.

Let him be.

No way can Sasuke let Orochimaru-sama be in pain without exhausting every other measure he has. Even if the pain is caused by the death of someone with next to no consequence as far as Sasuke can see. The Toad Sage was—an enemy wasn’t he? Or as good as?

It’s complicated, is the best bet.

“Here, come sit.” Ever so cautiously, he places a hand on Orochimaru-sama’s bicep. “Come, please? Just for a little while.”

Man, it would be nice if he could play something or sing something. Music is the way to go, here. Music and comfort.

For lack of a better solution, he starts humming a melody low in his throat. It’s not what anyone would consider good. Sasuke’s voice is as damaged as the rest of him. It’s high, but also hoarse, sort of—rusty. Like broken glass maybe, or the sound of sand scratching with gravel. Still, he’s not looking for beauty, just an unexpected sensory input that is in no way connected to aggression.

Step by step, he tugs the man into the best Sasuke-spot in the room. It would be even comfier if Orochimaru-sama wasn’t as long and gangly as he is. He’s out of it, still, Chakra sort of—confused. Stuck on a loop, or keeps hitting a snag and starting over from scratch just to hit the snag again. It’s—pretty sad.

Alright, so the serpent said it would keep him safe. Why not test that?

“Alright, Mayu-sama, this is where you keep me alive.”

He takes in a deep breath and climbs to the couch, over the cushions and straight into Orochimaru-sama’s lap. With how scrawny he is, he fits perfectly, top of his head barely brushing the man’s jaw. He shifts and tugs and slips and slides until both of Orochimaru-sama’s arms are wrapped around him, and Sasuke’s heart beats roughly against Orochimaru-sama’s heart. That’s a thing, with Shinobi, right? They like to have a physical reminder of life.

Mayu-sama sighs, which is weird because it should sound like a hiss but it doesn’t. It sounds exactly like a sigh. “It should be Kiyohime here, not me. Your den-mother would know what to say.”

“Words are cheap,” says Sasuke. “We need music and we need Chakra. Everything else is lies and errors and misunderstandings. We’re fine. Will be fine.”

Orochimaru-sama snaps into awareness some twenty minutes later. Even without Chakra-sense, Sasuke’d have noticed. He doesn’t—it’s hard to describe the movement. Like coiling, or maybe tensing. Some sort of full-body reaction of wounded anger.

It’s hard to say what would have happened if Sasuke wasn’t wrapped around his torso like a baby sloth.

“Are we burning down Oto, then?” Seems like fun. They have been pretty stationary for a while now. Why not try exploring the Elemental Nations? Suna sounds nice, lots of sun. Maybe Iron, too? Cold, yes, but there are definitely some cool new animals there that Sasuke hasn’t met yet. Plus, maybe his jellyfish enjoy snow—

“Who let you here—get away from me, child—I am not—”

“Do you think anyone could stop me? I am not leaving you to hurt alone. Not for anything.”

The snarl that rips out of Orochimaru-sama’s throat is undercut by the way his Chakra is slowly splitting up into deep winding notes of rage and ringing, urgent streams of confused grief. It’s a nice harmony, from a certain perspective.

“Not only do I not require your comfort, but you don’t know what comfort is.”

“True. Still. Your friend is gone. I know what that’s like. I would have been happy if I had someone who loved me around back then. It would have made things a bit less soul-crushingly terrible. So. Here I am. A living, breathing person who loves you.”

Orochimaru-sama doesn’t answer—it's debatable if he even heard everything he said. He doesn’t throw him out of his office either, so that’s a clear sign Sasuke is doing something right.

With a small hum, he tucks his face more securely into the mans neck and breathes in the almond scent deeply. Alright. This is alright. Orochimaru-sama’s hands tighten around him, tight enough to bruise but not cause serious harm. That’s fine. He gets it.

“How about this. Why don’t you and I sit here for a while like this, maybe have some tea, eat some cakes? Then, tomorrow, let’s say, you take Aniki and Tsunade-sama and you go raze some stuff? Get some of that energy out? Between the three of you, I’m sure you can demolish a mid-sized village and be back home for dinner.”

“I can’t leave Otokagure, child. Chiharu is coming, so is Konoha—”

“Konoha won’t be here for some time, not if they have a Clan and a half to slow them down. You will be here to open up the Wards and let Kimimaro and the rest in and lock them right back afterwards. Kimimaro and Shizune-san and I will handle the rest for an afternoon. Chiharu-san, well, let’s be real, Chiharu-san won’t complain because he doesn’t have anyone to complain to. I will handle it, don’t even stress. What’s important right now, is that all your emotions are nice and acknowledged and given their due respect. No offence, but bottling shit up, when you’re as clever as you are, will only end in heartache.”

No worries. Sasuke can totally handle things for a day.

“Plus your big, terrifying monster snake is definitely getting lonely, what with you not spending any time with him. I’m sure Manda-sama will appreciate some nice fire-and-brimstone variety of quality-time.”

Something approaching a laugh rasps out of Orochimaru-sama’s throat. It sounds painful, but it’s not as bad as it could have been. “I have been cooped up in here for too long. You make a good case, little nightmare. Tea and contemplation today, fire and murder tomorrow. Why not?”

“Exactly. The upside of being your own boss, as it were, is that you can decide to take a day off to vent your, again, no offence meant, maniacal rage in a somewhat productive fashion.” More productive than burning down your own house, damn.

Ordinarily, Sasuke is pretty certain Aniki would have had a problem or six with Sasuke’s plan. Today, when Tsunade-sama has been steadily drowning herself in alcohol without any sign of stopping, he is desperate enough to agree on the spot. Especially after the suggestion is the first thing to pass through the thick membrane of grief surrounding her.

“An excellent suggestion,” he says, almost vibrating on the spot from pent-up tension. “What, exactly, will we be razing?”

Bless.

“I’m sure there is a numbered list you can consult,” he says, very reasonably. Out of Orochimaru-sama’s many virtues, forgiveness wasn’t in evidence.

“Akatsuki,” says Orochimaru-sama from his spot next to Tsunade-sama, both Sanin busy with drinking faster than they can pour. It’s oddly scandalous to see Orochimaru-sama drink, but rituals are rituals. Plus, both of them can clear the alcohol from their system with a flex of Chakra. “Jiraiya is—was—investigating them, before—before, damn him. They’re as good a target as any.”

Itachi jerks back a little, uncommonly alarmed. “Akatsuki? Isn’t that a bit—”

“They’re after the Jinchūriki. Which means they’re after the Kiri boy. Which means—”

Which means they’re after Sasuke. Whoo, boy. Itachi’s apprehension melts right into crazed determination. Sasuke knows well how one-track his brother can be, but still, Amaterasu wept.

“Let’s not be too hasty,” he jumps in before Itachi can agree and the three maniacs can jump headfirst into shit they can’t finish. “Isn’t going after all of them a bit much? Why not do, like, one of them. Two on the outside. I am deeply attached to the idea of you having superior numbers, you know?”

Orochimaru-sama tips his head back, eyes closed briefly. “Don’t be ridiculous, snakelet. We’re not going to attack Ame. Who do you think I am? No, we’re going after a hide-out. Akatsuki move in pairs. Us three can ambush, say, Kakuzu and Hidan and slaughter them before they can so much as think too hard about it.”

“Ame?” Asks Itachi before thinking better of it. “Never mind. Why them? I would think Sasori and Deidara to be more interesting to you.”

“Many reasons. Money, spite, personal hatred. Kakuzu handles Akatsuki finances, as you should be well aware. Kakuzu also deals in drugs, sex and children, often at the same time. I spent many a night fantasizing about roasting his lungs on a spit.”

“Hah,” barks Tsunade-sama, well and truly plastered. “Remember that one guy, Shishi-something. The one with the hair and the gold?”

“Kurisaki Kaniwa,” says Orochimaru-sama, lips tilting in a gentle smile entirely out of place if the memory is going in the direction Sasuke thinks it is. “That was cathartic.”

“Sensei was so maaaad. Filthy old hypocrite—remember what he did to the woman, wass’er name the one who bought you on that one mission—the grubby little merchant from Wave?”

“I do, very often in fact. It is one of my fonder memories. She wasn’t even that bad, considering what Wave was like, back then. Treated her boys fairly well, all things considered.”

“Not for long, she didn’t, whoo I love those sort of missions. It was so simple back then, wasn’t it. All rapists and cannibals and paedophiles. That’s the sort of slaughter I can get behind, y’know?”

“I do know because you did. It was not I who sent a dozen spines tied together with a silk bow to the Tsuchikage, if you may recall.”

Woah. “You did what, Tsunade-sama?” Says Sasuke, trying but failing to slot that into his mental image of Tsunade-sama. “That’s such a boss move—spines? Really?”

“Listen, things were wild back then. Yeah, they’re wild now, too, but then? We’d had wars more or less back-to-back, y’know. All the decent folk ran for it, ran as far away from the Shinobi madness. The psychopaths stayed. Our team—when we weren’t on the frontlines—had mainly done missions like that, getting rid of the worst of them. ”

Okay. “Well, that sounds wildly unhealthy.” It really does. “But I can see that the moral dimension is pretty clear. There’s really nowhere you can go with a cannibal.” He pauses, wondering at this conversation's alarmingly high coefficient of awfulness. “I vote we change the topic. I realize you two are old and fond of reminiscing about the good old times, but your good old times are in no way good. I would go so far as to call them terrible and worth forgetting as soon as possible or practical.”

“What do you suggest we talk about then? Your life alone, child, could sustain a hundred drunken rants.”

“I am glad you asked. Let’s talk about the wonders of meditation, my good people, and why you should all get together with a nice, jolly jellyfish and think about your lives.”

Chapter Text

The fact that Chiharu-san arrived at the back-drop of, well, the Elemental Nations taking the final step into cuckoo-land, could end up being for the best. There’s a thought—how nice is that thought? Completely meaningless of course. Sasuke has been trying—and failing—to make a single prediction about how any of what has happened in the last day will play out. Not a one, not for over an hour.

Sasuke’s life—not the most stable of things, he freely admits that. In many ways, he’s very well primed for this type of batshit insanity, considering, well, everything that has ever happened to him.  Still—even for him, this is a lot.

He can’t even claim the changes are bad. They’re, for the most part, good. Neutral. Jiraiya of the Sanin being dead—at worst aggressively without consequence. At best—kind of okay. This is the man, Sasuke recalls quite clearly, who was quite willing to be the handler of a thirteen-year-old coerced to spy on a den of S-ranked missing-nin. Chiharu-san coming to live in Oto—wholly hilarious and thus good. Orochimaru-sama, Tsunade-sama and Aniki going off to murder some S-ranked nin who are after Utakata-san? Fine and dandy, especially in an ambush scenario. Konoha coming? Alright, this one straddles the line, but Sasuke leans toward loving the randomness.

So, no. The weirdness is yeah, cuckoo, but good on the whole. What makes it novel, is how unpredictable it is. Sasuke doesn’t claim he’s really good at judging what any human being will do. That being said, most of the time he can fall back on the very basic comprehension of action and consequence. Now? He’s got nothing. He doesn’t think it will necessarily end in their gruesome deaths, but it’s definitely possible. Anything is possible, truly.

Never mind that. If Orochimaru-sama is right, and he tends to be right, his middle brother is coming home in less than twenty minutes. Sasuke might not be excellent in the kitchen, but he can make a mean skewer of Dango—especially since Shizune-san left them about ten kilograms of pre-made paste in a preservation-seal.

“Kimimaro!”

Sasuke doesn’t really leave the more protected areas of Oto without heavy protection. In this case, since he’s with Aniki, Orochimaru-sama and Tsunade-Sama, he figures he’s safe.

The procession that arrives to Otogakure is—well.

The first really obvious thing of note is that Chiharu-san was carried at least part of the way. For another, whatever fancy travel set-up that he originally had, was likely sealed up. He walks now, together with four other civilians—sex workers, Sasuke is pretty certain—surrounded by Shinobi. There is Kimimaro, of course, in the back. Yuki-san and Momochi-san take two sides of the diamond formation, leaving Shizune-san in the front.

There’s likely protocol that Sasuke is ruining. Sasuke is also not at his most emotionally stable. He darts forward, around Shizune-san, past the Daimyo and his hyper-sexual attendants and throws himself bodily at Kimimaro.

It’s not that Kimimaro has never been hugged. Sasuke has been working on getting him accustomed to skinship for a few weeks. He just has never been greeted so enthusiastically. That Kimimaro is decently tall, with the sort of ridiculous build of weapons-users everywhere, just makes the scene that much more hilarious. Tall, broad-shouldered Shinobi team-leader standing petrified as a skinny little urchin-looking child clings to him like a limpet.

“I missed you,” Sasuke says, right into the collarbone he is mushing his face into.

“And I, you.” Kimimaro’s Chakra rattles, equal parts pleased and alarmed. “Your company would have been very welcome.”

Not the most effusive greeting, but Sasuke will take it. He shifts up and to the side and finally, Kimimaro unfreezes, wrapping a careful arm around his shoulders, tucking him closer. Very good, almost entirely human. Such progress!

“I see your trip was successful. Spectacular work, Kimimaro, I’m so proud!”

“Ah—” Even Kimimaro’s inability to accept praise is nostalgic, that’s how much Sasuke has missed him. “It was nothing. The task was laughably simple. We barely faced any opposition.”

Hmm. Firstly, Sasuke remembers at least ten more people being in the group. Secondly, the only thing that would make the Kiri-crew look as well-fed and sated as they do is death and violence. If there were any less than six bloodbaths on this mission, Sasuke will be very, very surprised.

“Wonderful, excellent, now, wait—Aniki, come on, don’t be a smelly old sock, come say hi—”

“I will, Sasu’,” comes the calm reply. “As soon as Kimimaro finishes with his mission and reports to our Lord. Maybe introduces us to the Daimyo? Who we all serve? Including, technically, yourself?”

Wow. That’s an impressive amount of professionally delivered sarcasm. “Good work, Aniki, that’s some sass. Good on you.” He turns to Kimimaro, who stiffened again, frozen in indecision. On one hand, Sasuke is hugging him and Kimimaro might be alarmed by skinship but he cherishes it beyond thought. On the other hand—zealot. Orochimaru-sama stands right there, outwardly patient and inwardly snickering meanly. “He’s right, the lizard. I’m being a brat. C’mon.”

He might concede some ground—he is being a brat, after all—but nowhere near enough to stop himself from eeling around Kimimaro and climbing onto his back. He hooks his jaw over his shoulder and sends a smug look Itachi’s way. Perfectly appropriate. Kimimaro is mobile and can report and Sasuke can get his brother-cuddles.

“Onward, gallant Sir,” he calls, not at all under his breath. They can suck it. Sasuke needs this.

Kimimaro twitches a little—even his under socialized little heart can recognize how deeply mortifying all this is—but rallies impressively and takes point. Shizune-san, true to form, falls to the back without so much as a blink. Truly an unflappable soul, Sasuke should get her a gift. Some tabi? Everybody likes tabi.

To make matters even better, incredibly, Kimimaro is so focused on pretending nothing at all is out of the ordinary, that he falls into a kneeling bow, entirely on automatic. Not having expected this, Sasuke—flips. Right onto his butt, at Orochimaru-sama’s feet.

A little breathless from shock and an almost imperative urge to burst into laughter and never stop, Sasuke cranes his head and meets Orochimaru-sama’s eyes. Never mind the Chakra, the man is barely keeping it together. Golden eyes look back at him, lower lids gently trembling, lips ever-so-slightly pressed.

“Well, this is the funniest thing to happen, possibly ever,” Sasuke says, mouth tilting up and up and up until he’s grinning as far as he can go until his scars pull and cheeks hurt. “You can’t stage this shit. I love my life, I swear to Amaterasu.”

Kimimaro is frozen in mute horror, body and Chakra, staring into the floor like he’s praying for the sweet release of death. Itachi, being the best brother he is, sweeps to the rescue.

“Alright,” Itachi says, voice audibly strangled. “You’ve had your fun, dearest. Now, please stop tormenting your brother and your Kage? Kimimaro, don’t fret. Sasuke’s propensity towards chaos is in no way a comment on your leadership skills. You have completed your mission admirably. Up you go, there’s a boy.”

Sasuke couldn’t stop grinning on pain of death. That he’s not screaming in hysterical laughter is really most anyone can expect from him. He inhales deeply, head tilted back so that the sun warms his teeth.

“Mission successful, my Lord,” says Kimimaro after a beat. Sasuke can’t quite read his Chakra, that’s how jumbled it is. Horror and pride and fierce, head-spinning depth of devotion spin, some for Orochimaru-sama, yes, but some for Itachi. Some for Sasuke. “All objectives have been successfully reached with negligible losses.”

Orochimaru-sama inclines his head, ostensibly in acknowledgement, but Sasuke can hear how helplessly lost in laughter his Chakra is. “So I see. Excellent work. Now—my apprentice’s antics aside, why don’t we take this inside. Chiharu-kun, welcome. Shizune-san, you have been missed.”

Shizune-san, nobody’s idiot, doesn’t say anything. She’s by now very familiar with what a hangover looks like on her Master and is in no way eager to find out what has happened now. Instead, she bows but keeps her place by the mute Daimyo and his totally-respectable-not-at-all-prostitutes entourage.

“My compliments, Orochimaru-sama,” says Chiharu-san into the brief silence. “Your Shinobi are to your credit. I regret the loss of life our move here has caused.”

“Irrelevant,” dismisses Orochimaru-sama. “Please. We’ve business to discuss and you doubtlessly have questions. Tea and refreshments are served in my office.”

“Wow, kid,” says Tsunade-sama once she’s released Shizune-san from her bone-grinding hug. “I have to say, I’ve never seen someone fuck up a mission de-brief so spectacularly before. Well done.”

Please. “As if. As if Orochimaru-sama hasn’t done much worse. Didn’t you say he was banned from the Capital?”

“True,” she says, lips tilted in a small, fond smile. “I stand corrected. You chose your Master well, bratling.”

“I know.” Sasuke wiggles in place, burying himself further in his pile of cushions in Orochimaru-sama’s office. “I lucked out.”

“Alright, snakelet,” sighs Orochimaru-sama. “We are all very amused, yes, congratulations. Now if you would? There are some introductions to be made if you recall?”

“Oh, right,” says Sasuke, faux cheerfully. He’s been, well, he’s been taking the coward’s approach and postponing the moment of, as it were, impact as far as he could. Aniki has been thoroughly distracted, first by Sasuke and then by Kimimaro’s plunge into depths of horror. “Sorry, sorry. Please, go ahead.”

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra sobs in laugher one last time, before it smooths out into its usual harmony of determined chaos. “Thank you. Chiharu-kun, you met Tsunade and Sasuke of course. The only other person of note in this Godforsaken village is Uchiha Itachi. Itachi-kun, meet Chiharu Takeda-kun, our Daimyo.”

“It’s an—honour,” says Itachi, finally aborting his mission of mothering Kimimaro’s angst away. He raises his eyes, eyes searching and—

There it is. Itachi’s eyes widen minutely, eyes flickering over the flawless features, stalling on the hair a little, before his expression—blanks. Nothing, not so much as a flicker of emotion is visible, not even to Sasuke. Even his Chakra folds into itself, closely guarded and blank. Very much like Chiharu-san’s, actually.

“Likewise, Uchiha-sama,” says Chiharu-san, rising from his seiza with smooth, practised grace. His attendants remain seated around him, all folded into varying positions that scream elegance but also sensuality. “I look forward to being in your care.”

Sasuke heroically doesn’t wheeze. Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra hums with something a lot like realization, like a piece of knowledge finally slotting into place. He doesn’t know the why’s or the how’s, but he realizes where the root of Sasuke’s odd behaviour is.

“Both my brothers speak well of you, Takeda-dono,” says Itachi in his best monotone. “There is no greater recommendation in my eyes. Rest assured you will be safe with us.”

Hmm. That, there, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a sentence full of subtext Sasuke has no earthly hope of deciphering. It sounds like a threat? Maybe? Sasuke’s sensing is sorely tested between these two.

Best jump in—Chiharu-san’s Chakra has rippled ever so slightly and darkened a full shade, from light-grey to steel-grey. What that means is anyone’s guess.

“Hi, Chiharu-san,” he says, twisting to face him better. If he ends up basically lying on his belly, well, nobody cares. “Hi, wholly-intimidating-entourage. Great to see you. Did you have a nice trip? I’m sorry it got cut short.”

“Greetings, Uchiha-san,” hums Chiharu-san. “It was certainly a memorable one. Then again, we live in interesting times. In the grand scheme of things, a few dozen assassins are likely mundane.”

Sasuke grins a bit more. Curls or no curls, Chiharu-san is really something. He has to be confused—Sasuke is confused, and he more or less knows what is going on. Not a trace of wariness or curiosity is seen in the lovely, blank facade. Nothing but a cold, sharp intelligence and enough determination to grind mountains into dust.

“That’s very true. Who was it? Kumo? Kiri? Wait—was it Konoha?” Amaterasu, please let it be Konoha.

Chiharu-san blinks slowly, entirely focused on Sasuke. That, too—when Chiharu-san looks at someone, he really looks. Doesn’t do the polite thing of letting his eyes wander, doesn’t even bother with playing that game. It’s—scary, yeah, but also fun. Tingling.

“Iwa, for the most part, but also a couple of unaffiliated teams. Rogue-nin, or so I’m told. ”

Right. Sasuke shifts, wiggles, curls and can finally crane his head to look at Kimimaro—wait, no, Kimimaro doesn’t know or care, like, not even a little bit. Aniki—best not bother Aniki right now. Which leaves—

“So, Konoha, right?” Sasuke asks Orochimaru-sama. “That’s what that means?”

Orochimaru-sama’s eyes gleam a satisfied gold, very unsubtly flaunting his draconic nature. “Very good, snakelet. Konoha. What an unwise decision that was. Not that there was much hope for them, once the Hatake boy has finally remembered who he is.”

Oh—

“By the by, Shizune-san,” he says, flipping over once more, and then once more, so that he can squeeze through two cushions and pop his head to the back and look at her directly. “I realize we never spoke about this much, but you don’t happen to have a very deep, personal attachment to Konoha as, like, a concept?”

Shizune-san re-settles her shoulders comfortably and sends him a content little smile. “Not even a little. Why? Has that got something to do with the rather hurried final stretch of the way?”

Sasuke see-saw’s his hand. “Yeah, kind of. So, I’m sure the adults will talk all this to bits, but the short version is that a bunch of their Shinobi have jumped ship and are most likely going to ask for asylum here. In, like, a day or so, is my guess. So. Yeah. The last Hatake flipped out and killed a whole bunch of people, before booking it out of there with the Aburame, half the Hyuuga and his ANBU team.”

Let’s not mention the Toad Sage right now, not when things are going as well as they could be.

“Oh—” Shizune-san’s Chakra seizes, sort of, a bit like lightning has run through it. “Oh, Itachi-kun—are you—your team—”

“My team—” says Itachi, his monotone cracking slightly, enough bits and pieces chipping off that the snarling, hungry monster is peeking through. “My team, yes—my team who stayed in the village and let my Sasuke be—my team—”

Wee-eell. Sasuke sends an appropriately alarmed look at Orochimaru-sama who looks, for once, honestly surprised. Not physically but, like, spiritually. Tsunade-sama, though, her face is twisted into something a lot like horrified understanding.

Think—think—it doesn’t matter what, precisely is going on. What matters is to make sure Aniki doesn’t lose what little grip he has on the situation.

“Never mind all that,” Sasuke says, hurriedly flipping over, and sitting up into a more or less polite seiza. “Konoha-shmonoha. Let’s talk about—” What? What could they possibly talk about— “My summons.” Phew, good save. For a moment he was going to say Chiharu-san’s attendants, but then he’d shift Aniki from one landmine to another. “I got accepted by a Noble Spirit Clan!”

“Congratulations, Sasuke-kun,” says Kimimaro, voice still a bit too hollow, but nonetheless devoted to making Sasuke happy and celebrated. “I assume you summon serpents, being who you are?”

“Who, me?” Sasuke boggles a little, not even playing. “The serpents—goodness, no, imagine. I have a very pleasant relationship with Orochimaru-sama’s serpents, thank the Sage, but they think of me like a very mobile, very breakable egg that doesn’t have the decency to stay in one defensible place. No, no serpents. I have made a contract with the jellyfish.”

Kimimaro’s eyes go slightly unfocused like he’s trying and failing to imagine something as soft and harmless as jellyfish technically belonging to the same class as Orochimaru-sama’s serpents.

“Jellyfish? The gelatinous, barely sentient mass of organic material bobbing around in the ocean?” He says in such a fantastic matter-of-fact voice that a high laugh punches out of Sasuke.

“Yep,” Sasuke says, making sure to pop the p like an asshole. “Jellyfish. Big, colourful ones. Amazing Spirits, really. Super chill. Suit me to a t.”

“Snakelet,” says Orochimaru-sama, not unkindly. “I admire your lunacy as much as anyone—more than anyone, possibly. I still need to go murder some people creatively later today. Chiharu-kun needs to have more information about what, exactly, had taken place. Will you behave?”

Sasuke thinks about this, really thinks. “See—thing is, you’re not going to have a productive meeting if I’m here. However, and this is the sticking point, I’m worried about all of you.” He says, figuring, why not play it straight. “You’re my family and I would do gruesome, unkind things to see you smile, but you’re all volatile people.”

“You should stay, Uchiha-kun,” says—unexpectedly—Chiharu-san. “We’re in no great rush. More importantly, making plans without consulting you is an exercise in futility. You are a far too integral figure in this village to be kept out of the loop.”

Sasuke pauses. Pauses pauses, thoughts stumbling, not to a halt but to a screeching roll through his mind. “Okay. So I’m not, let’s just make that clear. I’m the mascot. Family pet. Friendly poltergeist. You have me confused with Aniki. Or Shizune-san. Or Kimimaro. Or Yuki-san. I’m by far the least important from the kids-batch.”

Chiharu-san doesn’t do anything as pedestrian as laughing in his face but he implies it by the twitch in his eyebrows and the slight tug of his lips. “You are, by far, the most powerful person I have ever met, Uchiha-kun.”

While Sasuke is—rather understandably—alarmed by this bit of nonsense, Aniki finds it amusing. He doesn’t unthaw physically but his spirit relaxes a bit.

“I feel like I should say something, but I have no idea what that should be,” Sasuke says after a beat. “No matter how I look at it, it sounds like a joke. One of those absurd ones. Maybe a proverb? Oooh—is it a riddle? ‘What is more powerful, a lion or a dandelion’ type thing?”

“Most things can be thought of as humorous if you try hard enough,” says Chiharu-san, and Sasuke is suddenly reminded—

“Chiharu-san!” He says, grinning even harder somehow. “You sound so much like my jellyfish! You will love them, you have no idea—”

“Alright, kid,” sighs Tsunade-sama. “If you don’t mind—while I approve of you making friends, now is not the best time. You will have Chiharu-kun all to yourself soon. Plans, remember, plans.”

Sasuke pauses scooting on his pillow towards Chiharu-kun briefly. “Right, right,” he says, flapping an absent-minded hand her way. “You do that. I’m sure it’s super important to make very detailed plans. You are all very famous for sticking to them. Nary a plan was abandoned since I moved in here.”

“Is that you volunteering for a check-up bratling? Is that what I’m hearing right now?”

Sasuke doesn’t check out completely—he listens with half a mind—but he is there not to contribute. He is there to diffuse. The air is much too chaotic anyway for him to make sense of much. There is a lot of subtext being thrown about, the power dynamics are complicated and all tangled up. It’s not just their family anymore, but also Chiharu-kun and Utakata-san, Yuki-san and Momochi-san. Nobody has the courage—or everybody has the good sense—to avoid the topic of Konoha.

The topic of Aniki’s team takes up a sizable amount of real estate in Sasuke’s mind. The fact that this Hatake was once the leader of Aniki’s ANBU team. Whoo, boy. What a perfectly toxic relationship that must have been. Sasuke doesn’t know precisely what Aniki was trained and subsequently directed to do back when he was a kid even younger than Sasuke, but it would have been unhealthy in every way possible. And this man, this Hatake, must have played a very complicated role in that. On one hand, Aniki is alive and whole which is to Hatake’s credit. On the other hand, he directly enabled sending a kid age ten to thirteen to kill and seduce people. Sasuke is under no delusion about how Aniki cares for people, and, well, what his relationship is towards older male authority figures.

So—a mess, all told. Sasuke isn’t nursing a grudge, but he is maybe growing one slowly. On the other hand, Aniki is nursing a grudge, just not because of the right reasons. He resents them because they left Sasuke alone. Which, okay, yeah, he gets that abstractly. But if ANBU is is anything like what Sasuke has imagined, they take loyalty to Kimimaro-levels. To Yuki-san-levels. They would have had some feelings about Aniki going rogue. Sasuke doesn’t blame them for staying away.

Sage help him, and that’s just Sasuke. Fuck knows what Orochimaru-sama is feeling—what Tsunade-sama is feeling. Any one of them could snap at any time and Sasuke has no way of knowing how to handle that. If he even can.

“Hey so, just one quick question,” he says, when the questions in his head grow so loud and insistent that he physically can't withstand them. “I realize you’re doing Sage’s work here, I support you and all that. But just—we are letting Konoha stay? Right?”

“Would you?” Asks Chiharu-kun, once it becomes clear the Adult-portion of Sasuke’s family is happy to let somebody else handle this. “Would you let them stay?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, trying and failing to get anything substantive from the cold ball of energy Chiharu-san calls his Chakra. “Of course. I don’t really have many feelings about most of them anyway and one of them could be my ANBU which would be super nice.” He pauses slightly, debating with himself—is it wise to bring it up—probably not, but— “I don’t know about this ANBU Captain guy, tho. Sounds messy.”

“Hatake?” Asks Orochimaru-sama, spirit-melody growing quiet and attentive. “Why Hatake?”

Sasuke rocks back into his pillow, chewing his lip a little to gather his thoughts. “I am an Uchiha, yeah? We’re all aware of that? And how do Uchiha feel about people who fuck their siblings up? Aniki has a grudge about how Hatake treated me and I have a grudge about how Hatake treated him. So.”

“That’s—unusually strict, coming from you,” hums Orochimaru-sama. “You’ve glossed over such things before.”

A quick look—Aniki sits, barely even present, mind miles away. Tsunade-sama has him well in hand, her Chakra enveloping both of them in a thick, comforting blanket.

“Um. Have I?” Sasuke casts his mind back, trying to remember— “No, no, I’m pretty sure I’ve never glossed over things like grown-ass men accepting eleven-year-old children into their ANBU teams. Nope, that’s a pretty clear line.”

“That’s—interesting,” says Orochimaru-sama, head cocked. “One could make the argument that your brother in ANBU was a foregone conclusion. There was nothing for Hatake to do, other than try to minimize the damage.”

Sasuke can’t help his snorts. It’s beyond weird, feeling this bitter. He’s usually free from such things. “There was a lot he could have done. He, like everybody, has a line, as evidenced by the smoking ruins of the Hokage tower the man left in his wake just the other day. My problem with Hatake is that his line didn’t include Aniki, a boy placed in his care.”

“Interesting,” says Orochimaru-sama, but doesn’t offer any further comment. His eyes grin gold, and his Chakra is just as unknowable, quiet in the ways of serpents just before they strike.

“To be fair,” says Aniki, voice soft and distant. “I was not placed in his care. My legal guardians were, at the time, our parents. My captain was only in charge of the Shinobi side of things.”

“And that makes me feel loads better,” says Sasuke with a wide, toothy smile. “Really, Aniki, here I was fretting about nothing. Hatake fulfilled his obligation to you by Konoha standards. Well, that’s a weight off my heart, let me tell you.”

