Chapter Text
Itachi will never get used to how cold Ame is. The constant rain is bad for his bones and lungs; the cold air makes his insides ache even on a good day. On bad days he stays shut in his room— or as shut as he can be in a base full of violent, unpredictable criminals— Itachi will amend his statement because while yes all the nations in the land will report that the Akatsuki are full of maniacs, of unstable individuals who only kill and torture… except on the bad days Konan checks on him in a way that reminds him of his mother. She makes him soup and—
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Itachi digresses. Ame sucks. Even his crows seem to agree. After a month of settling into Ame they had gone into full protective mode. When he returns from missions, he’d find piles of random fruit, seeds, and trinkets dumped at the foot of his bed. Sometimes he’d wake from silent, fitful nightmares with a handful of tiny nudges, and Itachi would find a small flock settled by his side. It was relieving, really, to find that he still had a small comfort he could keep to himself. Itachi began keeping one on his shoulder on most days, indulging the pathetic part of himself that desperately needed some sort of support in his journey to the ending he’d been slowly preparing for.
Eventually, his crows grew in ways he didn’t expect. Sometimes they appeared on days when Itachi hadn’t summoned them, perching on his shoulders and nudging him with their small heads. They started responding to even the faintest chakra calls, alert and protective as if protecting one of their own (and Itachi liked it, not that he would admit). If he were feeling faint and weak, they would appear, dropping nuts and fruits in his pockets and pecking at him until he ate them. Soon, they were there for every bad day, watching over him as he lay in bed and retrieving things when he was too weak to move.
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It’s precisely on one of his terrible days that everything starts… coming apart. He wakes with a terrible, throbbing headache and a soreness that makes him want to cry out. He can hear the faint rustle of feathers, two crows already sitting on his nightstand, heads twitching in that very specific pattern that meant they were patiently listening and waiting. Itachi goes through this a lot– the pain, the crushing feeling of fatigue, and then the sharp guilt that makes him haul his ill body up and continue on. He cannot waver. Not now and not ever. Not with everything he’s done. (He doesn’t deserve rest. Not with the sins he’s committed). So, begrudgingly— in a way that makes his lungs ache and his stomach churn— he pulls himself to his feet. A crow lets out a soft, almost disapproving-sounding caw. Itachi shakes the black spots from his vision and stands (there is a crow on his shoulder now, the soft feathered head nudging into his temple). He waits for his legs to stop wobbling and his breathing to even out before grabbing the things on his nightstand.
He expects to feel three things. Usually, he grabs the inconspicuous pill bottle, one that Konan gave him after too many bad days. She pressed it into his hands with such gentle firmness that he took it and couldn’t bring himself to give it back. Konan had told him they helped alleviate his symptoms. A short-term fix. She insisted. Itachi hasn’t been able to find the time to properly skulk around and look for a more permanent fix (A part of him— the small, guilty, pathetic piece of him— prayed to Amaterasu that there was no fix. Not for him). Next to the pill bottle is his Akatsuki ring, the shimmering metal with a heavy, deliberate weight in his palm. Finally, without fail every day, his fingers finish their round with a brief brush to the last remnant of his past life. The small, delicate picture frame of Itachi holding Sasuke as a baby, one that his mother took without him knowing. Sometimes, on his more sentimental days, he picks the picture frame up to run his thumb over the glass, over his brother’s innocent, sleepy face. The ritual reinforces his resolve— hardens his dedication. He is the reason for it all. He is why Itachi cannot fail. This was all for Sasuke. As long as Itachi kept reminding himself of it, he could keep going for as long as possible.
But today something was missing. His fingers closed around his pill bottle and… then straight to his brother's picture. Where— where was his ring?
Least to say, the panic that burst through his chest was immediate and probably… probably a little over the top. He spends at least fifteen minutes in his room, crawling on the floor, feeling under cabinets and his bed, looking under the covers, and so forth… all to turn up with nothing. His crows rejoined at the foot of his bed, blinking silently, which really only made his panic grow. Then, when he sat defeated on his bed with shaking hands, they hopped next to him and did that same tilt of their heads, like they were trying to figure out what was wrong with him. All Itachi could really think about, however, was how the ring was first given to him when he joined the Akatsuki. Pain himself moulded it out of thin air, placing it in his palm in a way that signified the importance of a singular object. Warm. Heavy. Real. Pain had told him that the ring gave him the might of the Akatsuki, of their combined power, of their greater mission. The ring gave him… everything. Access to the Akatsuki base, to their funds, to their name, to their mission– the ring gave him a place to belong (which was much needed after he’d so brutally destroyed the last place–). Pain had never said what would happen if he lost the ring (like an irresponsible child). But the chakra density that seeped from the man’s bones was enough for Itachi to take him seriously.