Aniki huffs, eyes still hazy, but warmed slightly. Sasuke doesn’t often express his Uchiha-protectiveness. Maybe he should step it up if it makes Itachi happy? “This will be a very circular argument, I feel. I don’t feel slighted personally, but resent Hatake-sama’s action towards you. You feel the same.”

True. Well, looks like they need an outside opinion. Hmm. Who—Orochimaru-sama? Shizune-san? Kimimaro? Not Kimimaro, not before he has a nice talk to him about why children fucking adults for a mission is bad. “What do you think, Chiharu-san?” Chiharu-san is perfect. Not only is he as sharp as humanly possible, but he is least likely to try and spare Sasuke’s feelings.

“Mm. Could you be more precise?” Hums Chiharu-san. “What do I think about this Hatake’s actions towards the pair of you, or about him being allowed to stay in Oto?”

“Both,” says Sasuke. Even the tone alone goes a long way in centring Sasuke, it’s so damn smooth and cold. He can’t wait to introduce Chiharu-san to his jellyfish, but more and more he can’t wait to introduce him to Orochimaru-sama’s serpents as well. “Definitely both.”

Chiharu-san visibly thinks. Most people get a glazed look in their eye when they’re deep in thought, or they stare into nothing. Not Chiharu-san. For all that it’s very apparent his mind is operating at a hundred per cent, he is as present and aware of his surroundings as ever.

“The second question is simple and not controversial,” he says, slightly slower than usual. “Obviously you should let the man stay. He is strong, fanatically loyal and politically valuable. I can’t say I am very familiar with you and your brother, but what you have described doesn’t seem to be enough to outright murder the man, and you would have to murder him or let him stay. He must not be allowed to become an asset to another Kage.”

“You would be surprised what Uchiha murder people for,” grins Sasuke. “But sure. I have a grudge, not a vendetta. And the first question?”

Chiharu-san’s look somehow intensifies, which, okay, Sasuke didn’t expect that was possible. “I would say that, while it is hard that somebody wasn’t as devoted to you as you were to them, that is not all that uncommon. This Hatake put his obligation to Konoha before his obligation towards both Itachi-sama and though him, you, Sasuke-san. That is unpleasant, but things like that happen. You will, sadly, get used to it.”

Huh.

“Wow, Chiharu-kun, that’s harsh,” says Sasuke, trying to inject as much admiration as he can into his voice. “Good on you. I’m super glad you came to stay with us, we needed somebody like you to make sure everything is nice and clear, damn. What do you think, Aniki? Are we jealous that Hatake cheated on us with Konoha?”

Itachi plays ball, bless. “Now, let’s be honest. We were never that important. If anything, he refused to leave Konoha for us,” Aniki says, voice perfectly innocent.

“True. Jilted mistresses, then? Wow, Aniki, this is awesome, I get to have the melodrama without all the bothersome romance stuff. Who is Orochimaru-sama, then, in this metaphor?”

“I dare you to answer that question,” says Orochimaru-sama, head propped by one palm, the other one tracing random patterns into the wood of his desk. “Both of you.”

Fair enough.

Chapter Text

Sasuke is well-aware his propensity towards momentary obsessions is, well, not awesome. It’s not his worst trait, but it’s up there.

Like now. He has many things he should be doing, and more importantly, he has many things he should want to do more than figuring our Chiharu-san. There is Kimimaro, who has had something of a rough time. There is Shizune-san, who is the only person he’s ever met that could be an actual good influence. There is even Utakata-san and Rokubi-sama, his maybe-Persons. People. Soulmates, damn. 

He of course does none of any of that. Orochimaru-sama, Tsunade-sama and Aniki have hightailed it out of Oto as soon as they could. Yuki-san and Momochi-san tagged along, what with their spectacular mission to keep Tsunade-sama safe. The Fūinjutsu around the compound-that-pretends-to-be-a-village is locked down tight, and only one of Orochimaru-sama’s serpents or a clone of Katsuyu-sama can loosen it from the inside. Sasuke already talked Orochimaru-sama into letting Chiharu-san and his entourage stay in the family-wing, ostensibly for protection purposes.

“You know, whatever power you think I have or whatever, you don’t have to put up with me if you don’t want to. Say the word and I’m gone.”

Chiharu-san’s expression remains unchanged, lovely face arranged just-so, not letting a whisper of emotion be read. It’s a very precise performance of inhumanity, one that Sasuke hasn’t seen done so well on a human person before. As intimidating as Orochimaru-sama’s serpents are, in this particular instance, Sasuke can’t spot them in Chiharu-san’s body and manner. Snakes are cold and detached, but they are not cruel. No, only cats can play that game, and they play it well.

“Oh, I am aware. Likewise, you need not fret I would censor myself to spare your feelings.”

Sage help him, is there anything about this man that isn’t fierce? It’s—okay, Sasuke isn’t one to stereotype, and yeah, his is a Clan of people very comfortable with androgyny. But Chiharu-san—it’s not the same. He isn’t androgynous, he’s hyper-feminine and hyper-masculine, each for a few moments, or even a single gesture. It’s—yeah. It’s a lot.

So, wait. If he knows he can send Sasuke away and still here Sasuke sits—

“Wow,” Sasuke says, a dozen beats too slow—easily for the sixth time in the past half an hour. “Okay. So. Does that mean—wait, no, sorry, please don’t answer that? I don’t need to know what it means.” Good save. “Wow. Um—so.” Thing is, a million questions flit about Sasuke’s mind, each one odder than the last. How are you this weirdly captivating? Why are your attendants obviously prostitutes? Why are you here?

“Can you play music?” Sasuke says instead. Which, okay, random question, but an excellent one.

Finally, finally, something changes in the man’s Chakra. His face remains as unapproachable as it was, but the Chakra ripples ever so slightly, shading from granite to—barely discernible pink? Maybe? It’s hard to say, but Sasuke chooses to interpret it as amusement.

“I am Akasen-born, Sasuke-san. There are few instruments I cannot play.”

Oh.

Oh wow.

Sasuke gulps, feels his eyes widen. That’s.

“Wow,” he says. “Wow, wow, wow.”

“So you’ve said,” says Chiharu-san, adding perhaps a slight hum at the words, a suggestion of a teasing lilt? Maybe?

“Yeah,” breathes Sasuke. “I mean, look, I promise I’m—I’m not as creepy as I look. I’m not just, like, obsessed by how pretty you are. You are very pretty, sure, but at the end of the day, yours is the type of beauty that disquiets not enchants. Plus I’m, you know, Uchiha. I’m not really impressed by how selective your breeding was. But your Chakra—it’s gorgeous. So scary. Like, no joke, easily the most intimidating type of Chakra I’ve ever felt.” He hesitates, uncomfortable with something— “Okay, scratch that. Easily the most intimidating out of the humans I’ve met.” There, that’s true.

“That’s hard to believe,” says Chiharu-san. “Considering your family.”

Mm. Good point.

“In terms of volume and training, sure, they’ve got you beat. Not really what I’m talking about. You hold your spirit around you so tight—I didn’t think that level of control was possible. You’ve got me beat and I spent years lobotomizing myself into being very precise with my Chakra.”

Chiharu-san doesn’t reply for a long moment, unreadable as ever, Chakra still and inhuman. “Shinobi aren’t the only ones who train, Sasuke-san. Most high-class brothels train their girls and boys to cater to Shinobi as well as civilians, you know.”

Huh. “You know, I’ve never really thought about that,” says Sasuke. “Interesting, in a gruesome way.” Civilian sex workers serving Shinobi would need to be very Chakra-careful. “I wouldn’t want to be in charge of security. Sounds messy.”

“No, I wouldn’t expect a son of the Uchiha to think about civilian prostitutes all that much,” says Chiharu-san, with a deliberate—fake—note of humour warming his tone.

Should he bring it up?

Nah. Chiharu-san knows he is in charge between the two of them. If he wants to play a part, it’s likely not for Sasuke’s benefit.

“Son of the Uchiha,” Sasuke snorts. “That’s a nice way of putting it.” Much nicer than ‘that one kid that his parents despised, for no discernible reason. “Are you happier in your new line of work?”

Now, this is not fake. A ripple skitters across the smooth dome of Chiharu-san’s Chakra. It could be bristling? Hard to tell—it’s going to be a task and a half to calibrate his Chakra-sense to this particular maniac.

“I don’t know that my new line of work is different from my old one in any meaningful way. I certainly get paid less.”

Sasuke snorts, beyond charmed by this wonderfully unknowable man. “Fair enough. Still, I’m sure things will be different, now. You’ve got some pretty powerful people on your side.”

Chiharu-san inclines his head slightly, lips curved in a very deliberate, very insincere smile. In a way, Sasuke likes it more than the more natural-looking ones. It seems like a step in the right direction. “We’ll see.”

Finding out things about yourself is a deeply unpleasant experience, Sasuke finds. Such as being both needy and insecure. Not very cool things. The whole Utakata-san mess aside, Chiharu-san is the first person Sasuke has ever really liked—aside from his own parents—that haven’t really liked him back.

“How do you feel about bribery?” He asks after the intense soul-searching had left him wrung out and wobbly.

“Pardon?” Asks Chiharu-san. “Could you be more specific?”

Well, honesty has worked out so far, and Sasuke doesn’t really have a lot to lose, here.

“I want you to like me,” he says. “I’m learning that I am a needy, possessive sort of child and I can’t handle you not liking me. So. I had success with direct bribery so far.”

Something about that sentence disturbs Chiharu-san’s heavy bubble of disinterested aloofness. He pauses in his writing, sets his brush down and focuses his gaze on Sasuke.

“You don’t need to bribe me, Sasuke-san. I am well aware of who you are and what you can do. Rest assured I will not treat you badly.”

What.

“Okay,” says Sasuke, a little mystified. “I don’t see how that maps onto what I’ve asked, but sure. Good to know. I didn’t think you would, honestly. Back to my question, maybe? Bribery?”

“I am not—comfortable with that,” says Chiharu-san, trying to soften his voice, as if Sasuke couldn’t sense his Chakra, couldn’t see how un-suited for comfort it is.

It feels more and more like Sasuke had made a serious mistake somewhere.

“Sorry,” he tries. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I—I am blunt, often. Shinobi talk in circles and hidden meanings and I’m too slow or under-socialized or whatever to know how to pick up on it. I just—you’re really cool, Chiharu-san and I want you to stay. I’m trying to get you to like me so that you would.”

A beat of silence, and a half-forgotten and entirely un-missed emotion twists low in his belly. Apprehension maybe? Vulnerability? It’s—

Man, it sucks to be a human person. He’s spent so long in the safe bubble of insanity followed by being loved by everyone he wanted to be loved by. It’s beyond strange to actually feel—this way. Soft and squishy and insecure. How long has he known Chiharu-kun exactly? Damn.

“Understood,” says Chiharu-san. “Unfortunately, the concept of bribery makes me nervous. In my line of work, I like to keep all transactions equal and precise.”

Hm.

“A trade, then?” Sasuke asks, each vowel heavy with uncertainty. “You could—teach me stuff? And I could—try to give you things to make you happy? In the hopes of you being happy and thus starting to like me?”

Chiharu-san looks at him for a long sequence of beats, obviously taking him seriously, which is good, but entirely inscrutable, which is less good. “There seems to be a slight miscommunication,” the man says, and the slight curl of hesitation for once feels a hundred per cent genuine. “Give me a moment to think, please.”

“Of course,” Sasuke says. He has plenty to think about—such as how he’s managing to screw this up so thoroughly.

“Alright,” says Chiharu-san after a long few minutes. “I will try to match your honesty, Sasuke-san. You are a Shinobi child. I am sure you have an idea about what my life was like, at times. Now think: do words ‘I want to bribe you into liking me so that you would stay with me’ mean the same thing to you and me?”

Uhhh.

“But—but—I’m a kid,” says Sasuke. He can feel his Chakra oozing out of his control, wiggling and curling in agitated panic. “I’m not—that’s not what I meant—you know that’s not what I meant! I want, like, head-pats and affection. It’s not—I’m not even past puberty yet, I couldn’t even if I wanted to—”

“I am aware,” says Chiharu-san. “That makes it even worse. If, say, Orochimaru-sama approached me with a similar offer, I would be better equipped to process it. It is precisely because your words, actions and intentions are entirely incomprehensible, that I am so uneasy. Do you think I have a lot of experience with affection and, as you say, head-pats? More to the point, perhaps, do you think my life has left me with an overabundance of trust?”

“Right, right,” squeaks Sasuke. “Of course, I’m sorry. I—okay. Sure. Sorry. No mention of, like, bribes and. Yeah. Sorry.”

This time Sasuke doesn’t even acknowledge the strained silence, that’s how much he appreciates a moment to—cool down a little. He didn’t—okay. So he fucked up. Was stupid of him to assume everybody would find him as, whatever, harmless as his family does.

“I am not berating you,” says Chiharu-san. “Not at all. I am—matching your honesty. You are a very useful ally to have, one that I am not fool enough to reject, simply because of misunderstandings.”

Sure, great, spiffy. This man, he swears—

“Cool,” Sasuke says. “Cool, cool, cool. So, listen, this is all a lot and I can feel myself over-emoting. I wanna de-compress, but I also don’t—you shouldn’t be alone. I’m not great protection, granted, but Fūinjutsu is only effective up to a point. Plus, you know, den of thieves and murderers. So—option one, I get you a strong Shinobi that you find workably trustworthy. Option two—you come with me to the nearest training ground and I summon us some jellyfish to meditate with. Up to you.”

“Which Shinobi are you offering,” says Chiharu-san, and oh, wow, that, there is a genuine spark of amusement. “Out of curiosity?”

“Well,” Think—think— “There are Shizune-san and Kimimaro, who you’ve met. They’re miles stronger than me. Umm. Kiri-crew are gone, they would have been perfect.” Don’t say it, don’t say it— “There’s Utakata-san?” Why did you say it? Do you want Chiharu-san to meet—whatever they are to you?

“Oh?” Chiharu-san zeroes in on this, like Sasuke knew he would. “Utakata-san would be the Rokubi Jinchūriki?”

Well, you made your bed.

“It’s probably best you know, anyways,” says Sasuke, a little forlornly. “Umm. Okay—Man, I hoped Orochimaru-sama would have this conversation with you. Or, actually, no, not Orochimaru-sama, not at all. Tsunade-sama. Whatever. Sorry, rambling.”

Chiharu-san makes a show at leaning back into his seat and waving an airy hand. “Take your time, by all means.”

Man.

“Okay, so, do you—” How did Aniki do this? “What do you know about the Uchiha, exactly? Like, Uchiha-lore specifically?”

Chiharu-san’s eyes sharpen in tandem with his Chakra changing from grey-purple to off-white, whatever that means. “I’ve heard many things, Sasuke-san. More than I would care to say. If you could be more specific?”

Right.

“Sure,” he says. “I’m not—it’s nothing bad. I’m just, I don’t know, I don’t want to upset you.”

“I am certain you won’t.”

He might. After all the careful talking around shit and being all polite and whatnot, if his progress with Chiharu-san and his wonderful Chakra gets destroyed because of this—

Man, one way or another he needs to meditate. This whole thing has him chasing his own tail—

“Sure. Well, there’s no making this anything other than what it is. It’s the soulmate thing. It should be pretty well-known, right? My soul-bonded is Utakata-san. It’s—yeah, it’s complicated.”

Chiharu-san’s Chakra—spikes. No, really, spikes like one of those weird steel balls mounted on chains civilians hit each other with—what even—

“Interesting.” For someone whose Chakra is bucking in what is perhaps fear or aggression or, what, blind panic, Chiharu-san’s voice is even and cool as you please. “Is that a common occurrence, for Uchiha?”

Okay, so that’s a weird reaction, but okay. Chiharu-san is a pretty weird man.

“Yeah, sure, it’s very common. I think I can name, what, five Uchiha since we’ve been a thing that hasn’t had a Person? Maybe? It’s chill though, like, there’s no romantic connotation at all if that’s what’s got you tied in knots. I’m Aniki’s person and he bonded to me when I was born, so. You know. All good.”

This man gives him some serious whiplash. Sasuke thought Kimimaro was bad, with how plastic his Chakra was—he’s got nothing on Chiharu-san. One moment, spikes and reds and browns and feeling of blood on your teeth and poison rushing through your blood and now—nothing. Smooth fucking sailing, what the fuck?

“How novel,” Chiharu-san says. “Out of all the legends, I would not have thought something as—prosaic as that would prove to be true. So Utakata-san is your soulmate, effectively?”

“Yeah,” Sasuke says, smiling as honestly as he can. “The whole thing is a bit fucked—uh, sorry, messed up. I’m, well. You know how I am. He is. Well, he is in a vulnerable position, right now. Orochimaru-sama took him in and some folk are targeting Jinchūriki from what I gather. It’s not safe for him out there and, well. Again, you know how I am. I will probably never be sure if he will be my friend because he can’t afford to leave Oto, or whatever. So. Yeah. I’m giving him space.”

“That is very well-done of you,” says Chiharu-san, body relaxed and Sasuke—

Fuck it, Sasuke preens. He has exactly one way of accepting praise from an Adult he respects and that is preening. That is not different for Chiharu-san. If anything it’s more true for Chiharu-san, considering the man looks to be stingy with praise.

“Thank you,” Sasuke says. “It’s a pretty low bar, not being a blackmailing monster but I’ll take it. Cheers. Anyways, yeah. You should meet Utakata-san at some point. He’s the sweetest, no joke. Super cool. Summons dragonflies, blows iridescent soap bubbles he can fly in. Houses an immortal Avatar of Kisshōten-sama .”

“I will arrange a meeting when it becomes convenient,” says Chiharu-san. “But for now, I would look forward to meeting your summons. I’ve met serpents, toads and Katsuyu-sama so far. I look forward to meeting your jellyfish as well.”

“Perfect. Great. Super. Do you want to bring one of your—friends? Minions? Terrifying agents of darkness?” Wait, is Sasuke one of the minions too? Technically?

“Hey, quick question, before we go—am I your minion now, what with you being my Daimyo technically and me being one of your pet Uchiha?”

Summoning, somewhat surprisingly, goes off without a single hitch. Sasuke, Chiharu-san and two of his companions—Junpei-sama and Reina-sama—sit in a training ground, having something of a picnic. Sasuke might be entirely too intimidated to do anything but stutter vaguely in the face of Chiharu-san’s friends, but that’s maybe for the best. It amuses everyone, which is good, especially Chiharu-san, whose Chakra visibly lightens whenever Sasuke uses the -sama honorific to address his friends, and -san to address himself.

“Greetings, Sasuke-child,” says the jellyfish that answered his call. It’s—okay so it is—

It is spectacular, that’s one. Back when he was in dream-soup-Chakra-land, Sasuke failed to properly appreciate many things. How pretty the jellyfish are, how unapologetically whimsical they are, but most importantly, how large they are.

This particular jellyfish is easily three meters across, and it flies.

It flies in the air. Bobs in the air. Like swimming, maybe, or like someone’s loose guess at what swimming would look like. 

Okay.

“Hi, jellyfish-san!” At least his voice conveys just how thrilled he is, just how spellbound by this newest wonder. “Nice to meet you! Also—wow, you’re so pretty! The prettiest, seriously! Is that—glitter?”

“Nice to meet you as well, child. As for my Chakra-construct, I wouldn’t know. We know little about how humans perceive us,” Chakra-speaks the jellyfish. It’s, yeah. Sasuke really has to come to terms with the limitations of language, perception and conceptualization of his fleshy vessel.

Which brings up an interesting tangent—would the jellyfish look the same to different people? They shouldn’t, right?

Never mind that.

“Meet my friend, Chiharu-san, and his friends, Junpei-sama and Reina-sama.” He turns to the, well, perhaps appropriately stunned humans. “Friends, meet Jellyfish-san.”

The giant rainbow-coloured sparkly jellyfish bobs in the air, tentacles gently swaying in something that conveys a polite greeting to Sasuke at least. Maybe like the jellyfish equivalent of a bow? “How do you do, humans.”

Chiharu-san doesn’t show how stupefied he is with his body, but his Chakra is clearly in socked stillness. “Very well, thank you. It’s an honour—how should we address you, spirit-sama?”

“Incorrect question, human-companion.”

Umm. Best step in.

“The spirits—they don’t hear the same way we do,” says Sasuke. “They communicate with Chakra. What you think you hear is just your mind interpreting them communicating soul to soul. Vice versa, they can’t hear what you say, they only hear what you mean.”

It’s interesting to follow the concept as it courses through Chiharu-san, as it gets dissected and rejected and accepted. He looks—scandalized, Chakra-wise. Scandalized but intrigued.

“I would apologize then, Jellyfish-sama,” says the man after a long beat. “I am not comfortable with that level of intimacy.”

“Do you think by not making mouth-noises your spirit will not communicate with me?” Says the jellyfish, visibly growing brighter with something Sasuke will call amusement. “Humans—so unwilling to see the truth. How about you, Sasuke-child? Do you think this is too intimate?”

“Oh absolutely,” says Sasuke. “It is beyond invasive. But don’t have much to hide or protect, thought-wise. I like the transparency. Anyways—I thought you might like to get a feel for my world? Maybe meditate a bit?”

“Very considerate. Lets.”

Chapter Text

Konoha doesn’t arrive by the time the S-ranked part of his family returned, which yeah, is for the best. Life in Oto has been decidedly strange—at least it has been for Sasuke. While Orochimaru-sama isn’t really involved in the day-to-day workings of his village, his presence is enough to keep the peace. The strategy, therefore, is to keep the denizens ignorant of the fact that the proverbial cat is away.

Realistically speaking, the adults’ Akatsuki-hunt doesn’t take more than thirty hours, all up. It feels longer. It could be that Sasuke is worried. It could be that Sasuke is nervous. Infinite possibilities and all that. The result is—yeah. He’s buzzing with anxious energy, not really having enough focus to do much but bounce off the walls and try to keep himself from doing something truly unwise.

The distractions—his jellyfish, Kimimaro, Chiharu-san, the incoherence with which he experiences the passage of time—work up to a point, but it’s slowly dawning on him there are really only two people who always calm him down, and those are Aniki and Orochimaru-sama. Both of which are gone.

If he is to look even deeper inward, which, never a very pleasant thing to do, he’d admit that there is only one reason he’s as nervous as he is. Only one absence that’s hitting him hard, and it’s not Aniki.

Otogakure feels less like safety and more like a liability, the longer Orochimaru-sama stays away. Which, okay. He never really thought to quantify or even attempt to see the outline of his relationship with the Snake Sanin, but it seems he’s come to depend on his pseudo-parent quite a bit.

How disconcerting. Orochimaru-sama of all maniacs.

Well—it could be worse. It could have been Tsunade-sama. It could have been the Toad Sage. Where would he be then?

Dead probably. Morbidly insane at the very least.

The Adults return on a windy, moist type of Thursday. The type that’s only really good for low-key depression and food with very low nutrient content. Sasuke, by that point fed by Shizune-san who in no way supports his dietary preferences, rejoices. Say what you will about his unlikely Adults, but they are chill about a child eating four kilograms of chocolate per day—as long as he matches it in protein, Orochimaru-sama lets him get away with it.

For obvious reasons, Sasuke can’t meet them at the entrance. They’re toeing the line of too cavalier with their own lives as it is. Sasuke is all too aware that the biggest danger to his family is, in a roundabout way, him. If he gets kidnapped, organ-nabbed, whatever, several people will go after him. Several people he holds dear will place themselves in great danger to get Sasuke back. Aniki and Kimimaro, for sure. Orochimaru-sama, to a lesser extent. Tsunade-sama and Shizune-san. Many people will get hurt if Sasuke is too stupid about this. So he stays inside, stays behind the strongest Fūinjutsu around and only ever eavesdrops on Oto shinobi when he’s soul-walking and his body is safely tucked away.

Briefly, he contemplates folding away his Chakra and surprising them as they come inside, but that will almost certainly see him torn into shreds by, like, every single person he loves in the world, which, yeah. Not a very nice thing to do.

Standing at the door like a lonely little poodle it is, he concludes, resigned. It’s not the worst feeling, but it’s not all that great either.

It’s time, perhaps, to consider training. Against all odds, he survived for long enough to grow himself a personality, to become someone that loves and fears and wants. He has things, now, which means he damn well needs to be able to keep them.

It was easier, being an insane, abandoned tragedy. He was even reasonably content, back then. But while his new human-person-life is exhausting and painful and awkward, it is also fast and intense and decidedly magical. The unpredictability alone is dizzying, let alone the sheer concentration of emotion he feels on the regular.

It is what it is. Sasuke lives a crazy life, surrounded by crazy people, but the motto is now as it always has been. Do or die.

“So who did you murder?” Asks Sasuke into the squishy spot where Aniki’s jaw met his neck. He hasn’t precisely crawled inside Itachi’s skin, but he has squished his body into Aniki’s Yukata. The garment probably didn’t deserve to have two Uchiha teenagers stuffed inside of it, and he’s pretty sure he heard at least seven distinct ripping sounds so far, but that’s a price he is willing to pay for skinship. “Did you get the guy, the child trafficking guy?”

“No,” sighs Orochimaru-sama, all dramatic head-tilts and sharp hair-flicks. Sasuke is not fooled. Not only is Aniki in a weird, quiet place, but Tsunade-sama stormed through Oto like the dogs of Hell were nipping the soles of her feet. “We got two of them, but not Kakuzu or Hidan.”

Hmm.

“And you’re all alive and whole?” Sasuke asks, just to make sure. “Even Momochi-san?” He’s definitely the weak link in this particular group.

“The trash couldn’t hope to touch us,” says Itachi with a note of venom so dangerous, Sasuke instinctively squeezes himself closer. “The closest we came to injury was light fatigue.”

At times like these, it’s clear that there is worth in selective, deliberate ignorance. “You know what, I don’t need to know the details,” Sasuke says. “The important thing is that we’re all present and accounted for.”

“With a potential addition,” hums Orochimaru-sama. His Chakra shifts, folds, separating into discrete sounds not unlike a mechanical clock. A soft click-clack that could be soothing in theory, but in practice sounds like it’s counting down the seconds until the Apocalypse. “It’s up to chance, now.”

Chance?

“Um,” says Sasuke, alarm winding slowly in and around his voice. He can’t help it—what addition? What chance? Is someone—is there a baby—? “Um.”

“Chance and the greatest Medic alive,” says Itachi. “The child has decent odds.”

Orochimaru-sama’s eyes glint, Chakra thrumming and clicking and being all around creepy. “The child had its Chakra ripped out with thorough precision. He should have been dead thousand times over. The fact the body is still alive is a very merciless miracle.”

Sasuke doesn’t often curb his curiosity, but if ever there was a time to not know something, it’s now. Plus, as long as nobody is unexpectedly pregnant, he finds he doesn’t really care at all.

Change the topic—change the topic—

“Did you know, my jellyfish can swim in the air?” He wiggles left, scoots up and away enough that he can finally crane his head enough to meet Itachi’s eyes. “And they’re huge. Like, proper huge. I only summoned a few, but they are all over three, four meters in diameter.”

“That’s lovely, Sasu’.” Itachi’s reply isn’t dishonest, but it’s automatic enough to fall under the baseline brother-adoration thing Itachi has running at all times. “Well done. Did you have fun with your summons?”

Sasuke beams. “Oh, heaps. I can’t wait for you to meet them, you’ll love them.” Now how to turn around? Any sudden movements will rip the poor Yukata to shreds, and Aniki might actually expire on the spot if Sasuke leaves him half-dressed in Orochimaru-sama’s office. A wiggle to the left—nope. To the right—no give. Alright, then. He bends backwards and twists—Good enough. “You especially, Orochimaru-sama. They will adore you. They speak Chakra-to-Chakra, and your Chakra is—phenomenal. Jellyfish don’t have music, I don’t think. It will be a blast.”

“I look forward to it.”

The reply is clipped enough that a pang of worry pinches behind Sasuke’s eyes and skitters down his spine. It’s—okay. No offence to anybody here, but one, whatever, tortured kid is rather mundane. Yeah, if it’s a kid they like or know, sure, they’re bound to be upset. But just a random kid?

Maybe it was more gruesome than he thought?

There is no saving this conversation. “Food,” he says into the silence. “Let’s get Chiharu-san and his entourage. Make a party of it.”

They don’t make a proper party of it. Tsunade-sama and Shizune-san are neck-deep into a medical procedure so involved Sasuke is kind of impressed. Aniki and he were, he had thought, about as fucked up as Shinobi could get. At his worst, during the lung-issue, Aniki had about eight different machines keeping him alive. This kid, tiny little nothing of a child, has seventeen, not including the Fūinjutsu matrices carved into the floor.

Orochimaru-sama’s involvement consists of enabling Tsunade-sama’s efforts and sitting back with a notebook and a knowledge-seeking gleam in his eye. Which is, yeah, more akin to the clinical detachment of a scientist watching an autopsy, but the medics let it go. It’s clear Orochimaru-sama doesn’t for a moment think the child will survive but is happy to document the discoveries they make during its drawn-out death.

Now Itachi, on the other hand, cares very much. Not, Sasuke assumes, precisely because of the child, but because, what Akatsuki had done to this boy, they plan to do to Utakata-san. Rip the Bijū out of him bit by bit, extract its Chakra by some unknowable method.

It’s, yeah, it’s pretty terrible. Also, something that is kind of, whatever, cracked? Bijū have been sealed in and out of Jinchūriki for a while now. Like, why go through the trouble of ripping it out when you can just—reseal it?

Strange shit is afoot, all told.

The downside of Aniki being invested is that he insists on assisting Tsunade-sama as much as he can. And he can, quite a bit. Everything Aniki does, he does with a maniacal level of focus and determination. He’s been studying to be a medic for long enough that he’s solidly eclipsed Shizune-san, who has shifted bit by bit away from medicine and towards biotechnological research.

Which, fine, Sasuke wouldn’t normally care. He is very happy to enable and celebrate Itachi’s relationship with Tsunade-sama. The problem is that, well. His biological imperative is acting up. Seeing a possible fate Utakata-san could face so fucking unsubtly—it’s messing with his mind.

“Hey Chiharu-san, how’s your schedule looking today?”

Chiharu-san looks up from his scroll. Steel-eyes jump quickly from Sasuke’s pallor, the visibly twitching fingers, the restless way he’s shifting from one foot to another. “My schedule is always flexible when necessary, Sasuke-san. What do you require of me?”

A complicated question, if ever there was one.

“Well,” he says, trying to straighten the writhing tangle of his thoughts as best he can. “So, I’ve mentioned how messy my relationship with Utakata-san is, yeah? It’s—it’s best for everybody that there is an intermediary. Preferably a scary, authoritative one. Umm. Usually, that’s Aniki, but Aniki is busy. Orochimaru-sama would be a disaster, considering he is both biased and uninterested in keeping any sort of peace, anywhere, ever. But I need, like, need-need, to see Utakata-san with my own eyes. So, yeah. Could you come with?”

Chiharu-san visibly thinks this over, which Sasuke appreciates. It’s, yeah, it’s very affirming in a weird way, to speak with someone who always digests his words carefully. Chiharu-san does it to everybody, but Sasuke doesn’t need to feel special, Sasuke needs to be heard.

“Are you certain it’s me you want?” Chiharu-san says. “I will, naturally, do my best. I would hesitate to claim that will be enough.”

Sasuke twitches, a full-body nervous tic that starts from the root of his heels and spreads all the way to the beds of his nails. It’s, yeah, biological imperative bullshit. “You are cleverer than I am and not as invested. Most importantly, I trust that what you want to get out of this will play nicely with what I want. So.”

“By all means, then,” says Chiharu-san, setting his brush down in one fluid motion so smooth that it very much looks like theatre.

“Out of curiosity,” says Chiharu-san into the somewhat uneasy silence as they’re moving from Chiharu-san’s chambers, to where Yuki-san is staying with his Master. “Would you mind clarifying your earlier statement? Of my goals playing nicely with yours?”

Oh, curiosity is it? Strange, that, because your Chakra shows wariness if anything. There is some curiosity there, maybe, but only the kind that would prompt you to put the dangerous animal out of its misery before you start dissecting it.

“I thought you would appreciate the chance of, well, conditioning me, I suppose,” he says with the small remaining part of his mind not running around in circles or trying to remember where Yuki-san’s is staying, precisely. “You like that I am sensitive to things like unhealthy power imbalances and manipulation and coercion of that sort. I assumed you would like to reinforce that, when you can. Plus it’s a sign of trust, that I will introduce you to a person without whom I will actually, properly die. Sorry, I’m actually a bit lost, do you know where—”

“Hey, kid,” calls Momochi-san from a window, about three stories up. Yuki-san and Momochi-san have a room near Tsunade-sama’s rooms, near the family wing. Most of the time, though, they live in the Jōnin chambers, underneath the jungle-swamp. “What are you doing wandering around these parts with only a civilian to protect you?”

“Looking for you, actually,” Sasuke calls back. “For that exact reason. Most of my go-to Shinobi are busy. So, are you free to take a bodyguard gig?”

Momochi-san growls, deep and bloodthirsty, which when calibrated to Kiri-speak is equivalent to a mild smile. “Haku’ll take you,” he says. “I’m shit at protection missions. See you around. When you see your brother, remind him he owes me a spar.”

“Will do! Cheers, Momochi-san. I’ll be sure to send you something nice as a thank-you!” Maybe some cake? Or, like, a pint of blood, who even knows with Kiri. “We’ll just wait there, then?”

“He’ll be down in a minute, stay put.”

“Well,” Sasuke says, turning back to Chiharu-san. “That was easier than I feared. Go me! What were we talking about?”

“This and that,” says Chiharu-san, voice heavy with the closest thing to amusement Sasuke had felt from the man. “You’re more perceptive than I thought. More practical, too. Our time together might be productive yet.”

Productive, he says. Nothing Shinobi do is productive. They are a net loss, no matter how you look at it. If it wasn’t so individually impractical to do so, the civilians would have likely long since rebelled.

“I don’t know about productive,” Sasuke says, because, true. “We will definitely make some peoples’ lives much worse, which, y’know. Always a plus.”

“That’s as productive as I’ve ever aspired to be. A book I began yesterday instructs me children respond well to praise. Unfortunately, most of such literature focuses exclusively on civilian children, not Shinobi-born and raised. Would you say that was true in your case?”

Sasuke beams, which feels odd on his overstressed, twitching body. His facial muscles refuse to cooperate with any degree of grace, instead stretching his face into something that feels unholy. “Sorry, that was supposed to be an encouraging smile. Yes, please, praise me. I love praise. Even under-handed praise, or like, ironic praise. All praise is good praise.”

“Well, in that case, well done, Sasuke-san. It was well-done of you to ask for help when dealing with an emotionally unstable ally. Securing an impartial intermediary is the best possible way to avoid unforeseen complications. Additionally, you’ve done well to think about your—and my—safety. Yuki-san is a very appropriate choice.”

Wow.

“Okay, so,” Sasuke says, not even joking all that much. “So you must have babies, Chiharu-san. Like, we must give you a few children to raise. You’ll be so good, oh my God, that was hands-down best praise I’ve ever heard, what the fuck!”

“I’ll take that frankly horrifying statement as a compliment,” jokes (!) Chiharu-san. Sasuke does his even best to grin at him to show how ecstatic he is about this outpouring of personality, with likely mixed results. He gets that the man is likely putting on a show of familiarity to encourage sentiment or whatever his sharkish mind suggests is an optimal strategy for handling insane Shinobi children, but it works so, go Chiharu-san. “Having said that, Yuki-san is heading our way.”

“Yuki-san!” Sasuke whirls around, the wide grin still stretching his face in unintuitive ways. “Hi! I hope I didn’t interrupt something vital?”

“Not at all Sasuke-sama,” says Yuki-san with a gentle smile that suggests that any time with his Master is precious and fleeting, and Sasuke better have good reasons for this audacity. “It’s an honour to see you again, Takeda-dono.“

“Likewise, Yuki-san,” says Chiharu-san, inclining his head just-so, enough that one of his curls twitches forward ever so slightly. It’s a very practised movement—and a very deliberately placed curl, probably. “We are grateful for your assistance.”

“Of course.” Yuki-san’s bow is lower, just as fluid if more feminine. Where Chiharu-san plays both roles, prefers to mix feminine and masculine in equal measure, Yuki-san emphasizes stereotypically feminine gestures. The two of them make for an interesting visual. “What, exactly, is the mission?”

Mission. Hah.

“You’re taking me to see Utakata-san,” Sasuke says—tries to chirp, but his voice cracks easily and often. The result is closer to a squeaky, wobbly rasp. “Chiharu-san is there to make sure I don’t say anything too stupid, and you are there to deter any overly ambitious Oto Shinobi.”

“I’ll stay in the back, then. Lead the way, if you would.”

About five minutes away from Utakata-san’s home—and he is home, Sasuke checks about once per ten heartbeats, plus a few more just to be safe, much to Rokubi-sama’s amusement—Sasuke realizes—

“I don’t have a host gift!”

Chiharu-san doesn’t startle, inwardly or outwardly other than an ever-so-slight tightening of his Chakra-bubble. “That is a misstep. A meal of some sort would be beneficial to keeping the atmosphere light. Sharing food is a very effective method of keeping your allies relaxed and encouraging bonding.”

Sage wept, really? Is that a thing?

“Wait here,” comes the musical tone of Yuki-san. “I will send a clone.”

“Thank you!” Sasuke says, a little despairing but mostly impressed. “That’s very, um. Capable and. Adult of you. Cheers.”

He pauses, uncertain for a moment, as a thought slowly bubbles up from the soup of insanity and neuroses that is his mind. Chiharu-san has proven to be very willing to share info and, honestly, has the look of someone more people-aware than Sasuke’s family is. “Hey, Chiharu-san, a quick question. Yuki-san, right, is very helpful. Above and beyond kind of Shinobi, wouldn’t you say? What would you think a hypothetical boy could give him to show his gratitude?” A pint of blood is all well and good, but other than for his skin-care routine, Sasuke can’t really see how Yuki-san would use it.

“Money is always good,” says Chiharu-san, slow and unhurried. Yuki-san observes them from two steps away, somehow managing to arrange his body into a picture-perfect Geisha pose and look like a mean motherfucker. “Crude, yes, and impersonal, but useful. Could imply a transactional nature to your relationship that some would find off-putting.”

Oh, would they? Sasuke considers for a moment the sheer scope of torments Chiharu-san would unleash upon him if Sasuke, at the end of the day, tried to show his thanks by leaving a stack of Ryo at his doorstep.

“Going further, it depends on the type of relationship you are trying to cultivate. A platonic friendship could grow from a gift of tools and equipment the Shinobi could find useful. Jewels and clothing could serve as a nod towards a future romance. A deeper professional relationship would benefit from rare knowledge or valuable secrets.”

Well, sure, okay.

Sure.

“Right.”

Sasuke can’t handle this right now.

“Gear it is,” he says, voice cracking four separate times in the short sentence alone. “Damn. Okay. Cheers.”

“It could also benefit you,” chimes in Yuki-san. “To consider that equipment for Shinobi is not just the matter of simple tools, chosen at a whim. A gift of an ill-fitting weapon could range from impractical to deeply insulting. Combat is intimate, fighting styles are a personal expression of character and emotion.”

True, true.

“Well, I admit I was looking for a more precise sort of answer, but thanks all the same,” Sasuke says, wholly fed up with this horrifying insight into how complicated human interactions are, actually. “I’m sure I—the hypothetical child in question—could look pathetic enough to warrant some leeway if a misstep is, in fact, made.”

“Indeed,” says Chiharu-san. “And if the hypothetical child in question comfortably sits at the top of the hierarchy and has very powerful people very eager to indulge its every whim, that would also help soothe fraying tempers, I’m sure.”

“Again with the class issues,” says Sasuke, faux under his breath. “I dig your egalitarian streak, I do. It’s all sorts of admirable, especially in a politician. But you gotta stop throwing my privilege in my face. It makes my heart hurt and it messes with my worldview. I’m perfectly happy being the favoured pet, no need to make me into a political figure.”

“By all means, order me to stop,” purrs Chiharu-san. “Until then, I suppose you will have to live with it.”

Yuk-san unthaws, very deliberately, for long enough to send a deeply appreciative look Chiharu-san’s way. “You know, Takeda-dono, I have recently acquired a blend of tea you might find intriguing. How do you feel about stopping by our rooms one of these days? We can make a proper ceremony of it.”

Okay, okay. So that’s happening. Is it flirting? It doesn’t—look to be? Chiharu-san might be a closed book to any and all Chakra-sensors, but Yuki-san is not. That’s just—clinical, detached admiration, ’sfar as Sasuke can say.

Huh. Okay. So they’re friends, or as close to friends two people so massively fucked up can get. Sure. Good on them.

The tea with Utakata-san goes—hm. Looking back at the absolute shitshow that preceded it, it goes about as well as could be expected. In keeping with the spirit of the thing, Sasuke’s half-formed expectations of how the three men will take to each other turn out to be wholly and hilariously off the mark.

Sasuke had thought that Chiharu-san would like Utakata-san. He really did. Utakata-san is sweet, polite, quiet and unassuming. There is really nothing to dislike.

Well, Sasuke knows fuck-all about people, apparently, because it takes about six minutes for Chiharu-san to decide he has not a single use for Utakata-san and recedes into such an impressively impersonal shell that Sasuke has the urge to poke his cheek to check it’s not just lacquered wood.

Yuki-san, on the other hand, a man who Sasuke had assumed low-key wanted to devour the entire world other than his precious Master, has something of a soft spot for the Jinchūriki. In many ways it’s a lovely relationship—a lot like the one Utakata-san has built with Aniki. Utakata-san is taller and broader than Yuki-san—or Aniki, for that matter—but that doesn’t stop him from shyly curling towards the first sign of affection no matter how well-hidden. It’s, yeah.

Sasuke is—confused. His poor hormone-addled mind isn’t sure who he’s jealous—or envious—of here, precisely. He’s not even sure if the trippy, swirly emotions have anything to do with affection. When it comes down to it, he doesn’t care that much about any of these people. Like, okay, he’s bound to Utakata-san’s soul, so there’s that. And he is distantly beginning to adore Chiharu-san, in a detached, observational sort of way. But—okay. Other than that?

Whatever, fuck all this. Let’s chalk it up to being too lost in his own head, trying to make sense of an unexplainable situation. Yeah, that’s a plan. Chalk it up to faulty genetics—and half a decade of comprehensive insanity—and stop thinking about it before you do something stupid like climb into Chiharu-san’s lap and demand overt affection. Or start crying. Both are equally possible, depressingly.

He says as little as possible, checks each word before it slips out of his mouth, and tries to be as non-threatening as possible. The last thing he needs is another one of Chiharu-san’s pointed remarks about hierarchies and power dynamics. No, he’s but an innocuous, crazy boy-child, here to have tea with his. His. Whatever the fuck these people are to him. He’s not here to make trouble.

Under Chiharu-san’s all-seeing eyes, Sasuke sits and looks harmless and tries desperately to focus on the upside—the obsessive, Uchiha part of his mind is quiet and satisfied. No S-ranked organization has kidnapped his Person, there they sit, shyly offering mocha to Yuki-san. It’s fine.

Which, he admits ten minutes later, as they’re finally ready to leave, it is. No matter how stiff and awkward and downright excruciating the whole interaction has been, there are things to be proud of. He sat through an unpleasant conversation without once making it all about him. That’s one. He’s satisfied his biological imperative without making too big of a deal of it. That’s two. He’s set out to not hurt anybody and not once did he say something stupid or insensitive or hurtful. That’s three.

Really, he’s aced it. Go him.

Yuki-san leaves them at the entrance to the family wing after a few friendly parting barbs exchanged with Chiharu-san, and Sasuke insists he should walk Chiharu-san to his chambers.

“Well, thank you again,” he says, trying and failing to sound anything other than exhausted and a little weepy. “Really, as awful as it was, it would have been so much worse if you weren’t there. I owe you, like, a puppy or a nice, fuzzy pair of tabi or something.”

“Get some rest, Suske-san,” says Chiahru-san, mercifully not getting into another discussion about implying transactional relationships. “You did well. I was very impressed with how you’ve comported yourself, especially since I know keeping yourself in check is not in your nature.”

Sasuke pathetically uses what little energy he has to preen. Praise is praise .”Cheers. Thanks. I’m definitely going to go and find a sunny spot to conk out in. Take care. Say hi to your friends for me. Bye.”

Chapter Text

Sasuke doesn’t run straight into Orochimaru-sama’s office. He would if he could, but he’s still fuzzy and confused from sleeping during the daytime.

“Hey, Orochimaru-sama,” he croaks, not even marvelling at how scratchy his voice is. “So remember, a couple of months back, we talked about the homeless Uzumaki boy? And you were all aggrieved?”

Orochimaru-sama sets his charcoal down with smooth movements that nonetheless imply a non-trivial level of urgency. His Chakra slows, deepens, top fluttery notes shaved off, until the whole thing colours copper. “Skip the rhetorical questions, if you would.”

Sasuke nods, still working on getting his eyelids to cooperate and stop pretending there are lead weights glued to his eyelashes. “Right, sure. Well, he’s coming here. In a manner of speaking. Konoha is bringing him here.”

He pauses, letting his eyes slip shut with great relish, focusing— “He’s, yeah, he’s alive? Not by much though. His Chakra is fucked to hell, let me tell you. I can’t say it's ruptured yet, but it’s going to be soon. Considering what the kid is, I would start thinking about fixing him once he arrives or killing him a ways from Otogakure. That is one big-ass explosive to have going off in your house.” In your continent, damn. 

The pause that falls on the room would be concerning in practically any other situation, but with how muzzy Sasuke is, he appreciates a moment of blissful silence.

“The Konohan refugees are bringing the Uzumaki child here,” says Orochimaru-sama, in a slow, methodical tone of a lecturer recapping a tricky concept. “The child is damaged in some way. And you are, presumably, sensing all this?”

Sasuke shuffles closer, rubbing his aching eyes, hoping some good ol’ fashioned pain will stop his eyelids from slipping shut every half a second. He legit feels like he might pass out any moment. “Listen, my soulmate is either a Jinchūriki or a Bijū. I know what I am sensing.” Plus, Kyūbi-sama feels like someone took a whole world’s worth of Chakra and condensed it somehow. “So. Yes. The Uzumaki boy is being brought here. I thought you’d appreciate the heads-up that an extinction-level event coming, wrapped in a very precarious package.”

“Alright.”

An even longer pause follows, which Sasuke uses to half-blindly paw across Orochimaru-sama’s desk in search of any caffeinated beverage that might claw his mind into something more appropriate for the occasion. At least two half-empty cups of coffee are mouldy, but coffee is so disgusting as is, mold is a definite improvement in Sasuke’s books. By the time Orochimaru-sama finishes whatever recalibration matrix he was running to internalize the possibility of Otogakure being home to not one, not two, but three Jinchūriki children, Sasuke is almost fully awake, if buzzy from all the caffeine.

“You did well to bring this to my attention. We need information, more precise information than we have. Have you developed a method of meditation that would allow you to communicate with us in real-time?”

Sasuke blinks, not having expected to be involved further in this mess. “I mean, I haven’t thought about it much, but my range is larger, and they’re—less than five kilometres away. The group that has the Jinchūriki has broken off from the mass. I can look closer, for sure.”

“Excellent. Well, then. We need Tsunade, your brother, Kimimaro and Chiharu-kun. Wait here, prepare. This is important, Sasuke. The Uzumaki Heir is an incredibly valuable piece on the board. His life is—almost invaluable. If he must die, he will die, but that would be a catastrophic loss.”

Huh. “Sure,” Sasuke says, a bit dubious, sure, but always down to meditate. “I will just—stay here, then? Do you have some food, maybe? The coffee is making me twitchy.”

“There is plenty of chocolate in the Uchiha-shelf. Help yourself.”

Orochimaru-sama leaves the room practically before the words were out of his mouth which, okay. This is not how Sasuke expected Konoha’s arrival to look. He definitely did not expect them to bring with them a child that Orochimaru-sama is so invested in.

A strange sort of not-anxiety tickles the roots of his teeth and sits high in the back of his throat. It’s, hmm. Is this—is Sasuke jealous? Of the Uzumaki boy? Granted, he hadn’t encountered children that Orochimaru-sama felt in any way protective of. It’s, okay, it’s whatever. Best not think about it too much.

Either way, Sasuke is as petty as the next Uchiha but he won’t condemn a kid his age to an agonizing death by a ruptured Chakra-system just because of vague jealousy. Now, if the kid proves to be a real threat-threat, then Sasuke’s massive overreaction will be justified.

There. Perfect.

“I don’t know—how would you possibly expect me to know what a liver feels like?” Even to his own ear, the nominal whine in his voice is starting to tip into real anxiety. Aniki is certainly picking up on it, tension rippling up and down his muscles. Orochimaru-sama stays out of it, for the most part, but Sasuke had not appreciated that the weird fascination for Uzumaki is even stronger in Tsunade-sama.

“The liver—large fucking organ, right bellow the diaphragm—how hard can it be—”

“How hard—the boy has a seal on his abdomen strong enough to seal a Bijuu, do you think it’s easy to look beyond that?”

“Great, good for you, now if you could focus all that energy to figuring out what is killing the Uzumaki instead of sassing me—”

“I don’t know what to tell you—I can’t sense his liver or his kidneys or his lungs. I am not a medic, that is not how I sense shit so if you could get all the way off my back about this—”

“Then what good are you—”

“That is enough.” The note of unamused implacability in Orochimaru-sama’s voice is enough to pull Sasuke away from the brink of a real tantrum, but it paradoxically tips him the opposite way. Tears bead in his eyes, lids growing heavy.

Sasuke bites down on the first ten things he wants to say, which are really unproductive and all sorts of unhelpful. He would really like to cuddle with Aniki, but distraught or not, he doesn’t want to strain Aniki’s relationship with Tsunade-sama any more than he already has. Orochimaru-sama is playing the neutral party which leaves—

Fine, this is your doing. He sends a resentful look Tsunade-sama’s way, and flounces off straight into Chiharu-san’s legs, climbing up and to the left, until he is tucked into the man’s lap and his face is buried into the luxurious folds of his haori. Chiharu-san doesn’t allow himself to freeze in shock, but his Chakra shakes a little, like someone struck a metal sphere with a cast iron hammer. “Sorry about this, Chiharu-san,” Sasuke says, not really feeling sorry at all.  “I know I am crossing all sorts of lines, and I will gladly sit tight and let you chew me up for violating your bodily autonomy later, but for now I need this. Puberty is kicking my ass, and Uchiha were never what one might call level-headed.”

“I—we will discuss this at a later time,” says Chiharu-san after a brief pause. It’s, yeah, it’s clear the man is accustomed to performing comfort, even if this scenario is more platonic than is the norm for his once-profession. Sasuke doesn’t know how any Shinobi could have ignored the sharp, cold ball of Chakra, but whatever, none of his business. Sasuke has a warm person to cuddle whom he respects very much, and who accepts that Sasuke is a neurotic little head-case who sometimes needs some help to continue functioning in this fucked up world. “Do what you need to do.”

“This is great,” he mumbles into the silk. “I’ll get you some new haori, I promise. The good stuff, too, the kind that comes equipped with Fuuinjutsu to prevent stains and such.”

Whatever the silent communication is going on between Chiharu-san and the rest of the adults, it infuriates Tsunade-sama and, worryingly, Aniki. Tsunade-sama, sure, nobody is surprised. She was visibly high-strung she was before the meeting had even started. Itachi, though? Not great. At least Orochimaru-sama is calm—if a little exasperated.

“Do you think you can continue?” Even just the deep, calm rasp of Orochimaru-sama’s voice soothes the part of Sasuke’s heart that grows increasingly raw.

Tsunade-sama’s scoff is, yeah, if you couldn’t’ feel how earnestly worried and anxious her Chakra is, the scoff would be taken as very incendiary. “Of course he will continue, there is a fucking life on the line here—”

Welp, that blew it. “Sasuke doesn’t owe the Uzumaki child anything,” spits Itachi. “You will not demand he hurt himself just because your unpaid debts came to bite you—”

Shit. Chiharu-san tenses minutely, very aware that, yeah, these types of spats may not be all that dangerous if you’re, say, an S-ranked Shinobi. For an untrained child and a civilian, survival lays in being outside of the line of fire. 

“I will throw you both out if you don’t stop this foolishness,” says Orochimaru sama. While his voice remained calm, the pitch and cadence of his Chakra keep dropping and slowing by the syllable, like he’s deliberately cooling his temper, slowing down the instinctive reactions as much as he can. Very serpentine, very on-brand. “My apprentice does not, in fact, have to do a thing. That is not how we do things here, Tsunade. You know this, that is why you stay. Itachi-kun, calm down. Nobody here would be reckless enough to suggest harming your brother, especially not within your earshot. I the pair of you feel you cannot behave in a productive fashion, I suggest you excuse yourselves.”

“Define productive,” hisses Tsunade-sama. “One dying Uzumaki wasn’t enough, now my last living family is also possibly dying? Oh, and unless I come up with a way to fix whatever is wrong, I will have to kill him myself. What, precisely, is the appropriate level of distress I am allowed, here?”

“You are perfectly free to be in distress. You are not free to cause distress in others. Such as my apprentice, for example. Or, for that matter, your apprentice. Sasuke can sense what he can sense. He is not at fault, here.”

“This isn’t about blame, ‘fucks sake! I can’t have any more family dying in my arms, Oro—”

Okay. Okay, so there is more to this. There might as well be more. This is fine.

“Okay, so I can continue,” Sasuke says before Tsunade-sama’s meltdown spirals out of hand further. “How about this. The Bijū Chakra works to heal its host? How about I describe where it is concentrated the most? Either way, the kid is like, an hour away. Being carried by a very, very Chakra-efficient Shinobi, let me tell you. He could give you lessons, all of you.”

“Very good,” praises Orochimaru, with a sharp note of interest trilling through the deep notes of his Chakra. “Indulge a side-note. This Shinobi carrying the Uzumaki Heir—does he happen to have very distinct Chakra?”

Oh? Sasuke frowns, unsticking his face from the slightly gross wet patch of silk. “He does, actually,” he says. “Very—dense. Shiny. Mmm. Pointy? All sorts of messed up, like, I can taste the insanity from here. Lightning-natured.”

“So that’s why he did it,” hums Orochimaru-sama. “I had wondered—never mind. Continue, please. Where, exactly, would you say most of the Kyuubi’s Chakra is concentrated?”

“The stomach, for sure.” He pauses, trying somehow to sharpen his senses as far as possible, while at the same time ignoring the very real fucking Bijū. “Umm. The heart? The veins? I don’t know, the blood? Yeah. It’s coursing through him, or attempting to, I don’t know. Wait—I think if I zoom in just a little more—give me a moment—”

He relaxes into Chiharu-san’s body, deliberately flowing out of his body a bit more—there. That’s much easier. He’s not in full meditation but definitely has a better idea of what’s going on, without his own body to weigh him down and split his attention. Now—what the fuck happened to this kid, because oh boy, Tsunade-sama is not going to like this—

He needs to be able to talk. He drips into his body spoonful by spoonful—a little more—a drop more—and—perfect.

The first attempt at speaking goes badly, as does the second. He’s never tried to both be in his body and out of it at the same time. After a few failed tries and a fair amount of drooling, he manages to create a workable system. “Okay, okay, I got this. So—I think I have some news? There’s no good way of putting this. The kid—Uzumaki—has dozens of seals on his body, other than his Jinchuuriki seal.”

Distantly, he’s aware somebody is speaking at his, probably to ask questions, but man, do they not have an idea of just how unnatural Sasuke’s current balance is. “Sorry, can’t hear. I’m just going to, er, hurry this up because this is not a state humans can survive for long. Okay. Listen up. There’s one over his heart, three on his tongue, one on the back of his head. Hmm. One—two, on the back of his eye-sockets, somehow. Umm. One on his—y’know, crotch-area.” Wrap this up, Sasuke, before your body or your mind wraps it up for you. “One on each arm and leg, and two-four-six-twelve on his spine. Um. Oh, another four, one on each palm and one on each foot. Okay, sorry that’s it, I can’t—”

His focus snaps, the full weight of his mind slamming into his body. He loses time, not precisely unconscious but dazed. It can’t have been more than a couple of seconds, but when he comes to, he’s in Itachi’s arms, Sharingan eyes spinning quicker than the eye can follow.

“Hey ‘Tachi,” he says, grinning like a loon. Endorphins are his friend, he’s always thought so. “I’m so fucking high right now.”

“Does anything hurt? Do you feel lightheaded? Nauseous? Weak?”

“Naw, I’m good.” He stretches, throwing his hands back, spine arching as far as it can go. Which, considering he’s a Shinobi kid technically, is quite far. He doesn’t brain himself on the floor, but that’s because Itachi yanks him up just in time. “Just a rush, you know. I’m great, I’m awesome, I should do this more.”

“You absolutely should not—”

Aniki’s nagging is simple to filter to affection. It’s not that Sasuke doesn’t want to listen, isn’t interested in what he has to say, but the situation is, yeah. Pretty damn complicated.

Tsunade-sama and Orochimaru are scribbling something down, Fūinjutsu shorthand he’d assume, barking half-formed words at each other. Chiharu-san sits where he was, still looking as composed as ever. One of Orochimaru-sama’s serpents is coiled up behind him, and it strikes Sasuke again—how still Chiharu-san can make his body be. It’s, yeah, it’s pretty to look at, sure, but not a thing that should be possible no matter how you look at it.

That is not important. The important bit is that Sasuke did what he was supposed to. This is not his circus, these are not his monkeys. Tsunade-sama may feel a connection to this kid, or whatever, but when all is said and done, Sasuke’s being does not contain a single atom that cares if this kid lives or dies. He’s not strictly speaking proud of how apathetic he has grown to be, but it is as it is. He will help, if they ask, if they look to be losing something important to them. Otherwise, The Uzumaki Affair is none of his damn business.

“So, if you want to cut down on time or whatever, the Uzumaki and his honour guard are going to be at the gates in—five minutes? Thereabout. There’s—yeah, there’s four Shinobi, three Noble spirits and a—” Massive risk to everyone’s health and safety. “—And Uzumaki.” What else? “Again, be on guard with the guy delivering him. Whoever they are, they are strong, insane and look to be pretty violent.”

“Thank you, that is very helpful. I wouldn’t worry. Hatake is a talented child, but not somebody I feel particularly threatened by,” says Orochimaru-sama absently, visibly lost in whatever calculations he’s scribbling.

Hatake? Hatake is bringing Uzumaki?

Well, isn’t that swell? What a lovely way to compound Sasuke’s pettiest impulses. “Oh, cool, Hatake is it?” So that’s Hatake’s line. Uzumaki, or rather, whatever was done to Uzumaki is what he couldn’t live with? Good to know. “Cool, cool, cool. Hey, Chiharu-san, what do you say you and I grab Yuki-san and Momochi-san and watch this particular shitshow from the sidelines?”

Aniki’s head snaps up, a little wild-eyed, all sorts of young and vulnerable. “You want to accompany us? Why?”

Why he asks. “Well, there is the massive grudge I’ve been grooming and nurturing for a while now,” he says, pitching his voice into a thick, syrupy flow. “I don’t trust Hatake not to start skinning kittens by the thousands just because some maniac somewhere told him he should try it.”

Tsunade-sama is lost in whatever Fūinjutsu shaped hole she’s dug herself into, but Orochimaru-sama’s radar is finely attuned to chaotic malevolence everywhere. Sasuke meets the golden eyes without hesitation, thoroughly comfortable with this particular stand.

“That is not fair,” says Itachi, the sentiment ringing wonderfully hollow, that Sasuke has to break the eye contact with Orochimaru-sama to send him a pitying look. “Hatake-san is not a cruel man. He did what he could to keep his Unit alive and safe.”

Oh, the insane man did everything he could? Well, then, there go Sasuke’s reservations. As long as his intentions were noble, Sasuke will just let his vulnerable lamb of a brother into his sphere again unsupervised.

“Whatever, sure, good on him. Still gonna be there. You are all welcome to your own inexplicable fondness for the man, but I will stay close just in case. Who knows, maybe I will come around, maybe you are right and I am wrong and we will all hug it out and become best buds. Chiharu-san? Thoughts?”

“I am not sure what I could contribute,” hums Chiharu-san. “But I am curious as to how this negotiation will go. Hatake appears to be fundamentally uninteresting, but the people around him, the people who actually organized this escape—now they are valuable.”

Oh. “I hadn’t thought about that,” says Sasuke. “I should have. In hindsight, trying to tempt you with an insane, spineless little pawn of a Shinobi was a dumb move. I’ll definitely remember that.”

Orochimaru-sama barks a short laugh, more a burst of startled sound than any real expression of amusement. “Look at you, snakelet, I had not thought you have any real derision in you. So odd, that you would focus on Hatake. I would have thought him being an underdog would play a bigger role, here.”

“Being insane doesn’t absolve him of his responsibilities,” says Sasuke, curt enough that it is clearly a full stop. “Shall we, Chiharu-san? Yuki-san and Momochi-san?”

“You don’t need Kiri,” dismisses Orochimaru-sama. “You have me. Let’s get to it, then. We have a Jinchūriki to fix, and I am beyond curious to observe what a cruel Uchiha Sasuke looks like.”

You say that now, but chances are I will be cruel to your precious Uzumaki, on the off-chance the kid survives past the hour never mind the rest.

Chapter Text

You gotta give points where points are due. Hatake’s arrival to Oto is—

Yeah, it’s fucking spectacular. They catch only the final moments of his dead run, not more than a few seconds and it is nothing if not arresting to watch. The man devours the space, cuts through the air with an intriguing blend of Shinobi grace and an animalistic, lupine economy of movement. It reeks of desperation but also untamed ferocity that Sasuke isn’t very used to. He knows smooth, graceful twists of muscles, knows feline slinking and reptilian aloofness. Canines? He’s got nothing.

The three horse-sized, honest-to-Izanami spirit-wolves tie the whole image together. The giant white one with a cut-up muzzle and teeth peeking from behind closed lips is particularly memorable. He feels—old. Old and steeped with rage that is somehow both ravenous and clinical.

Hatake, judging by what Sasuke can tell, isn’t so much running on fumes as much as he is tearing gleefully towards death. Aniki was a bit like this, around the time of Sasuke’s ignoble re-location from Konoha to Otogakure. He doesn’t need to be a sensor to recognize how thoroughly at peace Hatake is with the idea of his presumably imminent murder.

Okay.

The body in Hatake’s arms is tiny. Sasuke knows on some level that Uzumaki is his age, but damn if he didn’t manage to be even shrimpier than Sasuke. An accomplishment, to be sure.

The Otogakure continent is arranged—predictably. A diamond formation of Oto’s strongest Shinobi spread around Sasuke and Chiharu-san. Aniki is in the back, Orochimaru-sama in the front, Kimimaro, Tsunade-sama, Yuki-san and Momochi-san to the sides. The only ones missing are Shizune-san and Utakata-san which is absolutely for the best.

Hatake skids to a stop, shifting from dead-run into a prowl mid-movement. It should be aggressive, it should be threatening. It comes across as submissive. Defeat—or a weird sort of victory-in-death—is written in every line, angle and gesture.

“Help him, please. My death for his life.” Even his voice is lupine, a deep, painful rasp, every word torn out of a resisting body.

“Hold on—” “Shut up Tacho—” “Goddamn it, Kakashi, that wasn’t the plan—”

Orochimaru-sama ignores the protests from the three men, but his utter lack of aggression—and the fact that there is no sense in bringing a child and a civilian if you plan to fight a Shinobi as strong as Hatake—must reassure them enough that they quiet down. They move forward as far as they dare—although it is unclear who they’re wary of more, Orochimaru-sama or Hatake himself.