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When Itachi finally works up the courage and comes up with a few plausible lies, he finally emerges from his room. A crow trailed after him before settling back on his left shoulder, the small weight just enough to ground him through his nerves. It was late afternoon, meaning thankfully, the base is mostly empty. From what he remembers, Kisame and Kakuzu had a mission out in the land of grass, Sasori was always down in his workshop… and Juzo? Itachi didn’t know where he was. (The man who was supposed to be his partner but always evoked a vulnerable, paranoid feeling crawled down his spine).
He came to the door of Pain’s room uncomfortably quickly, his feet stopping just before as if unwilling to move any further. His crow ruffles its feathers softly, using that telling nudge that makes him focus with a rare clarity. He had a very simple thing to do. Go in, tell Pain he lost the ring, and– and then what? Try and find it? What was Pain going to make him do? His focus slipped away so easily, thoughts twisting and spiraling until he was at the edge of panic again. Was he about to die? Before he could pull himself away from such thoughts or make a half-hearted plan about his final words, the door opened, leaving him frozen.
“Itachi-kun?” Oh, thank Amateratsu it was Konan. The hitch in his breath and the tension in his shoulders eased… only to shoot back right up as Konan stepped aside to reveal Pain– In all his intimidating glory– standing at his desk. There were papers spread across the dark wood, and Itachi’s eyes flicked toward them instead of up because he wanted to focus on anything other than–
“Itachi.” That voice made his spine straighten and a cold trickle into his body. Pain. “What do you need?” Straight to the point. It takes Itachi a moment longer than he cares to acknowledge to gather himself and find his voice.
“I–” Which fails him at just… the right moment. “I can’t find my ring.” His voice sounds weaker now, and it only takes a moment before he feels humiliated at the state of himself. The silence that sits heavy in the room only exacerbates the feeling, and all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and die (just a little).
“You… lost your ring?” Konan is the one to ask the clarifying question, which somehow makes him feel more chastised than scared. He manages a small, shaking nod. She turns to Pain, and regrettably, they exchange a look that Itachi cannot see or decipher. It takes a long, silent moment that fills Itachi’s mind with an endless, anxious buzzing.
“You will need to retrieve it,” Pain’s voice is final and firm in a way that lacks the anger that Itachi expects. The younger blinks in surprise. Was… was that it?
“Have you located it?” Konan’s voice doesn’t seem too worried either. When Pain gives her a simple nod, Itachi can’t help but feel a little foolish. Was he panicking for nothing? The small peck from the crow, now quiet and settled on his shoulder, cements his realization. “Where is it?”
“Far. Somewhere East.” East?
“It’s not… in my room?” Itachi asks weakly. Konan seems to shake her head as Pain’s head tilts back to lean against the headrest of his chair.
“You may have left it behind at a previous mission.” Pain’s explanation seems to take a bit of weight off his shoulders. “We’ll retrieve it now.” Right now? It’s only then that Itachi really stops to think. Why is the ring itself so important that they needed to get it back? Couldn’t they just… make a new one? Was it valuable?
Itachi doesn’t dare voice these questions, eyes drifting to the ground, and Pain and Konan finish the last bit of business they must have been discussing. Their voices fall into a mindless buzz that floats in the back of his mind. Itachi thinks that he goes somewhere, somewhere that is not in his body, as Pain’s voice enters his ear but doesn’t really make much sense.
“Itachi.” His name paired with another sharp peck from his crow shoves his mind back where it belongs.
“Yes?” They’re giving him more of those looks now. Itachi swears that Konan’s brows are dipped in something that looks like worry.
“Let’s go.” He can only give a small nod as he follows Pain and Konan out. Their Akatsuki robes are stark in the daylight, the crimson clouds bright in the wind as they head toward whatever signal Pain is sensing from Itachi’s lost ring. The sun is a golden orange after three hours, his lungs burning after running for three straight hours. Itachi needs to rest. He knows he needs to rest, but a part of him cannot say this to Konan or Pain. Being in the Akatsuki is a privilege– something Pain had said very seriously when he was first recruited. Privilege meant that Itachi needed to do whatever he could to keep his spot. Becoming tired and weak after just three hours did not help him.