The wolves, interestingly, don’t offer any protests. Orochimaru-sama has been ignoring the humans in favour of the spirits from the get-go, which is an approach Sasuke can definitely get behind. The white spirit-wolf has locked eyes with Orochimaru-sama the moment it arrived at the gate clearing and hasn’t shown any signs of letting off.

“Your death holds no value, Hatake-san,” says Orochimaru-sama into the silence. “But your life might. Tsunade and I will not let the Uzumaki Heir die irrespective of you and your band of merry missing-nin.” Not once do his eyes leave the wolf’s. “It’s an honour to see you again, Yuri-sama.”

Who—

The wolf. The wolf that exudes such powerful ‘fuck-off’ vibes that Sasuke kind of wants to give it a gift. Sasuke kind of wants to ask if it would be his mum. Of course, Orochimaru-sama knows the most bloodthirsty spirit around by name.

“Save the boy,” repeats Hatake. He doesn’t sway, his stance and body are still poised in a powerful, brutal stance, but his expression grows unfocused, eyes slowly clouding over. “I don’t have much else to offer in return.”

Orochimaru-sama hums, eyes finally flicking over to the, well, suicidal nightmare of a Shinobi. “That is not what we are negotiating. Saving the Heir to Uzushio is a given, if at all possible.”

Tsunade-sama breaks ranks, whatever that means in this loose formation. She swallows the distance between them with long, confident steps that don’t at all match the nauseated beats of her Chakra. Scared or not, her Chakra flexes much too hard for unsealing a simple storage seal. It cracks around her, ground trembling, but the raised cot stands there, as well as several cases of arcane medical supplies. Another crack and twelve clones of Katsuyu-sama stand in the Chakra-smoke.

“Hatake set the boy on the bed—carefully. Rest of you, back away. Katsuyu, we have a dying Uzumaki victim of incompetent, violent Fūinjutsu experiments. Try to keep enough blood flowing to and from his brain while I see what I can do about at least some of it.”

Goodness, not even two minutes, and Sasuke is already bored by the Uzumaki part of this whole mess. Much more interesting is the respectful nod Katsuyu-sama receives from the murder-wolf—Yuri-sama. Not surprising as such, but out of place. He didn’t think the murder-wolf had it in him to do anything but, who even knows, spread his jaws and devour the sun.

“Tsunade will keep the boy alive long enough for us to come up with a long-term strategy to remove—what was it, Sasuke-kun? Twenty-four seals placed on the child’s body?”

“Twenty-eight,” he says in his best eerie-nightmare-child hollow soprano. “Not counting the big one. You know, when I said the kid is super close to having his Chakra system rupture, I was way off. His Chakra system ruptured twice since the beginning of my sentence. The Bijū is repairing it in real-time and ripping it back up, also in real-time. It’s fascinating. Like the world’s most pathetic phoenix, caught in the moment between death and re-birth.” Good work, that was an excellent analogy.

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra jumps up in tempo, a strand of melody breaking off from the deep drone and spiralling around, light and airy and chaotic. Orochimaru-sama can always be counted upon to appreciate Sasuke’s humour.

Hatake doesn’t, which tickles the dark, petty itch in his mind that urges Sasuke to poke and prod and twist until the little hold the man has on his sanity slips and he solves the problem of his presence here himself.

Okay, now hold on. That was a legitimately disturbing thought. No. Bad Sasuke. You are not—this.

“Save him,” says Hatake, for the umpteenth time.

Orochimaru-sama lets his lips purse and twist downwards in a very prissy fashion if they’re being honest. “I begin to doubt you are fit to represent your interests, child.” He tilts his chin to the side, eyes roaming over the three tense shinobi. “Is there anyone here who would appoint themselves a spokesperson? I have neither patience nor time to go in circles.”

“I would,” says one of the Shinobi, a brown-haired, wildly forgettable man. Sasuke’s eyes glaze over in boredom. Wait—what? That’s not how he operates. He’s never once dismissed an unknown stranger out of hand, much less an A-ranked assassin. Woah—is it a perception filter? Subtle Genjutsu? Whatever it is, it’s an impressive strategy. Sasuke hasn’t so far met many Shinobi who don’t, by nature and choosing, stand out from the crowd. Shizune-san, maybe? “Shiranui Genma. It’s a pleasure.”

“I’m sure.” Orochimaru-sama is silent for a long sequence of beats, eyes roaming over the ragtag group of Shinobi. In the background, Tsunade-sama and Katsuyu-sama throw around enormous amounts of Chakra with such ease and abandon that it feels a lot like standing with your back to a massive forest fire.  “Introductions, perhaps, before we begin negotiations. I am, as you know, Orochimaru, Kage of Otogakure. Senju Tsunade you are familiar with as well. With her are her two sworn guards, Yuki Haku-san and Momochi Zabuza-san. My second in command, Uchiha Kimimaro, the de-facto Otokage stands behind me. Next, Uchiha Itachi, apprentice to Senju-hime and Uchiha Sasuke, my own apprentice. Lastly, we have Takeda Chiharu-dono, the Daimyo of Oto no Kuni.”

Shiranui-san’s Chakra doesn’t twitch. Oh, Sasuke reads his grief and dread and fear from the flavour and the rapid change in density and colour, but the determined, hard texture of it remains as is. This man, Sasuke thinks, could be the actual driving force of this migration business. “My honour. I’ve mentioned my name. Hatake Kakashi-sama needs no introduction. Also behind me are Namiashi Raido and Tenzo. You are doubtlessly familiar with Hatake-sama’s Summons.”

A startling, almost subvocal noise comes from the murder-wolf. It’s, hm. It’s like a concentrate of a growl, like the idea of a growl multiplied exponentially and projected onto the world without the need for the mechanical aspects of sound.

“I am familiar with Hatake Sakumo-sama’s Noble spirits, yes,” purrs Orochimaru-sama. “I would be careful to make that distinction, if I were you. Hatake Kakashi-san summons dogs, if I am not mistaken. Nin-dogs, to be precise.”

Well. That wasn’t subtle.

“Itachi,” barks Tsunade-sama into the unexpectedly tense silence. “Come. Oro can handle the politicking, but I need a medic here.”

“Go ahead,” says Sasuke faux under his breath. “I am very well adapted to hiding behind Orochimaru-sama when powerful hostiles are around. Go do your job.”

“You need but twitch your Chakra,” says Itachi, not bothering to lower his voice even a little. If anything he’s pitching it to carry. “While Orochimaru-sama enjoys a good massacre now and again, I doubt he would be so cruel as to deny me a pound of flesh of the fool who would so much as look at you unkindly.”

Sasuke huffs, all sorts of loved and cared for. He squiggles forward, eels into Itachi’s space and butts his head into his palm. Head-pats ensue. Sasuke has the best brother.

“Itachi!”

“Go, go before she comes at us with cruel and unusual meal plans. Love you.”

“Love you too, dearest.”

“Well,” says Sasuke, very satisfied with how the tense atmosphere has been broken, and every Konohan Shinobi except Hatake watches the proceedings with varying degrees of disbelief ringing through their Chakra. Mm. Not disbelief. Guilt. Seething, rotten type of guilt that doesn’t let you sleep and twists your dreams once you do. Oh, are you having some feelings about that one team member who you couldn’t spend a thought to other than to make sure he was fit to murder on command? “Wasn’t that nice? Where were we? Threats and barbs and needling, was it?”

“You make for an interesting diplomat Sasuke-san,” says Chiharu-san. The Konohan spokesperson—Shiranui-san—shifts his gaze from Sasuke to Chiharu-san and Sasuke gets to observe the effect once again. It’s brief but obvious, the way Shiranui-san’s eyes widen, then narrow, glaze over a bit, clearing only after a pause.

“It’s damp out here, Chiharu-san,” replies Sasuke, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I have a vested interest in cutting through at least some of the rhetoric.”

“A correct approach in usual circumstances,” says Orochimaru-sama, Chakra tittering in delight.  “But since we will be here until Hime and Itachi-kun can stabilize the Uzumaki Heir, we might as well indulge.”

Sasuke whistles, loud and bratty and obnoxious. “We will be here for a while, then. Konoha is ace at fucking up a child well beyond what one would think is survivable.”

Orochimaru-sama hums, low and pleased, chaos-lust purring. “And Hime is equally as good as putting them back together. Case in point, your family.”

“Wow, harsh,” grins Sasuke. “I would phrase it a little differently. Maybe ‘you and your brother’?  Even Tsunade-sama can’t fix what Konoha did to my family, specifically. But I get your point. Tsunade-sama and Aniki are awesome. I can get behind that. Where were we?”

“I was about to—”

“Can you just—” cuts in Hatake. “Can you just kill me now? Please? I can’t—my mission is over. I can’t—I’m done. I need to not—be. Please.”

Shiranui steps forward, dragging Hatake back—or attempting to. Moving Hatake when he doesn’t want to be moved is not an easy thing to do. “Hey,” says Sasuke, before Shiranui starts deploying some serious measures. “Nobody is killing you. You shouldn’t—”

Hm. How to do this? There’s the obvious point of Sasuke not really What the fuck does Sasuke knows about how to keep a person alive? He was kept alive by others for years and years. More to the point, perhaps, he is at best vaguely apathetic towards Hatake’s life or death. He tugs meaningfully on Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra with his own. They are the ones that see some value in this shitshow of a person. They should deal with him.

Chiharu-san saves the day, thereby cementing his spot in Sasuke’s Family Group. “You are mistaken, Hatake-san. Your death is worthless in itself. The life of the Uzumaki Heir is, on the other hand, very valuable. With that in mind—I propose an agreement. Swear your life to guarding and protecting the Uzumaki Heir. In return, we will let him and, by extension, you, live in Otogakure, behind our Wards and under our protection.”

Hmm. Very reasonable. Very appropriate.

Sasuke hates it. It means Hatake will be coming to live in Oto. Sasuke hates it. On the off-chance Uzumaki doesn’t die and kill them all here and now, Hatake will be living together with Uzumaki. Sasuke will encounter Uzumaki and Hatake at the same time, at least once. Sasuke really fucking hates it.

“I agree,” says Orochimaru-sama. His voice is smooth and detached, in contrast to his Chakra that is—expectant, maybe? The tempo picks up, the higher, fluttery notes elongating into a cascade of slightly sinister notes. “The Uzumaki heir would need a legal guardian. I accept that price.”

“Only if they both stay with the Senju Princess,” cuts in Shiranui. “She’s got the best claim on Uzumaki either way, irrespective of his medical condition.”

Oh. Oh wow.

Okay, so maybe Sasuke is on a bit of a hair-trigger. Maybe he isn’t thinking as clearly and kindly as he otherwise would. Because the fury that floods his veins is lightning-quick, fiery and probably venomous.

“Over your dead body.” Sasuke’s voice is—alien to himself, much less everybody else. “Over his dead body too. In fact, I’m growing more and more attached to the idea of several dead bodies. Just, y’know, to even the playing field a little. Tell me—how many uncles and aunts and babies do you have stashed about for me to slaughter?”

Nobody is talking, every eye—including Aniki’s, fuck, including Tsunade-sama’s—is on him. Sasuke, however, isn’t even reading Chakra, that’s how sprained from reality he is.

“You can’t help yourself. You spot a good thing Aniki has found for himself, and you just—have to take it. One family wasn’t enough—now you want to inflict Hatake on him? In his fucking home? Think again, asshole, because I would spend a week wringing screams from your sorry bodies for every one of Aniki’s smiles.”

“Well, shit, kid,” says Shiranui, consciously holding onto the affable, personable look on his face. Does he keep forgetting Sasuke is a sensor or does he straight up not know? Either way, the man’s Chaka is coiled tight, heavy with protective, defensive anger and—a fair bit of disgust, actually. Omni-directional disgust. Some for himself, some for Hatake, some for Sasuke. “Listen, I get that apologizing is a doomed venture, but Kakashi didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your family. If anything, I have personally beheaded two of the people directly responsible.”

Shiranui doesn’t get it—of course, he doesn’t. How are these people so willfully blind?

“I can’t get into this with you,” Sasuke says, swallowing down the flow of half-formed curses and threats bubbling in his mind. “It baffles me that you’re missing the point so fucking thoroughly, but fine. Whatever. Your ethical framework is none of my business. As long as you keep Hatake away from my brother—as long as his entire so-called team stays away from Itachi, I won’t bother you. Deal? No, wait, I don’t have authority to make deals.” What then? “A threat. I’m not making a deal, I’m threatening you. Stay away from him.”

Itachi is the first to break the strained silence. Well, Orochimaru-sama is very deliberately projecting laughter with his Chakra for Sasuke’s benefit, but that’s neither here nor there. “That is not—feasible, dear-heart,” says Itachi. “I will be working with the Uzumaki Heir. Shizune-san is busy with our other patient.”

Sage, not even Aniki gets it. “Do whatever you want on your own terms, Aniki. If you want to reach out to these—” Worthless fucking parasites. “—people, knock yourself out. Be the bigger man, mend those bridges. Power of love will save the world and all that good stuff. But only ever on your own terms. They have taken just about enough from you. From now on, they will accept what they’re offered.” And see how they like it, living under the shadow of a government that doesn’t hide how distasteful it finds them. Knowing that their lives and safety lie in the hands of a man they used and abused to the point of insanity.

Aniki ducks his head, Chakra growing syrupy and molten with love. “An interesting diplomat indeed,” says Chiharu-san, once it becomes clear Aniki is over-emoted to the point of muteness. “You don’t often show whose apprentice you are, Sasuke-san. It suits you.”

“What can I say,” says Sasuke, stretching his lips in his most deranged smile that pulls his scars tight and gruesome. “I don’t have to, most of the time. Now, I do apologize but I appear to have worked myself into a bit of a state. Please excuse me while I meditate away some of the insanity.”

Sasuke’s outburst and the subsequent meditative trip into complete physical helplessness stress his family out a little. In an unspoken agreement, Kimimaro breaks off, tasked with guarding Sasuke’s prone body. Itachi and Tsunade-sama are working on Uzumaki, which leaves Yuki-san and Momochi-san to stand to the side, and Orochimaru-sama and Chiharu-san to continue with the negotiations.

The other side is similarly fractured. The final bit of glue holding Hatake together has crumbled and the man is—not even slightly present. Since Sasuke is floating loosely in the air, soul encompassing all of them, it is much easier to comprehend the man. Anger and disgust and all that—that’s all stuff your body feels. When he’s like this, when he’s little more than energy in the air, he can observe, not qualify. And what he observes in Hatake is—

Well, it’s a mess. Some of it—most of it, even—is not even his fault. Some maniac had, at some point, decided to experiment and had implanted a Sharingan into a Hatake. No joke. Someone tried to integrate the bloodline limit from the cat-and-fire Clan into the body of the wolf-and-lightning Clan.

It’s, yeah. It’s bad. Cancer-on-your-Chakra bad. Sasuke can’t quite judge, like, physical health and all that, but he can definitely see the tortured, whining strands of Chakra, the unnatural kinks and twists that corrode Hatake’s sharp, clean Chakra. He would be objectively stunning, if not for the possibly terminal Chakra-tumour. It’s still kinetic, still visual, but where most people have clouds of Chakra, Hatake’s is shaped like millions of thin strands. It makes it that much more obvious that the Sharingan is killing him in cruel and unusual ways. It sits, a blob of heavy, black fire-and-brimstone sort of brand, twisting and scorching the clean, airy strands.

Well, no wonder the man is insane. He’s got no chance. Like, this is straight-up torture. Soul-torture.

Interesting.

More interesting, however, the only person who was ever kind to him without anything to gain in return is alive. Alive and close and, by all accounts, a Hyuuga.

Well, lookit. Not a colossal waste of time after all. Aniki’s parasites may have inadvertently helped, bless their morally bankrupt souls.

Chapter Text

The discovery of his ANBU warrants oozing back into his fleshy burden. Not as simple a task as it should, that. The torrent of emotions hits him like a hammer between the eyes. Holy Sage, nobody told him puberty would be this bad. On top of the already piled-up anger and jealousy and, whatever, weepy sort of anxiety, he has to somehow not drown in waves upon waves of delirious joy.

Wonderful.

How to approach this? His first instinct is to barrel head-first into the outwardly civilized-looking negotiations between the fox-souled Shiranui and increasingly amused Orochimaru-sama. Which—not his best plan. Orochimaru-sama has never to date been angry with Sasuke, but being too obnoxious in front of strangers—in front of Konohan strangers—might change that. Who knows?

Man, but this sucks. He had never had to worry about how he might be received when it came to Orochimaru-sama. There was always easy confidence that he would be indulged in all ways. That is still mostly the case, but he’s hit with a bolt of mortifying insecurity now and again. Which, yeah. Sucks a lot and Sasuke hates it.

Never mind that. Focus on your getting what you want—your ANBU living in your house, loved by your family, safe and happy and celebrated.

Okay, so what is the first step? What does your ANBU need the most?

Power, duh. The only type of power Sasuke can immediately give him is second-hand—meaning, allies. Long-term, sure, there are plenty of things to try, but for now, his ANBU needs Aniki, Kimimaro, Chiharu-san and Orochimaru-sama. Possibly Tsunade-sama if he is actually a Hyuuga and thus fucked with in many and varied ways.

Great, perfect. Now, how to give his family to his ANBU? Or is it the other way around—how to give his ANBU to his family? Man, this methodical approach is really working out, Orochimaru-sama was onto something.

Focus! Okay, there is the logistical issue, that can be set aside for now. The question of motivation is more important.

Everybody knows about his ANBU. Even Chiharu-san knows about Sasuke’s ANBU. True, they had assumed he was murdered—by Orochimaru-sama’s previous apprentice, to make matters delightfully ironic—but Sasuke is just about insane enough to not let something like that stop him from gushing over the man.

Kimimaro and Aniki are set, motivation-wise. It’s an Uchiha thing. Aniki already has a shrine for Sasuke’s ANBU, right next to the one for Shisui that he visit daily. Sasuke had to explain to a cluelessly well-meaning Kimimaro why it is bad form to build shrines to people you’ve personally killed. That was a fun conversation. Kimimaro is really excellent.

Orochimaru-sama can be Clan-baited. Shinobi eagerness to ignore inconvenient ethics aside, Orochimaru-sama is endearingly committed to his Clan upbringing. The notion of debt is seared into his soul. If Sasuke phrases it right, Orochimaru-sama will play ball for sure. Sasuke probably won’t even have to bring it up himself, that’s how much the notion of unpaid debt will irk his pseudo-parent.

Which leaves Chiharu-san. There is nothing to be done, there. Chiharu-san will not be swayed by God or anyone. He will form his opinions as he would, usually informed by ruthless self-interest, with pettiness and spite vying for the second place. The wellbeing of a man so thoroughly without value to himself or his goals would not even register in Chiharu-san’s mind. It is altogether possible that his eyes would physically refuse to so much as acknowledge the man, but would substitute him with a patch of air or something.

Tsunade-sama, well. Sasuke likes Tsunade-sama, he does. She’s kind, strong and beautiful. She is such a phenomenal influence on Itachi that Sasuke would adore for that alone. Buuuut. She’s not what one might call dependable. Especially now that she has two dying children to obsess over. She won’t object to Sasuke’s ANBU but she won’t care either, not in any way beyond performative, professional care. Not without its uses, but nothing to count on, plan-wise.

Alright! Now he’s getting somewhere! The general approach is clear—just do what he would have done otherwise but without the obnoxious insecurity. Perfect! Puberty can go suck it, Sasuke has this in the bag.

Now, how as to the specifics—he can’t just interrupt Orochimaru-sama’s fun. He’s playing Shiranui like a fiddle, judging by the man’s steadily decreasing will to live. Aniki is busy doing—something to Uzumaki’s—not corpse but not-not corpse, honestly. Kimimaro would help, but that would mean Sasuke would ask him to interrupt Orochimaru-sama which actually might trigger some self-destruct sequence in his brain. Best leave that as the last resort.

Hmm.

With an entirely performative yawn, he stretches up from his folded-up position. Which bring him within cuddling distance from Kimimaro. Katsuyu-sama didn’t raise no fools. He stretches some more, wiggling back and up and a bit to the left just enough to nuzzle his head into Kimimaro’s palm.

“Thank you for keeping me safe, dear,” he says, keeping his voice light and chipper. “I hope you weren’t too bored.”

Kimimaro has really grown most out of all of them. Instead of breaking into a flow of denials and maniacal statements of devotion, he spreads his fingers into Sasuke’s hair, giving it a gentle scratch. “It’s a pleasure to spend time with you, Sasuke-kun, however that comes about.”

Adorable. “Likewise, of course. Now, I have some new info to bring to Orochimaru-sama’s attention, but after this whole mess is over and done with and we have some time to breathe, why don’t you and I acquire a pile of sweets and have some quality brother-time?”

“It’s a plan,” says Kimimaro, helping him to stand without stopping the heavenly head-scratches. “I doubt this will take too long. The outcome was decided long ago. We should be free tonight.”

“Perfect. Cheers, dear. Imma go wreck some meaningless bit of politicking.”

Keeping his body loose and casual, he ambles toward Orochimaru-sama’s negotiations-over-tea setup. It’s a cute setup, no joke. A real table, comfy cushions, perfectly brewed Jasmine Sencha. Even little pink raspberry cake cube things that Itachi will do unwise things to get.

So far, cakes are untouched, dainty and perfect on a china plate. Chiharu-san doesn’t like sweets, Shiranui probably thinks they’re poisoned and Orochimaru-sama is deliberately fucking with him by not eating a single one. It’s a basic play, but a funny one. Hatake, well. Hatake sits a-ways off, bracketed by three wolves. What the story there is Sasuke doesn’t know—or care. Yuri-sama is someone he would have liked to meet, but circumstances can’t be helped.

“So sorry to interrupt, really, I won’t be a bother for long,” he says, plopping down into a cushion, conveniently close to the cake plate. “But here’s the thing. Do you remember, by any chance, my ANBU? I’ve mentioned him a couple of hundred times. The water-natured Shinobi that kept me fed and made me tea and taught me sensing?”

“I do,” hums Orochimaru-sama, Chakra trilling in interest. “Very clearly. I take it he is not dead, as was assumed?”

“Apparently not,” says Sasuke, tilting his smile into a rather demented arch. The sun warms his gums. It’s nice. “He’s alive and a Hyuuga and, like, half an hour away. So. That’s something to keep in mind.”

Aniki’s Chakra chokes or stutters or, whatever, hiccups. He continues his work—which is a good thing because whatever it is that Tsunade-sama is trying? Won’t work. Cardiac arrest is imminent—and there it is. Best let Aniki fight this futile battle until the predictable end.

Orochimaru-sama re-settles in his cushion, tilting his head a little so his hair spills over his shoulder to his back. “Well, that changes things. Shiranui-san, Namiashi-san, Tenzo-san, I suggest the negotiations be put on pause until the representatives of the Hyuuga and the Aburame arrive. I will accept Sasuke’s former ANBU guard as the Hyuuga representative. I take it you two are acquainted, both having been in the Corps together?”

Shiranui’s smile is flawless, disarming and amusingly contradictory to the way his Chakra twisted, tinting blue-black. “Yes, Hyuuga Kenji-san, ANBU Crane until his—injury. He is. He hadn’t had the easiest time of it.”

“Did Konoha fuck up another one of my favourite people?” Asks Sasuke, a little wondering, a little impressed by their efficiency. “Wow. I mean, I gotta give credit where credit’s due. That’s some dedication to the concept.”

“This particular fuck-up is all Clan politics,” says Shiranui, a genuine spark of personality peeking through the affable facade. “You should be familiar with the practice.”

Shiranui clearly regrets the words, regrets needling the kid who is both shamelessly indulged by people with actual power and happy to rub his grudge in everybody’s face. On the other hand, Sasuke feels the first pang of something like good humour concerning the Konoha refugees.

“Oh, good work,” he says, manic grin gentling into a more human-appropriate curve. “Good point, well made. Uchiha were superb at fucking up other Uchiha, I’m not disputing that, like, at all. Clans in general are almost optimized for abuse and exploitation. Keep it up, Shiranui-san. Forced politeness won’t get you much with us.”

“Right,” mumbles the other Shinobi—Namiashi. “Sure, kid. The facts are, you were taken under Crane’s watch. His family didn’t take the implied dishonour of it well. The guy is alive but not, perhaps, willingly.”

“I suggest you bring him to me, then,” Sasuke says, tilting his head and widening his eyes in a parody of child-like innocence, scars pulling his skin into an asymmetrical grimace. “Not, like, to be egocentric or anything, but if I owe a life debt, then Aniki owes a life debt. And Kimimaro. Orochimaru-sama, in a distant, dragonish way. That’s not a bad place for my ANBU to be in. Also, consider the reverse. Try to keep my ANBU from me and see what wacky shit will ensue.” Wow, look at Sasuke, back to threats already. “I’m not trying to be a spoiled monster throwing a tantrum. Okay, things were different with Aniki, I was re-balancing the scales there. But I am fully prepared to bribe you into cooperating with me in this.”

“That is rather unnecessary,” says Orochimaru-sama. “Seeing as how the Hyūga, and by extension your Hyūga Kenji-san, are asking to join the village. Nobody has even suggested they would keep you from your saviour. They haven’t even implied it.”

Hmm. Is that—is Orochimaru-sama—upset? That Sasuke is devoted to another Shinobi? Huh—look at that. What a pair they make, both jealous of a dying Konoha Shinobi they barely know.

“True,” he says, twisting his voice to a familiar, playful cadence. “I was way off. I should really bribe you into fixing him. Hmm.” What to offer? “I could—oh, oh I know. I can help your Uzumaki. There, that’s fair.”

Orochimaru-sama actually pauses, like, Chakra-pauses. A minute cascading hitch rustles through his Chakra before smoothing into an intense but amused whirl. “Oh? Here I was thinking that your brother was the one with an interest in healing.”

Sasuke flaps his hand, making a ‘psshhht’ noise. “Healing-shmealing. The kid is not injured, his Chakra system is fucked. I might not be able to create much with Chakra, but when it comes to precise manipulation? You won’t find a human better at it than I am.”

Woah, who is this mature little boy, all compromising and forgiving and shit?

Orochimaru-sama hums, a very multi-layered exhalation that echoes the complicated twists and turns of his Chakra very accurately. “I would have helped your ANBU regardless, you know? Your debts are my debts.”

Sasuke shrugs. “And I would have helped Uzumaki if you had asked. This just makes it fair. I help a kid I don’t care about even a little, and you help a Hyūga you don’t care about even a little.  Everybody wins.” Oh, oh, that’s right. If the kid is going to survive, then best mention— “Oh, and by the by, since we’re not going to let Uzumaki die over and over again until his Bijū gets tired of killing him and healing him, you might actually have a use for Hatake.” If the protector-thing was a serious plan and not just a move. “The Sharingan in his head? Outrageously bad move. Like, it’s not just killing his body, it’s killing his soul. Ripping it apart, I don’t know. Why would anyone think it was a good idea to combine two bloodline limits without any compatibility tests or adjustments is beyond me.”

“Like fuck are you going anywhere near my patient before I know you aren’t talking out of your ass.” Well, you can always count on Tsunade-sama to cut through the chase, as it were.

“Fair,” he says, just quickly enough to preempt Aniki’s—and Kimimaro’s, Izanami wept—thoughts on her phrasing. Broadly speaking, she’s not wrong. On the other hand, it’s not like Sasuke can make it worse. At some point, they either let him help or he starts making some euthanasia-shaped noises. “Draw me a seal to dissolve. Draw me as many seals as you want, but keep in mind I only have so much Chakra and the more I spend now the less Chakra there will be for Uzumaki.”

“Fuck me,” mutters Shiranui, just loud enough that Sasuke catches it. Since everybody here is eerily invested in Uzumaki’s survival—except for Kiri who care about nothing but blood and death and Chiharu-san who is climbing Sasuke’s devotion-ladder like a champion—it is not surprising that they inched closer to watch.

“Fine. Sure. I’m only agreeing because I’m desperate and because having a patient that keeps dying and reviving endlessly is something lifted directly from my nightmares. I’m going to draw three, Oro is going to draw three. Dissolve all six and we’ve got a deal. Katsuyu—you might as well stop. The Bijū is much better at healing than we are.”

Good at healing, Sasuke scoffs internally. The Bijū knows nothing at all about healing. What the Bijū has, is more energy than can be rationally comprehended. The mesmerizing show of banal cruelty happening to Uzumaki’s body is not the Bijū’s fault or his accomplishment. What Uzumaki’s body is doing to itself is directly a product of crude sabotage and limited self-repair systems.

Orochimaru-sama is the first one to finish a seal, an elegant Uzushio spiral. It’s a good thing they want him to destroy the thing and not, like, understand it in any way, because trying to parse through this abstract nightmare of a concept is well beyond Sasuke.

Alright, go-time. He arranges his limbs in the most comfortable position he knows, closes his eyes and takes a closer look at the Chakra construct. It’s much simpler to make some sense of it, now that the seal isn’t pretending to be a two-dimensional drawing but exists in space, a very three-dimensional knot of Chakra strands. A decorative knot, to be fair, one of those artistic creations that you can’t make heads or tails of.

The process is not something he tried before but is the perfect blend of attention-grabbing and lighthearted to get lost in. A tug here, a push there, a twist and a turn—it’s like a puzzle but more hands-on, or soul-on as it were. It’s also miles more instinctive than a logic puzzle would be. It doesn’t work if he only tugs it one way, but the more comfortable he gets with the process, the easier it is to attach multiple strands of his own Chakra to it and push and pull in multiple directions at once.

It’s great, in short, and definitely something Sasuke will have a lot of fun doing once this mess is over.

There was never really any doubt in him, or fear that he might not succeed. Chakra manipulation is his thing, the place and activity where he’s happiest at. He loves his family, but definitely not more than Chakra-work. He’s up to sixteen strands when the knot—wobbles, shudders, shrinks and expands and dissolves—

--Absorbing into Sasuke. He shudders, wobbles, shrinks and expands right back. Sage love him, what a nice little thrill at the end there. He can totally see himself getting addicted to this. Not only is it engaging, but the reward system is spectacularly effective.

“More, gimme more—” He cracks his eyes open just enough to look at Orochimaru-sama. “So fun Orochimaru-sama, this is the best time—more, more—”

“As you will.”

Orochimaru-sama’s voice is—off, somehow, but Sasuke is very happy in this part-meditative state. Happy enough to shunt that fact right back to where it came from. Chakra-play-time now, people-strange-worries later.

The next seal-puzzle-knot-piece is—

“Boo, Orochimaru-sama, gimme something crunchy, something juicy. What is this—” With two tugs, a push and a twist-slide-yank, the seal pops. At least the Chakra-hit is just as satisfying. He basks in the shudder that ripples down his back and settles in his tailbone. “But alright, never mind—something fun—oooh, yes, that’s more like it—”

“Alright, that’s six,” he says. His syllables trip and stumble over one another, creating pauses in unintuitive places. ’S what happens when you’re almost too manic to breathe. “On the upside, I’m not tired, like, at all. I’ve never had more Chakra circulating through my body in my life. The downside is that my heart actually might stop if I absorb any more energy, so.”

“What.”

Okay, so that might have been unwise phrasing. Itachi is already not having the easiest time, what with—everything.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he soothes. His effort is undermined by his twitchy, restless body and slurred speech. “Mostly kidding. I am absorbing the energy from the seals, but that’s not bad, surely. Spending Chakra is not difficult, amirite? A few Ninjutsu here, some Sharingan use there, bam. Good as new.”

In fact. He turns on his Sharingan, a bit too eagerly, perhaps. Something is—different. Oh, his body thanks him, keeps throwing as much Chakra as it can into his eyes, but they’re—

“Hey Aniki,” he says, doing his absolute best to keep any and all alarm from his voice. “I feel like I’m doing something here. Is everything—okay?”

Itachi’s Chakra floods with—overwhelmed, panicky pride. “Everything is fine,” he says, entirely unconvincingly. “No need to worry. Turn it off for now, though. If you want to spend Chakra, maybe you could summon?”

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra wheezes in laughter. Not just laughter though—Sasuke’s Sanin is just as off as Itachi is. There is a fair bit of pride there, but also an intense curiosity and some long-suffering annoyance. Complicated.

Wait—who cares about that—

“Wow, Aniki, you’re so smart,” he beams. “My jellyfish are just what your Uzumaki needs. I might be good for a human, but nothing and no one can match my jellyfish in Chakra-manipulation.“

“The Uzumaki,” sniffs Itachi, in a spectacular show of brotherly solidarity. “Tsunade-sama’s Uzumaki, even. Not mine.”

“My mistake,” he says, grinning. “The Autonomous Uzumaki. Thoughts, Orochimaru-sama?”

Orochimaru-sama’s eyes gleam a dark, burnished gold. “I, of course, bow to your expertise. I would not have thought it was possible to dissolve a finished seal at all. De-activate or destroy by using another seal, yes. Your method is, predictably, unique.”

Well, that was a whole lot of words not amounting to much.

“Great, cool, perfect, gimme just a moment.”

Summoning is really second nature, no matter that he’s done it like, twice. It’s just so—natural. Twist and a thought, not more than that, and pouf—

Six giant jellyfish bob in the air lazily, each one prettier than the last.

“Greetings, Sasuke-child,” they say in unison, a lovely multi-layered chorus of sound that gentles the manic edge of Sasuke’s mind immediately. It helps that all the Chakra he’s unintentionally absorbed is spent, and then some. He’s at maybe—fifty per cent? Thereabout?

“Hi, lovely friends! I hope I didn’t interrupt anything?”

“We are always looking forward to learning,” says one of them, a truly impossibly neon-yellow specimen, cherry-red tentacles swaying above Orochimaru-sama. “Greetings, Katsuyu-spirit, Yuri-spirit. It has been a long time.” The jellyfish talk oddly, nothing new there. All noble spirits do—consequence of Chakra-speak. But the jellyfish take it to the next level, being completely unwilling to cater to the frailty of the human mind and perception. It’s even clearer now, now that the way the words ‘Yuri’ or ‘Katsuyu’ are so tangibly vast, so loaded with meaning, that something important in Sasuke’s brain twinges in a warning. Like many things to do with all the spirits he had somehow come into contact with, Sasuke is just capable enough to see the outline of what he can’t know, but no more.

“Likewise,” says Katsuyu-sama, in tandem with Yuri-sama’s growl of death and despair—and greeting, apparently.

“You’re the best, seriously,” Sasuke beams, herding his spiralling mind into his best semblance of order. “How do you feel about giving me a hand? The Uzumaki companion to Kyūbi-sama has been interfered with beyond what human medicine can fix.”

“Boring and predictable,” says one of the jellyfish, soft pink and raspy-voiced. “I will stay with Yuri-spirit and Katsuyu-spirit.”

Four of the six jellyfish decline in delightfully offhand, fluffy ways that warm Sasuke’s heart. Two accept, vague curiosity just barely outweighing the disinterest they have in a random human’s life or death.

“Perfect,” He reaches a somewhat wary hand out to caress a tentacle within reach. It doesn’t sting, but it does caress back. Not his body, oh no, that would be a normal thing to do. It caresses his Chakra and Sasuke hiccups in shocked delight. “Shall we, then? What do you say, Tsunade-sama? Where should we start?”

Tsunade-sama sends him a dead look. “Honestly, kid, I have no fucking clue. We’re too deep in Sasuke-land. Nothing makes sense here. Do what you can.”

“Sure.” He settles into a meditative pose. “I’m going to do the biggest ones. Katsuyu-sama, you might want to keep an eye out? I don’t know how the kid’s body will respond to the blocks being removed but I doubt it will be tame.”

“Of course, Sasuke-kun,” says Katsuyu-sama, her Chakra politely mingling with Sasuke’s jellyfish’. “I doubt the boy’s companion would let anything serious happen, but I will stand by just in case.”

Well, Sasuke thinks about thirty seconds later, maybe Tsunade-sama was right. This is trippy even by his standards.

“Err,” he says to Rokubi-sama’s presence in his soul. “Can I help you somehow?”

Not really, not-speaks the Bijū. I am not here for you.

Oh, right. Kyūbi-sama.

“Okay, then,” he says, all sorts of mystified. “Let me know if I can help somehow.”

We will speak about this seal-dissolving ability. It is something that interests us very much.

“Sure. I’ll just—do my thing, then?” Oh man, oh man, he didn’t really think this through. Releasing the Bijū is absolutely something he wants to do, now that it’s on the table, but he can’t imagine a scenario where that doesn’t include his immediate death-by-pissed-off-Bijū. On the other hand, refusing something that his maybe-Person asks of him is—not going to work out.

Best set that aside for now. Fixing Uzumaki’s nightmare situation first. He will have to talk about it with Orochimaru-sama and Aniki, too. He’s not too worried about Orochimaru-sama on the whole. This feels like the type of mind-bending chaos the man will enjoy. Aniki, on the other hand…

Yeah, focus on Uzumaki now. Let’s start with the most disturbing seal on the kid’s groin. That seems like a good place to start.

The sun is set by the time Sasuke emerges from his not-meditation. He’s—swaddled in a blanket, leaning on Aniki’s chest. Several other people have joined them, including—

“ANBU-san,” he gables.

“Easy,” says Itachi, producing a glass of water from somewhere. “Drink. Yes, Hyuuga Kenji-sama and Aburame-sama have joined us some time ago. Negotiations are almost finished.”

“Perfect,” he slurs. “I need to—wait just a ‘mo.”

He can’t quite speak, but his jellyfish don’t really need or get the need for mouth-noises. He sends a ball of gratitude-tiredness-affection at them and gets a vague, inhuman caress for his troubles. Between one moment and the next, all six of them wink out of this plane, not so much as a wisp of Chakra smoke left behind. He knew it, he knew the Chakra-smoke was all theatrics!

“So the kid should be fine now.” Barely a garble at all! Sasuke is excellent at this! “Physically. I don’t know what’s left there after all the pain and dying, person-wise.”

Itachi’s Chakra ripples, steel-grey tinting a deep, ominous black. “Good for him. Really, Sasu’, I’ve just watched you channel four distinct types of Chakra, two of them from Bijū, for hours. Tell me more about Uzumaki, his wellbeing is really tearing me up.”

Bless.

“I’m great,” he says, twisting a little so he can make eye contact. Aniki’s Sharingan spins as fast as it can go and his lips are bitten-red and bleeding in places. Okay. So Sasuke fucked up. “I’m sorry for worrying you. The Bijū thing really wasn’t that big of a deal. I had to work on Uzumaki, which means interacting with his Chakra. Rokubi-sama got involved to prevent direct contact with Kyūbi-sama’s Chakra just in case that resulted in unplanned soul-trips.”

This, unsurprisingly, fails to help. Itachi’s arms tighten around him and his Chakra grows spiky and hard. “I am,” Itachi says, enunciating every word carefully and with great weight. “Very sick of you being in danger because of other people.”

“Well, damn, Aniki, that’s no way to live,” Sasuke says, very reasonably. “I am in danger, like, almost always. If it’s not from other people, then it’s from myself. We lead dangerous lives, that’s just the truth. Really, what we should take away from this is that I am, if anything, in less danger than we thought. Did you expect Rokubi-sama to twitch his tail to help me? I certainly haven’t.”

“There’s danger and there’s danger,” says Itachi, chin ever-so-gently lowering onto the top of Sasuke’s head. “Some of it is inevitable, some of it is preventable and some is just fucking stupid. Asking you to put yourself in the path of the Kyūbi, that’s not acceptable. Not for a stranger. That you have connections among the Bijū is not something we should come to depend on.”

Okay, so Aniki is cussing. Time to deflect and, like, soothe.

“Right, we can do that. From now on, we’re more careful.” Never mind the looming cloud of Sasuke releasing the Bijū from their fleshy prisons sometime in the near future. “But, honestly, I count today as a win. I discovered a new game, got to work closely with my jellyfish which is a Goddamn delight, and fulfilled my end of the bargain in regards to my ANBU and his future life of leisure and luxury in Oto. Sure, there were some risks here and there, but all is well that ends well.”

Itachi hums, letting himself be distracted somewhat. “You also terrified the Konoha Shinobi out of their minds, impressed Chiharu-sama and made Orochimaru-sama visibly preen about having you as his apprentice.”

“And that, yes. So, all in all, I think we’ve all accomplished admirable things today and we should celebrate that by showering me with affection and desserts.”

Chapter Text

Somehow, somehow Sasuke’s Day That Will Never End is not finished yet. It’s hard to overstate just how done Sasuke is with this day.

And yet. And yet there is still drama to be inflicted on poor unsuspecting children that just want everybody’s love and adoration, at all times, forever. Is that really too much to ask? Must the world inflict manic Jinchūriki children waking up from extended torture on him?

The kid wakes up, is the point. He’s, yeah. How fucked was it, that Sasuke would have preferred Uzumaki to explode into hysterical violence, a desperate attempt at escape or a fight or something?

What they get instead is a child paralyzed by fear, silent tears flowing down his face as he stumbles off his cot, falls to the ground, and stays there. On the wet grass. Curled up into as small a ball as he can. Which, considering the kid is the shrimpiest, tiniest twelve-year-old Sasuke has ever seen, is a very telling statement.

Hatake is, mercifully, too deep in his very own dissociative episode, so he, at least, doesn’t cause trouble. No, the trouble comes from Sasuke’s Adults being stumped by the sight of a kid acting in a very appropriate fashion for the nightmare that happened upon it without provocation. Even Orochimaru-sama—especially Orochimaru-sama—watches the morbid spectacle with a blank look of shock.

No help from that area.

Aniki, well, yeah. Aniki is the Uchiha version of a sympathetic crier. He acts tough, but unless he’s had time to tuck his heart away, he’s like a giant sponge, ready to absorb everybody’s pain. Kimimaro straight up doesn’t give a fuck, and anybody who expected Chiharu to willingly offer comfort is a person so deliberately lost in the land of whim and fancy that they are beyond saving.

Really, it’s only Tsunade-sama that Sasuke expected anything from, and she’s staring at the kid, actually, physically, literally whispering her long-dead brother’s name.

Okay. Okay, so Sasuke’s family is useless. Konoha is—wisely—opting out of twitching closer to Uzumaki for fear of what will be unleashed upon them, which leaves—Sasuke or Kiri. Yeah, great, thank you life, this is precisely what he needed right now. He untangles from his blanket, stretches in a very passive-aggressive fashion and makes sure each and every one of his Adults sees and acknowledges his deeply indignant look. Honestly.

“Hey there,” he says throwing a pair of cushions onto the grass next to Uzumaki and laying down in one, turned to the side so Uzumaki could see his face if he wanted to. “Hey, honey. Listen, I know everything is a lot right now—” Man, is it a lot. The weight and density of pain radiating from the kid is unreal. Sasuke’s mind starts a low, but instant whine that warns of panic attacks to come. “—but, hey, there is no more pain, right? You can smell the air, you can feel the grass. You know you’re somewhere new. Somewhere better. And there’s me, a kid, just like you. I’m Sasuke, remember me? I am that kid they kicked out of the Academy way back when.”

Uzumaki doesn’t twitch, doesn’t stop his seizure-level trembling, but Sasuke’s Sharingan is not just for show. He can see the minute twitching of the kid’s ears, notes the ever-so-slight decrease in heart rate.

“Yeah, so, I don’t know how much you can understand right now, but some strong people found you, took you away from that place, and brought you to my home. It’s almost exactly what happened to me, you know? Some strong people took me away from that place and brought me here. Look at me now, I have cushions and a loving family and all the chocolate I can eat. And you know the best part?”

He leans in ever so slightly, all too aware that while Uzumaki might be lacking in any life-saving violent impulses, his companion is less suicidally gentle. Come to close and the Bijū will start settling scores in Uzumaki’s place.

“The best part is that you? You can have all that, too. There are so many people that have done crazy dangerous things to save you, you have no idea.” Ain’t that the truth? “You’ve got at least one S-ranked Shinobi sworn to guard you with his life. How cool is that, bunny?” Bunny, what the fuck, Sasuke, what the fuck. “Big, tall grown-ups willing and able to stand between you and the world. Just because they care about you and want to keep you safe and happy.”

Sage, fuck, but his throat is getting scratchy. He’s babbling here like a turkey, and his family is still acting all shocked and, whatever, traumatized.

At least the kid seems to both pick up on his words and is willing to let himself be nominally soothed.

“There you go,” he says, croons as best he can, which is pretty fucking bad, all told. “There’s a bunny.” Stop it with the very inappropriate nickname, what is wrong with you? This is the Jinchūriki of the Nine-Tailed fucking Fox, do you want to get eaten? “I’m not going to touch you, don’t even stress, but why don’t you take a breath, and another, there you go, and think about this here cushion next to you. How much better you will feel if you stop laying on the dirty, wet ground?”

Thing is, it’s unclear how much the kid remembers. He wasn’t conscious for the worst of it and the body’s rate of regeneration is so absurd that he shouldn’t feel any aches or pains. Just, like, mind-crushing trauma or whatever.

Well, Sasuke can’t help him there. Sasuke doesn’t want to help the fucking kid. What Sasuke wants is to get the child settled enough that a more competent person can get over their shit and help.

“Come on, bun,” he says. The nickname-battle is already lost, he might as well run with it. The kid acts like a rabbit, his nose twitches like a rabbit’s would and he’s got the precise same level of aggression. A fox would have long since been fang-deep in Sasuke’s throat or died trying. “Come on. I know everything is a lot and I know you’re scared. It’s fine—I’d be scared too. I was just as scared as you, back when.”

Okay, a filthy lie, but that’s just because Sasuke was too busy mutilating his mind into contentment. The poor traumatized bunny weeping into the grass doesn’t even have that luxury. The Bijū would have healed him before he could even get anywhere. “It’s fine to be scared. But, like, you look like a smart kid. You know what’s what. You know that you’re gonna be scared no matter what. So why not be scared on a cushion?”

The kid doesn’t move, doesn’t unfurl from the unreal contortion he’s curled himself into, but his grimy little face untucks ever so slightly. One eye cracks open a tad, just barely enough to show a millimetre of eerie sky-blue and a whole lot of red. Practically every single capillary is burst in the kid’s eyes, probably, whether from the crying or all the torture. Who even knows.

Sasuke—freezes, babble hitching to a stop. Mind blank and thoughts going in circles of ‘what the fuck-what the fuck-what the fuck’, he does the first thing that comes to mind. He sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry.

Somewhat numb by his own insanity, Sasuke’s eyes unfocus. Alright, so that happened. What were you thinking you demented pumpkin—

No, wait, no, you genius pumpkin, you most marvellous God-emperor of pumpkindom, the kid—likes it. Both his eyes are cracked open, now, and it seems Sasuke’s own brand of insanity cancelled out some of the terror.

Well, then. Never mess with a winning strategy, is what Sasuke always said, ask anybody. “Hey bun-bun,” he says, widening his eyes and puffing out his cheeks as far as he can, what with the scars. Sage have mercy, ‘bun-bun’. “Hey there. Remember me—you probably don’t. The crazy kid in the back of the class that couldn’t talk?”

Uzumaki doesn’t speak, doesn’t acknowledge Sasuke’s words in any real way. His eyes are—worryingly present. Like, Sasuke would have liked to see some haziness, some sign that the kid is scared because he doesn’t remember a nice, long torture-filled stretch of time.

“Not a big talker, hey.” Izanami wept, what are Sasuke’s adults even doing? Is this some sort of ageism thing? Let the kid fix the kid. It better not be, or there will be extensive Chakra-sabotage around Oto very soon, fuck. Now that he knows he can dismantle Fuuinjutsu, his revenge options are limitless. “That’s fine. You deserve some quiet time. Unfortunately, I am terrified you will start crying again, so Im’ma continue talking at you, if that’s okay?”

It’s, yeah, it’s not even awkward. It should be. Sasuke is just about the only person around not invested in Uzumaki’s survival, and here he is, babbling and pulling faces. The surreal dimension overshadows the awkward one by a mile. This is fine, this is just—first contact or whatever. Sasuke is certainly a whole lot less intimidating than, say, Itachi.

“So, bunny-bun-bun, about that cushion—”

It takes about fifteen minutes for the kid to move to a cushion. Not his own cushion. Oh, no. No, when the kid decides to move, he moves with lightning speed, exploding off the ground and straight into Sasuke, clutching him like a lifeline.

Okay, okay, this is fine. Sasuke has an arm-full of terrified Jinchūriki. Hey, at least he’s on a cushion? This is fine. Sasuke’s fine.

It’s fine.

“Hey there,” he says into the boy’s filthy, matted hair. It used to be blond, right? It’s hard to tell, what with all the grime and blood. “Hey there, bunny-bun. I guess you don’t mind touching, hey? That’s fine. There are people here that would be miles better at the whole hugging thing than me, but whatever works.”

Man, but the kid needs a bath. A bath and, wait—are those? Are those—shackles? On the kid?

The first real hints of anger spark somewhere low in Sasuke’s belly and spread, as fire does, quickly and efficiently. Calm down, the shackles are not even a blip on the radar. Who cares about the shackles? Not Sasuke. No sir-ee.

His traitorous arms tighten around the bunny, wholly against any direction from Sasuke. Mutiny!

“So, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything. If you don’t want to talk, you don’t gotta. Nobody is gonna make you and if anyone tries I will set them straight. But give me a signal, maybe? That you can understand me? Cause, like, I don’t mind any of this, yeah? But it’s getting dark and cold, and both of us are way too skinny to have any real body heat.” A filthy, scandalous lie. Uzumaki runs furnace-hot. Sasuke is a bit uncomfortably warm if anything. “So, like, gimme a squeeze or a, whatever, bite, scratch, something.”

It’s hard to tell, what with the shaking and clutching, but Sasuke is pretty sure that was—in fact—

Yes, yes it was. A real squeeze, faint and shy but a squeeze. Ask and you will receive, hey?

“Good, excellent, what a fine bunny-bun!” He really needs to stop this, it’s getting strange even for him. “So, just in case you didn’t catch it earlier, I’m Sasuke. Uchiha Sasuke. And you’re Naruto, right? We didn’t hang out much, before, but it’s—” Not nice, don’t say nice— “Nice to meet you.” Goddamn it. “The circumstances, yeah, could be better, but better late than never.” Great job, Sasuke, you fucking disgrace. “Now, again, there’s no rush. This whole shebang is more or less dedicated to you, so take your time. But at some point, maybe I could sit up? You don’t gotta let me go, you can stay there if you want, but yeah. I have family here, cool, pretty adults who all want to meet you and pet your hair and feed you mochi. Gimme a squeeze when you’re good and ready, okay?”

Since his mouth can’t be trusted to speak, he tries humming instead, a flighty little tune lifted straight from Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra. Speaking of—the adults best get ready for some petty, petty retribution. Sasuke didn’t sign up for this. He doesn’t even care about—

Okay, okay so he might care a little. He’s not a monster, and Uzumaki is a scared little child. Everybody would have some feelings. But he’s not the kid’s guardian, doesn’t want to be his guardian even if that was on the table. Sasuke is a good family pet, a spoiled, overbred cat who smothers everybody with unwarranted affection. Not—not whatever this kid needs.

By the time Uzumaki squeezes him, Sasuke has worked himself into a strange blend of apprehensive and confused, without any real idea of what is happening, how they got here or what to do about it.

“Good bun, brave bun,” he babbles. “Let off a little, I’m much weaker than you are.” Sage’s own truth. Uzumaki has entirely too much physical strength than his emaciated frame would suggest. “Thank you. Now, up we go, a bit more, a bit more again and—there we go.” Now partly upright, Sasuke can see finally. Uzumaki’s face is entirely buried in Sasuke’s chest, which is maybe for the best because Sasuke looks up straight into Kimimaro and Aniki who have migrated over to them at some point and stand there like some sort of eerie honour guard.

‘Traitor’ he mouths to Aniki, with no effect. Both his brothers look at him like he’s the most precious thing that ever existed. No joke, Aniki looks like he’s blown right past endeared and is floating in the air, high on brotherly adoration. Kimimaro is less transparent about it, but that’s because his emotions are still relatively straightforward. No less intense, but with fewer layers to it.

If he didn’t have his Chakra tucked safely under his skin—and away from Kyūbi-sama—he’d love to look more closely into it. As it is, he is torn between instinctive preening and passive-aggressive tantrum. He sends another deeply aggrieved look at Itachi and gives Uzumaki’s back a pat.

“So, two of my brothers are here, if you want to meet them. They’re, like, super sweet kids, both of them. Marshmallows, you have no idea. C’mon, what do you say? Do you wanna meet Itachi and Kimimaro? I bet that you will only have to scrunch your bunny nose at Itachi and he will feed you a cake.” He sends Itachi a meaningful look, and he nods, a clone popping into existence to fetch the bribe. “Nice cakes, too. You haven’t tried a better cake, I swear. Pink little things, all sugar and fat and not a drop of healthy, boring stuff.”

The clone returns long before Uzumaki gathers enough composure to twist his head to the side, shifting just enough to be able to see Itachi.

“Hello, Uzumaki-kun,” says Itachi, crouching down so he’s closer to eye-level. His voice is appropriately gentle, all smooth, deep tones and careful pronunciation. “My name is Itachi. I am Sasuke’s Aniki.”

Uzumaki’s head twitches into something that approaches a nod, but could just be an aborted attempt to hide back into Sasuke’s chest.

Kimimaro, lovely clueless Kimimaro, steps behind Itachi and bows. “I am Kimimaro, Sasuke-kun’s brother. My honour.”

That’s entirely too much for the bunny. He squeaks (!) and ducks his head, skinny arms squeezing Sasuke’s ribs even stronger. “Easy, bunny-bun,” he wheezes. “I need those ribs. Gentle, now. We can’t all be as strong and durable as you are.”

With enough back-pats and some slightly desperate head-scratches, Uzumaki gets with the program and lets Sasuke breathe more easily. “Good, good, that’s perfect.” He inhales deeply, relishing in the air even though it also brings with it Uzumaki’s torture-smell. He looks around a little and—okay, Aniki might be forgiven more easily. He’s not as useless as the rest of them. There on the ground within reach is the cake plate and a tall glass of water.

Reaching for it is a bit of a mission, but with some wiggles and babbled praises, he manages to grab a cake in one hand, without Uzumaki freaking out more.

“Okay bunny, here’s the deal. I have in my hand, a cake. Now, I can nibble on it so you can see it’s not poisoned, but honestly, I doubt poison would work on you either way. So how about you trust me and have a bite? There’s a bun”.

Fuck his life, this is going to take forever.

In the end, Uzumaki doesn’t calm down enough for any real introductions to happen before exhaustion catches up to him and he passes right the fuck out in Sasuke’s arms.

“Holy Hell,” he says, pitching his voice to carry, looking up a the sky for some guidance. “You all suck, I will have you know. You are all terrible, terrible people. This was such a disaster, I swear to Amaterasu.”

“I beg to differ,” says Aniki. Oh, now you come close, do you? “You did spectacularly well. Your kindness and presence of mind never fails to astound me. I am so proud of you, Sasu’.”

“I have to agree,” says Orochimaru-sama. Sasuke cranes his head enough to send a betrayed look his way. “In many ways, Uzumaki waking up was the most dangerous part of this operation. An unstable Jinchūriki is a deadly Jinchūriki. That you managed to settle the child with words alone is nothing short of miraculous.”

“Pshhht,” huffs Sasuke. “Are we talking about the same kid? This here little bunny-child? Please. He’s about as dangerous as I am.” Wait. “No, scratch that. He’s about as dangerous as—” As who? Who do you know that’s not lethal? “As a wholly not-dangerous person, I don’t know, leave me alone, I’m stressed.”

“Maybe we can continue this discussion later,” says Chiharu-san into the brief silence. “The negotiations are functionally finished. There is no sense in remaining here in the open, not when we have accumulated so many persons of interest.”

“I love you,” says Sasuke, not even a little ashamed. “Yes, please. Let’s go inside and away from the cold, oh my God I will be so stiff tomorrow, you have no idea.”

Chapter Text

Genma never was the type of guy who gets lost in excessive contemplation about the world and his place in it. He had maybe the one rule if it can be called a rule. A guiding principle, perhaps. It went something along the lines of ‘adapt or die’. Nothing too ambitious, nothing too revolutionary. Think fast, don’t look back and always look outside the box. It’s why he’s as good an assassin as he is. More tellingly, it’s what kept him alive in a world of S-ranked powerhouses and bucket-fulls of evil geniuses running around.

Cutting ties with Konoha is easy. If a place, any place, becomes too toxic and unlivable that Genma of all people notices, then someone, somewhere, is making it that way on purpose. He doesn’t need much. Doesn’t deserve it, wouldn’t know what to do with peace or luxury if he somehow stumbled into it. Even by that very reasonable metric, the dystopian nightmare that Konoha turned into after the Massacre was unacceptable.

It took him some time, alas. Breaking the conditioning was not easy, even with his creed of moving quickly and fearlessly. The final push came from their own Daimyo spreading the word far and wide that Konoha slaughtered thousands of their own because of some rumours and prejudice. Well, no. The final push was that Fox, Genma’s own little Fox, was blackmailed into wielding the knife. It’s funny how obvious it all seemed, then, after his nose was mushed into that final little bit of evil, so twisted that even he couldn’t pretend, anymore. The solution just came to him, easy as anything. Kill everyone you can and run the fuck away while you still have enough will to breathe.

No, escaping from Konoha while carefully burning every bridge on your way out was not difficult. Adapting to life as a missing-nin was easy. What isn’t easy, is the Uchiha boy.

It’s Hell. Genma is not one to project. He tries his best to be truthful, with himself and with how he experiences the world. He is all too aware that what they did to the littlest Uchiha was monstrous. He can’t even blame the high command. Nobody forced the entire village to try their utmost to bully a child into suicide. There was no edict, no law. Unlike the Uzumaki child, the Hokage didn’t order anyone to stay away from the Uchiha boy. It was just too onerous to do so. The kid was a walking, talking reminder of just how evil they all allowed themselves to become. It was easier to let him linger in his deserted graveyard of a Compound until he finally read between the lines, died and stopped inconveniencing the rest of them.

Yeah. It’s fucked. Even more fucked than Fox—than Itachi. With him, at least, Genma has some framework, some way of positioning himself in relation to what happened. Yeah, it was fucked what happened to him and none of them deserve forgiveness, but they’re ANBU. Forgiveness was never on the table. He fucked Fox up, but in ways that he has learned to live with.

He doesn’t know if he will ever learn how to live with the tiny, eerie child that the littlest Uchiha has become. It doesn’t—he doesn’t even move like a person. Its—his gestures are too deliberate and too precise to be anything but starkly inhuman. And his Chakra—it was like nothing he had imagined was possible. Ice-cold, distantly cruel and so fucking still. Honestly, if Genma was more prone to speculation, he’d say that whatever is currently possessing the corpse of the Uchiha boy doesn’t know much about humans at all and doesn’t really care to mimic what they do know.

It would explain a lot. How it unconsciously commands everyone’s attention. How it is draped with such a heavy air of supernatural authority that even Senju-hime—even Orochimaru of the Sanin—instinctively follow suit, without so much as a moment’s hesitation. They’re happy to follow its lead and try as he might, no matter how close Genma looks he can’t find so much as a hint of resentment from either Sanin.

The wholly impossible way with which it wields its icy Chakra is proof unto itself. Genma is no sensor, but he’s an A-ranked Jōnin. His senses are adequately sharp to have let him survive this far. When the Uchiha child started playing with Fūinjutsu, physically manipulating strands of Chakra so potent that they were visibly glowing and humming in its hands—it was all Genma could do to sit where he was and not back up until he’s put a few continents between him and the humanoid Godling in their midst.

And then, and then the kid transformed in front of their eyes. From a twisted up, blood-freezing monster to a gentle little boy, petting and soothing Uzumaki, for all the world like it was its flesh and blood. It was a deeply earnest show of kindness so thoroughly integrated into its character that it didn’t even hesitate.

Genma’s parents were pretty standard as Shinobi parents get. Not very progressive, not very traditional. Middle-of-the-road, salt-of-the-Earth types, not really all that invested in the idea of children but willing and determined to do their duty by him. He grew up cared for and safe and shown a reasonable amount of warmth.

He’s never once, in his whole life, seen anyone display overt tenderness with such unselfconscious ease as the Uchiha boy had to a stranger. Not just with his words, but in the way his inhuman Chakra just—evaporated from the air, leaving behind a soft-eyed child with a silly smile and speech patterns that blend old-money elocution and street-style slang. Genma is in no way surprised that Uzumaki took to the Uchiha as fast and fully as he did. If anyone, ever pointed such concentrated affection his way, he would have latched onto them without looking back, no questions asked.

Genma can adapt to many things, but this? This earnest, brutal Godling? This might be too much. Time will tell, of course. The hellhole they escaped was, by all accounts, much more comfortable with authoritarian, clinical cruelty than this madhouse. Maybe it will work out? And if it doesn’t, well, they tried. At some point, even Genma’s energy will run out, and he will stop trying to adapt.

Chapter Text

It is entirely possible that Sasuke is even more of a disaster than he’s willing to unpack. Not just now but, like, in general. Instead of hoisting Uzumaki off on the nearest willing adult, he—hesitates. Damn. The kid is not his kid, nobody wants the kid to be his kid and many people want the kid to be their kid.

Aniki is, yeah, critically over-emoted as is and has Tsunade-sama to talk out of her flashbacks. Orochimaru-sama would provide insightful, to the point commentary, if only Sasuke’s didn’t place his yawning pit of jealousy between the Sanin and anything Uzumaki-shaped. Kimimaro could be helpful, but he’s still too new to the whole critical thinking game to really offer any solution other than the most straightforward one. Chiharu-san’s brand of ruthless self-interest would just make him cry.

Really, Shizune-san would be perfect, if she wasn’t keeping the other kid alive. So, damn. He’s back to Orochimaru-sama. Maybe best to start working on that jealousy, hey?

“Quick question,” he says, muscles twitching, yanking his limbs every which way, projecting his neurotic state of mind very faithfully. “I know today was a long day but, like. I need help.” Saying it makes it that much more real. He needs help and needs it bad. “Higher dose of my meds, yeah, definitely, but also advice? So. Grab some tea with me? Please?” Whatever anxiety-monster has made their home in Sasuke’s belly reaches out and starts squeezing, throat constricting around the ever-growing lump. Alright fine, fine. “Maybe in full view of Uzumaki?” A different type of monster, the scared, jealous one makes its displeasure known, but it doesn’t have any choking powers, so that’s fine. He’s fine.

“Interesting,” says Orochimaru-sama. “I had expected something like this to happen but not, admittedly, quite this quickly. Of course, snakelet. However, you do realize any place that houses Uzumaki also includes Hatake?”

“Yeah, sure.” Who cares about Hatake, honestly? Yeah, Sasuke Of A Few Hours Ago may have had enough emotional real-estate available to waste some on Hatake, but things have changed since then. The Sasuke Of Now has bigger fish to crunch. Or however that expression goes. “Hatake is so eager to die, if he becomes a problem, I will just distract the rest of you for long enough that he has time to murder himself in whatever creative way he thinks up. Uzumaki, though.”

“Alright. Best take this conversation to Uzumaki’s rooms, then.”

Perfect. On one hand, Sasuke could probably sense the kid. On the other hand, sensing is a bad idea. He’s one plucked heart-string away from a meltdown, he doesn’t need closer insight into other people’s overwrought inner drama. 