He manages to hold out until sunset, when the sun casts long rays across the endless forest as it starts to sink on the far horizon. They stop at the outskirts of a town, and for a moment, Itachi is hopeful. Maybe his ring is here. His hopes are squashed when he watches Konan simply buy food from a stall before joining back with them, where they stay perched in the treetops, away from civilian eyes.
“How much further?” He asks softly, cautiously trying to read their temperaments. Konan, again, looks to Pain, who sits to stare at the civilians with uninterested, half-lidded eyes.
“Five days.” Itachi’s eyes go wide. What. Konan’s face doesn’t betray anything at the information. Itachi doesn’t know what to feel besides anxiety.
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Properly managing his illness for five days with harsh travel and unnerving silence was challenging. Itachi’s worn muscles ache, and his lungs burn with a new, constant pain that he can barely stifle. He doesn’t know how he continues after the third day; he doesn’t know how he manages to run and keep up with them. Maybe it’s through pure spite and the bone-deep terror that lives in every living, breathing moment of him.
Konan can see it, Itachi thinks. It’s on the fourth day that his bones creak painfully under his skin and his breath is stolen. He blinks away before the sun rises and yet… can’t seem to move much without pain that makes him take a sharp inhale. Still, despite the blinding aches that rattle his body, he manages to sit up. When he does, he comes face to face with Konan. She kneels by him, eyes careful in that dignified way she always carries herself.
“Itachi.” His name is said in a way he recognizes. The soft, worried tone that makes his heart pang. “Did you take your medication?” Itachi manages to bring his trembling hand into his pocket to retrieve the empty bottle. He drops it in her hand with a weak exhale. He’d run out on the third day. Her breath hitches just as softly. His eyes slip closed for just a moment, and he enjoys the faint temptation of sleep before a quiet rattle wakes him.
Konan’s hands are impossibly soft for a nin. Much more for a wanted missing nin. She opens his hand and presses two familiar shapes into his palm. His medication. She had more. His eyes blink open rapidly before they find hers, his fingers closing around the pill capsules. Konan helps guide his hand, muscles still fatigued and trembling, to his mouth, pressing the pills past his lips. A flask comes next, flooding his mouth with water that washes the sharp, bitter aftertaste of medication away.
“Go back to sleep.” She says before Itachi can manage words. “We’ll continue when you’re ready.” His eyes are already fluttering shut despite his best attempts. The permission given takes a weight off his chest that he didn’t know he was carrying. He slips back into unconsciousness, slumped against the tree, in mere minutes.
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When he wakes again, the sun is beating hard overhead. He winces as soon as his eyes open, momentarily blinded by light and heat. Just as quickly as he jerks his head away, someone steps in front of him, shielding his vulnerable eyes from the onslaught of afternoon sun.
“Itachi?” Again with that tone. When his vision clears enough, Konan is standing over him, paper birds fluttering around her.
“How–” He stops to swallow, his throat and lips dry. “How long was I out?” Her eyes soften, and the paper birds settle, one landing on her shoulder not unlike how his own crows do.
“Only a couple of hours,” She reassures him. “How do you feel?” Itachi pauses, his focus concentrating back onto himself. He felt… fine. It was the best way to put it. The ache had settled somewhat, no longer a forefront in his mind. The burning in his lungs had soothed into a dull haze, no more fiery intensity that took the air from his chest.
“Fine.” The look that Konan sends him he can only describe as withering. “Better.” He amends, and to his relief, the look dissipates. She crouches down by him, peering into his face with that same… worried look (it reminds him of his mother. He misses her). He averts his eyes, shifting uncomfortably as he continues to sit under her gentle, yet critical gaze. “Thank you,” He says even quieter. The statement seems to appease her; her face lifts, and she finally stands.
“Tell me next time when you run out.” It’s curt and yet… Itachi can’t talk himself out of the undercurrent of relief he hears in her voice. He tries not to look at Pain, who seems to have silently observed all this from his perch on a nearby tree. The weight and intensity of his stare, even if his gaze is half-lidded, makes him look away. Pain doesn’t say anything. Neither does Itachi.
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The travel after that goes admittedly much smoother. The medication fills in the gaps of his strength, boosting his endurance and giving his lungs the support they so desperately needed. If they travel quicker because Itachi doesn’t need to constantly slow himself down to breathe, it's not mentioned. For that, Itachi is more grateful than he cares to admit.