Uzumaki is housed in the medical wing, apparently. Hatake has had just enough higher brainpower to follow the kid, but not for communication of any kind, verbal or otherwise. What, exactly, is being done about the Konoha Shinobi Sasuke doesn’t know and Sasuke doesn’t care. Okay, so that’s a ridiculous lie.

“Just—” he says, wholly incapable of letting anything be right now. “Just, before we start. My ANBU—you’ve handled that, yes? He’s—he’s fine?”

Orochimaru-sama, apparently cottoning onto the fact Sasuke lacks an interpersonal dimension that sensing usually provides, deigns to show what he’s feeling on his face. It’s a very touching gesture. Sasuke is touched. Now, he’d be even happier if what he was showing was, say, lighthearted fun or satisfaction, and not cynical derision of the human condition. “Hyūga Kenji-san is not fine, no. He is alive, suffering from extensive physical and mental trauma. Before your Fuuinjutsu miracles, I would have suggested providing assistance to a peaceful end is the only reasonable way forward. Now that removing the Caged Bird seal is an option, the situation is drastically different.”

Okay.

“Okay, so what I choose to get from that is that my ANBU will be fine. That’s fine. I can be chill about that.”

They’ve made their way to Uzumaki’s (temporary?) rooms which, ironically, used to be Sasuke’s rooms, back when he and Itachi were terminally ill baby-refugees. At least the setting is comforting? Sasuke has some nice memories in these rooms. Maybe. Sort of.

The kid looks even smaller in the tall medical bed, pallor matching the clinical, stark-white bedsheets. Someone really should have given him a bath, Sasuke thinks absently, carefully choosing what to focus on. On Itachi’s former bed, Hatake is—sleeping? Unconscious? Irrelevant. What is relevant is that the wolf, Yuri-sama, is there, quiet and majestic and terrifying.

All that—ignore all that. That is all unimportant.

Orochimaru-sama guides them to the arm-chairs in the corner and unseals a pot of tea. Does he always have a couple of dozen sealed-up pots of tea just in case? Seems like something he would find amusing.

Focus!

Now that they’re here, the hundreds of threads cluttering up Sasuke’s mind go taut, tangling into a snarled knot, making his throat constrict around nothing. He is floaty and buzzy and weepy and—fast approaching a panic attack, actually.

“That kid,” tumbles out of his mouth. It’s not what he wanted to say, per se, but it’s a good enough start. Anything is better than the dizzying horror of too-much-too-strong. “I don’t. I can’t stop—thinking about him? I—he’s not mine. I don’t want him. I didn’t want him. But he’s here now and.” And the thought of someone taking him away makes Sasuke want to hide in a hole and cry. Or see how hot a fire his eyes can create. “And I kind of already made him mine?”

“The Uzumaki child latched onto you,” says Orochimaru-sama. “That is true. That, however, doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to mean. You did exceptionally well, yes. But that doesn’t mean you are in any way responsible for the child.”

Well. “I don’t know that’s true. Okay, nominally speaking, I’m a kid too and a messed up one at that. I am not eligible for the position of a guardian or a protector or whatever, even if I wanted to be one. But—” But what? “I don’t know, I feel like bailing on the kid would make me a raging hypocrite. I have this whole bit about personal responsibility and making good on the claims you made, intentionally or otherwise.” Where are you going with this, Sasuke? “I—it’s all messed up in my mind, I don’t know-know. But I can’t—the idea of the bunny waking up in a room without the one person he had made some sort of a positive connection to—it kills me.”

Orochimaru-sama pours him a pointed, meaningful cup of tea. “And do you think you may be projecting?”

Sasuke huffs, an uncharacteristically bitter sound even to his own ears. “I mean, yeah. Duh. It’s why I’m here marinading in my own anxiety instead of distantly sympathizing with a victim of abuse. Of course I’m projecting.” They did to Uzumaki what they would have done to Sasuke if they had a single use for him. They enslaved the bunny with Fuuinjutsu designed to control every single function of his body. “Remember my whole thing about sex and reproduction? Well, they took that into account with Uzumaki. That seal on his groin? Stuff of nightmares. I’m not even joking, I will have nightmares about it.” So many nightmares.

“Right.” It’s strange to talk to Orochimaru-sama without the Chakra-music serving as an emotional barometer. Like, now, Sasuke thinks that his pursed lips are a sign of anger about Uzumaki’s situation, but it could be worry that Sasuke is losing it, this time for good. “I have no wish to dictate your actions, Sasuke-kun. That was never how we did things here. I would suggest simply that you weigh up your priorities. On one hand, there is the responsibility you feel towards Uzumaki, based on an offer you made impulsively and now feel bound to honour.”

Man, Orochimaru-sama is so smart—that is exactly it. A spur-of-the-moment claim that he can’t walk back—that he doesn’t want to walk back.

“On the other hand, you need to consider your own well-being. Sometimes the pain of helping others, who have been hurt in same ways we have, can be therapeutic. Sometimes it can be damaging and unproductive. You are the only one who can tell which scenario this would be.”

“Gimme a moment to think,” he says, head spinning. When he wants to, Orochimaru-sama is a spectacular therapist. He’s almost a good enough actor that he makes you forget who, exactly, is it that’s talking you through the wonders of self-care.

“Of course. Have a biscuit.”

“So,” says Sasuke, some twenty minutes later. “So I get what you mean and, yeah, if it were just the case of duty and harm and all that—it would be one thing. But we haven’t mentioned the Uchiha factor. You know how obsessive Aniki is—how obsessive I am.”

It’s very much on-brand for the messed up lives they lead, that Uzumaki is somehow collateral in every clusterfuck that happens in his general vicinity. Even now, he had somehow chosen to latch onto the most precarious person in the country. It’s a chilling thought, that someone, somewhere had chosen an emotional-support human less stable than Itachi Uchiha and yet, here they are. Sasuke hoards his people like an apprentice-dragon he is. The bunny is not his yet, but he’s not-not his and that is a precarious place for anyone to be, much less a kid kicked every way but up.

“You, dear apprentice, haven’t met many Uzumaki,” says Orochimaru-sama, tone softening into a far-off, almost gentle cadence. “You and your brother are sweet boys, you are, but you’re positively tame in comparison to what Uzumaki considered perfectly appropriate behaviour among friends. Even distant acquaintances. I’m not worried, nor should you be.”

What— “Really?” That’s a first. “Wow. What was that like—they had their own village, right? The one that was destroyed way back.”

Orochimaru-sama’s lips purse, as his chin tilts into an almost offended angle. “Way back, he says. You being an infant doesn’t make thirty years ancient history. Uzushiogakure was—magnificent. She still is, in all likelihood, for all that none of us can pass the blood-wards.”

Huh. Wait— “Hold on.” None of them can pass— “Is that why you’re so invested in the bunny? Because he’s got the, whatever, blood to enter the ruins of a village you really liked?”

“Well, yes,” blinks Orochimaru-sama, deflating from his indignant posture. “Of course. We had this conversation already. I distinctly remember mentioning that the Uzumaki-Namikaze Heir was the last viable candidate to enter the ruins of Uzu.”

Okay, yes, yes that’s true. For all that it slipped his mind completely, yeah, Orochimaru-sama did say that, almost word for word.

“Damn,” says Sasuke. “And here I was stewing in jealousy, thinking that you will replace me with the new kid.”

Orochimaru-sama blinks at him, long and unreadable, emitting admirable ‘you blithering idiot’ vibes. “What.”

“Is that surprising in some way?” Now it’s Sasuke’s turn to look incredulous. “I’m a possessive, spoiled, child whose inborn sociopathic tendencies have been enabled by every single authority figure I love and respect. If you ever do get yourself a kid you like better than me, I would probably murder them before the day was out.”

Man, this whole ‘talking it out with Orochimaru-sama’ thing is really working out. Good idea, Sasuke, one of your better. He’s all sorts of unburdened.

“Right.” Orochimaru-sama pours another, more bewildered cup of tea. “Right. Well, Tsunade would probably expect me to dissuade you from that course of action, but that sounds both exhausting and futile. So I will just assure you I have no intention of replacing you. Especially not with the unholy spawn of Namikaze and Uzumaki. Mark my words, if that child manages to work through the trauma, he will be a twisted nightmare of a Shinobi.”

“Shut up,” says Sasuke, vowels dropping with incredulous humour. “The bunny? That there little boy? I’d pay money to see that.” Izanami, imagine! “Well, that’s settled. I’m nursing Uzumaki to full health and standing back to observe the chaos. And, now that I know he is not a threat, I will even be magnanimous enough to allow him to be in your presence at least a handful of times. It will be great, I can’t wait!”

“I am awash with joy. If you would pardon a deliberate and relished departure from this rather horrifying thread of conversation, I would like to discuss your Hyūga. If you want the Uzumaki, take the Uzumaki. I won’t stop you. But I won’t take up care and feeding of your other damaged pets.”

“Well, I mean,” says Sasuke, deploying his most reasonable tone. “I don’t think Uzumaki will be that time consuming, honestly. The boy is about as close to indestructible as a human can get.” As soon as he works out a deal with Kyūbi-sama, they will be golden. “As for my ANBU—” Hmm. “Well, I kind of assumed I would spend the next few days working with all the Hyūga. Their slavery seal rubbed me the wrong way even before the Bunny Debacle happened. I will start with my ANBU and work my way through. After that, well, I thought I would sic Itachi on him.”

That will be adorable to watch. Itachi is no less maniacal about debts than Orochimaru-sama is, and this particular debt includes being kind to Sasuke. Itachi will drape the man in silks and cuddle his ouchies away.

The look Orochimaru-sama sends his way is fond but—reserved. Not apprehensive exactly, but like he doesn’t look forward to the upcoming discussion.

“I don’t want to worry you, snakelet. You have proven time and time again that you will get what you want. Typically by bending the very rules of the Universe to get you where you want to be. Having said that—be prepared. You will not have encountered a case like his thusfar. His damage runs deep and it will not be fixed easily or fully.”

Right. The bubble of—slightly forced, it has to be said—good cheer deflates, leaving Sasuke a bit bereft, but more stable for it. “I get that. Well, no, I don’t get it, but I’m trying to brace myself. I don’t—I don’t want to fix him, you know? I want to help him live his best life. Like he did with me.”

“An admirable sentiment. I cannot help you there. Your people-collection has grown exponentially, far beyond anything I would have wanted if I were in your place. Some heartbreak is inevitable. I could not prevent that even if I tried.”

True—well. Somewhat true. Sasuke’s hoard still only numbers three people—Itachi, Orochimaru-sama and the Utakata-san-and-Rokubi-sama duo. Everybody else is, yeah, a greatly appreciated but ultimately non-essential addition.

“Yeah, well, I don’t lead the type of life that would shield me from heartache. ’Sfine, I’ll handle it.”

“That is true. You will handle it.” If ever there was a threat pretending to be encouragement…

“Well, on that cheerful note, do you mind sending a Clone to fetch Aniki? I assume Kimimaro is busy logistic-ing our new citizens into Otogakure which was in no way built to support this many people?”

“Kimimaro and Chiharu-kun, yes. I don’t envy them their task, even though they only really have to house the Hyūga. The Aburame will handle their own living arrangements. I understand they plan to dig a hive underneath the Jōnin quarters.”

Wait. “Are you telling me,” says Sasuke, glee colouring every syllable bright yellow and bouncy. “Are you telling me that the Aburame will build. A hive. To live in. Underneath the murder swamp? ”

“I don’t know why this is so amusing,” Orochimaru-sama says, adding a theatrical sniff for effect. “It is a perfectly reasonable arrangement.”

“Man, I love this village so much. So, so much. Really, I need to make you a banner or something. Underground murder-swamp hive, Sage have mercy.”

“I have a clone constructing Hyūga-san’s hospital room, ‘Sasu. Nobody other than our immediate family is touching that man until he reaches a state of physical perfection thusfar unknown by man or beast.”

Wow, okay. Sleep-deprived and going wild with stress and coffee is an interesting look on Itachi. He loses a lot of his well-bred feline elegance and morphs into an owlish, dramatic mess.

“Too true, too true. Not, like, right now, though? You realize you’ve been up and working for, what, fifty hours? Thereabout? Like, I don’t want to get Orochimaru-sama to gas the room you’re in to knock you out, but I will if I have to.”

Itachi huffs, but his blinks are—cascading in an irregular pattern, where he misses a few and then compensates by a whole avalanche of rapid flutters. It’s a very bizarre thing to observe. “I just need to finish this report so Kimimaro knows what supplies we need by tomorrow. My clone can work while I’m sleeping.”

Is that how it works? That’s—weird. And potentially dangerous? Make a note to talk to Orochimaru-sama about it. Having a clone running about for more than an hour or so sound like a recipe for brain damage. Or at least Chakra exhaustion.

“Speaking of,” continues Itachi. “Do you think I should deconstruct Hyūga-san’s shrine? I’m worried it might be a bit tacky to have it up.”

Tacky? Is tacky really the right term, here?

“Do I—yes, ‘Tachi, I think you should maybe not have a shrine to a fully living man who came to seek asylum with our Benevolent Overlord.”

“It sounds creepy when you say it like that,” defends Itachi, the manic edge gentling into a playful, softer expression.

That Konoha has come may be making Sasuke crueller, but it’s making Aniki gentler, by some bizarre turn of events. Sasuke doesn’t have it in him to be too surprised by anything Aniki’s heart does by this point.

“It sounds creepy because it is creepy and will piss off some Deity or another. We’re doing plenty to tick them off, what with having caged the manifestations of their will on this plane. Let’s not add mockery onto that list.”

“Oh by all means, what was I thinking. Whatever Deity takes it upon Themselves to judge my soul after I die will surely look at the sum total of my life and say: see, boy, that is where you strayed from the path. All the murder and lying and arson, all that was okay. But the shrine? Unacceptable.”

Aniki is in excellent form today.

“Exactly. Plus my ANBU doesn’t deserve to live in a village in which a shrine to his death exists. I want him to love me and be my friend. I get that at least an even half of your brain appreciates how uniquely threatening a shrine to one’s heroic death would be. I get it, it’s a very multi-layered statement. Still, though. Let’s try to live up to the very low bar of being better than Konoha.”

“Fine,” sighs Itachi. “I will take down the shrine. Now, if you would excuse me, I have a report to finish. Off with you, go get some sleep. We’ve had a long day, all of us and tomorrow isn’t going to be any calmer.”

Chapter Text

As a rule, as an absolutely unbroken rule, Sasuke sleeps like the dead. No, really, just to make sure he ticks every box on the ‘disgrace of a Shinobi’ list, he cannot be woken by regular means. It’s not even a trivial matter. His soul is simply not home, as it were. When he’s awake and aware, he can force himself to stay tethered to the here and now. When he’s asleep? Half the time, he’s roaming the environment unknowingly.

Which makes waking up to Uzumaki wrapped around him like a blanket both easier and harder to live with. On one hand, there is the blinding terror of having the human-wrapper of Kyūbi no Kitsune near every one of his vital points. On the other hand, he had gone to sleep in Uzumaki’s room for a reason. A vague reason, sure, but Uzumaki-shaped.

“Hey bun,” he says after he’s had a few seconds to re-calibrate and figure out what’s what. “You awake?”

Squeeze

“Quiet time? That’s cool. You look better. Took the concept of beauty sleep and ran with it, hey?” Man, but he’s going to talk himself hoarse now that Uzumaki is around. “Now, as pretty as you are, you’re also, and I say this with all the kindness in the world, incredibly, forbiddingly filthy. So. You and me, we’re gonna go scrub ourselves clean. We have at our disposal a set of very aptly named whirlpool bathtubs that we’re going to take advantage of. How does that sound?”

A pause. The kid trembles, trying to bury impossibly further into Sasuke’s ribcage. Fine, no problem. Nothing that a little cuddling won’t fix. Indeed, a minute or two of babble and back-pats, and—there it is. A squeeze.

“Excellent. Bath first, a talk over food and, finally, introducing to you my family and planning out the rest of the day.”

Shit, Hatake. Someone is going to have to do something about Hatake and that someone better not be Itachi. The man is currently unconscious on the bed, burnt out and possibly waiting for death, who even knows. The wolf, though, is awake, aware and eying them like it’s eagerly waiting for an excuse to rain death and despair.

“Correction. Let’s go see what your gallant knight has to say first.” Grudge, not a vendetta. Grudge, not a vendetta. Grudge, not a vendetta. He doesn’t want Hatake dead. He doesn’t even want him hurt. He just wants—

Fuck knows what, honestly. He wants some peace, some nice food and a good cuddle. A whole lot of luck and a dollop of mental clarity. Hatake doesn’t play a role in his wants one way or the other.

“Hi,” he tells the murder-wolf. “It’s a pleasure, Wolf-sama. Quick question—if I take this here bunny to go get cleaned up and the like, you and your human won’t lose the plot and start devouring our souls?”

The wolf flicks an ear in a very speaking gesture of murderous dismissal. It’s really telling, that the subtext of the wolf’s presence on this plane seems to consist only of wholly unsubtle threats to one’s flesh and immortal soul.

“Super. Thank you. Take care, um, please don’t eat my family. I will let someone know that your Hatake needs a medic.” Oh, which remind him— “If he wakes up, can you talk some sense into him about the Sharingan in his head? Like, I have no use for it. He can keep it. I’ll get Orochimaru-sama to cast it into a glass sphere he can wear around his neck, it’s gonna be great. But like. You know better than I do that his soul won’t take much more of this.”

This earns him a not-entirely-murderous look, which Sasuke will take as a fucking head-pat. Just watch him. “Good talk, Wolf-sama, good talk. Imma take the bunny to the baths now. Umm. I’m always available if you need me. You can get me yourself, or just yank my Chakra. I’m a pretty okay sensor, I’ll get the message. Bye now, thanks for not devouring us.”

Izanami wept, that Wolf, Sasuke can’t handle that Wolf. Noble Spirits are—aloof. Disinterested. Violent, yes, and proud and a whole lot more, but not angry. Not ravenous and personally invested in their rage. Whenever Sasuke looks at that Wolf he feels like it wants to kill him, specifically, for reasons so settled and internalized that changing them is basically impossible.

What the fuck, in conclusion, have the humans done to this fucking Noble Spirit, and why the fuck is it here now?

Man, but Hatake is a headache.

“Alright, bunny,” he says under his breath, getting away from there as fast as he can. “We’ve survived the wolf, good on us.” He pats Uzumaki’s head, ignoring the bizarrely complex composition of grime that sticks to his palm. “Now to get us some threads and a nice, quiet place to wash away the filth.” It’s really amazing, that Kyūbi-sama managed to heal practically all of Uzumaki’s physical damage in a night. For all that he is a shell of a person, a human-looking automaton powered by fear and conditioning, Uzumaki’s body? Healthy as a fucking horse.

Getting the kid clean is, okay, one of the weirdest things Sasuke has ever done. Not because of anything inherently uncomfortable. It’s just—the boy acted younger than his age, and he’s plenty young to start with. He refused to get into the bath alone, tripped and fell on the wet tiles and generally made a nuisance of himself until Sasuke gave up and washed the kid from head to foot himself.

It’s. Strange. Uncomfortable on a deep level, like Sasuke is intruding on something personal, pretending to be something he’s not, and badly so. At the same time, he feels like Uzumaki is doing the same thing, only from the opposite direction and with a reverse spin. Whatever it is that the two of them are doing to and with each other, it feels complicated. Like both of them are taking advantage of the other, and being taken advantage of in return.

“Alright bun-bun, you get special treatment because you’re new,” he says, a little desperately. “But this can’t be a regular thing. We’ll work on it, okay? Make a note.” Fuck, Sasuke, you better make a note. Not only are you truly fucking up your mind and any possibility of healthy relationships in the future, but you straight up don’t have the time for this. Uzumaki doesn't show signs of being mentally impaired, once he gets the PTSD under control, but who even knows?

“Having said that, if you would be so kind to point those baby-blues this way and observe these here sets of tabi. Now, I think the yellow ones with rabbit ears sticking out of the back are downright poetic, but in case you think they are a bit on the nose, how about the fuzzy pink ones with ostriches making hearts with their necks?”

The optimal breakfast location is very simple to determine. If you plot all available locations for safety, resource availability and the relative number of family members coming or going, Orochimaru-sama’s office is head and shoulders above the rest. “Thing is,” he says, as he’s stuffing the pair of them inside. “We do need to talk. Food and stuff, yeah, very important. Physical affection and skinship—can not be overstated. But we do need to cover some basics. Like where you are, who we are, what we’re doing. What you need. I’m—not all there, in a lot of ways. I am not even qualified to look after myself, much less a fine bunny such as yourself.”

Naturally, the kid bursts into tears, burying an even half of his body into Sasuke’s Yukata.

“There, there.” Really? Is that what you say right now? Get a grip, Sasuke. “It’s okay honey. I’m hoping that these are, like, good tears? Or at least too-much-too-soon tears? If they’re not, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? I don’t know, you’re the first kid my age I’ve spoken to in years. I don’t know what works.”

The kid makes a disgusting wet huffing sound into the collar of Sasuke’s robe. This day. He can already tell how fucking exhausting this day will be.

Orochimaru-sama swans inside, just as Sasuke has managed to convince Uzumaki to sit on the floor and not wrapped around Sasuke like a koala. The kid plays dumb, pretends not to understand, but relents after a while and sits cross-legged between Sasuke’s legs, leaning back into his chest.

“Easy,” he says. His mouth is centimetres from the kid’s ear—he barely has to make a sound.

“Good morning, Orochimaru-sama. As you can see, Uzumaki-san and I have retreated to your office to get some breakfast. Would you like to join us?” Chiharu-san said sharing a meal promotes bonding. Well, Sasuke can definitely use some of that now. Only not too much. Orochimaru-sama may have said he has no personal interest in Uzumaki, but such things can change. The bunny is cute, and Sasuke would hate to have to do something drastic to protect his spot in the hierarchy.

“My pleasure, Uzumaki-san,” says Orochimaru-sama. “It is good to see you looking better.”

The bunny is trembling hard enough that Sasuke can hear his teeth drag and click. He can’t see the boy’s expression, but he doesn’t doubt it’s terrified. “It’s okay,” he tries. “Look, Orochimaru-sama is both super strong and super honourable. I was like you when I first came here, and Orochimaru-sama kept me safe and sound and helped me heal. Now, I’m not saying he’s going to do the same thing for you—” He better fucking not. “But he is trustworthy. You don’t ever have to be afraid of him.” Which, considering you’re cuddling up to the only person in this whole village who actively thinks about removing you if you become a threat, really doesn’t mean much. It’s beyond strange, existing in this liminal space between taking the kid as one of his own, and being irritated by his very presence in his home.

Whatever. It’s whatever. Sasuke can be low-key about this.

“Food,” he says, avoiding Orochimaru-sama’s knowing gaze. “Food and tea and then we go find Itachi.” Everything else aside, he’s not going to let Uzumaki distract him from saving the person he actually likes and wants to help—

Okay, Sasuke, you need to figure yourself out. The kid isn’t at fault here, holy Hell. His pain is not a distraction and the longer you let this go on, the unhealthier your relationship becomes.

His ANBU, though.

“Food,” he says again, partly to remind himself partly to put a stop to the endless spiralling of petulance and, what, fear? Pride? “Food and family.”

Uzumaki tilts his head, giant blue eyes filled with inappropriate levels of desperate faith. He’s not dumb, Sasuke realizes. He knows Sasuke is in no way trustworthy. He is just too fucked up to care. If he gets chewed up and spit out, hurt just to see what would happen, well, that’s just life. At least Sasuke is being nice about it.

“You’ll fit right in, bun-bun,” Sasuke sighs. “You’re so messed up, oh my God. Okay, if we’re doing this then you better put your bunny ears to good use and listen up, because there is a lot of shit we need to do today.” Including, at some point, having a chat with Rokubi-sama, because Kyūbi-sama’s presence is worryingly quiet. Still there, of course, but nowhere near as strong as it should be.

Orochimaru-sama intuits the upcoming heart-to-heart, sets them up with protein gruel and flounces off in a swirl of silks and dramatic hair flutters. It’s very impressive.

“Alright,” says Sasuke, hammering his mind into a firm, responsible shape that can handle a sensitive conversation with someone not in his family group. “So, now that it’s just us, let’s go over some things.”

Uzumaki, firmly set up in the space between Sasuke’s legs, raises his head from his cup of gruel.

“You can twitch your bunny nose all you want, honey, I know you can understand me just fine.” Filthy lie. Every time Uzumaki blinks those baby-blues and tilts his head to the side, Sasuke’s body cuts power to everything that isn’t bunny-petting behaviour. Unless Orochimaru-sama is in the room, in which case his reactions get—complicated. “We’ve covered who I am and where you are, broadly speaking. That is not important, you’ll pick up the rest as you go.”

He pauses until Uzumaki relents and nods briefly to show he’s listening. Fucking Hell.

“You’ve met my brothers, Itachi and Kimimaro. You’ve met Orochimaru-sama, who is our leader, more or less. He’s the strongest person around, which makes him the Kage.” Meh, true enough. “Then there’s Tsunade-sama, Head of the Senju Clan and your cousin—Hey no what—”

The kid promptly chokes on his gruel and bends over to hack his lungs out, in a show of spectacular lack of evolutionary fitness. How did the boy survive this long? Is it just the Bijū? Imagine, being the strongest being on this plane and being shackled inside a boy constantly damaging himself in every way he can.

“Easy, hey. It’s okay, take it easy bun. You’re fine, just calm down.” If he actually chokes and dies on a glob of gruel Sasuke will tear his hair out here and now.

After a long minute of choppy wheezing, the kid manages to clear his airways and Sasuke sags back, beyond mystified. Okay, sure.

“Do you—not like Tsunade-sama?” What—no, wait, how—no, wait, why— “She’s super nice. Hands down kindest person alive right now, no joke.”

Uzumaki shifts in place, body fully turned towards Sasuke, the focus in his eyes for once making him look like someone who might be dangerous. In the right circumstances, if poked in the right way, it seems even the bunny-bun-bun has teeth. Says a lot that this side of him didn’t come out when he was tortured to death and enslaved.

Oh—oh, Uzumaki is an orphan.

“Yeah, she’s Senju but she’s got some Uzumaki in her.” Amaterasu above, is Sasuke not the right person to have this conversation. “A fourth? I think? Her Grandmother was an Uzumaki. You do the math.”

The hiss that leaves Uzumaki’s mouth is—intent. Like he would like to speak but isn’t quite brave enough to. Or doesn’t really remember how. Fuck knows what they did to the kid, but Sasuke is pretty sure that at least one of the seals in his mouth was meant to hurt him if he made a noise. So.

“Yeah, there’s a lot, I know. Family, amirite?” He tries to make his face match the genuine twang of sympathy he feels, but he’s pretty sure the toothy grimace fell a bit short. “I get you. My family was fucked too. But hey, Tsunade-sama is here now and she would do terrible, terrible shit to keep you happy so. Let’s focus on the good bits.” Best not mention the other part-Uzumaki kid, considering he will almost certainly die in agony. Shizune-san is great, but having your Chakra ripped out of your body is not something you recover from.

The kid ducks his head, the eerie focus of before folding inwards, melting away until there is nothing there but a sad, scared little kid.

“‘Fucks’ sake.” He flops forward, stumbling into the boy and throwing both of them on the ground. “Listen, all this sucks. Your whole life sucks, like, woah, does it suck. But that’s all then. Now it will be different. Now you’re in Oto, and Oto is a good place for messed up kids to be. You’ll see. There are all sorts of us.” He shifts left, right and a bit more right, until he is laying on top of Uzumaki’s body, both arms crossed in front of him and chin perched on the kid’s breastbone. “There’s me, just about as messed up as you can get. There’s you, which, yeah. There’s Aniki and Kimimaro and between you and me—Kimimaro’s childhood? Worse than yours and mine combined. There’s Yuki-san and Chiharu-san, both incomprehensibly messed up. Even Utakata-san has his own quietly tragic backstory.”

Shit—that’s perfect. Uzumaki will love Utakata-san. More importantly, Utakata-san won’t have to worry about damaging Uzumaki. As evidenced by his entire life, nothing and no one can kill Uzumaki, not even his own suicidal incompetence in face of basic survival skills.

“When all this settles down, I’ll introduce you to Utakata-san,” he says. “He’s kind of my soulmate, but not really. It’s complicated. But he’s super nice. You’ll love him, you both have the same gentle, pacifist thing going on.” And to think that Aniki still to this day considers himself a pacifist. Even after meeting Utakata-san. What a confused little bean his brother is.

Uzumaki wiggles in place in a speaking manner, like he appreciates the physical closeness but not the realization of the concept. Very emotive. If he had whiskers, they would be twitching.

“Alright, alright.” At least he’s distracted from the whole ‘family is alive and has abandoned him to torture and loneliness’ thing. Sasuke can empathize. Sasuke can empathize so hard. “I’m up.”

He hauls himself up and isn’t even surprised when Uzumaki pounces, reversing their positions so Sasuke is the one sprawled on his back and Uzumaki is making himself comfortable on his chest.

Fucking adorable little kid. (What the fuck are they doing.)

“Oh very amusing,” he grouses for effect. “Very clever. Fine, whatever. This is nice too. But don’t think I’m distracted. We still need to go over the immediate plans for the day. We have a rough day ahead of us, bun-bun. There is a person I need to help and he is injured and scared and in such a bad shape that my family felt they needed to warn me ahead of time.”

His hands tighten around the kid, fingers plucking the soft fabric of the Yukata. “It’s gonna be rough. If you were clever, you’d stay here, or, shit, anywhere else. I don’t think you will enjoy being there.”

Uzumaki huffs, a deep animalistic sound that has very little to do with human speech. It doesn’t work with his aesthetic, not at all. That is not a herbivore-sound, not even a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not gonna tell you what to do. If you wanna come with, that’s on you. I’m just sayin’. If Orochimaru-sama thinks I am going to be traumatized by it, then you definitely will.”

Another displeased huff.

“Don’t give me that. My torture happened years ago. I’ve had a full year of Oto-therapy. You just got out of it, like, yesterday. It’s a reasonable concern. Again, you’re your own bunny. If you wanna tag along while I try to fix my Hyūga, be my guest. But if you start freaking out, you gotta excuse yourself, okay? I’m not trying to be difficult about this, but my Hyūga’s condition is time-sensitive. I gotta get this done as soon as possible. Okay?”

The ensuing pause is—petulant somehow, but petulant doesn’t really work on Sasuke, not when he’s the most heinous brat around. You can’t con a conman and all that.

“Okay?”

Squeeze.

“Perfect. I knew you could be reasonable when you want to be. Okay, so, now that’s covered, there is a cup of gruel there with your name on it. Hop to it.” Hah, hop to it. Sasuke cracks himself up sometimes.

Chapter Text

Grabbing Itachi is the first stop. Now that he and Uzumaki have reached an awareness of the other, have cobbled together a baseline to fall back on, it’s almost funny how easy it is to flow around one another. Uzumaki is quiet and frightened, but submissive he is not. Sasuke isn’t worried, somehow. Well, Sasuke is very fucking worried, but not about this one specific thing. Yeah, it’s messy, yeah, they’re letting trauma shape entirely too much of their dynamic, but in their defence—there is a lot of trauma. Sasuke may have let himself be swept away by half-formed ideas and whims, but that’s how he lives. By now, the river of insanity had dragged him much too far downstream to think about calling it quits.

“Good morning, Sasu’,” says Itachi. The skin around his eyes is just pinched and his lower lip juts out enough to tell a story of a massive headache. That’s what you get for overusing the Shadow Clones, silly Aniki. “Uzumaki-san.”

Sasuke tugs the bunny further into Itachi’s room and plops down on the floor. There is a perfectly suitable Sasuke-chair less than two meters away, but most Sasuke-spots will have to be reconfigured to account for a Jinchūriki-shaped tag-along. Indeed, Uzumaki wiggles into the space between his legs, back to chest, head just high enough to be able to tuck his face under Sasuke’s chin. It’s a very familiar position, one that Itachi recognizes very well.

“Hey Aniki,” he says, bracing himself—And there it is. Itachi’s Chakra softens with love at the same time as it tints blue for worry and droops with disquiet. He ignores it as best he can. So his Uzumaki thing is weird. Boo-hoo. The kid needs it and Sasuke doesn’t know what else to do. So they’re doing this. Now that he knows that there is a sharp mind there, most of the thornier ethical pitfalls are bricked over. The kid is vulnerable, sure, but Sasuke is not mindless. He can make sure to check-in for the big stuff and let dice fall as they would for the rest. “Have you had breakfast?”

“It’s almost noon, dear. I just finished lunch.” To his credit, Itachi doesn’t push further. After that initial burst of worry, he lets it go. Which, really, is for the best. There are people who Sasuke would go to for advice about all this, but Aniki is not one of them, not by any stretch.

“Breakfast, lunch, whatever, who cares. Okay, so. The Bunny and I are as ready as we’re going to be, and my ANBU isn’t getting any less traumatized. So. I need a plan of attack, ‘Tachi. You are my medic, Chiharu-san is my strategist. So far so good.” Uzumaki wiggles back pointedly. “And the Bunny is my temper-softener.” Kind of. Not really. Not at all. Uzumaki settles back, body language indicating a vague disinterest in the topic. Makes sense that the kid doesn’t care what his role is as long as he has one. Whatever. It’s whatever.

“Do you expect you will need a strategist?” Itachi’s Chakra folds into itself, now actively trying to stop projecting. “Nobody will keep you from your Hyūga. More importantly, nobody will keep me from your Hyūga.”

“You’re not my muscle, ‘Tachi, keep up. You’re my medic. If I wanted muscle I’d get Yuki-san.”  Itachi’s bizarre skittishness around Chiharu-san really helps nobody. If Sasuke is here doing whatever it is he’s doing with Uzumaki, then Itachi can damn well handle some curls and a sharp smile. “As for why I need a strategist, well. Hm.” Best tread carefully here. “I need advice and the rest of you are all too strong to be able to give it. Chiharu-san understands the repercussions of being too weak to stop other people from abusing you. Like, I’m not talking about indoctrination or psychological conditioning. I’m talking about the scars of knowing full-well that you’re being abused, wanting to stop it and not being strong enough.” At what point does an escaped slave stop being ‘an escaped slave’ and goes back to just being a person? What a grim fucking question. Please, Amaterasu, please don’t let him find out the answer.

Itachi is quiet for a long, thoughtful moment. His Chakra whirls around him in an animated show of contemplation. “It really says a lot about Takeda-dono, that his presence and manner makes you forget that he is a person that can be hurt. That can feel anything other than ambition and hunger. You’re right, of course. He would have valuable insight to offer. What makes you think he would share it? Forgive me if I doubt that altruism is his motivating force.”

Sasuke barks a short laugh, settling his jaw more comfortably on Uzumaki’s head. “No, I wouldn’t say that either.” Who even cares? Everything Chiharu-san does might be motivated by self-interest, but that doesn’t mean his end goal wouldn’t be a massive upgrade from what they have now. “But helping me help the Hyūga is in his best interests. Trust me, the fastest way to end up a part of Chiharu-san’s quest for revenge is to be cavalier about other people’s autonomy. He will help. This brings us back to intel. Do we need an intel-person?”

Itachi hums, still miles away. “I don’t know, honestly. This operation is too unorthodox already. You know how little we think about the mental dimension of our lives. I would say that, if I were in charge and was trying to optimize for Hyuuga-san’s comfort and safety, I would make sure Hyūga-san has a person he trusts with him at all times. Someone who would communicate his wishes if he is not capable to if nothing else.”

“Good idea,” beams Sasuke. “And that person can be our intel-person. Cool. Cool cool cool. Thanks, Aniki, that’s really smart.” He’d never have thought about it, but now that Aniki pointed it out he can’t imagine it being any other way. Now, here’s hoping his Hyūga has a person he trusts.

“You need to do it in public,” says Chiharu-san. “I won’t pretend to know the specifics, but it needs to be done in full view of everyone that cares to observe. The Hyūga refugees don’t believe there is anything here for them but death, and Aburame are wary of Orochimaru-sama’s reputation. Spiriting someone away to experiment on will not help anyone.”

Their council of war is—amusingly eclectic. Sasuke is tangled up with Uzumaki on the ground. Chiharu-san and Itachi sit around a pretty cherry-wood table sipping tea. Itachi pretends he is not intimidated by Chiharu-san, Chiharu-san pretends he is not displeased with whatever Sasuke is doing with Uzumaki, and Uzumaki is honing his ability to ignore everything in the room that isn’t Sasuke. Or whatever the fuck the kid has been projecting over Sasuke’s being.

Sasuke resists the urge to rub his temples like an old, old man. “I’m cool with that in theory. In practice, if Orochimaru-sama thought to warn me he is in a bad way, I don’t know that you want me to freak out in front of all of them.”

“Oh?” Chiharu-san raises an implacable eyebrow. “I apologize, I thought mindfulness was a given. My mistake. My advice is, then, two-fold.” He raises two long, spindly, distinctly crooked fingers. That, thinks Sasuke, is the first physical flaw he’s ever spotted in Chiharu-san. Fitting, that it seems to be the result of damage, of badly healed breaks. “First,” he ticks off one of his fingers, “make sure you are mentally prepared to be what your patient needs you to be. Then,” down goes the second finger, “you move on to the second step of whatever arcane Chakra-treatment you have in mind. In public. He will have the support of his family and you will get the social capital of being straightforward. I imagine transparency is something they are not used to and would value highly.”

Uzumaki shifts, fluid and natural-looking, but yeah, now that Sasuke knows what to look for, these moments aren’t difficult to spot. The movement lets some hair fall over his eyes so the look he send’s Chiharu-san’s way is hidden. Good instincts. Chiharu-san would be the first one to stake your heart out to dry if it benefited him.

“Sure, makes sense,” Sasuke says. “Might as well. You know I don’t care about social capital and all that stuff. Now, what I do care about is my lack of intel on the Hyūga refugees in general and my Hyūga in particular. I don’t know why you keep using vaguely foreboding language when you know full well what my brain is like, but it’s even less helpful than it would have been in any other time.”

“What type of knowledge are you after?” Says Itachi. Tension ripples down Uzumaki’s back, invisible to the two men. It’s, yeah, when they’re like this, both of them deliberately keeping their thoughts away, both of them guarded, they are beyond intimidating.

“Oh, I don’t know. How many are there, are they stable, are there any slave-babies, that sort of thing. My ANBU seemed—present. Scared and branded and stuff, but not like he’s actively dying. Not like Hatake.”

“Pardon?” Itachi’s voice lilts with real surprise. Unfeigned surprise.

Fucks’ sake. “I told you,” says Sasuke. “Many times. I keep telling everybody I know.” Damn, poor Hatake. His torture slips to the wayside time and time again. It will slip to the wayside after this conversation again in all likelihood. Too bad. So sad. “Hatake has a Sharingan in his head. It’s killing him in obscenely cruel ways. It is definitely making him insane,” no, wait, “pardon, it has definitely made him insane. It’s a matter of time before the man unravels completely and dies of Chakra poisoning or something like that. Or kills himself. I’d put my money on the second if I were a betting boy.” It’s not even a slightly fair bet. Hatake’s ocean of suicidality can be seen from the moon by anyone and everyone who cared to look.

“And your Hyūga—?”

“He’s. Hm. He’s between Hatake and the Bunny on the scale of torture-induced insanity, I’d say.” Itachi’s eyes grow blank again, and Sasuke doesn’t hesitate to roll his eyes at him. “Uzumaki is not stupid, Aniki. He knows what happened. I’d wager he knows why, too. Other than Konoha having a weird hatred of Noble Clans.”

Uzumaki’s blinks at him, wide and guileless, for all the world like an innocent civilian child of maybe three. Sasuke blinks back. You’re not winning this one, bratling. Not when you’re trying to imply that you’re not aware of what is going on. Not in a million years.

Resentment flashes in Uzumaki’s eyes, brief and quickly folded into an artfully dull, unfocused look. He flips over and buries his head in Sasuke’s belly, body curled around his. What are you two doing, Sasuke? Exactly? Man, but this is such a weird idea.

He threads both hands in brittle blonde hair and ignores Chiharu-san’s amused look and Itachi’s stiff one. “As I was saying, I can’t really read the Branch Hyūga that well. The brand on their souls distorts everything. They’re enslaved on a very ethereal, abstract level. Literal leashes on their literal spirits.” Not even leashes—chains, or one of those civilian torture devices that accounted for every body-part in some inventive, horrifying way.

Itachi, well. Bless his pretty predator heart, he doesn’t get it even a little. He tries to perform being dismayed but it simply does not compute, for him. It doesn’t help that Itachi’s greatest ambition is to find a worthy person to swear his life to. Sasuke has a sneaking inkling the plan is to keep Sasuke alive for long enough that he can be that person.

Chiharu-san does get it, and is appropriately disgusted by it. “Ah, the privilege of Noble Clans,” he says. “You would be hard-pressed to think of a monstrosity that some Clan somewhere hasn’t canonized into tradition. The more depraved the deed, the more powerful the Clan.”

“Not a bad benchmark, actually,” says Sasuke. You can always count on Chiharu-san to have his head on straight. Unlike Itachi who is still stuck on Uzumaki, Chiharu-san knows what’s what. “The Uchiha did a lot of really fucked up stuff to each other. So do the Hyūga, obviously. I’m pretty sure Kaguya right of passage had kids fight an enemy shinobi and eat him afterwards. Or, y’know, die trying.”

“Lovely,” sniffs Chiharu-san. “Can’t think of a better way to use literal power of the Gods.”

“That’s unfair,” says Itachi. Sasuke’s head snaps to the left. Is Itachi—conversing with Chiharu-san? Volunteering his thoughts and opinions? “Humans are humans. The same structural, societal issues that drive Shinobi to tear each other apart also drive civilians to oppress and enslave each other.”

“There are no slaves in Civilian society,” says Chiharu-san in such a wonderfully sardonic tone that Sasuke simultaneously wants to laugh and sort of scrub himself clean with a scourer.

“My mistake,” echoes Itachi, matching Chiharu-san beat for beat.

The interesting thing here, considers Sasuke, is that while Itachi can’t empathize with the struggles of the weak, his viewpoint is all the broader for it. Since his observations start from a dispassionate place, he can disregard the noise and map the bigger picture. Privileged Clan brat or not, Itachi has a keen sense of justice or, more precisely, lack thereof. And—he’s not wrong. While Shinobi may look more barbaric, they are simply more visible symptoms of the same disease. Whether it’s the dozens upon dozens of brothels in the Capital in the business of training children born into the lifestyle, or an Uchiha daughter willingly getting sterilized so she could be with her Person who happens to be outside of the Clan, it’s all the same shit. Abuse and exploitation and violence. There would be no Shinobi if those forces weren’t as powerful as they are.

“Back to my ANBU, if you would.” It always ends up being about revolution, with Chiharu-san, even when all Sasuke wants to do is keep his family safe and celebrated.

Itachi huffs, shoulders rolling back. Thank the Sage, it looks like he will stop the never-ending deflections. Took him long enough. “From what I understand, the seal on his forehead—Caged Bird seal, if you can believe it—was used to torture him for a long time. He is—physically very damaged. I haven’t examined him yet, but nerve damage is severe enough to have overt physical symptoms. He is blind, also. I didn’t ask how that came about.”

Right.

Okay.

Sure.

The deflections make all sorts of sense, now.

Uzumaki makes a small noise, not a whine exactly but not a happy sound either. What—Oh. Sasuke’s knuckles are white, hands all but tearing locks of hair from the kid’s head.

“Sorry, bun-bun.” Is that his voice? Must be. “I’m over-identifying again. Blind, you say? How nostalgic.”

“Sasu’—”

“Don’t even, Aniki. I’m doing this. It is very appropriate, wouldn’t you say?” Only unlike Sasuke, Hyūga Kenji-san didn’t have an ANBU looking over him, teaching him how to see beyond the physical. “Plus, even if his eyes are beyond saving, they aren’t as limited a resource as mine were. I’m sure I can convince Yuki-san to fetch me a pair or two.” Or a cart-full, fuck. “I got this handled, don’t even stress.”

Uzumaki twitches to the side, one blue eye peering up to him.  “I was blind too, when I got here,” Sasuke explains. “The eyes in my head? They’re Aniki’s. Don’t ask, it was a whole thing.” Uzumaki nods, a jerky little twitch of his head, and ducks his head back into the safety of Sasuke’s belly. Smart bunny.

“You—switched eyes?” Asks Chiharu-san, a rare note of surprise trickling through his Chakra.

“We’re all pretty much Orochimaru-sama’s patchwork experiments,” says Sasuke. His voice is still a ways off from the usual, carefree flow, but it’s getting there. “He grew several of the parts we currently use in his lab. I will convince him to do the same for my Hyūga even if I have to rebuild him part by part.” Well, that sounded creepy? Maybe tone down the macabre possessiveness? He sneaks a glance downwards, expecting some sort of reaction but—nope. The bunny is as calm as you can please, relaxed and loose-limbed.

Well, Orochimaru-sama did say Uzumaki were all loons so maybe he comes by it honestly? Or maybe it’s all the torture. Who cares. Not Sasuke.

“Alright, so to recap. There are—how many Hyūga are in Oto, presently?”

“Five hundred eighty-two,” says Itachi. “All of them sealed.” He pauses. “Sealed and traumatized.”

How are they even feeding all those people, Izanami have mercy. “And—where are they?”

“The Aburame built two underground caverns that just fall under the Ward limits. We will try to integrate them into Otogakure’s infrastructure as best we can, but Orochimaru-sama built this place to hold up to five hundred people. Between the Hyūga and the Aburame, we’ve a surplus of over a thousand.”

Okay.

“You know what? Forget I asked. That’s none of my business. I am but a humble house-Sasuke, here to court chaos and receive head-pats. You deal with the logistics.” Holy fuck, almost two thousand people in Otogakure. “So the plan, such as it is, is as follows. Step on, go to the Hyūga cavern. Step two, remove the slavery seal from my ANBU and however many Hyūga I can. Step three, Aniki doctors my ANBU to health. Step four, profit. Good? Good.” So good.

Itachi insists Tsunade-sama and Orochimaru-sama join them, partly for security and partly, Sasuke suspects, for clout. His once-team will be there, and Sasuke can see how Itachi would appreciate having a wall of Sanin between himself and heartbreak.

A somewhat unexpected problem arises when Uzumaki ignores Tsunade-sama with Chiharu-san level of intensity. His eyes never really leave Sasuke anyways, but he somehow makes it very apparent that he’s shying away from everybody while deliberately shunning Tsunade-sama. It’s, yeah. A stupid, immature hill to die on. You won’t get anywhere if you hold grudges against family, silly bunny.

Never mind. He will nag some sense into Uzumaki after—everything. Sasuke is already on a strange mental wavelength where determination and terror meet up and have tea. Petty bunnies and distraught Sanin will keep.

The caverns are striking, in an almost stereotypically insectile way. It’s a hive, plain and simple, with one giant hexagonal chamber and many smaller connecting ones, stacked up on top of the other. It fits very well with Otogakure, with how it used space vertically as much as it did horizontally.

It also contains over a thousand humans. Sasuke hasn’t been physically among so many moving, breathing bodies in, fuck. Since his Clan was a thing. His heart squeezes as his mind bucks. Oh boy, he can practically hear his body churning through his anti-psychotics. Orochimaru-sama already increased his daily dose, here’s hoping it will be enough.

He hangs back while the adults talk, systematically locking away all non-essential parts of his psyche. He doesn’t need the added stress. Then the wave of desperate, agonized hope hits, presumably because Itachi or whoever mentioned that Sasuke might have a way of freeing them. Breathing is just about most he can manage. Alright. He surrounds himself with his Chakra, making it as dense and impassable as he can. Drowning out the trauma is beyond him, but he can try and block it somehow. It’s at best partly successful, while having the side-effect of everyone, even Chiharu-san, tensing. Everyone other than Uzumaki, notably. The bunny cuddles even closer, snaking his stick-arms around his waist and burying his nose in the back of his neck.

Someone, somewhere really needs to funnel some self-preservation instincts into that boy. Even Itachi is wary of Sasuke’s Chakra. With good reason. It’s dead, if life-force can be described as dead. Even Noble Spirits have more animated Chakra than Sasuke. Being uncomfortable around Sasuke’s broken, lifeless Chakra is the appropriate reaction.

Whatever. So the kid is suicidal, nothing new there.

Good distraction, though. Superb distraction. A mental breakdown is fifty per cent less likely. Not only that, but everybody else relaxes somewhat. Having a human-shaped bunny draped over your back, all blue eyes and skinny wrists, goes a long way to dispelling the aura of death and despair Sasuke’s Chakra inspires.

Alright, stop being a fucking coward. You can’t cower behind Chiharu-sama’s robes forever. Chin up, spine straight and off you go, talk to your ANBU.

“Here goes,” he says under his breath. Uzumaki huffs a deliberate puff of air down Sasuke’s neck. Like a horse, damn. Sasuke is under-socialized, but the bunny is next level animalistic.

Stop stalling.

“Hey, Hyūga-san,” he says, ducking around Chiharu-san, into full view of the Adults In Charge. Other than his family, there are two Aburame, four Hyūga and Shiranui-san. Among the Hyūga is Sasuke’s ANBU. He would never mistake that Chakra, even if it’s connected to, well. The most pitiful human alive, most probably.

Hyūga Kenji-san is supported on both sides by two teenage Hyūga. It’s clear why. The man can’t stand, not properly, not with how his body appears to be permanently caught in the beginning stages of a seizure. Both intensity and tempo of the violent muscle spasms are randomized, as far as Sasuke can tell. There is the base-level tremble, but then his arm or leg would seize, exploding into a flurry of movement before freezing up. His facial muscles should be equally affected, and Sasuke is pretty sure it’s willpower alone that keeps his Hyūga from drooling. His jaw is clenched enough that his teeth must be cracked into nothing, and even that isn’t enough. Indeed, it doesn’t take long for his jaw to get its turn. With practised movements, he ducks so the thick curtain of hair obscures at least the visual dimension of it. The auditory is nauseating enough. Eerie gurgles and clicks and clacks of teeth are perfectly audible in the silence, overplayed by heaving breaths and choking down of saliva.

Sasuke grows—quiet. Anger and grief and shock, all that will come later. For now, he’s floating in a sea of nothing, not calm but not not calm. His Hyūga’s fit doesn’t take long, perhaps thirty seconds all up. When the man straightens, brushing his hair back, Sasuke steps forward. Now that he’s not paralyzed by anxiety and the rest of it, it’s easy as anything. Uzumaki follows suit, heart appropriately rabbiting against Sasuke’s back. Good enough. Also nice to know that the bunny kept some sympathy for other people’s pain.

“Hi,” he says, meeting unfocused white eyes. “I’m sorry your pain paid for my happiness, but I’m going to do everything I can to make up for it. You don’t have to believe me, but I will.”

The man doesn’t reply, but bows as best he can in his position. His companions say some meaningless phrases which Sasuke ignores. Irrelevant. Words are cheap.

Chiharu-san is right. He should do this in the open. “Orochimaru-sama, do you by any chance have a cot sealed up somewhere?” Or? “Pardon, not a cot. An armchair, the most comfortable one you’ve got. Maybe some refreshments? There is no need for Hyūga-san to be in discomfort.”

“And what will you do?” Asks a Hyūga lady, old and wrinkled, silver hair caught in a severe top-knot. “What will this—procedure cost?”

Sasuke meets her eyes evenly, trying to arrange his numb face into a polite expression. It never worked so far, but it doesn’t hurt to try. “I don’t know. I do know that Hyūga-san won’t be paying it if that helps. I can’t see any way for this to backfire, but if it does, I will be the recipient.”

The woman doesn’t believe him. Not even a little. She sighs, too tired to even try to threaten or intimidate him. “Of course, Uchiha-san. My apologies. Please.”

“Will you need your jellyfish?” Says Itachi. Sasuke hasn’t missed his marble-doll performance, but he has to admit that it is very good.

“Yeah, probably.” Absolutely. “I will take a look, to start, and go from there. Do you mind watching over me, Aniki? I will need to go pretty deep for this.”

“Nobody here will harm you,” says Orochimaru-sama. He didn’t raise his voice and it still rings through the room. “Nobody here can harm you.”

“Yeah, great,” he says as best he can since his mind is already practically leaving his body. “Be back in a few. Take care of our Hyūga for me while I’m away? Cheers.”

Chapter Text

The human mind, Sasuke is coming to learn, is a whole lot less resilient than the human soul. Or, if he were to be less of a dick about it, the human soul is remarkable, truly, to be able to survive in these conditions. Yeah, that second one is much better. Stick to apathetic optimism, if possible.

He’s in deep—or out deep. There is little here but pain. Pain and fear and—despair. There aren’t many ways a soul can be made to suffer, in Sasuke’s experience. It takes a lot to get there, more than day-to-day banal cruelty. As long as there is hope—real, tangible hope—there can be no true suffering, no true despair. Not in the dimension Sasuke currently moves through.

What does it mean, then, that every single Hyūga here, barring babies too young to have a sense of self, are saturated with entrenched, potent despair. Sasuke’s ANBU isn’t even the worst one. True, he is only alive because the concept of his life not being his to take is branded into him, but that holds true to everyone else, too. Sasuke doesn’t know what was done to these people, but that is absolutely for the best. He is very comfortable with keeping the specifics away from his eidetic memory, ta’.

The specifics probably weren’t even all that creative. You don’t need to be, to break someone. The tried and true methods work. Physical torture, no feasible way to escape and a willingness to hurt loved ones as a means of keeping everyone in line. Sprinkle in some dehumanization, keep your victims alive long enough one way or another and bam. Done. 

There is something of an upside, he is pretty certain. A handful of Hyūga are left with shards of themselves, ground down into a place from where recovery is—unlikely. Making them comfortable and providing them with some dignity is the only available path. The only path Sasuke can see, anyway. The majority of them, however, are better off than Sasuke had been. Miles ahead of how Itachi was. How Itachi still is, in a lot of ways. Yeah, Aniki plays a good game, is all fluttery and adoring of his family, but he is only alive because he doesn’t feel like he’s earned the right to die. Hasn’t given enough to settle his debts yet, or something dramatic like that. Sasuke, on the other hand, is only alive because the anti-psychotics keep him from panicking and stabbing himself in the throat.

Point is, the Hyūga have a real, viable chance. The odds may not be in their favour, but they’re certainly higher than they were for the Uchiha brothers. Autonomy-shmotonomy. As long as they still have a sense of self, they can rebuild from the wreckage.

If, of course, Sasuke removes the Caged Bird Seal.

The reality of Fūinjutsu purposefully applied to human Chakra is—deeply esoteric. He’s almost sick of having to discover yet another level of obscure, unknowable ways Godly fucking magic can manifest, but whatever. Even when the seal is designed to exist in symbiosis with a human, it still more often than not evolves into something new if given enough time and Chakra. The Caged Bird Seal acts like a cage in a very literal sense, which means it all gets fucking messy. Human Chakra grows and develops, much like a living organism would. When it’s forced into a cage, it will do what it has to do. It will seep and grow with, around and in accordance with the limitations. The longer that goes on, the more the two meld together.

Sasuke’s ANBU for example has been—modified—for most of his adult life. It is not that Sasuke can’t differentiate between the cage and the soul—of course he can. Doing something about it is—

Well.

“I will definitely need my jellyfish,” he says. His voice is wrecked enough that he must have been meditating for longer than he thought. Or it’s just the physical manifestation of how wrecked he feels.“Also—meds. If you carry an emergency dose, now would be the time.”

Orochimaru-sama doesn’t straighten or stiffen or anything pedestrian like that, but he allows his presence to grow heavy and imposing, blanketing over the hive-cavern. “Oh?”

Uzumaki twitches in his lap, cracking one eye open briefly but long enough to be a deliberate message, a show of attention. With a shaky smile, Sasuke buries his hands in the kid’s hair. The visible crack of blue almost glows, that’s how intent it grows for half a beat before he furrows them shut.

“Whoever designed this was—It’s like—Like if someone took a baby, right, a little person, all potential and soft, malleable flesh. And shackled it into a cage.” If only it were that simple. The flesh would be a far, far preferable option than someone shackling your fucking soul. “Not just any cage, no, a construct just yielding enough for the baby to survive, but strong enough to deform and twist the body into a—a—” A crippled, macabre nightmare. A gruesome warning of the ways everything, even resilience can be turned against you, can become your greatest enemy. “I don’t know, honestly. Dissolving the cage, the seal, will collapse the whole thing, which, yeah. Instant death and possibly the loss of one’s immortal soul.” What then? “I need my jellyfish and I need to think, whoo boy.”

The longer he talks the less insane he becomes and thus more aware of the fact that, yes, he has an audience, and yes, he is such an asshole, Izanami have mercy.

“But,” he adds, raising his voice in a hopefully not-obvious manner. “But! Their starting point is already better than mine was, y’know, back then, so easy peasy.” Lemon fucking squeazy. “We’ve got this.” Nobody believes him, least of all Orochimaru-sama, but he does allow his presence to recede to baseline Sanin-levels.

“As you say. Circling back to your earlier remarks, I keep, of course, a dose of emergency anti-psychotics on hand. I will administer it only if you fall into an episode. Otherwise, the harm would far outweigh the benefits. Moving on, if you plan to summon, do you require some additional energy? I’ve prepared a few more energy-costly seals for you to harvest.”

Sasuke blinks once, twice, three times. “That’s—” So fucking thoughtful? “Seal-harvesting? Is that a—thing?”

Orochimaru-sama’s Chakra splits, one half deepening into a slow, rolling bass, while the other half threads into hundreds of discrete notes, individually quiet but devastating in tandem. “It is what I have named your first original technique, in fact. I hope you realize this means you will be spending years studying to get you caught up on the scientific method and several more writing the dissertation.”

Sasuke isn’t sure where his brain stumbles most, in that wholly incomprehensible bit of lunacy. Studying? Scientific method? Sasuke? “What I choose to get from that,” he says, “is the heart-warming and preen-worthy assurance that you want me around for years to come. With that said, Bunny—cuddles! I need some cuddles right now, or I swear to Sage, I will cry.”

The bunny can pull off a suspiciously fox-like pounce when he wants to. Just something to keep in mind. Moreover, Sasuke realizes he has been letting a resource go untapped, as it were. He filed away bunny-cuddles as a neutral task that would take place mainly for Uzumaki’s benefit. How incurious of him. In fact, it is Sasuke that has a cuddle-partner who follows him along willingly and is always down for some good ol’ skinship.

“You’re going to be great for my stress levels, I can already tell.” Is he? Something about that sentence rings hilariously, outrageously, unforgivably false. “Ah, yeah. Whenever you’re not the one stressing me out. Whatever, ignore me.”

He snuggles on the ground with Uzumaki for a long minute, ignoring the agonized Chakra of every single Hyuuga and his Hyūga in particular. The man’s as comfortable as Sasuke can make him, has a throne-like armchair, positioned next to a table filled with refreshments of all kinds. He’s good—he’s great—he’s got—

Fuck, but Sasuke hadn’t thought this through. He can’t even be sure if it’s hubris that led him here or just plain ol’ ignorance. He can dissolve the seal, sure he can. But without it—

“Thank you, bun-bun,” he says when he can’t justify dragging his feet anymore. “Really. That was kind of you.”

Uzumaki doesn’t roll his eyes at him but implies he is flicking his metaphorical bunny ears in exasperated irritation. After one more careful once-over, he executes a confusing flurry of slides and flips and flops that result in him curled around Sasuke’s side, head pillowed on Sasuke’s thigh. As instructed by the kid’s increasingly pointed wiggle, Sasuke buries his hands in blonde hair and keeps his peace.

What an adorable little monster, honestly. Sasuke doesn’t know whether he is looking forward to Uzumaki meeting Chiharu-san properly, or dreading it with every fibre of his being. It is getting increasingly clear that Uzumaki will, if given the slightest fucking chance, ooze into your heart and never, ever leave, ever. Even now, traumatized, tortured and non-verbal, the kid gets whatever he wants from Sasuke, no question asked. If Chiharu-san decides to share tips, they might as well crown Uzumaki Supreme God-Emperor and be done with it. 

“Seals,” says Orochimaru-sama into the silence, placing a neat stack of scrolls on a low, decorative table much like one would do with a plate of tea-cakes. “Harvest them at your leisure. Now, walk me through your thought process, snakelet. What’s tripping you up?”

What a loaded fucking question, hey? What’s tripping him up? Well, there his personal insanity, that’s a problem. Inexplicable, puberty-driven nightmare-emotions—not ideal. There’s the fact that he had roped himself into fixing five hundred Hyūga because one Hyūga had saved his life. Oh and, not to be a horrible bore, but there is also the Jinchūriki of the Kyūbi performing some obscene fox-bunny hybrid flavour of childishness to cope with extended torture.

Let’s just focus on the basics. “I can’t just remove the seal.” Can’t he? “Well, I can, most probably, given enough time and Chakra, but I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. In hindsight, I  likely shouldn’t have tried with the Bunny, and he had fresh seals and, y’know, some other perks. Even with a collapsed Chakra-system, he’d have been fine after a few days’ sleep.”

Orochimaru-sama’s serious nod matches the contemplative, soothing tempo of his Chakra. “So the age of the seal matters?”

Sasuke see-saw’s his hand and buries it right back into Uzumaki’s hair before the kid starts performing petulance. “Not as such. The seals—these seals, specifically—are disruptive. They are designed to affect the Chakra-system directly and continuously. After enough time, the human, or animal, or whatever, will adapt as best as it can.” Crippled or not, living things want to live, fuck everything. 

“So you could test that hypothesis on, say, a newly sealed Hyūga?”

Several parts of his mind that spent the last several minutes whining in overwhelmed panic sort of—quiet down, perk up and start paying attention. “I could, couldn’t I,” he says. “That is a thing I could do.”

Orochimaru-sama’s lips twitch. “Unsurprisingly, your mistake was not utilizing your resources. Think, snakelet. What do you have?”

“I have—you?”

“Correct. What else?”

Sasuke doesn’t even try to contain the hysterical way his Chakra spikes in glee at the easy confirmation. Take that, every single person that ever spent time with Orochimaru-sama.“The Hyuuga?”

“Yes. Not only is your Hyūga Kenji-san willing to cooperate with improbable levels of determination, so are all the other five hundred Hyūga. What else?”

Hyūga Kenji-san’s Chakra also flinches back whenever Sasuke speaks so. Never mind. What else?

“I feel like all of my answers will boil down to my people—Itachi, Tsunade-sama, Kimimaro and the like.”

“And you would be almost correct. You’re missing one important part. You. As much as I adore your madcap approach, there is a methodical mind buried underneath all the chaos. If your goal is to optimize this—event—for minimal loss of life, then you best get ready to do prep-work before you jump in.” He rolls his shoulders back in an eloquent gesture of amusement and flexes his Chakra. A Clone shimmers into existence and goes about unsealing and assembling a very scholarly desk and writing supplies.

“Right,” Sasuke says, all sorts of dazed. “Right, yeah, of course. I will just—no, sorry, what?”

“What is the first step?”

Fucking Sage, but he would appreciate some straight fucking answers and none of this patient mentor crap. “Intel.” Is that petulant? It is, considering the Bunny hisses out a sub-vocal laugh.

“Correct. You need precise data on your subjects, on the seal and on your seal-dissolving technique. How do you plan to acquire it?”