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The cautious ease of the new routine only became more and more anxiety-inducing as the scenery around him grew to be… awfully familiar. He starts to recognize the species of trees that take over the forest they travel through. There is a precise way that wood reacts when exposed to a dense amount of chakra for years on end. There is also a very specific pattern in which wood splinters when attacked by a burst of chakra.
Itachi has to physically stop because he knows where they are. Konan and Pain seem to sense his pause, and they stop a couple of feet away.
“Itachi?” Konan’s voice is swimming and dipped in that particular haze that makes words fuzzy.
“Konoha,” He croaks out. “Why are we–?” He can’t finish his sentence. They are currently standing in the furthest of the Uchiha training grounds. Itachi knows this because he can see the part of the village wall that was destroyed in the Nine-Tails’ attack. The part of the old, crumbling wall that the clan had never bothered to fix because something far more complicated was brewing. Itachi’s body fills with the incessant, insect-like buzzing that drowns out his senses and makes his limbs lock. There is something that bubbles up, something that he’s tried so hard to contain for a year. Because it’s just that.
It has only been a year since he took it upon himself to destroy the only family he’s ever had. Only a year since he knelt before that disgustingly coy and cruel council and swore his allegiance to his village, simultaneously condemning his clan in one breath. In just this one moment of recognition, everything about that horrible night comes back to him all at once, and he can feel the grass between his fingers (had he collapsed?). There is blood in between his fingers again, dripping down his cheeks as he slices through flesh and muscle, and there is so much red– too much red–
His parents are sitting on the tatami mat in their room, impossibly peaceful and at ease despite the overwhelming smell of blood that Itachi tracks into their room. He unsheathes his blade silently, the metal glinting off the moonlight. He stops between them, and they look up at him, eyes swirling red–
“Itachi.” A hand comes to his shoulder, and he jerks away, taking in a gasp of air. It’s Konan again. He releases a shaky breath, and he is indeed on the ground. Itachi’s skin is clammy, cold sweat making strands of hair stick to his forehead and the back of his neck. He can barely get a syllable out before she speaks again. “Take a deep breath for me.”
His brother is chasing after him. Knobby, baby legs hitting hard and inexperienced on the pavement. Itachi can smell his tears, even stained with his parents' blood. Sasuke is crying, is running after him, is asking him wHY–
“Yes.” Itachi takes in a fragile breath, feeling his erratic heartbeat echo in his head. Konan guides him through the motions, taking in air and holding it until his heartbeat ceases its thumping in his chest. He doesn’t say anything. He can’t. Not yet. The silence that greets him can only mean that Konan, too, doesn’t know what to say.
“Let’s continue.” In the long silence, it’s Pain, surprisingly, that speaks finally. “We’ll discuss this when we return.” Konan looks up at the man before nodding and standing. She helps Itachi up on wobbling legs and holds his forearm until he can stand on his own.
He has to shut something off inside him when they enter the housing district. The small, sensitive thing that he usually kept hidden inside him. It seemed to cry softly at the emptiness and damage that his old home sustained. The wood looks worn and unkempt just as he left it a year ago. The cobbled streets are overrun with moss and shrubbery that confirms Itachi's suspicions; no one had moved in after the Uchiha clan had… left. The three Akatsuki members move through the gloomy, deserted neighborhood rather quickly, following Pain’s direction. Itachi tries to keep most of his gaze on the crumbling concrete tile beneath his sandals, even if his mind is mapping out the compound on its own.
The silence of midday is then interrupted. Itachi’s gaze shoots up as the sound of metal against metal hits his ears. He shares a look with both Pain and Konan, who seem to agree with his sentiment. They cautiously proceed, peeking over rooftops and around corners to see where the commotion is. The air smells more of acrid smoke the closer they get; somewhere in all the caution, Itachi's mind seems to forget where he is.
The moment Itachi turns the corner to the main market street, he freezes, hand gripping the concrete wall. Amateratsu must be out for revenge, and Itachi wants to laugh at the absurdity because why– just across the way, standing over the remains of an old fruit stand, is a very familiar figure. He’s grown a little taller, knees not quite as knobby. The crest of the Uchiwa stares right back at him… and there’s only one other person who could wear it.
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It’s Sasuke.
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And he's pressing one of Itachi's old tanto blades to a grown man's throat.