Amaterasu above.

“Well,” he says, “I could—ask? The Hyūga?”

Orochimaru-sama’s smile grows a pitying edge. His patience doesn’t crack, by some miracle. Doesn’t so much as waver. “You could. Getting back to an earlier point, do you think that would be an optimal use of your resources?”

Right. Why would Sasuke be the one to ask, when the Hyūga not only despise Uchiha, but Sasuke is the most frazzled person in this fucking village, even if his current state of psychological unrest is discounted.

“I could—ask somebody else to compile the information on the Hyūga?”

“Who?”

Well, not you, that’s for sure. Not Kimimaro either, or Tsunade-sama—Actually.

“Either Yuki-san or Tsunade-sama.” Hmm. “Or both? Is both an option?”

Blank facade aside, Orochimaru-sama can’t hide how his Chakra grows agitated but soft in surprise. “I—would not have thought of that particular configuration, but it has merit. What then?”

“You could help me with the seal-stuff? Maybe? If you’re not, y’know, busy Kage-ing?”

The derisive scoff he gets in return is, yeah, completely warranted. Orochimaru-sama hasn’t Kage-ed a day in his life, especially not if he could work on research. The Uchiha-mad part of his mind purrs at having more interesting things to offer than Orochimaru-sama’s other students had. Take that, dead medic apprentice guy. What did you bring to the table, that wouldn’t have been outclassed by Tsunade-sama or Itachi? Nothing, that’s what. Good thing you’re already dead, or you’d have to bury yourself in shame.

What a worrying tangent, Sasuke, honestly, you should work on that.

Moving on.

“Aniki could focus on my Hyūga—pardon, Hyūga Kenji-san? Seal or no seal, he is in unacceptable levels of discomfort.”

“Very good. Itachi-kun has his own protocols to design. Hyūga-san’s procedures will be many and not one will be simple. He has full access to my facilities.”

Now hold on just one damn moment.

“Why does all this feel like your conceptualization of ‘Baby’s first experiment’,” he blurts out, like an idiot. “Aniki and I are barely functional as is, we are in no way capable of running an op this big.”

“Well,” says Orochimaru-sama in a very reasonable tone, voice pitched to carry. “You and your brother are the ones who want the Konoha here. I will, of course, support you, my apprentice, in all your scientific endeavours. But, if you back out, then I have not a single use for these here Hyūga.”

Sasuke is actually mute for a long moment, before he collapses, tipping into the bunny who huffs but obligingly flips over for a cuddle. “This—this is you motivating me. Sage have mercy, you’re being encouraging.”

“What can I say, snakelet. You only ever stir yourself from your pit of chaos for things that interest you. No apprentice of mine will be scientifically illiterate. If I have to leverage your misplaced sense of sympathy, well. I will find a way to console myself. A dissertation with your name on it will go a long way to settle my guilty conscience, I think.”

Trying to explain the seal is conditioned on Sasuke understanding it first. A stumbling block if ever there was one.

“I think I need a baby Hyūga,” he says. “Someone with a fresh seal, who also doesn’t have a lot of Chakra. Preferably civilian. Yeah. I need a volunteer with a small, untrained Chakra pool and a fresh Caged Bird Seal.” What an ominous fucking sentence.

“If I could offer one piece of advice,” says Chiharu-san. When exactly the man found his way into this whole mess is anyone’s guess. It would explain why Uzumaki curled as far into Sasuke as either of their bodies would allow. “I would designate an—ambassador of sorts. Someone to communicate your plans to the Hyūga, so they know what to expect and can organize themselves beforehand.”

Sure.

“Would you care to?” He might as well say his lines. If, for some reason, Chiharu-san wants to take part, far be it from Sasuke to stand in his way. “I am always grateful for your advice, you know that. If you think it would help, please.”

“Excellent,” he says. “I will take Yuki-san and start opening a dialogue with the Hyūga and the Aburame. Yuki-san can later report what he has learned to Tsunade-sama and they can design a more precise survey.”

How does he even know any of this? Sasuke is pretty certain Chiharu-san wasn’t in the room when Orochimaru-sama was doing his whole argumentative dialectic schtick.

The better question is—is it any of his business? Nope, not even a little.

“For sure,” he says, for a lack of something better to say. Sure Chiharu-san will likely terrify everyone into behaving, but that is exactly why Sasuke suggested Yuki-san accompany Tsunade-sama in the first place. If the prettiest reptile-person you’ve ever seen starts making noises about the value of cooperation, either you agree immediately or you’re beyond saving and the herd benefits from the aforementioned reptile using your spine to pick its teeth. “You do that. I’m not sure if there is a command structure among the refugees, but I’m sure you will make one if you need it, so. Y’know. Have fun.” Hmm—is that wise, on second thought? Yeah, sure, the refugees here don’t look like they have a lot of other options, but you never know. “Maybe stick close to Yuki-san?”

Chiharu-san twitches his jaw into a forbidding angle. “Do you expect I am in danger here?”

Sasuke blinks through the bunny squeezing himself even smaller, somehow. Completely fair. “I mean, I gotta be honest, I am always nervous when you’re unattended in a room containing Shinobi that aren’t my family. As Orochimaru-sama pointed out, way back when, people often act against their interests. Who even knows, right? I never go anywhere alone, even though it should be well established by now that messing with me is not smart.”

“Well argued,” says Orochimaru-sama, raising his head from the complicated Fūinjutsu diagram he’s been drawing for Sasuke. “One moment.” He bows down, Chakra forming the very familiar pattern and—

Kiyohime-sama appears in a cloud of white smoke. Why do the serpents insist on the entirely cosmetic effect of smoke, Sasuke will never know.

“Kiyohime-sama! I’ve missed you,” Sasuke says, because, true, and also, his kind of his grandmother doesn’t like him very much. He doesn’t expect he will fix that tonight, but he might as well try.

“I’ve been watching, spiritling,” says Kiyohime-sama. “I always watch over my nest.”

Well, sure. Thank you for that wonderfully transparent, affirming message of love and support.

“Our Chiharu-kun needs a bodyguard,” says Orochimaru-sama, saving him from having to think of a reply, thank Amaterasu. “Please, make an example of whoever is fool enough to try to attack one of ours in our home.”

“Very practical,” says the serpent with a wealth of approval in her hiss. “I do so appreciate making such statements. They reliably cut down on future incidents.” She turns to Chiharu-kun, nodding her head in a learned human gesture. “Takeda-kun, we meet again. I have followed your path as closely as was convenient.”

“What is a few short years,” says Chiharu-kun. If Kiyohime mimics humans, Chiharu-kun mimics serpents, and the whole thing makes Sasuke’s heart squeeze and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “I am honoured to be in your care again.”

Sasuke waits until the two leave before he lets the breath in his lungs whoosh out. “Well, Bunny,” he says. “We survived. That is not nothing, not when those two are in the equation.”

“You want the Hyūga organized by age, how long they have been sealed and the size of their Chakra pool,” asks Yuki-san. Tsunade-sama is already lost in the land of medicine. As it turns out, while Sasuke’s Seal Experiment is important, it is not as important as fixing some of the more nauseating injuries. She spares Sasuke enough attention to tell him to gather his own fucking data, and dives right back in, improvising a hospital with the aid of several Aburame Jōnin.

Which leaves Yuki-san. Sasuke doesn’t really think much of it at first. A medic of Tsunade-sama’s calibre doing a survey would be a waste, that much is true. He did not predict the—other stuff.

In a sea of drama, tortured children and enslaved peoples, it is still possible, Sasuke realizes, to have petty fucking disputes that brings the whole operation to a halt. From what he could tell, the epicentre of the whole mess was that Yuki-san’s harmless act works a little too well. It didn’t take much. A little feminine sway of his hips here, softly slanted lips and gentle-blue silks there and otherwise perceptive Shinobi slot him in the category of eye candy and move on.

He may have miscalculated in asking Yuki-san to handle the fact-finding part of this op. Is it the beauty? It’s possible. People have a weird love-hate relationship with beauty that Sasuke can’t quite make sense of. Even Shinobi aren’t immune to it, and they really should know better considering they have quite literally been bred to be beautiful. Case in point, the Hyūga by and large dismiss Yuki-san as a harmless sex object, Yuki-san swiftly loses all respect for them and starts stirring trouble.

Shit escalates. Yuki-san loses his entire mind and starts flirting with Orochimaru-sama of all people. Presumably, because he is the person Hyūga and Aburame are most intimidated by. He doesn’t do anything as vulgar as outright touching or flirting with the Sanin, but he makes a point to rarely leave his field of vision, gestures controlled and flowing. At one point that might legitimately feature in Sasuke’s nightmares, Yuki-san arches his back and rolls his shoulders in a way that dislodges the heavy collar of his silk robe, leaving it to hang between his shoulder blades, baring his nape. Even Orochimaru-sama is a bit dazzled by the move. The only unaffected people, s’far as Sasuke can tell are Uzumaki, Sasuke, Chiharu-san and Aniki, and the last two look to be taking notes.

It’s not even fair, is the thing. The Branch Hyūga are escaped slaves. They don’t think Yuki-san is especially dangerous in the Shinobi-sense but that is, if anything, a massive compliment. It’s certainly more flattering than flinching and cringing away from them like they do with Orochimaru-sama and Aniki. It’s just bad luck that Yuki-san is sensitive to such things.

It’s just bad luck Sasuke needs this fucking data. Sasuke’s ANBU is in excruciating pain, blind and afraid, and these assholes are delaying everything because of prejudice and pride.

“Chiharu-san,” he says. He’d aimed for a whine, but what came out was a wobble away from real distress. “Help, please. I get Yuki-san has an axe to grind but time is not an insignificant factor, here. I can’t—there is so much to do and I don’t have my data and they’re fucking around and—”

Uzumaki’s head snaps up, like, properly snaps up, eyes wide and aware. Very fucking aware. Careful bun-bun, you’re harming your harmless image. “I’m fine,” Sasuke says, because he is. That’s not the problem. “I just—” Inhale-exhale. “I don’t—there is so much despair here, y’know? So much suffering and pain it’s literally making me sick. And instead of working to change that, to either help these people or put them out of their misery, we’re—what? Proving a point about prejudice?”

“De-escalating, mostly,” says Chiharu-san. “Or do you think Yuki-san cares in any way what these people think of him? What anybody other than Momochi-san thinks of him?”

Oh.

“I thought—” Wait, that’s not better. “Yeah, so I was way off. Still, though. Whatever the reason, time is still wasted. It’s still—pointless.”

There is nothing but grey in Chiharu-san. Grey Chakra, grey voice, even the angle of his lips somehow conveys a steely, implacable grey. He’s not aggressive, not even a little, but this is definitely the least amused he has ever been in Sasuke’s company. “I can think of a few reasons. You may not want them to be obedient test subjects, but autonomous patients choosing to cooperate with you, their medic, for a lack of a better term. You may find they’re tense and afraid and seeing a pretty little courtesan flirt with Orochimaru-sama humanizes him.” His voice drops, vowels still round and upper-class, but now a suggestion of a blade lurks behind the urbane drawl. “You may realize these men and women are not what one might call sexually liberated. You even may conclude it would do them good to see a comparatively weak Shinobi flirt and tease an S-ranked Sanin and not get punished or assaulted for it?”

Fuck. “So, Yuki-san is doing all this to—break the ice?” Sasuke’s head throbs. He’s trying, man, but he’s trying. Between the constant whine of despair, the contradictory instructions and the fact he’s still not getting anywhere—Well. He’s working himself into a bit of a state. Uzumaki is picking up on it, too, if the ripple in his muscles is any indication. “Is this the best time? Can’t you do your liberation bit after my op is done?”

That was a mistake. Sasuke doesn’t know where, exactly, what he said that was a step too far, but Chiharu-san’s eyes fall to half-mast and his lips tilt into a cruel angle. “Oh,” he says ever so gently, “my apologies, Uchiha-sama. Am I making your test subjects unruly? My mistake. I understand, of course. It is much easier to conduct your experiments on a docile herd and this specific population is very well cowed indeed. Please, proceed. I will assist you in dividing them up by age and weight. Should I get the specific history of their abuse too? It could be relevant. Why don’t I group them by specific type and the absolute value of torture? I’m sure we can come up with a viable unit of measurement if we put our minds to it.”

Right. Okay. Sasuke doesn’t quite cower—he is not afraid of Chiharu-san. He trusts Chiharu-san with his life. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. He smoothes a trembling hand down Uzumaki’s back. It doesn’t do much to relax the kid, but he doesn’t bolt or, who even knows, release the power of the Kyūbi no Kitsune on their heads, so that’s a win.

“Well,” he says, squeezing sounds around the giant lump in his throat. “I guess I can’t complain. This is exactly why I wanted you involved. Granted, I expected you to butt heads with Orochimaru-sama or Aniki—or even Konoha—but I can’t argue it’s not deserved. I surrender, like, unconditionally. Please, enough.”

“You don’t need to surrender, Uchiha-sama,” says Chiharu-san with about as much emotion as your average pit of limitless despair. “You set out to help, so help.” He inclined his head, the faint, cruel smile still very present, spins around and storms off. Well. Glides away aggressively.

Holy fucking shit. Okay. “Well, bun,” he says, voice shaking in tandem with his hands and body. “We survived this, too. Two for two, go us.” Oh no, not you— “Heads up, Yuki-san is coming our way and he looks like he means business. Stay there, there’s a bunny, and let me try to grovel our way out of here.”

“Was Haru-kun being mean,” says Yuki-san. Sasuke doesn’t have the emotional capacity to process ‘Haru-kun’, like, at all. “Don’t worry, Uchiha-san. I know your heart is in the right place.” It’s eerie, this person Yuki-san created, it fits well and it fits terribly and Sasuke wants the self-possessed bloodthirsty slab of marble, not this flamboyant social butterfly.

“I am aware you know where my heart is, Yuki-san,” says Sasuke, entirely on automatic. “That is not as comforting as you think it is.”

“Now, now, that’s not necessary. We’re all friends here. Call me Haku,” purrs Yuki-san.

Is that what we are? “I would if you promise not to eat me for the audacity.” Even then? “And if I could trust that promise. I have heard enough variations of the frog and the scorpion fable, to know a bad idea when I see one.”

Yuki-san’s eyes glint in a way that would look like humour to most people not aware of his reptilian nature. “I’m sure I do not follow. I am but a humble Chūnin. No matter. Ah—your brother is moving this way, which means my presence is no longer required. Be good, children.”

Amaterasu wept, what just happened?

Chapter Text

Alright Sasuke, brave face. This is no time for misunderstandings or overreactions. You have a wound-up Jinchūriki in your lap that’s going to bite if startled and an older brother who doesn’t have a healthy relationship with violence or sense of proportion. Shut it down.

“Before you say anything—no, Chiharu-san isn’t bullying me, yes, I am fine. I got caught up in the theoretical part of this whole thing and forgot that these are real, traumatized people. So. Let’s just. Let’s just not.”

Itachi cocks his head to the side. The sharp movement combined with how quickly his eyes ice over makes him look like the world’s most lethal raptor. “I was not going to say anything of the like,” he says. “Takeda-dono pointed out that you should not be unattended. Do you want to elaborate, perhaps?”

“I said some dumb shit.” Very good, that’s an excellent petulant whine. Very disarming. Good Sasuke. “And Chiharu-sama boxed my ears.” And now I will cry inside for like, three centuries but whatever. It’s whatever. “Metaphorically.”

Itachi’s eyes grow unfocused, like he can’t quite internalize the idea of a person—any person, anywhere—capable of taking exception to something Sasuke did or said. “I don’t—follow? All I’m hearing is that there exists, in this village, in this very room, a person that has made you sad and yet you don’t seem willing to let me handle that in an appropriate fashion?”

Oh boy. “Never mind that,” he rushes to say before Itachi de-rails their lives beyond help. “I want out. This is too much. I want out of this room, ‘Tachi. I don’t need to be here right now. Until I get my data, I can’t do much here. Definitely not enough to make it worth it.”

“Okay,” says Itachi, eyebrows arching into a high, disbelieving curve. “You don’t need to explain Sasu’, what the fuck? If you want out, I’m getting you out. Now?”

“Now.”

He pats Uzumaki lightly. Amaterasu above, the entire world really should be sighing in relief that Uzumaki plays ball to a point. He crawls off Sasuke, climbing to his feet, head bowed and body arranged in a very good show of submission. Good bunny. Whether it’s earnest or a good performance, Sasuke doesn't know or care. It’s none of his business, frankly.

What he does care about, is that his limbs are much less cooperative than he would like them to be. Definitely shakier than his projection of ‘nothing out of the ordinary here, just a bit of sensory overload’ can justify. For starters, he’s filled with a strange, irrational feeling that, should he manage to relax his shoulders and neck, he will dissolve into a puddle of shivers and tears.

Let’s just. Just. Up. Up you go, you damp mochi. You can fucking stand on your own legs.

Itachi is not dumb, actually, no matter how willfully ignorant he likes to be at times. If there is one thing Itachi knows, it’s Sasuke. “I am concerned,” he says. “Is there something more?”

“Just pushed too hard,” he says, which is absolutely true. “The Chakra here is—nasty. I’m trying not to sense anything but it’s not easy. I’m running out of energy.”

“Right.”

Itachi steps forward, hand reaching out to steady him, and a flash of foresight, or insight, or whatever, rings the alarm. Oh boy, things are about to get—weird.

Indeed, Itachi reaches, Uzumaki steps forward, head snapping up, violet eyes trained at the limb with a very concerning intensity.

“No,” says Sasuke, as firmly as he can. “No, Bunny. Itachi is family. Itachi is the very definition of family. We don’t fuck with that. Not ever.”

Itachi tenses too, all trace of genteel, upper-class manners fizzling out, leaving behind, well, an S-ranked Shinobi fully willing to do whatever it is necessary to deal with an unexpected threat. The buzz of conversation disappears between one breath and the next. Partly, he supposes, because Itachi’s Chakra rises around them, unforgiving and relentless, but surely, that wouldn’t be enough—

Orochimaru-sama finds his eyes, standing up from his notes. Yuki-san, interestingly, starts herding away Chiharu-san with a bold lack of subtlety.

Okay. Okay.

“Relax, Aniki,” he says, as calmly as he can. The pulsing headache picks up, grows an edge of urgency which doesn’t do much for his already taxed mind. “Both of you, I’m serious. This is so stupid, oh my God.” 

A stab of pain jolts through his body, Chakra growing hot with something a lot like Rokubi-sama’s Chakra—Okay that can’t be normal. Sasuke can overlook a lot of things, but honestly—

‘Is something wrong', he thinks very loudly.

Not at all. Not for me, certainly. My sibling’s Chakra is heavy around you and you’re drawing on my Chakra to compensate. Completely subconsciously, I’d wager.

Right, sure. Why not? Why not this?

‘Should I apologize? I feel like I should apologize.’

Don’t be trivial, spiritling.

Fucking—

‘Thanks all the same. I have a feeling it would be very uncomfortable around Uzumaki if not for you, so. Yeah. Thanks.’

I don’t do anything without cause. If I help, it is because you’ve earned it.

Another stab of pain, this time caused by regular irritation combined with a familiar shade of social anxiety. What is there to say, now?

‘I am still thankful.’

Trivial.

Might as well leave it there, before he gets sucked into a Kimimaro-style loop of polite deference.

“Okay,” he says, careful to inject every drop of cheer into his voice. It cracks and twists, the artificial lightheartedness playing badly with how tight his throat is. Whatever. “Okay, so we all need to calm down. Bunny, Family is sacred. If you stand between me and mine, I can’t protect you from the consequences. Itachi, the kid is scared and confused and means well, so put the murder-vibes away. The rest of you—as you were, please. Nothing to see, here.” Good work, now if your voice didn’t creak and crack and whistle in places, it would be significantly more authoritative.

A good Shinobi uses the projection of body language as a means of communication. Itachi’s body is far from his most lethal weapon. If he tensed his shoulders and re-distributed his weight, it is for the benefit of his audience, a warning that he is willing to escalate if pushed. That he lets the stiff muscles grow loose now is nothing but an olive branch. The kid, on the other hand—

“Uzumaki,” Sasuke barks. “Get behind me. You will not get into a fight with Uchiha Itachi here where you will bring the roof down on Hyūga fucking babies.”

Like the flip of a switch, Uzumaki hunches inwards, head twisting to look at Sasuke. The red is gone from his eyes, which is a good sign. He liked the purple, he did, it worked, but the ice-blue is much safer on the whole. “Behind me,” he repeats. Itachi is not the only person around who might raise some objections about anyone attempting to limit access to Sasuke.

“Alright,” he says once again. He tries to pitch his voice to carry, with little success. It’s too hollow, is the thing, a brittle, porous sound that dissolves in the air like nothing. “I feel like we all got a bit distracted from our goals, haven’t we?” His throat is fucking parched. “Aniki, I don’t suppose you would be a dear and source me a drink, there’s a lamb. Bunny—”

He turns around and is immediately saturated with exasperated fondness cut with annoyance. “No cowering. After the shit you got from strange adult Shinobi, nobody will fault you for being jumpy. I am not angry that you want to protect me, I am worried that you will start shit with one of many S-ranked Shinobi I call my family and get murdered gruesomely.”

Whoops, was that too explicit? A tremble rocks the terrified posture of the kid huddled into himself as far as he can go. “But!” But nothing, you muppet. “But they won’t attack first, so all you have to do is, like, not attack them and you’re hunky-dory.” Points for effort and not much else. “No worries, honestly. Just, yeah, try to be aware of that. We are still figuring out how to handle each other, but a good rule of thumb is that violence is always going to end terribly for everyone.”

Holy fucking Hell, is he done with everything. The tremble in his arms is getting alarmingly difficult to suppress, and the sick, twisted feeling in his gut is not going anywhere either. “Go-go-go,” he chants, wrapping a shaking arm around Uzumaki. “Orochimaru-sama, if you have a minute, now would be a good time for those emergency drugs, ta’.”

Thing is, rest has caveats these days. He can’t really afford a Sasuke-style meltdown of old, not when there is an unstable Jinchūriki around. Uzumaki aside, there is also time to consider. The Hyūga aren’t getting better. Sasuke doesn’t do abstract altruism, but he does not have the luxury of ignorance. He knows more or less first-hand just how badly off those people are. There will be no proper rest for Sasuke until they are better, or Orochimaru-sama kills them all.

And then there is Hatake, which, Sage wept, is a topic he doesn’t even want to acknowledge much less engage with.

Do any of those very logical, very level-headed reasons why a meltdown is a bad idea help prevent it? Fuck no. Sasuke has become much too cavalier with the fact that he is in no way mentally stable. He’s grown complacent, become so used to the lack of conflict in his life that he’s forgotten how hostile his mind can be. The most, the absolute most he can do is to avoid the worst-case scenario and ride the whole sorry affair out.

It’s, yeah, not as bad as it could have been, and most of the real concerning shit has to do with the near-overdose of antipsychotics. He loses about fifty hours or so, suspended in a haze of vague grief and a rather dispiriting desire for self-harm. It’s, yeah. It’s pretty bad. Nothing he’s not used to, at least. Nothing that his family doesn’t know to watch for.

Chiharu-san will be a problem. The man is guilty, or at least worried about having crossed some sort of line. Sasuke can sense him quite clearly in the few moments of lucidity he’s granted by his faulty fucking body. The steel-grey of his Chakra-bubble grows darker by the moment, shrinking around his body in a proactive gesture of defensiveness. Sasuke likes the easy relationship he has with the man, adores his sharp mind and the fierce way he sticks to his beliefs. Losing that would be—not the worst thing, but pretty disappointing.

At least Uzumaki took everything in stride. Other than refusing to be parted from Sasuke for so much as a moment, he is a quiet and unassuming presence. When left alone, the boy is perfectly self-sufficient, content to sit cuddled up to Sasuke in silence. He doesn’t mind the sting of Chakra that Sasuke can in no way keep under control, the random bouts of crying or the inattention. Most importantly, he doesn’t try to help in moments when there is no help to be given. If anything, the kid’s rather primal bent gives him an instinctive grasp on empathy that is very useful in situations like these.

It’s, yeah, Sasuke would be a massive liar if he claimed Uzumaki was a burden. If anything, he’s been a help. Unhealthy friendships aside, they are not family. Unlike Itachi and Orochimaru-sama and Kimimaro, Sasuke doesn’t care if his pain is upsetting Uzumaki. It’s, yeah, that part at least is pretty nice. The part that’s less nice is that Tsunade-sama, in a telling display of emotional trauma, avoids Uzumaki like the plague. She checks up Sasuke, of course, but if medical Chakra could cure psychosis, the Shinobi world would look a whole lot different. She instructs him to get a lot of rest and keep hydrated and fucks right off to a place where she, presumably, doesn’t have to watch her only remaining family ignore her.

It’s ridiculous how inflexible these people are. What, precisely, do they hope to gain by this avoidance shtick? Whatever. Sasuke has faster crows to catch. If the kid isn’t in the mental space for forgiveness, and Tsunade-sama is set to stew in guilt then that’s their business. Sasuke’s list of priorities is jammed full with hundreds of enslaved babies. Senju-Uzumaki drama can wait.

Something—niggles at the back of his mind. He’s about thirty hours into the miserable psychotic episode, he’s sweated through eleven sets of bedsheets and has to drink about a liter of water per hour to make up for all the crying. It’s, yeah, it is what it has to be, and then some more. Or less?

What the fuck does that even mean, Sasuke, you mouldy lemon?

What was he thinking about?

Ah—the presence.

“Orochimaru-sama,” he says, voice damp and hoarse, somehow at the same time, like if someone dragged a kunai over unpolished rock during heavy rain. Yeah. That’s about right…Wha—Focus! “Orochimaru-sama,” he says again, this time to remind himself. “Hi.”

Orochimaru-sama sits into a neat seiza right next to the Uchiha-Uzumaki nest. “You look better.” A cool arm smooths the rather disgusting hair from Sasuke’s forehead. “The fever is down and your Sharingan is off. Well done.”

Should Sasuke be praised for his fever breaking? Doesn’t sound like it has much to do with him. Also—his what was what?

“My eyes—”

“Indeed.” Sasuke’s sensing is off, when he’s like this. The observational part of the process is fine, but the sense-making apparatus? Fucked to hell. Interpreting the data that his eyes and ears and soul are sending him is, at the very best, hit and miss. Like now—Orochimaru-sama feels a whole lot, but what, precisely, is anybody’s guess.

“That’s new.” True. Then again, his Chakra has been growing more autonomous by the day. Now that anti-psychotics shanked his conscious mind, it’s not all that surprising that something like that could happen.

“Irrelevant, not new.”

The first time, sure, it could have been a purely utilitarian action. The second time Orochimaru-sama’s hand cards through his hair, it can’t be anything other than a deliberate, self-initiated head-pat. What a glorious fucking day to be alive. “Your Kiri Jinchūriki has sent his well-wishes.”

His what—Oh. Oh, Utakata-san. Wow, okay, that’s unexpected.

“H’w does he even—”

“Everybody knows,” says Orochimaru-sama. “Not only are your brothers grim to the point of indiscriminate murder, so are Yuki-san and Chiharu-kun. The narrative is that you are suffering from Charka exhaustion. Hardly anyone believes it, but it is wise to pretend to, lest your brother takes exception.”

Well, that’s torn it. A flood of tears erupts, as a dull whine fills his ears. Dark grey spots dance in his eyes—until they’re not, until his vision sharpens and he can practically track refraction of the light through the water in his eyes—

“‘M doing it ‘gain aren’t I?”

“Indeed you are. It is a very impressive Dōjutsu, snakelet. Kiyohime was very impressed.”

Kiyohime-sama?

“Not here?”

“She is guarding Chiharu-kun. There have been some—developments. Nothing for you to be concerned about. Your people-hoard is safe and accounted for.”

Good. That’s good.

“I don’—I’m not supposed to go away from my body, am I?”

“I would recommend against it. Your brain activity is already abnormal due to the emergency medication. Adding Chakra to it will just compound the problem.”

Yeah, that fucking figures.

“Hurts.”

“You are an Uchiha. You are my apprentice. You’ve lived through years of torture and come out stronger for it. You can handle pain.”

Easy for you to say, you patronizing little—

O-kay, well that is, like, not even a little true. Irritable is one thing, you even think about thinking such things about Orochimaru-sama and you get fucking lobotomized again, you hear me?

Who are you threatening? Who is even doing the threatening?

What is going on?

“Hurts.”

“I know. It will pass.”

“Aniki wha—”

Open your eyes, c’mon. You can sense Aniki, you can smell him and touch him—

Hold on. You don’t need to open anything, you are a fucking sensor, are you not? Then sense, Amaterasu wept, how useless are you?

“Easy, Sasu’, I’m here. Easy, now, deep breaths, focus on your heart rate.”

“I can’t see, Aniki—” Fuck. “Am I—did I do something—am I blind again?” What a fucking joke. Did he get got again? Is he even in Oto? Was all this an elaborate fucking dream? No, wait, Itachi is here, so is Uzumaki, wrapped around Sasuke’s middle like a noodle. What—

“Just a blindfold, dear.”

Oh, thank fuck.

“Orochimaru-sama caught it before you could push yourself into Chakra exhaustion, but it was a near-catch. No need to worry. Don’t you recognize your old slime-helmet?”

Oh—

“Katsuyu-sama?”

He’s crying again, which goes oddly. His tears get absorbed somehow, and the slime helmet warms up, vibrating a little. It’s, by every parameter he has, a hug. His slime-helmet is hugging him?

Sasuke’s losing his fucking mind. The top of his head is vibrating, the helmet is drinking his tears, Uzumaki’s hot as a furnace around his middle, and sweat runs down his back in gross little sticky streams.

“You gotta knock me out, Aniki, I can’t fucking live like this.”

“Just a little more, dear-heart. I promise it won’t be long, now. Just a little more.”

He’s drowning—He’s burning—He’s—

He can’t fucking move. Something holds his hands down, fixes his neck in place. His muscles seize, alternating between long stabs and pained, exhausted shivers. His mouth fills with bile—

Nope, not just bile. That’s blood sitting heavy at the back of your throat, metallic twang pinching the nerves at the root of your nose. Blood and fucking tears—

You can scream, probably. Do you want to? What do you want more, to spit your pain into the world or to rest a little, conserve your breath?

Silly question. The world doesn’t care about Sasuke’s pain.

Inhale—exhale. Inhale—exhale. Inhale—

Chapter Text

The haze swallows him for—some time. It’s pretty disconcerting. He judges the worst has passed when he can more or less correlate his body with his mind. Having said that, it takes about fifty hours more to get to a state where he’s not hysterical, dehydrated, immobilized by heavy shackles of depression or just lethargic to the point of narcolepsy.

Even just the experience of waking can be categorized, like most things that happen to Sasuke, as some wacky fucking shit. Like turning a switch. One moment his brain is stringy and uncooperative, the next moment, bam, light’s on. To make matters worse, somehow, he’s hit with a cascade of thoughts that have been sitting in his brain, waiting to be processed. Some are fairly neutral—The bunny needs some proper clothes; Orochimaru-sama changed his scent from almond to verbena; Sasuke needs to cut his damn hair. Some are positive—Sasuke’s tabi are pink and fuzzy and things of unparalleled magnificence; He clearly recalls three separate occasions of Orochimaru-sama initiating skinship without so much as a prompt from Sasuke; The protein-gruel this morning was drowned in a plum jam that Sasuke wants to marry. The negatives—well. He doesn’t want to dwell on the negatives much except for the one.

“I don’t suppose you picked up on why we suddenly have—” two-four—“Six spirit-serpents in a thirty-meter radius? Oh, and Yuri-sama is thirteen meters away on the right.” Best not forget the murder-wolf.

Squeeze-squeeze.

“Yeah, okay, didn’t really think so. Well, let’s go do some sleuthing, then, because let me tell you—”